#thoughts while watching The Matrix

[xmilkwee3dx]

My ultimate fantasy is to be able to trust someone with my entire heart and being.

[magicat1337]

for some reason i’ve been watching lots of different sci fi movies and it feels like i just broke up with the matrix trilogy and im seeing other people for now wondering if i’ll ever get back together with it

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 16

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No, you would go. But today would be different. You had decided determined, really that today would be nothing more than a lesson. All work, no jokes. No lingering on things that didn’t matter. No personal questions. No stolen glances. Because it wasn’t fair. He knew so much about you. Your struggles, your habits, the way your mind worked…or failed to work, at times. 

He had seen you laid bare metaphorically, of course, but somehow that was worse. He had read you like an open book, and yet when you tried to do the same, you found the pages blank, sealed, or written in a language you could not understand. What did you know of him? He played the harpsichord. That much you had gathered. But what did he listen to when he was alone? What was his favorite piece?

Did he hum while he worked, or did he sit in silence, letting the weight of knowledge fill the air? Did he prefer tea or coffee? Did he even need to eat? And if he did, what was his favorite meal? Who were his friends? Did he have friends? Or was he always the Sage, always standing apart, untouchable and revered? What had he been like as a child? Had he always been this way poised, unwavering, impossibly composed? Or had he once been clumsy, uncertain, still learning what it meant to be the Sage of Truth? Was he spoken for? 

That thought, more than any other, made something twist inside you, a sharp pang of something you refused to name. It wasn’t his fault you had gotten attached. But you had. And now, you had to fix it. You pushed the door open, stepping into the study room with renewed resolve. Today, there would be no unnecessary conversation, no lingering warmth. Just work. At least, that was the plan. You only hoped he wouldn’t make it difficult.

You entered the room, not bothering to hesitate at the threshold. No unnecessary thoughts. No unnecessary emotions. Just work. Without so much as a greeting, you pulled out your notes, flipping to the section you had struggled with most. The paper was a mess of hurried scribbles, half-finished equations, and the occasional margin note that made less sense now than when you first wrote it. But that didn’t matter. You dropped the pages onto the desk in front of you and spoke clear, direct, without hesitation.

 "On the application of astral runes in planar stabilization," you began, skipping pleasantries altogether. "How does the stability matrix account for flux when the anchor points shift independently of one another?"

It was an advanced question, more than a little out of your depth, but that was precisely the point. If you buried yourself in complex theory, there would be no room for anything else, no stray thoughts, no wandering emotions, no reflections on how unfair it felt to be this exposed while knowing so little about him.

You finally lifted your gaze, forcing yourself to meet Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes. He had been watching you from the moment you stepped in, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his expression unreadable. Usually, he would greet you with a thoughtful remark, perhaps a small observation on your mood or state of mind. But this time, you had given him no opening.

No space for idle chatter. Only a question. His gaze lingered for a moment, searching, as if trying to discern something unspoken. Then, with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, he answered. "A precise question." His voice was as smooth as ever, but there was something else there, something quieter. "Let us begin."

You sat down with a sharp, deliberate motion, placing your notes onto the table before Shadow Milk Cookie could say anything. No greeting, no lingering hesitation, just a question. “About the theorem we covered last time,” you said, flipping to a particular page in your notes, voice brisk, focused. “I was reviewing the applications, but I’m not sure how it applies when you shift the variables outside of the original bounds.”

The words left your mouth in a rush, leaving no space for anything else. No space for warmth. No space for familiarity. No space for him to see through you. For a moment, there was silence. Then, Shadow Milk Cookie, ever composed, inclined his head. His golden eyes flickered over you not with suspicion, not with amusement, but with something unreadable. He did not acknowledge the shift in your demeanor. Did not ask why there was no hello, no trace of your usual energy. Instead, he smoothly picked up the thread of your inquiry, as if nothing had changed.

“A fair question,” he mused, steepling his fingers before him. “To understand the constraints of the theorem, one must first consider its foundational premise. If we deconstruct the function as an extension of its primary logic, we find that-” He launched into an explanation with his usual measured eloquence, his voice even and assured, weaving seamlessly between theory and application.

Good. Good. This was what you needed. You nodded along, forcing your mind to follow the thread of his reasoning, gripping onto each word like a lifeline. If you focused truly, deeply focused on this, then maybe the rest would fall away. Maybe you wouldn’t feel the weight in your chest, the sting of self-awareness whispering that you were lying to yourself. But Shadow Milk Cookie was thorough.

He explained the theorem in layered depth, drawing diagrams with practiced ease, his golden eyes alight with the quiet thrill of dissecting knowledge. His words flowed effortlessly, forming intricate patterns of logic, each thought linking seamlessly to the next. His explanations were precise, unraveling the structure of the problem with such clarity that, for a moment, you felt yourself being swept into it.

You blinked. Wait. What? Your grip on your quill faltered as you scrambled to process the last few sentences. Somewhere between defining the function’s behavior and its correlation to alternative magical applications, he had gone far beyond what you could follow. “Slow down,” you blurted, lifting a hand in surrender. “I don’t-I don’t understand.” Shadow Milk Cookie halted mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to yours. His expression did not change, but there was something in his eyes something careful, something aware. You swallowed, feeling frustration creep into your chest not at him, but at yourself. At the fact that you had let yourself get caught in the cadence of his voice, in the way his words spun knowledge so effortlessly, and now you were struggling to keep up.

No. That wasn’t the only reason. You were frustrated because even now even after deciding that you needed to create distance, that it wasn’t fair how much he knew about you while you knew so little of him he still had the power to pull you in. Still had the ability to make you forget yourself. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering you. Then, instead of continuing, he leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the table with practiced ease. "Tell me, then," he said, his voice softer now, less of a lecture and more of an invitation. "Where did I lose you?"

You gritted your teeth. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair. If he had just been indifferent, if he had simply continued as though you were nothing more than a struggling student, it would have been easier. But he wasn’t indifferent. He was patient. And worse he was perceptive. You forced yourself to exhale. “The part about restructuring the function,” you admitted, flipping back a page in your notes, trying to ignore the way your voice had lost its sharp edge. “You lost me there.”

Shadow Milk Cookie nodded once, then, with the same patience as always, began again. And you let him. You let him guide you back through the explanation, let yourself focus on the words, let yourself be lost in the steady rhythm of learning. Because deceit was a warmer embrace than truth. And if you focused hard enough, maybe you could convince yourself that this was all there was. Your quill hovered over the page, ink pooling at the tip, threatening to drop onto your already messy notes. You stared, not really seeing the words anymore, your mind an unsteady blur of half-formed thoughts.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was steady, patient as always. His explanations wove through the air, each word carefully measured, precise, yet they slipped through your grasp like sand. You tried to follow, tried to focus, but nothing stuck. You knew it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the material. It was you. And that made it worse. “Do you follow?” he asked, his tone as composed as ever. You blinked, suddenly aware that he had finished speaking. You hadn’t even processed the last thing he said.

“Uh-” Your grip on the quill tightened, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You scrambled, flipping back a few pages in your notes as if searching for something, anything that would make the past few minutes click into place. But it was useless. His gaze was expectant, not impatient, not unkind. Just waiting. Waiting for you to catch up. Waiting for you to be honest. Your chest tightened. You couldn’t do this. “I don’t get it.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, low and tense, barely above a whisper. You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even, but the frustration was creeping in, sinking its claws deep into your ribs. “I don’t” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’m not following anything you’re saying.”

Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like me to simplify it?” That…That was it. The final push. You let out a short, bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. Your quill clattered onto the desk as you leaned back, rubbing a hand down your face.

“What’s the point?” His expression didn’t change. He simply regarded you, eyes steady, waiting for you to continue. You almost didn’t. But something in you snapped. “It’s not like I’ll get it if you keep trying,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I don’t...I don’t know why I even bother.” You exhaled harshly, hands clenching into fists on your lap.

“I just...I thought if I kept showing up, if I kept listening, I’d get somewhere, but I...” Your breath hitched, frustration rising to the surface, sharp and undeniable. “It’s useless. I don’t get it. I never get it.” Your voice wavered at the last part, and you hated that. A quiet settled between you, thick and heavy. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the heat behind them to go away. You didn’t want to be seen like this weak, frustrated, cracking under the weight of something that shouldn’t even matter this much.

But then he spoke. “Are you frustrated with the material?” The question was simple. Too simple. And for some reason, that made your chest tighten even more. You opened your mouth, ready to snap out an answer, to deflect, to insist that yes, of course, it was the material. What else could it possibly be? But the words wouldn’t come. Because it wasn’t just the material.

And Shadow Milk Cookie…He was too perceptive for his own good. You clenched your jaw, turning your face away, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” you muttered. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. Silence stretched between you again. You wished he’d just move on. Let it go. Let you sit in your frustration and wallow until the feeling passed. But instead, he said  “Truth is not always kind.”

Shadow Milk Cookie rested his chin against the back of his hand, watching you carefully. “It is a mirror that does not bend to our wishes. And when we look into it, we do not always like what we see.” You stared at him, words caught in your throat. He continued, voice calm, unwavering.

“Deceit, on the other hand, is a gentler embrace. It soothes, where truth may wound. It comforts, where truth may force confrontation.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp, piercing. “Would you rather remain in deceit, then? Because it is easier?” You jolted as if struck.

Your mouth opened, then shut. You had no response. Something in you curled inward, like an exposed nerve, raw and aching. You wanted to say no. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you sought truth, that you weren’t weak enough to cling to something false just because it hurt less. But wasn’t that exactly what you were doing? Wasn’t that why you were here, sitting stiffly in your chair, forcing yourself to create distance because you had let yourself see too much? Your throat tightened. “I-” Your voice failed you. You suddenly felt… exposed. Like he had peeled back a layer of yourself you hadn’t even realized was showing.

Your hands clenched into fists. You needed to focus. You needed to ground yourself in something solid before you spiraled too far. You forced yourself to look at your notes, flipping a page just for the sake of doing something, anything. “Let’s” You cleared your throat, trying to steady your voice. “Let’s just get back to work.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. His gaze wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t pitying, either. Just… knowing. You didn’t like that. But he did not press. “Very well,” he said simply, and began again. You tried to follow. You really did. But your thoughts were elsewhere, your mind still tangled in the weight of his words. And before long, you realized, You weren’t listening at all. You were staring. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, you had stopped hearing his words entirely. His voice became nothing more than a distant hum, like waves rolling in and out against the shore. His gestures, his careful movements, the way his golden eyes flickered with thought it all blurred together into something incomprehensible.

“Are you following?” You snapped upright, startled. You blinked rapidly, heat rising to your face as you scrambled to make sense of where you were, of what he had just said. But you had nothing. You had absorbed none of it. Your breath caught. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You swallowed thickly, gripping the edge of your notes like they could anchor you back to reality. “Wait-wait, slow down, I-I don’t understand.”

Shadow Milk Cookie paused. Then, slowly, he leaned back, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “I see,” he mused, and there was something almost amused in his voice. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?” Your face burned. You turned away sharply, jaw clenching, frustration bubbling up all over again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Forget it?” he echoed, arching a brow. “You were so determined when you arrived today. I wonder, what changed?” Your breath caught. You wanted to say nothing. You wanted to pretend it was just another day, another failed attempt at understanding material that would always slip through your fingers. But you couldn’t. Because you knew what changed. And you were afraid to admit it. To him. To yourself.

The silence stretched between you. You weren’t sure how long you had been staring at the parchment in front of you, but the words no longer made sense not because they were difficult, but because they felt distant, irrelevant. Like trying to grasp smoke. You knew he was watching you. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet patience with which he waited for you to speak. But you had nothing to say. Your fingers curled against the edge of your notes, gripping them tightly before relaxing again.

What were you doing here? You had asked yourself that before, but the question had never burned as much as it did now. It wasn’t his fault. That much you knew. It wasn’t his fault that he was always composed, always steady, always carrying himself with the unshaken confidence of someone who knew their place in the world. It wasn’t his fault that he could look at you, really look at you and see through the barriers you thought you had built. That he could tell, without needing to ask, whether you were listening, whether you were engaged, whether your mind was somewhere far away. Instead of addressing anything he continued tutoring in the hopes you’d start to follow along.

The ink on your parchment blurred before your eyes, the symbols and diagrams twisting into meaningless shapes. You weren’t even tired…not really, but focus felt impossible, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. You knew he could tell. Of course he could. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t miss things like this. Even now, as you sat stiffly across from him, your notes spread out in front of you, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

Patient. Expectant. Waiting for you to catch up, to ask a question, to engage. But you hadn’t. Not tonight. Instead, you had simply nodded along, feigning understanding when in reality, your mind was a thousand miles away. Shadow Milk Cookie finally set down his quill. The motion was deliberate, the quiet tap against the desk almost deafening in the heavy silence.

“You are unfocused.” Your jaw tensed. It wasn’t a question. You swallowed, gripping your quill a little tighter. “I’m fine.” His golden eyes studied you. “Then tell me what I just explained.” You hesitated. There was an answer somewhere in your head, you were sure of it. But when you reached for it, all you found was noise his voice, the rhythm of his words, the structure of his explanations, all slipping past you too fast to grasp. “I-” You frowned. “It was about…” Nothing. Your silence was all the answer he needed.

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tapping his fingers lightly against the parchment. “Curious. If you are fine, as you claim, then why do you falter?” You inhaled sharply, irritation prickling under your skin. “I just zoned out for a second.”

“More than a second.”

You clenched your jaw, heat rising to your face. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “It is if you wish to learn.”

That was the thing, wasn’t it? You did want to learn. You wanted to be here. Or at least, you had convinced yourself that you did. But tonight, everything felt wrong. You had walked into this session determined to build a wall, to keep things strictly professional, to separate whatever this was from what it needed to be. He was your tutor, nothing more. And he knew you weren’t listening. It was unfair. Unfair that he could read you so easily, unfair that he always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, unfair that he could see right through you while you…You knew so little of him. You had spent all this time by his side, listening to his teachings, watching the way his mind worked, the way his words wove knowledge into something tangible. You had seen him confident, assured, unwavering. But beyond that?

What did he like outside of all this? Did he have a favorite color? A favorite meal? Did he ever get frustrated? Did he ever feel lost? Who were his friends? What was his childhood like? What made him him? He had told you once that his hair was a reflection of who he was. But that answer had only left you with more questions. And yet, he had never offered more. And why would he? Why should he?

Your fingers curled into fists on the table. This wasn’t his fault. That was the worst part. This wasn’t his fault. It was yours. Yours for letting yourself get attached, for allowing yourself to wonder, for looking at him and seeing something beyond what was there or worse, for seeing something that was there but was never meant for you.

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly. “Shall we begin again?” His voice was calm, composed. Like this was just another lesson, just another evening. Your frustration swelled. You couldn’t do this. Not like this. “Why do you care?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes narrowed slightly not in irritation, but in consideration. “Is that truly what you wish to ask?” You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I just. I don’t get it. Why does it matter if I’m paying attention or not? It’s my problem, isn’t it? It’s my responsibility to learn.”

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, regarding you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “You misunderstand.” You frowned. “Do I?”

“Yes.” His tone was measured, deliberate. “It is not that I care whether you listen. It is that you wish to listen, yet you do not.”

Your heart stuttered. His gaze didn’t waver. “And that, I believe, is what frustrates you most.” Your breath caught in your throat. You did want to listen. You wanted to be here. But your thoughts had tangled into something unmanageable, something overwhelming, and no matter how hard you tried to pull yourself back, you couldn’t. You looked away, your voice quieter now. “It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not?”

You scoffed. “Of course you’d say that.” His lips quirked up at the corner, almost imperceptibly. “I only speak the truth.” You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temple.

“You always do, don’t you?” There was a pause.

“Would you rather I lie?” You looked up at him sharply, startled by the question. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze remained steady, unyielding. But there was something beneath the surface. You swallowed. “No.”

He nodded, as if that answer was expected. “Then tell me.”

You hesitated. “Tell you what?”

“What troubles you.” You nearly laughed.

“That’s not how this works.”

He tilted his head slightly. “No?” You let out a dry chuckle. “You’re the Sage of Truth. You already know, don’t you?” He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was softer than before.

“I know what I observe. But I am not omniscient.” Something in your chest tightened. You shook your head, looking away again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” You exhaled sharply, frustration flickering back to the surface. “Why?”

He regarded you for a long moment before speaking. “Because truth is not always what one wants. And yet, it remains. Would you rather embrace deceit?”

Yes. Yes, because deceit was easier. It was a warmer embrace than the truth. Because the truth was…You liked him but…you didn’t know him. Not really. And yet, you had let yourself want to. Your fingers curled against the parchment, heart pounding. Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, leaning forward slightly. “We will begin again,” he repeated, quieter this time. You swallowed hard, nodding without a word. You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. But you knew you had to move forward. Even if the truth was the last thing you wanted to face.

The sharp edges of frustration had dulled now, replaced with something else something quieter, something bitter. You had let your emotions dictate your actions, let them warp your thoughts into something unbecoming. You had sat here, barely listening, building walls between yourself and the one person who had done nothing to deserve it. And for what? Because he saw through you? Because you didn’t know him the way he seemed to know you? It was childish. You were childish.

Your grip on your quill tightened before you finally sighed, letting the tension slip from your shoulders. “I…” You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.” Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t respond right away. He merely watched you, eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight of his office.

“For what?” You hesitated, pressing your lips together before exhaling. “For… behaving like that. For letting things get to me. For…” You frowned, searching for the right words. “For allowing emotions I don’t even understand to dictate what I do.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. “A rare admission.” You let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, well. I feel foolish.” His gaze didn’t waver.

“Foolishness is not in acknowledging one’s emotions. It is in denying them.” You stared at him for a long moment before shaking your head. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Say things that make too much sense,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. Then, after a beat, you looked at him again, more serious this time. “How do you always know the truth?” He blinked, the shift in topic catching him off guard. “I am the Sage of Truth.”

“No,” you interjected. “Not as the Sage of Truth. I want you to answer me as Shadow Milk.” His expression flickered, the ever-present composure cracking just slightly at your request. You leaned forward, elbows resting against the table. “What is the truth to you? And don’t give me some grand, philosophical answer. I want to know what it means to you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a long time, his fingers idly brushing against the parchment on the table. You could see the way he weighed his words, measured them as he always did. But this time, it wasn’t for the sake of some grand declaration. Finally, he spoke. “The truth,” he said slowly, “is both burden and gift.” You frowned slightly, but let him continue.

“It is an unyielding force. One that exists beyond our desires, beyond what we want to be true. It does not change, no matter how we plead or fight against it. And yet…” His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “It is also what guides us. What shapes us. What reveals us, even when we do not wish to be seen.”

