#much arcadia bay..

[faunshiii]

max :33 bet i’ll have to repost this 10000 times because my posts aren’t showing up in tags… sorry

[duncanor]

WHY IT HAD TO BE EKKO

Don't you wonder why he's ultimately the one who defeat The Machine Herald? They never even met, why out of everyone was it him? Why was he sent to this beautiful timeline while Jayce was sent to Dante's inferno ?

It's because Jayce and Viktor are the perfect opposite of Powder and Ekko. All of them were scientists who shared a dream of helping their people. However, while Jayce and Viktor did everything they could to realize their dream together, going as far as to brave Nature, Death and Fate, Ekko and Powder couldn't bear losing themselves and sacrificing others for their own happiness.

Ekko was sent to a world where he got everything he ever wanted. His loved ones were (mostly) all alive and well, the cities were united, he not only got his childhood friend back but had the chance to learn who she could've become without tragedy plaguing her. He even fell in love with her and had the possibility to start a life anew, here, together. And despite this, he never considered staying. Doing so would've meant sacrificing his reality and he couldn't bear it. So he let her and the dream go, and broke the cycle.

But Jayce and Viktor? They've always been incapable of letting go of each others. They first defied nature, re-creating the inate with Hextech. Then they braved Death with Viktor's resurection. Finally, they fabricated fate, Viktor making sure they always meet. The Machine Herald vowed to end the cycles that plagued humanity, but ultimatly, he as the mage was the one purposefully setting them in motion. Because he couldn't bear a reality where he's alone and doesn't have his partner by his side.

It's egoism vs altruism at its core.

It's also why Viktor and Jayce leave together while Ekko stays alone. It's the price of the sacrifice of self for others vs the sacrifice of others for themselves.

Ekko (and Jinx) was the only one willing to break the cycle. It had to be him.

[halcyonatlas]

there are so many things double exposure is going to have to address aside from the storyline they’ve come up with

the events of this new game seem to only take place a few years after the first one. given that max is in university.

if you chose to sacrifice arcadia bay, i expect them to address the guilt and misery that will follow max like a shadow from destroying her hometown, her friends, chloe’s family, etc. it cannot be a brush off the shoulder.

if you chose to sacrifice chloe, i expect max to be haunted by her friend in ways that aren’t blatant and tone-deaf. she needs to once again be followed by a shadow of guilt and grief. and since i imagine she’s left to another new town, i need there to be some kind of moment of reflection on how she runs away from arcadia instead of facing her choices and the loss that it carries.

i need there to be kate marsh. i need there to be victoria. she is allowed to move on from her high school days but given the circumstances of the life she’s left behind, it cannot be forgotten. it cannot be summed up in a photograph she keeps in her wallet. it cannot be little easter eggs for us to find along our way.

but deck nine is so very surface-level with their writing. the dread i feel for max’s new chapter is thick. i cannot imagine how they’re going to live up to the expectations they’ve set for themselves.

[snailvibes]

I feel like people don’t talk about Chloe’s prophetic dream stuff enough (I know why it’s because half this fan base hates bts)

[agentark]

I genuinely feel shocked when I see how many people pick chloe over arcadia bay ngl

[whimsicalcotton]

for the whump asks with max (and/or chloe and Rachel): 3 (favorite canon moment); 20 (anything else you want to share that you haven’t been able to?)👀

3. What’s your favorite canon moment with this character? in terms of whump moments specifically it has to be when Max passes out in the junkyard. the fact that even after that she Still doesn't admit out loud that overusing her powers puts a huge strain on her body is Peak whumpable bastard content. and one of her immediate comments after waking up being "this is kinda fun. scary and stupid but fun," is very. girl Please seek medical attention <3

20. Anything else you’d like to share about them I haven’t asked?

ok rambling more on a point from the previous answer, i love that (iirc) Max never really outright tells Chloe how much her powers can hurt her. she just keeps getting nosebleeds and blacking out at random and leaving poor Chloe to put two and two together and deal with the aftermath by herself. like in that junkyard scene after she says "this is kinda fun" to Chloe she immediately thinks these powers are messing with my head. girl say that! say that out loud to your friend who would want nothing more than to make sure you're okay!! girl Please seek medical attention!!!

[5mcsinatrenchcoat]

is there a way to block one single post without necessarily blocking the whole person

[suzukiblu]

okay so i was kinda confused about the apiary thing and saw the powerpoint and fell into a rabbit hole and i now i wanna know are lois and bruce both have the queen role in clarks head

So Bruce is DEFINITELY a Queen in Clark's bee-brain, yes, Bruce is the QUEENEST of queens. Probably in Clark's brain he is the JL's or Gotham's queen. LOIS, however, he probably thinks of in the role of either an Arcadia or an Ivanhoe, because he thinks of her as an investigator--i.e., a hunter/gatherer of necessary resources ( a.k.a. information ) for the community that is Metropolis, so that Metropolis is operating with all the relevant information as often as possible--OR as someone who is defending Metropolis by exposing the truth of things, and therefore a warrior/worker who is part of the mechanisms of keeping corruption and crime at bay. Maaaaaybe he could parse her as a Kloka because investigation to article COULD be seen as a "resource management" thing, but I feel like Arcadia or Ivanhoe are likelier.

Not that Clark KNOWS any of these words, but yeah. Like, those are just the things he is feeling on an instinctive level, basically.

I kinda think Clark parses his "hive" as being Metropolis, and therefore himself and Lois and Jon as members of that specific hive. Smallville is the hive he came from originally and is still very attached to and cares about but couldn't have been what he's SUPPOSED to be in, and Gotham is a hive of its own.

Just while he does not consider himself or Lois as Metropolis's queen, he DEFINITELY considers BRUCE as Gotham's.

. . . come to think, probably part of Clark thinks of LEX as being Metropolis's queen and he is SO TETCHY about how BAD he thinks Lex is at it, and that is probably a not-insignificant part of why they both get under each other's skin so much, hahahaha.

Lex: how DARE people think Superman is more important to Metropolis/the world/humanity than ME, I am SO much more important than Superman, he is an INTERLOPER here ANYWAY. Clark: YOU ARE LITERALLY IN CHARGE OF THIS WHOLE DAMN PLACE, OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU SO INSECURE ABOUT IT, I'M JUST HERE TO HELP OUT. you know what, I am not even gonna GIVE you a baby, you don't DESERVE a baby from me!! you can have a baby when you get OVER yourself, MAYBE. Lois, taking more notes in red pen: uh-huh, honey. wanna expand on that thought process, maybe? Clark: /TEN-HOUR RANT/ Lois: . . . I think I'm gonna need a bigger notepad.

