#&&. written in ink // headcanon

[coffeeandthoughtspoetry]

Sometimes you know you're in love

when you get hurt

[alchemistdetective]

Some of you may know Chloe's menu.

Some of you may know the secret menu.

But there is a third menu. One which brings about Chloe's true nature, and one she will never show to the world. But she does know how to make those potions.

One of these potions causes excruciating pain to the target, while not leaving any physical wounds. A potion which is used for torture, and to cure it, one must have an antidote. Banned.

A potion which demands ultimate servitude to the person who administers it. The drinker is compelled to obey the owner's every command. Banned.

Chloe's real speciality, aside from the Ruby Elixir she's known for. A tasteless, odorless poison which slowly dissolves bones over several weeks, causing the victim to appear as if they're just sick. Extremely difficult to detect. Banned.

Of course, all this was practiced and done behind Rirune's back.

Why did she make all this?

Curiosity. Simple curiosity.

[thanatologie]

anyway good morning i'm too lazy to make swatches myself because i have too much ink to dig through, but remember that fun little talk we had about emmrich and stationery, no, well we had that, so here's the modern inks i'm deciding are emmrich-coded, i do not accept criticism at this time (swatches from mountain of ink, fwiw):

there's a couple others that i'd throw in here for giggles that either don't have a swatch at moi, or have the vibe but i don't think he'd use, like iroshizuku ina-ho (now discontinued, too light / non-water and light resistant for academic use), krishna lyrebird blue-black (takes too long to dry), herbin emerald of chivor (too fussy as a shimmer, though i could also see him using the unshaken ink so the shimmer is absent), colorverse a lib (too light for academic/practical use but it hits that lilac button hard), and like a million more that would be fun, but not practical. like i'm with you, i'd love to give him multi-shaders/tri-colors/prismatics, but lbr.

(also this is a record for me, so i can remember what i have inked for what i'm using with his handy dandy shit he would know that i'm too stupid to know notebook. i'm sorry for you and me that yama-budo is the only fun one, tbh, but it writes darker in the pen i'm using it in, so outside of gold sheen, even it's not that fun in practice.

there's also a few that i'm using that don't have swatches because they are extremely hard to come by, like post-wwii late-1940s parker quink permanent blue-black, 1950s sheaffer skrip washable blue, wwii-era parker quink microfilm black, etc, and ink that's bog standard, anyway, like waterman serentiy blue and kaweco royal blue.)

but they all, in some way, exemplify important facets of use for an academic, because these are all qualities i looked for in an ink for note-taking, which is water-resistance/waterproof, fast-drying, works well on any kind of paper, legible on literally all paper, and with the exception of yama-budo (though, again, in certain nibs it's much darker / much less pink and more really, really dark magenta) exude a certain professionalism (which lbr for all his flamboyance is clearly important to him).

thanks for coming.

[realmyths]

[ 🖐️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? for Hope

[ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ? - for Esme

[ 🪶 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they laugh ? - for Farryn

[ ✉️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of letter would they write but never send ? - for Hua

Hope's hands are very soft. For sure. They always take good care of them. And enjoy the process of doing so.

Esme tends to carry a pocketbook full of stuff. Including a first aid kit (for others, if they need it), a book, a notebook, and many many more things.

Farryn laughs very loudly. And enthusiastically. They always enjoy when something or someone makes them laugh.

Hua would write a letter to Alanna's parents. They'd have some words to say about how they treated their daughter.

[littledxves]

tag dump ! isaline & apolline.

[gloryseized]

hc;; Li.nk was never comfortable with being the Hero. Yes, he had trained for years to become a knight of the realm, achieving it younger than anyone in Hyru.lean history, but that didn't mean he wanted to be the Hero. L.ink wanted to be like his father, a knight of the realm, wanted to have a quiet place to settle down and simply protect others. He never wanted to pull that sword from the pedestal under the shade of the De.ku Tr/ee. He never wanted to be the Hero.

And all the accolades that followed, the recognition and awe. He never wanted it. In some ways it was almost a relief when the princess despised the sight of him--at least she didn't think he'd done something wonderful for pulling a sword free from a rock on a whim. But out of fear of the Fate to come, in spite of himself, he buried himself in the Hero. How else could he survive the Cala.mity?

After the C/alamity, after a 100 year slumber, what did he have left? All he knew were the stories of the Hero everyone told, his own memories fleeting. The uncomfortable tunic eventually fit and he fell into his role of the Hero. At least the shadow of the princess was better than being the Hero ever was.

Until he lost the shadow to hide behind, until the sword was gone, until his arm was taken, until his life was eaten away. Until the Hero was worn away and he was just Link again and he was alone.

But then he wasn't...

[themonstersamongus]

No matter how old Alex gets — how many hunts she’s survived, demons she’s burned, or arguments she’s won with Daniel — there’s one thing that never changes: when the world feels too loud, too heavy, or too damn exhausting, she finds her way to her dad.

It doesn’t matter if she’s twenty-five and covered in blood, or in sweats after a movie night in the bunker. If Dean Winchester’s on the couch, reclined with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, Alex will wordlessly drop down beside him, curl up against his side, and rest her head on his shoulder or chest like she’s still six years old.

And Dean? Doesn’t say a word. Just lifts his arm, lets her in, and lets her stay.

Sometimes she’ll fall asleep like that — especially after rough hunts or worse arguments — and Dean’ll just sit there for hours, one hand in her hair, keeping her safe the only way he knows how. Other times, she just needs the comfort of his presence, the way his heartbeat calms hers, and reminds her that she’s not alone. That she’s home.

She’s fierce, stubborn, and half-demon — but to Dean, she’ll always be his baby girl. And he never, ever makes her feel weird for needing that.

Ryker and Sam have walked in on it more than once and tried not to smile. Dakota took pictures. Dean grumbled about it — only to save the photos in his wallet later.

Because no matter how old she gets or how many monsters she slays, Alex still needs her dad.

And Dean? Dean never stops being proud that she still comes to him.

