#i feel so loved and i am so in love and. explodes

[interact-if]

Black History Month Author Spotlight: Lapin

To kickstart the Black History Month Author Spotlight series, I'd like to introduce everyone to our first IF author, Lapin (@harlequinoccult)!

(I had a ton of fun reading Lapin’s answers, and I’m sure you will too! Read on for a celebration of ‘weird,’ Lapin’s Black southern gothic / horror influences, and how a D&D game could lead to interactive fiction!

Lapin, thank you again for your candid, humorous responses, I am very honored to have gotten to know you better :D)

Author: Lapin

Black creole and cajun, artist and writer, and wannabe game developer

Games: Slaughter Squad (Horror, Slasher, Romance)

Synopsis: YOU HAVE A HUNGER A HUNGER THAT YOU’VE BEEN NEGLECTING For the most part, you’re a pretty normal mid-20-something year old who lives in a shitty apartment in the city. Well, except for one thing. Your.....”Associate” Carter “Dollface” Abernathy. Who is a murderer, and quite frankly, a sloppy one at that. And you’re the accessory to his crimes. No matter what way you’ve gotten to know the man, or how you feel about him, you’re stuck with him, and stuck with just being his little “helper” ........Or are you? Especially when you’re suddenly given a....Unique opportunity.

Games: The Valley of Luck (Fantasy, Adventure, Romance)

Synopsis: The Valley of Luck was said to be a myth. Something that grandparents would tell their grand-kids around a campfire. Even those who worshiped Lucian, The God of Luck, thought it nothing but an old wives tale. Until, one day, a man with an arm made of solid gold started telling people that he'd been there, that he'd seen the Valley. Word spread quickly, and suddenly, every continent was alight with the rumor that The Valley was real, that it could give you all the riches you could ever want, and then some. However, your quest, whether related to The Valley or not, will lead you down a much stranger path.

Quote from the interview:

My upbringing was a bit odd. I am the youngest of three, two older brothers, one being a half brother, in a black military household… Middle school Lapin was a jock. But, lo and behold, the internet started getting more popular and that kid's brain exploded from internet exposure, for better and for worse. … I feel that there is a specific and niche demographic of people like me that were raised by early 2000s to 2010s internet. And on that era of internet, were creepypastas, online horror, early ARGs….I ADORED internet horror, which was my gateway into classic horror, funnily enough. Slaughter Squad, in my eyes, is a letter to that black kid that wanted to be weird. Be weird, be messy, see a fucked up movie, get more out of life.

Read on for the full interview!

Tell me more about yourself! What are some things new readers or long-time readers might not know about you?

Both parts of my family are 100% from Louisiana, New Orleans and the deep south. My moms side have been there so long, we have two streets named after us.

Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction? What inspired the game/story you’re currently writing?

My main project, of course, is Slaughter Squad. I love slasher movies and horror media in general. But what I always noticed with horror/romance, at least in the visual novel scene, is that the main character is nearly always the one getting screwed over, so I thought, well, what if the bad guys actually are your peers? How would this dynamic change if they don't see you as prey? I never thought that premise would appeal so much to so many but hey, I can't complain! I adore seeing people having fun with the silly little concept I had.

Now, my secondary project, The Valley of Luck. Some may not know this, but this story is based off of a D&D campaign I DM'ed back in the day with my friends. All the ROs are NPCs that my friends had, or where going to encounter. I won't lie, I did shy away from it and changed some things when the whole debacle with Wizards of the coast (the company that "owns" D&D) Where making some...questionable decisions. But this story is my baby. My first born. This one has been in the works far longer than SLSQ and has a lot of background lore that I hope I get the opportunity to share.

I do have a few other projects bumping around, One I am particularly excited for, But that one will have to wait a little bit~

How has your identity, heritage/background, upbringing, or personal experiences influenced your storytelling or writing process? OR How does your work feature aspects of your identity / experience?

My upbringing was a bit odd. I am the youngest of three, two older brothers, one being a half brother, in a black military household. I never felt that I truly had a sense of identity until that household inevitably split up. Everyone talks about being the weird kid in middle school, but no one mentions being the "normal on the outside but wants to be the weird kid so bad its painful on the inside but can't because you were told that stuff is 'white people shit' " type of kid.

Middle school Lapin was a jock. But, lo and behold, the internet started getting more popular and that kid's brain exploded from internet exposure, for better and for worse. I was a little shitter on the internet, I can't lie about that, as much as I want to. But I feel that there is a specific and niche demographic of people like me that were raised by early 2000s to 2010s internet. And on that era of internet, were creepypastas, online horror, early ARGs....I ADORED internet horror, which was my gateway into classic horror, funnily enough. Slaughter Squad, in my eyes, is a letter to that black kid that wanted to be weird. Be weird, be messy, see a fucked up movie, get more out of life.

What does your writing process look like? Any rituals or habits? Any tips, tricks, philosophies or approaches that have worked very well for you?

Let your characters speak through you like you're being possessed by a demon.

What’s the one thing you’re really proud of that you’ve written so far? Do you have a favorite character or scene that you’ve written?