But yeah, Clark both considers Metropolis one giant hive and therefore a place with MANY smaller groups/factions/sectors having kids for the hive to thrive via, and he is also really, REALLY a Wife Guy for whom "acts of service" are SO very much his love language, so Lois is not a queen in his brain but he very much DID still want to get her a baby, haha. The reason he's so extra about getting specifically BRUCE a baby is that it's been, like, a decade-plus of Bruce repeatedly getting babies from OTHER PEOPLE and not asking HIM for any, but Lois married him and was in the process at least TALKING to him about the possibility of them having kids someday and therefore letting off some of his weird-about-it steam, because in his mind she was asking him FOR a kid and telling him what kind of kid she'd like. And then they had Jon, and she LOVES Jon, so Clark's all good there; Clark's the BEST . . . thing-he-doesn't-know there is!! THE BEST. HE LOVES HIS WIFE SO MUCH YOU GUYS, SHE'S SO GOOD AT COMMUNICATING WHAT SHE WANTS IN A BABY.

Meanwhile, BRUCE'S communication skills . . .

Bruce: I work alone and I want no dependents or significant others or partners or children in my life ever. I will deign to allow an occasional co-worker once a blue moon and that is it. Clark, Sad Bee Eyes but probably also currently parsing Bruce as Ivanhoe anyway: okay . . . I guess . . . . . . if you're super super SUPER sure . . . Bruce: I'm sure, yes. Bruce, five minutes later, holding a tiny acrobat made of rage and vengeance who is trying to gnaw his arm off so he can go murder a grown man in cold blood: I only met Dick Grayson five minutes ago but if anything ever happens to him I'm killing everyone in this reality and then myself. Clark: . . . so like HE'S-- Bruce: my ward and partner. that's all. he kept trying to go out on his own, so I'm just keeping him from getting himself killed running off after mobsters and giving him an outlet for his grief and anger that he can direct into something productive while also being mentored and protected by a more experienced vigilante. Clark, his bee-brain reorienting and thinking "wait, Godiva?? is this Godiva, maybe??": . . . okay, I GUESS that makes-- Bruce, five minutes later, holding a grumbly homeless preteen who he may or may not have technically kidnapped off the street: I only met Jason Todd five minutes ago but if anything ever happens to him I'm going to have a major shift in my crimefighting methods and paranoia levels and my ethics in regards to how I treat my partners and allies and maybe try to commit a murder you'll have to personally prevent me from committing and never ever ever EVER go to therapy about it. Clark: . . . . . . . . . Bruce: also I adopted him. he likes reading and cooking and one time he hit me in the gut with a tire iron. it bruised. :) Clark, with AGONIZED BUZZING all up in his bee-brain: OH COME ON--

[pricesgirl]

Headphones on

Lifeguard!Chloe/fem!reader

C.W: Substance use, sexual content

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Chloe fucking hated summer.

The sweat, the noise, and especially the job David had foisted upon her.

Lifeguarding.

Arcadia Bay didn’t even need lifeguarding.

The sea was cold as shit to start with, guaranteeing anyone dumb enough to dive in would be scampering back to Two Whales to snatch up a hot coffee and pretend they hadn’t just signed up for hypothermia.

But hey, at least it kept business booming for her mom.

Most days, the only swimmers were a ragtag crew of stubborn kids, too innocent for their own good, and the occasional clueless tourist who clearly missed out reading the fine print on their itinerary for the day.

But alas, there she was, perched like a withered gargoyle on the teal-faded lifeguard chair, looking just about as lively as a wilted dandelion—just like David.

She immediately grimaced, that asshole’s ugly mug had the goddamn nerve to invade her brain again.

“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned low, lifting her head just as Elliot—hopeful and irritating as ever, came bounding up like a golden retriever chasing a damn squirrel.

His brown hair had morphed into some sort of sun-bleached mess, and his eyes were bright as a kid who'd just nicked the last piece of candy from the bowel.

“Hey, Chloe,” he said, leaning against the chair with that cocky hip pop that made Chloe want to roll her eyes so hard they’d get stuck.

“Oh, hey Elliot,” she grunted, voice rough and tired, forcing on a smile that could curdle milk.

Elliot brightened like a fucking lightbulb.

God. Did he think that was flirting?

Idiot.

“So…you coming in with me today? I swear, the water’s better than it looks.”

She snorted, flinging her head back against the sun-bleached wood. “Better than it looks? Yeah, only if you’re a fucking masochist.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he said, all confidence and so, so much audacity.

Definitely overcompensating for something.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you would. See you later, Ice Queen.”

That wiped the smile right off his face. He muttered something assy under his breath before scuttling off, deflated.

Good.

She tugged her lifeguard cap down low, head tipping back to look up at the glaring sun.

“Go flirt with a jellyfish next time, desperate little fuck.”

Suddenly, the sun became way less interesting.

Her scowl twitched, caught mid-eye-roll, as something—or rather, someone, moved into her peripheral vision.

A girl.

A rather hot girl at that.

Chloe squinted, pushing her cap back just enough to get a better look without looking like she actually a shit.

You were barefoot, pink shorts hanging low on your hips, and Chloe swore she caught a glimpse of a swimsuit that was for sure doing all your flirting for you—scandalous enough to make her choke on her own spit.

And then she clocked the rest of you.

Pink wired headphones dangling from your pocket to your ears, matching your shorts like you planned that shit.

How pretentious.

A cigarette was tucked between your fingers like you’d just walked off the set of some ostentatious indie flick.

You looked exactly like trouble wrapped in a pink bubblegum wrapper.

Chloe’s type. Unfortunately.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging her hand down her face.

You hadn’t even noticed her yet, or if you had, you were doing a damn good job pretending you hadn’t.

You lit the cigarette with one hand, the other stuffed in your pocket, head tilted back like you were taste-testing the sky.

Of course you were hot and pretentious.

Bloody brilliant.

Chloe shifted in her chair, arms folding over her chest like some kind of defense against the very concept of you.

Like maybe if she glared hard enough, you’d spontaneously combust or trip on a rock do something to shatter what must be a facade.

But no.

You just stood there, pink and smug and devastating.

And suddenly, Chloe hated summer a little less.

Just a little.

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You’d been coming to the beach every day for a week.

Chloe noticed. Of course she fucking noticed.

It was hard not to, when you sauntered in like clockwork—same time, same place, same smoke curling between your fingers like you were too chic to breathe regular air.

At first, Chloe figured you were just another rich kid runaway doing the edgy-townie cosplay thing—probably with a trust fund the size of Oregon sitting at home and daddy issues to match.

But then you started watching her.

Not in that quick glance, bored-eyes-wandering kind of way. No. You watched her like it was intentional. Like it meant something.

You’d drape yourself across your towel with all the grace of a lazy housecat, sunglasses sliding halfway down your nose, or you'd lean against the railing just next to her chair.

And your gaze, without fail, always found her.

And stayed.

Chloe pretended not to notice. Some days she pretended not to care. It was easier that way—easier to act like her stomach didn’t tighten every time you looked at her like you were picking her apart with a scalpel made of sunlight.

She'd sit up straighter in her lifeguard chair. Fix her cap. Cross one leg over the other just because it made her look taller.

She didn’t know what the hell she was doing.

Just that you were watching.

And then today—of course today, you took it a step further.

