#i really hope this made sense and helps!!

[ozzgin]

Hello ozzign (is it okay if I call you Ozzie?) I was wondering if you could do how different hybrids reacting to reader getting their period, because I am on my period rn and it hurts like **HELL**, so I would very much appreciate it if you’d do that for me

Love, 🍄 anon

NSFW content!

Bear!Hybrid loves to spoil you with physical affection. The moment he sees your displeased expression, he knows. He'll sit down and pat his lap, inviting you to hop on. He's massive, soft, and warm: you'll be asleep and in no pain by the time he's done cuddling you.

Lion!Hybrid has a lot of female clients frequenting his salon, so he is rather well-informed when it comes to your troubles. You're in pain? He'll immediately cancel all appointments for the day, grab a blanket, and sit next to you. He has an agenda of tips, tricks, and suggestions that he's dutifully gathered for your sake. He's at your service.

Tiger!Hybrid is a tad awkward when it comes to this, truth be told. He's an underground fighter, and has lived his life with the simple philosophy of sucking it up. Unlike him, however, you're a frail human. He can't bear to see you in discomfort, yet it's not some opponent he can beat up. Maybe he can...uh...fuck you until you're better?

Cow!Hybrid Husband is such a caring spouse. He'll prepare you a warm drink made with plenty of love, then spend the rest of the day pampering you and fulfilling all your wishes. His tail is wagging in anticipation, eyeing your thighs and hoping you'll soon ask him to eat you out. Truly, there is no better cure. Let him take care of it.

Bull!Hybrid is a little nonchalant offering his help. He'll knock on your door, claiming he's heard your groans of discomfort and suggesting he...keeps you company. He doesn't even wait for your response, closing the door behind him and heading for the bedroom. What, it's common sense that neighbors help each other out! And he's starving to show you how neighborly he is.

Hammerhead Shark!Hybrid can tell from the moment you dive in. You barely left your boat, and you already notice him speeding in your direction. A shiver crosses your spine once you see his hungry expression. You begin to gesture at him to calm down. Pointless, really. When he's like this, there's no reasoning. He's always attracted to you, of course, but sometimes you really drive his instincts wild. He's about to devour his prey, and you'll love every second of it.

[More OCs with a menstruating Reader] | [Hybrid Masterlist]

[thatonebirdwrites]

Gosh, I can relate to this.

I think about what fandom is a lot since I sort of lurk in a lot of spaces (until I feel brave enough to speak or share).

First off, the point of this addition isn't to guilt trip anyone, but to get people thinking about what community means. What inclusion means, and what engagement means. And how those are interconnected.

One of the crucial pillars of fandom, and the reason fandom exists at all is because of community.

Writing fanfiction and sharing it for free is about building community with one another. It's people who loved a show/movie/book enough that they wanted to play in the world longer, so they play together in that world with other people who love it too. That's what fanworks are -- it's people playing together in community because of a love toward a specific series/media.

But community requires communication. It requires building connections. It requries engaging one another.

I write long fics. In fact, adding up the word counts of my fics in AO3? It's well over a million words in two different fandoms. These are free novels written because the community had been welcoming at first and it had encouraged me to keep going.

But I made a mistake. Two of these projects (in two separate fandoms) I made into a series. Because of how each part in a series means the sequel gets less engagement, it feels like I'm watching a community dissolve, and that's painful. I don't get paid for this. It's all free, and part of the reason I went to fanfic writing was because of community.

Lack of engagement gives, often unintentionally, the author the message that they aren't really part of the fandom's community. At least not anymore (if they ever were).

Some say, "Well, don't write for your readers!"

Well, no, I don't write for my readers, but the act of sharing for free is me giving to the community and building up community.

But part of building up community requires people to give back in turn. Oherwise the community will fracture and fall apart.

The reason fandom exists at all is because of community.

It's the community part of fandom that has helped me to heal enough to write again, but when that community dries up or no longer engages with me, then what am I to do? I've lost that community, and if I continue to engage with it and get very little (if not nothing) in return, then at that point, I'm throwing my energy into a void in hopes for a scrap of community.

It ceases to fulfill the need. It leaves me feeling lost and alone. And finding out later how much people loved a fic I wrote but that fic received very little engagement? It tells me that I'm not loved as a person within the community.

I have watched and listen to people talk about how much it hurts when the work they put in so much effort in for the community gets little to no engagement. It often pushes them to engage less, to stop writing, and watching that happen? It hurts to see.

Community requires communication. Do not treat an fanfic author like a kiosk, where you grab the story and run. Treat them like they are part of your community. By doing so, by including them, you bolster their sense of belonging and are more likely to get stories in return.

Community needs to be reciprocal. And I fear fandoms are losing that understanding of what community is. They expect and sometimes demand more, but what are they doing to support that fanfic writer or artist? Are they engaging them and uplifting them within the community? Or are they not engaging them?

If you read an author's work and love it, include them in that community by sharing your thoughts in a comment. You don't necessarily have to comment on every chapter of a longer work (Though it is so lovely some do), but to at least offer up comments here and there to be inclusive of that author.

Engagement bolsters the community bond.

The lack of engagement breaks the community bond.

And that's a sort of grief. Us writers came for community and to share our love of the fandom with others. When we fail to be included in that community, it will hurt. It's a type of rejection that people may not even realize they are doing.

Community requires communication, and for fandoms, part of that communication is comments, kudos, (and gosh, even tumblr asks).

I hope that helps give people another perspective to consider.

Think it over. Think about what you'd like to give back to the creators in your community.

And please understand, if you can only give back one or so comments? That's okay and valid, and that too builds up community.

Even little actions matter.

Never think your small action doesn't matter or that your comment or kudos doesn't matter. It does. It helps build community too.

Thanks for reading. Be safe.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[miriellesandthegiantpeach]

A Conversation | Rewrite of 8x06 Bucktommy

“You’d end up breaking my heart. And I - I don’t think I can deal with that,” Tommy looks to the ceiling, feeling the tears well at the bottom of his eyes. He blinks and looks at Buck. His brows are furrowed; his face is a mixture of disbelief and confusion. Tommy swallows, “I should go,” he whispers and heaves himself off the chair.

This can’t be happening. How did this go downhill so fast?

Buck is quick to get up and grab Tommy’s wrist as he turns his back. “Whoa whoa. Hey, what’s going on right now? What just happened? Sit back down,” Buck gently commands and pulls Tommy back to the stool and scoots his own closer so their knees are interlocked. ”This sounds a lot like a break up.”