I am so serious.

is it wildly inconvenient? yes. does it help your writing a ton? also yes. Doing Roleplay with friends is a fantastic way to learn to do this. being a DM for a D&D game has basically made it so characters can simply speak from my brain at any given moment. It's also annoying because some of these people do NOT shut up. Learning how a character would react on the fly does wonders for dialogue writing and character analysis. Roleplay with your friends, or hell, strangers who are down to clown that could become friends. Be cringe. be free.

I love the opening to Slaughter Squad and if you told me to rewrite it with a gun to my head I would tell you to shoot me. I love how punchy it is and it came out exactly how I wanted it to. I don't play favorites with characters (<- lying) but my two favorites to write are the stinky little bastard cat Sterling in TVoL and.....Carter, from SLSQ. I love writing complete bastards. One being lighthearted and gets a pass for it because he's just a kitty cat and the other you want to actively beat his face in with your bare hands. It's SO funny.

If you were to say one thing to your readers, other authors, and/or the interactive fiction community: what would it be?

Write. Write it now. Doesn't have to be good doesn't have to be polish all that matters is that you WROTE IT. All the bells and whistles can come later!!!! Stop thinking about the later and think about the now!!!! Write what you love and never give two shits about if it's cringe!!! Be excellent to each other!!!

Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?

GO LISTEN TO CHROMAKOPIA BY TYLER THE CREATOR RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!

This-or-that segment: (bold = Lapin’s pick)

Coffee or tea?

Early mornings or late nights?

City or countryside?

Angsty or Cozy romances? (Or enemies-to-lovers or best-friends-to-lovers?)  

Steady progress or frenzied binge-writing followed by periods of calm?

Summer or Winter?

First drafts or editing?

Introvert or extrovert?

Plotter or pantser?

Characters or plot first?

Lapin’s custom “this-or-that” pairing: Rain or Shine

More on Black Southern Gothic:

Black southern gothic can vary a lot, but when I think of it, I think of old semi abandoned wood shotgun houses in the swamp, all white tiny baptist churches where the white paint is peeling from the heat and humidity, riding horses down a dirt paved street while people still ride by in their old busted down 1960s chevys. Old plantation houses that have been reclaimed by the swamp. The dark, humid heat of the night on a street with no streetlights. Every house you see is absolutely haunted by something and not just ghosts. Voodoo and hoodoo is different than what people will tell you it is.

Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo by Ntozake Shange, Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jessamin Ward, and anything by Toni Morrison 100%.

[aspenmissing]

Hiii, so I love LOVEEEE reading your arcane x reader one-shots (I am literally obsessed) and I have a request. Would it be possible to write a Jayce x reader, where the reader is Vander's biological daughter, was raised alongside Vi, Powder, Claggor and Mylo, is four years older than Vi, so that means she is 19 when Vander dies, she also doesn't know what happened with Powder and Vi and assumes they are death (she was there when Powder's monkey bomb exploded but was under the debris and no one found her there, she is also injured), she doesn't have anybody else in Zaun and her dream has always been to see Piltover with her own eyes, so she decides to go there before she dies of her injuries and there she encounters Jayce and Heimerdinger, who help her and as years pass her and Jayce develop feelings for each other? Thank you in advance ☺️💜

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ. ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ, ᴠɪ, ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ, ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ, ᴍʏʟᴏ, ʜᴇɪᴍᴇʀᴅɪɴɢᴇʀ, ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ) || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 5242 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴇxᴘʟᴏꜱɪᴏɴꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ?, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!!! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ!! ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ꜱᴡᴀᴘꜱ ɪɴ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ)

Zaun had never been kind, but Y/N had never known anything else. She had been born in the undercity, in a world where survival meant being strong, clever, or lucky. And Vander—Vander had made sure she was all three.

She was his first, his only biological child, though he had never let that create a divide between her and the others he took in. To him, blood didn’t matter—family was chosen, built, protected. And Y/N had been raised with that belief stitched into her bones.

She had no memories of her mother. Vander never spoke of her, and Y/N had learned early on not to ask. But what she did have was Felicia, her aunt in everything but name.

Felicia, who had rocked her to sleep when she was small, who had always found a way to sneak her sweets when Vander wasn’t looking. Who, despite the hardships of Zaun, always smelled of warm bread and had hands soft enough to soothe away nightmares.

Y/N had been a child of both shadow and warmth. She played in the grimy streets of the undercity, scraped her knees climbing rusted scaffolding, learned how to fight alongside the street kids, but at the end of the day, she always had a home to return to. Arms to hold her. A family to remind her that even in Zaun, there was love.

=

And then, four years later, Vi was born.

Y/N remembered the first time she saw her baby sister, wrapped in too-big blankets, her tiny fists waving in the air. She was so small, so loud, already filled with fire before she could even speak.

“She’s got your stubbornness,” Felicia had teased, placing the newborn into Y/N’s arms.

Y/N had stared down at Vi, her heart swelling with something fierce and unfamiliar. She had never known she could love someone so instantly, so completely.