You exhaled through your nose, mulling over his words before finally asking, “And what about me?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You said truth reveals us even when we don’t wish to be seen.” You met his gaze fully now, unwavering. “What do you see? What do you know just from what you observe in me?”

His expression shifted something deeper settling in his gaze, something you couldn’t name. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. “I see someone who tries to convince themselves they do not care, when in reality, they care far too much.” Your breath hitched. “I see someone who holds their own struggles close, too stubborn to share them, because they believe no one would truly understand."

You held your breath. “I see someone who seeks knowledge not just for the sake of learning, but for the sake of proving something to themselves, to others, to someone whose voice still lingers in their mind.”

Your chest felt tight. “That’s-” But he wasn’t done. “I see someone who is afraid.” Your breath caught in your throat. His voice was softer now, but no less steady. “Afraid of being seen. Afraid of being known. However…” He studied you carefully, as if peeling back the layers of your very being.

“You crave it, all the same.” The room felt too small. You swallowed hard, looking away. “I hate that you’re right.” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tilting his head.

“Did you want me to lie?” You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “No.” He nodded, as if that was all he needed. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“…Is that all you see?” The question was quieter than before, uncertain. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his golden eyes. “I see someone who is trying.” You looked up at him. He continued, voice steady. “Someone who, despite everything, still moves forward. Who still chooses to be here. And that, I believe, is no small thing.”

Your chest ached. There was nothing grand about his words, nothing overly poetic. Just simple, honest truth. And somehow, that made it harder to bear. You exhaled, rubbing your temple. “You really don’t hold back, do you?” His lips curved ever so slightly. “You asked.” You let out another breathless chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah. I did.” The weight of the conversation still lingered, pressing down on you. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating anymore. “…We should probably get back to studying,” you murmured after a beat. Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head slightly. “If you are ready.” You hesitated just for a moment before nodding. “I am.” And this time, you meant it. At least you thought you did.

The conversation lingered in your mind, even as you forced yourself to refocus. Shadow Milk Cookie had said his piece laid bare what he saw in you and though the weight of it still sat heavy in your chest, you found yourself breathing a little easier. And as the lesson resumed, something within you eased.

The usual rhythm returned the back-and-forth, the push and pull. You let yourself slip into the banter, your playful nature peeking through in small quips and exaggerated sighs of suffering whenever he asked a particularly difficult question. “Of course you’d expect me to remember that,” you muttered, frowning at the notes before you. Shadow Milk Cookie merely arched a brow. “Would you prefer a simpler question?”

You scoffed. “What, and give you the satisfaction? I don’t think so.” He exhaled, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. “Your defiance is commendable, though misdirected.”

You grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” And so it went. You asked questions. He answered them. He posed new ones, guiding you toward realizations without simply handing you the answers. Somehow, without even realizing it, you learned. Not through rigid memorization or frustrating drills, but through genuine discussion. By the time you finally closed your notebook, the weight of the day felt lighter, the earlier frustration nothing more than a faint echo in the background.

“Well,” you sighed, stretching slightly. “That’s that.” Shadow Milk Cookie gave a satisfied nod. “You grasped the concepts well.” You hummed, tapping your fingers idly against the cover of your notebook before saying, “I don’t actually think I needed to learn this.” His gaze flickered to you, mild curiosity in his expression.

You shrugged. “I just picked the concept that seemed the hardest.” You smiled a little, rolling your shoulders. “Figured if I was going to spend time learning something, it might as well be the biggest challenge. Maybe it’ll come in handy one day.” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before exhaling a quiet chuckle. “That is certainly one approach.”

You smirked. “Hey, if I’m going to suffer, I might as well choose my suffering.” He shook his head, though there was no real disapproval in his expression. “You continue to be an enigma.” You laughed. “And yet, somehow, you always seem to figure me out.”

He hummed, watching you with that ever-measured gaze. “Not entirely.” That made you pause. Your grin faltered slightly, just enough for the shift in expression to be noticeable. But before you could ask what he meant before you could linger too long on the thought he spoke again. “Shall we conclude for today?” You blinked before nodding.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” He nodded in return, gathering his own notes as you shut your notebook. You found yourself wondering just for a moment, if he had truly meant what he said. That he didn’t entirely know you. That there was still more to be seen. You left his office only to return. You should have stayed gone. But, It wasn’t time for dinner yet, and you had nothing to do. You also nothing to say, no reason to sit here idly while he worked.

Your fingers tapped against the arm of your chair, your gaze flicking between the bookshelves that loomed over his desk, the faint glimmer of candlelight against the deep blue strands of his hair, and the serene focus on his face. Shadow Milk Cookie hardly seemed to register your presence. Or maybe he did and simply chose not to acknowledge it. You weren’t sure which would have been worse. You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable, not with him but with yourself.

Your mind was restless, searching for something to latch onto, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “…What do you actually like?” The quill stopped mid-stroke. For a long, silent moment, he did not move, his head only barely tilting in your direction. Then, his golden eyes flickered toward you, unreadable. “…I beg your pardon?” You swallowed, suddenly feeling foolish, but you had already spoken. There was no taking it back. “I mean… I don’t know anything about you. Not really,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair. “I know the Sage of Truth. I know the scholar, the mentor, the one everyone looks up to. But… I don’t know you.”

That surprised him. You could tell by the way his brows lifted just slightly, the way his quill lingered, forgotten, between his fingers. You exhaled, shifting under his gaze. “What do you like?” you repeated, softer this time. Shadow Milk Cookie set his quill down, folding his hands neatly over the parchment. “You are quite direct today.”

You huffed. “Would you rather I beat around the bush?” He studied you, something thoughtful behind his gaze, before exhaling softly. “No,” he admitted, almost to himself. You weren’t sure why, but the way he said it made something in your chest feel lighter. Still, he seemed to consider your question carefully, as if deciding how much of himself he was willing to share.

Finally, he answered. “I enjoy playing the harpsichord,” he said, voice even, measured. “The act of creation through music is… calming.” You blinked, you knew this.

He continued. “I find solace in quiet libraries, where the weight of time lingers in the air.” He glanced briefly at the nearest bookshelf, his expression softening just slightly. “And I prefer tea to coffee. Something floral, with a subtle sweetness.” You listened, eyes fixed on him, taking in every word as if they were the rarest truths you had ever heard.

Shadow Milk Cookie hesitated for a fraction of a second, then added, quieter almost like an afterthought “…I like the night sky.” Your breath caught. Not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it. There was something different in his tone something uncharacteristically unguarded.

You tilted your head. “Why?” He glanced at you, then away, his fingers pressing together slightly. “…Because it is vast, endless, and unknown.” A pause. “Because no matter how much I seek to understand it, there will always be something beyond my reach.” You watched him carefully, his golden eyes fixed somewhere distant, as if lost in thought.

For a moment, he wasn’t the Sage of Truth. He was just himself. Perhaps you selfishly wanted to see more of that. You hummed, letting his words settle before saying, “So… if you like the night sky because it’s something you can’t fully understand… does that mean you like a challenge?”

His gaze snapped back to you. And for just a second just a heartbeat you thought you saw it. A faint warmth at the tips of his ears. It was gone before you could be certain, but something about it made your own heart stumble over itself. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering in his expression, though his eyes held something else something curious. “

You are quite bold today,” he remarked. You shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to see what kind of answer I’d get.” His lips quirked up slightly, a ghost of a smile, before he leaned back in his chair. “And? Are you satisfied?”

You studied him for a moment, the quiet flicker of candlelight reflecting in his eyes. Maybe it was because you swore just for a moment that you had seen something there, something warm and human and quietly sincere, but you found yourself smiling. “…I think I’ll need to keep asking to know for sure.” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly, shaking his head, but there was no disapproval in it. Only quiet amusement. “…So be it.”

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the polished wood of Shadow Milk Cookie’s desk, casting long shadows that stretched toward the walls lined with books and parchment. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as you let your thoughts drift, the memory of the night in the Ghost City lingering in your mind. You had meant to focus on your studies tonight to keep things light, simple, free of the tangled web of thoughts you kept getting caught in. But your curiosity gnawed at you, persistent and unshaken. And so, before you could think better of it, you spoke.

“You know… the other day, when we went to the Ghost City, I heard this story.” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in acknowledgment, quill still moving against parchment, his focus undisturbed. “Oh?”

“Yeah. A ghost told it in the Storyteller’s Circle,” you continued, watching his expression carefully. “It was about two lovers who could only meet once every hundred years.” His quill paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing its path across the page. “A compelling premise,” he mused, his tone neutral.

“What did you make of it?” You huffed, tilting your head. “I don’t know. Chai Latte thought it was romantic.” He let out a thoughtful sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Hazelnut Biscotti said it was tragic,” you added, crossing your arms. “A reasonable perspective.”

“And Earl Grey Cookie said some people are worth waiting for.” At that, Shadow Milk Cookie finally glanced up from his work, his golden gaze flickering toward you with quiet intrigue. “And what do you think?”

You hesitated. That was the real question, wasn’t it? You exhaled, shifting in your seat. “I think… I don’t know if I could wait that long. A hundred years is a long time.” You tapped your fingers against the desk idly. “But I guess it depends.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you carefully, setting his quill down. “On what?” You met his gaze. “On the person.” A beat of silence stretched between you. You weren’t sure if he caught the way your voice dipped slightly, the way something quiet curled beneath your words. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, considering. “A rather pragmatic answer.” You shrugged. “So… would you?” His brow arched slightly. “Would I…?” 

“Wait,” you clarified. “A hundred years. For someone you cared about.” You tried to keep your tone casual, as if this were just another question in a long list of inquiries about philosophy, logic, and the nature of truth itself. But your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeve. “Would you wait that long for someone?” His eyes searched yours. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, though your heart had a traitorous way of lodging itself in your throat. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly, his fingers pressing together in thought. “I suppose,” he began, voice measured, “that would depend on what awaited at the end of that wait.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“If one waits a century,” he mused, “it is not merely a question of patience, but of purpose. Is the reunion assured? Or is it a mere hope, a wish cast into the void?” His golden gaze flickered slightly. “If there is certainty. if the one I waited for would be there, unchanged, unwavering then perhaps.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. Then, after a pause one that felt light, almost playful you added, “Are you waiting for someone now?” It was meant to sound like casual curiosity. A natural follow-up. But even you knew better. Something in his expression shifted not in a way that was easily decipherable, but in a way that made your stomach flip nonetheless. He held your gaze for a moment too long. Then, a slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“An interesting question,” he murmured, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Why do you ask?” You forced yourself to shrug. “Just curious.” His expression didn’t change, but there was something about the way he looked at you something you couldn’t quite name. You realize now it’s hard to make out his expressions. Perhaps it’s faint amusement. A quiet knowing. Then just for a moment you swore you saw it again. A flicker of warmth at the tips of his ears. It was gone as soon as you noticed it, replaced by the careful neutrality he always wore so well. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, regarding you with interest. “And if I were?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“If I were waiting for someone,” he elaborated, “what would that tell you?” You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because what would that tell you? Your heart was a traitor, thrumming in your chest as if it knew something you didn’t. But you weren’t ready to answer that yet. So instead, you scoffed, crossing your arms. “It would tell me that someone has very high standards if they’re making you wait a hundred years.”

That earned a chuckle from him soft, real. “I see,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “A fair assessment.” And just like that, the moment passed like a leaf caught in the wind, drifting just out of reach. But even as you turned the conversation elsewhere, even as you forced yourself to move on, you couldn’t quite forget the way he looked at you in that fleeting second. Or the way something in your chest felt just a little warmer because of it.

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you carefully, golden eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity. You weren’t sure why you kept talking why you pushed just a little further. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know everything about you, yet you knew so little of him. Maybe it was the way he answered without answering, weaving around your questions like a scholar sidestepping an argument they didn’t want to commit to. Or maybe it was something simpler. Something quieter. Maybe you just wanted to hear him say it…whatever it was. You exhaled, leaning your chin into your palm.

“I don’t think I’d even live to a hundred years old,” you mused, keeping your voice light. “A century is a long time to wait for someone.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head. “Indeed it is.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, gaze flickering toward him. “If it were me, though…” That caught his attention. His fingers stilled against the parchment. “If I knew it was you,” you continued, voice thoughtful, “I wouldn’t keep you waiting.” A flicker of something crossed his expression so brief you almost missed it. You shrugged, as if the words hadn’t set your heart pounding, as if you were merely speaking in hypotheticals. “I mean, someone as important as you? It’d be ridiculous if someone kept you waiting for a hundred years.” You laughed, trying to pass it off as a casual remark. “Who in their right mind would do that?”

Silence. You expected him to brush it off. To give you some grand, scholarly response about patience, about truth, about the nature of time itself. But he didn’t. Instead, he regarded you for a long, quiet moment, his expression unreadable. Then, so softly you barely caught it he spoke. “Who indeed?” Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a question. It was something else. Something weightier. Something that made warmth coil low in your stomach, even though you weren’t sure why. You blinked, forcing out an awkward chuckle. “Well, it’s just a thought.”

 “Is it?” You froze. He was still watching you, head tilted slightly curious, contemplative. He didn’t press, didn’t pry, but the weight of his gaze alone was enough to send your heart into an uneven rhythm. You swallowed. “Yeah. Just a thought.” He hummed, studying you for a second longer before looking back down at his parchment.

But that flicker of warmth the one you swore you saw, barely dusting the edges of his ears didn’t quite disappear. And neither did the feeling settling into your chest. Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a beat too long. His quill hovered above parchment, the ink threatening to blot as his golden eyes flickered toward you, unreadable. Yet there was no mistaking the way his ears' traitorous things remained dusted with that telltale warmth. You had caught him off guard. But the Sage of Truth was nothing if not adaptable. Slowly, his lips curled into something unreadable too knowing to be innocent, too amused to be cruel. He set his quill aside with deliberate grace and leaned back ever so slightly, watching you with something that made the space between you feel suddenly smaller. "What about you though...Would you wait for me?" You asked with faux confidence, after all it was just a follow up question nothing more...

"A most fascinating inquiry," he mused, tilting his head. "Tell me, are you testing the limits of my patience? Or is this merely a cunning attempt to unravel the heart of the Sage of Truth?" Your breath hitched. You hadn’t expected him to turn it back on you. He must have noticed, because his smile deepened. "You have already given your answer, have you not?" he continued, fingers steepling as he regarded you.

"You would wait for me. And yet, here you are, asking if I would do the same." His voice lowered mischievous, like a scholar who had just found a contradiction in a well-argued thesis. "Curious. What is it you are truly seeking, I wonder?"

Your face grew warm. "I was just asking," you muttered, crossing your arms. "It’s not that deep." "

Oh?" His golden gaze gleamed. "Not that deep, you say? And yet, you pressed the matter. As if my answer mattered greatly to you." You had never wanted to shrink into your chair so badly. "I was just curious!"

"Ah, curiosity!" He gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if he had just uncovered a great mystery. "A scholar’s greatest vice. And yet, I cannot help but wonder…" He leaned in just enough to make your breath falter. "Is it truth you seek from me, or something else entirely?"

You opened your mouth then closed it. He had you cornered. And the worst part? He knew it. His expression was far too pleased, as if your silence was the answer he had been seeking all along. "You are unfair," you grumbled, shoving a book toward him in some weak attempt at distraction. He chuckled, the sound richer than you expected.

"Unfair? My dear scholar, it is not I who sought answers this evening." You scowled, looking away. "Just forget I asked."

"Ah, but you did ask." His voice was teasing, yet there was something else beneath it something warmer, more thoughtful. "And for that, I shall give you an answer…" You dared a glance back at him, finding his expression softened. He did not look away. "If it were you," he said, quieter now, "then I suppose…" A pause so brief, yet so heavy.

"Waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing." Your heart stumbled. Before you could react, he picked up his quill again, the moment vanishing as quickly as it had come. "Of course," he added, voice turning light once more, "I imagine it would be quite inconvenient for you. You did say you wouldn’t last a hundred years, after all." You gaped at him. "Are you seriously throwing my own words back at me right now?" He gave you a slow, knowing smile. "Why, of course. What kind of scholar would I be if I ignored inconsistencies?" You groaned, dropping your head onto the desk. The Sage of Truth may have been flustered before. But now? Now, he was enjoying this far too much.

For a long moment, Shadow Milk Cookie said nothing. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse. The weight of his gaze lingered, golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable something you couldn’t quite grasp. And yet, the corners of his lips twitched, ever so slightly, as if he was holding something back. Amusement? Intrigue? Something crueler? It was almost infuriating. “Curious,” he murmured at last, tapping a gloved finger against his parchment. “You asked such a question, knowing full well what you have already declared.” You frowned, tilting your head. “What?”

 “You claimed you would wait for me,” he said simply. “With that same breath, you asked if I would do the same. Are you hoping to trap me in my own words? Or…” He leaned forward slightly, just enough to be teasing, his voice taking on that lilting quality he used when debating. “Are you seeking something more, something beyond a mere answer?” Heat crept up your neck. “That’s not-” 

“Ah, no need to deny it.” His eyes gleamed, a smirk playing at his lips. “It is only natural. When one flirts with the unknown, they wish for something in return. A revelation. A secret.” He tilted his head, mock-considering. “Perhaps even a promise.”

Your breath caught. He had to be doing this on purpose. You clenched your fists, looking away, frustration bubbling under your skin. It wasn’t just the teasing…it was the way he always did this, always knew more, always stayed just out of reach, dangling answers like bait but never letting you catch them. “I was supposed to be mysterious,” you muttered, your voice quieter now. “Cold, even.” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. The teasing glint in his eyes faltered, ever so slightly. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “As silly as it sounds… it’s not fair.” You glanced at him, gaze searching.

 “You know everything about me. Where I come from. My friends. How I react to things. And yet, I barely know anything about you.” A pause. A shift. Your hands curled into your sleeves. “It’s not fair.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, his smirk fading into something quieter, something more thoughtful. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed not gone, but subdued, as if considering your words in a way he hadn’t before. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft chuckle. “Ah… so that is what troubles you.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, fingers steepled together.

 “You wish for the truth, yet I remain an enigma. A most tragic plight.” “Don’t mock me,” you mumbled. “Oh, but I wouldn’t dare.” He tapped a finger against his temple, a slow, thoughtful motion. “It is true, I know much about you. Perhaps… an unfair advantage, as you say.” You raised a brow, wary. “And?” He hummed, as if considering. Then, he smiled mischievous, teasing, but not unkind. “Very well,” he said lightly. “Ask, then.” You blinked. “What?”

