#code combo break

[treahollow]

I need Mumbo's base to be a playable video game.

Just hear me out on this one...

Undertale/ Omori type graphics. The game starts off in this nice quaint town, you don't know how you got here, but everyone is very nice and welcoming. Everything seems fine and cool, but you soon realise something is wrong. There's this weird Mined organisation, some of the towns people start acting weird. Maybe the game even seems to be glitching at some point, ddlc style.

And so you have to figure out what is going on with this town. What is Mined up to? What is wrong with the townsfolk? Are they hiding something, or are they as clueless as you?

how did you get here in the first place?

And idk you have to like sneak into the factory and the Mined facilities to get answers. Though it only confuses you more as you seem to have been involved in all this, but you don't remember. Where you a victim of Mined's experements that caused you to loose your memory?

Then at the end of the game you go into the supercomputer or something to finally solve the mystery and in doing so, find out that you were the cause of all of this.

You delegated all of these expiriments in order to make a virtual version of the town.

Why?

You we're getting old.

As you grew up the town changed and all you wanted was to go back to the happy memories of when you we're growing up. To when everything was nice and quaint and happy. So you connected everyones consious to this virtual town, including your own and then whiped everyones memories from before. You even made virtual versions of people that had died in the past decades.

Having gotten to the end of the game you are met with a choice: Stay in the simulation that took you year upon years to create, just so you can relive your childhood forever. Or go back to face the real world, despite the problems you're forced to deal with there.

[doom-dreaming]

for the prompts: will you just sit still?

“I need to make sure the kids are okay—” she pants, doing her best to shove aside the pain that spikes through her body as she tries, for the third time, to look over her shoulder.

Also for the third time, Fred sighs. “They’re fine,” he assures, threads of exasperation weaving in at the fringes of his voice. “I can see them. Will you just sit still?”

“Ash took a direct hit from the—”

“Veta.” Huge hands—hastily stripped of their armor and now stained crimson—clamp firmly, but gently, against either side of her face, keeping her anchored. “The kids are fine,” he repeats. Slower. Softer. “Trust me, they’ve been through a lot worse. You can check on them after I get this shrapnel out of you. Stop moving.” A slow second crawls by. She’s reminded—again—how much Fred’s eyes look like the ocean. “...please.”

Her instinct to nod is overridden by the heat radiating from his hands, still pressed tight right below her cheekbones. If this were anyone else, she’d feel threatened. Cornered. She doesn’t.

She breaks the settled silence a few moments after he’s finally released her and resumed his first-aid. “...you called me Veta.”

He doesn’t look up. “Trying to get your attention.”

She hums; a neutral non-answer. His hands had left echoes of warmth behind her jaw—smears of her own blood, too, but amidst the sting of injuries and biofoam, it’s doing her more good to focus on the former. “......you called them kids.”

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

okay so i’ve been watching a lot of smosh content recently and i’m enjoying a lot of their stuff (it’s the starkid to smosh pipeline istg. thank you angela giarratana). and i’m hesitant to call myself a fan yet (mainly because i would love it if they stopped employing a zionist yk) but i will say. baf legacy has been consuming all of my waking thoughts ever since i watched it and i can’t hold it in any longer. i’m so obsessed. need this series pumped through my blood 24/7.

[pueriled]

Useful websites / links for rentry , bundlrs , gfx & etc for you!

symbol sanatorium - Links to a google document with a ton of symbols , kaomojis & text layouts. I use it for pretty much all of my recent rentrys.

sozaino.site - Website that's been making its rounds on rentry as of late, useful for graphic making. Has dividers, pngs, frames ~ etc if you have the creative touch.

sozai-good - site I found recently that has a lot of pngs you can download, also has frames and borders. In japanese but isn't hard to translate. Everything is also sorted into sections.

lottie lab - Website useful for animating, can be used to move around PNGs for rentry and the like. I don't use it much myself atm, but it's pretty easy to get the hang of.

scripted.neocities - Neocities full of code you can use for bundlrs or carrd. Also useful for stuff like spacehey and other sites that use CSS / HTML

blinkies.cafe - Easily make or find blinkies here! Great for beginners who want to make some simple things.

emojicombos - Search practically anything and you'll find an emoji combo for it. Useful for finding symbol / text combos and kaomojis.

unicode character table - Has pretty much every single symbol you've seen or needed. You can find what you want pretty easily due to its sectioning. Has stuff like arrows , dingbats , brackets , etc etc..

yaytext - Make your text 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎! or U͟n͟d͟e͟r͟l͟i͟n͟e͟d͟!͟ easily with this website! May possibly break screenreaders in the process though so be warned.

lorem ipsum generator - Too lazy to generate a block of text to make a page look filled out, well look no longer! This site can quickly generate of block of pure gibberish to make it seem like there's actually text there! Good for newspaper / magazine gfx ~

And that's all ( for now )! I use most of all these sites and find them very useful! Hopefully one of them will prove useful to you too dear friend (❁´◡`❁)

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Piece of you- L.MN

SURPRISE!! Today is a triple special day for me, so let's get started

First of all, it's my babygirl @sweetlifeofjoy 's bday!! Happy birthday, Nari! I hope you have a wonderful day, surrounded by those you love and I wish a lot of happiness 😊 And thanks for making my day a lot funnier whenever we talk... or flirt haha

Now, the second thing I wanna celebrate, it's Minho's debut on this blog yay! I tried to make something very Lee Know coded here, I guess it's giving off his vibes. I hope you all like it

And last but not least, I want to celebrate the 700 of us. I didn't even have time to thank you for 600 so consider that a combo. I am really really grateful for each one of you. Really. You make my little heart very happy 💜🤭

Word count: 1.0k

No warnings

Alexa, play Ink by Coldplay

Minho had been gone less than a day when you found the first note.

It was tucked beneath your toothbrush, folded into a tiny triangle with a doodle on the front— a cat  version of him, with exaggerated pouty lips and two big bright eyes that he asked Hyunjin to sketch. Underneath, in his unmistakable handwriting, it said:

“Miss me yet?”

You laughed, even if your chest ached a little. Opening it, you could listen to his voice in the ink.

“Brush your teeth, sleepyhead. I’m not there to kiss you good morning, but I still expect fresh breath when I call”.

You stood there for a long moment, grinning down at the paper, toothbrush forgotten.

The next one showed up that afternoon, in the hoodie you stole from his wardrobe. You slipped your hand into the front pocket and felt it— another folded piece of paper. This one had small hearts all over it and a simple message:

“Wear this one often. It smells like me. I gave it a final hug before I left. You're welcome”

You giggled, hugging the hoodie tighter.

Minho had always been the quiet type when it came to words, more teasing than tender, but it felt like he had left tiny pieces of himself all over the apartment just to keep you company.

Every day you found a new one. One was taped to the coffee jar:

“Drink water too. No, coffee doesn’t count. Neither does bubble tea. I'm watching you”

Another slid out from between your laptop screen and keyboard:

“Take breaks. Don’t sit there for six hours straight or I will find out”

And then there was the one beneath his favorite mug:

“Play our playlist. Skip the sad ones unless you’re missing me a lot. If you do listen to them, please don’t cry while holding my mug. It’s bad for the aesthetic”.

They were scattered everywhere— beneath your pillow, taped to the ice cream lid in the freezer, inside the pages of your current book. Each one perfectly timed, each one so Minho. 

One, though, made you stop in your tracks and cackle like a hyena. It was taped to the front of the air fryer, written in red ink:

“I SWEAR TO GOD if you break my air fryer while I’m gone, I will haunt you. Not gently. I’m talking about flickering lights and mysterious cat hair in your cereal”

And then, like the cherry on top, a tiny postscript:

“(Miss you though. Please eat something that isn’t chips)”

You shook your head, grinning like an idiot. Only Lee Minho could threaten you with ghostly vengeance and still make your heart flutter.

Another note had been left on the windowsill where the cats loved to take a nap. This one was softer, written with a little paw print doodle in the back:

“Tell Soonie he’s in charge. Doongie gets extra head kisses. And Dori… can’t be trusted, so watch him”

“If they look at you dramatically and cry like they’re starving, remember: they are liars. Do not fall for it. But also… maybe give them a snack anyway”

“If they sit on your lap, don’t you dare move. I don’t care if your leg goes numb. That’s the price of love”

“PS: If you fall asleep with them like that… just know I’m gonna be insanely jealous. But also please take a picture so I can melt over it for five minutes and then pretend I’m not crying in the tour van”

You were crying laughing by the end of that one.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail leading you right back to him, even while he was miles away.

But the note that made you sit down and press a hand to your chest, was under his pillow.

You only found it on the third day. You weren’t even looking, you were just making the bed out of habit, and there it was— thicker than the rest.

You sat on the bed and unfolded it slowly, heart stuttering.

“This one’s for the nights that feel heavy”

“You don’t have to be okay just because I’m not there to see it. I know you’re strong, but I also know you. So cry if you need to. Eat ice cream for dinner. Watch that movie we’ve seen a hundred times”

“Then call me in the morning. I’ll listen to every word. You don’t have to do this alone. You never have to”

By the time Minho called you that night, the notes were lined up across the wall, like a paper mosaic. 

He appeared on your phone screen, hair damp from shower

 “Wow”, he said when he saw the background, “I didn’t think you’d actually keep them”

You rolled your eyes, pulling the hoodie tighter around you. “Shut up, you wrote them! You thought I’d read them and toss them in the trash?”

“I mean, yeah”, he said, “That’s what you do with my texts”

“I react with a heart to them!”

Minho looked at you, inexpressible

“You reacted with a heart to ‘did you eat?’ like it was a love confession”

You bit back a grin, “Wasn’t it?”

He paused, pretending to think, then nodded. “Well, you are right. I’m very romantic”

You laugh softly before confessing, “Damn, I miss you”

“Yeah”, he said, rubbing the towel over his hair, “If I were you, I’d miss me too”.

You let out a loud, theatrical gasp and flopped dramatically back onto the bed like you’d just been betrayed.

“I can’t believe this! I’m dating a menace. An actual menace”

He blinked at the screen, “You’re so dramatic”

“You’re not even pretending to miss me!”

Minho shook his head in disbelief, “You’re wearing my hoodie, laying on my pillow, surrounded by my notes and you’re gonna sit there and act like I don’t miss you?”

You were still pouting

He rolled his eyes

“I miss you so much it's annoying” he said, “Happy now?”

“No! You said it was annoying!”

“Because I’m annoyed at myself, he grumbled, “For being this whipped”

You grinned.

“Say it again”

“No”

“Say it!”

Minho sighed like he felt physical pain

“I miss you”, he muttered, “More than the cats. But don't tell them that”

You melted instantly.

“See?” You are romantic indeed”

He huffed, but his smile lasted— warm, bright and entirely yours.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[wvyik]

signed, sealed, seduced. d.w. ⋆˚࿔

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: she’s high-maintenance, deadly, and doesn’t take shit from anyone; especially not from dean. but when their worlds collide, the hunt becomes personal… and a whole lot more complicated.

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, (i couldn’t help myself) tons of sexual tension, mild explicit content, cursing, dirty jokes, fluff + filth combo, (because why settle for one?), some light violence, a sprinkle of possessiveness, lots of playful banter, reader is so bela talbot coded, frenemies to lovers.

⤿ notes: thank you anon for the request!! im happy to oblige, such an awesome idea btw >ᴗ< think mr. & mrs. smith meets supernatural with just a pinch of unholy sexual frustration.

The first time you ever met Dean Winchester, he tried to shoot you.

In his defense, you had just scammed a warlock out of a cursed amulet that he’d been trying to track for three weeks. In your defense? He was being a little bitch about it.

“You stole it,” he’d growled, all puffed chest and righteous fury.

You’d just smiled, blood-red lipstick flawless, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “I acquired it. Stole is such a blue-collar word.”

He hated you instantly.

They say hate is just the other side of passion. Dean’s starting to believe it. Every time you roll your eyes, every time you sass him, every time you bend over in that tight little pencil skirt that definitely wasn’t accidental— he gets closer to just snapping and pinning you to a wall.

And you know it.

You flirt like it’s war. Batting your lashes just to watch him sweat. Dropping dirty little one-liners that leave him choking on air.

“So serious, Dean. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying not to get hard.”

He whips his head toward you. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh relax,” you hum, leaning your head back against the seat. “I’m not gonna jump you. You’re not my type.”

He scoffs. “Good.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “I like men who at least pretend they don’t want me. It’s more fun when they break.”

You’re a ghost in the hunter world. No last name. No phone number. Just rumors and red lipstick. You’ve sold hex bags to demons and then double-crossed them for hunters. You flirted your way through vampire nests and stole angel blades from under Heaven’s nose. Nobody knows whose side you’re really on.

That’s your whole thing.

Dean hates that it turns him on.

The job takes you to Louisiana. Swamps, heat, and the kind of cursed object no sane hunter touches without gloves, prayers, and a last will and testament.

It’s an old Creole relic. An amulet that traps souls in a loop of violent death. You’ve seen it before. Once. You didn’t walk away clean.

Dean doesn’t ask about it.

You don’t offer.

Instead, you two ride down in the Impala, sniping at each other the whole way. He complains about your luggage (“We’re not staying at the goddamn Ritz!”) and you call his music “sad divorced dad anthems.”

But underneath the sarcasm, something’s shifting. You catch him looking at you longer. Laughing under his breath at your jokes. And when you fall asleep in the car, head resting against the window, he doesn’t say anything. Just glances at you, once, and turns the music down.

The house is cursed, because of course it is. Two people already dead, one missing, and a sulfur trail leading straight to the basement.

You go in first. Dean protests, obviously.

“You’re not bulletproof, you know.”

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Neither are you. But I look better while risking my life.”

He doesn’t argue.

Not out loud, anyway.

Inside, the air is heavy. Thick with bad energy. The kind that sticks to your skin. Dean’s right behind you, flashlight sweeping, gun drawn. You’re holding a small dagger you stole got from a Haitian priest once. Dean always makes fun of it— until it saves both your lives.

Which it does.

Twice.

“You okay?” he breathes after the second time, chest heaving.

You glance at your bleeding shoulder and shrug. “Ruined another blouse. Guess you’ll have to buy me a new one.”

He glares at you, then rips part of his flannel and presses it to the wound. “Stop joking.”

You blink. His hands are warm. His voice is serious. “You could’ve died,” he mutters.

You smile, softer now. “So could you.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. And for once, there’s no banter. No sarcasm.

Just that look.

That goddamn look.

The one you’ve seen flicker in motel rooms and over diner coffee, in the lull between hunts. The one he always hides before it can mean anything.

This time, he doesn’t hide it.

He brushes your hair back, careful of the blood. And you let him.

You defeat the cursed object together; barely. It shatters in a flash of flame and screams, and when it’s over, you’re both on the floor, breathless, singed, bleeding.

You laugh.

Dean groans.

“You’re the worst,” he says.

“I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but stops. Because he’s realizing you might be right.

Next thing you know, the air in the motel room is heavy. You’ve both cleaned up—sort of. You’re in a silk robe now, blood rinsed from your skin but not from your memory. Dean’s wearing an old band tee with a rip near the collar and sweatpants, barefoot, jaw still clenched. He hasn’t looked at you since the kiss.

You don’t know if that’s a good sign.

You sit across from him at the little table between the beds, picking at your nail polish, pretending you’re not waiting for him to say something. Anything.

“You could’ve died today,” he finally mutters.

“You already said that.”

He looks up, eyes sharp. “You didn’t react the first time either.”

You shrug. “I didn’t feel like getting all misty-eyed about it while covered in ghost goo.”

Dean leans forward, elbows on the table, and you swear— his gaze softens. Just for a second.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your stomach flips. Violently.