From that day forward, Vi had been hers as much as she had been Vander’s.

=

Years passed, and their family grew. First Powder—Felicia’s second daughter, born a few years after Vi. Their little home above the bar became a haven, a place of warmth in a city that tried to swallow them whole.

As the eldest, Y/N had become the one they all turned to. She soothed Powder’s fears when nightmares crept in. She was Vi’s hero, the one her little sister followed in every footstep, determined to be just as strong, just as fearless.

She had promised to always protect them.

And yet, before she could even begin to understand what loss truly meant, the world started tearing pieces of their family away.

=

It began with Felicia and Connol.

The rebellion on the bridge had been doomed before it even began. But they had fought anyway. And for that, they had paid the price.

Y/N had been there.

She had heard the clash of steel, the cries of the dying, the gunfire that tore through the air. She had felt the ground tremble beneath her feet as enforcers cut through Zaunite rebels like they were nothing more than pests to be exterminated.

And she had seen them—Felicia and Connol—lying lifeless on the cold stone of the bridge, their bodies broken, their blood pooling beneath them.

She had wanted to run to them, to do something, but there was no time.

Vi was screaming, trying to fight her way past Y/N’s grip, but she held firm, shielding her sisters from the sight. Powder was sobbing, burying her face against Y/N’s chest, small fingers tangled in her shirt as if letting go would mean losing everything.

“Don’t look,” Y/N had whispered, voice shaking as she forced them back, away from the carnage, away from the truth that would haunt them forever.

She didn't know how long she held them there, hidden in the shadows of a crumbling alleyway just beyond the bridge. The sounds of battle faded into silence, replaced only by the quiet gasps of her sisters and the distant echo of enforcers marching away.

When Vander found them, his face was hollow, his fists bloodied from trying to fight back. He knelt before them, eyes dark with grief, his hands trembling as he reached out.

“It’s over,” he had said, voice raw.

=

After that, Silco was next to go.

He and Vander had always been a unit—two sides of the same coin, bound together by shared dreams and scars. And then, one day, he simply disappeared.

Vander returned bloodied, bruised, his knuckles raw, and though he never spoke of what had happened, Y/N saw the truth in his silence.

Something had shattered between them. And Silco, once her father’s closest friend, had become nothing more than a ghost.

=

For a while, it was just them—the four of them in a world that didn’t want them to survive. But then Mylo and Claggor came into their lives, two boys with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

Vander had opened his doors to them without hesitation. And soon enough, Y/N did too.

Their family had grown, and though the wounds of the past lingered, they had each other.

And then, in a single night, she lost them all.

Pain was the first thing she knew. A deep, throbbing agony that pulsed through every fiber of her being as she forced herself to move.

Her fingers, raw and bloodied, clawed at the debris above her, her nails splintering as she dragged herself forward, inch by agonizing inch. Every movement sent fire lancing through her body, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she choked on the dust clogging her throat.

The air was thick with smoke and the sharp, acrid scent of burning metal. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint, eerie crackling of flames licking at the ruins of what had once been her home.

The explosion had shattered everything.

Her ears still rang with the force of it—the deafening roar, the crack of collapsing metal, the screams that had been cut too short.

She had fought. She had fought with everything she had, alongside Vi, tearing through Silco’s men to get to Vander, their father, the only man who had ever made them feel safe in a world that had never been kind. She had been so close. They all had.

They had gotten him out of his restraints.

For a single, fleeting moment, she had thought they had won.

And then Powder’s bomb went off.

The explosion had torn through the factory like a monster unleashed.

She barely had time to react before Claggor was sent flying into a wall, his skull cracking with a sickening sound. He was gone before he even hit the ground. Mylo was thrown beside him, a metal pole spearing through his shoulder before the collapsing structure buried them both.

Vi had screamed their names, tried to reach them, but then the debris came crashing down, trapping her beneath it.

Y/N had been sent sprawling, her body slamming into the cold, hard floor. The world had turned into dust and fire, rubble pressing down on her, pinning her in place.

She didn't know how long she lay there, half-buried in the ruins of everything she had ever known. Time blurred—seconds, minutes, hours.

No one came for her.

Mylo and Claggor were gone. Vander was gone.

Vi and Powder… there was no sign of them. No voices calling out in the darkness. No hands reaching for her own.

Only silence.

She had screamed for them, had called their names until her throat was raw. But the only response was the crackle of distant flames, the groan of broken metal settling into place.

Tears streaked down her dirt-stained cheeks as she clenched her fists, her broken nails digging into her palms.

She couldn't stay here.

If she stayed, she would die.

With sheer, agonizing effort, Y/N began to crawl. Her arms shook with the strain, her legs barely responding as she dragged herself over shattered glass and twisted metal. Every breath was fire in her lungs, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

It felt like an eternity before she finally reached the edge of the ruined building. Her trembling fingers gripped onto the ledge as she pulled herself up, the fresh air burning her lungs as she inhaled deeply.

And then she saw it.

Piltover.