 “Ask,” he repeated, tilting his head. “Since you wish to know me as I know you… ask a question. Any question.” His voice dipped slightly, a challenge hidden beneath the invitation. “Let us see if you are ready for the answers you seek.” Your heart thumped. You swallowed. For all your complaints, for all your frustrations, you had not expected him to offer this. And yet… now that he had… What would you even ask?

For a moment, you hesitated. Not because you didn’t have anything to ask, but because there were too many things. Countless questions had been building in your mind since the day you met him things he sidestepped, things he answered only in riddles. But if this was your only chance… if he truly meant only one question… You had to make it count. Your fingers curled against the table. “Were you always immortal?” Shadow Milk Cookie stilled. The glint of amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by something quiet.

For the first time, he looked… caught off guard. You had never seen him hesitate like this before. The weight of the silence between you thickened, pressing against your ribs. He did not scoff, nor tease, nor weave his way around the question like he usually would. Instead, he merely studied you, his golden eyes flickering with something distant. Finally, he spoke. “I was made this way.” His voice was softer than you expected. Not heavy. Not sad. But… thoughtful.

Carefully measured. You watched him, searching his expression. “You were made immortal?” He nodded, fingers tracing the edges of his parchment, though his focus was nowhere near it. “From the moment I came into being, time held no claim over me. It was never a question of fate or choice. It simply was.” The way he said it was almost… detached. As if he were reciting something from a book, something he had accepted long ago. Your heart thumped, but you pushed further. “So you’ve never known anything else?” A soft chuckle escaped him not mocking, but almost… amused by the idea itself. “No. I have not.”

You bit your lip. That answer felt so final, so matter-of-fact. But something about it gnawed at you. Because if he had never known anything else… had he ever wanted to? You hesitated, then asked the next question before you could stop yourself. “And do you ever wish you weren’t?” This time, he truly paused. His fingers stilled against the parchment. Golden eyes met yours, and for the first time, you weren’t sure what you saw in them. He did not answer immediately. The silence stretched not uncomfortable, not tense, but thick with something unspoken. Something considering. He exhaled softly, tilting his head. “You do not hesitate to dive straight into the depths, do you?”

“You said I was allowed to ask,” you murmured, voice steady despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “I had to make it count.”

Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a long moment before letting out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Ever the scholar, seeking the deeper truths.” He hummed, almost to himself. “And yet… you are the first to ask me this.” Your breath caught. The first? Before you could dwell on that, he leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his steepled fingers.

“There are those who would envy my existence,” he said, voice measured. “To be free of time’s grasp, to witness centuries unfold like pages in a grand tome… It is a privilege few could even fathom.” You swallowed. “That’s not an answer.” His lips curved not quite a smile, but something close.

“No, I suppose it is not.” A flicker of warmth coiled low in your stomach. He wasn’t avoiding the question not exactly. But he was making you wait for it. So you did. You held his gaze, waiting. Finally he spoke. “There are moments,” he admitted, almost absently, “when I wonder.” Your fingers curled against the desk. “I do not regret what I am,” he continued, as if carefully choosing each word. “Nor do I mourn a life I have never known.” A pause. A slow inhale. “But to exist beyond time… is to be a witness, never truly a participant.”

A witness. Your stomach twisted at the weight of that. “How lonely,” you whispered. His eyes flickered. You hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Another silence stretched between you, heavier this time. And then slowly, deliberately his smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah,” he mused, tilting his head. “And here I thought I was meant to be the enigmatic one.” You rolled your eyes, but your chest still felt tight. “You still haven’t really answered me.”

“Haven’t I?” You scowled. “Not properly.” A thoughtful hum. “Perhaps not.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “Then at least answer this if you could choose, right now, to be mortal… would you?” Another pause. A longer one. His gaze met yours, not just glanced, not just observed, but looked. As if he were weighing something unseen, something vast and unspoken. Then, very softly he answered. “I do not know.” Something in your chest ached at that. Since you met him, you weren’t sure who had truly won this exchange. You hesitated for only a moment before exhaling, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Well… if it makes you feel any better, we’re friends now...remember?."

A/N Sometimes it really is easier to put a band aid over it ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ In other news I did not do as great as I thought on that chem exam...However, I still have 2 more exams to lock in for...but I got a 93 on my philosophy midterm sooooo, it balances out sort of...

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

<<<Previous Next>>>

[orphicsun]

Finding old man Eugene’s porn with Ellie..

Warnings: dub-con (reader and Ellie are high), smoking, mentions of porn, sexual tension, fingering (r! receiving), sloppy make-outs, Astrid is just a mention from one of the tlou patrol logs so I included her for fun idk

Word count: 1.6k

Your hands are frigid and almost numb even through your gloves. The snow from outside is only falling tenfold, and you’re lucky to have found shelter at all. You watch as Ellie ties Shimmer up nearby and turns to you, and you’re surprised she isn’t all teeth-chattering and “brrr.” The girl has way too much tolerance for the elements compared to you, who is currently freezing.

“You said you’ve been in here before?” Ellie inquires, and you nod. It’s true that you’re familiar with the creek trails; many times have you and Cat been on horseback and on foot through the town East, along the water stream that is probably now all frozen over.

You lead Ellie downstairs and without much words, you begin to scavenge around for supplies. You know what’s common here - ammo, rations, all the basics. You know that this is more than a simple scavenge-and-go, though. There’s practically a blizzard outside, and you know that at least the generator set up in case of emergencies is visible. 

You begin to power up the generator with a few clean spins. Last patrol, Astrid taught you how to crank the handle without nearly breaking it. The thing’s a little rusty with disuse since it has been a while since the temperature has called for winter weather, so it takes more arm power than usual. When the generator finally roars to life, you sigh in relief and try to find Ellie, who is more than likely still going through ammo cases. 

You find her at a door that’s closed off from the main area. She notices your presence, turning to you with a question. “Ever been this far?”

“Nah. The only person who’s ever been down there is Eugene.”

“Shall we?” Her smile is roguish. 

You nod. “There’s no telling what is even down there.”

With a little turn of the door handles (which were slightly stiff), the door is open and the sight before you is not a room but a staircase. Ellie peers down into it.

“Let’s be cautious, it may need to be cleared out.”

The sight before you is not a horde of clickers but instead a one that makes Ellie mutter out a “holy shit…” and you agree; holy shit is right. Dead marujana plants are all over the room, and there’s a small television next to a stained couch, stacks of vcr tapes in a pile on the floor.

“Well, I think we should take a much-deserved break.” You say with a smile that reminds Ellie of a kid on Christmas morning, quickly padding over to the tapes to find something worth watching. Ellie approaches as well, but she raises an eyebrow at your jaw being practically on the floor now.

“What?-” Ellie starts, but then she catches a glimpse of the tape cover. There are two women completely naked and a comically large title reading “Sorority Sisters.” She sputters out a laugh, “Eugene’s porn collection?”

“What the fuck?! I just wanted something like The Matrix, I-” Ellie’s face makes you realize that she is truly considering it- watching a porn together. You and Ellie were only friends, wasn’t that weird?

“Oh, don’t give me that look. It’ll be funny. Do we have anything better to do trapped in the middle of a blizzard?”

You sigh and relent. As much as it makes your stomach feel all hot and weird at the thought of watching bad porn with Ellie, you don’t have any better ideas. “Fine. But only if we can find something to smoke down here as well.”

You and Ellie aren’t as far apart as you should be. The film has been playing on the low quality television in front of you for only the past 20 minutes, and there’s still another 30 to go. Your body feels all warm inside from the weed, and Ellie’s thigh is brushing up against yours as the two of you sit next to each other on the couch. The two of you are out of your jackets and are in just pants and a t-shirt, the heat from the generator fully enveloping the air. The blizzard is all but forgotten. You know that you should put some distance between you and Ellie, that this could have consequences. You’ve already fucked up. You’re supposed to be on patrol, for fuck’s sake. Not watching two college girls eat each other out on a grainy screen and take occasional hits to an old joint, but here you are.

This shouldn’t be turning you on as much as it is. With someone like Cat or Dina, you would be laughing and making jokes about the exaggerated moans. With Ellie next to you, her gorgeous face lit up by the television light, you are both silent. 

And then her fingers skim over your thigh. Just slightly, but enough for you to notice. You’re losing your composure, your breathing heavier. You can feel the moment your panties become soaked. There is an unbearable heat in your lower stomach, and suddenly, it’s as if every little thing you notice about the moment surrounds you at once. You can mainly only smell the weed, but being so close to Ellie means that her crisp scent fills your nose and apparently turns you on even more. Her body heat makes you want to forget that she’s just a friend. Each (stupidly loud) moan echoing in the room from the porno even makes you clench, just because you’re aware Ellie is right next to you and you’re watching this together. 

Before you can even process it, Ellie’s hand is sliding between your thighs, massaging your inner left thigh. You feel a familiar heat pool within your belly. 

Her voice is low, just an intimate, raspy whisper in your ear that nobody else would ever be able to hear, “you can tell me to stop.”

You should tell her to stop. You should swat her hand away and tell her to keep her paws off of you. But.. you don’t. Instead, you let out an exhale, a shaky and bewildered sound before guiding her hand right between your legs. She can’t touch you properly through the stiff fabric of your jeans, but she has no intentions of rushing things. Ellie is a damn tease, distracting you by leaning down and skimming chapped lips over the sensitive skin of your neck. The breaths she takes are short and the exhales are hot against your skin, making you shudder. Her fingers are firmly rubbing over your clit through the fabric of your denim jeans. 

“Such a damn tease,” you scold, but you’re already slightly moving your hips for more friction. 

Ellie smiles against your pulse, barely sinking her teeth into the skin to make you gasp, then pulling away to laugh. “But you know you love it.” 

You can’t deny it, so you grow silent, letting her continue to play with you as if you’re a puppet pulled by strings, the major string being your pussy. Ellie knows you so fucking well, it’s almost uncanny. That is how it has always been, though. Ellie has always been able to read you like an open book. She knows your favorite things, she knows that she is your favorite person, she knows when to tell you stupid puns and insult you and when to put a comforting hand on your shoulder and wipe away your tears. Now, without ever touching you so intimately before, she just knows how to make you beg for more. 

“Ellie, please..” You plead, and the heightened pitch doesn’t go unnoticed by Ellie. She pulls away from her work on your neck to leave a soft kiss on your jawline, trailing up to your ear. 

“Tell me that you want more, and I’ll fuck you right here.” She doesn’t sound like your usual Ellie, instead raspy and so serious. You know that this isn’t a prank. All you want to hear is that voice telling you filthy things while she fucks you, and just like that, the porno in the background is washed out. 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

You’re whining, your head laid back on the couch with your legs spread out wide for her. Your jeans are on the floor, your underwear pooled around your ankles with the haste that Ellie used to be able to fuck you. Her fingers are drilling so deeply into your cunt, nearly making it impossible to hold on longer. Once she had you naked, she didn’t feel the urge to tease.

“Fingers so deep in this cunt, and you’re still begging for more,” she laughs at the way your walls clench in response and your whines are just as loud as the girls on tv who are long forgotten. 

“Ellie, fuck- I dunno how long I can hold on…I wanna cum so bad, please, please-” You’re quickly cut off by your own cry when Ellie curls her fingers up into your g-spot, her thumb padding at your clit to only heighten the sensation. She knows you so well. How does she know the way you like it, the way you touch yourself when you’re alone in your bedroom at night.The way your palm brushes against your clit as you finger your drenched hole? The fact that you grip the sheets with your free hand and moan her name? 

“Shh, c’mon, baby. I’ve got you, just cum for me.” She coos in your ear, slipping in a third finger and stretching you out so nicely, filling you up so good and then she’s stroking your walls- 

Your orgasm hits not in waves, but instead like a pulse, beating and Ellie can feel the way you flutter, she can feel the way your clit beats against the calloused, wet pad of her thumb. Your thighs instinctively close her in, you can’t beat to feel her pull out until this onslaught of pure star-striking pleasure is over. Her free hand turns your face towards her and she swallows up your moans in a sloppy kiss, her tongue fucking into your mouth lazily and sensually. 

The moments after are sweaty and sweet. She lay next to you across the couch, one of her arms underneath your body so that she can keep a hand wrapped around your waist. Everything is beautiful and so warm, like a fever dream. Your high is still on-going, and you wonder how this could ever end. 

When Jesse’s voice rings through the building, it does end.

[hwang-inhos-fish]

Little Gi-hun and In-ho details I see missed / ignored / glossed over a lot in fan content:

-Gi-hun loves horses!! Which is SO SO cute honestly (I HC that he got into horse racing originally because he just liked the horses and was curious so he went with Jung-bae and then his addictive personality got hooked on the betting and it was all downhill from there)

-Gi-hun likes animals in general (see: feeding the cat)

-Gi-hun sings to himself when he's feeling comfortable and happy

-Food is SUPER SUPER important to Gi-hun, it's like one of his favorite parts of life (which makes his refusal to eat in S2 extra sad - he's lost touch with the joy in life 😟😟)

-Gi-hun prefers floor furniture and sits cross-legged on the ground a lot, while In-ho is more exposed to western shit and likes his chairs. I think it's super cute how Gi-hun sits on the ground

-In-ho has computer glasses / reading glasses on his work desk which we see when Jun-ho is exploring (glasses In-ho!!)

-In-ho rolls his own cigarettes (... or weed? Jk jk... unless.) There's a rolling tray on his bedside table

-In-ho likes incense and other nice smelling scent things, OR he has a lot of scent-memories he's gotta block out; there's an incense holder AND scent diffuser rods beside his bed

-In-ho likes the ocean and boats (has a ship in a bottle in his office; also the whiskey he drinks has marine notes), and I'd love to see more fan content let him out on the water more (give our evil boi a sailing day!)

-In-ho is actually a fucking nerd loser just cosplaying as the cool, suave Front Man (see: art books, Matrix reference, goldfish, shitty dorm, bad jokes as Young-il, named himself fucking "Young-il" as in "zero one" (c'mon man), doesn't know how to interact with normal people anymore)

-In-ho has glow in the dark stars on his walls at the dorm, yes this is CANON!! GLOW IN THE DARK STARS!!

-In-ho likes movies! (The Matrix reference)

-In-ho likes art in general; although we do see that in fan content, I wish we saw more about how that plays into his worldview and thought processes. I feel like he's so often portrayed as practical and calculating only, leaving Gi-hun to represent the more fanciful, artistic side of things, but art (and music!) are really important to In-ho!

-For this reason, and because Gi-hun sings when happy, I think they'd bond over music

-I also think they'd bond over movies (I need them to watch Everything, Everywhere, All At Once after they watch The Matrix :) )

-I HC that In-ho is afraid of heights mostly because of how he acted at that cliff and because it would make that scene sadder lol 😈

[queenpiranhadon]

what are your thoughts on katsuki's reaction when he finds out his partner has the same spice tolerance as him...

A/N: Oh, anon don't worry I have MORE than just thoughts... I actually love this prompt so I'm gonna write it a little differently than usual :) Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader likes spicy food, second or third year-ish, fluff, pre-established relationship, standard partner nicknames are used - dummy, babe, baby, etc, reader is gn but is written with f!reader in mind, double dates but it's just silly goofy

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader, Mina Ashido x Ejiro Kirishima

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴡᴀꜱᴀʙɪ ─────•°•☁︎•°•────•

So from your wording, Bakugou finds out about your spice preferences at some point during your relationship, instead of before, which I don't think is as plausible because of his insane perception skills (he probably knows more about you than even you do before you guys even start dating- my man is a closeted nerd and you can't convince me otherwise). But if he did find out while you two were dating, the outcome would be hilarious.

Let's say you're in the UA dorms, whether you're in the hero course on not, you're just chilling in the kitchen waiting for your boyfriend to meet you downstairs. Class 1-A loves you a ton, and even though they tease you and Bakugou a lot, you both end up having a lot of Netflix and chill dates in the common room since the TV there has a shit ton of streaming services.

You put down your phone, sighing, and decide to be a little more productive instead- making your way to the common room to pick out a movie. It was tradition, between you, Katsuki, Kirishima and Mina to watch movies together every now and then as a double date- something Katsuki was adverse to but you knew he secretly enjoyed the chaos that ensued whenever the four of you were together- also realizing that if they weren't in his line of sight, they'd probably end up blowing up the dorms by accident anyways. He'd only said this once though, face turning bright red as you teasingly called him a mother hen.

Mina and Kirishima had started dating a few months ago (you and Katsuki had celebrated your 1 year anniversary two weeks prior to it ) and being the friend group you were, who could pass up an opportunity?. Kirishima and Katsuki very best friends, as were you and Mina, so it was a no-brainer that the four of you would have regular get togethers like this in the first place. You thought it was nice, seeing Katsuki interact with his friends as he relaxed, even if only a little, around his close friends.

You settle yourself down in the plush couch across from the TV screen, and feel the cushions dip as a new weight is added, seeing Mina Ashido plopping down next to you.

"Movie night!" she cheers, and she nudges you with her shoulder. "Some day we gotta ditch the boys and get through a movie marathon together- I swear Eji has the worst taste in movies, if I have to watch another Star Wa-"

"Hey! My taste isn't that bad!" Kirishima whines, coming up behind the both of you with Katsuki in tow. "Plus you keep asking to watch those K-dramas that get your mascara running."

Mina raises an eyebrow. "Eji, you cry more than I do during those."

Katsuki sighs and raises his hand in an attempt for peace. "Oi, shut yer mouths and go grab the pillows and blankets. Y/N and I will order food and pick out the movie."

Mina groans but relents, looking at you pleadingly. "Please chose a good movie - no ‘to be continued’s PLEASE"."

You snort, remembering how one time Kirishima had chosen Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which prompted the four of you to binge the entire MCU on a day without classes.

Scrolling through movies, you decide to choose a classic- the Matrix, something action packed enough to keep Kirishima (and Katsuki's) attention, and something with enough romance to keep Mina hooked.

As you navigate through the countless streaming services, Katsuki's voice pops up behind you.

"Oi, babe what do ya want to eat? Got some rolls dipped in wasabi for myself...I already know Shitty Hair's gonna ask for some chicken wings- an I got some tacos for Pinky cause I know she was whinin about cravin Mexican food earlier..."" He trails off, embarrassed when you grin knowingly in his direction.

You decide to be merciful though, shrugging and returning back to the TV. "I know very well that you're going to order from three different places just so all of us get what we want so I'll just share with you." you smile, and Bakugou's heart thumps softly from your thoughtfulness.

"Tch- whatever dummy. What do ya want in them- I know my rolls are pretty fuckin spicy - avocado, shrimp, cr-" He asks, but you cut his off with a bewildered look.