And now you’re just… staring at him. He’s not looking away. He’s not covering it with sarcasm or barking an insult or making some gruff joke about how everyone dies in this line of work, sweetheart. He’s just sitting there, looking at you like losing you would gut him.

You don’t do emotions. Not like this. Not in daylight. So you smirk, instead. “God, you’re being so clingy.”

Dean chuckles under his breath, but it’s not amused. It’s devastated.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend this doesn’t matter.”

You open your mouth to toss something clever back, but nothing comes. Because it does matter. And you both know it.

So instead, you get up.

Walk over.

Slide into his lap like it’s nothing.

But it’s everything.

His hands automatically grip your hips. His breath catches.

And you whisper, “I don’t want to lose you either.”

It’s the softest he’s ever seen you. And he looks at you like he’s memorizing it — like this might be the only time he gets to see you with your guard down.

Then he presses his forehead to yours. You sit there for a long time, just breathing each other in. Not kissing. Not speaking. Just holding.

The line between friends and lovers? It’s already blurred. Hell, it’s obliterated.

You slide your hand up the back of his neck. His breath hitches. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I’m not gonna run anymore,” you whisper. “So stop looking at me like I’m gonna disappear.”

Dean exhales shakily.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat. His hands grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. You sink into him like he’s home.

It’s not neat. It’s not soft.

It’s messy.

Years of denial crash in one second— teeth, tongues, groans swallowed into skin. You push him back further against the mattress and climb over him, still straddling his lap, your hands yanking at his shirt like you’ve waited lifetimes to touch him without consequence.

Dean flips you, presses you into the mattress, mouth hot on your neck.

“Should’ve done this the second I met you,” he mutters into your skin, voice wrecked.

“You were too busy pretending I annoyed you.”

“You did annoy me.” He grins against your collarbone. “Still do.”

You moan when his hands slide under your robe. “Shut up and take it off.”

Dean’s hands are on you; rough, urgent. His fingers digging into your waist, your body pressed flush against his. His breath is ragged, hot on your neck. You’re both trembling, not from the cold but from something deeper, more raw.

You gasp as his lips meet yours again, his mouth is hard against yours, like he’s trying to consume you. And you’re not exactly pulling away either.

Your hands are on his chest, pushing his shirt off, nails scraping against his skin, making him groan low and deep in his throat.

“You sure about this?” he growls, his hands sliding up your thighs, his grip firm and possessive. His lips move down your neck, kissing and biting, and you can’t stop the shiver that races through you.

“I’ve been sure since the first time I laid eyes on you, Winchester,” you breathe out, your voice shaky but bold. The words feel like they’ve been building up for months, desperate to spill out.

Dean’s hands slide lower, just shy of where you need him. “Yeah? Then why’d you keep running from me?”

You’re not sure if it’s the heat, the pressure, or the way he looks at you with that fire in his eyes, but you snap, your patience snapping like a rubber band. You rip his belt off, hands shaking but determined.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this too,” you snap, before kissing him hard again, all teeth and tongue, pushing your body against his, aligning the two of you in one swift motion.

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, a low growl escaping his lips as he finally lets you have control. His hands are on your hips, guiding you, the pressure between your legs sending an electrifying jolt through your entire body.

The world outside the room disappears. There’s nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the slick slide of skin on skin, and the rhythm you’re both setting— raw, frantic, desperate.

His voice breaks as he pulls you closer, his lips pressing against your ear. “God, you feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”

You don’t hold back. The tension, the need, it’s been bubbling beneath the surface, and now, it’s exploding. You move against him, your body finding its rhythm with his, chasing that overwhelming heat, that burn that has nothing to do with the hunt, with monsters. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in sheets, no masks, no pretenses.

Dean groans as you shift, his hands gripping your hips tighter. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Should’ve had you like this from the start.”

You smile, teeth grazing his jawline as you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your breath uneven. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

“You feel so good,” he mutters between kisses. “Damn, you feel better than I imagined.” His voice is low, strained, the heat in his tone like fire. “Always knew this was gonna happen… didn’t realize it’d be this fucking good.”

Your movements become faster, rougher, and Dean matches you, his hands gripping your hips harder as he takes control of the rhythm. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, the soft, breathy moans you both can’t hold back, fill the room. And you can feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that sends a wild thrill straight through your core.

His name is a whisper on your lips as you both fall into it. That final, explosive moment when you can’t tell where you begin and he ends. It’s pure, intense, all-consuming.

And when you both finally collapse into the bed, gasping for air, sweaty and wrecked, there’s no question.

You’re not just two people sharing a night anymore.

You’re tangled up in something deeper.

Something that’s not going to fade in the morning.

After, you’re tangled in the sheets, your head on his chest, his hand lazily tracing patterns across your bare back.

“You’re mine now, huh?” he murmurs, voice all husky and smug and soft.

You hum. “I was starting to think you’d never ask...”

Dean kisses the top of your head. “We’re really doing this?”

You look up at him. “Yeah. We are.”

Dean’s face breaks into a grin, clearly amused, but his eyes flicker with that intense, familiar heat. “You sure you’re ready for all this, sweetheart?” He motions to himself dramatically. “I’m a lot.”

You pause, staring at him, before letting out a mock gasp. “Oh no. Does that mean I’m gonna have to be the one saving you next time?”

Dean laughs, the sound rich and full of life. “Baby, the only thing you’ll be saving is my dignity— if there’s any left after last night.. And maybe if you get lucky a few monsters along the way.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” You give him a wink, running your fingers through his hair. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you out of trouble, huh?”

Dean leans in, catching your lips in a kiss that’s lighter than before but still packed with that unmistakable Dean Winchester intensity. “You’re my trouble now, sweetheart.”

And for the first time, it feels like everything’s exactly as it should be.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @riteofpassage77 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[artanogon]

the real question is dpdr or did . and who

giving your favorite character a dissociative disorder is free and easy

[sirenofthepacific]

But Siren... what do I do when the 3D shows me the opposite?

So you have a desire, you affirmed, visualized, did any technique that made you feel fulfilled on the inside, but is the damn 3d showing you the opposite? What should you do?

You don't flinch. You crack your knuckles, roll your sleeves back, maybe stretch your neck a little.

You smirk. Because this? This is the moment you’ve been training for. The glitch, the mess, the tension in the story—this is where your power shows up. This is your entrance cue.

You're not being punished. You're being set up.

This is my example, when my code throws an error, I don’t panic. I crack my knuckles, squint at the logs like I’m reading someone’s lies, and say, "Not on my watch."

I debug that mess like a queen restoring her palace line by line, breaking curses and rewriting fate. And when it runs? Oh honey, it's not just code. It's proof that I bend logic to my will.

Imagine you're playing your favorite video game. You’ve made it through every level, every mini-boss, every ridiculous side quest. And now—you’re standing in front of the final boss. It's massive, dramatic, probably has five health bars and a glowing sword the size of a car. The odds don’t look cute. You take a few hits. You might even drop to 10% health. But do you cry? Panic? Throw the controller?

Absolutely not.

Because deep down, something in you clicks. You're not scared, you're activated. You weren't built to breeze through. You were built to rise in spite of it. So you dodge, you strike, you time that perfect combo. And suddenly, you're not the underdog, you're the main event. Every move you make is electric. Every scar is a flex. You feel yourself leveling up mid-battle.

And when that boss finally crashes to the floor, dramatic music blaring, the victory screen glowing?

Oh honey, you didn't just win. You made the credits roll with your name in gold.

Or think of a room. Clothes everywhere, books off the shelf, sunlight trying to peek through dusty curtains. It looks like a mess—but that’s just the moment before the makeover. You know what’s coming. That aesthetic, glowing, peace-filled version of the space. You always knew.

So when the 3D throws shade, you don't break. You light up.

Because you're about to knock yourself out with how powerful you are.

[kayewrite]

Leave Before You Love Me

Minho x reader!! Leeknow x reader!! genre; fluff, angst. word count:6.8k

summary; "Two hearts met at the wrong time, but maybe—just maybe—the wrong beginning could lead to the right kind of love." 💔➡️❤️ an: i think.. im back? huhu. hi guys please enjoy this fic! ill make it up to you guys ill update. i hope you like this

I was always faithful.

Faithful to my long-term girlfriend.

I loved seeing her wake up beside me.

I loved how her eyes fluttered open slowly, how her lashes brushed her cheeks, and how she smiled half-asleep the moment she saw me watching.

I loved how she giggled when she ate her ice cream, always with that little crinkle in her nose.

How her eyes lit up like fairy lights whenever I surprised her.

How she looked funny, cute, and stunningly beautiful all at once—especially when I took stolen shots of her. She hated them. But I loved them. I loved her.

I loved how her hair smelled like home.

I loved when she cooked me my favorite dish, even after a long day.

I loved how she immediately hugged the stuffed toys I gave her like they were her most prized treasures.

How she teared up when I gave her flowers like it was the first bouquet she ever received.

How she kissed me with pure joy and whispered, "I missed you," every time I came home from work trips.

How she cried and hugged me tight like I was the only one she could hold on to.

I loved her.

Her touch.

Her kisses.

Her voice.

I loved her so much that I could picture us sitting on a porch at ninety—wrinkled, slow, but still hand in hand. Kids calling us Mommy and Daddy. A lifetime of shared mornings and sleepy goodnights.

I loved her so much that I’d give her the world, without hesitation.

I was sure of it.

Really…

Really?

I love her so much…

But then… why am I feeling this way?

I love her so much—I’m confident in it.

But why, when I see her smile… does my heart flutter in a way it shouldn't?

I love my girlfriend. I do. But why do I find myself hoping that the smile of that girl with the yellow top never fades?

Why does it hurt seeing her cry silently after getting scolded by our boss, even though she tries so hard not to show it?

Why…?

Just why?

Maybe… maybe I only feel sad for her. She told me her life’s been hard. No parents. No one to go home to. Maybe I just pity her.

Yes. Maybe she just needs someone. Maybe she’s like a sister to me.

Right?

Right.

Of course.

I love my girlfriend so much that when summer break in our company starts, I’ll finally take her on that trip. I’ll kneel, open the little box, and propose like I’ve always planned. Like I should.

I was about to smash the printer when all the papers came out blank. Again.

Like seriously—why do printers break only when you're in a rush?

“Woah! Don’t do that to Mr. Grr!”

I froze, caught off guard by the familiar voice of Y/N, my co-worker.

“You call it what?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused.

“Mr. Grr,” she repeated without blinking. “And you shouldn’t hit him. He gets worse when he’s scared.”

She took the paper from my hands like she was a printer whisperer, tapping the buttons gently and patting it like it was a crying baby.

“Mr. Grr, not now please. We’re all stressed. Just do your thing, okay?” she mumbled, still gently coaxing it.

I couldn’t help but stare. “Gentle parenting doesn’t work on machines,” I muttered, half-laughing.

But she didn’t even hear me—she was too focused.

“I promise! This worked last time!” She tapped it again, pressing a different combo of buttons, like she was entering a cheat code for patience.

Still… nothing. The printer continued to spit out blank sheets like a passive-aggressive ghost.

I sighed, frustrated, about to raise my fist—

—and she beat me to it.

“YOU USELESS PIECE OF—” she kicked it. Then again. And again.

I should’ve stopped her. I really should’ve.

But all I could do was laugh. Laugh like an idiot.

Because it was so her.

Unpredictable.

Passionate.

Weird.

And when the manager started walking over, already frowning, I stepped in without thinking.

I grabbed her hand gently. “Hey, hey. Calm down,” I said, still laughing.

She looked at me, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. And suddenly it was too quiet.

Too soft.

Mr. Grr, huh?

It was lunchtime.

As usual, if you’re an employed person—even if you're starving—you can’t fully enjoy your food. Your mind stays glued to deadlines and unfinished reports. Even if the food tastes good, your body just… doesn’t digest it well.

I was about to call Kim-- my girlfriends, and tell her I’d be doing overtime again because of the mountain of work. But she didn’t answer her phone. I understood. She was a virtual assistant—she had her own deadlines to fight.

I missed her.

We only saw each other twice a week now—every weekend because she works in another city.

Our apartment felt emptier without her.

I took a bite of my braised pork and lazily looked around the cafeteria. That’s when I saw something at the counter.

Her.

Y/N. Again.

Why do I keep seeing her everywhere lately?

"I'm really sorry! I tripped!"

A flustered employee bent down, trying to help wipe Y/N’s now-stained uniform.

A lot of food had splashed onto her. The floor was a mess. People were scrambling to help clean up while others just stood awkwardly watching.

But what caught me wasn’t the mess.

It was her expression.

No anger. No disgust. Not even a frustrated sigh.

She just stood there—shocked, maybe—but then took a napkin from her tray and simply said, “It’s okay.”

And smiled.

If it were me, I’d understand the employee too. Maybe they were tired. Stressed. We all have off days.

But I didn’t expect her to be that calm. Most people—especially girls with nice clothes—would’ve at least frowned or snapped.

She left her tray on the table and quietly walked away, probably heading to the nearest restroom.

I shrugged and continued eating.

She’s fine.

She can handle herself.

Everything has a solution.

Right?

I waited outside the nearest restroom.

Leaning against the wall, jacket in hand, I checked my watch.

Only five minutes left in my break.

I kept glancing toward the women’s restroom, only to awkwardly look away whenever someone came out. I must’ve looked suspicious, standing here like some confused mannequin.

Where was she?

She never came back to her seat. The food on her tray was left untouched. That’s why I brought this jacket.

Wait… what am I even doing?

What are you doing?

I blinked at the realization.

Why did I even care that she didn’t come back?

Why was I picturing her silently crying in a cubicle, trying to wash off stains that wouldn’t come out?

I turned, ready to walk away.

I’m just helping her because I’m a good guy. Yes. That’s it.

I’m concerned.

Any friend would be.

Other co-workers probably worried about her too.

So it’s fine. I’m just… thoughtful.

Stop overthinking. Not everything has to mean something.

I checked my watch again. Still waiting.

And then—finally—she came out.

Her uniform was a little damp, her hair slightly messy.

“Oh! Mr. Lee?” she blinked in surprise when she saw me. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I saw what happened earlier. Thought maybe you needed help,” I said, stumbling a bit over my words. Why was I nervous?

“Ah, yes. Haha…” she let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Thanks for the concern. I actually found a solution.”

She glanced down at her shirt.

“I washed it in the sink and stood under the hand dryer for like ten minutes. It’s not fully dry, but it’ll do.”

Of course she figured it out.

Of course she handled it herself.

“Well, that’s good,” I said, looking at the jacket in my hand. It wasn’t needed anymore.

“I guess I’ll head back to work now.”

“Okay. Thank you again,” she said, smiling.

“…Your food is cold now.”

That slipped out before I could stop it.

I turned and walked away.

“Thanks again!” she called out from behind.

We had an emergency meeting this afternoon.

It was serious. Heavy. Like we were all standing on the edge of a cliff.

The manager stood at the front, arms crossed, his usual light tone replaced by pressure. "Our company’s performance has dropped significantly this quarter,” he started. “If this keeps up, the next step is downsizing. We need ideas—concrete ones. What can we improve? Streamline? Cut back on?"

Silence.

The room was stiff. You could feel the tension in the air as everyone exchanged glances. No one wanted to speak first.

I cleared my throat and slowly raised my hand. “Well, I’ve been checking our logistics reports… and I think we’ve been spending way too much on outsourced tech services that we can actually handle in-house if we just retrain some of our own staff. It’ll cost less long-term, and we already have the talent.”

There were murmurs. A few people nodded. The manager raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s… a very valid point, Mr. Lee. Retraining instead of outsourcing could cut costs and boost productivity. Noted.”

I nodded and sat back down, feeling that slight burn of attention. But just before I could fully relax, I caught her eyes.