The City of Progress stood above her, golden and gleaming, untouched by the destruction that had just consumed her world. Its towers stretched toward the sky, their lights flickering like distant stars against the night.

A choked, bitter laugh escaped her lips, but it quickly dissolved into a sob.

She had always dreamed of seeing it.

They were sitting on the rooftop of The Last Drop, their legs dangling over the edge as the city lights flickered below. The air was thick with the scent of oil and smoke, but up here, it almost felt like they were above it all. "You ever think about leaving Zaun?" Y/N had asked, her gaze fixed on the towering silhouette of Piltover in the distance. Vi, only eleven at the time, scrunched up her nose. "Nah. Zaun's home." Powder, curled up against Y/N’s side, peeked up at her with wide, curious eyes. "Do you?" Y/N hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Not forever. Just… I want to see it. Piltover. With my own eyes. I want to know what it’s like to walk on clean streets, to breathe air that isn’t filled with smog." Vi snorted. "Bet it's boring. Too clean. Too fancy." "Maybe," Y/N admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. "But I still want to see it." Powder tugged at her sleeve, her voice soft. "Maybe one day, we can all go together." Y/N had wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Yeah. One day."

A hollow ache settled in her chest as she stared up at the golden city that had once been nothing more than a distant dream.

Piltover.

It loomed above her like something out of a fairy tale—untouched, pristine, shimmering in the night. The towers stood tall, bathed in golden light, their reflections dancing in the sky as if the stars themselves had fallen to the earth. Even from here, from the filth and ruin of Zaun, she could see its streets, its sprawling bridges, its untainted perfection.

It was everything she had imagined.

And yet, in this moment, it felt impossibly far away.

She wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Her body trembled as she clutched her side, fingers coming away slick with blood. The pain was unbearable, a searing, pulsing agony radiating from her ribs, her legs, her back. Every breath burned. Every step felt like her last.

But she had nowhere else to go.

She was alone.

Her entire world—her family, her home, everything she had fought to protect—was gone.

Her mind raced with memories, a whirlwind of faces and laughter, of nights spent huddled together in the dim glow of candlelight, of whispered promises and childish dreams. She could almost hear their voices. Vi, teasing her about taking things too seriously. Mylo, always talking too much, always trying too hard. Claggor, quiet and steady, the foundation of their little gang. Powder, with her wide, hopeful eyes, always clinging to Y/N’s side, always looking up to her.

And Vander. Her father. The man who had carried the weight of the Lanes on his back, who had sacrificed everything to give them a chance.

They were all gone.

Tears blurred her vision, hot and stinging as they streaked down her dirt-streaked face. She wiped at them furiously. She couldn’t afford to cry. Not now. Not when she still had something left to do.

If she was going to die, she would die chasing that dream.

With a sharp inhale, she forced her legs to move. The first step nearly sent her crumpling to the ground, her knees buckling beneath her. She caught herself against the remnants of a rusted pipe, her breath hitching at the jolt of pain that shot through her ribs.

But she didn’t stop.

She dug her fingers into the crumbling stone, gripping onto whatever she could as she began to climb. Every pull of her muscles felt like agony, every movement a battle against her own failing body. Blood dripped from her wounds, leaving a faint, crimson trail behind her.

But she climbed.

Hand over hand, foot over foot, she pulled herself up, her vision swimming, her body screaming in protest. The higher she went, the thinner the air seemed to get, the smog of Zaun fading as the cold, crisp wind of Piltover brushed against her sweat-slicked skin.

She had never been this close before.

The bridges connecting the two cities stretched out before her, shining metal and stone that had never known the touch of rust or ruin.

She gritted her teeth, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

Almost there.

Just a little further.

Her fingers grazed the edge of the bridge, her arms shaking violently as she heaved herself up. The moment she reached solid ground, her body gave out, and she collapsed onto the smooth stone, her vision darkening at the edges.

She had made it.

The thought barely had time to register before her world tilted, the pain finally swallowing her whole.

And then—

Darkness.

Warmth.

That was the first thing she noticed.

Not the cold, damp air of Zaun. Not the sharp bite of metal or the suffocating grip of smoke in her lungs. Just warmth. Soft, clean, unfamiliar warmth.

Her fingers twitched against the fabric beneath her, smooth and crisp—too smooth to be the rough blankets of the Lanes. She shifted slightly, and a dull, aching pain flared through her body, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Bright. Too bright.

She blinked against the soft glow of daylight filtering through sheer curtains, her vision swimming as she tried to take in her surroundings. The room around her was… pristine. The walls were a soft ivory, the furniture polished wood, the air carrying the faint scent of something floral and clean.

Nothing like home.

A thick blanket was draped over her, far too fine to belong to someone from the Undercity. Slowly, she pulled it aside, eyes widening as she took in the sight of herself.

Bandages wrapped tightly around her arms and torso, fresh and neat. A cast encased her right leg, holding it in place, a stark contrast to the grime and blood she had been covered in before.

This wasn’t Zaun.

Panic swelled in her chest as she struggled to sit up, her body protesting with every movement. Where was she? How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was reaching the bridge, collapsing on the cold stone—

The door creaked open.