"What? Why wouldn't I get it with wasabi??" You ask dumbfounded. "That's like 85% of the flavor - plus it's kinda boring without it." you say, and your boyfriend's jaw drops open- as if you'd told him you were pregnant of something.

"Marry me."

You want to burst out in giggles, but stop when you see the deadass look on his face.

"Kats-"

"Jesus Christ baby, of all the shit ya hide from me, ya hide the most important one?!" He asks incredulously and that's when you start laughing.

"If ya told me this shit sooner I would've asked yer ass out the moment I met ya."

[lazysoulwriter]

same brain cell, same trip - chris sturniolo.

warnings: shroom use (recreational, not glorified), kissing, stupid jokes, mild swearing, two idiots in love

---

You’d both done shrooms before.

Separately.

Which is why you thought you were prepared. You weren’t.

“I feel like a toaster strudel,” Chris said an hour in, lying sideways on the floor, staring at absolutely nothing.

You were on the couch, half upside-down, watching the ceiling breathe. “Because you’re warm and gooey inside?”

“No,” he frowned. “Because I’m flaky and confused.”

You absolutely lost it.

Laughed so hard you nearly slid off the couch. Your face hurt. Your chest hurt. Your teeth felt funny.

Chris looked at you and burst into laughter too, completely unprovoked.

“Wait—wait—” he wheezed, dragging himself over to where your legs dangled off the edge. “Are we laughing at the same thing?”

“I think so,” you gasped, “but I also might just be vibing with your soul right now.”

He crawled up, grabbing your cheeks in his hands, and squished your face. “We have one brain cell and it’s high as fuck.”

—

The kissing started out cute.

Like, sweet pecks and “I love your face” and “your mouth feels like jelly” type of cute.

But then it got sloopy.

Like. Wet. Sloppy. Absolutely no coordination.

“Wait,” you whispered between kisses, holding his face. “Do I have lips? Like. Still?”

Chris blinked at you like you just said the meaning of life. “I was just wondering the SAME thing.”

And for a solid five minutes, you both sat in complete silence, staring at each other’s mouths like scientists.

Then Chris goes, “Wait. Are we… kissing each other from the inside?”

You: “Excuse me what the fuck.”

—

You went outside because Chris was convinced the couch was trying to “eat his knees.”

(“I swear it moved when I sat down.”)

The backyard was peaceful. A little chilly. The grass felt amazing.

“Take your shoes off,” Chris told you, wide-eyed. “The earth is horny.”

“…what?”

“You’ll see.”

You did. The grass felt like fuzzy seaweed. You wiggled your toes and gasped. “Oh my god. You’re right.”

Chris nodded solemnly, like a wizard. “Told you.”

You laid down in the grass, heads close, looking up at the stars. At some point you both pointed at the same patch of sky and shouted, “HE LOOKS LIKE A PANCAKE.”

“No way we saw the same cloud,” Chris said, sitting up dramatically. “No way. We’re literally telepathic.”

You stared at him in awe. “Wait. Are we soulmates?”

Chris grabbed your hand. “I would literally marry you right now if the trees weren’t watching.”

“Yeah they’re judgmental as fuck.”

“Especially that one,” he whispered, pointing to a bush.

“That’s a bush.”

“Don’t label him.”

You apologized to the bush.

—

You spent an hour inside just looking at your hands.

Chris kept flexing his fingers like he was in The Matrix. You kept giggling because your fingernails looked like tiny jellybeans.

At one point, Chris gasped and stared at your face like you’d just spoken fluent dolphin.

“Your eyelashes,” he whispered. “They’re doing choreography.”

“They’re probably talking shit,” you replied.

He leaned forward, deadly serious. “Tell them I said hi.”

You couldn’t even kiss him after that because your face was too smiley and your lips didn’t know how to form a direction.

You just smooshed foreheads for a while, giggling.

—

Coming down was slow. Soft. Your limbs felt like jello, but the happy kind. You curled up on the couch together under a blanket, eating goldfish crackers like they were gourmet cuisine.

Chris, deadpan: “These taste like math.”

You nodded. “Like fourth grade. But make it spicy.”

Then he kissed your temple and whispered, “I had so much fun being weird with you.”

Your heart exploded. You turned to him, eyes sleepy. “We should be weird together forever.”

Chris smiled, big and crooked. “We already are.”

—

The next day, you both woke up tangled and confused.

“Did I cry because of a mushroom?”

“Yes.”

“And apologize to a bush?”

“Twice.”

“And did we… try to get engaged using a ring pop?”

Chris pulled the sticky wrapper from under the blanket. “I still stand by that decision.”

You grinned. “You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

“I really, really do.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[borisnightingale]

What if B-127 DID lose his voice in the movie

Been watching the movie and this thought came to me

:3

What if… B-127 did lose his voice in the movie?

What if… it wasn’t Megatron who took his voice?

What if… Sentinel was the one who took his voice?

When B-127 and D-16 were captured by Sentinel. They were mocked at by Sentinel and when D-16 talked back to him and Sentinel was about to hurt him, Bee stepped in…

He yelled at Sentinel to stop and that he was a monster, that everyone will know what he is. A false Prime and that they will tell everyone.

Sentinel laughs at him, saying who will believe them?

Believe him? Over the mighty Sentinel Prime?

Ha, what a joke!

Bee doesn’t care, he will tell anyone and everyone no matter if they believe him. Because if someone believes him, just one. Cog less or not, someone will.

Sentinel hearing this, does realize that can happen. Even if Bee isn’t the one who does it, it could be someone of the high guard, or someone else who could find out about what Sentinel has been doing.

So… Sentinel decides to… send a message, show them what will happen if they even think about telling someone, it’s a message to everyone in that room.

Sentinel agrees with Bee, that someone could believe him or anyone else that found out, so he’ll make sure that doesn’t happen…

a precaution you could say.

Sentinel grabs B-127 by the throat raising him above the ground.

D-16, watching this happen, his rage is replaced with fear… for B-127. He yells at Sentinel,

“Stop! What you doing!! Let him go!!!”

B-127 is terrified, he’s frantically asking what Sentinel is doing as he struggles against his hold.

“I’m making sure that you or anyone else can say anything about what you know, because you’re right someone might believe you… and I can’t let that happen.”

Sentinel stabs his hand into Bee’s throat. Sparks fly everywhere as Bee lets out a blood curdling scream, begging for him to stop, his voice glitching in and out in pain.

D-16 screams at Sentinel, begging him to stop.

Before he didn’t care if he got hurt but now Bee is taking the fall for him.

D-16 didn’t want this to happen, the only reason this is happening is because Bee wanted to make sure D-16 didn’t get hurt.

And it worked, it worked all too well.

This feeling of pain feels like it will a thousand cycles… all Bee wants is for the pain to stop, this pain is nothing like anything he’s ever experienced.

Sentinel pulls out Bee’s voice box, sparks fly everywhere as he holds it in his hands.

Sentinel smirks, crushing it in his hands. Dropping B-127 to the ground.

“This, is what will happen to those who don’t know how to keep their mouth shut.”

“Bee!!! Are you okay? Bee?!”

B-127 tries to talk to D-16, but what comes out is painful noises of what used to be his voice.

“Come on Bee, say something!!”

Silence…

When D-16 first met Bee, he wished for silence…

While traveling with him to find the Matrix, he wished for silence…

When captured by the high guard, he wished for silence…

But now… all D-16 wanted was to hear his voice…

The silence he wished for was far louder than when Bee talked for hours.

The silence had never been so loud before….

•w• 🐝

[quirekey]

I APOLOGISE FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK!! I WAS VERY BUSY!!

MATCHUP FOR @babulejka

[ transformers x human!reader ]

You have got RATCHET TRANSFORMERS PRIME

HEADCANONS

- When you first meet Ratchet, he immediately picks up your astounding appearance. You chose a colourful and dandy outfit, something Ratchet would barely see humans wearing. It wasn’t embarrassing or odd, it was actually somewhat relieving to him. (though he said that it’s too much and he pretended to hate it)

- Seemingly you were an upbeat and enthusiastic person who meant no harm. You had a sense of kindness surrounding you and you never looked at the bad side of things. Ratchet would’ve seen this as annoying only if you weren’t so polite at the same time. It was impressive to him how you could be so energetic around the teenagers of the team but then so mannerful and stoic to the bots.

- You were pretty charming to the other humans of the team. Raf, Miko and Jack. Your determined and workaholic like behaviour intruged Raf as it inspired him to work harder. Your optimistic and ambition caught Miko ( especially as she was the only female human ). And Jack respected your loyal and motherly like behaviour. Though Ratchet hated the humans, your presence helped him see more clearly that they were actually useful.

- Oftenly, you would be showing Miko your various amount of skill that you had. It was impressive how talented you were. Music, survival and nature is what you aspired in. Ratchet would watch from a distance while you showed Miko how to play the Violin while Miko struggled. To Ratchet, it was almost impossible to balance such activities everyday, but here you are, exceeding his expectations.

- It freaked Ratchet out when he found out that you enjoyed medias like horror and creepy dolls. Though you have told him your other interests like anthropology, psychology and mythology, your liking to making dolls and watching murder made him somewhat uneasy about your psychological health. Especially your dark sense of humour, he hated that the most.

- Ratchet wasn’t the type of guy to survive alone in the forest but you were. You had all of the survival skills Ratchet didn’t have and honestly it was humourous. Sure, Ratchet can do intense surguries but could he shoot a bullseye?

You would stubbornly drag Ratchet with you to the forest so you could admire a few plants. He would hate this so much, he thought it was stupid how you would stare at an organic plant like it was the matrix. You would try to convince him that nature is a beautiful aspect of Earth by showing him your personal garden. It was full of nature’s beauty and Ratchet just called it dirty and inconvinent.

- When Ratchet snaps at the teens or at the autobots due to his grumpy state, you were able to calm him down. You would tell him words that would make him feel protective. Though you were young, you had the wisest mind.

GIRLIE POP WHY ARE YOU SO I’m jealous of you is what I’m trying to say…. In a positive way. Also is the harp fun, I always wanted to ask :D – @babulejka

[chaos0pikachu]

4 Minutes and the Cinematography of Nipples

I said before that I thought 4 Minutes was pretty instantaneously the best looking BL on the market for 2024 after one episode. Which, not gonna lie, is a pretty big fucking claim. There’s been a lot of BL that’s come out that’s looked good, and I do think there’s been a steady improvement overall in the market in the last few years. Personally I think Japanese and Korean BL have a stronger production quality over a majority of Thai BL but like, if that’s a hot take I guess I prefer my food spicy. 

The point being~ if I’m gonna make such a hyperbolic statement, well I better back it up right? 

So I’m gonna break down a few scenes from the first episode, what I liked about them, why they worked for me, and why on a technical level I think 4 Minutes has just got it going on.

For better readability you can also check out this essay here.

Sidenote: my google docs kept trying to autocorrect “Bible” to “the Bible” and idk how to teach google I mean the hot Thai actor and not the book of Jesus. 

To start, I’m going to break down this scene featuring Great and his nepo baby cat: 

I thought starting with this scene would be good because it’s such a low-key scene and honestly making these simplistic scenes visually interesting is very difficult! But if you have the basics down, the foundations of cinematography and film making, these simpler scenes can be really memorable. 

Like yeah we’re all gonna remember this scene because shirtless Bible and oh my god Akira!? - I have only recently learned who Akira is; why is this cat getting a bigger bag than me? - but beyond that, what makes it cool to watch? What makes it interesting? What information does it showcase to the audience? 

One thing I added to the video was a grid for the rule of thirds. 

Rule of thirds is a shot composition technique applied to both film and photography. It’s the grid you see if you film a homevideo and helps a Director and Cinematographer figure out where to place the subject or subjects of the shot. The idea is the gridlines show you where you “should” place the subject(s) of said shot. 

Like everything, the rule of thirds is a guideline in filmmaking, not a hard and fast unbreakable rule. Filmmakers like Wes Anderson like to play more with central composition shots, rather than ROT. 

Anyway on to the opening shot, right after our credits and we’re moving into the shot. 

To start, the first thing I notice is the scene’s color grading. Color grading in film is the manipulation of raw film footage to create specific color tones throughout a project. Sometimes this grading is more pointed and obvious, think The Matrix, while in other films it’s not as obvious but still very prominent, think Killers of the Flower Moon. 

It’s not that the before credits scene looks entirely, jarringly different from the opening scene, but the hospital scene is surrounded by whites and blue tones, it’s darker, and only a single source of light exists. It gives the entire scene a much more frantic, uneasy aesthetic but it’s not so far off from the darker muted tones of the next scene that it feels jarring or out of place. 

The second big thing I noticed in the episode is the use of aspect ratio. I’m not 100% sure what aspect ratio the production used exactly, but the use of widescreen as opposed to full screen in my opinion, gives the episode a more cinematic feel to it in comparison to other Thai BLs. 

Example, if you look at Century of Love (2024) it appears to be filmed in the standard full screen - which I believe is 16:9? - while 4 Minutes is widescreen (thus the black bars at the top and bottom). Widescreen can give a show a more “movie like” quality to it which is part of the vibes I get from 4 Minutes. 

(source)

Onto Great’s actual introduction scene.

We’re not starting the shot with static movement, but with a camera panning right. I’ve talked about camera panning and such in BL before and it’s something I’ve found doesn’t happen as often as it should. Which is a shame! It’s such a simple technique but it adds so much. 

Imagine if we entered the frame with a static center shot, and then a cut to Great sleeping and turning off his alarm clock, and then another cut to above the bed. Think about how much more boring that could be visually. 

Instead, we enter the scene with movement, panning over and creating some interesting visual framing. 

So here’s our opening shot, do you notice anything interesting? To start, what I like about this shot other than the panning movement in, is that we don’t see Great’s face yet. In fact we don’t see his face in full until about 30 seconds into the scene. This builds anticipation, yeah we all know what Bible looks like, but for the audience who doesn’t this helps build anticipation. 

Who is this character? What does he look like? What’s his deal? 

It also engages the audience more, if you notice part of the composition of the shot has Great in the mid-ground slightly blurred out, while the foreground emphasizes the things on his desk. He’s distant from us, the audience, sleeping off his hangover not yet ready to “join” the world yet. 

Here’s another two more things I like about this shot:

Lines. 

Using lines and shapes can make a scene more visually interesting and invoke different feelings to the viewer. In this shot, I get a sense of symmetry, the camera panning right, lightly drags across the screen alongside the lines below and above Great, almost creating a frame within a frame effect. As if Great is boxed into a clock in and of itself. 

You can also see the use of balance in the scene as well, connecting back to that visual theme of symmetry as well as blocking our view of Great’s face. The lava lamb and champagne bottle are almost the same height, which helps create balance in the shot. The champagne bottle informs us Great has been drinking or does drink since it’s positioned so close to his bed, whilst also continuing to hide his face away from the viewer. 

I also like that the lava lamp is a bright spot of color. The tone of the scene is mostly muted greens, and gray, but the bright orange lava lamp and even the pink champagne bottle draw our attention but don’t overwhelm us either. It provides the scene with some warmth but doesn’t offset the overall tone of the color grading. 

And then, the last bit of this shot:

We have Great knocking over the champagne bottom, and turning off his alarm clock. Notice that the alarm clock and the champagne bottle hit those ROT dots almost exactly. There’s also the use of lines by the length of Great’s arm - I just forgot to add a line I’m a failure, a fake, fml - we see him knock over the bottle, and then we follow the line of his arm directly to the alarm clock which is also a shape, a circle. 

I like that they used a clock with a specific notable shape, since by the end of this scene the clock is relevant to the story as a whole. Using a shape makes the clock more visually noticeable and memorable to the audience. 

So in the next cut we’re above Great - just like Great’s gonna be above Tyme, fuckin hell I’m corny - in a medium-full shot and there’s a couple things I really like here. 

I really like the use of lines here with the bed going in one direction but Great’s body going another. It’s disconcerting, and off kilter a bit. 

The use of patterns plus the opposing symmetry, whereas in the previous shot the lava lamp and champagne bottle were providing balance, here one side of the bed is patterned, while the other isn’t. This creates a sense of imbalance and makes the shot more visually interesting.

This medium-full shot at a high angle makes Great smaller, and continues to showcase his dishevelment, keeping him distant from the world itself. Also notice the lack of color here as well. 

What could this say about Great as a character? Or his story? 

So this next cut is the one that actually inspired me to write this essay to begin with and know what I’ma eat some crow here. I originally said it was a great ROT shot but I was wrooooooong. It’s definitely a center composition shot. 

Notice as well, the bed itself is its own shape - rectangle - center in the frame, and yet the shot almost looks unbalanced again because of that singular patterned rug. It’s the only pattern in the entire shot, not even Great’s pillows have noticeable patterns on them. 

The above view camera angle in a full shot creates almost an omnipresent feel, as if the audience - or something else? - were looking down upon Great. Whose face we still haven’t seen! It makes him smaller, less powerful, and almost vulnerable. Shots like this are often used in horror films like James Wan’s Malignant (2021) where the horror spector will be looking down above the would-be victim. 

Another thing I like about this scene though is we have Great moving. It would be simpler and easier to have his phone just by his alarm clock, or under his pillow, but think about how much more visually interesting it is that he has to move down the bed and reach for his phone. It creates action in an actionless low stakes scene. 

And now, 30 whole seconds in and we’ve finally seen Great’s face! 

Fun fact, with the ROT grid the gridlines fall right across Bible’s nipples. That’s not a film analysis, just something I noticed entirely intentionally. Thanks Madam Director Ning Bhanbhassa Dhubthien.

The actual shot is in center composition again, as Great rolls over and reveals his face the camera begins to zoom in. 

This creates movement in the scene instead of leaving the camera to statically observe it’s now, finally, inviting the audience to meet Great. Pulling us in towards him whereas before we were kept at a distance. Great’s awake and, well as ready to meet the world as somebody with a raging hangover can be. 

I also like how Bible is moving constantly in this scene; he rubs his eyes and nose, he twitches his fingers, titles his head back and forth, etc it’s nothing revolutionary but it’s appreciated. 

When the scene cuts, we get this shot: 

I didn’t put the red dot on his nipple, it just landed there. This is all Madam Director Ning chepie. 

But you can see how Great’s body is landing on all those gridlines pretty solidly. Also in the background we see his alarm clock again, a bright blurred circle in the distance. I also like the angle of this shot, as it creates depth in the frame, with Great’s head being in the foreground his lower body in the mid-ground and the background blurred out. 

What follows is Akira appearing in frame. Which was really difficult to capture so I don’t have a screenshot. But what I really like is Akira entering the frame out of focus. They could have just cut to Akira, but instead they opted for Akira to enter the frame which is more interesting. 