[coffeeandthoughtspoetry]

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚

[cosmicofdistortions]

Anonymous asked: Bashame. How sensitive is your tail? Or horns?

"Mx. Unknown I don't think there is anyone by that name here." Her tail swished back and forth in confusion. "If you're asking me, my tail is—"

"I-I-I-I'm not telling you!"

Kalumtum's tail is incredibly sensitive at the end, and the same goes for her horns.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤWINTER FLOWERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Vergil Sparda x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It doesn’t begin with love.

You are human—fragile, fleeting, insignificant in the grand tapestry of time Vergil exists in. A being of flesh and warmth. And yet, somehow, you are still standing. Amid the chaos of a demonic incursion, surrounded by blood and bone, you don’t scream. You don’t run. You fight, with trembling hands and stubborn eyes.

That’s when he sees you.

Not for what you are.

But for what you could be.

Vergil watches from the shadows. At first, you’re nothing more than a fleeting distraction in his pursuit of power. But there’s something… different about you. Something that hooks into the raw, feral part of him—the part he’s buried beneath layers of Yamato steel and centuries of silence.

You remind him of his mother, in a way he resents.

You remind him of his humanity, in a way he hates.

And still, he watches.

The obsession grows in silence.

He never announces his interest. That would imply weakness. But you feel him. The air gets colder when he’s near. You dream of blue light. Sometimes, in battle, you swear you see a flash of his coat on the rooftop before the enemy falls to your feet, headless.

You think you’re going insane. You don’t know that he’s following you.

He learns everything—where you sleep, what you eat, the way your voice cracks when you cry alone, thinking no one can hear. He knows the names of every friend you’ve lost. He keeps a list of the men who flirt with you. He splitting them in half with Yamato.

He justifies it.

“You are mine. You just don’t know it yet.”

He begins to test you.

You start encountering stronger demons. Ones that know your name. Ones that bleed blue when you kill them. You think you’re being hunted—when in truth, you’re being tested. Vergil wants to see how far you’ll go. How strong you’ll become. Will you break, or will you grow?

Every time you survive, he grows more enthralled. You are not weak. You are almost worthy. Almost.

But not quite.

Not yet.

And then, you confront him.

Not because you figured it out. No. You walked into one of his traps like a lamb to slaughter, and instead of running… you drew your blade. Eyes fierce. Rage in your blood. You scream his name and challenge him. You accuse him of tormenting you.

And Vergil smiles.

The first smile you’ve ever seen on his face.

“You’ve grown.”

He doesn't deny it. He steps into the moonlight, and when you meet his gaze, you finally understand.

You try to leave.

Of course you do. Any sane woman would. But Vergil doesn’t allow loose threads. He appears again, this time in your dreams. Your shadow. Your heartbeat. His presence becomes inescapable.

You find notes written in ink on your weapons—warnings, riddles. You start seeing him in reflections. You wake with the scent of rain and blood on your sheets, but no sign of him. You speak his name and the wind answers.

And still, he doesn’t touch you.

He waits.

Until you break.

The world turns on you. A betrayal. A massacre. Your home burns. Your soul fractures. Everyone you loved is gone.

He appears in the ashes.

Not as a savior.

But as the one who made it happen.

“I warned you,” he says, tone calm. “You belong to me.”

You try to kill him.

He lets you.

You scream.

He listens.

You fall.

He catches you.

You're his now.

You used to dream of freedom.

Now, you dream of blue. Of rain falling like blades. Of a voice whispering your name, not with affection, but with possession. His voice. Cold, refined, unwavering.

Vergil doesn’t hurt you.

Not with fists.

Never with cruelty.

He hurts you the way winter hurts the last flower—by loving it too much.

He keeps you in a place that doesn't exist on any map. A temple made of broken stone and whispers, suspended in some limbo between worlds. Time doesn't pass here. You don’t know how long it’s been since the fire, the screams, the moment you fell into his arms.

He isolates you. But never out of cruelty. He believes no one is worthy of standing beside you—except him.

But you remember the way he looked at you.

Like you were the final piece of something he’d been building for centuries.

And that piece didn’t fit.

You try to speak of the people you lost.

He tells you they were weak. That you don’t need them. That he is all you need.

You try to cry.

He watches in silence, blue eyes unreadable, as if he’s studying the fracture lines in his favorite blade.

You start to forget your name.

He never calls you by it. Just “you.” “My flame.” “My echo.”

Sometimes, when he’s angry, “foolish girl.”

Sometimes, when he’s afraid to lose you, “mine.” Softly. Whispered like a prayer he never learned how to say.

He trains you, sharpens you, polishes you like a blade. If you fight him, he grows colder. If you kneel, he melts. If you cry, he holds you like a man holding the last piece of his soul.

You ask if he’d kill for you.

“I already have.”

You ask if he’d die for you.

“I won’t need to.”

You wonder if he ever really loved you.

You wonder if you ever really had a choice.

One night, you run.

You don’t know why. Maybe to feel the air in your lungs again. Maybe to remember what pain felt like on your own terms. You don’t get far.

He finds you in the forest, kneeling in the mud, your body shaking from the cold and the shame of it all. You expect rage. A lecture. Violence.

But he kneels too. And for the first time, Vergil looks human.

And then… he holds you.

So tightly, you can’t breathe.

So gently, you break.

Days become emptier.

He trains you harder. Talks less. Watches you more. You bleed in the name of becoming stronger, but you feel weaker. Smaller. You try to remember who you were before he claimed you. The way you laughed. The sound of your own voice. But those memories are fading, devoured by the storm that is him.

Sometimes, you catch him staring at you like you’re a ghost.

Like he knows you’re slipping.

Like he doesn’t know how to stop it.

You ask him, one night, if he would still love you if you became nothing.

“I would love you still,” he says. “Even if all that remained was ash.”

Because in the end…

Vergil doesn’t fall in love.

He consumes it.

And now you are part of him. A blade buried in the scabbard of his soul.

You were never meant to survive him.

But now, you will never escape him.

And deep down…

You don’t want to.