Tommy sniffles, “it’s for the best, Evan.”

“For who? We’re happy. We have a great thing here and you want to throw it away? How does that make sense?”

”You’re not seeing me for who I am. The guy you admire? The one that ‘paved the way’ is not me. Never was,” Tommy explains.

”Okay,” Buck says and he can see where he put Tommy on a pedestal. “I’m sorry I made you out to be this gay mentor for me to idolize. You’re not. You’re my boyfriend. I still admire my boyfriend. I still think you’re confident and capable.”

”I never felt confident, I’m always feeling like a fraud.”

Buck takes a moment to let Tommy breathe, he takes Tommy’s hands in his and holds on tight. “You are confident. It takes confidence to fly like you do, to come out in his line of work, to kiss a guy who didn’t even know about his own bisexuality,” Buck laughs. “Honey, sorry to break it to you, but you are confident.”

“But this isn’t about me,” Tommy says.

”Isn’t it though? You self sabotaging in some weird way of protecting yourself,” Buck says, trying to tamp down his frustration.

Tommy looks struck, he looks like he’s about to bolt out the door. Buck hit the exact wrong nerve. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve been through it more than once. With you it’s different. You actually give me hope for a future, but if it ends, like it inevitably will, it’s going to destroy me.”

“So that’s it, huh? You just get to decide our fate and walk out of my life?” Buck asks and takes a deep breath. He can sympathize with Tommy in some sense; he felt that fear of heartbreak when he started dating again after Abby. “And you know, this isn’t my first relationship. It’s not even my first serious relationship.”

“But it’s your first with a man,” Tommy tries, but Buck scoffs.

“Why should that matter?” Buck’s voice gets low and intimate. He leans even further into Tommy’s space trying to catch his eyes. “Tommy. Why do you get to decide something that I feel? I can even say I’ve been in love before. But it wasn’t like this.” Tommy’s breath hitches. “With you, it’s easy. Easiest it’s ever been. And that’s not something I’m willing to give up on. I love you. And I’m sorry I jumped the gun asking you to move in before saying that. I don’t love you because this is my first queer relationship. I love you because you’re you. I love your patience, your attentiveness, your dry humor, your warmth, your heart. There are a lot of reasons that don’t have to do with your gender. Although I do love your rugged face and your dick,” Buck adds with a laugh and that makes Tommy smile. “If I had to bet I’d say you love me too.”

Tommy nods and breathes deep then ducks his head, focusing on Buck’s hands holding his. “I do. I’m just so scared.”

A tear falls down Tommy’s cheek and Buck reaches up to catch it on his thumb. He cups Tommy’s stubbled jaw and caresses his cheek. “Why are you breaking your own heart, baby?” Buck whispers. That makes more tears spill out. Tommy really wishes he knew.

“Can we take a step back? No moving in, no Mach speed. I can slow down. Is that what you need?”

“I-I don’t know,” Tommy says shakily. “It would help I think.”

“Okay. Then we do that. We take our time. But please do me a favor?” Tommy meets Buck’s earnest eyes with still tearful ones. “You have to trust me with your heart. We’re in this together. I’m scared too and just as invested.”

“I’ll try,” Tommy promises. “I love you.”

A beaming smile threatens to split Buck’s face in two and pulls Tommy in for a deep kiss. He stands up, still connected to Tommy’s mouth as both hands move to land on either side of his neck. They kiss like that for a few minutes with Buck standing as close as possible in between Tommy’s spread knees and bent over at an awkward angle to keep kissing him.

“I think we should skip the movie, we’re late anyway,” Buck says against Tommy’s lips. “I’m gonna take you upstairs and get you out of your head.”

“Okay,” Tommy agrees and makes a mental note of trusting that Buck knows what’s best for him. How lucky is he?

[smokescreenimusprime]

not my usual but it was too perfect to pass up and the idea was NOT leaving my head. Decided to write a snippet for @keferon's IMMACULATE Mecha Pilot Jazz AU, though apologies if the charactization is a lil funky, this is my first time writing either of these characters and double apologies for the undoubted slew of grammar and spelling errors

but that aside, I hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is It Self Sacrifice If It's Not Really You?

Despite the cacophany of the battlefield, Prowl's scream cut through it with with the ease of a freshly sharped blade through flesh and found it's home nestled into Jazz's ears.

He barely had a second to look up, hardly more than a glance, but it was all he needed to make out familiar white and black.

A Quintesson, one of the smaller but more freaky looking ones, was looming over his collapsed frame. He was pinned, his back to solid rocky walls and the Quint at his front, jamming it's tentacles into every crack of his armour they could.

He was putting up one hell of a fight, but something was wrong.

"PROWL!" he shouted, shifting his weight in preperation to bolt. "HOLD ON, I'M COMMIN-"

But the screech of the Quintesson he was currently grappling with forcefully stole his attention back, barely any warning given before it's gaping maw latched onto his mech's forearm.

It pulled, joints and plates creaking with the strain but still holding strong. It shook it's head and Jazz brought a hand up to brace against the outside of the monster, if only to stop the arm from being completely ripped out of the socket. He landed a few solid kick as it lifted him off the ground, but it's movements were still largey effortless, like his frame weighed as much as a tin can.

Prowl screamed again. This time it was louder.

Against all common (sane) sense, Jazz looked away from his enemy and toward Prowl

Some of his external plating was damaged, gouges in messy circle patterns with rivulets of blue energon sluggishly bleeding out. He seemed to be smoking too, thin curls of smoke wafting off his cables. His eyes were flickering wildly, something Jazz had grown to associate with too much damage and too little power.

All of the damage paled in comparison to where Jazz's focus was.

Now, Jazz didn't know how these guys had their mechs built, but they could hold up to some serious punishment. Their engineers seemed to keep an even more meticulous eye on any damage, and Prowler and the other's all had frames clealy meant to last.

But they were all still vulnerable at their cores.

And the Quintesson's tentacles, sparking with a terrifying yellow and red electricity, were pulling and prying right at the plating above that core.

It was starting to show some give too, a testimate to the true strength of the offending monster. Chest plating, no matter the make, didn't come off easily, intent to protect the most vulnerable parts of a pilot.

The electricity was already frying his frame, if it got a straight shot of that to his chest-

Jazz needed to do something.