You waved.

Not a shy little flick of the fingers. Not a tentative maybe-this-is-a-mistake kind of gesture.

No. You waved like you owned her attention, like the whole damn beach was your personal stage and Chloe was just another extra in your indie-dream sequence.

She blinked. Then she scowled, glanced behind her like maybe you were actually waving at someone else.

Nope.

It was her.

You. Were waving. At her.

Chloe froze, spine going rigid, her brain short-circuiting behind mirrored lenses. Her hand twitched like it was thinking about waving back, but she quickly turned it into a fake hair scratch.

Smooth. So fucking smooth.

Your smile was slow, like you were in on the joke. Like you’d seen the twitch.

Goddammit.

She looked away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, eyes locking on some random fucking seagull like it had eternal wisdom of the universe.

Cool.

Chill.

Very not-flustered lifeguard behavior.

“Go drown in style, why don’t you,” she muttered under her breath, glaring so hard at the bird it seemingly took the hint and flew back over the sea.

But it was no use. You were still in her periphery. Still there, all pink and effortless and infuriating, like someone had dipped sin in sunscreen and dropped it directly into her line of sight.

And fuck—

Now you were walking over.

No. No no no. You weren’t walking—you were strutting, hips doing that little sway thing people do when they know eyes are on them.

Hers were.

Against her will.

Traitor eyes.

Chloe pushed her sunglasses higher up her nose, her teeth grinding slightly as you closed the distance between you. Her pulse was loud in her ears now, thudding like a warning sign—red alert, red alert, hot girl approaching, abort mission.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t even breathe.

You stopped just a few feet away, close enough for her to smell the mix of sunscreen and nicotine clinging to your skin as you leaned on the rail of her tower like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Hey,” you starter, voice all honey and ocean breeze.

Chloe blinked. Stared. Swallowed.

And then—

“Fuck off.”

It came out too fast, too harsh, too her—because if she didn’t say something now, she might say something nice, and that was not the brand.

Your smile didn’t even falter.

In fact, it widened, so much that she swore your face was about to split open like a ripe pomegranate.

Like you’d just found her adorable.

Which pissed her off.

And made her heart do a stupid flip.

“Cool,” you said, exhaling smoke out the side of your mouth. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

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And you did.

Not just tomorrow, but the day after. And the day after that.

Like clockwork,every single day at around 2 p.m—you showed up. Pink shorts, pink headphones and a cigarette in your hand, and that maddeningly soft smile that made Chloe’s insides twist in ways she refused to admit.

You were a presence. A pulse.

A problem.

And Chloe was done pretending she wasn’t noticing.

It had been seven days.

Seven days of stolen glances and heat rising beneath her skin.

Seven days of keeping her sunglasses on so her eyes wouldn’t betray her.

Seven days of trying—and failing—to ignore the way her stomach sank whenever you looked her way.

Seven. Fucking. Days.

Every morning, climbing into the lifeguard tower, she promised herself today would be different.

She’d tell you to stop hanging around. To stop making her job harder. To stop being so fucking pretty just out of reach.

The ocean’s glare bounced off her sunglasses as she squinted down the beach.

There you were. Again.

Same pink headphones. Same slow, half-smirk. Same cigarette balanced between your fingers like it was part of you.

She’d had enough.

Suddenly, she threw her clipboard onto the seat behind her and climbed down from her tower, feet sinking into the sand with purpose.

“You’re unbelievable,” she called, voice dry as salt.

You turned, cigarette raised, brow arched like you’d been waiting for this. “Afternoon to you too.”

"Do you get off on this or some shit?" she snapped, the heat crawling up her neck so fast it made her ears ring. "Because if not, you'll probably need to get checked for somethin'."

You plucked out your headphone, let it dangle on your chest, resting on the swell of your breast. “Sorry, what was that?”

Her eyes—those goddamn traitors—followed the headphone’s path like it was a magnet, tracing the curve of your chest through that swimsuit.

Holy shit.

Chloe’s mouth went dry. Her sunglasses couldn’t hide the way her pupils dilated. Couldn’t hide the way her teeth sank into her lower lip, already imaging the taste of your sun slick skin on her tongue.

“You’re making it really, really hard not to say fuck it and make a very poor decision.”

Your grin curved slowly. “So don’t.”

She glared. Or tried to. But the rose blooming on her neck and ears gave her away.

“Meet me in the lifeguard hut after my shift.”

You blinked, looking genuinely surprised, her comment throwing your otherwise curated, silk pressed image into a state of disarray.

Your cigarette hovered mid-air. Then lowered.

Chloe had never seen you thrown off before. Not once in seven days of slow, calculated torture.

But now, your eyes flicked over her face, searching. Confirming.

“…Seriously?” you asked, softer this time. Less teasing, more tentitivity.

Chloe didn’t blink, she'd had enough of the ridiculous game, the ridicule you’d been putting her through. “Dead.”

“…Alright,” you said, voice a little lower now. “After your shift.”

Her gaze held yours for a second longer than it should have. Daring you. Daring herself.

Chloe turned on her heel and walked away, the sand crunching underneath her feet, her shoulders tight and arms swinging stiffly at her sides.

You watched her.

You watched from behind your rose tinted sunglasses, lips parted slightly, cigarette forgotten between your fingers. The tension sat thick in the air, like a storm holding its breath.

You didn’t even smile this time.

You just exhaled smoke slow and steady, and whispered to no one, “Fuck.”

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The sun had slipped beneath the horizon like it was hiding something, leaving the sky bruised and the beach drenched in shadows.

You stood at the door to the lifeguard hut for a moment—just breathing. The ocean whispered behind you, like it knew what was about to happen and was trying to cool the heat bleeding under your skin.

When you opened the door, it gave a low creak before allowing you to step in.

Chloe was already inside.

She was near the back wall, shadowed, arms crossed like she was holding herself together. Her shoulders were bare, freckled and sun-kissed, her collarbone covered in a sheen of sweat.

Her sunglasses were gone—finally—and her eyes, stripped of armor, landed on you like a blow.

You didn’t speak. Neither did she.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, like two animals in the dark, both waiting for the other to move first.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” she said, her voice ragged around the edges, like a blade dragged too fast over stone.

You shut the door without turning and leaned against it, spine straight, voice soft. “You told me to.”

A scoff, almost a laugh, slipped from her lips, bitter and breathless. “I didn’t think you listened to anything that didn’t come out of your own damn mouth.”

“I listen.” You paused momentarily. “Especially when you’re flushed and bossy.”

That stopped her cold, her throat bobbed, her eyes flickering down your frame taking it in, the pink shorts, the linen shirt barely hiding your practically miniscule bikini.

“You think this is a joke?” she asked, stepping forward.

One step.

Two.

“You’ve been walking around here like you’ve got no idea what you’re doing. Like I haven’t spent a week choking on my own tongue every time you so much as breathe in my direction.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Her jaw clenched. “Then why—”

“Because I wanted you to snap first.”

That did it.