Because he's all you have.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

[coralbae]

masterlist

smau

are you kitten me? part 1, part 2

hunger games au

you've been flashed!

when the river runs red...

oh snap!

is that me?

what’s your problem?

bedroom mishaps

i could be a better boyfriend than him!

bring protection!

hotel room service

angel baby

another time, maybe

music to my ears

scammer alert!

daddy’s home!

3d is better than 2d!

screw him!

nailed it!

read it and weep!

have you ever tried this one?

choose your fighter!

drunk ink love

kiss me kiss me kiss me!

is this goodbye?

is this outfit too much?

got hair? don’t care!

miss possessive

think twice!

a new contender?

from me, to you

just give me them babies!

dead ringer

you drink it just like water

i need a hero!

we went to war

is this time the end?, can we find love again?

come on baby let me see!

what's got you so blue?

don't worry baby

can't you be more?

mr sandman

good riddance

do it yourself!

oops, wrong number!

neighbours know my name

misguided

end of the world

please pay me no mind, wonder if he's judging me like i am right now, part 4, part 5, part 6

eyes up here!

written

road trips with the jjk men

rambles/headcanons

robotics!nerdjo

[realmyths]

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling? - for Farryn, 10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them? - for Esme, 1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do? - for Hope, 39. How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? - for Hua

Hmmmmmmm probably spending time with Hope, since growing up it was just the two of them. And Farryn does enjoy the odd nostalgia trip now and then, they do try not to get too swept up in it, though.

Probably something minor like saying someone looks amazing when they're not really feeling it. I wouldn't say it bothers Esme, much, though. As they don't want people to feel bad. So a little white lie here and there is okay in terms of their moral code. For the most part, though, Esme is pretty honest.

Probably five minutes, tbh. If there's nothing to do, Hope has to be alone with their thoughts and nope. They don't have tons of negative thoughts tbh, but they do get some so they prefer to keep busy. If there's nothing immediately obvious to do, Hope will find some way of occupying their time.

Hua is definitely a glass half full kind of person. They ignored Alanna's flaws, for the most part. Though the breakup of that relationship was mostly on her tbh. Hua never wanted things to end, especially like that. And even when Alanna comes back as a ghost, Hua is quick to forgive her, because of the tragic circumstances of her demise, and the affection that Hua still had for her, at the time when she died. Hua did learn from that situation, though. And so going forward,they do try to be more aware of people's flaws. But not too much. Hua wouldn't want anyone to feel judged by them or anything along those lines.

Thanks for sending these in!

[mari-lair]

How can researcher Sif read books if they are blind? Am I misunderstanding?

I headcanon the Forgotten Language is written with stardust, that's why the stargazer can see it! Which is my bad, Anon. I had this headcanon for so long I forgot I never talked about it. It's been around since sif is out was my only au.

But that's it, they can ONLY see stars.

So any normal writing is unreadable to them. Be it Vauguardian, Ka Buem, Potterian, and so on... He is as blind to ink as all else that isn't stars so most books and signs around town aren't useful to him

[asterafroditis]

Hello!! What do you think about a scenario with a freshman reader who is dating a third-year student and is worried about their relationship after the guy graduates from college?For example with Lilia, Leona, Vil, Jade (would like to read something longer rather than a headcanon, I realize it's hard to write with everyone, so pick whichever of the characters listed you like best).

𐔌 . ⋮ seasons ahead .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Lilia & Vil x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 1350 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, light angst, hurt/comfort, ooc(?)

When I first saw this ask I legitimately wanted to write Vil BUTT I barely have made any Lilia content so I wanted to challenge myself with this haha TT but there is also a Vil version since he rots in my head! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

You should have known from the beginning—should’ve known that dating someone like Lilia meant chasing after someone with centuries of stories behind his smile. You knew from the moment he first offered you his gloved hand with a mischievous wink and an old-fashioned compliment. Knew the moment he called you “darling” with just enough sincerity to make your heart skip.

But you were foolish in that soft, hopeful way only freshmen can be. You let yourself fall.

And he had never pushed you away.

Even now, as the end of the year creeps in like fog rolling off the Briar Valley cliffs, he lets you stay close.

You sit with him in a quiet corner of the Diasomnia dorm lounge, wrapped in the faint scent of worn leather and old paper. The fireplace crackles softly. Lilia is reading—of course he is. Some ancient, yellow-paged novel written in a language you barely recognize. His fingers trace the faded ink like he’s greeting an old friend. You’re curled beside him, your open notebook long forgotten, your pen idle between your fingers.

It’s too peaceful. Too quiet for the words burning in your chest.

“I heard you’re really leaving,” you say at last. “Not just graduating. Leaving Night Raven College… for good.”

He closes the book with a soft sound. Smiles gently. “Mmm. The birds must leave the nest sometime, mustn’t they?”

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” he says. “It isn’t.”

There’s a pause. You stare at the flickering hearthlight and feel your chest tighten. You’ve known this was coming since the day Malleus cracked under centuries of pressure and pain, and everything changed.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

You hate how kind Lilia is in moments like this. How easy he makes it to love him. He’s warm in that way starlight is—beautiful, constant, and impossibly far away. You want to drag him closer. Keep him here, where the world still makes sense. But he belongs to time. And time never waits.

“You’re going to live for centuries more,” you murmur. “And I’m just… me.”

He tilts his head. His hair catches the firelight like dusk on water. “You’re you. And that has always been enough.”

You bite your lip, fighting the burn in your eyes. “Will you forget me?”

His laugh is soft. Almost sorrowful. “I’ve forgotten many things over the years… names, places, entire winters. But the ones who matter? They leave echoes. Imprints.” His gaze lowers to you, quiet and fond. “You’re not a passing breeze. You’ve already left your mark.”

You want to believe him. You do. But doubt still coils in your stomach like a vine.

“I don’t want to just be an echo,” you whisper.

He places his hand over yours—small and delicate, but steady. “Then don’t be. Write me letters. Send me photos. Meet me again someday, when the winds are kind. We’ll find each other. We always do.”

You don’t know what to say. You want to scream, cry, beg him to stay. But instead, you lean into his shoulder. And he leans into you right back, like he always has.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” you admit quietly.