Jazz needed to do something.

But what, what could he do, whatever it was it needed to be quick, he didn't have time to finish off this Quintesson, there wasn't time for finesse, he just needed to go to help to F I G H T -

Jazz readjusted the braced positioning of his legs, thanking for what was probably the thousandth time the engineers who'd made the adjustment to give him more flexibility and agility, and brought his free arm high above his head.

And brought it down.

His trapped arm creaked, the plating denting and squealing as the metal controted, sparks going flying and red error messages flashing in his vision.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

He made sure to keep his blows aimed at preciscely where he knew it was weakest and made sure to push with his legs as hard as he could, swaying side to side and focing the joint to bend in ways it had never been meant to. His movements became a dance to the orchestra of cables snapping and metal ripping and electricity cracking and his arm b r e a k i n g , the dance growing faster and more determined the louder the music played.

It felt like eternity, and the phantom sensation was disorienting. There was no pain, only uncomfortable pressure that built up and up and up, perfectly in time with the warning messages he forcefully dismissed. It was far from pleasant, but it was nothing compared to the cold burning terrified angry fight flight save him running full blast in his brain.

And with one final crack akin to lightning, he was free.

It was the furthest thing from a clean break, and to his mild surprise it didn't break at the elbow but rather a bit above it. In the second of freefall he had, he couldn't help but admire the shredded stump and mourn how he knew Ratchet was going to have his head for all the extra work.

He hit the ground in a roll and popped up running, stumbling and nearly falling face first into alien dirt at the sudden uneven weight distribution but he simply let his partial fall carry him forward until he was sprinting full speed.

With his remaining hand he grabbed the Quintesson and pulled, not letting go until it wasn't tearing into Prowl's front and instead embedded several feet in the ground. He dashed, not giving it even a moment, standing tall in front of Prowl.

The Quint got back up, enraged screeches and chitters coming out of it's mouth.

"Back off," Jazz growled back.

The Quintesson attacked, and everything became the hyperaware blur combat always became.

Dodge, dodge, punch, dodge, kick, kick, punch, dodge, jump, kick jump-

One of it's tentacles latched right onto the open stump and set a wave of electricity in.

His mech's vision went bright white, sparks exploding out even inside his cockpit and the smell of burning metal filling his nose. All the protective insulation was made useless from the direct route into the mech's systems.

Jazz jerked his arm stump back and headbutted it.

He got a tentacle to the face for his troubles, grabbers squeezing and cracking the visor. He planted his feet, one on solid ground the other on the slack of the tentacle, and pulled as hard as he could.

A decent chunk of the face came left it, not deep enough to affect any systems or his vision anymore than it was already damaged, but enough that it certainly wasn't pretty.

He kept more distance after that. Wouldn't do any good for him or Prowler if he got fried too. But the Quintesson was desperate, like a cornered animal, grabbing and clawing at anything it could gets it's tentacles on. The same gouges Prowl had began to litter his own armour as it kept making grabs, and the beastie even managing to get a few more much briefer electrical surges in.

It was obvious only one of them was going to walk away from this fight, and Jazz was not going to let it be the Quint. Prowl would kill him if he did

Finally he managed to get in a lucky shot, albeit at the cost of his feet. The Quintesson tried to get in a bite like it friend had, only to be met with the full force of Jazz's feet pressing them apart.

The teeth and other horrors might've torn through his feet but dammit if it wasn't satisfying to hear the crack as its jaw snapped and the body went limp.

The battle was still going on around them, but it was starting to wind down. A trio of bots had even started attacking the one Jazz had left behind.

The immediate area was clear, and there were more than enough bots he could shout out to for backup if he needed it.

"Prowler, you okay?" he said, though he noticed his voice had a bit of static lacing it. Maybe getting his face ripped off did more damage than he thought, or it could be lingering damage from the electricity. "Sorry it took me so long to come getcha, talk, dark and bitey kept me a bit occupied."

He wiggled his stump with a chuckle, leaning in closer. Kneeling down was difficult with the leaking hydraulic fluid and Quintesson salivia making it hard to get a solid grip, but with the current state of his visor he didn't want to risk missing anything on Prowl. To his relief, despite the extensive denting and electrical burns, Prowl's chest was thankfully uncompromised. Hopefully his mech was insulated

The electricity seemed to have done a number on his connection to the head though, the eyes were still glitching wildly and his normally expressive face seemed stuck.

"J-Jazz..." Prowl stuttered, and Jazz found himself frowning. Maybe Prowl got a bit more banged up on the inside than he thought. "You- your-"

His eyes were flickering wildly about Jazz's mech, and he could practically hear his friend's battle computer crunching away.

"Ah, don't worry bout that," he rapping his mech's chest with a fist. "This old frame's gone through worse. Nothing delicate got smashed, and I've barely got a scratch on me. Ratchet'll have me right as rain before you know it, so don't worry your pretty little head one bit."

"Speaking of, I'm gonna go find 'im," he stood back up, looking around the battlefield. "The fight's pretty much over, and I'm not sure if it's a great idea for you to be moving after all that zappy nonsense. Just sit tight and-"

"No!"

Jazz startled a bit at the sudden shout, looking back down at Prowl. The other man's mech suddenly lunged up, sitting straight and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Prowler? Is somethin wrong?"

"I will contact Ratchet," he says in a rush. "A comm message will be more efficient than searching on foot, not to mention I'll be able to tell him what to prepare for,"

Jazz raised a brow.

"Go right ahead, Prowl," he chirped despite his suspicion. He was fairly certain Prowl was hiding something from him, but prying would just make him clamp down tighter.

Prowl didn't seem like the sort to hide things from medics but...

He sat his mech down and leaned back against the wall. "You don't mind if I wait with ya, do you?"

Just to be safe.

Despite his initial assumptions, Prowl actually seemed to relax at his suggestion.

"Not at all."

[elizabethemerald]

The Infiltration

The Beginning of the New Pantheon

Masterpost

Donna Troy dialed a familiar number as she flew through the air from Mount Olympus. She could feel the weight of her coming responsibilities on her shoulders already. Zeus had chosen her to be Queen of the New Olympians. She would need a whole freak out later, but for now, she had to inform the others. 

“This is Nightwing.” Dick’s voice came through her comm, calm, curt, and ready for any crisis. Just what she needed. 

“Hey Boy Wonder.” Donna said.