Her mouth opened—then closed, completely lost for words.

Then she surged forward, grabbed you by the fabric of your linen shirt and yanked you into her.

Her lips crashed against yours, the kiss too hard, too hot—not enough.

A startled noise escaped you, caught off guard. You’d expected her to snap, maybe even shove you, but this… this was something else.

She kissed you like she was furious at herself for wanting you this much.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and she was there a breath later—pressing into you like she meant to carve herself into your silhouette. Her thigh slipped between yours, the muscle of it unyielding, demanding.

You gasped into her mouth, only for the sound to be swallowed down greedily by her lips.

Her hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping underneath with a kind of reverence that didn’t match the harshness in her kiss.

Her touch was hot, feverish, some sort of self inflicted punishment for every second she hadn’t already been touching you.

Your lips parted against hers on instinct.

Letting her in.

Letting her take.

And she took—greedy, aching, relentless, tongue slipping into your mouth, teeth sinking into your lip, taking every piece of you that you laid out so prettily just for her.

Her mouth parted from yours and immediately found your jaw, placing open mouthed kisses onto the tender flesh. “You drive me fucking insane,” she whimpered, voice breaking against your skin. “Standing out there every day, looking like that…”

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to tease her for finally cracking, but all that spilled from your lips was a wrecked, “C–Chloe—”

God, she ached at the sound of her name in your voice—high and breathless and sticky with want.

She swore she could feel it in her chest.

“You have no idea,” she groaned, low and ruinous, as her hand slipped beneath your open linen shirt.

Her fingers found your breast through the thin fabric, thumb dragging over your hardened nipple with sinful intent. “What you've been doing to me.”

“I have somewhat of an idea,” you whispered, lips parted, eyes lidded, hips already arching up to meet her touch.

You looked like temptation dressed in sunshine—like the ocean had carved you specifically just to haunt her.

“Oh yeah?” she rasped, her knuckles brushing along the underside of your breast. “Then tell me, smartass—what am I thinking right now?”

You smirked your eyes dragging lazily over her face. “You’re thinking if I keep talking, you’re gonna forget all that lifeguard training and absolutely ruin me in your workplace.”

Her laugh broke out of her like something wrecked—breathless, ragged, more moan than mirth. “God, you’re so fucking infuriating.”

“Am I wrong?”

“...No.”

And then your lips crashed together again—messy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth—and her hands were already under your shirt, tearing it over your head like it offended her.

Fuck training.

Fuck rules.

And fuck you.

She yanked your bikini strap off your shoulder letting the fabric fall, eyes burning with satisfaction at every inch she uncovered.

Your bikini bunched uselessly at your ribs—and suddenly, you were bare.

Your breasts catching the last blush of dusk like they were meant to be seen in low light, soft and heaving.

Art made pornographic.

“Jesus,” she breathed, voice cracking, swim shorts suddenly feeling significantly damper—and not from the ocean.

You were obscene.

Perfect in the most unholy fucking way.

So flushed and pliant, your legs parted just enough, sitting there like you knew exactly just how ruined she was for you.

Chloe dropped to her knees like gravity yanked her down. The wooden planks were warm beneath her skin, the grit of sand biting into her flesh—but she hardly felt it.

Not with you like this.

Not with sin incarnate looking her dead in the eye.

Those pink shorts. Fuck. Those shorts had no right to still be on you.

“Lift,” she rasped, already digging her fingers into your hips.

The moment you shifted, hips rising just enough, she yanked them down, slowly, deliberately—those slutty pink shorts sliding off with your bikini bottoms in one wet pull, dragging slickness down your thighs.

Her mouth went dry.

You were dripping.

So wet it clung to your skin in strands—dripping for her like your cunt knew she was coming.

Her fingers traced up your inner thighs, “Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered, breath catching. “You’re soaked.”

“Don’t tease me,” you managed to say, voice wrecked and breaking apart.

Chloe just grinned, eyes still locked on your cunt like it held goddamn gravity. “You’ve been teasing me all fucking week, it’s only fair.”

Her mouth hit you like a punch, hot, hungry, and so damn desperate.

Her tongue dragged a filthy stripe up your slit before circling your clit with slow, almost mocking care.

You gasped, hips jolting. “F-Fuck—Chloe—”

She moaned into you like she was the one getting devoured. Her hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to purple blooming underneath.

One finger slipped forward, teasing the edge of your entrance, slick with your arousal.

“You’re dripping,” she muttered again, voice muffled by your cunt. “Messy fucking girl…”

And then, without warning—she sunk two fingers inside of you.

You choked on a moan, hips jerking, hands clawing at the edge of the counter for something to hold.

Chloe pumped her fingers fast, deep and purposeful—her knuckles brushing up against your heat with every thrust, curling just enough to make your vision flash white.

Her mouth never stopped working your clit, tongue flicking, then flattening, then sucking.

The noises were obscene—wet, filthy, constant.

Slap slap slap—her palm against your soaked folds.

Every thrust of her fingers forced more slick down her wrist, drenching her hand and coating her chin as she kept mouthing your clit like a girl possessed.

“Chloe! Chloe—I’m gonna—”

She groaned against you, picking up the pace, fingers plunging harder, tongue pressing down harder—and then you shattered.

Your whole body seized, back arching, a sob catching in your throat as pleasure ripped through you. You felt yourself clench around her fingers, pulsing, soaking her, the orgasm crashing down so hard it hurt.

Her fingers slowed, then stilled, still warm and slick inside you. She pulled back just enough to press soft, lingering kisses along your thighs, breath heavy but gentle.

You were trembling, chest rising and falling as the waves of your release slowly settled.

Sitting back on her heels, still between your legs she grinned.

One thing was for sure.

Chloe didn’t hate summer anymore.

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authors note: hiii, this is for the lovely pride month prompts i had such a blast writing this, it's my first time writing for "you" so i hope it isn't shit, happy pride month <3

[arcadiabaytornado]

This conversation!!!

Max wouldn't be wrong if she thought this week was nothing but hell for her. After all, she's experienced an amount of trauma in five days that most people won't get in a lifetime. I personally wouldn't blame her character at all if she had a breakdown and said: "Sometimes I wish I never came back to Arcadia Bay"

But that's not what she says. And that's not what Max would ever say.

Instead, she would say "I always wanted my life to be special, an adventure, but not without you." Which insinuates that she thinks her moving back was a GOOD thing because she got to live this special adventure with Chloe. She even insinuates that her power was a good thing in this sentence....while actively standing in the storm her power caused.

It's not shocking that she doesn't hate her power, of course. It was the thing that made her able to save Chloe, and that means her power will always be tied to her best friend. I think that's why Max was never able to hate her power in it's totality, because without it, she would have lost Chloe before even getting to know her again. And how would that have been better?

Max has gone through so much by the time this scene happens, and even still she's glad for the opportunity to be a pirate again. Chloe and Max's relationship haunt me on the daily. There will never be a dynamic like there's again.