“Then don’t,” he says. “Say goodnight. Say ‘until next time.’ Say ‘I’ll see you in spring.’ The world is big, yes, but paths cross in the strangest places. Even time bends a little for love.”

You close your eyes, memorizing the sound of his voice.

And when he kisses your forehead, it isn’t a farewell. It’s a promise. That he might not be yours forever—but he is yours now. And that has to be enough.

─────────────────────────

It started the way all fairytales do—not with a grand gesture, but something quiet. A single moment that shifted the light.

Vil had gently brushed your hair out of your eyes one day after your alchemy class, his fingers lingering longer than necessary, his gaze soft and searching. You were still new to NRC then—navigating the chaos of the cafeteria, dodging overly ambitious spellwork in the halls, and learning, day by day, how not to gawk whenever Vil Schoenheit walked past like a vision of poise carved in gold.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he asked you to meet him for tea later that week. You still didn’t, even a year into dating.

Now, the two of you sit hand in hand beneath the hush of the Botanical Gardens after hours, a space Vil had “borrowed” with a few elegant words to the staff. The greenhouse glows with soft firefly light and the ghost-pale shimmer of moonlight through misted glass. It’s beautiful—of course it is. Every moment with him feels curated, intentional. But this time, you can sense the quiet weight beneath the beauty.

Graduation looms like a shadow at the edge of the light.

He’s leaving soon. You won’t.

And the thought claws at your chest like brambles.

Vil senses it before you speak. Of course he does. He’s always been attuned to your silences the way a director reads stillness on a stage.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That usually means something’s troubling you.”

You shift, the question burning at the tip of your tongue. “It’s just… I’ve been thinking. After graduation… where will you be?”

Vil’s expression remains still, poised. But you feel the smallest shift—like a mirror catching light at a different angle. His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to ground.

“You mean: what will happen to us?”

You nod, biting your lip.

He doesn’t look away. “I’ll be busy, yes. My schedule will change. My career is—and will remain—demanding. But do you truly believe I’d forget you?” His voice is soft but sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. “Do you think I’d treat this—treat you—like some seasonal wardrobe I can store away when it’s no longer in fashion?”

Your breath catches. “No. I just… I’m scared.”

It feels so small to admit, but it’s the truth. You’re young, still tethered to the rhythms of campus life. He’s already halfway into the world beyond, with press interviews, film scripts, magazine covers bearing his name.

Vil lifts a hand and gently touches your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes are serious, edged with something vulnerable—something real beneath the perfect exterior.

“I won’t lie to you. I never have,” he says. “This won’t be easy. There will be nights I’m in another country. Weeks when we can’t speak beyond a message or two. There will be pressure—rumors, distance, uncertainty. But I have never committed to something I didn’t intend to see through.”

His words steady something trembling in your chest.

“We’re not naïve,” he continues. “We know time. We know ambition. But if you trust me—truly trust me—and if you still want me, even when I’m not here, then I will be waiting. No role, no red carpet, no flashing light will ever hold the same weight as your voice saying my name.”

You stare at him, overwhelmed.

“I do trust you,” you whisper. “I’m just scared to lose you to a world that’s so much bigger than me.”

Vil exhales slowly, and when he smiles, it’s not the show-stopping, camera-ready one. It’s something smaller. Truer.

“Then let’s not waste this season worrying about ones we haven’t stepped into yet,” he says, bringing your hand to his lips. “Let’s make these days worth remembering. Let me become a memory so bright, even time won’t dull it.”

And somehow, in that moment, you believe him.

Because with Vil, even endings feel like carefully chosen scenes in a story far from finished.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

ৎ୭. . . ABOMINABLE ───Powder /Jinx

⊹ ٬  Headcanon. Fate always found twisted ways to bring two souls together, only to tear them apart when they needed each other most. But not even the stars are eternal; even the most beautiful worlds are consumed by the shadow of their own history. And in that abominable cycle, love and hope are nothing more than ashes carried by the wind.

⊹ ٬  Word Count.  8k

⊹ ٬  Content. MDNI. Dark themes, violence/death, murder, trauma, invasion of privacy, Angst, disturbing content, corruption, paranoia, manipulation, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, vulgar or strong language, mental health, toxic relationships, destruction, loss, emotional abandonment, child abandonment.

「 is the echo of something so repulsive

that it causes the heart to falter and the thoughts to twist 」

Before being Jinx, she was Powder, and everyone knew it. She was a girl with a restless soul, drawn to chaos and the spark of invention, as if a little star inside her was about to explode. And you… you were from Piltover, born into order and stability, with days written in golden ink on a scroll of privileges. Two distinct worlds, two paths that were never meant to cross. But fate is a whimsical artist, drawing constellations with improbable encounters, and somehow, it brought you two together. Like planets to meteors, destined to collide, to change each other forever.

Zaun enveloped you with its dense air, vibrant with life and danger. You walked, fascinated, with your braids adorned with delicate jewels reflecting the dim light of the neon, while dodging furtive glances and overly nimble hands. But even with all your caution, you couldn't foresee that collision. A fleeting stumble, the crack of something breaking between you, and then the saddest sound you had ever heard.

“Oh no… it’s broken…” Powder whispered, trembling hands holding the fragments of her invention.

There was something in her voice, in the way her blue eyes clouded with disappointment, that made your heart tighten in your chest. It wasn’t just an object to her. It was a dream, a part of herself shattered.

You crouched down, carefully picking up the scattered remnants. Between your fingers, the pieces were barely cold metal and loose gears, but in her mind���in her heart—they were still something more. Something alive.

You looked at her, with the determination of one who dares the universe and their own fate.

“I can fix it.”

And in that moment, without either of you knowing it yet, something else was being repaired. Something invisible, intangible. A bond born of chance and collision, but destined to be unbreakable.

Powder blinked, as if unsure she had heard correctly. Her fingers, still clutching the remains of her invention, trembled with the indecision of someone who has seen too many promises crumble before they could hold them. But in your voice, there was no doubt, only certainty. And at that moment, to her, it sounded like something more valuable than any gear or spark of gunpowder.