“I get the feeling this isn’t a social call.” 

“Unfortunately no. I’m going to send you a list of junior leaguers, can you make sure they are waiting for me at Titans Tower? Along with any of you bats that are free.” 

“Of course, Donna. Does this have anything to do with the emergency meeting Diana just called with the rest of the League?” 

“It sure does.” 

“Got it. What should I tell the others? What should I be ready for?” 

Donna took a moment to think through what she thought would happen and how the others would react. 

“Tell your birds to polish their batarangs and prepare for an uncertain diplomatic situation.”

“Got it. I’ll round up the others and meet you at the Tower.” 

“Thanks.” Donna almost ended the call, but stopped. “And Nightwing?” 

“Yeah?” His voice was half distracted as he sought out where the other bats were currently. 

“I’m going to need your help to keep them all from falling apart.” 

“Don’t worry Donna. I’ve got your back.” 

.

Cassie was baffled by her mission. How was it that there was a group of heroes that had flown completely under the radar of the Justice League, yet had somehow earned the respect of the Olympians? Her list had a bunch of different names on it, but all had the same location. She had looked up the names in the JL systems as she flew from Olympus to the middle of nowhere Illinois. None of the people were in the database. Red Robin would be pissed if he knew. 

Even more concerning was the fact that there wasn’t even a town listed at the coordinates. Batman insisted that the League had the best satellites with the best cameras and there was nothing in the area. There weren’t even any JL calls! If there were a bunch of heroes who had been facing things that had been known to the Olympians, there should have been some calls from civilians for help right? 

She was really hoping this wasn’t some kind of weird murder-cult or unsanctioned government organization. She hated dealing with those, and for now she would be on her own. Young Justice got up to a lot of weird stuff that didn’t make it into the League reports, especially under Red Robin’s leadership, and this might top all the rest. 

Cassie landed just on the outskirts of what appeared to be a regular suburban town. Her eyebrows rose at the sign that welcomed her to Amity Park. Underneath the city’s name had previously been an older town slogan, she could still read the faded letters even though the words themselves had been removed, “The Most Haunted City in the US!” Over those faded marks was a new slogan, “A Place to Live.” Clearly the slogan had changed recently, with a real half-assed effort. 

Over top the new slogan was some graffiti in a neon green spray paint that crossed out the other words and said, “Welcome to Hell.” She supposed it only made sense for someone who would replace Hades as the lord of the Underworld to live in a place like this. She sighed to herself, switched her uniform to her more stealth focused look and crept past the city limits. 

Her feelings of concern grew when she saw what was clearly a government blockade stretching across the road into the rest of the city proper. Multiple all white vans blocked all out going traffic and the in going road was limited to a single lane. She could make out multiple government goons in tacky white suits carrying all manner of glowing green weapons; blasters, rifles, even what looked like a bazooka. 

A fence extended from the blockade and seemed to wrap around the entire city. The fence was topped with barbed wire and had strange sensors every few yards. She pulled a few wires, and connected them to the small palm computer she carried with her equipment. She might not be as techy as Red Robin and Impulse were, but she was better than Superboy, and Red Robin made sure they were all equipped to handle the basics of infiltration and espionage. 

Whatever the sensors were searching for, and it wasn’t movement, heat, radiation or anything else she could figure out on her own, they also didn’t detect her. There didn’t appear to be any cameras that she could see, so the goons were solely dependent on these sensors. This was becoming even more of a mystery, and she hadn’t even found Phantom yet. 

Cassie lifted off, flying easily over the fence to land on the other side. Both the goons at the gate and the sensors were aimed at the sky, so she had to imagine that whatever they were trying to contain was a known flier. Even if the sensors couldn’t detect her, she would have an easier time avoiding problems on the ground even if it would take longer to get around. 

She walked quickly into the mid-sized town from the outskirts and her concerns only grew. There were hardly any cars on the roads, which made perfect sense considering the road was pocked with massive craters like the town had been bombarded by meteors. The few citizens she could see hurried by as if afraid to be caught out on the streets. 

This was a city under siege, but from what? 

Also, why hadn’t the Justice League been called? 

Cassie had a bad feeling that she wouldn’t like the answer to either of those questions. 

She hurried through, her eyes peeled for any threat, as well as on the look out for the mysterious Phantom she was supposed to be making contact with. There were stores boarded up, more sensors along with loud speakers on tall poles, and posters warning the populace about a curfew. 

Cassie ducked into an alley at the sound of squealing tires. Her eyes just about bugged out of her head as a silver tank, with that same neon green detailing barreled around the corner. It took out a stop light, then without stopping carried on down to the other end of the street. The tank had what  she could only describe as a cannon on its roof, that same eerie green glow to it. 

She had fought alongside Superboy often enough that her first thought was Kryptonite, but unless there were somehow an entire city of secret Kryptonians, it didn’t make sense for them to carry weapons specifically against the Supers. She leaned out into the street to see if she could see which way it was going, or if there was any sign of what a tank like that was needed for. 

“Hey! Get out of the streets!” A voice hissed to her from the opposite alley way. 

Cassie whipped her head up. There in the opposite alley were two teenagers, desperately waving her over. She double checked that the tank had turned the corner and wasn’t in sight and she ran across to them. They pulled her away from the street into the back alley behind one of the businesses. 

She looked the two of them over once they were no longer moving. The girl was goth, with dark hair, pale skin, a leather jacket, and backpack with several plants hanging out of it. Cassie thought she might get along very well with Raven. The boy had dark skin, a ratty and stained beanie and the oldest PDA she had ever seen even if it looked modded to Hades and back. He would probably get along entirely too well with Red Robin. She would have to keep the two of them apart. 

The boy was watching back the way they had come, his PDA in his hand as he checked for any followers. The girl was watching with Cassie with the same examining glare she was used to from Batman. 

“What are you doing?” The girl snapped her question out. “We told all teenagers to stay off the streets. It's not safe with the GIW on patrol!” 

Cassie ratcheted up her mental alarm scale quite a bit. This whole town already had so many red flags it looked like a ski slope, and now she was adding even more. She set her feet and squared her shoulders. She was a member of Young Justice. She wasn’t going to let this happen. 

“I need you two to tell me everything you know. I’m called Wonder Girl and I’m with the Justice League and I’m here to help.” Cassie said, using her “Daughter of Zeus” voice that she reserved for during a crisis. Impulse always said he could hear thunder in her voice when she did that. 