Y/N.

Sitting right across from me.

She had her pen poised over her tablet, her eyes laser-focused like she was calculating something. Then, she blinked and looked away, fixing her gaze on the monitor. Was she thinking about what I said?

The next speaker was called. I tried to listen.

Then came her name.

I thought she'd just stand up and share some points verbally like the rest of us, but to my surprise—she stood, walked to the front, and connected her tablet to the monitor.

Wait… she made a presentation? Just like that? How?

And then she started talking.

She outlined all the ideas discussed—mine included—but added layers to them. More logic. More context. She tied them together into a cohesive plan, all while speaking with such quiet confidence that even our manager stopped frowning.

I’d known she was smart.

But I didn’t know she was… this.

Maybe I never really paid enough attention.

But now I couldn’t stop.

After the meeting, everyone looked… lighter. Like that tight knot in our throats had finally been untangled. We’d done something good. Maybe, just maybe, we bought the company some time.

I packed my things and sent Kim a quick message:

“Finished work early tonight. Hope you’re doing okay. Get some rest.”

Then I joined the others by the elevator.

"You wanna come with us, Mr. Lee?" Chan asked. “We’re going for a drink—just to celebrate not crashing and burning today.”

“Maybe next time,” I smiled politely. “I just wanna sleep right now.”

"Can I go with you guys?"

We turned around.

It was her.

Y/N. Still full of life, like she hadn’t just gone through a draining day.

“Of course, come on,” said Mr. Han cheerfully.

I sighed quietly. I really didn’t want to go. I hated hangovers.

“You should join us, Mr. Lee,” she said, turning to me with a small smile. “Little wins should still be celebrated.”

“He’s tired,” Chan answered for me, smiling knowingly.

I don’t know how I ended up here.

A round table filled with hot soup, sizzling grilled meat, and coworkers laughing too loud. Juniors passed around shot glasses like it was tradition. Someone cranked up a K-pop song in the background.

Maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt.

But this girl beside me?

She clearly didn’t stop at just one.

“Stop drinking already!” Jisung nudged Y/N’s glass away.

“What are you, my boyfriend?” she slurred, laughing as she tried to pour herself another shot. “Why would I listen to youuu?”

“Because we’re concerned! Jeez!”

The others laughed, shaking their heads.

I looked at her.

Cheeks flushed. Hair a little messy from moving too much. Eyes gleaming under the dim lights.

She was loud and chaotic and real.

The kind of person you couldn’t ignore, even when you tried.

Then she turned to me.

"You were cool today, Mr. Lee," she said casually, almost like it didn’t mean much.

But her eyes were warm. Steady. "Like… really. The way you spoke earlier during the meeting? I don’t know, it was… I guess I never really noticed how sharp you are when you’re focused."

I blinked.

I’ve heard compliments before. I know I do my job well. I’ve been praised by higher-ups. Kim always tells me I’m smart and capable.

But for some reason… Hearing it from her felt different.

It didn’t just land in my ears. It hit me.

Right in the middle of my chest.

Like something warm I wasn’t ready to feel.

I looked away for a second.

And I smiled. Softly.

“…Thanks,” I said.

And in that exact moment…

I felt something I shouldn't.

Morning came. I arrived at the office earlier than usual. My coworkers trickled in looking like zombies—sleep-deprived and dragging themselves through the door like they had no choice but to exist. Which, honestly, they didn’t.

I buried myself in emails and paperwork, trying to focus, when the door opened.

Y/N walked in.

Late.

Not drastically, but still late.

…Wait. I noticed that?

She looked wrecked. Probably from last night—Mr. Han had to make sure she got home safely because she drank way too much. Her face said it all: puffy eyes, tired gaze, the kind of look that screams “please not today.”

I almost chuckled to myself.

Days passed. Life moved. Work piled up. But lately—no matter how much I buried myself in tasks—I noticed something else piling up too.

My awareness of her.

I caught myself glancing whenever she shifted in her seat, whenever she stood up to make coffee, even when she went to the balcony just to breathe. It's not like I was trying to notice her—it just happened. Like some involuntary reflex I couldn’t control.

And the way I looked at her…

It reminded me of how I used to look at my girlfriend. Back when everything between us was fresh. Back when just watching her do nothing felt like a privilege.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I needed to fix myself.

Maybe a strong, bitter coffee would snap me out of it.

I stood up and headed to the pantry.

“Make me one too, please,” Mr. Chan said as I passed by.

I nodded, barely listening.

I mean—Y/N is beautiful. But so are a lot of people here. And it never bothered me before.

This… this was different. And I hated that I couldn’t explain why.

I needed Kim.

She always made things feel clear.

I pulled out my phone and called her.

“Hello, babe?”

Her voice was soft and familiar. I instantly smiled. Just hearing her calmed the noise in my head.

We talked for a short while. She told me about her day, reminded me to rest, and said she missed me. I wanted to say more—but I kept it short. I felt… guilty. For reasons I couldn’t even explain.

Like I had done something wrong even though I hadn’t.

Like I was standing too close to a line I didn’t intend to cross.

What am I even doing?

Maybe I was just stressed.

Work can twist your thoughts, right?

When we ended the call, I stood there, hand on the coffee machine, zoned out completely. The machine beeped.

“Your coffee’s ready.”

I blinked.

Right. Mr. Chan’s coffee.

“Is that for Mr. Chan?” a voice said beside me.

I turned. Of course, it was her.

Y/N.

I gave a small nod, pretending I didn’t care. Pretending I didn’t notice her hair still a little messy or how tired she looked but still managed to smile.

“Well, guess I won’t make him one anymore,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Took you too long.”

I almost smiled. That impatient dumb.

“I think I’ll go now,” I said flatly, picking up the cup.

“Wait—can I ask you something?” she said, stopping me.

I paused.

“I know this is probably dumb,” she continued, shifting awkwardly, “but… the boss just called me into his office. He wants me to attend a seminar in the next city. He said I could bring someone along. I know you’ll probably say no but… still. I wanted to ask anyway.”

I stared at her.

I should say no.

I should tell her to ask Mr. Chan instead.

But that city… it’s where Kim is.

Maybe I could visit her too.

“…I’ll think about it.”

Lie.

I wouldn’t.

The office was quiet. Too quiet, actually. The only sound that filled the space was the rhythmic tapping of keyboards and the occasional sigh from someone trying not to lose their mind.

Everyone was buried in deadlines. Eyes glued to screens. Coffee mugs half full—or half empty, depending on how their day was going.

I was deep into my task… until I hit a wall.

Of course I would. Because the next step of my work relied on Y/N’s output. Her report. Her data.

I leaned back in my chair and let out a quiet breath.

Why does it have to be her part that I need?

I stood up and walked over to her cubicle. She looked focused, her pen tapping against the desk while her eyes darted between tabs.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice low.

She turned and blinked. “Oh—yes?”

“I’m stuck. I need your report to move forward with mine.”

“Oh shoot—yes, I just finished the outline but not the graphs. Wait, I’ll show you.” She shuffled to the side and gestured to the seat next to her.

I sat down beside her, leaning slightly to see her monitor. She clicked through a few windows, and as I leaned closer, a soft scent hit me.

Her shampoo.

It smelled like something floral. Clean. Calming. Not too strong, but… noticeable.

I almost forgot what I came here for.

Focus. Work. You’re here for work.

She pulled up a chart. “See, I just need to match these values to the quarterly format, but it’s already linked to your file. I didn’t want to mess with your part.”

“We can fix it together,” I said, pointing to a row. “If you duplicate this logic and apply it here—”

She finished the thought with a click. “—then it connects to your formula. Got it.”

I looked at her. “You’re quick.”

She smiled. “You’re easy to work with.”

…Great. Now my brain had officially melted.

Later, during lunch.

I sat alone at my usual spot in the cafeteria, pushing the food around my plate again like a child who didn’t want to eat vegetables. The rice was warm, the meat was tender—but my appetite was missing.

Again.

I picked up my fork and forced a bite. It tasted fine. Just fine.

I sighed, glancing toward the counter where employees lined up for food.

That’s when I saw her.

Y/N.

She was laughing softly with someone.

Standing beside her was Seungmin, the new junior hire. Fresh-faced, eager, and frankly too charming for his own good.

She was assigned to guide him. Of course. Introduce him around, help him settle in. Probably explain all the chaotic systems we never bothered to document.

Still… watching her there—standing next to someone else, someone younger, someone smiling back at her like he had all the time in the world—something twisted in my chest.

Why does it feel like this?

Like something dull and uninvited had made its home just beneath my ribs.

They grabbed their trays and found a seat together.

She’s just doing her job, I reminded myself.

Still… it didn’t stop the way my appetite completely vanished.

--

I found myself back at the printer again.

Same spot. Same machine.

This time, I was hoping it wouldn’t decide to ruin my life the moment I needed it most. I pressed the buttons, fed the documents, and braced myself for the worst—

Whirrrrr. Print. Slide. Whirrr. Print.

Huh.

The papers slid out smoothly, one by one, like the machine suddenly decided to be a good citizen of the office world. No jams. No blinking red lights. No threatening to catch fire.

Just… printing. Like a normal, well-behaved machine.

I blinked at it.

“Wow,” I muttered, genuinely impressed. “You work now?”

I waited for the last page to drop into the tray, then reached out and gave the side of the printer a light pat.

“Good job, Mr. Grr.”

I didn’t even realize I said it until the words left my mouth. I paused, lips pressing into a line.

Mr. Grr.

That nickname.

The memory flashed in my mind: Y/N tapping the printer, whispering to it like a child calming down a tantrum. That stubborn look in her eyes. Her laugh when it still refused to work. The way she lost it and kicked it before the manager almost scolded her.

That day was chaotic.

I smirked a little to myself and shook my head.

“Don’t get used to the compliments,” I muttered to the printer. “You still suck 99% of the time.”

But I picked up my papers with less frustration than usual.

Maybe Mr. Grr just needed a little belief. Or maybe he worked better when he remembered her hands tapping gently on his side.

Or maybe I was just too tired and giving personality to a piece of plastic.

Either way, I walked back to my desk—printer papers in hand, and a tiny smile on my face I didn’t bother explaining.

I was already halfway back to my desk, papers in hand, when I heard a voice behind me:

“Did you just say Mr. Grr?”

I froze.

That voice.

I didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

I slowly glanced over my shoulder.

Y/N was standing near the printer, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised and the most obnoxiously smug smile playing on her lips.

She heard me.

“I—I didn’t,” I said, too fast. Way too fast. “You’re hearing things.”

She walked closer, casually leaned against the desk beside mine, and tilted her head. “So now I’m hallucinating nicknames for printers?”

“I mean… maybe you’re just stressed.”

“You patted it.” She pointed at my hand. “Like it was a living, breathing thing.”

“I was—thanking it. That’s different.”

“Ohhh, thanking Mr. Grr, huh?” she grinned, clearly enjoying this too much. “Interesting. I thought you said gentle parenting never works here?”

I groaned and rubbed my face, trying to hide the fact that I was smiling. “Are you seriously going to bring that back?”

“Are you seriously calling the printer the same name you laughed at me for?”

“…Okay. Fine. Maybe I said it. Once. Out of instinct. Happy?”

She chuckled, and for some reason that little sound made my chest tighten slightly.

“You’re lucky Mr. Grr worked this time,” she said, walking past me. “Or else I would’ve kicked him again. With heels.”

“I think that’s why he listened,” I called after her, watching her head shake as she laughed on her way back to her cubicle.

My smirk lingered even after she disappeared from view.

Mr. Grr, huh.

Guess the name’s grown on me, too.

--

It’s been three days since I last got a full reply from Kim. I tried messaging her again this morning, but it was left on read. She’s probably busy. I mean, she is a virtual assistant—always juggling clients and shifting schedules. That’s what I keep telling myself.

So I didn’t mind it.

Or at least… I tried not to.

I didn’t tell her I’d be in her city next week either. Thought it’d be a nice surprise. Maybe it would fix whatever this strange distance is between us. I already agreed to join the seminar anyway. I told myself it was the perfect opportunity—to support the company, and at the same time… see her. Just like old times.

The office was quiet again—our usual afternoon rhythm. Everyone was focused, typing intensely on their keyboards. The silence was only interrupted by the occasional mouse click or cough from across the room.

I was reviewing a document and preparing it for submission when I got stuck again. I needed a set of numbers from Y/N’s report—the final piece before I could send mine out. I sighed and stood from my chair, walking over to her cubicle.

She was typing quickly, brows slightly furrowed. “Hey,” I said, leaning down a bit to peek at her screen.

That’s when I smelled her shampoo. Clean. Subtle. Like freshly cut apples and a little vanilla.

Focus.

She glanced at me and blinked, “Oh, you need the numbers from this morning, right?”

I nodded, and without hesitation, she scooted slightly to the side and tilted her monitor toward me. We went through the spreadsheet together—quietly, efficiently—and before I knew it, we finished the task faster than I expected. We made a good team.

Again.

--

Back in the office, I forced myself to focus on my screen when I heard it.

The manager’s voice, louder than usual, cutting through the quiet.

“Mr. Seungmin! This file was not supposed to be sent out like this! Did you even review it?”

Everyone subtly turned their heads, pretending to work but clearly listening.

Y/N stood up without hesitation.

“Sir, I asked him to handle that. I should’ve reviewed it before submission—it was a misstep on both ends.”

Her voice was firm. Steady.

She then looked at Seungmin and gently patted his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’ll get better. Just keep learning.”

He thanked her quietly, head low.

And I?

I clenched my jaw.

He did mess up. He’s done it several times. Why is no one pointing that out?

But before I could say anything, she spoke again, as if she already anticipated what I was thinking.

“He’s still new,” she added. “Everyone needs someone to believe in them when they’re starting out.”

She didn’t say it with pride.

She said it with warmth.

I sat back in my chair and stared at my screen.

For some reason, her words echoed louder than they should have.

-

The seminar hall was packed with professionals from different firms, all seated neatly in rows, facing the wide stage. I adjusted my blazer and took my seat near the aisle, glancing around casually until—

My heart skipped.

There she was.

Y/N, walking in.

Wearing a dress that flowed just past her knees, simple but elegant. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t loud—but it was her. And somehow, it caught me off guard. She’s always been beautiful, I’ve always known that… but this—this felt different.

New.

She caught my gaze and smiled briefly before taking the seat beside me. We said nothing at first, just a quiet exchange of breath and glances as the opening remarks began.

Throughout the seminar, we sat side by side, listening, nodding, jotting things down on our pads. Every now and then, she leaned a little closer to whisper something about the speaker, or a slide that flashed too fast. I responded with a smirk or a soft reply, careful not to let my voice carry. We weren't even saying anything important. But the way her shoulder brushed mine every time she leaned in—it was enough to keep my thoughts distracted.

Too distracted.

—

It was already dusk when the seminar ended. The crowd slowly spilled out of the building, some chatting, others already planning their evening dinners.

Y/N and I stepped outside. The air was humid, and she was quiet beside me. I noticed her slowing down.

“Hey,” I asked, concerned. “You okay?”

She stopped walking. “I just… got a little dizzy. Maybe the room was too stuffy.”

Without hesitation, I steadied her arm. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

She didn’t argue.

I walked beside her, steady and slow, keeping a hand just behind her back, just in case. She leaned on me slightly—not too much, just enough to make me feel the weight of her trust. My mind ran faster than my footsteps.

I didn’t plan for this.

I didn’t expect this.

We reached the hotel entrance, and I guided her through the lobby, toward the elevator. She looked pale, but she still tried to smile. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” I said, firmer than I meant to.

The elevator dinged. We stepped in.

Just a few more steps to her room.

But just as we rounded the corner of her hallway—

“…Babe?”