“Really?” she murmured, her bright blue gaze resting on yours, as if searching your face for any sign of mockery, any hint of a lie.

You merely nodded, with the same calmness with which you had solved equations and dismantled mechanisms in the safety of your home in Piltover. But here, in Zaun, amid its beautiful and dangerous chaos, that knowledge meant something different. It meant an opportunity.

“If you tell me how it works, I can understand it,” you added, gently holding one of the broken pieces. “Together we’ll fix it.”

Powder hesitated. She was used to being told that her inventions were disasters waiting to happen, that they only brought problems, that they would never work. No one had ever told her “together.”

A different glimmer crossed her expression, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something closer to hope.

“It’s a kind of trigger,” she finally explained, her voice gaining some strength as her fingers traced the damaged structure. “But it’s not just that… I wanted it to do more, to not just fire, but to feel the weight of the air, the direction…”

Her excitement was contagious. As she spoke, the pain of having seen it destroyed seemed to dissipate, replaced by a passion greater than any loss. And you listened to her, not just with your ears, but with the mind of someone who understood what it meant to create something from nothing.

“Then we’ll need to adjust the pressure point,” you said after a moment, examining the pieces closely. “Maybe if we use a more flexible spring, we could give it a better response to movement.”

Powder looked at you, first with disbelief and then with an emerging, shy smile, as if she didn’t know whether to let herself be carried away by the emotion or if this was just a fleeting mirage.

“You know about this,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to you.

“A little,” you admitted with a half-smile. “But I’d like to learn more.”

And that was the first time Powder felt that someone saw beyond her soot-stained hands and restless mind. That someone not only tolerated her ideas but wanted to understand them.

She extended her hand to you with the naturalness of someone who has never hesitated to offer herself to the world, no matter how rough or dirty it may be. Her fingers, stained with dust and soot, trembled slightly with the excitement of the moment. But her smile—so wide, so genuine—was bright enough to eclipse any stain, any ruin.

“I’m Powder!” she said excitedly, as if her name were a promise, an explosion of possibilities contained in a single word.

You looked at her hand, then at her face, and without thinking too much, you accepted the gesture. You felt the warmth of her skin against yours, the rough trace of her fingers accustomed to gunpowder and gears. In your world, greetings were more formal, more restrained, but this… this was different.

“I’m…” you pronounced your name, and as you said it, it sounded different. As if, for the first time, it were part of something larger than your lineage, more real than the titles and expectations that had always accompanied it.

Powder squinted, repeating it softly, savoring it as if she were engraving it in her mind, making sure never to forget it. Then she nodded enthusiastically.

“I like it,” she affirmed with a smile. “It sounds elegant, like someone important.”

“I’m not that important,” you said with a soft laugh, but she shook her head immediately.

“Of course you are. You’re different.”

There was something in her tone, in the way she looked at you, that made you feel that perhaps, just perhaps, Powder saw you in a way that no one else had before. Not as a girl of high birth, nor as a stranger in her world, but as someone.

“Come,” she said suddenly, pulling your hand with unexpected confidence. “I have to show you something.”

Her energy was a whirlwind impossible to resist. Her steps were light, hurried, as if she were accustomed to moving quickly through the shadows of Zaun. And you, with your adorned braids and clothes too clean for the place, followed her without hesitation.

Because in that instant, the city ceased to be a dangerous and unfamiliar place. In that instant, Zaun was not a foreign world.

It was the beginning of a story.

From that first collision, from the moment your hands joined amidst the ruins of a broken invention, something began to build between you. A refuge, not just of wood and worn paint, but of shared laughter, whispered secrets among gears and sparkling ideas. A hideout born from your own hands, hidden in the forgotten corners of Zaun, where fate had decided that only the two of you would exist.

Powder filled it with impossible colors, with clumsy but vibrant drawings on the walls, while you added meticulous details, little inventions that made the place its own world. Here, titles and lineages didn’t matter, only the overflowing imagination of two girls who challenged the universe with each creation.

But even as you looked at her with admiration, even as you saw in her a prodigious mind capable of shaping the impossible, Powder carried the shadow of other words.

“They say I'm a Jinx...,” she confessed one night, her voice quieter than ever, sitting on the floor while she toyed with a small nut. Her face, normally lit by the excitement of a new invention, was covered by a sadness that hurt to see.

You stopped what you were doing. You couldn’t understand how someone could look at Powder and not see what you saw: her vibrant energy, her tireless passion, the light in her eyes when she talked about her ideas.

“I don’t believe that,” you stated gently, moving closer. In your hands, you held the toy you had built together, a small mechanical frog with articulated legs, which, when pressing a mechanism, would awkwardly and charmingly jump. You showed it to her and then made it jump between you, letting out a laugh when the toy fell on its back.

Powder blinked, surprised, and couldn’t help but smile.

“My mother always says that when you don’t understand something, it’s easy to fail… but if you keep trying, you learn over time and do it better,” you continued, watching her sweetly. Then, with a tenderness that you hadn’t even thought about before, you reached out and gently wiped the dust from her cheek.

She stayed still, looking at you with those huge blue eyes, filled with something you didn’t know how to describe. Maybe surprise. Maybe gratitude. Maybe a spark of something that, without realizing it, had just ignited between you.

And then you smiled, with the same certainty with which you had taken her hand that first time.

“So if you fail,” you whispered, letting the jumping frog bounce back into her lap, “it just means you’re learning.”

Powder looked down at the toy and then back at you, and this time her smile was neither shy nor uncertain. It was wide, bright, real.

Because in that hidden corner of Zaun, in a refuge painted with the colors of your friendship, perhaps for the first time, she stopped feeling like a curse.

Days in Zaun were different from those in Piltover. Here, on the smoke-filled and lively streets, there were no rules binding you, no expectations weighing you down. When you weren't in class, you were here, running alongside Powder with laughter trapped in your chest, feeling freer than you had ever been in the marble and gold hallways of your home.