Y/N's head snapped toward it, muscles tensing on instinct despite her injuries.

A woman stepped inside, pausing mid-step when their eyes met.

The nurse was young, her uniform crisp, her expression flickering from professional composure to shock as she realized Y/N was awake.

“Oh! You’re awake?” she gasped, eyes widening. “I—let me—oh, they’ll want to know you’re up!”

Y/N didn’t answer, her throat too dry, her mind too disoriented to form words.

The nurse quickly composed herself, stepping closer with a careful, reassuring smile. “You’re safe,” she said gently, as if speaking too loudly might startle her. “You were brought here a few days ago. The Dean of the Academy, Professor Heimerdinger, and Mr. Talis found you at the bridge and had you taken in for treatment.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, confusion swirling in her tired mind.

=

The nurse stepped back as the door to the room opened once more, and in walked two figures who made the air feel slightly different, a change from the sterile quiet of the room.

The first was a small man, frail in appearance, with an impressive white beard and long, wispy hair that framed his face like an ancient sage. His eyes twinkled behind thick glasses, giving off an air of wisdom and curiosity. His small frame didn’t detract from the aura of quiet authority he held, and there was a warmth to his gaze that seemed to instantly put Y/N at ease. The second figure was taller, his broad shoulders commanding a quiet power. A man with clean, sharp features, short-cropped dark hair, and eyes that held a sharp focus—clearly the opposite of the gentle Yordle beside him.

Y/N’s body stiffened instinctively, but she held her ground, wary yet curious. These were the people who had saved her. Who had brought her here.

The small man, the Yordle with the striking white beard, smiled warmly at her as he approached. "Ah, it’s good to see you awake, young one. I am Professor Heimerdinger, and this is Mr. Jayce Talis."

Y/N blinked, her voice a dry rasp when she finally managed to speak. “Where… Where am I?”

Heimerdinger’s smile softened, and Jayce nodded slightly, exchanging a glance with the older man before addressing her. “You’re in Piltover. The University. You were brought here after we found you. You’ve been… unconscious for some time.”

Y/N frowned, disoriented. "Found me? How long—"

Jayce took a step forward, his tone gentle but edged with concern. "About two weeks ago. We found you barely clinging to life near the Piltover bridge. You were badly injured—broken bones, internal bleeding, severe exhaustion. We couldn’t leave you in that state."

Heimerdinger’s voice softened as he joined in. “Yes, indeed. You were in quite a poor condition. You've been in a coma for quite some time, but we’ve been keeping a close eye on you. You've made considerable progress, but... recovery will take more time. You were fortunate to survive, truly.”

Y/N felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach, the harsh reality of her situation sinking in. Two weeks. Two weeks lost in unconsciousness, unaware of everything—what had happened, who had survived.

"But..." The question escaped her almost before she could stop it. "What happened to Zaun? The explosion... my family... Did anyone survive?"

The room seemed to freeze as the words left her lips. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspeakable sorrow. Jayce exchanged a long, somber glance with Heimerdinger, before the Yordle spoke in a tone laced with regret.

"We don’t know," Heimerdinger replied, his voice low but steady. "What we do know is that the explosion destroyed everything. We’ve heard no word of survivors."

Y/N’s chest tightened as their words settled into her mind. She had hoped, even just a little, that someone—anyone—had made it out. But no. Vi. Powder. Mylo. Claggor. Vander. All gone.

The world felt like it had shattered all over again, the grief rising up and drowning her in its cold embrace.

Jayce seemed to sense her growing distress and knelt beside her bed, his expression softer than she had expected. “I know this is hard. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

His words weren’t empty. There was something sincere, something real in them, and Y/N found herself staring at him for a moment, struggling to process what he was saying through the fog of grief. But the weight on her chest refused to lift.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce continued, his voice low and gentle. “We did everything we could. We searched for days, but there was nothing left to salvage. The debris... it was too much. We wish we could’ve done more.”

Y/N felt like the room was tilting again, her vision swimming with unshed tears and unspeakable loss. She had always been the strong one—the protector. But now? She was nothing.

She was alone.

A flicker of warmth in Jayce’s eyes caught her attention, grounding her back in the present. "I know this is a lot," he said gently, "but you don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’re here to help."

Y/N swallowed thickly, her throat dry. She nodded slightly, though her head still felt like it was spinning from the shock. “What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as though the question itself would pull her further into the unknown.

Heimerdinger placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his ancient, wise eyes filled with compassion. "Now, you heal. We will help you, as best as we can. There is a place for you here, if you choose it. Piltover is vast, and you are not without options."

Y/N looked between Heimerdinger and Jayce, the weight of their offer settling around her like a heavy, yet oddly comforting, blanket. She wanted to ask a hundred more questions, wanted to know where she fit into this strange new world, what she could do now. But the future felt impossibly distant, like a fog she couldn’t yet navigate.

For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to be still. To breathe, though raggedly.

She wasn’t sure what the future held, but it was the only thing left for her to move toward. And maybe, just maybe, Piltover could be where she rebuilt herself.