I froze.

That voice.

I turned around, and there she was.

Kim.

Standing a few doors down, her arms holding a coffee tray and some files, clearly not expecting to see this.

She looked at me.

Then at Y/N.

Then at the way I was holding Y/N’s arm gently, protectively.

Silence.

Too long of a silence.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Y/N stood up a little straighter, her hand subtly slipping away from mine.

And just like that—

The hallway felt heavier than any seminar room we had just left.

“Kim—wait!” I called out, but her figure had already turned the corner.

She was running.

And so I did too.

“Kim, please, it’s not what you think! I swear!” My voice echoed down the hallway.

But she didn’t stop.

She didn’t even turn back.

I chased after her out of instinct, out of desperation, but I never caught up. She was gone before I could explain… before I could even process how everything flipped in seconds.

I stood outside the hotel alone, breath uneven. All I could do was whisper a weak, “I’m sorry,” to the night air. But no one heard it. Not even her.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t.

I stared at the ceiling of my room, tossing and turning, hearing the echo of her footsteps in my head, the way her eyes clouded with hurt, the disbelief on her face. I told myself over and over again that it didn’t mean anything. That what I felt for Y/N was just—just confusion. Work stress. Proximity. Something meaningless.

And if it wasn’t meaningless?

It should be.

I have a girlfriend.

Or at least—I did.

I had to make things right.

Morning came heavy and unforgiving. My body wanted to shut down, but my mind was already set. When the rest of the team checked out and headed back to the office, I stayed behind.

I told them I had something personal to handle.

And I did.

I passed by a flower shop on the way. I picked out her favorite roses—white with soft pink edges, the kind she once mentioned liking when we passed by a garden, back when things were still simple.

I held them tightly, determined, as I approached her apartment building.

Maybe she wouldn’t forgive me right away. Maybe she’d shout, or cry, or not even open the door.

But I had to try.

I just wanted her to know I chose her.

I reached her door—and it was already slightly open.

“Kim?” I called gently, pushing it a bit.

What I saw stopped me in place.

She was there. —with someone else.

My friend.

And before they even noticed me standing frozen at the door, I heard their voices—clearly, painfully.

“Yes… I saw him cheating on me!” Kim said, her voice breaking.

“But you cheated too,” the man said, his hand on her back. “You’re both just… cheating with different people.”

Kim covered her face and sobbed. “I don’t know… I just—It hurts. I know I’ll hurt him if he ever sees me like this. But it also hurt me so much… to see him with her.”

“Then why did you do this?” he asked softly.

Kim was quiet. Then, almost whispering:

“Because he never had time for me. I have needs too, you know…”

And just like that, she leaned forward and kissed him.

That was the moment she finally saw me.

She pulled away from the kiss and froze. Her eyes widened in horror.

I was just standing there—roses still in my hand, heart now shattered on the floor.

I didn’t say a word. Couldn’t.

Because yes, maybe I cheated… mentally. Maybe thinking about Y/N too often was already a betrayal. But I fought it. I tried. I stayed. I loved Kim through all the chaos in my mind.

I didn’t cross that line.

But what I just witnessed… was different.

That wasn’t a feeling.

That was a choice.

I didn’t even know when my legs started moving. Only that they did. I turned, and I ran.

Ran from the sight. Ran from the pain. Ran from everything.

A few days passed. Kim’s messages came in like small aftershocks. At first, there were questions. Then, accusations. Then silence.

Until the last one finally came:

“Fine! I cheated! I’m tired of fixing this relationship.”

I stared at the screen for a long time.

I waited for more. For something softer to follow. But nothing came.

She gave up. Just like that.

Maybe she was already tired way before I realized it. Or maybe I just gave her too many reasons to be.

But me? I didn’t stop.

I worked nonstop.

Didn’t even notice how many hours passed—didn’t care either. I skipped breaks. Skipped meals. Skipped feeling.

Maybe that’s what a broken heart does. It doesn’t scream, it doesn’t cry. It just… turns you quiet.

Colleagues were starting to worry. I’d hear them whisper sometimes.

“He’s still here?” “It’s almost 10PM…” “Did he even eat lunch?”

But I just kept working. It was easier. Easier to drown in reports and deadlines than to sit with my thoughts. Easier to feel the weight of stress than the weight of what I lost.

So I stayed late. Again. And again. Sometimes, I’d be the last one to turn off the office lights. Sometimes, I wished I didn’t have to turn them off at all.

I guess this is what pain and guilt does—it doesn’t always hurt like knives… sometimes it numbs you so deeply, even exhaustion loses its meaning.

I was tired.

But even that… I couldn’t feel anymore.

I was just here.

Working.

Breathing.

Trying.

Because if I stopped… if I slowed down for even one second, I knew I’d remember everything.

And I wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

One morning, as I scrolled through a dull chain of emails, a cup of coffee slid silently across my table.

I looked up.

Y/N.

She gave me a soft smile, hesitant, almost like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to still be kind to me.

“Thanks,” I said, voice quieter than I intended.

She nodded and walked away.

I needed air. The kind that didn’t taste like burnt coffee and broken expectations.

I went to the office balcony.

The cold breeze slapped my face—finally, something I could feel.

“Hey,” a voice spoke gently from behind.

Y/N.

She stood beside me, eyes searching mine.

“I… I feel guilty,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I hadn’t gotten dizzy that day… if I hadn’t needed your help, maybe you two wouldn’t have…”

Her voice trailed off.

I exhaled. “It’s okay.”

I didn’t say more.

Because how do you say, “It’s okay because I found out she was already sleeping with someone else”?

“I messaged her,” she added, voice trembling. “Tried to explain that it wasn’t what she thought. That you were just helping me… but she blocked me.”

Of course she did. Why would Kim want truth now?

“I’ll go talk to her,” Y/N insisted, eyes pleading. “She has to know. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll make her understand.”

“Don’t,” I said, finally turning to look at her.

Her brows furrowed. “Why not?”

I stared at the horizon.

“Because there’s nothing left to save.”

Her lips parted, confused. “What do you mean?”

I forced a breath. The truth sat like a stone in my throat. Heavy. Sharp.

“She cheated,” I said. “And not just with anyone. With my friend. And I also did..”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “No… no, you didn’t—”

“We did.” My voice was calm. Too calm. That kind of numb calm that only happens when you’ve run out of tears.

She didn’t say anything.

So I added, “And the worst part is… I don’t know which one of us started cheating first.”

Her voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

I finally looked her in the eye.

“You asked who I cheated with,” I said quietly. “And the truth is… I didn’t. Not with my body. But…”

I paused. Looked away again. Swallowed hard.

“I cheated with my heart.”

The breeze was suddenly colder.

“I cheated every time I looked at you and forgot what love was supposed to feel like with someone else. Every time I laughed at your jokes. Every time I noticed your perfume. Every time I stayed a little longer in your orbit because it felt… lighter.”

A long silence. Her breath hitched.

“What I felt for you,” I said, voice breaking, “was real. But it was wrong.”

Y/N stayed still. I didn’t expect her to speak. But she did.

“I think…” she began slowly, “this really was my fault.”

I turned to her.

“Because I fell for you too,” she whispered, her voice raw and shaking. “The man I knew could never be mine… because he already belonged to someone else.”

And there we were.

Two people standing still, with too many feelings and nowhere to put them.

Not together.

Not apart.

Just suspended in the heartbreak.

Y/N didn’t speak right away.

But when she finally did, her voice carried the weight of everything she’d kept in.

“I tried to impress you, you know?” she said, looking down at her fingers as they fidgeted. “Back when we had that emergency meeting, I was saying things I barely even understood—just hoping you’d notice me.”

I blinked, surprised.

She smiled faintly. “And that night I got drunk? I was so embarrassed… but a part of me was glad you saw me that way. Not perfect. Not composed. Just… me. That girl who liked you so much, she said things she shouldn’t.”

I didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“I stared at you when you were working,” she confessed, cheeks turning a little red. “Not just once. A lot. Maybe too much. And when you got stuck in the printing room—Mr. Grr,” she added with a soft laugh, “I knew you were stressed. I wanted to help… even if it was just with a jammed printer.”

I chuckled lightly. “Mr. Grr did finally behave.”

“And when you came to my desk asking for my part,” she said, her smile turning gentler, “I liked those moments. I liked that you needed me, even if it was just for work. I liked seeing you up close.”

She paused for a breath.

“When you said yes to the seminar, I couldn’t even hide how happy I was. I know it was wrong. To want you like that. To hope for something when you had someone already. But… I liked you too much, Mr. Lee. And being wrong? It just… faded.”

She looked up at me, guilt shimmering in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded slowly. “It’s okay.”

Because it was.

Not because we were blameless—but because I understood now.

“It was the mentality,” I said. “If I was really faithful, nothing would’ve swayed me. But I let myself fall… fast. Too fast. That’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

We both laughed softly.

“Who even says sorry to who first in this situation?” she asked, eyes glinting through the sadness.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But here we are.”

Two hearts, sitting with the wreckage of what they felt.

Two people who didn’t mean to break anything.

But did.

She took a deep breath. “I guess feelings really can’t be stopped, huh?”

“No,” I said quietly. “But they can be understood.”

She nodded. “I know we started… the wrong way.”

I looked at her. “Yeah. But if—if we were given a chance someday… maybe we could start right.”

A silence hung between us.

Hopeful. Gentle.

“But not now,” I added.

She nodded again. “Not now.”

Because right now…

We need to work.

We need to heal.

We need to grow separately from the mess we made together.

We exchanged one last look—neither heavy nor forced. Just something real. Something honest.

She smiled faintly and turned to walk back inside the office.

And I followed.

Because even if the heart aches, life goes on.

—The End.

[rewriterory]

Aventurine Is BPD Coded- Some Thoughts

Ahhh welcome back everybody to another installment of 'Rory writes a ridiculously long essay nobody asked for to shine light on characters who exhibit symptoms of borderline personality disorder so that we can learn to recognize symptoms portrayed in media that aren't just 'crazy manipulative abusive ex' and start to treat the disorder with a shred of compassion' !!

A good chunk of you follow me because of my essay I wrote on Reo Mikage from Blue Lock, my beautiful borderline princess, and I am PLEASED to announce that my essay is now the first result when you search 'Reo Mikage BPD' on Google, AND he has since been added to the BPD character database !! Saving the world one baddie at a time, no need to thank me B)

Today, I want to write something out that I've been dying to share. I think Aventurine can be read as a BPD coded character, and I think he would be able to cop a diagnosis should he go see a therapist (which we all know he CLEARLY has not done). I've been puttering around posting this because I've been spending so long on a full, all encompassing analysis of this sick blonde man, but I want to take a quick break and kick my feet over BPD Aventurine, so I invite you to come kick your feet with me!

Some context before I start:

1.) Borderline representation is extremely important to me. I've got the BPD / CPTSD combo meal, so I'm having TWICE the fun !! But seriously though, it's not easy being viewed as crazy and 'bad' all the time. Trauma disorders are rough enough as it is just to live with / overcome, but it's worse when there are books, forums, blogs, shows, ect. dedicated to hating you and talking about how evil you are. So, I get really excited when I spy BPD-coded characters (especially if they're likable people and not just ghoulish irredeemable villains or manic pixie dream girl characters). Fans, characters, and even Aventurine himself refer to him as 'crazy' 'insane' 'unstable' which only further rang my BPD bells because he's not crazy; he's just traumatized!

2.) I’m not a psych, so I obviously can’t diagnose real people, and don’t use any of this to diagnose yourself (I don't need the scandal!) I do, however, have a masters degree in English and structured the basis of my education and published my thesis on mental health, cluster B personality disorders specifically, so I read and research a LOT. I’m confident enough in my knowledge to diagnose anime characters (lol).

3.) If you're somebody who has a weird hangup about borderlines, feel free to either not read this, or do read it and soak up some useful information! Regardless, I know Aventurine fans can have some really wild takes (/neg) , so believe what you want at the end of the day! This is just my interpretation of what's festering in that sad brain of his. You can disagree all you want to, but what we're not going to do is spread hateful stereotypes or perpetuate negative stigmas about BPD! That's cornball behavior and I will call you out for it ^-^

CW for discussion of death, suicide, self injury, and identity disturbances

Anyways, if you ask me, Aventurine is BPD coded and I'd like to explain why <3 So, buckle up! This will be another long one.

First, let me define BPD: it's a personality disorder characterized by a long-standing pattern of instability in mood, interpersonal relationships, and self-image. Though it's coined as a 'personality disorder', I urge you to look at it as a trauma disorder. People most often develop it when they are repeatedly traumatized during their formative years. It actually overlaps a TON with complex post traumatic stress disorder, which is why a lot of us baddies end up with both! (On that note, you could definitely view Aventurine as CPTSD-coded as well! I'm a stinky kinnie so I'll just say he's both <3) I won't preach too much on why it's so necessary to treat borderline as a traumatic stress disorder (since hopefully I'll be focusing my own personal academic research on that and I could yap for HOURS about it lol).

But when we look at BPD properly, it's evident that the basis of this disorder is that these people didn't have the opportunity to learn and foster proper emotional reactions. Because of the recurring traumatic events, sections of borderline's brains are underdeveloped as a result. They have a smaller amygdala and they have reduced volume in the prefrontal cortex, as well as other differences in brain development. I've heard it described as 'you were forced to learn some behaviors that helped you survive at one point in your life (for example, maybe fervent efforts to avoid abandonment, unstable emotional reactions, self harming tendencies, lying, mirroring, etc.,) but now you need to unlearn them, because they’re no longer helping you.'  They're trauma responses.

Aventurine shows us a perfect example of the kind of shit that would make someone develop BPD: dude grew up in extreme poverty, was constantly told he was special and he was supposed to bring good luck, watched his entire family and race die in front of him when he was literally still just a kid, was kidnapped and sold into slavery, was forced to murder roughly 34 people while everybody watched him like it was a game, probably went through several other fucked up things while he was enslaved, and then killed his slave owner and was promptly sentenced to death for it. That's...a whole lot of ridiculous trauma that would severely impact somebody's ability to mentally grow and develop correctly. The bulk of his childhood/adolescence was spent with no safety, no security, overwhelming guilt, constant fight or flight reactions, learning how to take on other personas to avoid violence or mistreatment – you get the point. He did not have a normal life and it is absolutely probable that he would develop a trauma disorder from the shit he's been through.

So then, what behaviors/signs does somebody need to exhibit to receive a Borderline diagnosis? The 9 diagnostic criteria for BPD are as follows:

1. Fear of abandonment

2. Unstable or changing relationships

3. Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

4. Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors

5. Suicidal behavior or self-injury

6. Varied or random mood swings

7. Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

8. Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

9. Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

As with my last post, I'm going to organize this based on the 5 immediate traits I think Aventurine exhibits most (you only need 5 out of 9 to receive a diagnosis, so let me cut to the chase and stop wasting your time w my yapping).

Fear of Abandonment:

Aventurine has a habit of wanting relationships and then pushing them away once they get too close. He also clearly has trauma associated with losing people prematurely.

First of all, let's look at Aventurine's tendency to view relationships as transactional. With the expectation that a friendship, partnership – whatever –  is mutually beneficial, that generally implies both parties will leave satisfied once the 'transaction' is complete. That’s his parting line in the game, actually! “Satisfied with our transaction, I trust?” 

That being said, he's already prepared for people to leave when they're done getting what they want from him. In one trailer (and the game) he refers to himself as "another cog in the machine known as the strategic investment department" and then says, "Your humble servant aventurine at your disposal [...] I can also play the role of ‘friend’ – if needed; Go ahead, use me as you wish, even stab me in the back if you see fit."