Powder introduced you to Ekko—or Little Man, as she insisted on calling him. At first, he was wary of you, of your well-kept braids and your clothes too clean, but soon you earned his trust with a well-timed joke and a mind as clever as his. Together, you formed an unstoppable trio of mischief, devising plans to trick unsuspecting merchants, escaping across rooftops when things got ugly, hiding in corners where only children knew they could disappear.

Zaun became your second home, not because its streets were safe or its lights shone like those of Piltover, but because here you had something that couldn’t be bought with money or titles. Here you had Powder.

Sometimes, when the mischief ceased and only the two of you remained in your hideout, she would open up, her legs dangling from the edge of a beam and her gaze lost in the rusty gears of the ceiling.

“When I grow up, I want to build things that make people remember me,” she once told you, rolling a small sphere between her fingers, her next invention in process.

You lay down next to her, watching the flickering lights of the city.

“They will remember you already,” you assured her, turning your head to look at her. “You’re amazing, PowPow.”

She rolled her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

Another time, when you noticed that coins were scarce in her house, you wanted to help her in any way possible. You spent nights designing small toys that Ekko could sell in the market, simple yet eye-catching things, and whenever you could, you gave Powder some of your belongings, whatever could make her life a little easier.

Until one day you showed up with an elaborate box, inside which lay one of your most luxurious dresses: made of golden fabric and delicate feathers, a reflection of Piltover's opulence.

“I won’t accept selling your dresses,” Powder said, pushing the box back towards you with a frown.

“I won’t take no for an answer, PowPow,” you replied with a playful smile, pushing it back to her.

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

You looked at each other for a moment, frowning, but then both of you burst into laughter, because it was impossible to really get angry with each other. Finally, Powder sighed and reluctantly took the box, still unconvinced.

“If we sell this, I’ll make sure at least one of my bombs has your name,” she joked, and you couldn’t help but laugh even more.

Days in Zaun were never the same, but they were always magical in some way. Perhaps it wasn’t the kind of magic that the alchemists of Piltover studied in their laboratories, but it was the magic of friendship, of laughter, of shared secrets and whispered dreams.

And in those moments, among the gears of a city that never slept, you knew that Powder was not just your friend.

Years passed in Zaun like the wind, filled with laughter and mischief, but also with moments of deep silence and complicity. You and Powder remained inseparable, but something had changed, though you didn’t yet know it clearly. You were no longer the girls who met by accident, exploring the cracks of a world without promises or certainties. You were no longer just two small souls trying to find their place in a city that looked at them as if they were invisible. Now, you were something more. Two halves of a story that only fate could write.

Time, as always, had forged a connection between you so deep that words were unnecessary. Everything seemed simpler, clearer. But that simplicity was only a reflection of something much larger that was woven between laughter and furtive glances. It was a love that didn’t even need to be named, only felt.

One day, while walking through the dusty streets of Zaun, the echoes of everyday life were interrupted by a thunderous explosion that shook the ground beneath your feet. Everything around you staggered, and the sound of screams chilled your blood. The city, your city, seemed to be in chaos.

At first, you didn’t understand anything. The pieces of the puzzle arrived slowly, and the smoke clouded your eyes. But then, suddenly, you saw Ekko running towards you, his face more serious than you had ever seen. His breathing was frantic, and in his gaze was something that froze you inside. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“You can’t be here!” he shouted, grabbing your arm tightly.

“Ekko, what happened?” you asked, barely able to comprehend how quickly everything was changing.

His voice trembled slightly, but there was determination in his words.

“Powder… and her family, they’re… they’re in danger. And Zaun… Zaun has fallen into the hands of someone. It’s not safe for you here. You can’t stay, you can’t be here,” his voice was an urgent whisper, but filled with dread.

You didn’t fully understand, but something in his gaze told you that everything you knew was crumbling. That city you had learned to love, those friends, that chaotic life you shared with Powder… everything was about to change forever.

Before you could ask another question, a distant scream echoed, followed by a second blow that made you stagger. It was as if the whole world was about to collapse.

Ekko looked at you desperately.

“Go… please, don’t stay,” his words were like sharp thorns, cutting through the air between you.

And it was then, as you hurried away, that something crossed your mind. Something that had been latent all this time, but now became clear: Powder was your other half. Even if the city came crashing down, even if everything you knew crumbled, Powder would always be there, somehow.

Confusion, fear, and a strange sense of emptiness took hold of you as you ran, the streets of Zaun fading away. But above all, something as innocent and pure as a girl’s love blossomed in your chest. A love you didn’t fully understand, but you knew had always been there.

Maybe it was youth, maybe it was fate, or maybe, just maybe, it was the strength of a connection that even chaos couldn’t destroy. Powder… was not just your friend. She was something much bigger, something that fate could not hide.

And as you distanced yourself, the echoes of the shattered city and your shared memories with her resonated in your heart, leaving you with a certainty you could never forget: you had fallen in love with your other half, even though you still didn’t completely understand what that meant.

And with the explosion ringing in your ears, you knew that this love would continue to burn, even as the world crumbled around you.

Thus was born Jinx. Your mother called her the Blue Abomination, a title that echoed in your ears like a distant echo, but increasingly close. She, who had once been a girl so full of dreams and promises, had transformed into something unrecognizable, a monster of chaos and destruction. In her wake, she left nothing but ruins and broken hearts, but no one knew how she had become what she was. Your mother always said that Jinx had lost her mind, that rage and pain had devoured her until she became a shadow of what she had been. And though deep down you knew it wasn’t all that simple, your mother’s judgment continued to weigh on your soul.

Jinx was a criminal, a killer. There was no denying it. And worst of all was that, for her, the lives snuffed out by her hand meant nothing. The sound of explosions, the maniacal laughter amidst chaos… everything had become a mockery of the world she had once known. A broken girl, you thought, a girl trapped in her own pain and fury.