“What’s the Justice League?” The boy asked, and Cassie was knocked onto her back foot. She had purposely said the main League because people sometimes looked down on YJ and TT because they were kids, but how could someone not even know about the Justice League? They were in the news almost every day for one reason or another. 

“Uh, the Justice League is a group of heroes that protect Earth? They’ve fought off alien invasions and saved lives and things like that? Because of my strength I usually help fight off meta humans who want to conquer the world or steal stuff.” 

The two teens looked completely baffled and Cassie just gave up trying to catalog the red flags in this town and just marked the whole thing as FUBAR. She would probably need the help of the rest of Young Justice to get this sorted, or maybe even the full League. 

“Well, ‘Wonder Girl’ my name’s Sam and-”

“Wait, Samantha Manson?” Cassie ignored the implied finger quotes around her hero name in her excitement that she may have just found one of the people she was looking for. 

“My name is Sam.” Sam snapped. 

Cassie ignored her clear irritation and unrolled the scroll she had been given, ice and frost cracking and flaking off as she did so. If Sam Manson was here, it made sense that she would know the other heroes the Olympians were looking for. Cassie closely examined the list she had before looking up at the boy. He didn’t look like a Jazz, or Danielle, he might be a Dan or Phantom himself, but considering his collection of tech she could see, she had a good guess of who he could be. 

“And that means, you must be Tucker Foley!” Cassie said triumphantly. 

Both of the teens now looked at her with even more wariness than before. That made sense considering what Cassie had seen, but she now had part of her mission objective in front of her. She dismissed the stealth mode on her costume, flicked her wrist to unfurl her lightning lasso and allowed some of her ‘demi-god aura’ out. 

“I am from the Justice League, and I am a hero, but I am also a daughter of Zeus, and I have been sent here on a mission from Olympus to summon the heroes of this town to come to our aid. It is only right that I assist you in any way I can from the troubles you currently face.” 

“What?” “What?”

[hofudlaus]

asgsdfdfjhgds can people stop telling me hes dead???? i know theres question marks in the post but i think it was p clearly a rhetorical question and ive answered why i think thats both not true and even if it is true that the show should still have brought him up people are acting like hed be nothing without hextech feels kinda gross tbh? like without it, without help from smart rich guy uwu, hed have just, given up and died in a ditch or something as i state In the post, he was heimerdingers assistant, he was doing shit(specifically shit to try and Help Zaun) before meeting jayce and would have continued to do shit had he not met jayce

yall are again just proving him right

why didnt we get to see viktor in the no hextech universe??? or like, at least hear about him in passing,,,, it just feels really weird that ekko and heimerdinger ask for powders help before even Considering viktors help,, like it makes sense for ekko of course, but viktor was heimerdingers Assistant And one of the people who cracked hextech the first time so i feel like its just logical,,,? they couldnt even think up an excuse for why they cant go to him? it just makes me sad,, both because im curious n wanna know what hes up to but also

viktor was right......................

[harryssyndrome]

Darkness and You | h.s

summery: a late night drive takes an unexpected turn when an handsome stranger takes his place in your passenger seat.

wc: 5.3k || 🌕🌖🌗🌘 Masterlist 🌒🌓🌔🌕

WARNING ⚠️ sexual references, mention of unprotected sex. MINORS DNI! you’re responsible for your own consumption, don’t blame me later. It’s your own choice.

Posted on: November 25th, 2024

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 || TAGLIST IS OPEN!

Surprise lovelies! The first part from serial-killer!Harry series is here and I really hope you enjoy it. 😌 let me know how was it and if you have any ideas for other parts, I just might post some more this week itself. this is my first ever try at writing 18+ stuff tho it’s not really much so I hope it didn’t suck🤭😳 REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You don’t do this. Any of this. You don’t pick up hitchhikers in the middle of the night. Especially men.

You’ve seen a lot of horror movies and you’ve heard a ton of news stories.

You’re not five. You know what you should and what you shouldn’t do. But you’ve made an array of bad choices tonight so why not continue it?

You don’t know what it was but something compelled you to pull over.

The boy with the curls and those deep green eyes, gets into the passenger seat, a grateful smile on his face. He looks sweet, to be honest.

“Oh, thank you so so much. I’ve been out here for so long. My car just gave out on me and there’s no signal in this shithole.” He says, his English accent very evident as he adjusts his seatbelt. “May I know my saviour’s name?” He asks with a smiles that shows a pair of dimples.

The air is thick with the quiet hum of the engine, and your fingers clench the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. You’re not sure if it’s the cold seeping into the car or the nervous energy building in your chest. Something about this feels surreal, like stepping into a scene you’d only watch from the safety of your couch. Yet, here you are, with a stranger in the passenger seat and an unspoken weight hanging between you.

“Uh, YN,” you reply, your voice more hesitant than you’d like. His accent catches you off guard again, so polished and charming it almost makes you forget the unease simmering below the surface. Almost.

“YN,” he repeats, letting your name roll off his tongue like he’s testing its sound. “That’s a lovely name. I’m Harry.”

Harry. It suits him somehow. Still, you can’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His curls are messy, probably from standing in the cold too long, and his coat looks worn, but there’s a warmth to him. Those green eyes, so striking, carry a sense of ease—like he’s the last person in the world you should be afraid of.

Still, you’re not stupid. Sweet smiles and dimples don’t guarantee safety.

“So… where are you headed?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral while silently calculating how far you are from the nearest gas station or town. Somewhere with people. Witnesses.

He exhales, the sound almost a laugh. “Honestly? Just anywhere away from here.” He runs a hand through his curls, shaking his head. “My car decided to betray me in the middle of nowhere. Tried to call for help, but of course, there’s no signal. Classic, right?”

You manage a small laugh, though it feels forced. Your instincts are at war—one side whispering that this guy is harmless, the other screaming at you for stopping in the first place.

“Well,” you say, trying to sound composed, “you got lucky I came by. Not a lot of cars out tonight.”

“Not a lot of kind people either,” Harry adds, his voice softer now. “I was starting to think I’d be out there all night.”

His words linger in the air, and for a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. Maybe he’s just another unlucky soul, stranded and hoping for a break. Maybe you’re overthinking this. Or maybe this is exactly how every cautionary tale starts.