When we do cut, Akira is firmly on one of those dots so we don’t miss them in the frame. I think it’s also interesting that we’ve pulled out again, into a mid-full shot, hanging above Great, and we see that clear symmetry line again between the patterned rug and the regular carpet. 

I also really love that when we got to Great sweet-talking Akira and feeding them we’re not just doing a cut, we’re panning downwards which continues to add movement to the scene. And we get that moneyed sponsor shot! 

Durex can’t pay for everything okay?

So in the final bit of this scene we get focus on Great, who’s in focus, before he gets up and leaves the frame where the camera then focuses on the clock behind him. 

See how in the first frame the background is all blurred out, but once Great walks out of the frame - again, great that he walks out, movement!! Y’all don’t understand how boring 1000 Stars was for me to watch because of the lack of this stuff okay? - and then the focus shifts to the clock. Which is round. 

God I know that sounds so dumb, but imagine the clock without that ring light bit on it, it’s just a tiny little rectangle. Not as fun or interesting to look at right? Or as noticeable especially from a distance? 

This shift in focus also tells us “this is important” whatever “this” is. The subject of the shot goes from Great to the alarm clock but they are positioned as equally important. We’re meant to pay attention to this seemingly innocuous item, which we learn later in the episode is time. We’re meant to remember and note that time will be important to the story - I know with a title like 4 Minutes you’d fucking hope time would be important but have y’all ever read Youtube comments? It’s rough out there for visual comprehension okay? 

So all in all this scene is only 1 minute and 40 seconds give or take. It’s very short, but I don’t think it was boring at all. I think it’s a really solid introduction to a main character. Think, Korn didn’t get this much time to showcase his introduction, his scene is shorter - though also well done - which showcases which character is more of a story priority. 

This scene eases the audience into the story, inviting us to wake up into the world like Great is. It uses techniques like lines, shapes, symmetry, color and focus to make what could be a very boring scene into an interesting one. 

There’s so so much I probably and certainly missed, I’m far from an expert, but I hope I was able to articulate what I liked about this scene, and why I think it looks good. 

Stay tuned for more if I can manage to focus long enough to breakdown more scenes lol

Also red dots on Bible’s nipples are just funny to me it be what it be. 

Further Reading: 

Composition in Cinematography / THE LAST OF US

Center-Framing vs Chaos-Cinema: Mad Max vs Transformers

Camera Framing: Shot Composition & Cinematography Techniques Explained [The Shot List, Ep 2]

The Ultimate Guide to Camera Shots (50+ Types of Shots and Angles in Film)

Color Grading 101 - Everything You Need to Know

Mixing Film And Digital Footage: Killers Of The Flower Moon

In Praise of Subtle Cinematography

[lets-try-some-writing]

I woke up and chose angsty violence on everyone.

What if Optimus survived the events of Predacon Rising? Sometime after everyone left, he crawled up from the Well but was no longer the same person he was. Housing the Allspark inside himself had destroyed his mind than just the Matrix of Leadership and what's left is a very feral bot that looks like Optimus.

No one finds out until reports from refugees come in about a strange Cybertronian running amuck in the wastes that attacks anyone who gets too close. Optimus' former team would absolutely be split on what to do about him. Leave him alone in nature under protection, try to snap him out of it or put their once leader down?

They can't ignore the problem as someone will recognize Optimus at some point.

You. You my good individual are evil. I adore your twisted little mind (affectionate).

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

There were... reports. Quite a few of them in fact.

Each and every one of them claimed that there was a feral mech living out in the wastes, the land that was formerly Iacon's great forest before the war razed it to the ground. No one knew what to think of it, but then they saw the pictures. And those pictures changed everything.

"Ratchet, he can't seriously still be alive? Can he?" Bumblebee's voice was filled with disbelief as Ratchet looked over the image projected on the holodisk. The rest of the table seemed to share Bumblebee's thoughts as they watched. It was a quick series of pictures put on a slideshow. They were grainy, but the blue and red was unmistakable. The exposed Matrix even more so.

"It seems that we were wrong to label Prime as out for the count." Bulkhead added his two shanix, earning him a murmur of agreement from an equally uncertain Wheeljack.

"If he's feral, do you think we can bring back?" Arcee spoke up as well, earning a series of comments from the team. Bumblebee seemed hopeful, as did Smokescreen. Even Ultra Magnus seemed marginally interested in a potential plan to help Optimus if he really was out there.

Ratchet was not so optimistic.

"I will go and assess the situation personally. For all we know, it might not be him. We can't get our hopes up." Standing up, Ratchet collected the holodisk with a purposefully blank expression. The team regarded him with various expression of surprise, but they didn't stop him.

Good. They didn't need to see what was going to come next.

"Ratchet, if it is him, you'll let us know." Ultra Magnus put a servo on his shoulder, a knowing expression plastered all over the Commander's face. Ratchet gave no confirmation, instead tightening his grip on the holodisk as he made his way out.

Ratchet couldn't explain it, but when he saw the photo, he couldn't help the feeling of wrongness that filled his very spark. The team wouldn't understand. They hadn't known Orion. All they saw was their Prime's face. They didn't see the vacancy in his optics or the way he hunched in the picture like he was struggling just to stand. The mech they once knew was not himself. He was hardly alive.

Ratchet refused to let his friend's legacy be destroyed by a cruel twist of fate.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into the early morning light as he gathered his things quietly, taking great care with his most important tool as he began the trip out into the wastes. It was not a long trip, not terribly so at any rate. A few joors into his journey, he found himself wandering the wastes in silence, his optics set on any crevice where the husk of his friend could have possibly been hiding. He didn't bother calling out. It was a useless endeavor.

One joor. Two joors. And then, he found what he was looking for.

"Hello, Orion. Its been a while, hasn't it?" A lanky figure pulled itself out of a small cave. Cycled down optics met his, curiosity registering somewhere in their empty stare. Ratchet didn't dare move as the husk pulled itself out of its hiding place, its helm tilted ever so slightly in confusion, or perhaps interest.

"I had hoped that you'd made it out alright. But I don't think that's the case." His words were faint as the husk finally stood. It was thin, gangly from what was likely months of less than sufficient energon. Its armor was cracked and broken, the jetpack that Optimus had once enjoyed now all but ripped off. The husk's face was covered in gashes and marks, the rest of its frame not much better. It looked... pitiful. But above all else, the shining Matrix in its chassis made Ratchet frown.

"No normal mech should be able to survive these wounds." He practically whispered as he took a step forward, holding out a servo in a friendly manner. The husk froze, almost looking ready to scuttle back into its hiding place. But Ratchet remained firm, standing still and speaking quietly.

"That thing... it won't let you die, will it?" He received no verbal answer, but the glowing white of the husk's optics told him everything he needed to know.

White was the color of divinity, but also of sickness. A mech with white optics was said to be doomed to die. Ratchet was not normally a mech to care about superstitions. But that one... he could get behind.

"It must hurt." He couldn't disguise the faint shakiness of his voice as the husk finally inched closer, looming over Ratchet with height that had once been comforting. The husk's optics cycled down and then went wide. A wide and almost sparkling like smile spread across its face as it dropped to all fours, crawling nearer on just about Ratchet's level.

It hesitated a moment, and then pressed its face up against Ratchet's servo like a hound would. Ratchet almost winced, but seeing the husk's genuine affection, he couldn't bring himself to do anything more than sigh and run his free servo along the crest of its helm. So similar to his Prime, and yet so very different.

"The others want to bring you home. They want to fix you." The husk's engine rumbled in delight, pleased as Ratchet caressed broken finials with light touches. The husk looked so very happy as it came closer, seating itself at Ratchet's pedes to lean into every place his digits touched. So unlike Optimus. This thing was a mere echo, a sad and painful echo.

"I don't think you want to be fixed, if that is even possible." His venting hitched as he cupped the husk's face, sensing the animalistic instinct in it. The husk didn't fight back as Ratchet pressed the crest of his helm to the husk's, enjoying the momentary interaction.

"I wanted to hope... I wanted to think that maybe you'd evaded death yet again." He could feel coolant threatening to gather in his optics as he quietly reached to his satchel, pulling out an injector. The yellow liquid within glowed faintly in the dying light of the evening, but Ratchet paid it little mind as he memorized the faint sounds of the husk's engine and the giddy smile upon its face. It hadn't even noticed Ratchet's tool.

"I prayed for your return. But I think that may have been a mistake." Blazing white optics gazed up at him, innocent and yet vacant. It hurt more than it should have.

Why? Why did it have to look so alive and yet so dead?

"Perhaps it would have been kinder if death had finally taken you." Pressing a kiss to the husk's helm crest, Ratchet enjoyed the warmth of a living, venting mech for a moment longer. His spark spun in agony, but now was not the time to stop. This... this was a mercy.

"Rest Orion. Return to Codexa, to Alpha Trion. Go to those who love you... and know that one cycle I will join you there." In one swift motion, Ratchet dug the injector into the husk's neck. Its optics blew wide, its vocalizer spitting static as it stared up at him in sheer terror.

"Shh... it's alright. It will be over soon." The husk went limp, falling into Ratchet's arms. He knelt quietly, letting it rest against his chassis as its frame began to seize. The Matrix flared, sending shocks through the husk to try and keep it active. The husk wailed in response, its shattered vocalizer producing pained cries that could have caused the dead to quake. Ratchet held firm, keeping the husk held against him as the Matrix's shocks ran their course, eventually ceasing.

"I'll tell the others you were dead upon my arrival. Don't worry. They won't see you like this... I promise." The husk spasmed a moment longer, its optics momentarily returning to a bright and healthy blue. For a half klik, Ratchet could have sworn he saw understanding in those optics.

And gratitude.

"I'm sorry, Old Friend." The term of endearment slipped past his derma before he could stop it. In response, Optimus smiled and then fell still, his optics going dark and his frame losing all life.

Ratchet held what remained of his oldest friend for a long while, not speaking or moving.

It was done.

Now Optimus could rest.

[magic-shop-stories]

Hi! I read your J-Hope fanfiction and absolutely loved it, and it got me thinking about Yoongi having a kid. Could you imagine a scene where Yoongi’s teenage child accidentally breaks something really important to him—maybe in his studio? It could be something like an award maybe? Yoongi isn’t mad, but his kid feels so guilty they run off to their mom’s grave and when Yoongi finds them, it’s this emotional moment where he reassures them that they’re more important than any material thing. Maybe they’ve been secretly working on music in his studio, and he already knows about it and loves it?

I hope that’s not too specific! You can ignore this if it’s too much—I’ve never requested something before, but your writing is so good, and I thought this could be really touching. Thank you! 💜

Also if you want to add Namjoon breaking something for comedic relief, I wouldn’t complain. 😂

💌 Reply:

WoooooooW, like fr... WOW! First of all, THANK YOU for reading my J-Hope fic and loving it—your kind words mean the world to me! 🥺 And oh my heart, this Yoongi dad scenario has me in pieces 🥹✨

The idea of Yoongi’s kid accidentally breaking something precious, only for him to remind them they’re his everything? I’m already emotional. And the secret music-making?? STOP, I’m soft. 💔

I’ll absolutely write this for you—expect lots of soft Yoongi dad moments, a sprinkle of angst, and a whole lot of healing. 💜

REQUEST NAME:

Broken Things That Matter

↳ Yoongi x Teen!Reader (Parent/Child); Angst with Comfort, Fluff

Rating: G/M!

Word Count: ~2,5k

Genre: BTS AU, Parent, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Feelings, Found Family, Emotional Whump

Warnings: Strong language, grief mention (loss of a parent), emotional distress, self-doubt, self-destructive thoughts, strained parent-child relationship.

Pairings: None (Parent-Child Relationship)

Featuring: Single Dad Yoongi, emotionally guarded child, music as an unspoken connection, tension and unsaid words, slow emotional healing, and a synthesizer full of memories.

The Relic

The Moog ONE 16 wasn’t just a synthesizer—it was a relic, a 16.5 million won relic. Yoongi had hunted it down in Tokyo, its walnut veneer gleaming under the fluorescent lights of a vintage gear shop, its analogue guts humming with the ghosts of every artist who’d ever coaxed sound from its keys. He’d joked to Namjoon afterwards that buying it felt like adopting a feral cat: expensive, temperamental, and his. Now it sat in the corner of his studio like a shrine, its LED matrix flickering faintly even when powered off as if dreaming.

You had been orbiting it for weeks.

You’d linger by the door after school, backpack slung over one shoulder, pretending to text while eyeing the Moog’s labyrinth of knobs and sliders. Sometimes, when Yoongi left the room, you’d dart in to trace a finger along its wooden edges, imagining the low growl of its bass oscillators—a sound you’d only hear in your dad’s old Agust D tracks. What if I tweaked this? You’d think, hovering over the filter cutoff. What if I ruined it?

Today, though, recklessness overruled fear.

Yoongi was asleep upstairs, dead to the world after three all-nighters in a row. The studio was yours. You tiptoed in, Matcha latte in hand, and booted up the synth. It whirred to life with a purr, its touchscreen glowing azure. You’d watched a dozen tutorials and memorized every patch Yoongi had ever saved. Just one experiment, you told yourself, plugging in the headphones.

But the latte was too full. Your hands were still shaky from skipping breakfast, from the adrenaline of sneaking in. The cup tilted—

Glug.

A tidal wave of green cascaded across the Moog’s ivory keys, pooling in the pitch-bend wheel.

“Shit—!”

You lunged for a towel, knocking over a stack of lyric notebooks. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you scrubbed, but the damage was visceral. Matcha seeped into the seams, the synth’s screen flickering erratically. Dead. It’s dead. I killed it.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs.

Yoongi appeared in the doorway, hair sticking up in sleep-mussed tufts, an old Daechwita hoodie hanging off one shoulder. He blinked at the scene—You frozen mid-scrub, towels strewn like crime scene evidence, the Moog’s screen sputtering static.

“…Is that,” he said slowly, voice graveled with exhaustion, “my Moog?”

Your throat closed. You had seen that look before—the tightness around his eyes, the vein pulsing faintly at his temple. The same look he’d worn when you totalled his car at 14, a failed attempt to “borrow” it for a midnight skate session.

“I’ll fix it,” you babbled, backing away as if distance could undo the sin. “I’ll—I’ll sell my bike, my drum kit, anything—I’ll work at HYBE’s cafeteria, I’ll—”

Yoongi said nothing. He crossed the room with the grim focus of a bomb defuser, crouching to unplug cables from the synth’s mangled ports. His hands were steady, but you catalogued every micro-expression: the twitch in his jaw when a droplet of Matcha oozed onto his sleeve, the way his nostrils flared slightly.

“It’s insured,” he finally muttered, dabbing at the keys with a microfiber cloth. “Breathe.”

But you couldn’t. The air was thick with the scent of dread and jasmine Matcha. You gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, waiting for the explosion. For the “How could you?” or “You never think!” that had punctuated your teenage rebellions.

Instead, Yoongi stood, tossing the soiled cloth into the trash. “Go upstairs. I’ll handle this.”

“But—”

“Go.”

It wasn’t anger in his voice. It was worse—resignation.

You fled.

Upstairs, you collapsed onto your bed, replaying the scene on a loop. Stupid. Reckless. Just like Mom said.

Your mother’s voice surfaced unbidden, frail but teasing, from a memory six years buried: “Yu-yah, you’ve got your dad’s stubbornness and my clumsiness. Poor thing.” She’d been bedridden then, her IV stand draped with your finger-painted get-well cards. “Promise me you’ll take care of him when I’m gone. He’ll forget to eat… or accidentally adopt another synth.”

You pressed your face into a cushion. The Moog’s death felt symbolic. Another thing you had destroyed. Another piece of him chipped away.

Downstairs, Yoongi stared at the synth.

He’d lied about the insurance.

The Moog was an expensive modified beast—its quirks irreplaceable. The track he’d been working on, a collaboration with an indie artist from Busan, relied on its specific grain. Now it was gone...

He sank into his chair, head in hand. For a heartbeat, he let himself ache—for the lost music, for the exhaustion, for the child who looked at him like he was a landmine. Then he pulled out his phone.

To: Manager Kim

Need a repair genius. Moog ONE 16 water damage. Don’t tell anyone...

The reply was instant:

Suzanne Ciani’s protégé? She’s in town.

Yoongi exhaled. Fixable. Everything was fixable.

Except, maybe, the fracture he’d heard in your voice when he’d told you to leave.

---

The Shattered Trophy

The studio had become a burial ground for mistakes.

A few days after the Moog disaster, the air still reeked of regret—and now, faintly, of burnt matcha. Cables snaked across the floor like vipers, tangling around chair legs and pedalboards. Yoongi’s Golden Disc Award, its golden figure mid-strum unfurled, perched precariously on a floating shelf cluttered with thumb drives and empty coffee cups. It was the 2023 Digital Song Bonsang for “That That”—a collaboration with Psy that had dominated charts the same week your mother took her last breath.

You hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t even looked at it since the funeral.

But today, your mind was a storm.

ADHD buzzed under your skin like static, limbs restless from days of walking on eggshells. You’d come to apologize again, to beg for chores—anything—to atone. But Yoongi was hunched over his monitors, headphones on, lost in a mix. His silence was a wall.

Maybe if I just… straighten up.

You tiptoed around the room, gathering discarded coffee cups and coiling cables. Each movement was careful and deliberate. But focus was a slippery thing—a notification buzzed in your pocket:

Jae BFF: Skatepark later? ,

and your foot caught on an XLR cord.

Time warped.

Your elbow slammed into the shelf. The trophy wobbled, tipped, and—

Crash.

The sound was cathedral-loud. The golden figure shattered on impact, its head shearing clean off, rolling beneath the desk with a hollow clink. Your breath stopped.

Flashback: Your mother’s hands, skeletal and IV-punctured, cradling the trophy. Her voice, a threadbare whisper: “Our grumpy rockstar… did it again.” Three days later, she was gone. The award had sat untouched since, a relic of her last coherent joy.

Yoongi froze. The click of his mouse stopped mid-edit.

“…?”

You dropped to your knees, scrambling for the pieces. “I’m sorry— I’ll glue it, I’ll— I’ll find a jeweler, I’ll—”

“Don’t touch it.”

His voice was arctic. You recoiled as if slapped.

Yoongi stood slowly, chair screeching. His face was a mask, but his hands betrayed him—fingers trembling at his sides, knuckles blanched. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t look at anything his gaze fixed on some middle distance where grief and fury collided.

“Out,” he said, voice splintering. “Now.”

“Dad, please—”

“NOW.”

The word was a detonation.

You fled.

---

The Runaway

The streets of Seoul swallowed you whole.