You, on the other hand, had followed a different path. You had strayed from darkness, seeking your place in a world that still seemed full of opportunities. You became an inventor, perhaps not as dazzling as the greats of Piltover, but skilled enough to open your own toy and gadget shop. Each creation was an extension of your soul, a reminder that the world didn’t have to be only chaos. You had achieved much, even collaborated with HexTech on some of its most innovative projects. You felt proud; you had worked hard to get there, leaving the shadows of your childhood behind.

But no matter how hard you tried to move forward, every time you saw or heard about the devastation caused by Jinx, a pang of shame and pain pierced your heart. The news of another attack, of another bomb exploding in the middle of the night, never ceased to frighten you. She is out there, you thought, and I… I am still me. Every time you encountered stories of her madness, with the reproachful or fearful glances of those who knew you, you felt the weight of her name crushing you. Even though you couldn’t control it, even though you knew you were not to blame, the shame wove around you like a shadow, and it was impossible to escape it.

Jinx not only embarrassed you for what she did but for what she represented. She was a constant reminder of what you could have been if circumstances had been different. Sometimes you wondered if she felt trapped too, if deep down she desired the same peace you did. But that was only a fleeting thought. The reality was much crueler, and Jinx was too far gone, too lost in her own abyss.

You had distanced yourself from her, but in every corner of your life, in every project you undertook, there was something that tied you to her chaos. And although you couldn’t help but feel ashamed, you couldn’t avoid wondering if, deep down, in some corner of your being, you still cared for her.

Time continued its course, like the cycle of seasons that repeat with inevitable precision, but the echo of what had been did not disappear. While your life in Piltover continued, the stars still shone, as distant and unreachable as ever. But sometimes, when you looked at the night sky, something within you feared that the constellations you had known in your childhood were watching you with a disturbing curiosity. As if fate, with its capricious sense of humor, were calling you back, bringing with it what you tried to leave behind.

Suddenly, one afternoon, while walking through the streets of Piltover, looking with some weariness at the windows of the technology shops, a gust of wind made you look up at the sky, as if something, an ancestral impulse, were calling you. The stars twinkled with a strange glow, a sign from the cosmos that reminded you, if only for a moment, that fate does not forget anyone. No matter how much you tried to flee from certain ties, there was something unbreakable that kept you connected to them.

Then, a sound broke the afternoon silence, a distant roar, followed by a familiar and terrifying echo of laughter. A sound that made your insides twist and your chest tighten. You turned, and there she was, like an apparition arising from the very shadows you had once tried to forget. Jinx.

Her blue hair shone under the sun, messy as always, with glimmers of madness in her eyes. The image of her was the same, yet at the same time different. Something in her face reflected pure, almost childlike joy, as if the chaos she had sown held no weight on her heart anymore. It was as if, in some corner of her being, everything she had done faded away before the only thing that mattered in that moment: seeing you again.

“Look who’s here!” Her voice, filled with overflowing exuberance, cut through the air. Her eyes sparkled with an intensity that only she could possess, and although everything inside you screamed to run away, something in her smile drew you to her, as if the stars themselves had pulled you in.

You stood paralyzed, a knot tightening in your throat. Everything about you wanted to flee, but your feet remained rooted, as if fate had aligned the stars in such a way that you could not avoid it. It can’t be, you thought, it cannot be her…

Jinx’s laughter, which had been a constant storm in your memories, resonated with a strange warmth. She, the same person who had caused so much damage, was now standing before you with an innocence unsettling. The distortion between her chaos and her joy was so great that, for a moment, you felt as if you were watching a shooting star: fleeting, bright, beautiful, and at the same time, terrifying.

“Look who I haven’t seen in ages!” Her voice was full of happiness, with no traces of regret or guilt. “Do you remember me? It’s me! Your friend!”

The world around you faded for a second. Everything you had worked for, everything you had done to escape the shadows of your childhood, crumbled in an instant. Jinx, the broken girl, the blue abomination, was now looking at you with eyes full of an emotion you hadn’t expected: happiness.

But you… you could only stand there, frozen, with a mixture of fear and nostalgia. The memories of explosions, of deranged laughter, of the darkness of Zaun flooded back to you once more. How was it possible? Fate, always so capricious, had reunited you once again, but this time the weight of the reunion was not just chaos. It was also the possibility of healing, of returning to something you had never finished understanding.

“Powder…” you murmured, your voice trembling. And upon uttering her name, a part of you realized that perhaps, just perhaps, not everything was lost.

The encounter was so unexpected that the air itself seemed to thicken, as if time had stopped for a second, leaving both of you trapped in a bubble of broken memories. Jinx, at first, appeared joyful, her wide and vibrant smile lighting up the street. But upon seeing you so still, with those eyes filled with a mix of fear and confusion, the expression on her face began to fade slowly. In her eyes, something dark and familiar flickered for an instant, something she had seen before in her own reflections: doubt.

“No… don’t be scared.” Jinx’s voice trembled, almost as if she were trying to convince herself. “It’s me, your friend… remember?”

However, the fact that the distance between the two of you was filled with discomfort, with tense silence, seemed to choke her words. The air was no longer the same; the echo of what had once been your connection had become heavy and broken, like a distorted melody played in the wind. And then, suddenly, an unmistakable whisper, that whisper that had accompanied her so many times, broke the stillness of her mind.

“They fear you, Jinx. Everyone fears you. It will always be like this.”

It was the voice. That voice in her head that spoke to her when loneliness enveloped her, the same that had guided her when the memories of her childhood were too painful to bear. The voice that told her chaos was her only friend, the only constant. But this time, the tone was different. It was no longer just a suggestion; it was a sentence, and in that sentence was a truth she could not ignore.

Jinx, feeling the weight of those words, raised a hand as if she wanted to stop the avalanche of thoughts beginning to flood her mind. But at the same time, something in her face softened. The girl she had once been, the Powder who had been full of hope and curiosity, was standing before you, broken, but with a need to heal.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” she murmured, her voice cracking further, as if the simple act of admitting it tore her apart inside.

It was then that, without thinking, without hesitation, you approached her. Not as the person who had fled from her, but as the girl who had once known her in Zaun, the girl who had also been afraid of losing someone so special. You stepped closer to her, with your breath quickening, and in an impulse that came from a much deeper place than fear, you embraced her.