This is a very strange thing to say upon first meeting someone LMAO. He's speaking of himself like he's an object, rather than a person. Before the other party even says anything, he's basically saying 'hey btw if you end up disappointing me in some way, i'm already prepared for it!' Establishing relationships with the assumption that the other person will betray you/abandon you/hurt you in some way? Borderline behavior. God forbid somebody does try to break down one of these walls, we'll see Aventurine's second habit to avoid abandonment: pushing people away.

Something people don't necessarily consider is that ‘efforts to avoid abandonment’ doesn't always mean the person is on their knees begging you to not to leave them. It can manifest as someone being very flighty and purposefully cutting ties randomly/pushing people away from them so that nobody is able to abandon them. If you leave first, they can’t leave you, right? This is a very common behavior for borderlines to avoid the pain that comes with being abandoned.

The most notable moment of this, in my opinion, is when Aventurine tries to gaslight himself into thinking that Ratio really did stab him in the back during their ploy against Sunday. As we know, their fighting, bickering, and Ratio's 'betrayal' were all part of Aventurine's plan. When they leave Sunday's office, Ratio immediately asks if he's okay and if he needs help, and Aventurine is very dismissive/a little rude in his response. Ratio is confused because Aventurine is talking as if he wasn't the one who MADE this plan and TOLD Ratio what to do:

Aventurine is basically saying, "Hey babe this is not in the script we talked about! Let's stay on track, remember? You hate me, you betrayed me, and now you're leaving me!" And Ratio is like "Yeah okay but are you good? Because you don't seem good,” but Aventurine's heels are so far in the dirt at this point that he is NOT budging at all. When he's in the Trauma Maze, Future Aventurine grills him on this moment:

I get why this part confused some people; why would Aventurine think this when the plan was his idea in the first place? Because, he subconsciously doesn't want to get too attached to the idea that Ratio might ACTUALLY care about him or want to help him. He's forcing himself to think "no, that's not what he was doing, he was planning on actually ratting me out all along, he was only asking about my wellbeing to get in my head."

However, I think it's evident that Aventurine wants relationships/attention just as much as everybody else does, he just won't let himself have it. To further this idea, I think the lyrics to White Night (the Penacony trailer theme song) are worth looking at (these specifically):

I don't wanna be alone tonightOh, lead me with your altered signThere's no one else left for me to loseHeadin' to the other side, other side

I don't wanna be alone tonightI'll bring you to my best disguise'Cause you don't need, don't need to know the truthLet me rave forever in your life

The song is obviously about Aventurine when you look at the lyrics, but these lines in particular just further my point that this man does NOT like the fact that he's alone. He wants relationships, he wants closeness, but he rejects it at the same time out of fear that he might lose somebody prematurely again and doesn't want to experience being abandoned or being rejected for his personality (his real one or his fake one), which leads me to...

Unstable Self-Image; Struggles With Identity or Sense of Self:

The shift from Kakavasha to Aventurine screwed this guy up REAL bad. A MASSIVE part of Aventurine's character, in my opinion, is his struggle with his identity/sense of self. I mean, he literally had to kill off who he used to be in order to live how he's living now, and he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Jade sums it up pretty well when Aventurine is sat before her on trial: 

Aventurine joining the IPC comes with the price of...well, becoming 'Aventurine'. Since I'm clocking him with a BPD diagnosis, the identity disturbance would have probably happened before this moment, and I think it did. I'll bet it started festering after that first massive traumatic event where he watched his family die and tried to rationalize how that was possible with his 'good luck' (since that was really the only consistent idea he had about himself), and it probably only got worse when he became fixated on the fact that whoever tf he is, he's only worth 60 copper coins (did the math – that's about $3). That's gotta cause some massive identity issues. He's coined as this ‘good luck charm’, this ‘blessed child’, a ‘beacon of hope for the Avgins’, and somehow, he ended up in the absolute worst situation possible while simultaneously dooming all of the Avgins (obviously not his fault, but he thinks it's his fault).

When Jade tells him to pick a new identity, ironically he picks one that is everything he probably grew to hate after his childhood/adolescence.

Associating with the wealthy? The rich were the people who paid to brand him and enslave him. The IPC? Promised to help the Avgins but disappeared when the Katicans invaded, then came back and kidnapped him to sell him as a slave. Now he's both wealthy and a part of the IPC, and you have to wonder how he truly feels about it. We'll look into that more later. Regardless, he's not really 'free' now, even if he isn't technically owned by a master anymore. He's chained to the IPC because this is life now; this is his identity. Where else would he even go? What else would he do? (Die, perhaps?) It's not like he can go home, or go live a peaceful life out on the countryside somewhere. He made 'Aventurine' his entire life and his entire personality. On that note, I really like this quote from his third character story:

“The aventurine, that symbol of power and of the future, is about to be officially handed to him — Yet it would have no more allure or value in his eyes as soon he obtains it, even though he had sought it by putting his life on the line.

He returns to his office in a daze. The aventurine stone emits a peculiar glow on his desk, seemingly congratulating and mocking him at the same time."Was luck truly on your side when you wrestled with fate?"”

Did he really luck out with this one? Comparatively, of course, this is better than his life as a slave, but he essentially just traded his rusted chains for golden ones. Becoming Aventurine might wind up bringing him a lot more pain than it was worth. 

Also, the outfit he chose? Covered in gold, fur, and jewels, all materials that somebody who knows nothing about being rich would assume rich people wear in excess. It's evident in his tacky taste (sorry honey I love you so much but the hat is just crazy work you look like a pimp) that he doesn't know anything about how to dress himself. And I bully him for being tacky but it makes sense! He dresses exactly how you'd think an out-of-touch billionaire would dress. Back to his sense of identity: it's very important to establish that Aventurine feels guilty about taking on this persona! That's all 'Aventurine' is: a persona. If he were to die tomorrow, the IPC would dust off that stone and give it to another bozo who would end up being the next 'Aventurine'.

While he didn't initially develop this personality subconsciously and it was a 'choice' to start playing this role (not that he had a plethora of alternative options), the perpetuation is damaging him mentally. He does a good job of keeping up the act, obviously. This theme that his entire personality is just one big act is overarching through the entire Penacony quest, but there's one moment in particular I really liked: when Sparkle is being a jerk and he has this offhand comment about how he's so frivolous, vain, and flashy, and how he'd hate to live anywhere where it rained since his outfit is too expensive to get wet.

Then, we have this interaction in the maze: Future Aventurine brings up the memory of him and his big sister playing dead, floating in bloody water to avoid being killed by the Katicans when they attacked. He mentions that it was his father's shirt, the last one his father left behind before dying, and that it was ruined. Aventurine says it wasn't ruined, and he's always kept it. (I wonder if that's the shirt he wore during his time enslaved?) Future Aventurine grills him and asks ‘why keep it? This new person that you are would never wear something so dirty and old. 'Aventurine' wouldn't want that old rag, it's not worth any money. 'Aventurine' would never splash around in murky water like that; he wouldn't need to.’ Nobody is hunting him, now he's the hunter. Future Aventurine makes the snide comment that he bets Aventurine wouldn't even dare to go outside in the rain, let alone do any of the things Kakavasha had to do, since he's so much more elite now. Aventurine, clearly hurt by the implication, says that even after all this time, he's never changed.

Of course, he hasn't. Deep down, no matter how much he tries to trick himself and everybody around him, he's still the same scared, traumatized boy he always has been. His future self chastises him for having an inferiority complex and mentions that with every gamble he makes, he has his left hand shaking in fear behind his back.

But the constant pull to push Kakavasha down and keep up this act that 'Aventurine' is the real him obviously perpetuated the identity disturbance in him and made it a hundred times worse, to the point where (as Future Aventurine points out) the hole he's dug is basically impossible to climb out of.

Because of this, I interpret Aventurine to constantly be struggling with his identity, not knowing who really exists under all the masks he wears, not knowing if he or anybody around him will ever figure it out. I imagine he feels very empty and unfulfilled, since as I mentioned in the abandonment section, he doesn't want to be alone. But the higher he climbs on the social ladder, the further he can separate himself from other people. This is a classic issue borderlines face. We masquerade as something we think the people around us will like, someone WE might like, but it always ends up leaving us feeling more empty than before.

(This is just an added bonus to chew on, but I got stuck on this line when I played through Penacony:)

Do you think once he became Aventurine and got the money and the resources, he researched toys that normal kids play with? Fancy ones like building blocks, stuff that he would have never been exposed to as a kid? Obviously baby Kakavasha would not know wtf building toys looked like, and I'm sure teenage Kakavasha didn't have the opportunity to browse toy catalogs. But, he recognizes the toy even though he says he's never played with them before. Maybe he considered buying it but decided against it, since it doesn't fit his new persona. Kakavasha doesn't exist anymore, so there's no reason to nurture that part of him. Anyways, just wanted to hurt y'all a bit more. Speaking of hurting ourselves:

Impulsive or Self-Damaging Behaviors + Suicidal Behavior or Self Injury:

I'm combining these two because my points kept blending together, so bear with me lol.

Aventurine is known for being incredibly reckless and putting himself in the path of danger over and over again. When discussing how he tricked Sunday with the Cornerstones, Future Aventurine asks:

I want to exaggerate how crazy it is (i can say that i'm also a bpd baddie) that he smashed his Cornerstone. I don't think a Stoneheart has ever done that before. Their stone is what makes them a Stoneheart. Ratio mentions that without it, Aventurine would be back to being nobody. Remember: that's what makes him Aventurine. You know, the persona that required him to kill off his former identity? Their Cornerstones are more important than the Stonehearts’ lives, as stated multiple times. But that's just it: Aventurine doesn't GAF about his life. He doesn't mind putting his life on the line to pull off his plan because he has that deep-rooted desire to punish himself for everything he thinks was his fault. He gets called out for gambling with his life multiple times during Penacony, and while most of the time it's reduced to him just being crazy (cough, bpd) or just having a severe gambling problem. Extremely hot take, but I think he gambles literally as another way to hurt himself. I mean, look at what he says when you ask about his hobbies:

"There's no denying it, my fascination is with the game of chance... be it the exhilarating rush of triumph or the extensive emptiness that follows, both are worth savoring, time and time again."

Being impulsive and risky, betting his life over and over –  it makes him feel alive. He knows the end result will hurt, that he'll have to face that 'extensive emptiness' and the extreme guilt he feels regarding his continued good luck, but he does it anyway.

Speaking of betting, his bets are always 'all or nothing', seemingly every time. Future Aventurine calls him out on always risking everything with every gamble, asking:

"Do you truly believe the greater the risk, the greater the reward?"

Or...do you just not care what happens to you? He doesn't need to risk a lot; he's never lost. He could bet the lowest amount and still win every time, and make a lot of money depending on what everybody else bet. In fact, that would actually be a better strategy in gambling (poker/black jack specifically), because it would insinuate that he's not very confident with his hand and prompt the other players to bet higher, assuming that they'll beat him.

I imagine he gets a shred of dopamine betting everything he has knowing that he'll probably win, but hey, who knows? Then after winning and multiplying everything he has, I imagine that 'extensive emptiness' that he refers to is the feeling of 'oh good, more money. More status. More success. A reminder that no matter what I do, I'm stuck here in this role forever.'

For some reason, he also thinks that taking risks makes him appear more confident and secure. He makes a show of always keeping up the big bets and he boasts about how successful he is, while clutching his hand behind his back thinking 'oh god, is this it? will I finally lose this time?' He brings this up when he's speaking with himself and he says, 'How could a weak person take such daring risks?"

Oh, the delicious irony.

That raises the question, though: if he wants to die so badly, why hasn't he yet? It's not like he had an easy life. He fought very hard to stay alive, so why does he act so recklessly now?

I think at his core, he's scared. Dying is scary. His family is there in the afterlife; would they be disappointed in the person he’s become? At the same time, being alive is exhausting. The constant emotional pain this guy probably deals with every day? It's gotta be heavy.

His behaviors around suicide remind of a classic passively suicidal person with BPD: maybe they don't necessarily want to die, but they're tired. They don't have an active plan, but If something is going to kill them, they're not going to move out of the way.

So, carrying out his Penacony plan makes sense. Of course he’s not completely sure what will happen when Acheron kills him, but because he doesn’t have anything to live for, he’s fine gambling with his life. He makes a show of finally throwing out every last chip, too, no longer clutching them under the table in fear. He was fine with smashing the Aventurine stone because it's not like he was planning on using it after his final show; the little bit of power it had left in it was more than enough. (I also think it's worth mentioning how he did fight very hard to be alive, and after fighting SO hard, living through poverty and slavery and literally murdering people just to keep his own life, now he's finally at a point where he can 'relax' and carry out his life in peaceful luxury...but ironically, now he doesnt want to be alive)

That being said, we do have to address this little number:

Aventurine attempted several times in Penacony, he admits it flat out. The writers even went sofar as to bold this line specifically! I think this does also go hand-in-hand with him being passively suicidal, since he's pretty sure he'll live when he attempts in the dream, but he's gonna try it SEVERAL times just to be sure. Mentally healthy people wouldn't try it... once, Aventurine!

As if we needed more evidence that Aventurine constantly puts himself in danger, you know I HAVE to mention...the light cone:

n case you haven't read the description for this light cone, let me share it with you:

"You don't believe me?"He (Aventurine) provocatively looks at the man (Ratio) before him, then draws out a revolver, empties its cylinder, and leaves a single shot in the chamber.

"Seems like I'll need to get you up to speed on how I do things if our cooperation were to remain amicable."He pushes the gun into his opponent's hand, spins the cylinder, and points the barrel to his own chest.

He pulls the trigger repeatedly, and the smile on his face remains the same after three empty clicks."Life is a grand gamble, and I'll always be the final victor."

Now what the HELL is this? Mind you, this is the first time Ratio has met this man!!! Imagine you meet your new mission partner for the first time and he puts a revolver in your hand and fires it thrice, then leaves. WHO does that? (...a baddie, perhaps!)

I don't think it's a secret to anybody who has spent a reasonable amount of time around Aventurine that there's something off about him, and that there's a really deep sadness running through him. There's some instances where other characters mention his passive desire to die – A few quick examples I can think of:

The instance in Story IV with Opal:

"Maybe luck won't be on your side this time, and the bill for all your past good fortune will come due [...] But isn't that what you've been longing for?"

Opal implies Aventurine wants to fail on Penacony, which, as we've discussed, is an accurate assumption. Jade says something similar after Aventurine's stunt: when Topaz says the light in his stone went out, Jade replies by saying "he got what he wanted."

Also, I’d like to point out that Ratio must have been anticipating that Aventurine would do something rash, since he wrote that note (doctor's advice) long before he started grilling him after the meeting with Sunday.

It's also worth noting the nod to T.S Eliot's "The Waste Land" (a very long poem about life and death). You get the achievement Sibyl, What Do You Want? after playing through the past of Kakavasha's life, and once you defeat boss Aventurine, you get the achievement She Replied, I Want to Die. I don't think that one needs an explanation, but boy does it hurt! (There's other, smaller nods to him being suicidal, like the Waiting for Godot achievement – Google the story if you're unfamiliar. Not as relevant, but I must mention it bc it makes my english major brain go brrrrr)

Also, overspending/gambling/being loose with money is a very common vice for borderlines to indulge in and harm themselves with. It's also implied that he drinks a decent amount. I counted 6 bottles of SoulGlad in his hotel room just from the angles I could see, and he's shown to be passed out at the bar when Ratio goes to get him before they go on their little date-I mean, mission. Aventurine says 'he must have drank too much', and whether or not that was true is irrelevant since it was a believable enough claim that Ratio bought it.