Or at least, she would try.

The golden city that had once seemed like an impossible dream had slowly become her reality.

Piltover had been overwhelming at first—the clean streets, the endless inventions, the people who walked past her with their noses high, dressed in finery she had never even imagined. It was a world so far removed from Zaun that, for a long time, she had felt like an intruder, an imposter pretending to belong.

But as the years passed, Y/N had begun to carve a place for herself.

It hadn’t been easy. There were nights she had spent awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she had made the right choice. Days when the weight of her past threatened to crush her. The ache of loss never truly left, lingering in the quiet moments between conversations, in the silence of an empty room. But she had learned to live with it.

Jayce had been there through it all.

At first, it was small things—checking in on her, making sure she ate, dragging her out of the apartment when he thought she’d been inside too long. He had offered her a place to stay, a spare room in his new apartment after the previous one had been reduced to rubble in an explosion. She had hesitated, unsure if she could accept such kindness, but in the end, she had nowhere else to go.

=

Living with Jayce had been… an adjustment.

He was meticulous about his workspace but careless with everything else. He would leave blueprints scattered on the dining table, trinkets from his projects half-assembled in the oddest places. More than once, she had nearly tripped over some Hextech device he had forgotten to put away.

But he was also warm, patient. He never pushed her for details about her past, never pried when she grew quiet and withdrawn. He simply let her be, offering companionship without expectation. And, over time, something shifted between them.

The once awkward silences turned into comfortable conversations over late-night tea. The careful distance they had kept at first disappeared, replaced by easy touches—a hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing as they passed in the kitchen, a lingering warmth when he stood just a little too close.

Y/N had never expected to find anything resembling home again. But somehow, in the heart of Piltover, with Jayce beside her, she had begun to feel something close to it.

And she wasn’t sure what terrified her more—losing it or wanting it to last.

Y/N had never imagined herself working in a place like the Academy.

She had never been given the luxury of a formal education, never sat in a grand hall filled with brilliant minds discussing theories and discoveries. Back in Zaun, survival had been her priority—learning to fight, to scavenge, to take care of her siblings. But here, in Piltover, she had been given the chance to do something more.

It had started with Jayce.

After Hextech’s success, his workload had grown tenfold. Between meetings with the Council, developing new projects, and keeping up with research, he barely had a moment to breathe. One day, after catching her idly flipping through a book on Hex Crystals, he had casually suggested she help out at the Academy.

At first, she had been hesitant. What did she know about working in a place like this? But Jayce had insisted, and Heimerdinger—ever the enthusiastic professor—had agreed that it would be beneficial for her to learn.

=

That was how she had met Viktor.

Jayce had introduced them one evening, and for the first time since coming to Piltover, Y/N felt a sense of familiarity in someone.

Viktor, with his sharp mind and dry humor, was unlike anyone else she had met in the golden city. He carried the same resilience she did—the quiet strength of someone who had climbed their way out of Zaun, who had fought for every opportunity, every bit of recognition. And despite their different paths, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

He never looked at her like she was an outsider. Never made her feel like she didn’t belong.

Over time, she found herself working alongside him and Jayce, assisting with research, organizing notes, and even offering insights where she could. She wasn’t an inventor, but she had a knack for problem-solving, a way of looking at things from a different angle. Viktor appreciated it. Jayce encouraged it.

For the first time in years, she felt like she was building something. Like she had a purpose beyond just surviving.

And when she looked at Jayce—his easy smiles, his unwavering faith in her—she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was meant to be here after all.

It happened gradually, in the small moments between work and home.

At first, it was subtle. The way Jayce’s eyes lingered on her a little longer than before, the way his hand would brush against hers when they passed papers between them in the lab. The way he always made sure she had a cup of tea waiting when she worked late, how he would nudge her plate closer at dinner when she barely touched her food, or how he seemed to brighten whenever she entered the room, as if her presence alone was enough to make his day better.

Y/N told herself it was nothing. That it was just Jayce being Jayce—kind, warm, and a little too good at making people feel like they mattered.

But then, there were moments she couldn’t ignore.

Like when she caught him staring at her across the workshop, lost in thought, his expression softer than she had ever seen it. When she raised an eyebrow, silently questioning him, he had quickly looked away, clearing his throat and pretending he had been focused on something else.

Or when they would return home late from the Academy, exhaustion weighing on their shoulders, and he would linger at her door. Sometimes, it seemed like he wanted to say something—his fingers flexing at his sides, his lips parting slightly—only to shake his head and offer a quiet, “Goodnight, Y/N,” before retreating to his own room.

She felt it, too.

The warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever he laughed, the way her heart stuttered whenever he leaned in too close, his shoulder brushing against hers as they worked side by side. The quiet comfort of just existing beside him, knowing that no matter how much time passed, he was there.

She had spent years surviving—fighting, scraping by, never allowing herself to dwell on anything more than what needed to be done. But Jayce made her pause. Made her think about things she had long since buried.

Viktor noticed before either of them did.