[tarraxahum]

(SPOILERS FOR LIFE IS STRANGE COMICS which are old at this point what are you doing AND SOME DOUBLE EXPOSURE SPOILERS)

Got that warning out of the way. Yeah. So. If you know The Spoiler then you know.

With FULL disclaimer that I know the comics are officially "only one possible version of reality", and are in no way binding canon. Nevertheless, they are official still.

Here's Chloe freelancing as a designer for a rock band. She also travels with them later.

Here's Chloe taking an internship at an auto repairs shop, 'cause she's good with cars.

Here's Chloe some years later taking an active part in rebuilding Arcadia Bay and her mother's diner. Taking a responsible leader role and shit.

Here's Chloe opening her own auto repairs shop she's now the boss of. And evidently designing it herself. Y'know. 'Cause she's good at stuff

Here's Chloe also buying an apartment for Max and her. Together. On her initiative.

Here's Chloe being willing to wait for her superpowered ass girlfriend for the aforementioned years because plot happened to Max, as it does, and she's her "partner in time".

Here they both are after another timeskip, fully consistent with LiS 2 photo

Y'know. This one.

In a recovering town. Where Chloe rebuilt a diner and established her own auto shop with her own hard work and skill. And bought them an apartment. TO SETTLE DOWN TOGETHER.

Note: Full disclosure, they had an apartment in Seattle together before "plot happened" and also traveled around with a rock band for years so it's not like Chloe ultimately ends up confined to Arcadia Bay again. Don't worry.

BONUS: Them being normal with Victoria:

So yeah. "Chloe is a free spirit who didn't wanna be tied down or take life seriously and fucked off to flirt with Victoria Chase" MY ASS.

Granted, both this and DE are about equal in being "canon" but. In terms of Chloe's characterization and what we know from previous games. I can see her do all this. Even if you take the relationship out of the equation, fine, the rest of it. I do NOT see her doing ALL THAT.

Bite me, for all their faults the comics understood Chloe's character much better than whatever DE has got so far.

Anyway this is not a "GOTCHA" post, this is a "If you're pissed like me take this and run"

[celesticnova]

Being a Safi fan is rough because half the community has just dismissed her outright for not being Chloe.

She seems like such a fun and sweet person, and someone who is perfect for Max after all the tragic events in Arcadia Bay. Especially in the Bay ending.

Lets give her a shot, at least. I think she deserves that much.

[slut4megantheestallion]

"More than words"

Rachel amber x fem! reader‧₊˚✧

Summary: You and Rachel have been best friends for such a long time,but things changed when you started dating a boy, Rachel jealousy reveals her hidden feelings for you, so one day you wanted to look good for your date, but Rachel shows you how much she's so much better than your date~

Warning ⚠️: fluff, angst, jealousy, best-friends- to lovers, fem!reader, making out, fingering, breast play, pet names, Dom! Rachel sub!reader.

You and Rachel had been inseparable since childhood. It wasn’t just a friendship—it was a bond so deep, so unshakable, that neither of you ever questioned it. From the moment you met as kids, something had just clicked. You did everything together—late-night sneaking out, running barefoot through the sand at the beach, making up ridiculous inside jokes no one else understood. You spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing secrets you never told anyone else.

Rachel was your person. And you were hers.

The two of you had always talked about leaving Arcadia Bay, dreaming of a bigger, better life somewhere else. Somewhere exciting, where you could be whoever you wanted, without the weight of this dead-end town holding you back. You had made a pact when you were thirteen, pinkies locked together under the streetlights—one day, you’d get out of here together.

Rachel had always been the bold one, the reckless one, pulling you into her whirlwind of chaos and adventure. You grounded her, kept her from spiraling too far, but you also loved the way she made your world feel bigger, brighter. You had never met anyone like her—someone who could set a room on fire just by walking into it, who made everything feel electric.

She had always been protective of you, but you never thought much of it. If anyone messed with you, Rachel was the first to step in, her sharp tongue and cutting glare shutting down any threat before it could escalate. It was just how she was. It never occurred to you that maybe there was more to it.

Not until Ryan came along.

It started with a history project. You and Ryan got paired up, forced to spend extra time together outside of class. At first, it was just study sessions at the library, exchanging notes and quizzing each other. But then, you started talking about things that had nothing to do with history. He was funny, in a kind of awkward, dorky way, always trying too hard to make you laugh. And somehow, it worked.

Rachel noticed the shift immediately. The way your phone buzzed more often, the way your attention seemed split. It wasn’t much at first, but then one day, she saw you sitting with him at lunch instead of your usual spot next to her, laughing at something he said, your body leaning just slightly toward his.

Something in her chest twisted, sharp and painful.

"Who’s that?” she asked later that day as the two of you walked toward the junkyard, kicking loose gravel along the way.

"Huh?" You glanced at her, confused.

“That guy you were with at lunch,” she said, trying to sound casual, but there was an edge to her voice.

“Oh, Ryan?” You smiled. “He’s in my history class. We’ve been hanging out a little.”

Rachel scoffed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

You raised a brow at her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, staring straight ahead. “Just... didn’t think you’d ditch me for some random dude.”

You frowned. “I’m not ditching you, Rach. He’s just—he’s nice, okay? And fun to talk to.”

Rachel huffed, kicking a rock with more force than necessary. “Sure. Whatever.”

You sighed, stopping in your tracks. “Okay, what’s your problem? Seriously.”

Rachel stopped, too, turning to face you. “I don’t have a problem.”

"You obviously do.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “I just don’t get why you’re wasting your time with some guy who probably doesn’t even know shit about you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not fair.”

Rachel exhaled through her nose, frustration clear on her face. She wanted to say more to tell you exactly why this bothered her so much, but she couldn’t. Instead, she forced a smirk and shrugged. “Fine. I’ll back off. He’s cool. Whatever makes you happy.”

You didn’t believe her, but you let it go.

For the next few weeks, Rachel had to endure seeing you with Ryan everywhere—walking to class, sitting too close at lunch, leaning against your locker as he made you laugh. It was torture. But she never said a word. She just swallowed the bitterness and pretended she didn’t care, even as it ate her alive.

Then, one night, the two of you were back at the junkyard, sitting on the hood of an old car, the sky stretching endlessly above you. The air smelled like rust and cigarette smoke, the quiet hum of the night surrounding you.

Rachel took a long drag from her cigarette before exhaling slowly. “So, how’s loverboy?”

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “Why do you call him that?”

Rachel smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Because that’s what he is, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s good. Actually, he asked me out.”

Rachel froze. “Oh.”

You didn’t notice the way her grip on her cigarette tightened. “Yeah, he wants to take me to the movies on Friday. Pretty casual.”

Rachel forced a smirk. “Wow. A movie. Real original.”

You chuckled. “What, you got a better idea?”

You laughed again, but then your smile softened as you looked at her. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Rachel hesitated for a second too long before shrugging. “I never said that.”

“But you don’t.”

Rachel exhaled through her nose, flicking ash off her cigarette. “I just don’t think he’s all that special.”