Borderlines are (usually) self-destructive in some capacity, and while some very annoying people assume it's for attention, it's so much more common for it to be because our inner emotions are just so out of whack. Sometimes, matching the inner pain with outer pain is a way to cope. They might also do it to try and combat-

Constant Feelings of Worthlessness or Sadness:

Probably the most nagging, prevalent feeling Aventurine deals with is the constant feeling of worthlessness. One thing about this man? He hates himself. Like, really hates himself. Take a look at the missions during his maze in Penacony. This one is one of my favorites:

It doesn't get much more on-the-nose than him calling himself a selfish, useless loser. He gets stuck on that word, in particular. Loser.

Aventurine, at his core, views himself as a massive loser. Is that ironic because of how much he wins? Not really. Money and materials are just part of the Aventurine persona. He's 'rich' in stuff, but he's not rich in what he actually wants. I think it's obvious that if he had the option to quadruple his wealth or see his sister again just one more time, we all know what he'd be picking.

The only thing he wants is connection – connection with his mother, his father, his sister, anybody at this point – but he can't have it. His family has been dead for a long while, and as I discussed before, his fear of abandonment and his luck scare him away from forming any other relationships. 

This luck, this destiny to be blessed, leads him to reflect on his life a lot and wonder what the hell the point is. He treats himself like some sort of walking curse, because he's convinced that his luck is bound to hurt other people. Every time he wins, somebody else loses. The luck that keeps him safe destroys everybody else around him. As Future Aventurine puts it:

His luck is "built on the pain of someone" else. This perpetuates the constant feeling of guilt, which in turn, makes him feel worthless. Why is it him that's spared every time?

Then, right before you start his boss fight, Aventurine says,

"The architect's flawed stone, of no value at all."

Some people speculate he's talking to the MC when he says this, but I can't help but assume that he's referring to himself. Even if it was directed at the MC, so much of what Aventurine says in his bluffs and boasts are just digs at himself. He's sort of an expert at hating himself, and what do people who hate themselves do if not project? Especially when you consider the fact that aventurine is actually a really cheap, undesired stone. It's like $3 a caret and mostly only used to rip people off and pose as jade. I really don't think it's a coincidence that his character is based around a stone that is, essentially, worthless.

The way that Aventurine is also prone to giving people ridiculous amounts of money/gifts can be read as a frantic effort to keep relationships going and prevent people from leaving him (relating to my points on both his feelings of worthless and his fear of abandonment). He has a skewed view on relationships, since the only value that's ever been associated with him is monetary value and that of his 'luck', which in every context is spoken of as an asset to benefit people he cares about. His sister told him that his luck was 'the most precious wealth' of the Avgins and Jade sees him as an investment that can bring her more wealth because of his luck, but he views it as a massive burden that ends up wrecking everybody around him. So how does he prove to other people that someone as worthless as him should be allowed a seat at the table? Deep down, he thinks that he's still worth 60 red copper pieces, and he's desperate to show other people that he's worth more than that now – even though he doesn't believe it at his core. With all the money he wins now, he can throw it at people and say 'look, look how much money I'm worth now, you want me around because I can buy you anything you want, that's a useful quality in a friend!'

(I did use the 'seat at the table line' as a nod to what his slave master said to him when they were discussing his worth: "Don't forget your place, slave. You're not qualified to be at the table." Which is, painfully, what Aventurine says when you open up chests! He scoffs and says that "it's hardly enough for a seat at the table." :’) )

There is also, of course, Aventurine's overarching struggle with finding purpose in his life. We see a lot of his existentialism during his trauma maze, but at the end of his trauma maze, Future Aventurine finally stops ripping Aventurine a new one and is vulnerable for a second, saying he doesn't understand what he's ever done wrong to have suffered as much as he has.

Then, when he's in the Nihility and he's speaking to Acheron, making the decision on whether or not he even wants to keep going, he asks her:

As I said, he has this conversation with himself in the maze as well, but here he's actually being vulnerable and speaking to somebody else about it: what's the point in being alive if we're just born to suffer? If nothing else, this solidifies the emotional struggle that Aventurine is constantly having. I also think it furthers the idea that he has this nagging sort of emptiness inside of him which is another BPD trait: the feeling that you're empty at your core, and you're constantly trying to fill it with things (friends, money, substances, whatever) but nothing ever works. You worry if anything will ever make you feel 'whole' again, and pair with the the identity disturbance? You're left with a constant feeling of despair.

Other Points:

These are a few other random thoughts I have, inspired by in-game moments but I'm taking them for my own evil fiendish BPD narrative. Take them with a grain of salt.

I think the stigma he gets around 'being crazy' is really BPD-coded. Separate from the ridiculous discrimination he gets for being an Avgin where people assume he's a liar and wolf in sheep's clothing (which can this man catch a SINGLE break jfc), he also has this reputation of being crazy, insane, manipulative, cunning, and someone you want to avoid, which is more rooted in his reckless gambling habit and status with the IPC. Living with this reputation of being insane and unstable for...lowkey no reason at all? Very BPD coded. I think Aventurine leans into that stigma to keep people a certain distance away, but it also just ends up making him hate himself even more.

Also, his entire mantra is "all or nothing", which always rang my BPD bells as well. There's not a lot of gray area with him, which is a key trait in borderlines as we often display very black-and-white thought patterns.

In Conclusion:

I think Aventurine is a borderline baddie <3

No but actually though, Aventurine is extremely smart, witty, funny, generous, and very kind-hearted, and he also happens to have a lot of BPD symptoms :^) I don't think it does any harm to view him as BPD-coded; in fact, I think it's great to associate positive, fan-favorite characters like this with BPD because it helps to humanize us. Borderlines are not violent, crazy maniacs, they're people who have been severely traumatized and developed some unhealthy habits because of it. They deserve love, respect, understanding, and communication, just as everybody else does.

If you actually made it this far, thank you for reading! I hope I was able to shed some light on Aventurine and his Symptoms. And, as I do in all of my BPD posts, here’s your reminder to kiss the borderline baddies in your life and tell them they’re important to you :^) Living with BPD is exhausting and I know I speak for all of us when I say that. We try so hard every day to stay positive and regulated, and though rewarding, it's exhausting and very hard work. Nothing makes us smile more than some recognition that we're trying our best !!

Till next time xoxo (and shout out to @roxirinart for helping me edit this monstrosity mwahhh mwah)

[zepskies]

OMG I KEED A PART 2 TO SAM HAVING A CRUSH ON DEANS GF

Like idk maybe say Sam didn't listen to Dean and tried making a move on reader? Like ofc he wouldn't ever do that *I don't think* but in this hypothetical scenerio it happens

Hey hun!

Oooof, that's hard. You guys really like this angsty love triangle stuff, huh? 😂 I genuinely think Sam would rather saw off his own hand than hurt Dean that way. But this is like, the only thing I could think of on this one. 😅

See this imagine for context: You are Dean's one exception.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,100

Imagine: Sam crosses the line.

Goddamn witches.

That's the last coherent thought Sam has, before his mind is no longer completely his to control.

Well, it's still his mind. His body. But the careful door in his mind and in his heart, reinforced with steel and chained shut with titanium, combo-coded, locked and loaded, now has broken hinges.

Thoughts he hasn't allowed himself to think for months are pried open, with a sick kind of enjoyment in pain.

You're his brother's girl. Sam can't help but love you. He wants you. And now, he might be able to have you.

The witch is dead, but the spell she just hit Sam with remains. He's not dead, so that's a plus.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, slightly breathless. You're the closest to where he's sprawled on the ground, so you go to him. You touch his arm, and he can't help but clamp down on your hand. He looks at you with the thinly veiled eyes of a hunter as he smiles. Because your concern reaches the deepest parts of him.

"I'm fine," he says.

But Dean reads the hunger in his brother's eyes. He's subtle in the way he grasps your shoulder and Sam's (noticeably tighter).

"But what happened? How do you feel?" you ask, trying to take stock of what you're all dealing with here.

"I uh...feel fine, actually," Sam says. He rolls his shoulders. His gaze focuses on you. Dean holds him back from getting off the ground.

"Get the book. See if there's a way to fix this," Dean tells you without taking his eyes off Sam.

Sam tilts his head at Dean, the beginning of an angry frown on his lip as you rush away to find the witch's spell book.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asks. He doesn't bother to lower his voice. (He literally doesn't have a filter anymore.) "Afraid of what might happen when she actually has the chance to choose?"

Dean's lips purse as his eyes darken. "This isn't you. And when you wake up from this, you're either gonna hate yourself for even thinkin' what you're thinkin', or you're gonna have one hell of a headache."

Sam stares back incredulously. He scoffs. "What're you gonna do, kill me?" They both know that's not happening.

But that's also when Dean knocks him the hell out.

When Sam wakes, it's to you stuffing tissues in his bloody nose. He groans a bit. He looks at you and still wants. But when he looks down at himself, he's in the bunker, handcuffed to the war room table.

You look worried for him as you go back to your side of the table with the book. Dean is oddly nowhere in sight. Sam thought he'd be watching you (and Sam) like a hawk.

"Dean'll be back in a sec. He's trying to get ahold of Rowena," you supply. "But how're you feeling? What's the spell doing to you exactly?"

Sam rolls the kinks out of his neck and removes the tissues, even though his entire face radiates with pain. His brother once promised to break his nose, and he did just that.

"Basically? I think it took away my inhibitions," he replies. More like threw them in a blender and put his deepest, headiest desires into overdrive.

You frown. "Like a really bad bender, or a truth serum kind of thing? But why would he punch you out for that?"

Your gears are turning rapidly, weighing out all the options. You always were smart. Sam leans forward slowly. Noting your thread of wariness, his face softens. He doesn't want to scare you...

He sighs. "Listen...there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while now."

He reaches out a hand. You're looking at him in frozen surprise. His curled fingers brush your cheek. He leans in toward your face.

But you flinch and pull away.

"What the hell are you doing?" you ask.

Sam should've known, but it still hurts him. His jaw clenches. The spell takes away his self-preservation, however.

Just as he might've tried with words to finally confess the depths of his heart, the door creaks open.

The sound of Dean's heavy boots approaching makes him flinch. But Sam looks over with an unrepentant stare.

Dean glances at Rowena, nostrils flaring. "Fix him." He gestures at Sam before he joins you on your side of the table, resting a protective hand on your back.

Rowena shoots him a droll look. "Only because you asked so nicely."

"I don't need fixing!" Sam argues, glaring at Dean. His voice echoes on the bunker's walls. "You're just afraid of what happens if she knows the truth!"

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest. Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat. Dean turns back to Sam.

"Don't do this, Sammy. It don't end well for you," Dean says.

"Like hell," Sam retorts.

"Okay, sleep now, dear," Rowena says. And with a wave of her hand and a haze of violet, Sam's world once again blackens.

When he next wakes, he's in his own bed. Not restrained. He indeed has a massive headache, and it's hard to breathe through his still broken nose. He groans and turns, and his brother is there.

When the overwhelming guilt sets in, Sam knows he's himself again, with all the careful walls around his heart put back in place. Rowena must've broken the spell when he was unconscious. Dean can see the truth in Sam's eyes.

"There he is," Dean remarks dryly. "Our giant Jekyll and Hyde."

Sam inhales deeply. "Dean..." I'm sorry doesn't quite cut it.

"She knows," Dean says, after a moment. "Obviously."

Sam nods, swallowing past a lump in his throat. He hesitates to ask the next burning question, because part of him knows the answer.

"It doesn't change anything."

Sam's head turns at the sound of your voice. You stand in the doorway, with your arms crossed despite the disheartened look on your face. Your eyes meet his, steady and sad, but firm.

"I know," Sam says, with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry...for all this."

"It's not your fault," you reply. Spell or no spell, the way he feels is not his fault.

You step into the bedroom and go to Sam's bedside, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. That hand smoothes up his neck, and your fingers briefly thread into his hair. Another silent conversation passes between you and Dean, the way only lovers that close can accomplish.

After a beat, Dean nods and gets up out of his chair. He thumbs at your cheek; it's both an answer to your unspoken request and an endearment. Then he pats Sam's shoulder before he leaves you and Sam alone in the room.

Trust. That's what that is. Dean trusts you, and now that the spell has worn off, he trusts Sam again.

Sam meets your gaze. As awful as he feels, he still loves you. He knows you know by the way your gaze meets his.

All he wants to do is touch you.

To apologize, and to touch you.

He hates himself.

You shake your head. "I love you, Sam. As my friend. My brother."

"I know," he nods. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," you reply. "You just have to respect that."

"'Course, I do," Sam nods again. You would've never known, if not for the damn spell.

You surprise him by taking his hand. Yours is soft and warm and kind.

Always kind...

But never truly his to hold.

AN: GAH! The Angst. You could bottle it. 😩

Want to know what that conversation was like between Dean and the reader after she "found out?"

Read It Here: You and Dean talk about Sam's feelings.

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

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[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

[screenshot edit thats a bit silly--the maltos are actually generally rather chill even with star being a bit of a lil shit lmao]

This chapter really shoves Starscream into a social gathering with all da peeps for a series of goofy games. Which he roasts the shit out of the majority of the time. He's more into it at the start and gets progressively more drained from it all. It's not as fun if you don't plow the competition after all--XD

just a chap with fun family shenanigans and definitely nothing sus

Previous Chapter: Bee's Good Guy Crash Course

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: Make or Break

Chapter 11: Family Feud

The “Malto Family Game Night”. An intriguing premise. One Bumblebee thought he should drag Starscream into, it seemed, despite the title clearly only set to invite those who are real members of their collective. It even seemed a stretch that the humans and Terrans considered Bumblebee an “honorary” member to begin with. The Terrans, as Earthen cybernetic children, theoretically shared some level of kinship with humans to an extent. As well as apparently being bonded to them on a deeper level. But both he and Bumblebee had no such connection, why should they be roped into human nonsense? 

Why would they allow them to encroach on their little tradition? Perhaps this was some sort of test pertaining to the practice the bug had wanted Starscream to get, after his little lecture. A challenge to see how well Starscream could interact with them. 

Well, for whatever goal the bug had, he certainly could stand a bit of competition. A chance to destroy them at their own ridiculous games? Irresistible. The anticipation of victory, especially one he could lord over the scout later, might just make the growing chaos around him bearable. 

There were too many conversations about too many things being discussed in one room. He’d tried to track a few, but quickly found his audials begin to mute the chatter with a light ringing. If it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from calling them all into order himself.

Finally, Hashtag got everyone’s attention and pointed to the whiteboard that now held doodles of all their faceplates, separated into groups. “Alright fam! The teams we’ve decided on are: Me, J.B, and Nightshade with our name NightTagBreaker! Mom and Dad as Purple. Thrash and Mo as Mash–”

“‘Cause we’re gonna MASH the competition!” Thrash cheered as he smacked servos with his human partner.

Hashtag didn’t even seem fazed by the interruption, and scoffed without a hint of disdain. “We’ll see about that! There’s also Robbie and Twitch–”

“Their team’s name is Twobbie.” Mo said with the most dastardly smirk toward her brother, and a mocking tone to the name.

Robbie and Twitch both stood with crossed arms, the human retorting first with an air of superiority. “Uh no. Our name is Twin Blades!” 

Twitch plucked her swords from her back and twirled them as an example with a proud grin. “We’ve got the blades, and we’re basically twins. And way cooler than Mash.” 

Thrash gasped melodramatically with a servo to his chassis, “How dare you!”

“We’ll see who has the cooler name when we beat you!” Mo shot back with a throw of a digit in their direction. Threats so early in the competition? Bold.

Hashtag edited the name on the board discreetly, then turned to ask, “What’d you guys decide on for your name Bee? I was thinking it could be StarBee or Beam for the combo style like ours–” She gestured to her two partners– “Or BugBird, because y’know, Bee is bug coded and Starscream can fly. OR you could be Primary! Because together you have yellow, red, and blue!”