“So, YN,” Harry says, breaking the silence again. His tone is light, conversational, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “What’s a girl like you doing out here at this hour? Don’t tell me you’re running away from something, too.”

The question catches you off guard, and your grip on the wheel tightens. “No,” you reply quickly, a little too defensively. “Just… a long drive. Needed to clear my head.”

He hums in acknowledgment, not pushing further, and you feel a flicker of relief. He leans back in his seat, letting his head rest against the window. For a moment, you think he’s going to drift off, but then he glances at you again, his eyes almost piercing in their intensity.

“You’ve got this look,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”

You don’t respond right away, unsure how to take that. “You’ve known me for all of five minutes,” you finally say, trying to deflect with a weak smile. “Bit of a bold assumption, don’t you think?”

He chuckles softly. “Maybe. But I’m pretty good at reading people.”

The car falls into a strange silence again, and you can feel his gaze shift back to the window. There’s something about him—something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s not just the way he talks or the way he looks at you. It’s the way he feels out of place, like he belongs in a story that hasn’t been written yet.

And for reasons you can’t explain, you let yourself keep driving.

There was some reason he can’t take his eyes off of you, almost as if you’re a rare piece of art he couldn’t help but admire.

“You always pick up handsome strangers in the middle of the night?” He teases with a cheeky smirk on his features.

You glance over at him, briefly, before focusing back on the road. The way his smirk lingers, paired with those dimples, feels both disarming and maddeningly charming. “Not usually,” you reply, your tone even, though you’re acutely aware of his gaze on you. “Just the ones who look like they’ve had a rough night.”

He laughs at that, the sound soft and warm, filling the small space of the car. “Lucky me, then,” he says, his accent turning the words into something smoother, like they carry more weight than they should. “Although, I think the luck might be yours. How often do you get to share a car with a proper English gentleman?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “English gentleman, huh? You sound like a guy who gives himself that title. Let me guess, you also drink tea at every opportunity and say ‘cheerio’ unironically?”

His hand flies to his chest in mock offense, and he lets out a dramatic gasp. “Cheerio? Absolutely not. What do you take me for, a walking British stereotype?”

“Maybe,” you shoot back, your tone playful now. “I mean, you did say your car ‘gave out,’ and who even says that anymore?”

He chuckles again, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “Fair enough. But for the record, I’m more of a coffee guy. And I don’t say ‘cheerio.’” His smirk returns, softer this time, as he adds, “I think you might be the first person to question my gentleman status, though. Most people just take one look at me and assume I’m… irresistible.”

You snort, trying to stifle your laugh. “Irresistible? You really do think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” he quips, his voice teasing but not cocky. His gaze lingers again, softer now, almost contemplative. “But I’m serious. You’ve got this… way about you. Like you’re completely unimpressed by people like me, and I can’t decide if it’s refreshing or terrifying.”

That catches you off guard, and you shift in your seat, the smile slipping from your face just a little. “People like you?”

He shrugs, the smirk still lingering but now tinged with something deeper. “You know, the ones who talk too much, crack jokes, try to charm their way through life. The ones who should be lucky just to share the same space as someone like you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, a mix of unease and flattery you’re not quite sure how to handle. You keep your eyes on the road, focusing on the distant glow of headlights in the distance. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who just met me.”

“Maybe,” he admits, leaning back in his seat and letting his gaze wander out the window. “But you can tell a lot about someone in five minutes. Like how you’ve got this look in your eyes, like you’re constantly bracing for something to go wrong.”

You freeze for just a moment, his words hitting closer to home than you’d like. “You’re imagining things,” you say quickly, brushing it off with a casualness you don’t really feel.

“Maybe I am,” he replies, his voice low and calm, like he doesn’t quite believe you but won’t push. After a moment, he adds, almost to himself, “But for some reason, I can’t stop looking at you. It’s like… you’re a puzzle, and I can’t figure out the edges.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for silence, the tension in the car shifting to something strange and unspoken. Outside, the road stretches endlessly ahead, the darkness pressing in on both sides. And for the first time since picking him up, you wonder if you’re the one being read, the layers of your carefully built armor peeling away under the weight of those deep green eyes.

Harry leans back in his seat, one hand resting casually on his knee as he studies you. His gaze, though soft, feels weighted—like he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know you were wearing. After a beat of silence, he speaks, his voice low and curious.

“Can I ask you something, YN?” he says, his tone gentle, almost disarming.

You glance at him briefly before focusing back on the road. “Sure,” you reply, though the way he says your name sends a faint chill up your spine.

“Aren’t you scared?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Picking up a male stranger in the middle of the night? Alone? I mean, you said it yourself—this isn’t exactly normal behavior.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, his words triggering the voice of reason that’s been screaming at you ever since you stopped the car. Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and you force a small laugh. “A little,” you admit, though your voice wavers slightly. “But you don’t seem like the scary type.”

Harry’s lips curl into a smile, one that’s almost too perfect—dimples and all. “Well, I promise you, I’m not some sort of serial killer,” he says lightly, his tone almost playful. “Scout’s honor.”

Something about his phrasing makes you laugh, and the tension in your chest eases—if only slightly. “Isn’t that exactly what all serial killers say in the movies?” you tease, glancing at him briefly with a raised brow.

Harry’s smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—a shadow of a thought you can’t quite catch. “Touché,” he says, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze never leaves you, as though he’s memorizing every detail of your face. “I suppose it would be the perfect cover, wouldn’t it? A smile, a little charm… make yourself seem harmless enough, and no one suspects a thing.”

The way he says it sends a ripple of unease through you, and the playful smirk he wears only deepens the strange knot in your stomach. You force yourself to stay calm, trying to brush it off. “That’s… a little creepy, don’t you think?” you reply, half-joking.

Harry chuckles softly, the sound low and almost hypnotic. “Maybe. But if I were a killer, wouldn’t I have already done something by now? You’ve got me here, alone, no witnesses. Seems like the perfect opportunity, doesn’t it?”

Your heart skips a beat, and your hands grip the wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening. His voice is still light, teasing, but there’s an undercurrent to his words that you can’t quite place. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to gauge whether he’s just messing with you or if there’s something darker lurking beneath the surface.

“And yet,” he continues, his tone softening again, “here I am, just a guy stranded on the side of the road, grateful for the kindness of a beautiful stranger.”

Your throat feels dry as you swallow hard, forcing yourself to respond. “Well, for your sake—and mine—I hope you’re telling the truth.”