You sighed. “I don’t get you, Rach.”

Rachel finally looked at you, her hazel eyes intense in the dim light. “Yeah? Well, maybe you don’t have to.”

The next night, Rachel lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying every moment she had spent with you. Every laugh, every late-night conversation, every time you looked at her like she was your whole world—at least, that’s how she used to think you saw her. But now, you were seeing someone else. Spending time with someone else. Letting someone else make you laugh the way she always had.

Her phone vibrated beside her, breaking her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. Your name.

Rachel hesitated. For the first time ever, she thought about letting it go to voicemail. But she never could ignore you. With a sigh, she grabbed her phone and answered.

“Hey, Rach!” Your voice was bright, excited. Rachel could hear the smile in it, and that alone made her stomach twist. “I need your help.”

Rachel swallowed, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I need you to come over and do my makeup—make me look pretty. Ryan asked me out, and I wanna look good.”

The words hit Rachel like a punch to the gut. Her fingers tightened around her phone. She had known this was coming, had seen it coming for weeks now, but hearing you say it—hearing the excitement in your voice over some guy—made it feel so much worse.

“Oh.” It was all she could manage for a moment. She shut her eyes and took a slow breath. “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

"Really? You’re the best! Can you come over soon?”

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek. Her first instinct was to make up an excuse. To say she was busy. To say anything that would get her out of having to sit there and make you look pretty for someone else. Someone who wasn’t her.

But she couldn’t say no to you. She never could.

“Yeah.” Her voice came out softer than she intended. “I’ll be there soon.”

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Love you, Rach.”

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. Love you. You said it so easily, so casually, without a second thought. And that was the difference. To you, it was just something friends said. To Rachel, it was everything.

"Yeah,” she muttered. “Love you too.”

The call ended.

Rachel let her phone drop onto her bed, staring blankly at the wall.

This was torture. This was some kind of cruel, cosmic joke.

You wanted her to make you look good for your date.

You wanted her help to impress someone else.

Rachel let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair. Maybe this was her punishment for never telling you how she felt. For always pushing it down, convincing herself she was fine just being your best friend.

She wasn’t fine.

And she didn’t know how much longer she could pretend to be.

Rachel stood outside your door, her makeup bag clutched in her hand, heart pounding against her ribs. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to do this. But she had to. Because you asked her to. Because you trusted her. Because she was your best friend.

The door swung open, and before Rachel could even get a word out, you threw your arms around her. “Rach! Thank you for coming.”

Rachel froze for a split second before melting into the hug, her free arm wrapping around you tightly. You smelled like vanilla and something uniquely you, and for a moment, she let herself sink into it.

"Of course," she murmured, pulling away just enough to look at you. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Even though she wished she could.

You grinned, grabbing her hand and tugging her inside. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

Rachel followed, forcing herself to focus on the small talk you made along the way instead of the sinking feeling in her chest.

"I just really wanna look good tonight,” you said as you pushed open your bedroom door, leading Rachel inside. “Ryan’s taking me to that new café downtown, and I dunno… I just wanna impress him.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, setting her bag down on your desk with a little more force than necessary. "You already look good," she muttered, rummaging through her supplies. "You don’t need makeup to impress some guy."

You laughed, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Rach, come on. You know what I mean.”

Rachel didn’t. Not really. Because in her eyes, you were already perfect.

But she didn’t argue. Instead, she grabbed a brush and turned to face you. “Alright, sit still.”

You obeyed, closing your eyes as Rachel got to work. She took her time, blending and brushing, fingers ghosting over your skin with a gentleness you didn’t even notice. But Rachel did.

She took in every detail—how your lips parted slightly when she traced powder over your cheekbones, how your lashes fluttered as she lined your eyes, how your lips curved into a soft smile when she smudged a little gloss onto them.

Her heart ached.

"All done," Rachel finally said, stepping back to admire her work.

the mirror. A delighted gasp left your lips. "Rach, this looks amazing! Thank you!"

Before she could react, you turned and pulled her into another hug. Rachel stiffened, then exhaled, wrapping her arms around you again, clinging to the moment.

But then you pulled back. And Rachel saw it—the way your lips glistened, the way you looked up at her with nothing but warmth, nothing but trust.

And before she could stop herself, before she could even think—She kissed you.

It happened so fast, your breath hitched, body going still as Rachel’s lips pressed against yours. It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t unsure. It was desperate, full of years of buried feelings spilling out all at once.

When she pulled away, her eyes flickered over your face, searching for something—anything—that told her she hadn’t just ruined everything.

Your lips tingled. Your mind raced. Rachel’s eyes widened in horror as if she had just shattered something between you both.

“Shit,” she whispered, stepping back quickly. “I—I didn’t mean—”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. You were still frozen, still processing. Rachel searched your face, and whatever she saw, there must’ve confirmed her worst fears because her expression hardened, guarded.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” Her voice was tight, controlled, but there was something raw beneath it. Before you could even think of what to say, she turned and walked out of your room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you standing there, still tasting her on your lips.

You were supposed to be thinking about Ryan tonight.

Yet, as you sat across from him at the small, cozy café downtown, your mind was anywhere but here.

Ryan was talking—something about an indie band he was obsessed with—but his words faded into the background as you stirred your drink absentmindedly. The date had started off fine. He picked a nice place, got you both something sweet, and the conversation flowed easily at first. But as the night went on, the enthusiasm you initially had for this date had slowly dimmed.

It wasn’t that Ryan wasn’t great—he was kind, funny, and a little dorky in an endearing way. But every time he smiled at you, you couldn’t help but think about someone else.

Rachel.

Her lips.

The way she looked at you right before she kissed you, like she had been holding it in forever.

You caught yourself biting your lip and quickly shook off the thought, refocusing on Ryan, who was now watching you with mild concern.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked. “You’ve been kinda quiet for a while.”

Shit. You forced a small smile. “Yeah, sorry. Just a lot on my mind.”

Ryan nodded, sipping his drink. “Is it Rachel?”

You stiffened. “What?”

He let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… you guys are close, right? She’s been kinda avoiding you all week. Figured something was up.”

You sighed, stirring your drink again. “Yeah. Something happened between us. And I think I messed up.”

Ryan studied you for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Do you… like her?”

Your stomach twisted. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie—you had never thought about Rachel like that before. But now, after that kiss, after her absence left you feeling so hollow… it was hard to ignore.

Ryan smiled softly. “You do.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “This date was really nice, and you’re great, but…” You hesitated, meeting his gaze. “I think it’s best if we just stay friends.”

Ryan blinked, surprised, but then he let out a small, amused huff. “Wow. Getting dumped on the first date. That’s a new record.”

You groaned, but he laughed. “I’m kidding, I swear,” he said, grinning. “I mean, yeah, it sucks, but I kind of saw it coming. And honestly? I’d rather have you as a friend than not at all.”

Relief flooded you. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Besides, if Rachel likes you even half as much as I think she does, I don’t stand a chance.”