=

One evening, after a particularly long day at the lab, he had given her a knowing look as Jayce walked ahead, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"You know, he is quite terrible at hiding it," Viktor remarked, amusement lacing his tone.

Y/N frowned, confused. "Hiding what?"

Viktor only chuckled, shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing. You will figure it out eventually."

She thought about that conversation for weeks afterward.

And then one night, everything changed.

=

It had been another late evening at the Academy, just the two of them left in the lab. The only sound was the quiet hum of the machinery, the occasional scratch of Jayce’s pen against paper, and the steady ticking of the clock. The air was thick with the faint scent of metal and ink, of old books and oil, and despite the exhaustion tugging at her bones, Y/N found a strange sense of peace in the stillness.

She was staring at blueprints, tracing lines with the tip of her finger, lost in thought when she felt his gaze on her.

She looked up.

Jayce was watching her, something soft and uncertain in his expression. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together as if he was working through something in his head.

"Y/N," he started, hesitating.

She raised a brow, setting her pen down. "What?"

Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair, his usual confidence replaced with something more vulnerable, something uncertain. He shifted on his feet, glancing at the floor before finally meeting her gaze.

"I just—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if frustrated with himself. But then he stepped closer, his voice quieter, steadier this time. "I care about you. A lot more than I probably should."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like she was something precious, something worth holding onto.

And in that moment, she realized—she had spent so long convincing herself she was alone that she hadn’t seen what had been in front of her all this time.

Jayce had been there, always.

And maybe… maybe she wanted him to be.

She swallowed, forcing herself to speak despite the rapid beating of her heart. "You're an idiot," she murmured, her lips curving slightly, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

Jayce let out a breathless laugh, relief flickering across his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, softer this time. Then, after a pause, after letting herself breathe, after letting herself believe this was real, "But I care about you too."

Jayce’s smile was wide, genuine, and impossibly warm.

For the first time in years, the weight in her chest didn’t feel so suffocating.

He reached for her hand, hesitant at first, his fingers brushing against hers as if waiting for permission. But when she didn’t pull away, he threaded them together, his grip firm, steady—grounding.

She had spent so long believing she had no one left, that she had to carry the weight of her grief and survival on her own. But Jayce had been there, always. Patient. Steady. Waiting for her to see what had been right in front of her all along.

She looked at their intertwined hands, then back at him, and something inside her settled. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, she never had to be again.

[odetolovers]

WE’RE MOVED IN!!!!!

[lotus-pear]

learning to love

[hinamie]

itakugi sillies fr the soul

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

one morning you cling to satoru’s back and sleepily plead for him not to leave for work and he feels closer to killing the higher ups than ever before

[mrmeepsmadmind]

i love when ppl draw bumblebee like the happy little creachure he is but also i love when people draw bumblebee like he's had 500 beers in the last 1 hour and still the pain won't even ebb

[gotstabbedbyapen]

I have very complicated feelings for the Vengeance Saga (after the first listen)

Disclaimer: I will only criticize Epic the Vengeance Saga as a work on its own, not for its inaccuracy or deviation from mythology and The Odyssey. There are more knowledgable people who can point out and analyze the changes in Epic the Musical, but that is not what I'll be tackling here.

To put it bluntly, I'm not being angsty about it as I should. The whole saga just... didn't feel right with me.

Now, first off all, I'm a big fan of Epic and had been following it since the Cyclops saga (first version). I've been in love with many songs and hyperfixed it for months on end. But when the Vengeance saga came along, I didn't feel that same bubbling love rise in me.

Even as a fan, this isn't my first time having peeves with Epic. I didn't jam with the re-release sagas for a while, I'm underwhelmed with the Circe VS Odysseus fight and other issues, very unpopular opinion but "Monster" wasn't too impactful to me, and also the God Games (especially Zeus' attack).

The Vengeance Saga though? Well, they say we gotta do the Bun-Meat-Bun (or whatever the hell its name really is) technique when giving criticism, so I'll start with the good parts.

I love that Odysseus looked so done with Calypso in "Not Sorry For Loving You". They're basically this meme:

Like sorry you're a sad but you're still an abuser 😒

Then Odysseus starts singing the reprise for "Full Speed Ahead" but there's no one to back him up. That one hits me hard. To whoever on Tumblr said that after the Thunder Saga we will never hear the crew's back-up again and Odysseus' singing will be answered with silence, Apollo really blessed you with the red ball.

Hermes and the Winions' part was really cool too! I really like them being mischievous helper! The warning about the wind bag and the changing scene of Odysseus fighting off sea monsters while Hermes just vibing with the beats is 👌👌👌

But after that the hype started to sizzle out for me. You might want to skip this part if you're not comfortable with harsh criticism because I WON'T hold back.

It's really backward but I like the Odysseus VS Charybdis draft more than the final production. Charybdis' roars and music are somehow less intimidating, which is a shame because I thought this would be one of the biggest struggles Odysseus will face. Even with awesome illustrative animatics, the scene wasn't as thrilling as I've expected.