Starscream took his servo from under his faceplate to tip it at the crowd, straightening his posture with a slight tilt of his helm as he offered confidently, “Why not simply call us The Victors?” He wasn’t exactly thrilled that they had just decided that he was paired with the bug, but that wouldn’t change his plans of total domination over this strange event.

Many of them rolled their optics at Starscream’s proclamation, but Hashtag actually had to stop herself from laughing. Not entirely the correct response. Still, at least she was amused, rather than angered by his insinuation.

Bumblebee shook his helm in a way that Starscream couldn’t tell if he actually disapproved or not. “StarBee is fine, Hashtag.” He determined, then mumbled, “Even if it would be nice if my name was first…”

“Well, you always were more of just the backup, rather than a leader, scout.” Starscream pointed out haughtily. “Obviously my piece of the title would come first.” 

Bumblebee glared at him, “I am not your backup! We’re partners and this is friendly competition! And please try to remember what I was telling you yesterday…” He sounded exasperated. 

Starscream dropped his smirk and crossed his arms to align himself with a more professional posture. “Are you going to disclose the rubric, or will your little test be void of any comprehensible scale like all of your Autobot riddles?”

Bumblebee was about to respond, but the Malto matriarch, Dorothy, interrupted. “No tests. We are not making game night about work again. Right Bee?” The bug nodded, looking rather guilty. “We’re here to have fun.”

“Yeah!” Twitch flew up to meet Starscream’s faceplate, “So don’t you ruin it! Family time is sacred!” 

Starscream leaned slightly toward her, thoroughly unamused. “Yes, how dare I encroach on your ridiculous expression of familial bonding.”

“Okay guys!” Hashtag interjected, “This isn’t exactly supposed to be the mood of this scene. Can we rein it in please?” She looked more at Starscream than her sibling, with a pleading look to her optics. Twitch backed down, as did he. 

“Wonderful!” Nightshade collected a set of cards that seemed to be sized for Cybertronians. “The first game Hashtag and I decided upon from the list of requests, is Uno! Three teams will be in one group, and two in another.”

“Then we shuffle it until every team has had a chance to go against each other!” Hashtag added while shuffling the cards and splitting the deck into two stacks. “First group will be NightTagBreaker, Twin Blades, and Mash; then Purple and StarBee.”

“Would it not make more sense to put the team of three into the group with just two teams?” Starscream asked not as much for some level of fairness, but more in the hopes that he could avoid interacting with Megatron’s little spy. He’d much rather attempt their card game with Hashtag and Nightshade. 

“I mean, maybe, but we’ll get there eventually.” Hashtag gave him an awkward smile, then quickly moved on. Scrap. 

They all took to their tables and dealt the cards. Starscream attempted to read the rules from the little box that was cast aside, but Dorothy’s human conjunx told him that it was apparently quite simple. Same color, same number or action, and you could play your card on your turn. The wild card and plus four were clearly above all the other pathetic actions in the roster. Although the skip option was satisfyingly petty. Starscream managed to skip Bumblebee three times in a row, in fact, which he found hilarious. 

The bug however, was less amused, “We’re supposed to be on the same team! Could you maybe not sabotage me and actually try and collaborate?!”

“Only one of us needs to win to get the credit. I don’t need your help to claim victory over these humans at this silly game.”

“I don’t know about that.” Dorothy tauntingly raised her singular card. “Uno.”

“WHAT?” Starscream’s wings flared and he looked over at the bug’s absurdly large set of cards, then slammed a servo on the table to get his attention. “Unleash a counterattack you fool! You must have something in that embarrassing stack in your servos!”

“Oh look who came crawling back for my help.” The scout hoarded his cards with juvenile snark. 

Starscream stuttered and his optic twitched as he growled through gritted dentas. “Excuse me, but if you don’t we both lose you bit-brained idiot!”

“How about not calling your partner names, and actually asking nicely? Or just working with me instead of acting like I’m still your enemy?”

The bug was a stubborn fool. Ask nicely? Did they expect him to phrase orders as optionary as the Prime did? That’s ridiculous! And of course the bug was still his enemy! How stupid was this mech? Bumblebee had been the first to point a blaster at Starscream in the Titan. Just because the Autobots were acting as if something had changed, didn’t mean anything. This was all just another assignment for the scout. 

Wait…who said that Starscream couldn’t simply take the bug’s cards and do it himself? If they were on the same team, then what did it matter who carried out the move? He didn’t know what stupid arrangement of words they wanted from him. It’d be far easier to–

Starscream forcefully snatched the cards from Bumblebee’s servos in a crimson flash, and slapped down a plus two to destroy the Malto’s hope of victory. He made sure to keep his own remaining two cards safe from getting lost amidst his stolen pile. The bug complained and tossed his servos around before attempting to steal his cards back, as Starscream pushed against his faceplate to hold him off.

Then, Dorothy cleared her throat before crossing her arms. “I win.”

“Wha–HOW?!” Starscream shoved the bug aside before pointing a digit at the human. “You lost your turn and were supposed to gain additional cards as the action dictates! You couldn't have possibly won!” 

Her optical ridge rose and she tapped the card plainly placed upon the one he’d taken from Bumblebee. “My last card was a plus two, and I can stack it on yours. Maybe, you should have actually talked it out with your partner.”

Oh, so this fleshling aimed to lecture him now? And since when could actions be placed upon one another as a means of canceling the other out? That made no sense with the rest of the rules! Sure, if you were not at the receiving end and were simply the player that is being skipped towards–but mid-action?? That was ridiculous, she made that up!

Lightning flickered between his wings. He didn’t lose. She’d only crafted some absurd reason to disguise the fact that she was clearly only attempting to prove some point, and make Starscream look like an idiot. That’s what it was. But he couldn’t do anything about it. The human was Megatron’s little agent. Starscream would be scrapped if he did anything against her. 

Starscream’s optics were burning as he wished again that he could set those blasted cards ablaze with only his processor. This game was just another tool for them to mock him. His vents were the same.

“Chill, it’s not like losing one game is the end of the world. Even if I am definitely blaming this loss, on you. I was just the card draw scrapyard–” Bumblebee was attempting to retrieve the scattered cards, and Starscream reflexively grabbed his wrist and pulled the scout up as he rose to his peds. 

“This IS your fault!” Starscream said dangerously, even as the scout transformed out his blaster with his other servo. But as a deafening silence strangled the cavern, and Starscream stared into the bug's startled yet defiant optics…he hated it. He was doing it again. 

His anger attempted to subside, replaced by something else as his grip loosened on the bug. But the curse didn’t seem to approve of that, and it instead tried to channel its power into the servo which mistakenly held Bumblebee. Starscream’s optics widened and he wrenched his servo away. Then yelped as he found Wheeljack’s little device had sent an equal pulse up his ped in some pathetic counterattack to the power. Instead of neutralizing the surge at his servo, all it did was make him fly back clumsily, and hit his helm on the ground. All while the power still felt as if his arm was being ripped apart by scraplets.

“Uh, you guys okay over there??” Twitch called from their own game.

“Ugh…Peachy.” Bumblebee commented dryly as he picked himself up after having apparently fallen back as well. “Someone is just a sore loser.”

Starscream only sat up to grip his violently shaking servo as he glared at it. He wasn’t like Megatron. “Perhaps…It was an overreaction.” He couldn’t apologize. He was too distracted. But he could acknowledge the bug’s point. Maybe that would be enough. 

Bumblebee watched him a moment before a ridiculous grin came to his faceplate. “No kidding.” 

The scout offered Starscream a servo, and he stared at it hesitantly as the lightning slowly died from his frame. He didn’t smack it away, but he didn’t take it either. Instead, he forced his annoyingly numb right ped to cooperate as he pulled himself up. “Besides, with the human’s knack for simply realigning the rules to her whim, how could either of us be at fault? Megatron clearly taught her well.”

“Excuse me?” Dorothy put her servos on her hips. Apparently his comment was somehow offensive. Even the buckethead’s agent detested being compared to him. How poetic.

Starscream paced to give himself enough distance from bot and human alike, before tipping a servo and his hip out in unbridled sass with an innocent vocalizer, “Oh but I’d never blame you for such a thing. In fact, I might have pulled such a stunt myself if we were more acquainted. Although that was a bit of a clumsy rule you constructed in your haste. Perhaps I could give you some advice for–”

Dorothy put her servo up to silence him. “No. I didn’t make it up. Well, not right at that moment–it’s just a common house rule for the game. It makes things a bit more interesting, and can lead to crazy close calls like that.”

“Yes we would never cheat! Especially Dottie!” Her conjunx attested with a protective servo around her shoulder, which she patted with hers. Disgusting.

Starscream’s faceplate scrunched at their show of affection, but willed himself to put on a smile. “I meant no disrespect, truly.” He gave her a half-afted bow, then began assisting the bug in collecting the cards that had fallen to the floor. “So I assume we shall be shuffling the groups now then?”

Not a moment later, there was an obnoxious uproar from the kids as the Twin Blades team celebrated their victory. They had their own argument about how it was achieved, yet it seemed more out of curiosity for their strategy. Of which they happily went into dramatized detail. They all laughed and congratulated them, with playful counters at how close it had been. No one was angry, or accusatory. The only touch they shared was gentle. Starscream stared at them, transfixed. 

Sure, it was not as if he had always fought with his trinemates over such silly things. But still, there had typically been some sort of transition into a wrestling match to settle the true victor. Anything close to that here was meager at best. He wasn’t surprised…only, afflicted with a strange sense of yearning. Which was ridiculous.

“Sounds like it.” Bumblebee remarked as he placed the now reforged stack of cards on their table, then added teasingly, “Are you actually going to be my teammate this time, fly boy?”

“Yes, it seems that might be necessary.” Starscream avoided the bug’s optics as he took his seat again. 

Team NightTagBreaker switched places with Purple. He didn’t quite care for the dinobot, but the other two terrans could be rather pleasant. Although it did seem that “J.B.” was far more focused on the game than attempting to bite his peds this time. 

Starscream and Hashtag shared a glance, and he was the first to break the silence between them, “Do not expect us to go easy on you.” Mimicking her siblings’ manner of playful banter.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” She responded with a theatrical tone and servo to her chassis. 

“If anyone should be going easy, it is us!” Nightshade added, to which the dinobot seemed to finish the thought.

“Yeah! Because–we are three bots, and you are not.”

“Don’t think that numbers are everything kids.” Bumblebee warned as he fanned out his new selection of cards in his servos. 

This time, Starscream collaborated with the bug as they discreetly disclosed which cards they possessed, and plotted how to best use them. He used his skips to instead protect his unlikely ally from unwanted card draw, until he could change the color again. As well as parrying reverses, or waiting until the other also had a plus two, as to avoid friendly fire. Perhaps that strange rule could be rather useful, when he actually knew to utilize it. Then, he also did not see why they could not stack other actions in such a way as well…

When the scout had called Uno, the dinobot attempted to skip him to postpone their victory. Unbeknownst to them, Bumblebee also had a skip card, but the bug did not place it down. A pause for dramatic effect?

Starscream cast aside his own useless cards and smacked the bug’s shoulder plating. “Reveal your card already you–eh, just what are you waiting for? We won. Cancel their action with yours!”

Bumblebee looked baffled as he stared at his card then back at Starscream. “What?? Jawbreaker skipped me, I can’t cancel that. It’s your turn. Why don’t you use that reverse card you had?”

Starscream’s wings pulled back and he ripped his cards back off the table to hit them with his other servo. “This scrap will do nothing to change it to the correct color! Why on Cybertron can you not just do as that human did before?! Countering an action of equal title mid-attack is perfectly legal in your stupid house rules! We’ve even done it multiple times this round, how is this any different?”

“Stacking only works with the plus two’s and four’s,” Nightshade attempted to explain their absurd standards, “It is not as if you can add onto one skip with another.”

“Uh-huh, you can’t do that Starscream, that’d be cheating.” J.B. insisted like a foolish child. “Right? Because, that’s definitely against the rules.”

Lightning jumped across Starscream’s frame again.

How was he the one cheating? Their “mom” had come up with it first! Noone had cared when she did it. How did it make any less sense to use the skip card in such a way than the other one? Of course the skips could be added onto one another! All they’d need to do is make it a double skip so that–if he and the scout didn’t already win–it’d send the next turn over to Hashtag. How was that concept so hard for them to understand? This game was stupid. 

Bumblebee nudged him, “Hey, we haven’t lost yet!” Starscream didn’t look at him, nor say anything for a long stint of time. “C’moooon, what cards ya got huh?”

Starscream’s optics flickered red and he took in an extended vent, then hiked his wings up with a strained grin and peak to his vocalizer. “Fine, yes, of course! Let's look at what cards I have. Numbers and a single useless reverse action? That will surely lead us to victory. Especially, when as soon as I place something down, those three will no doubt begin a chain of plus two actions of which you would be defenseless against. Or a plus four. Or they could start a reverse chain between one another. Or lock us in a color neither of us have in a plot to instigate the idiotic notion of infinite card draw!”

“You don’t know what cards we have,” Hashtag seemed to be getting frustrated with him, “And besides, it’s just a game. If we outplay you, we win, it’s not that deep!”

“Well, Uno does contain a higher percentage of RNG than skill, but that is a fair point regardless.” Nightshade nodded.

“Um, so, can we just…finish the game now?” J.B asked meekly.

Starscream’s wings swiveled up and down as he forced the stupid power back into the corner of his spark. “Sure.” He could play nice for Hashtag’s sake.

The game proceeded just about as insufferably as he anticipated. He and the bug ended with far too many cards, and Nightshade claimed the win for their team. That was fine. He didn’t care.

Every other match of that accursed Uno left Starscream and Bumblebee once again so close, only for it to be ripped away time and time again. Every instance, more inane than the last. How could they have not even won once?! The last time was entirely the bug’s fault, when he’d blatantly ignored Starscream’s order. He made sure to tell the scout just how stupid that had been, but then the others only seemed to get mad at Starscream for it instead! 

The next game that was chosen attempted to usurp the last in stupidity. The “tic-tac-toe” was near impossible to not end in a tie. It had to be replayed repetitively until a victor was concluded. It was boring, exceedingly plain, and the only viable strategy was far too easily thwarted. In fact, when Starscream was in the midst of cornering their opponent, they instead reversed it back onto him! Bumblebee had obviously ruined the whole thing with his insistence on starting in the middle when it was clearly best to start at a corner. Even when they finally did manage to succeed in one matchup, it was anticlimactic as slag. 

The next was a quite straightforward game titled “Spot-it”. All that needed to be done was match an icon on your own card with the one in the discard. And finally, Starscream was able to dominate. Every single match, he rapidly pinpointed the correct image and practically blazed through his entire stack with only minute lapses in his speed. No one stood in his way! No one even got a chance! It was glorious! 

Starscream laughed maniacally as he gained yet another point without the pathetic aid of the bug. “HAHAH you all are not even TRYING! This game is far too easy. Or perhaps you simply have a slow processor for such things, eh, Bumblebee?” He flicked the bug’s helm and fluttered his wings. Elated that he at long last obtained even a fleeting moment of triumph amongst them. “Good thing you have me to carry your constant lag.”

Bumblebee glared at him, then rolled his optics, “Riiiight. You’re taking this whole thing way too seriously.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Starscream stated in a more dismissive than questioning manner with a slight tip of his helm and a shrug. “What’s next then?”

“Pictionary!” Hashtag held up the box with far more excitement than she’d had previously. “Nightshade and I even made more little figurines and an extended board for all of us to play together!” She and her sibling began the setup, while J.B. distributed the items required for each team. “The person who draws whatever it is rotates, then the others on your team need to guess what the person is trying to show them! The color on the board determines what subject it is, and you kinda get a bit of a clue on what it is from that too.”