You ran blindly, sneakers slapping against rain-slick pavement, the city’s neon glow warping into streaks of acid green and electric blue. Paparazzi lurked at every familiar corner—Always watching, always hungry—so you veered into alleyways, vaulting over trash bags and dodging delivery bikes. Hobi’s apartment was too close; Taehyung’s studio was too bright. The Han River bridges loomed in your mind, but the thought of standing on those guardrails, of icy water below, made your stomach lurch.

No. Not there.

Your feet carried you somewhere older, quieter. The subway ride passed in a haze—stares from passengers, a teen’s muffled “Isn’t that Suga’s kid?” - ignored. Seonyeong Cemetery emerged at dusk, its iron gates weathered and moss-clung. You slipped through a gap in the fence, your mother’s grave a compass point in the dark.

The dogwood tree had grown gnarled in six years, its branches clawing at the sky. The headstone beneath it was small, unadorned but for her name—Min Ji-eun—and the dates that bookended her warmth. You collapsed onto the damp earth, grass staining your ripped jeans, and pressed your forehead to the cold stone.

“Eomma,” you choked, the word crumbling like ash. “I’m… I’m breaking everything.”

Rain began to fall—thin, needling drops. Your hoodie soaked through, clinging to your skin, but you barely felt it. Your mind looped like a corrupted track: Moog. Trophy. Mom. Moog. Trophy. Mom.

Flashback: Age 9, hospital room.

Your mother’s hand, feather-light. “Yu-yah… promise me you’ll take care of him. He’ll forget… forget to laugh.”

You had nodded, not understanding. Now, you understood too well.

A sob ripped free. “I’m failing you. I’m— I’m just like him—all broken knobs and sharp edges—”

The wind hissed through the dogwood, scattering dead leaves. No answer. There never was.

---

The Search

Yoongi’s hands shook as he typed.

Yoongi: Yumi’s gone. Check the usual spots.

The group chat exploded.

Jin: On my way to the Han River. Jungkook, check the bridges near Itaewon.

Jimin: HYBE’s empty. Security cams show they never came here.

Jungkook: Already at the skatepark. Jae says they left their board. Paparazzi chased them earlier.

Hobi: Checking Tae’s studio. They’re not answering calls.

Yoongi stared at the screen, his reflection fractured in its cracks. The studio felt alien now—a crime scene. The Moog sat shrouded in a tarp, the trophy shards boxed but unaddressed. He’d found your sketchbook open on the couch: a page filled with rough drafts of him, all frowns and hunched shoulders, captioned “World’s Okayest Dad (Don’t Tell Him).”

How did I miss this?

Namjoon arrived unannounced, damp from the rain, his glasses fogged. “Hyung. Let’s go.”

Yoongi didn’t argue.

---

The Cemetery

The rain had thickened into a downpour by the time they reached the gravesite. Yoongi drove, white-knuckling the steering wheel, while Namjoon navigated from the passenger seat. The car fishtailed on the muddy backroads, but Yoongi didn’t slow.

“Here,” Namjoon said, pointing to a gap in the cemetery fence.

Yoongi parked haphazardly, ignoring the NO ENTRY AFTER DARK sign. Namjoon grabbed an umbrella from the backseat—Yoongi’s backup, black and battle-scarred—but true to form, fumbled it as he ducked under the dogwood tree. The umbrella caught on a low branch, ribs snapping with a sound like brittle bones.

“Aish,” he muttered, shaking the mangled fabric. “Sorry, Hyung.”

You didn’t look up. You were curled into a shivering ball against your mother’s headstone, soaked to the skin, your AgustD hoodie darkened to charcoal by the rain. Namjoon crouched beside you, abandoning the broken umbrella to the mud.

“Hey, little storm.”

“Go away.” Your words were hoarse, raw from hours of crying.

Namjoon sat anyway, his long limbs folding awkwardly, knees jutting like a grasshopper’s. Rain dripped from his hair into the collar of his jacket. “Remember when I broke Jin-hyung’s limited-edition Sailor Moon figurine? 2025. The one he imported from Tokyo?”

Your breath hitched. “This… this isn’t a figurine.”

“No.” Namjoon’s voice softened. “It’s worse. But not unfixable.”

“Stop being wise!” You lurched upright, eyes wild. “It’s gone, Joon-ah! The award, the synth—Eomma—I ruin everything! Maybe… maybe if I’d died instead—”

Namjoon caught your wrist, grip firm. “Don’t.”

“Why not?!” Tears streaked down your face, mingling with rainwater. “Dad hates me! He should—!”

“He doesn’t.”

Yoongi’s voice cut through the dark.

He stood at the edge of the tree’s canopy, backlit by the cemetery’s sulfur lamps, shadows carving hollows under his eyes. Namjoon nodded once—your turn—and rose, brushing mud from his jeans. As he retreated, his foot caught on the ruined umbrella, crushing it further into the muck.

You scrambled backwards, spine pressing into the headstone. “How… how long have you—?”

“Long enough.” Yoongi’s voice cracked. He stepped closer, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. “You think I’d trade you? For any of it? The trophies, the synth—her?”

You froze.

He knelt, ignoring the mud seeping into his pants, and cupped your face. His palm was calloused, warm against your rain-chilled skin. “When she died, I… I wanted to burn the world. Then you’d crawl into my studio, all scraped knees and fury, and I’d think—this. This is what she left me. Not grief. A life.”

Your chest heaved. “But the award—”

Yoongi pulled a shard of gold from his pocket—the trophy’s broken head, edges smoothed by his thumb. “It’s metal and ego. You’re flesh. My flesh.” He pressed the fragment into your hand. “You think I care about a plaque? The night I won it, your mom held it for two minutes and said it was ‘too pointy.’ She cared more about the seaweed soup going cold.”

A sob tore from your throat. “The Moog—”

“Fixed it this morning.” His lips quirked, barely a smile. “Suzanne Ciani’s protégé said you ‘altered the dampening with impressive idiocy.’ She’s sending a bill. And a mentorship offer.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Turns out flooding a synth with Matcha is a résumé-worthy feat.” Yoongi thumbed a tear from your cheek. “Come home. Finish that track you’ve been hiding. The one with the… what’s it called? Trap breakdown meets Ennio Morricone?”

“Dusk Theory,” you whispered, stunned. “You… knew?!”

“Kid, you sample my snores. Of course, I knew.” He stood, offering a hand. “And Namjoon?”

From the shadows, a guilty shuffle. “Yeah?”

“Next time you ‘comfort’ someone, don’t annihilate my umbrella.”

Namjoon emerged sheepishly, the umbrella’s corpse now dangling from his fist. “Hyung, it was an accident—”

“God of Destruction my ass.”

You hiccuped a laugh, the sound fragile but real. Yoongi pulled you to your feet, steadying you when your knees buckled.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, shrugging off his jacket to drape over your shoulders. “Jin’s making kimchi stew. And Hobi bought you a new board.”

“With Hope World stickers?”

“Would I allow anything else?”

As you trudged toward the car, you glanced back. The trophy shard gleamed in your palm, sharp but held gently—a thing broken, but not lost.

---

The Mended Symphony

The studio hummed with a newfound quiet, the kind that settles after a storm. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, striping the Moog ONE 16 in silver and shadow. Its walnut panelling bore scars—faint tea stains etched into the grain, a slight warp near the modulation wheel—but it lived. A sticky note fluttered on its surface, Yoongi’s jagged scrawl unmistakable:

FINISH YOUR TRACK.

—Grumpy Cat

You traced the words, a half-smile tugging at your lips. The synth smelled different now—less like aged wood and solder, more like citrus cleaner and the faintest ghost of Matcha. Altered, but alive, you thought, just like everything else.

You sank into Yoongi’s chair, still warm from his earlier presence, and booted up the DAW. Your project file blinked tauntingly: FRACTURED NOTES (FEAT. SNORES). The waveform sprawled across the screen, a jagged mountain range of bass drops and distorted guitar riffs. Nestled in the bridge was the pièce de résistance—a 10-second loop of Yoongi’s snores, lifted from a voice memo you had secretly recorded during his studio nap last month.

“Cheeky,” you muttered, adjusting the EQ to soften the nasal tones.

The track was chaos incarnate—a thing of clashing genres and emotional whiplash. Trap beats collided with spaghetti western whistles; Yoongi’s snores morphed into a haunting theremin wail. It shouldn’t have worked. But as you layered in the Moog’s resurrected bassline—a growl so deep it vibrated your molars—you felt it click. Your sound. Not his. Not theirs. YOURS

---

Broken Things That Matter

On the shelf, the Golden Disc’s remains glimmered in their new home—a glass case lined with velvet the colour of midnight. Yoongi had stayed up piecing it together, gold-dusted epoxy bleeding into every crack. The figure now listed slightly, its neck kinked at a drunken angle, but it held.

Your addition sat tucked in the corner: a tiny skateboard fragment, its Hope World sticker still clinging stubbornly. Broken Things That Matter, read the plaque below, in Namjoon’s careful calligraphy.

At 3:17 a.m., you slumped forward, forehead hitting the desk. “Done,” you croaked to no one.

Yoongi appeared silently, sliding a fresh Matcha latte beside you—this time in a spill-proof tumbler.

“It’s… different,” he said, nodding at the screen.

You stiffened. “Bad different?”

“Honest different.” He hesitated, then ruffled your hair, a gesture so rare it froze you both. “She’d hate it.”

A beat. Then laughter, a bright and startled, burst from you. “Yeah. She’d call it ‘noise pollution.’”

“Then play it louder.”

You did.

...

[in1-nutshell]

I think it's been long enough to finally ask for IDW Silver Aid...Megs deserves it

MTMTE Meg's is going to get a Silver!

...But he is going to have to work for it.

Hope you enjoy!

IDW Silver Aid

SFW, Platonic, Hinted Romance, Angst, Cybertronian (techno organic) reader

IDW/MTMTE

Silver Aid was Orion Pax’s Amica Endura.

Both had met on a train on the way to work and accidentally grabbed each other’s datapads.

They ran back to get each other’s correct pad but since it took them a while, they had decided to go to Maccadams oil house for a quick refuel.

The rest was history.

At the time, Silver was working as an assistant at the station Orion was working at.

Orion, being the most vocal of the two, ended up introducing her to many of his friends.

Including some older ones.

Orion Pax: “Silver Aid, this is Ratchet.” Silver smiles. Silver Aid: “Good to see you again Ratchet.” Ratchet smiles back. Ratchet: “Good to see you again Silver.” Orion raises an optic. Orion Pax: “You have met before?” Silver Aid: “He was my mentor and partner during medical school.” Ratchet: “I am surprised you didn’t join the same hospital the others went to.” Silver Aid: “I did, but life had different plans. Anyways, if I had gone, I would never have met my Amica here.” Silver Aid side hugs Orion smiling widely. Orion chuckles a bit returning the hug. Ratchet: “…Really? You could have done better.” Orion Pax: “Ratchet, that is uncalled for. I chose—” Ratchet: “Not you. Silver, are you sure about this? You know this mech jumps of roof tops for a living.” Silver simply hugs him tighter. Silver Aid: “Wouldn’t have him any other way.” Ratchet gives them both a look. Ratchet: “Keep talking like that and you two will end up being Conjunx’s by the end of the cycle.” Orion and Silver: “Hey!”

Megatron’s introduction happened not too long afterwards.

She had received a message from Orion saying to meet her up at Maccadams oil house for a surprise.

Knowing that Orion’s surprises could range from a free drink to being involved in taking down a secret crime front, she decided to come prepared.

Packing a med kit and a mini blaster she went out to the bar.

Orion and Megatron are walking back to their table with some cubes of energon. Megatron: “And why do you want me to meet your friend?” Orion Pax: “She’s my Amica Megatron. I thought it would be polite to introduce you two. You do need some more friends.” Megatron: “Pax, I don’t need--” CLANK! Someone had bumped right into his back and fell on the floor. Megatron: “Who…” Silver Aid is shaking her helm. Silver Aid: “I’m sorry I didn’t see where I was going and—” Orion Pax: “Silver!” He passes the cubes to a frozen Megatron and helps Silver up. Orion Pax: “Megatron, this is Silver Aid. My Amica Endura.” Megatron blinks as Silver gives him a warm smile. Silver Aid: “Its good to meet you Megatron.” Megatron: “Likewise…”

Two got along better than Orion had expected.

He wanted to introduce Megatron to her because he didn’t have many close friends.

Has actively teased him about stealing his Amica.

Megatron brushes it off… unlike the little flutters he gets in his spark.

To get her to hang out with him more, he invites her to meet some of his acquaintances.

Silver Aid is talking to Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp. Megatron is by Soundwaves’s side watching over this. Silver laughs at something that Skywarp had said. Megatron frowns a bit. Soundwave telepathically: “Jealousy does not suit you.” Megatron froze for a bit. Megatron telepathically: “I am not jealous.” Soundwave telepathically: “Of course you aren’t, and Pax is the next Prime.” Megatron grumbles a bit.

Then Megatron went to prison.

Silver Aid did her best to go visit him, but no one made any effort in helping her.

Soon after came the fake Matrix event.

Of course, Silver as immediately backing her Amica’s back in this plan.

Sadly, it ended up costing in the end.

Ending with Senator Shockwave and Silver Aid being taken into custody.

Shockwave was sent to the Institution for Shadow Play.

Silver Aid was placed into a pod and sent to a remote laboratory.

Pain.

Prodding.

Adding.

Subtracting.

Needles.

Screaming was something that happened daily.

It was fridged in the cell and fridged in the lab.

Silver couldn’t even recognize herself once they were done with her.

She remembered hearing from the scientist about ‘The Techno Organic Project’.

It would certainly explain the softer plating and sensitive nerves.

…and the extra arms and monstrous alt mode…

The last thing she could remember was the scientists placing her into a stasis pod and blank.

…

…

Silver Aid opened her optics to a dark place.

Silver Aid looks around curious and scared. Megatron: “Silver Aid.” She jumps at the sudden sound of her name… something she hasn’t heard in a while. Turning around she spots a tall mech standing not too far. She couldn’t forget those optics. Silver Aid: “M-Megatron?” He steps forward into the light. The frame is different, helm shape, but the same optics. Silver Aid quickly gets off of the med slab almost falling if he hadn’t hurriedly caught her. Silver Aid: “Megatron! You’re here! You’re here!” She begins to lightly sob. Silver Aid: “You’re here… right?” Megatron wordlessly holds her closer to his chassis, ignoring the heat in his spark chamber. Megatron: “I am here… I’m here now.”

It was hard explaining that she had been placed into stasis by those scientists.

Almost as hard as explaining that she was now in the middle of a war.

Out of fear of the scientist coming after her and wishing to repay Megatron for saving her, Silver Aid joined the Decepticons.

Her appearance was off putting for many Decepticons.

Even more, when it was announced she would be a part of the medical staff.

… Or whatever functioning medical staff was there.

Most of the staff was compromised of engineers and Cons that had very basic knowledge of aid.

It became clear that Silver had out ranked them all after a few days fixing Cons.

It was a matter of time before she became the Chief Medical Officer.

But just because she had this title, it did not mean she was safe.

There were many Decepticons that did not trust her and thought she was an abomination.

The worst was the bullying.

Physical and mental.

Thankfully there were Cons on her side.

A couple of mechs are starting to surround Silver Aid. Con 1: “What are you going to do now Freak? Go to Megatron and show how much of a weakling you are?” Con 2: “How long are you going to realize you are a—” ZPT! Skywarp warps behind both mechs and zaps them away. Silver Aid blinks a bit in surprise. Thundercracker walks by. Thundercracker: “…You alright?” Silver Aid: “Yeah… thank you, both of you.” Later… Starscream walks into the medbay. Starscream: “That display of yours was pathetic.” Silver Aid: “I can’t exactly fight them back Starscream. I have softer plating now.” Starscream: “I’m not talking about that! I am talking about your lack of self-esteem.” He grabs her servo and starts dragging her. Silver Aid: “Where are we going?” Starscream: “To work on your confidence. You lacking it is sickening me.” Even later… Soundwave and Shockwave are looking over some of her extra limbs. Shockwave: “And you are sure that you do not recall the bots who did this? It is a remarkable feat of engineering.” Silver Aid: “I would have told you if I could remember Shockwave.” He misses the sad look on her face. Soundwave: “Does this hurt?” Silver flinches a bit at a sensitive area. Soundwave quickly stops touching it. Silver Aid: “It is more sensitive that it hurts.” Soundwave: “Noted. Will take more caution in the future.”

Being Chief medical officer also meant being Megatron’s personal medic.

Half of the time, Silver was convinced that he was hurting himself on purpose to spend time in the med bay.

Most of their time talking and ‘hanging out’ was spent in the med bay with him on the slab while she would be walking around.

The flutters in the spark just sped up with each meeting.

Sadly, luck was never on Megatron’s side.

It happened during a visit to one of the Decepticon clinics.

The small space station houses a couple of medics and many injured Cons.

Silver had wanted to see what was going on with the patients.

Megatron insisted he go as Leader and to promote some morale.

No one had expected an Autobot raid.

There were simply too many bots for them to fight.

They needed to get to the emergency escape pods.

Silver Aid had tried to place the automatic launch sequence in, but it had been damaged… as well as one of the remaining escape pods.

There would be one short…

She knew what she needed to do.

Silver Aid: “Megatron get into the pod!” Megatron: “Get into your first!” Silver Aid: “This is not up for debate, get in!” Megatron: “Do not—” Silver Aid flashes him with a steely glare. Silver Aid: “GET IN THE POD!” Surprising him and herself, she pushed him into the pod. The automatic locks had engaged. The techno organic hurriedly placed the last pods coordinates before heading straight for the manual lever. As soon as that lever went down, the pods would be shot out to their intended coordinates. Megatron looked horrified at Silver still not in her pod. Megatron: “Silver Aid! What are you doing!?” They both flinch a bit at the growing sounds of blaster fire and pedesteps. The Autobots would be coming in any minute. Silver Aid looks at him with a solemn look. She knew what was going to happen… but if it meant that he would live… Megatron tries to pry the door open, it doesn’t budge. Silver Aid: “Its been quite an adventure Megatron. Its about high time I save you for a change.” Megatron: “SILVER!” Tears begin to fall from her optics as she manages to pull a watery smile. Silver Aid: “Thank you… Goodbye Megatron.” The lever comes down. The pods shoot out to the void of space as the door to the room comes down. Megatron’s screams aren’t heard as the last thing he sees is Silver Aid get shot down.

Silver Aid wakes up feeling like she got shot in the back.

She gets the surprise of a lifetime seeing Ratchet and what looks like a buffer Orion Pax.