The other songs got massive improvement from its draft version (on top of my mind I can think of "Thunder Bringer", "There Are Other Ways", "Little Wolf"), but I don't get why "Charybdis" didn't get up-graded as much like them. It's like a cake that was throughly baked but half decorated and it just didn't taste as good as I've hoped.

Then we have the Odysseus VS Poseidon part in "Get In The Water" and "Six Hundred Strikes". The first thought I had for GITW is this song sounds like all the draft snippets were mashed together without a smooth transition/connection between them. Jorge and Steven's performance is great, but there's not enough tension for me to dread for Odysseus. When Poseidon first met Odysseus in "Ruthlessness", the whole opening was terrifyingly good! And we didn't even have any illustration animatic back then! (that's not to say the GITW animatics were bad, they just can't salvage much when the song itself was already weak)

I wasn't impressed with Poseidon's Shatter The Ocean move either. It's supposed to be the Strongest AttackTM but it's less scary than when he and the Laestrygonians destroyed Odysseus' eleven ships with probably 1% of their power. It didn't even help when Poseidon looked like he's having a seizure with lights pouring out of his eyes and mouth during the transformation.

Odysseus being literally on the brink of death with the souls of his loved ones pulling him into the abyss is a gem in the rough, but because we've seen Odysseus almost drowning before in the end of the Thunder Saga, it's not as shocking as it should be. Furthermore, Poseidon could have instant-killed Odysseus right then and there but didn't really annoyed me. But I guess he just wanted Odysseus to slowly suffer while dying.

Right when I thought the progress will get better, it... gets down. I can go with Odysseus using wind to escape the water, but him wearing it like a jetpack is so comical it ruined the drastic of the situation. And I'm officially let down when Odysseus FUCKING ATTACKED Poseidon in "Six Hundred Strike".

What? Just... why with that choice?

Look, I'm not gonna fault Epic for making creative liberties from the source material (as said in the disclaimer), but I will criticize if that change contradict itself in the transformative work. And this is one of them.

Poseidon and the gods have been proven time and time again in the musical just how powerful they are. Their ominous and grandiose entrances, them striking fear and inferiority in our hearts just by singing. Even Circe, a low-level goddess, poses a constant threat to the crew and Odysseus had to get help from Hermes just to get a chance to corner her (and Hermes even joked that he can still die!)

Poseidon easily destroyed almost all of Odysseus' fleet. Odysseus was very avoidant of him, opting to go to the literal Underworld to find instruction on how to dodge him and sailing through Scylla's lair + willing to sacrifice six men for safe passage. And when Poseidon said he can drown all of Ithaca, it's not just bluffing, he would and could have done that. Yeah, the King of the Sea is THAT BIG of a threat.

So no, Odysseus isn't cool to attack Poseidon, he's being stupid. I'm not even cheering for him the whole time he fight, just groaning at how ridiculous the whole thing is. If Epic is more believable and sticks to WHAT IT HAD ESTABLISHED BEFORE, having a sudden burst of anger and choosing ruthlessness won't save Odysseus from one swipe of Poseidon's trident. Odysseus stood no chance against one of the most powerful deity, even if he's the protagonist and love his family.

Not only that, Poseidon didn't even defend himself and was wounded by a mere human! And he just sat there and took all the blows and insults from Odysseus??? And he actually begged Odysseus to stop and agree to quell the storm to let him get home??? I'm not buy that bullshit. I'm more upset that a literal Olympian god was nerfed down than Odysseus having a Gary Stu moment. Give me a break, that try-hard moment to be cool and edgy just show how badly written the scene is.

What's the fucking point of hyping up how dangerous the gods are if a human can take one down? Tell me this isn't some Wattpad-y Greek myth retelling fanfic where the teenage Y/N sass her way to defeat an entire pantheon. Epic really traded its opportunity to be better for some cheap and out-of-the-blue dramas in this saga, dare I say it's even worse than Zeus' OOC attack on Athena. I'm very disappointed with that decision.

On an end note, the saga did have one saving point with the "After everything you've done, how will you sleep at night?" - "Next to my wife" lines. Odysseus knew he could be the most horrendous man ever and Penelope would still choose his side, that just show how powerful their love and faith in each other are.

But not enough to excuse all the terrible cinematic choices.

[unriding]

a … a gift from the talented @kruinka 🥹 thank you so much!! ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

[doctorwhommm]

dontcha think it’s kinda cute that i died right inside your arms tonight?

[ghostorbz]

I made graphics instead of going to bed

Plus zadr stuff,,,

[shima-draws]

THAT right there, ladies and gentlemen, is a LOVE CONFESSION

[l0s3r335]

i started watching pantheon!! like i finished season 1 on netflix and now watch 2 on "somewhere else" 🤫 because it's so good and im not waiting for it to possibly maybe one day get on my streaming services 😭 and why is there no fandom?? i need to scream at the top of my lungs to someone abt this show it's so good i might have to add some fics and art if i can get myself to 🤧

gonna ramble more in the tags :3 i love it sm rararara

[emborami]

Through the years, from popinjay to coxcomb to maccaroni to dandy to dude