That made your heart skip a beat.

Ryan stood up, throwing a few bills on the table. “C’mon, let me walk you home.”

The walk back was quiet and comfortable. Ryan gave you a hug before parting ways, and as soon as he was gone, you pulled out your phone.

You: Can you come over? Please. We need to talk.

For a long moment, nothing. Then—

Rachel: On my way.

Your hands were a little clammy as you paced your room, waiting. When you heard the knock at the door, you took a deep breath before opening it.

Rachel stood there, arms crossed, her usual confident demeanor cracking just slightly as she looked at you.

You stepped aside, letting her in. She hesitated before walking in, standing stiffly by your bed.

“Why did you kiss me?” you asked, skipping any pretense.

Rachel flinched, looking anywhere but you. “I told you—I didn’t mean to.”

You stepped closer. “That’s not true.”

Rachel let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. You wanna know the truth? I’ve liked you for years. And I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose you. But then you started hanging out with Ryan and talking about him all the time, and it—” She exhaled sharply. “It fucking sucked. I felt like I was losing you, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You swallowed, taking another step closer. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything!” Rachel looked at you, eyes burning with frustration and something else—something more vulnerable. “You liked Ryan. You wanted to be with him. And I was just—your best friend. That’s all I was ever gonna be.”

You took her hands in yours, and for the first time in days, Rachel stilled.

“I called off the date.”

Rachel���s breath hitched. “What?”

You smiled softly. “For the past week, all I could think about was you. That kiss. You being upset. How I never even considered how you might feel. And I’m sorry for that.” You squeezed her hands. “Because the truth is, I think I like you too.”

Rachel’s lips parted in shock, like she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “You… you do?”

Instead of answering, you kissed her.

Rachel froze for only a second before melting into you, kissing you like she had been waiting forever to do it again. Her hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, deepening it. This time, it wasn’t desperate or rushed—it was slow, warm, perfect.

You guided her toward the bed, lips never leaving hers. When you both collapsed onto the mattress, the kiss turned into something more—something needy, something consuming. Rachel’s hands roamed over your sides, slipping beneath your shirt, fingers teasing against your bare skin.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispered, voice breathy against your lips.

You shook your head, tilting your chin up as her lips moved to your neck. “Don’t want you to.”

Rachel groaned, pressing you deeper into the mattress as her fingers traced over your stomach, then higher, slipping under your bra. You gasped when she cupped your breast, thumb circling over your nipple.

“Fuck,” Rachel muttered, lips trailing down, down. “Let me show you how much better I am than him.”

Rachel’s fingers trailed up your thigh, slow and deliberate, making you squirm beneath her. She loved this—loved how easily she could take control, how your body melted at just the slightest touch. Her knee pressed between your legs, spreading you wider as she hovered over you, her eyes dark with something possessive, something hungry.

You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," she murmured, her lips barely brushing against your ear. "To have you like this… needy, desperate, fucking soaking for me."

Your breath hitched as her hand slid under your shirt, fingers ghosting over your stomach before moving up, teasing the underside of your breasts. She smirked when you arched into her touch, her thumbs rubbing slow circles over your nipples through your bra.

Such a sensitive little thing," she cooed, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. "Bet he never even touched you like this, huh?"

You shook your head, a whimper escaping your lips as Rachel pulled down your bra, exposing your breasts to the cool air. Her fingers pinched your nipples, rolling them between her fingertips before leaning down, taking one into her mouth.

"R-Rachel," you gasped, your fingers threading into her hair, holding her close.

She hummed around your nipple, her tongue flicking and teasing before biting down just enough to make you jolt. "Mmm, you like that?" she murmured, kissing lower, dragging her tongue along your skin as she worked her way down.

Her hands slid to the waistband of your shorts, and with one swift motion, she yanked them down along with your underwear, leaving you bare beneath her. Rachel sat back, eyes drinking you in, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

"Fuck," she exhaled, her fingers tracing up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of where you needed her. "Look at you… so wet already. Did just my touch do this to you, sweetheart?"

You nodded, breathless, but Rachel tsked, shaking her head. "Use your words, baby. Tell me who got you this soaked."

"You did," you whimpered, hips lifting slightly, desperate for more. "Please, Rachel—"

"That’s right," she murmured, finally dragging her fingers through your slick folds, parting them with ease. "Only me."

She teased you, her fingertips just barely circling your clit, watching as you trembled beneath her. Then, with deliberate slowness, she pressed a single finger inside, groaning at how easily you took her in.

"Fuck, you’re tight," she breathed, her lips curving into a smirk as she curled her finger, stroking that perfect spot inside you. "So perfect for me."

She added another finger, thrusting deeper, her pace slow but firm. You clenched around her, your hips rolling to meet her movements, but she held you down, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"That’s it, sweetheart," she cooed, pressing a kiss against your parted lips. "Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good."

Her thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles as her fingers pumped in and out of you, stretching you open. The room filled with the wet, obscene sounds of her fingers working you, your moans growing louder, needier.

"Fuck, Rachel—please—"

Rachel’s smirk deepened. "Please what, baby? Say it. Tell me exactly what you want."

"I want—fuck—more," you gasped, your hands gripping at her shoulders. "Rachel, I—"

"Shh, I got you," she hushed, curling her fingers just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out. "Gonna make you cum so hard, baby. Gonna make you forget all about him."

Her pace quickened, fingers thrusting into you with purpose, her thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. You felt the heat coiling deep in your stomach, pleasure building, overwhelming.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Rachel moaned, watching you unravel beneath her. "Let go for me. Cum for me."

And when you finally shattered, your body tensing before pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, Rachel didn’t let up—her fingers worked you through it, milking every last aftershock until you were a trembling mess beneath her.

She kissed you, deep and possessive, her fingers still lazily stroking your oversensitive core. "Mine," she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. "You’re mine."

As the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, Rachel slowed her movements, her touch turning gentle as she pulled her fingers from you, making you shudder at the loss. She brought them to her lips, licking them clean with a satisfied hum before leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

"You okay, sweetheart?" she murmured, her voice softer now, lacking the teasing edge from before.

You nodded, still breathless, your body warm and relaxed beneath her. Rachel smiled, shifting to lie beside you, her arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against her. She smelled like vanilla and the faintest hint of cigarettes, comforting and familiar.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, just lying there, tangled together, feeling the rise and fall of each other’s breathing. Rachel’s fingers absentmindedly traced shapes along your bare skin, and you closed your eyes, soaking in the warmth of her touch.

Then, she broke the silence with a hesitant chuckle. "So… does this mean we’re a thing now?"

You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze—there was something vulnerable there, something unsure, despite all the confidence she usually carried. It made your heart squeeze.

A soft smile spread across your lips, and you reached up, cupping her cheek. "Yeah, Rach. We’re a thing."

Rachel’s face lit up, and before you could say anything else, she crashed her lips against yours, this time with nothing but joy and relief behind it. The kiss was slow, sweet, filled with all the things she had never been able to say before.