Literally jumping up, despite her frame yelling at her to sit down, and hugging her Amica look alike.

She never knew what had happened to him and Ratchet and thought that they had died in the war.

Megatron was very uptight on the information that she read and heard.

It’s near whiplash when the mechs finally in take that this was in fact Silver Aid.

Prime had never been so close to tears than in that moment, just hugging his long lost Amica.

It comes to a terrifying conclusion when Silver is told everything about the war in exchange that she tell what happened to her.

She feels so betrayed by the mech she had trusted with her life and spark…

Silver Aid the Decepticon died at the space station.

Silver Aid the Autobot was born on Earth.

After a bit of a change in color scheme, bit of kibble modification and badge she looked like a new bot.

The news of her deception and want to make things right went through the ranks like wildfire.

She was thankful that there were bots who helped her through this rough transition and showed her the ropes when Ratchet and Prime couldn’t.

Soon Silver Aid became a familiar face many saw helping Ratchet and fixing bots.

She was also thankful that there wasn’t as much prejudice against her organic half as with the Decepticons.

Though humans were a different story.

Ultra magnus is walking with Verity on his servo. Magnus: “You will be staying with Silver Aid for the time being.” Verity: “Silver Aid?” Magnus: “One of our top medics. Optimus’s Amica to be rumored.” Verity: “Amica? You know what explain me that later.” They walk into the medbay. Silver Aid is in her alt mode on the ceiling. Verity: “IS THAT A SPIDER!?” Silver Aid drops to the ground and transforms. She has a bright smile on her face. Silver Aid: “Sorry if I scared you. You must be Verity Carlo.” Verity: “…whatthef—” Magnus: “Verity!”

Timeskip to the end of the war.

After a tearful goodbye between Silver Aid and Orion, she watches him leave to space.

Out of safety, she decides to join the Lost Light.

She would rather take her chances on a ship with some bots she knew, than face planet wide prejudice.

Cue Lost Light shenanigans.

Out of all the memos she had gotten on that ship… it was the one about Megatron joining the ship that she missed.

Rodimus is giving Megatron the tour around the ship. Rodimus: “And this is Swerve’s.” Megatron: “There is a bar here?” Rodimus: “Not like I see you coming—Aid watch out!” CLANK! Someone had just bumped into him. He turns around just has the bot started getting up. Megatron: “Who…” He stopped talking at the sight of the bot who bumped into him. Silver Aid: “I’m sorry I didn’t see where I was going and—” Her voice dies in her throat seeing those familiar red optics. Megatron and Silver Aid freeze in place. Rodimus pushes past Megatron. Rodimus: “Silver!” He places a servo on her arm, snapping her out of her trance. Rodimus: “You alright?” She numbly nods and slowly starts walking away from the mechs. Silver Aid: “I-I think someone’s calling me.” She quickly speed walks out of the room. Spark pulsing furiously and nervously. What a coward…

[eponastory]

Watching From the Tower Part 2 (Bucky x F! Reader No Y/N)

Your code name is Scout and your job was easy. You worked the cyber side of things for the New Avengers. You directed them where to go with your hacking skills, and you are the eyes in the sky. There was just one problem... you don't like leaving the tower. You are not a complete agoraphobe, but you are pretty close. Leaving makes you feel so unsafe and people touching you, that's even worse. So, when James Buchanan Barnes the former 'Winter Soldier' tries to get you out for one mission, things got a little hectic after that.

Part 2 Summary: You are getting sick while working comms when the mission takes a slightly scary turn.

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Word Count: ~4.4k words. (6.9k total words so far)

Rating: M (Later parts will be marked 18+ for smut, but for now, it's okay.)

Pairings: Bucky/F!Reader (Non-descriptive, No Y/N) Squint for GhostWalker and Boblena (Platonic)

TW: Angst, Depression, mentions of past SA, phobias, Anxiety, MDNI for sexual content in later parts (Will be labeled).

You weren't exactly feeling great by the time the team landed in Singapore. As a matter of fact, you had already started sneezing and every time Bob saw one coming, he'd tell you to say ‘cucumber’ because he thought it would help. Because he saw you getting progressively worse as you started hacking into one of the Chinese satellites over that region, he opted to help you out with the simplest tasks. You had found out that Bob was not as useless as he thought he was. 

“So… I press this button and the door pops open?” He's sitting in the chair next to you with an extra keyboard you showed him how to hook into the system. 

“Bob… make sure it's the right door.” Bucky's voice comes over the comms linked up to the sound system in the room. “Is it the right door?” 

“I like how encouraging you are, Barnes. So Leader of you.” Yelena's accent comes through, causing Bob to smile as he presses the key you pointed out. “Ah, very good. You have opened the correct door.” 

“Now if only there was a pot of gold and tequila behind it.” Ava's smooth voice comes in making you smile even though your throat is getting scratchy. 

“Cut the chatter.” Once Bucky says something they all shut up. “Walker, status?” 

“Ground clear, moving into position.” You could hear Walker grunting as he likely jumped over something to get into his position. 

“Once inside, let the bot fly so I can get you a readout.” Your eyes are on the screen that is showing footage from the cameras on each team member's person. “I can only do so much with your body cams and the security cameras.” 

“Scoutbot is ready.” Bucky lets you know as he holds the smallest bot you could rig up with Flir and night vision. “On your mark.” 

You look at Bob who is intensely watching the screen to make sure everyone's vitals are as they should be. It was now or never as you pulled the Xbox controller you rigged up to connect to the Scoutbot remotely and the VR headset for better guidance. You think that Bob is ready for this since he's gotten pretty good at gaming with you on slow days. 

“You want to do it, Bob?” You hold the controller out to him and he pulls his soft eyes away from the screen. “Don't worry, you don't have to do anything except control Scoutbot.” 

“Uh… sure. Yeah, it'll be like playing that game with the planes.” He takes the controller and headset before putting them on. “Okay, connect me! I'm going into the Matrix!” 

“Connection established.” You put in your codes and commands for the bot. “Okay, release Scoutbot. Bob is in control.” 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Of course Walker would object to letting Bob do this. 

You roll your eyes as you pull up the feed onto another screen and see that Bob is doing very well at guiding the bot around the corners in the long corridors. You have complete faith in Bob. Bob hasn't let you down yet and when you let out a cough, you see that Bucky has gone still. 

“Are you getting sick, Scout?” You can hear the concern in his voice. 

“I'm fine. Corridor is clear, proceed with the directive.” 

“Copy.” 

“Uh… I'm getting some interference.” You look up and see that there is a little static on the bot and that doesn't actually mean too much, at least not at first until. “Too much static to see what is going on.” 

“Bucky, we're getting interference on the bot as it gets closer to the center of the building.” You study the static. It's making the image grainy with white specks showing up every now and then. “Wait… I know what this is. Those are Alpha particles. It's radiation.” 

“I thought the machine was a laser?” Walker questions. 

“It is, but that doesn't mean that there are other things going on in the facility.” You don't have access to a spectrometer, but you do know that Bucky has a small Geiger counter on him. He's always prepared for these things. “Bucky, I'm not positive it's radiation, but maybe use that counter to see.” 

“On it.” You hear the sound of velcro as he reaches into one of his pockets for the small Geiger counter. It isn't long before you see it on his body cam and then the clicking as it measures for charged particles in the air. “Nothing so far, but I'll keep moving in.” 

“Great, so now we have potential radiation.” Ava is moving in after Bucky. “Our day just got so much better.” 

“Could be much worse. We could be in a place like Chernolbyl.” Yelena pipes up after you watch her take out a guard on her side of the building. “You ever been there?” 

“Yes.” Bucky doesn't hesitate to answer. 

“Of course you have.” Her lazy tone makes you smile. “Let me guess, you were there to assassinate a whistle blower in 1986 after the explosion.” 

“More or less.” The counter goes off with a squeal as he turns the corner of another hallway and then eases back. “Unsafe levels.” 

“Shit.” Bob says as the bot goes dark. “Something took out the bot, it just went off.” You look at the screen where your bot has been active only to receive a NO SIGNAL message. “Sorry.” 

“Guys, I think this mission is a botch.” You don't like that the radiation coming from the center of the building is at unsafe levels and possibly a lethal dose. “That radiation is definitely a problem and unless you are resistant, you aren't getting through.” 

“So, what do we do now?” John lets out a breath. 

“I can look into hijacking a satellite that can see the building in infrared. Radiation does sometimes release heat if there is something that is making it react.” You are able to hack into a Russian satellite that is in orbit over the area long enough to get your data. You see the Flir data and the location. It’s white hot in the middle of the building. So much concentrated heat that it has to be a mini nuclear reactor that is leaking radiation. “It’s like a mini reactor– sending the image now.” 

With a few keystrokes, you upload the image to Bucky’s phone and then you hear him grunt in disbelief. You know what he’s going to do next because there is no way to get any further without getting a lethal dose. It’s the one thing that they can’t fight because it’s subatomic particles that are slicing through you at every second. 

“What are the chances the target has been moved versus being dead?” He sounds a little disturbed. 

“High probability that everyone in the building is probably either dead or close to it. I suggest aborting the mission.” You say it with a heavy heart because you know how Bucky handles these missions. You know he’s going to be a storm when he comes back. You cough before looking at the photo again. “I’m sorry Bucky, but none of you would survive radiation this high.” 

“She’s right. I’m already feeling woozy and I’m not even that far into the building.” John is on the end closest to the output. “It’s really hot in here too.”

“Stifling really. This radiation is messing with my phasing.” Ava is in danger too. 

“Bucky, we have to leave.” Yelena stresses to him. 

You can hear Bucky’s thoughts from here. He knows the answer already, it’s just that stubbornness in him that he is fighting. 

“Bucky–” You start out then switch the comms to where you are speaking to him directly. Bob looks at you with the headset still on his head, but he gives you that soft look of understanding before he takes it off and sets it on the desk. He leaves you before he walks into the kitchen. “I know that you will consider this a failure, but it’s not. It’s a tactical miscalculation. We didn’t know this was going on and it could've happened at any point before you got there.” 

“I’m really starting to regret taking on this position.” He grumbles out before you see him turning around. “I’m not good at this.” 

“No time for self doubt, Boss.” He’s already going in the direction of ‘I’m not equipped for this’ when you know he’s got more experience than all of them combined. He just doesn’t believe he can lead this team even though he’s been doing it for six months without fail. But one failure makes him spiral out of control. “Look, there was no indication of this before the mission, so it’s an unforeseen variable that we didn't know about. This isn’t on you, but you all need to get out of there.” 

“Copy.” His tone is dark. He’s back in business mode when he gets over himself. You switch it back to full comms. “Everyone out. Rendezvous at the jet.” 

“Roger.” 

“On it.” 

“Does anyone else taste metal?” 

“That’s from the radiation.” Bucky probably knows because he’s been to radioactive places before, but that still doesn’t dismiss that his experience is what is going to save the team next. “Scout, we need potassium iodide, stat.” 

“Uh– There should be some in the med kit on the jet. I stocked it myself.” You see Bob walk back in with a Grape soda in one hand and your favorite smoothie in the other. Bless him, because your throat is sore and the cold will help. “Only take the recommended dose guys, otherwise you’ll increase your chances of hypothyroidism.” 

“What would be the recommended dose for a super soldier?” You hear John ask and you aren’t exactly sure.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t know, ask Bucky.” You aren’t a nurse even though you’ve patched them up a couple of times. “Thank you, Bob.” He smiles at you as you take the smoothie in hand. He’s such a sweetheart, taking care of everyone because they take care of him. 

“Barnes, how much do we take?” 

“The normal amount.” That made sense. You think. Potassium Iodide is a compound that can be broken down to straight elemental form within the body, but it doesn’t add or subtract anything. At least that is what you remember from high-school chemistry, which was a long time ago. “Just get back to the jet.” 

You listen to the chatter between the team as they make their way back to the place they landed the Jet. You just want them to come home safe and hopefully not full of radiation. You don’t think you can handle it if someone came home with radiation poisoning that is very much hard to cure. 

Leaning back in your chair, you sip on your fruit smoothie that you had prepared days ago and put in the freezer just for this occasion as you listen to the banter. They sound like siblings arguing over stupid things, but you love them. You don’t have a family as you were a child placed in the system at an early age before you were fostered over and over again. Family was a foreign term for years until you stuck it out with no real support system. When you finally found someone to hold on to, they vanished for five years. Five long years that ended up with you being put in a horrible situation. 

Five years of loneliness and then ‘it’ happened. 

When the Blip happened, your partner came back and you weren’t the same. They knew that, but they couldn’t deal with you not wanting to leave the house or do anything other than lay in bed. You started using your skills again out of boredom, to the point where you were working on exposing Val because someone anonymous had contacted you about it. Turns out that anonymous person was Congressman James Buchanan Barnes. 

That man that you were trying really hard not to get too close to. But it was hard. It was hard because he was very much your friend and he brought you into this because you were good. You were really good. 

“Scout, we’re on the jet.” His voice comes through and you let out a sigh. “Minimal radiation exposure detected.” 

“Okay, good. Can you just come home now?” You cough before you hear him hum softly. “We’ll regroup and learn from this okay?” 

“Sounds like mother hen is worried about us.” Yelena’s smile comes through her tone. “Don’t worry, we are fine. It was just a snag.” 

“Just get home so I can make sure everyone is fine with my own eyes.” You are worried. They have become the closest thing you have to family and you don’t want to lose them. The thought terrifies you. 

“We’re in the air. Go rest, we’ll see you in eight hours.” You hear the concern in Bucky’s voice before looking at Bob who is happily sipping on his grape soda. He still puts the straw in it like a little kid. He isn’t a kid, but some habits die hard. 

Eight hours later, you’re being woken up by a proximity alert. You had fallen asleep on the couch in the hub, but by now you were running a fever and you didn’t feel like getting up. How on earth did you get sick when you barely leave the tower? It runs through your head that maybe it’s from one of the people that come in and out all the time. Actually, you think back to the guy that dropped of the groceries three days ago that looked half dead and in need of a vacation. He was also sort of coughing. 

You groan when you know it was him because you accepted the delivery while everyone was at their respective places. Sure, Yelena, Bob, Ava, and John lived in the tower full time, but not Bucky and Alexei. Bucky had his own place because he said if he lived here, he would probably go crazy. He was the type of person that needed to have his social battery recharged in solitude. And it rang true because he always went home at night unless the mission was just too much and he’d find a quiet place to crash, usually on your couch that is in your workshop. 

But as it stands, you did not want to get off the couch you were on. You were shivering and partially delirious because you couldn’t get your fever to go away. Bob had thrown a blanket over you at one point, even bringing you a heating pad to keep you warm, but you were both on fire and freezing at the same time. It was awful. You were so tired and all you wanted to do was sleep. 

It isn’t until you feel a hand on your forehead that you realize you fell asleep again. You open your eyes to see Bucky. He’s not in his ‘work clothes’ but rather wearing his standard black t-shirt with a jacket that you desperately wanted to steal off of him and wrap yourself in. Yes, you were definitely sick because you were thinking these thoughts. 

“Hey.” You hear him as he rubs his thumb on your forehead. “We’re back.” 

“Mkay.” It’s a fog because you see his face, but you are so tired and feel so bad that you just want to sleep forever. You wouldn’t mind if he smothered you with a pillow because you feel like you are dying. 

“You’re sick.” The tenderness in his voice does something to you though and that look in his eyes. You want him to actually keep touching you because you are too sick to care at this point. He knows you have an issue with being touched. You have to initiate it or otherwise it’s uncomfortable and pushing the boundaries that you have set in place. You hate that you’re like this because when you see the look in Bob’s eyes when he wants to hug you after you have a tiny meltdown over something stupid or when Bucky wants to touch you to let you know he’s there. 

The fact that he’s not hurting you now is what is keeping you sane. 

Ava isn’t a touchy person either and that is why the two of you see eye to eye. Yelena sees you as a surrogate sister, but she respects those boundaries you have set up. Walker is terrified of you. He barely speaks to you, but he’ll leave your favorite candy on your work bench when he goes out to get food or something. It’s these little things that make you feel like you belong and that there is a healthy respect between all of you. 

But here Bucky is, looking down at you with those blue eyes of his and all you want to do is curl up. “I feel like shit.” You pull the blanket up to cover your face which forces his hand to vacate your forehead. “I just want to die.” 

“Not allowed.” The rough conviction in his voice says a lot to you. “Did you take anything?” 

“Uh– I gave her some Tylenol to make her fever go down a few hours ago.” You see Bob looking down at you from the back of the couch with his hoodie on. He smiles as Yelena comes to stand next to him. 

“Oh, you look like you have been dead.” She doesn’t hold back on her snarkiness even when you aren’t feeling good. “Like you died and then came back to life just in time for us to get home.” The soft smile on her face is enough to make you sigh. 

“Could all of you just stop yelling at me.” Your head hurts because everyone is talking to you now. “And maybe turn off the lights.” Turning over, you hide your face into the cushions as the bright lights start getting to you. “Stupid grocery guy.” You mumble. 

You hear Bucky sigh. “Okay, time to get you to your own bed.” Normally you would shirk away when someone lays a hand on you, but this gentle touch from Bucky to turn you onto your back is more like asking permission. It’s in his eyes when you turn your head to look at him. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” You blink slow like a cat. 

“Will you let me bring you to your room?” The fact that he’s asking makes you feel better about this and all you can do is nod. He peels the blanket off of you as Yelena drags Bob away to work on something else entirely. “Come on.” You don’t protest when he’s helping you sit up enough to put an arm around his shoulder so he can pick you up. 

You cough as he puts his arm under your knees and hoists you up into his arms. Anyone of the super soldiers on the team could do this, but you only let Bucky because you knew him better. You were his friend before you were theirs. Alexei would if you asked him to, but you never would because that was not the relationship you had with him. Still, when Bucky is carrying you out of the hub and to the elevator, you lay your head on his right shoulder because you can’t keep it upright. Your arms are around his neck as he carries you without getting tired, because he doesn’t get tired. 

He’s made out of sturdy stuff and nuclear energy. He goes on forever out of spite at what happened to him in the past and you admire that about him. Although, as seen earlier, he still has some things to deal with on an emotional level. You saw how he started going down this path of self-doubt the moment you told him to abort the mission. The moment you told him the team was in danger. He knows it was the right call, but at the same time, you could tell through his voice that old training was telling him to keep going. The circumstances were just out of their control and he knew that too. Now, he’s probably going to replay this in his head for hours before he actually falls asleep. 

“You’re quiet.” There is nothing but the sound of your voice and the elevator. “You’re thinking about what went wrong.” 

“Nothing went wrong.” He denies it. “Everything went wrong.” He sighs as he grips his hand tighter around your leg just before your knee. “What could’ve caused that much of a radiation leak?” 