Jinx’s reaction was a tense silence, as if she didn’t know what to do with the tenderness you had bestowed upon that embrace. Her body trembled slightly, and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. It wasn’t the laugh of the crazy Jinx everyone knew, but a fragile, human laugh, vulnerable. Something she had never shown before, something only you had seen.

And finally, in the midst of that embrace, between the shadows and the stars that seemed to be watching over you from above, Jinx whispered with an infinite sadness: “Will you forgive me?”

You didn’t know how to answer because part of you still feared what she represented, what she had done. But at the same time, you knew that perhaps it was time to heal, to understand that fate was not limited to tragedies. Sometimes, stars fall and reveal something we have forgotten: the opportunity to rebuild what was once broken.

And in that moment, embracing Jinx, you realized that perhaps the stars, like memories, were not always what we expected. But they could be the beginning of something new.

The air of Zaun, thick and laden with smoke, seemed to recognize you both as your steps resonated through the dark streets. The city, with its winding alleys and factories roaring in the distance, had never been a kind place. But for you and Jinx, Zaun was more than just a refuge of scrap and shadows; it was the place where you had shared laughter, secrets, and broken dreams. The place where, although circumstances had separated you, something in your souls remained tied to that forgotten corner of the world.

As you walked through the streets, the silence between you felt warmer than you remembered. Despite the scars of time and the traces of what Jinx had done, there was something in her presence that made you feel less distant from the girl who had once been. The chaos around her was palpable, but as you neared the refuge, something inside you began to heal, a whisper of familiarity that came from better times.

When you arrived at the hideout you had shared, the view was not the same. The little cave, which you had once filled with laughter and colors, was now half-destroyed. The walls you had painted with colors you both loved were covered in marks of explosions. The floor was splattered with remnants of wood and rubble, the remains of what had once been a home for two lost souls in a world they didn’t understand.

Jinx stood at the entrance, her gaze fixed on the chaos she had left behind. For a moment, the air between you was filled with tension, but then the girl still living inside her took a step forward.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes shining with a mixture of guilt and frustration. “I destroyed it… I couldn’t stop myself.”

It was as if the rage, always latent within her, had dragged her once more. But she said it without aggression, without the fury she had shown in her chaotic moments. This time, her voice sounded more human, more vulnerable. The Jinx you knew, the one you wanted to protect so much, was here, standing in front of you, crumbled but with a need to heal.

“This place belongs to both of us, and you don’t destroy it so easily,” you said softly, walking towards her with a gentleness you had forgotten you possessed.

Jinx raised her gaze to you, a timid smile touching her lips, though her eyes were still filled with insecurity. No one had ever told her that before.

“Really?” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your heart swelling with the warmth of the moment. “We’ll rebuild it together. It will be even better this time.”

The silence returned to the room, heavy and profound, like a tide that slowly rises. Jinx observed the remnants of the painted walls, and for a moment, her eyes shone with a sadness she had not shown in years. She stepped closer to you, the space that separated you now minimal. Her gaze was fixed on you, and her eyes were no longer the same; they no longer reflected chaos or madness. Now, there was only a glimmer of vulnerability, of that childhood that had never stopped existing in her. The same girl who had once shared her life with you in Zaun, before everything changed, before the shadows trapped her.

“Do you know?” she said, her voice barely a whisper, as if she feared that her words could break the stillness surrounding them. “I think I always knew I cared about you more than I should. But I never understood it until now.

Your breath caught in your throat; your eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and something deeper, something that had been latent, silent, for so long. It was a feeling that had been tucked away at the bottom of your heart, a feeling you had tried to ignore but had always been there, waiting for you to recognize it.

“I did too…” you said, the words escaping your lips with a softness you could hardly believe. “I always knew.”

There was silence, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence filled with understanding, with a connection that had never truly broken, despite all that had happened. Jinx took a step closer to you, and somehow, you both knew that words were no longer necessary. Everything you needed was to be there, together, in that space, broken but full of everything you had been.

Her fingers gently touched your cheek, a caress so fragile, so full of affection, that you felt as if everything that had been wrong in the world, all the suffering, all the chaos, faded away for a brief moment.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Jinx whispered, her voice trembling, vulnerable. “I don’t want this to be another ending.”

The truth was that the future didn’t offer you guarantees. There were no promises in a world as chaotic, as unpredictable as the one you inhabited. But in that moment, in that little refuge, it didn’t matter what fate had in store for you. All that mattered was what you shared now, that small refuge where you could exist as just the two of you, without the voices, without the shadows, just with the shared heartbeat of your hearts.

With infinite softness, Jinx leaned toward you, her lips brushing against yours in a delicate kiss, filled with all that you had never said. It was a kiss that spoke of childhood, of laughter, of games and unfulfilled promises. It was a kiss overflowing with feelings that had been bottled up for too long, feelings that had never found a way to be expressed until now.

In that kiss, the world seemed to fit together again, as if everything you had lived had led you to this moment, to this place. There were no promises of salvation or redemption, just a silent understanding that, although the future was uncertain and pain was always lurking, in that moment you were together. And that was enough.

However, the reality of the world did not disappear. The light filtering through the cracks of the walls began to fade slowly, as if everything you had dreamed was just an illusion. The sounds of the streets of Zaun reached the background, a reminder that the city continued its course, indifferent to what was happening inside that small refuge.

“We’ll do it right, won’t we?” Jinx said, with one last smile that was more sorrowful than anything else.

And before you could respond, before the future could promise you anything more, something inside you knew there wouldn’t be a happy ending, not in the way you both might have wished. Fate, as uncertain and cruel as always, wasn’t going to grant you a “they lived happily ever after.” Not in this world.

With one last look, both of you knew that all that remained was to move forward, together or apart. You didn’t know what lay ahead, but in that moment, in that small refuge between shadows and light, you promised each other that, no matter what else crumbled, you would always remember what was, what you once shared.

And then, everything faded away, like the stars falling from the sky, leaving an immense void.

After all, this was not a fairy tale.