He lets out another soft laugh, leaning back against the seat again. “Of course I am,” he says smoothly. But there’s something about the way he says it—like he knows more than he’s letting on. Like he’s enjoying this moment a little too much.

The road stretches on in front of you, the darkness pressing in from all sides, and for the first time, you start to wonder if stopping for Harry was the worst decision you’ve ever made. Because while his smile is charming and his voice is calm, there’s something about him that feels off. Like the quiet before a storm.

Harry shifts in his seat, his gaze flicking to you every so often, like he’s studying the curve of your profile, the way your fingers tap the wheel, the faint crease in your brow as you concentrate on the dark road ahead. The hum of the engine and the soft patter of the tires on asphalt are the only sounds filling the car now, a strange kind of peace settling between you two.

“How far’s the city?” he asks casually, breaking the quiet, his voice smooth and easy, though there’s a strange undertone to it—like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

You glance at the dashboard clock before replying, “Probably around three hours. Give or take.”

Harry lets out a soft hum, leaning back in his seat, his head tilting toward you as though drawn by some invisible force. Three hours. Three uninterrupted hours with you. It’s enough to make his heart race.

He lets the silence return, but his thoughts are anything but quiet. His mind is a storm of emotions and desires—chaotic, consuming, and entirely focused on you. There’s something about you that’s different. It’s not just the way you look, though your beauty feels like something out of a dream. It’s the way you hold yourself, the sharpness in your wit, the vulnerability you try to mask but can’t fully hide. You’re magnetic in a way he can’t explain, and the more he sits beside you, the deeper his obsession grows.

He watches the soft glow of the dashboard lights reflect off your face, highlighting your cheekbones and the curve of your jaw. He wonders what it would feel like to trace that line with his fingers. To know the softness of your skin. To see you look at him not with the occasional suspicion that flashes in your eyes but with trust. Admiration. Love.

His thoughts spiral, wild and untamed, as his gaze lingers on you. What would it take for you to see him the way he already sees you? Would you ever understand how special you are? How perfect this moment is? You were meant to find him tonight—he’s sure of it. The universe wouldn’t have aligned so perfectly otherwise.

His fingers twitch, his desire to reach out, to touch you, almost overwhelming. But no, not yet. He has time. Three hours to savor this moment, to bask in the glow of your presence, to solidify the bond he’s convinced you’re destined to share.

You’re unaware of the storm raging in his mind, the way his chest tightens with every glance at you. You think the silence is peaceful, and in a way, it is—for you. For Harry, it’s intoxicating. Maddening.

He forces himself to take a steady breath, his fingers curling into his palms as he tries to calm the fire within him. He doesn’t want to scare you, not yet. You’re like a delicate thread, and if he pulls too hard, you might snap.

So, he keeps his voice soft, his demeanor calm, though his thoughts are anything but. He smiles to himself, a small, secret smile, as he stares out the window at the endless darkness. You have no idea, he thinks, how utterly and completely you’ve captured him.

And he plans to make sure you never get away.

As the silence stretches between you, Harry's mind spirals further into chaos. He shifts again in his seat, the seatbelt digging into his chest as his thoughts race uncontrollably. His green eyes flicker to the rearview mirror and then to the empty backseat, a dark thought taking hold of him. It's ridiculous, he knows, but the image is vivid, almost too vivid to push away-the two of you tangled together in the small space, your back arching against the leather as his hands grip your hips, holding you in place.

The idea sends a heat rushing through him, and he clenches his jaw, forcing his gaze back to the road ahead. But it's no use. His thoughts keep circling back, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. The way your lips curve as you speak, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the faint scent of your perfume that fills the car—it's driving him mad. You're so close, yet just out of reach, and it's enough to make him want to explode.

He imagines it so clearly: the way you'd look beneath him, your head thrown back, your lips parted in a gasp as he claims you. The sound of his name spilling from your mouth, a mix of moans and screams that would echo in his ears forever. The thought of marking you, leaving his fingerprints, his bruises, his everything on you-it consumes him. He wants you to be his, entirely his, in every possible way. To make sure no one else could ever have you, touch you, or even think of you the way he does.

His breathing becomes shallow as the lust builds inside him, threatening to take over. His hands clench into fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms as he fights to regain control. Not yet, he tells himself. Not yet. You're driving, unaware of the wildfire burning inside him, and the last thing he wants is to ruin this perfect moment.

But his eyes betray him, flicking back to the rearview mirror, imagining again how easy it would be. The backseat seems like it was made for this-for you. He could pull you back there, coax you into his arms, and let his hands explore every inch of you. He'd take his time, memorizing the feel of your skin, the way your body reacts to his touch. You'd look so beautiful, so utterly perfect, with your cheeks flushed and your voice breaking as you beg for more.

Harry exhales sharply, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He turns his head slightly, stealing another glance at you, and it only makes things worse. The way your lips press together in concentration as you drive, the way your fingers drum softly against the steering wheel-it's enough to make him want to lose control.

He shifts again, trying to adjust himself discreetly, the tension in his body almost unbearable now. His lustful thoughts are a storm, loud and demanding, drowning out every ounce of reason he has left. He's trying to distract himself, to think of anything else, but it's no use. Every thought keeps looping back to you-your voice, your scent, your body, your everything.

You glance at him briefly, catching the flicker of something dark and unspoken in his eyes, but you brush it off as nothing. To you, he's still the stranded, grateful stranger, polite and charming, sitting quietly beside you.

But Harry's chest tightens as he fights the urge to act on the consuming need inside him. His teeth graze his bottom lip, his mind racing. He's never felt like this before— this overwhelming obsession, this uncontrollable desire. And it terrifies him. But it also excites him, in a way he can't even begin to describe.

For now, he forces himself to stay still, to keep his hands in his lap and his voice calm. But his thoughts? His thoughts are far from calm. They're filled with you, with every possible way he wants to have you. And the longer he sits beside you, the harder it becomes to stop himself from making you his. Completely, utterly, and irrevocably his.

Harry’s voice cuts through the silence, a casual curiosity in his tone that makes you glance at him briefly. “You don’t have a boyfriend yet, do you?”

You raise an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question. You keep your eyes on the road, trying to process his words. “How did you know?” you ask, voice light, though you can’t quite place the reason why it feels like an oddly personal question.