You wrack your brain for something. “Cesium.” That’s the only thing you can think of for a radiation leak that big in a medical facility. “They use it in MRI machines. But it would take a lot of it to cause that much radiation.” You are surprised that you are lucid enough to recall that information. “I don’t know, but as soon as I feel better, I’ll be on the case.” You promise even though you feel like shit. 

The elevator stops on your floor and Bucky is carrying you out. Your workshop and apartment are only two doors away from the elevator, so it’s barely five seconds before Bucky is maneuvering himself to press the keypad on your door while you are still in his arms. As soon as the code is in, the one you programmed specifically for him, the door pops open and he’s pushing it with his foot. Once inside he gently kicks the door shut behind him. 

It’s lonely in this apartment, but you like it. You’ve made it your home with the warm colors and low lights that the AI brings up when you enter the room. It’s yours and Val will have to drag your cold body out of there before you ever leave. You are pretty sure the entire team will be turning Val over if she even thought about kicking you to the curb. Bucky would actually kill her. You know it, he knows it, and she knows it. So she lets him do his job and that means you get to do yours. Even if it means fixing Alexei’s phone every two weeks. 

“Did you get more books?” Bucky sees the stacks of books that you have acquired for reading even though it takes you no time to sit and read one. 

“I ordered a few for Bob because he pretty much read all the ones I recommended already.” When you learned that Bob liked to read, you were ready to start your own little book club with him and eventually Ava joined in on it too. “Some of them are for you too.” And Bucky was a reader too, he just didn’t tell anyone. “The small stack with your name on it are the ones I got for you.” You cough again as he passes by the stacks you had sorted out for everyone. 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Yes you did. You have been sneaking books to him for six months, always leaving a copy of something you think he’d like on his desk. Then you’d find it on your workbench a week later with a note in his handwriting about what he liked or didn’t like about the book. 

“I do.” 

“Thank you.” He barely says your real name under his breath as he brings you to your room. 

You weren’t a very tidy person. You like your home looking like you lived in it, but it was clean. It was crowded with things that you kept around for comfort, but the only thing you didn’t have was pictures of a family you can’t remember. You remember the people that you lived with, the good and the bad, but you don’t remember your real family. 

He sits you down on your bed before he’s pulling the white comforter back and organizing the pile of pillows that you have on your bed. You need eight pillows. You do but he is moving most of them to the other side of the bed as you take off your shoes and make yourself comfortable. He finds your penguin Squishmallow buried underneath the pillows and throws it at you. It’s big enough for you to hold at night because sometimes you get nightmares about your time in foster care. 

“Come on, get in.” You aren’t a child. You’re a grown woman with a mind of your own, but this is him taking care of you because there is no one else. “I’ll get some more medicine and water for you.” 

“Okay.” You do as he says because you don’t have the energy to be disobedient. You slip in under the covers in just your hoodie and pajama pants that you had not changed out of since you were working comms. You were still on fire, but still freezing. There was no happy medium. 

When Bucky comes back to your room with a glass of water in his vibranium hand and two Motrin in the other, you sigh. Motrin. The standard go-to for anyone in the military since no one knows when. You curl up on your side with your penguin and watch as he holds the two little orange pills out to you. Your teeth are chattering at this point. You sit up and take the pills, throwing them in your mouth before swallowing. You reach for the water and gulp it down before handing it back to him. 

“Get some rest. I’ll call you in a few hours to check on you and if you don’t answer, I’m coming back here.” He is very serious because he does care. Probably more than he should, but you aren’t complaining. This is how he shows his affection. 

“Okay, Bucky.” You lay back down on the pillow before he’s pulling the covers over you and tucking you in tight. Sometimes you don’t mind that someone wants to take care of you. It rarely happens, but right now, it’s the look in Bucky’s eyes as he makes sure you are okay that has you feeling much better already. Maybe he’s always looked at you like this. You were too busy wrapped up in yourself and in others to really notice. 

“Good night, Sweetheart.” He says before flipping the lightswitch off and closing the door. You think he would probably make a good father someday, if not a good husband to some lucky woman. You definitely weren’t that lucky woman. You had too many problems to be that lucky woman. 

It doesn’t stop you from thinking about him as your body fights off whatever virus is inside you. 

[salty-dracon]

Stellaron Hunter Sunday thoughts, going on a mission edition:

Kafka's buying a cake to celebrate Sunday's first official IPC bounty. After a terrifying mission where he uses some Path powers on an important group, he's winded, but his new teammates are clapping when he returns to them safe and sound. And it's at that moment that Sunday realizes that there is no going back to his old life.

Imagine a cutscene where the Astral Express is enjoying a banquet with a bunch of guests. One by one all of the other guests start to fall unconscious. As the room falls silent and the lights flicker and hum, the crew hears the even-spaced, metronomic clicking of footsteps... before they spot a familiar Halovian, dressed to the nines in the darkest shade of midnight blue, making his way into the banquet hall.

How do you get away from a man who doesn't even need a weapon to be a major threat? Bring up Robin. Ask him, "What would Robin think?" or "Would Robin want you to do this?" It stuns him the first few times, but it loses its effectiveness quickly as he begins to convince himself (or perhaps Elio has convinced him?) that everything he does is for Robin's happiness and salvation.

Illusion and dreams are extremely versatile powers in the right hands. Consider: illusory doubles of yourself and your enemy, voices and sounds that distract and deflect, or trapping a single person in your own mental world to eliminate them when they're unable to receive help from their friends.

Maybe he needs a weapon for style purposes, like a conductor's baton similar to the one Dominicus/Septimus had. It works well thematically given how both the Harmony and Order are themed around music. Also it would look cool in battle. One flick of the wrist, and everything is under his control, mirroring the very first scene in the prologue where Kafka plays air violin.

Can Sunday be contained in conventional ways? If you lock him in a cell and leave a guard in the room, could he trap them in a waking dream where they think a loved one is in the cell and feel compelled to break them out? How far does this power extend?

How self-assured is Sunday of his power? Does he believe in Elio's script enough to trust in fate that his enemies will fall? Can his captors see it on his face- an unsettling smile that screams "Do whatever you want, try whatever you will- fate is on my side."?

We've had several moments where the Stellaron Hunters manage to protect each other or free each other (SW saves Kafka in the prologue, Blade breaks Kafka free of the Matrix and helps her escape, etc.). Imagine the playful banter Sunday has when he's finally rescued by the Hunters. As serious as he usually is, with a side of appreciation.

I imagine he's still got that space fantasy Catholicism influence in his words and actions. He's quoting proverbs and admonishing sinners while watching buildings blow up, things like that.

Maybe he puts those proverbs away when dealing with the Astral Express who already bested him once, and who are as noble as him. Perhaps he sees them as equals who could potentially best an Aeon, and he's just playing the villain to make sure fate takes the right course.

Sunday, eating dinner in an apartment the group rented on a whim: "Do you mind if I say grace before we eat?" Blade: "I do mind. This is an Aeonless apartment."

[ironunderstands]

Fu Xuan X Qingque is fucking peak IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-

Today I’m gonna yap about how underrated this absolutely incredible ship is, and why I love it, so sit back and enjoy because I have THOUGHTS. Also, thank you so much to @cosmicquilt on tumblr for providing me their own insight into it, as well as a place for me to begin, I really do appreciate it! 

Before I go in depth on them, I think their status as *package deal do not separate* is really funny and cute, and I’m surprised people don’t point it out more with just how obvious it really is.

Here’s some example’s I’ve collected (thank you quilt for the first two screenshots!) 

This is from the food event in 2.0, and to me it seems like Fu Xuan bought it out of curiosity, then Qingque had some and got messy because of it.

They are also together in the Penacony mural thing (just like Aventio hehe), and you can see Qingque reaching towards a gambling machine while Fu Xuan pulls her back, as if she predicted the other would immediately make a beeline towards the machines, and had to prevent that from happening. 

Today Is Another Peaceful Day is the name of the lightcone shared between them, whose description is quite comical.

Fu Xuan did infact find her again, she is angry and the sweets Qingque bought to placate her don’t seem like they are going to do much 😭.

Qingque also makes an appearance in Fu Xuan’s trailer, which only tends to happen when characters have an established close relationship or connection (like Dan Heng appearing in Blade’s)

Their team joining voicelines also match perfectly- in fact they tell a pretty funny story of yet another time Fu Xuan goes to look for Qingque, who’s supposedly slacking off again.

This also implies that Fu Xuan knows Qingque well enough at this point to guess accurately where she would be hiding and when she would leave, which is adorable and honestly really funny. 

Overall, on a surface level, their Looney Tunes dynamic is incredibly entertaining and endearing, making their relationship rather lighthearted and sweet. Girlboss X Girlfailure is always fun to watch and a personal favorite in ships for me is when one character has to deal with the other’s antics (you know who :3). I also think it’s a good way to set up a developing relationship, as they get closer and closer together each time they play this game of cat and mouse, which is something that is demonstrated by the game.

So, let’s look at them a little deeper now.

Within the quest, Omniscient Inquiry of Arcana, which is found within the main Xianzhou quest line, we see firsthand how much Fu Xuan actually trusts Qingque. 

Even if Qingque is often unreliable, Fu Xuan is not at all surprised that she is the one who helped bring the Nameless to her, as Fu Xuan knows she can bet on Qingque to come through with her responsibilities when she needs to.

The thing is, Qingque is lazy, but she is by no means incompetent, and gets all her work done on time. Moreover, Fu Xuan knows this better than anyone, especially considering she’s the one who has to go looking for Qingque when she slacks off 90% of the time (something which she doesn’t have to do, she could delegate someone else to do it yet every time Fu Xuan personally sees the matter done). 

So, even if Qingque is just a librarian, instead of fetching someone else to help, Fu Xuan also has her restart the base terminals for the Matrix of Presence, because she knows and trusts Qingque to be capable of it, almost without a second thought. 

Even if the task at hand isn’t particularly difficult, and Fu Xuan could easily do it herself, she lets herself be lazy and trusts Qingque to do so, as I will get into further, they are far more similar than Fu Xuan realizes.

In the quest line prior, Qingque also describes just how much she in turn believes in Fu Xuan, stating that even if the sky were to collapse, she could count of Fu Xuan attempting to hold it up- and she makes fun of Fu Xuan for being short despite being of similar stature.

A remark such as that illustrates how time and time again, Qingque has witnessed Fu Xuan put her all into protecting the Xianzhou and its people, which has earned Fu Xuan Qingque’s utmost respect, even if that doesn’t stop her from slacking off from time to time.

As funny as their dynamic is, the genuine trust they display in one another is heartwarming, and as much as they annoy one another (or really as much as Qingque bothers Fu Xuan with her antics), they truly do have faith in each other. Continually, Qingque’s awareness of the burden’s Fu Xuan has to carry slots her into a unique role of being one of the few people who could support her in a time of need.

Which is exactly what we get to witness in the Heliobi event.

Fu Xuan gets possessed and fire’s Qingque because of it, who isn’t too upset about it as admittedly her tendency to slack off was waisting her life. 

However, she attempts to give a speech to drag Fu Xuan out of her possession, attempting to mask it as her desire to not be fired disgracefully, but really she just wanted to break Fu Xuan out of the illusion. 

Unfortunately, Fu Xuan isn’t having it, and spouts a lot of stuff to the ghostbusting gang, expressing that her former attempts to change the Xianshou’s fate were futile, and that destiny is unavoidable and unchangeable, and that human’s desires to resist it are pointless.

Then, she makes the squad + QQ play a puzzle in which she controls all the outcomes, just to demonstrate how pointless the choices humans make, as they will always lead to the same result. To possessed Fu Xuan, choice is merely an illusion, a waste of time, and she cannot be convinced of it otherwise.

Until Qingque steps in. And perhaps the greatest demonstration of just how much she CARES for Fu Xuan plays out.

Qingque starts out by saying that the game Fu Xuan made them play is not an accurate representation of reality, and that the universe doesn’t have puzzles for them to solve. People have free will, and even if Qingque uses that will to slack off, those choices are still hers and still CHOICES. 

However Fu Xuan isn’t buying it, and this is when the core of why she was possessed in the first place gets revealed.

Qingque’s choices don’t have consequences, at least not far reaching as Fu Xuan’s do. But every action, every decision, every minute step in any direction that Fu Xuan takes could plunge the entire Xianzhou into chaos, and ruin EVERYTHING. 

So, Qingque proposes a new puzzle, hoping to be able to change Fu Xuan’s mind this time.

Qingque fails again this time, however Fu Xuan is starting to get an idea of what she’s getting and, and Qingque reiterates that there will always be more choices to make, even if the puzzles appear to only have one solution.

Therefore, she tries one last time.

Qingque shoves her own solution into the puzzle, her own way by drawing on the help of the ghostbusting squad, but still Fu Xuan cannot be convinced, believing instead that the thousands of different paths people take all lead to the same destination, so making choices is pointless.

However, that’s not what Qingque is getting at, and in perhaps the most heartfelt speech given in this game so far, she saves Fu Xuan, and demonstrates why her choices DO matter. Moreover, she does it in the most Qingque way possible- by explaining it through a comparison to Celestial Jade.

It’s not winning or the outcome that makes Celestial Jade fun, it’s the choices you get to make while you play it which is what makes it enjoyable. However, much like how even if the outcome of a game is predetermined, just because the universe’s destiny could be predetermined doesn’t mean people are aware of it, or that it even matters. Like in a game, in your life , you cannot control all the outcomes, but how you react to the twists and turns it throws your way, and the choices you make because of that, is what makes living worth it.

And if Fu Xuan’s choices didn’t matter, she wouldn’t be making them in the first place.  Perhaps she can’t prevent everything, and perhaps the universe really is weighted against her and the Luofu, but every day Fu Xuan makes decisions that help it stay around a little longer, that save a few more people, that buy a bit more time. The universe isn’t a game, and you can’t just determine your decisions to be meaningless because of some threatening ending that might never come to pass, and like Qingque says, Fu Xuan wouldn’t suffer the effort if what she works so hard for doesn’t mean anything. 

By reaffirming that destiny is an illusion, Qingque saves Fu Xuan and breaks her out of the Heliobi’s possession. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 

PROTECTIVE QINGQUE AAAAAARREAAAAA GRRRRRR TJEY ARE SO IN LOVE GRRRRR R SNANAKMZS AAAAAAA

Qingque tries to get out of work for good but Fu Xuan reminds her that Qingque reminded her that she had choices, and Qingque gets flustered and accepts her defeat.

What do you mean by that Fu Xuan, what do you mean by that, hmm? HMMM??? ELABORATE FU XUAN ELABORATE??? Sesbian lex???

So Qingque is in love with her boss and we all cheered, but don’t worry, and QQ also happens to get possessed by a Heliobus, and the way Fu Xuan behaves towards her is just as sweet and hilarious.

In her illusion, there’s a bunch of Fu Xuan clones who praise Qingque, much to the annoyance of Fu Xuan, who gets flustered and angry over it. Honestly I love just how many romance tropes that are displayed in their relationship, with this as a prime example. Like making a bunch of clones of your crush to praise you? Having Fu Xuan bear witness to exactly what makes Qingque happy (her praise)? The boss-employee dynamic getting reversed? I love it give me 500000. 

The nickname??? Oh you just know Qingque was waiting to call her that, infact she probably had it in her brain for a while, but just didn’t feel confident enough to do it in her previous power dynamic with Fu Xuan, so I wonder what else Qingque holds back from Fu Xuan because she doesn’t believe they are close enough for that. 

Ooh she’s mad mad GET ITS ASS FU XUAN YEAAAHHHH YEEAAH THATS WHAT YOU GET HELIOBUS HAHAHAHAHAH 

What if I ascended to another dimension? What if I left this mortal plane? What if Honkai Star Rail what if? What do you mean Fu Xuan is fussing over Qingque like a wife when her husband returns from war, what do you mean she goes, “As long as you’re okay,” then immediately is like “get back to work,” because she realized she was being too soft. What do you mean she fucking PATS QINGQUE ON THE HEAD AND LEAVES LIKE THAT???? 

I’m actually insane about this like how does nobody talk about them? The most peak relationship ever right there and I see NOTHING??? Like not only is it fucking hilarious with their game of cat and mouse they having going on with one another, but they truly just understand and adore each other even if both of them haven’t exactly realized it yet.

If I were to be 100% honest if you told me that speech Qingque gave to Fu Xuan in the Heliobi event was a confession one, then I would believe you because that was the most romantic shit ever. Like telling your companion in a time of need that their choices DO mean something and that they are such a capable individual whom everyone relies on, who YOU rely on?? If I was Fu Xuan I would have proposed right there I would have summoned up a ring I don’t care.

It’s just, I love relationships where two characters just GET one another inside and out, and FuQing is such a perfect example of it. Something about a trust that runs so deep that the two people who forged that bond don’t even realize it because of simply how long it’s persisted, like they’ve just acclimated to it because it’s been such a fixture of life for so long.

They are each other’s safety nets, and when one of them is in need, the other always delivers and UGHH IM INSANE ABOUT IT.

HOW DID THIS FLY UNDER PEOPLES NOSES??! HOW DID EVERYONE DO THE 1.5 EVENT AND NOT IMMEDIATELY START RUNNING LAPS AROUND THEIR HOUSE BECAUDE WHAT??? Literally that speech Qingque gives to Fu Xuan is one of my favorite scenes in the game, perhaps right behind the 1.6 Ratio-Screwllum scene and if you know me then you know how absolutely bonkers I am about that scene. It’s just so earnest and funny and it encapsulates the themes of HSR perfectly, with Qingque reiterating the overarching theme of the game: Trailblazing, ie moving forward with life no matter the destination (destiny), as it’s the choices you make along the way and the journey you take that matters.

Moreover, that’s what makes it so fucking good; it meshes perfectly with the overall story of the game. Despite how busy both of them are, despite how they often have higher priorities or could just go to other people or whatever, Qingque and Fu Xuan consistently choose one another, for both the most trivial and the most dire of situations. 

The road ahead for the Xianzhou is uncertain, but no matter how the path twists, Qingque and Fu Xuan will travel it side by side, and for that I will always adore them.

Thank you so much for reading! I fear I couldn’t be as intelligent about why I love this ship as I wanted to be, but I hope you at least got the idea a little bit haha. Maybe I’ll be able to me smarter about them one day but for now all my thoughts about them circle back to incoherent screaming. Honestly it’s probably because I like their dynamic far more than I like their characters standalone, so I can’t really bring that into the discussion, but perhaps with time I will be able to add onto this. For now though, all I’m hoping for is the wedding they deserve lol.