When you pulled away, she grinned at you, her nose bumping against yours. "Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t about to let you go that easy."

You laughed, resting your forehead against hers. "I wouldn’t want you to."

And as you lay there, wrapped up in each other, Rachel pressed small kisses all over your face, making you giggle. "Mine," she whispered against your skin, her arms tightening around you.

"Yours," you confirmed, snuggling closer.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly how it was meant to be.

[romaincrisis]

Old life is strange mini comic!!

this one is from 2021 i think... really dont know but you can tell in my style is very oldie hshhs this ones is from de dump scene where chloe just goes crazy anngry i just really conncet with her in that one... i love her so much this character means de world to me since day one. I think i know life is strange since 2016, one core memory from back then is when i watched it with my bestfriend and we knew that it would be our new personality from the rest of our life hahaha. Now and then we always rewatch it, this game is so awesome and perfect in so many ways and its one of my favorites, cant even begin to explain what Chloe and Max mean to me, their hisotry, Arcadia Bay, Rachel and kate history too, everything, but really those two lesbians made me who i am today, i will always gonna come back to them <3

I GOT SO EMO ALL OF A SUDDEN SORRY GUYS but here i will let you know more of my lore...

[mouseplaid]

how sad do you think chloe was when she and max were traveling together and she remembered how much rachel wanted to get out of arcadia bay. how guilty do you think she felt when she was having fun with max and forget about rachel for a period of time. did she ever wish it had been her who died in arcadia bay and rachel was the one to get out. did she ever resent max for not getting there soon enough so she could turn back time and prevent rachels death too. do you think she ever felt like she wasnt deserving of max and her love since she was able to save chloe and chloe hadnt been able to save rachel. do you think chloe ever had dreams of the three of them together and then she woke up and all of reality hit her.

[dalekofchaos]

Not interested in LIS:Double Exposure

Okay I saw the Double Exposure trailer and I am not playing it.

Multiple reasons.

The Deck Nine IGN article. I will not support a developer that knowingly protected a bigoted groomer and allowed a Nazi to sneak in White Supremacist signs in the game.

Max learned nothing about the first game. Nevermind there is no Chloe, Warren or anyone from Arcadia insight(we'll get to that) Max apparently formed another codependent relationship that she couldn't let go to the point where she's fucking up reality by creating yet another parallel world. Either Deck Nine is entirely unoriginal or Max didn't learn a damned thing

That is not Max. If your defense is "she grew up" I got news for you. I've looked the same for nearly a decade. I've had friends while changing their aesthetic, they look the same. you don’t look like an entirely new person when you age, the new model looks nothing like max there’s barely even resemblance. Also I know, we all change our style as we get older, but Max's style was unique and it made Max Caulfield who she is. It didn't need to change. Deck Nine just Stephified Max. Was it really that hard to give Max bangs? Not just that. No freckles, eyes and eyebrows look completely different. This is not Max Caulfield.

4. No one from Arcadia Bay returned. It's pretty obvious Deck Nine is either keeping Chloe's fate a secret, but it's also clear they are trying to skirt around the issue of the endings without pissing everyone off. Feels like a copout to whatever ending you chose to give a new cast of characters. For the fans who wanted more time to play as Max and Chloe, I feel bad for you, I especially wanted to see Chloe again. So what the fuck was this supposed to be for then?

Though another point; why the hell are we supposed to be okay with the fact that Max is using her power again to save this brand new character we have zero previous connection to? Especially if the game’s gonna try to straddle both endings to LiS 1; seems very insulting to have Max be okay with doing it for a character we have no previous attachment to, but she’s left her girlfriend to die alone, thinking nobody loved her?

Also you had the perfect chance to make a fucking game that has Max save Rachel. I know I just did a tangent about Max not learning anything, but if you were just going to have Max use her powers again, why the fuck didn't you do it to save Rachel from a fate she never deserved? Godfucking forbid you give attention to Warren, Kate or Victoria. I just wanted to see these characters get some screen time, make cameos or give us SOME hint to what they are up to after the events of the first game. But no, we can't have that. We can't be given anything of substance for Warren, Kate or Victoria. Can't learn anything about their fates in the LIS 2 Save Arcadia Bay ending, can't find out Warren or Kate survived the storm in Wavelengths via talking to Steph during the storm anniversary and we can't see them again in DE. I know it's just a teaser, but seriously why even do a new Max game if we don't even get cameos from these characters? Knowing how Deck Nine is, they are just gonna find a way to demonize Warren to paint him like Eliot, regress Victoria's character and not even give Kate the time of day to mention. Jesus fucking christ, I just wanted to see Max and Warren Go Ape, fun Max and Victoria photodates and to see Max and Kate have one fucking Tea date. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR???

5. Deck Nine are literally just swiping DontNod’s characters for the purposes of chasing that brand recognition. It's just copy pasting lighting in a bottle and milking a cow out of this franchise. BTS was remotely successful because of Chloe and Rachel's relationship. True Colors is fun at first, but realize it's just a hollow imitation of the first game. DONTNOD's story was original, fun and unique. I had problems with it but it was still THEIR story on their terms and not developed from a place of corporate cynicism asking for preorders ASAP that come bundled with a box of tissues and bobbleheads of dead teenagers. Read recent interviews from DONTNOD and you can TELL they got burned by SquareEnix over this. I hope they can channel that into something with Bloom and Rage because I’d love to see them recapture that magic again.

I had fears of what would happen if Deck Nine ever got their hands on Max. And looks like I was right to be worried.

To be clear, I think making stories with someone else’s character is great and cool and it’s literally what fanfiction is and technically, MUCH of mass media now IS “fanfiction”. The difference here is DONTNOD deliberately wanted LIS 1 canon left alone, near as I can tell. But no, Square Enix wanted a franchise and Deck Nine was more than happy to milk the cow for all it was worth and Deck Nine has shown they don't understand DONTNOD's characters

The game looks like it's repeating everything about the first game, but none of the charm that made it great. It's beat for beat the same fucking game. Dead friend, murder mystery, but without the ambiance, charm or magic that made the first game good. Deck Nine is completely unoriginal, DE is a soulless cashgrab and their hyperrealism killed the entire essence of the game and its characters.

It's quite literally a copy and paste of True Colors, but with Max.

And when we just look at this. Double Exposure is just soulless. It's style over substance and I knew. I just KNEW that if Deck Nine got their hands on Max it would be half-assed and soulless shit like this. They dared to slap Max's name on a Steph lookalike and then just do True Colors again, but more hollow.

There's something just so disappointing about the change in art style over the years. The art direction in the first game was charming and now it just feels kinda soulless. The awkward chunkyness of the models really made it stand out but now it feels way too smooth

life is strange going from one studios passion project to another’s cashgrab is one of the biggest modern tragedies in the world deck nine they could never make me like you. All the charm of the franchise from the cartoonish artstyle to the episodical releases has been completely stripped away it’s just very disappointing to see.

This meme is literally Double Exposure.