Simple enough, if the bug could draw a straight line. Starscream claimed the marker first, as he was far more confident in his own artistic ability. The first object he got was a “basketball”. He didn’t know what that was, but he did know how to depict a basket and a ball separately. Surely the scout could comprehend an icon based word puzzle as simple as that. Which he did. But the words only got stranger from there, and that is where their downfall began. 

Items like “Taylor Swift”, “Swan”, or “Cell Phone”, were ridiculous. Was he supposed to have done research before this blasted thing? They had to redraw cards in an attempt to acquire a usable item multiple times. Yet even then, there were many moments where the bug had far too much confidence in his ability to depict whatever it was he’d gotten. His illustrative skill was predictively lacking, and he was lucky Starscream had been able to make out any of it at all. At the very least, Bumblebee was adequate at determining what Starscream was forced to illustrate. 

The worst of it was when there had been the perfect opportunity to draw himself throwing Megatron into the Pit–for the action topic of course–and the blasted timer ran out before he could finish! Apparently there needed to be some sort of middle ground in which to prioritize what details were necessary. He could make sacrifices for the sake of their victory, sure, yet it was still disappointing. How was he to find any sort of satisfaction in this game, if he could not at the bare minimum depict the buckethead getting tossed into a scrapheap?

Although he would admit that this game certainly seemed the most balanced, those with their ridiculous bonds and understanding of one another, inevitably gained some sort of advantage. Which got annoying fast. Every little moment longer the scout took to guess what the item was, or the next incoherent blob he depicted, made the tapping of Starscream’s ped quicken. 

Starscream growled and his wings flicked back, “NOW what is it?” He squinted as the crude image began to take some sort of shape. “The Autobots?” The bug shook his helm and gestured for it to be more general. “Cybertronians?” A gesture for him to elaborate. “What other word is there!?–” His optics flashed red, with a brief moment of his spark feeling as though it were being wrenched out of his intake, as the word came to him–“Transformers.” A disgustingly rudimentary title. Of course that was all that they were reduced to in this human game under the subject of pop culture. 

He was correct. But he still felt distant from the bug’s excitement toward their apparent close call. Starscream hit a servo against his own helm in an effort to knock out whatever had possessed him. This reflex was evidently questionable, but he was easily able to brush it off. He couldn’t have his processor glitching in the midst of this event. It would not only be quite discomfiting, but would also bring more petty disruption to something the Terrans seemed to have put a great deal of effort into. He had to keep it under control.

By the end of it, he and the bug only managed to cross half of the spaces needed to win. Infuriating. Starscream despised losing. They weren’t even able to claim second best. Pathetic. 

By the next game, Starscream was decidedly over it. 

This “Charades” only served to make one dance around like a fool in some absurd hope at expressing the word on their slip of flimsy scrap. It was near identical to the concept of the last, but regressed into something far less tolerable. Perhaps it could be more amusing if it was less about imitating Earth creatures and instead aimed toward mimicking someone else in their group. That had been a favorite amongst his trinemates back in the more tolerable cycles amidst the Decepticons.

Bumblebee flapped his arms around stupidly as he attempted to display what he’d plucked from the pile. He looked utterly ridiculous. Starscream would never catch himself offline doing such a thing. What was the bug even supposed to be? He was acting as though he were attempting to fly, similar to how Nightshade seems to need to operate their alt mode. Clearly some form of Earthen avian, but how was he supposed to know which classification was required?

“Ugh,” Starscream rubbed his optics, “what do you call those tiny avian creatures on this planet?” 

“Birds!” Twitch chirped in an oddly endearing manner.

“Right. That is what he is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, basically.” Bumblebee halted mid motion to shrug, then whirled his arms around before finding his balance again. “Think we can count that one Alex?”

“Mmm…” Dorothy’s conjunx, Alex, squeaked his uncertainty at the notion. Obviously unsatisfied with such a vague answer.

Dorothy smacked his shoulder, although it looked like it barely connected. “I think we can give it to ‘em. Starscream hasn’t exactly gotten as acquainted with what all our little guys here are called yet.”

“I don’t need your pity points, human.” Starscream muttered in a visceral hiss. When would he have had the time to study such things? Why should he care what all these birds were labeled on this insufferable planet? He had far better things to do! Starscream had a million other exceedingly more important matters that required his brilliant processor, than reverting back to cataloging miscellaneous fauna on some backwater rock!

 “Oh, I suppose it’s alright.” Alex relented, none the wiser to Starscream’s bitter comment. “Why don’t you try another one, Bee?”

Bumblebee chuckled as the timer ran out, “Sorry pal, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until next time to witness my famously flawless acting skills. How about you and Dot go next? Gotta show me your moves too!”

Starscream watched the rest of them play out what remained of the game with blank optics. The images he processed paced in a choppy framerate, and the clarity distorted to a lower quality. A moment's glance at the scoreboard told him that there was absolutely no way they would win in the larger scheme of things. It meant nothing. He couldn’t even attempt to sabotage the competition, or challenge the validity of his competitors' victories. He’d surely get caught, and only gain pointless drama that’d get him into trouble. Which he did not need more of.

Had he even passed that scout’s stupid test? Even if Starscream didn’t claim the more favorable glory he sought, it’d be worse if the failure was calculated against whatever new standard Megatron sought from him. Starscream was actually surprised his ever looming Lord hadn’t made further appearance by now. He was sure something was bound to happen soon. Perhaps this was all some sort of means to get him to let his guard down. Or to determine what could be used to force him in line. Megatron might be getting a byte more creative in his time as a traitor. Even if he was attempting some type of psychological approach, surely he’d revel in any excuse to beat the slag out of Starscream for any reason he could pull out his exhaust pipe.

This whole ordeal seemed too calm. Too casual. They all had many moments of clear annoyance towards him, yet constantly held themselves back but only a few meager remarks. It was not as if he held any particular power in this situation to warrant them to fear standing against him. They only seemed unsure, or dismissive. Even occasionally acting as if their apprehension was entirely absent. They were clearly hiding something. 

Starscream had been lost in his own thoughts for so long, that he’d just about missed their little awards ceremony to conclude the night. That was until there was a crack and pop that sent a far too familiar shock through his muddled audials. He flinched and stumbled backwards away from the noise. Nearly trampling one of the Terrans but unable to utter an apology as he barely processed their presence. 

It was only a device to distribute colorful material over the crowd. Their laughter was mocking him. Their celebration over their stupid series of trials that they rigged towards their own success, was disorienting. 

Starscream was done. He’d played their games. He was not about to attempt to decode what they wanted next. 

He stealthily retreated back into his corner of the cavern. It hadn’t been all horrible, he supposed…Regardless, he was tired. They were all too loud in the wrong way. 

The curse flared with thoughts echoing some stupid impulse that’d use its power to blast them into oblivion. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. Then their threat would be neutralized.

But that wasn’t right.

Lightning flickered and stabbed across his frame as he now sat with his wings to those soaring seekers on the wall. He just wanted to leave. To fly away to a Cybertron where they were waiting for him. Where he too could enjoy such festivities. Where they’d cheer his name for his achievements. Where he could revel in their praise–perhaps even…alongside his trinemates, untainted by his mistakes.

Where…it would all feel real.

[lavendershowcase]

Queer Summer Reading Challenge is Here!

If you're looking for a LGBT reading challenge for the summer, look no further! Text-version of bingo chart below.

These are a combo of prompts of books to read and just new reading habits you can try like reading before bed, outside, etc. From now until August 31st, work through this bingo sheet and see what kind of queer books you can read!

How do I participate? Simply download this image (or track your reading however you prefer) and start reading queer books based on the prompts in the boxes. You can do it on your own, with friends, or send in progress to the blog or our discord (you can find the invite link on our book club posts or ask for in a DM or ask!)

How do I win? Just like any bingo card, you need 5 across, down, or diagonal! If you want a shout-out, you can send your finished card in to me, and I'll put it on the blog!

What do I win? I had initially wanted to have some prizes life a e-gift card to bookshop.org or a partner with a queer artist or two to provide discount codes to an online store. Maybe in the future, I can offer something like that when I have more time and money to spare on a small gift card! This summer, your prize is just reading more queer books!

Free space. You can use this space as either a true free space (you don't have to read anything for it and just mark the spot as soon as you download the card) or as a chance to read a book that doesn't fit in with any other prompts. Or you can even use it as a spot to make your own prompt!

Can one book count for multiple spots? It's up to you! Make this challenge as realistic as possible for yourself. Some of us read slow! Some of us can read a book in a day. Do what you can. It's a challenge for yourself.

Do audiobooks count? Yes. Of course. I even made a special spot for it.

What if I can't find a good book to read or don't know what will fit the prompt? You can come to me! I can recommend queer books for this challenge or direct you to lists of books online. My DMs and inbox are open. You can even mark it down as a spot on the card!

What if I don't get bingo before the end of August? You can keep going! Or you can be done! You can do whatever you want forever. You're always more than welcome to continue to working on this year-round and send in updates to me! What am I going to say? "Oh you're reading books in the wrong season." No!

I'm not queer. Can I still participate? Yes! If you're cishet and want to read more queer books, you're welcome to join us! Everyone is welcome here.

If you have any questions or just wanna chat about books, you can DM or send in an ask to this blog! If you want to post your progress on your own blog, you can @ me, too. The discord will also be open for any convo!

Have a good time reading!

Full list of bingo prompts under cut:

Column one from top down:

A Classic, Adult Fiction, Horror, Recommendation from @lavendershowcase, Young Adult, Fantasy

Column two from top down:

Set in a city you've never visited, Author from your home state, Historical-Fiction, Indie, Read on lunch break, Read outside,

Column three from top down:

A book you've left unfinished, Juvenile Fiction, Has been adapted into a movie, Free Space, Science-Fiction, Short Story

Column four from top down:

Banned book, Read before bed, Graphic Novel, Set before you were born, Non-fiction, Neurodivergent Main Character

Column Five from top down:

Romance, Trans Main Character, Check it out from the library, Picture book, Listen to an audiobook, BIPOC Main Character

[honeytonedhottie]

planning basics⋆.ೃ࿔*:･📔

i feel like at this point im a planning MASTER i've been using notion to plan and organize my life for about two years now and before i discovered notion i used a manual planner. i've also made lots of content about planning but today i wanna just focus on the basics and how to organize ur life in a simpler fashion…💬🎀

SEPARATE UR TIME INTO QUADRANTS ;

so i like to separate my tasks into quadrants. im going to try and present it verbally. so the first quadrant would be urgent and important, things that are imperative for me to do. the second quadrant is important but not urgent.

the third quadrant is urgent but not important but its not necessarily imperative that i do them. and last but not least the fourth quadrant is what i classify as buffer time, mostly cuz its neither urgent nor important. and i'll go more in detail with that later on in the post. this is helpful because it helps u to place priority on the tasks that u have to do and not spend a day doing side quests while u have pressing matters that need attending to. this is called the eisenhower matrix.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CALENDAR AND AGENDA ;

so i keep a calendar and an agenda. the main differences between a calendar and an agenda is that the agenda is updated weekly, the calendar is updated monthly/whenever u make appointments.

i find myself looking at and checking my agenda more often then my calendar and thats mainly because im more in-depth on my agenda because im the kind of person who needs specific instructions to get something done. the calendar only tells u the date and the event but the agenda tells u more in depth about how to prepare and go about things.

DELEGATE AND OUTSOURCE TASKS ;

to delegate a task simply means to identify and give tasks that can be handled by others to free up ur time for more important work…💬🎀

GENERAL NOTION TIPS ;

use toggle lists

use THIS website for cute emoji combos (things like ❤︎ and ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･)

make a color scheme and stick with it

twitter headers work the same as notion backgrounds

GENERAL MANUAL AGENDA TIPS ;

color code tasks with adorable glitter gel pens. use post it notes to break down large tasks. like, write the broad task and on the underside of the post it note make a bullet list as u break down the task. mostly with manual agendas i just prioritize aesthetics because if it doesnt look good i won't wanna check it and perform it.

[lemonsprite]

Spideypool || headcanons

Made this just so I could post something TT sorry for the inactivity college is kicking my ass

Spideypool headcanons!

Deadpool is a HARDCORE Miku Stan, like actively gets into brawls with people who say anything less than glowing about Miku. Forces Peter to watch his full combo sets on pjsk

Peter Parker is autistic yet the one who vocal stims the most is wade. They are so hasn’t spoken in 24 hours autistic x hasn’t been quite for more than 2 nano seconds in the past week ADHD coded

Wade once stapled his mask to his face in a fit of insecurity while sitting on his apartments bathroom floor. Peter was horrified and helped him through the process of removing the staples despite wades reassurances of “I do stuff like this every day, it’s no biggie.”

Peter plays a lot of video games but the one he loves the most is animal crossing since he’s played it since childhood and he loves to use it to wind down after a long day of superhero antics.

Therefore after any particularly rough patrols Wade and Peter will go back to Wades apartment and play Animal Crossing: New Horizons with couch co-op

It’s actually how they found out about each others secret identities.

After a rough day of college classes Peter just wanted to play AC with his friend Deadpool but in his delirious half asleep college student mind he forgot to grab his suit and went to Wade’s house in his civilian attire.

Wade comes back from like grocery shopping or something (idk) and sees that somehow a random brunette twink is now breaking and entering into his state of the art security apartment

It’s all good though after a quick few minutes of them both being like “wtf”

Anyways Peters favorite villager is Pedro and Wades is Katty

Peters favorite form of physical touch is when people rub the back of his neck (it’s particularly sensitive bc of his spider bite and senses)

Okay I’m going to bed now good night faithful lemonsprite enthusiasts

[drowsy-king]

Headcanon TWST - PT 4

I, the random lad of your day, has come with another headcanon... Just for the silly vamp fae

HEAR ME OUT?? So, we all know Lilia is an old fae (I think like 700-800 years old?? I forgot but I know it's in the 00's). And we all know he's been in some..so called, 'phases.' There were times where there was Rock Lilia (some say he's emo on that time), General Lilia, Lilo & Stitch event Lilia, etc etc. But have you notice how his clothing style changed through his years? Like it looks all badass to an ok to THEN a 'Oh my!' in a good way. You see, my headcanon that this silly bat has actually tried in women/feminine clothing one time and actually finds it interesting. Why? BECAUSE LOOK CLOSELY. His clothing (in present btw) literally gives off femininity, masculinity too but it's in a mix. He doesn't wear neutral pants in his dorm uniform, he doesn't wear baggy or skinny pants in his sleep card like the others, he wears heels in almost ALL his cards (Ik like 4 cards he doesn't for certain reasons but the rest, I am sure he wears heels/heel shoes/heel boots-), and oh, let's not forget... (Groovy card warning!)

HE WEARS HIGH THIGHS. I know, men can wear high thighs (I respect it) and I don't mind! I am pointing out that his high thighs are underneath his short shorts that go to underneath his chest that ALSO match his heel boots, and ofc, HIS LONG COAT. You see my vision? That's literally a unisex combo! In other words, I headcanon that he once was curious on feminine clothing in one of his 'youthful' years and decided to wear some. He found it interesting and after some time, he decided to mix the femininity and masculinity in his clothing, making him what he wears now!

Want the extra bonus? He also wears his clothing with masculinity and femininity to actually confuse others. How? Well, if someone sees him for the first time and he's wearing his dorm clothing, one would get confuse on why there's a girl or/and a male wearing those clothes in an all-boy school. Then when the student approaches and asks Lilia about his gender or why is he doing here, Lilia will be amused and scare the student with his voice to indicate he's in fact a male. I can clearly see him being mischievous when someone asks him about his gender- xD

In conclusion, he breaks the gender codes. SO, SLAY, QUEEEN 💅💅💅💕💕