Harry shrugs slightly, a devil-may-care smile curling on his lips. “Just a guess,” he says nonchalantly. “No man in his right mind would let a gorgeous girl like you be alone at night for this long. Either that or you’ve got a terrible taste in men.”

His words hit you with an unexpected warmth. You laugh, a soft chuckle escaping your lips, trying to hide the flutter of something that rises in your chest. It feels like he’s teasing you, and yet there’s a charm in his tone, something alluring and carefree that makes it hard not to feel a little… flattered.

“Terrible taste, huh?” you reply, half-joking, your eyes flickering back to him. “Well, maybe I’ve just been too picky.”

Harry’s smirk deepens, a glint of mischief dancing in his green eyes. He leans forward slightly, his voice low, as if sharing a secret. “Maybe I can be your new boyfriend,” he suggests, his tone playful but with a teasing undertone that makes your pulse quicken. “Save you from your bad taste?”

You laugh again, this time more freely, the sound light and natural. “Oh really?” you reply, shaking your head with a mock skeptical smile. “You think you could do a better job?”

Harry’s gaze flickers to you, a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he’s sure he’s exactly what you need, even though you’re not quite sure how to respond. “I mean,” he says, his smile widening, “you wouldn’t know until you tried, would you?”

The playful banter between the two of you continues, the tension that had briefly been present starting to dissipate, replaced by a light-hearted connection that feels easy and natural. But beneath the surface of the conversation, Harry’s thoughts still swirl with that same obsessive desire. He’s enjoying the game, enjoying the way you laugh, the way your eyes twinkle when you tease him back. But deep down, he’s already picturing what it would look like if he were your boyfriend. How it would feel to have you close, to make you his—completely, entirely, and without question.

For now, though, he lets the teasing continue, enjoying the playfulness between you, and the undeniable pull he feels toward you. But he knows, deep down, that this is only the beginning. This is just the start of what’s to come. And he’s more than willing to wait for the moment when you’ll be his.

Harry’s smirk widens as you teasingly reply, “Maybe.” He can’t help it; his pulse quickens at your words. He’s always been good at reading people, but with you, everything feels like an exciting game—one he’s eager to win.

He leans in a little, his arm stretching out to rest on the console between you, positioning himself closer. His breath hitches slightly as he catches the scent of your perfume again, the warmth of your presence filling the car. He’s trying to remain casual, but he can’t help it; his thoughts are moving too fast, pulling him deeper into the haze of attraction.

“Give me some hope at least, moon flower,” he says, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “Let me know I’ve got a shot.”

His eyes never leave you as he waits for your response, and when you tease him back, saying, “Okay, you do. You have a shot at it,” Harry’s grin stretches across his face, almost too excited for his own good. It’s as if he’s won something. Something he can’t quite put into words yet, but it feels like a step toward getting closer to you.

He sits up straighter, a surge of confidence overtaking him. His gaze moves over your figure with a deliberation that makes your stomach flutter. The way his eyes drink in the details of your face, your body, makes you feel… noticed. Seen.

“That’s one hell of a boost for my ego,” Harry says, his voice dripping with a mix of playful arrogance and genuine admiration. “I’ve got a chance with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze. It’s flattering, but there’s something else in his look—something deeper, something more consuming than mere compliments. It’s as if he’s claiming you in some unspoken way. His eyes linger a little too long, and though he’s trying to be playful, there’s a certain hunger there that catches you off guard.

A part of you wants to laugh it off, but another part of you… well, another part of you can’t quite deny the effect his words have on you. The way his confidence oozes, the way he seems to have you completely captivated even when he’s just speaking casually.

You force your gaze back to the road, but the tension between you both feels different now. It’s charged, electric—filled with unspoken possibilities. Harry, however, doesn’t let up. His eyes keep studying you, as if trying to decipher every little detail about you. His lips curl into a smile that’s both triumphant and knowing.

The atmosphere in the car shifts. The lightness of the teasing still hangs in the air, but there’s a deeper layer now—one that feels almost like a promise. Harry’s made it clear: he’s not here for just a simple ride. He’s here to win your attention, your affection, to make sure you know exactly how much he wants you. And as he watches you, he knows he’s already made his mark on you in some way, whether you realize it yet or not.

The air between you thickens, charged with the energy of his words. Harry's voice lowers, almost like a secret. "This might sound crazy since I hardly know you," he says, his gaze flickering from your face to your lips, then back to your eyes. "But I really, really want to kiss you."

The intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words, sends a rush of heat to your chest.

Your heart skips a beat, then races faster than before. You know it's reckless, impulsive, but it's as if something deep inside you is responding to him, telling you to act, to do something. But before you can process the surge of emotions, your foot slams down on the brake pedal without warning.

Harry's eyes widen, his body thrown forward by the sudden stop. His hands instinctively grip the console as he stumbles against the force of the car halting.

"Jesus!" he exclaims, his voice laced with shock, his pulse spiking.

You breathe shakily, your hands still gripping the steering wheel as the car finally comes to a stop. The silence in the car is thick with anticipation. Harry's heart is racing, not just from the sudden stop, but from the way you're looking at him now-there's something different in your eyes. Something that mirrors the craving he's been feeling.

When the shock of the stop wears off, Harry turns to you, his breath coming in quick bursts. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he stares at you.

"Why the hell did you stop the car like that, love?" he asks, his voice rough, his brows furrowed in both confusion and curiosity.

Your eyes lock with his, and something shifts. The walls you'd both been playing behind-teasing, joking-begin to crumble. His question hangs in the air between you like a challenge. But then, without saying another word, you lean toward him. A glint of something darker passes over your face.

"Because I wanted to do this," you whisper, and without waiting for any further hesitation, your lips crash into his.

The kiss is immediate and intense, born out of the tension that's been building ever since he first got into the car. His lips are soft but urgent, pulling you closer. There's no room for uncertainty anymore; only the heat of the moment, the heat of his body pressing against yours, the heat of desire crackling between you both.

Harry responds eagerly, his hand reaching to cup your jaw, fingers threading into your hair as he deepens the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours. The taste of him is intoxicating, sending a pulse of warmth straight to your core. His kiss is fierce, as if he's been waiting for this moment just as much as you. His tongue brushes against yours, a soft, tantalizing pressure that makes you lose yourself in the sensation.

For a brief moment, nothing else matters-the world outside the car, the consequences, the lingering doubt. All of it fades away as you both succumb to the pull of each other, driven by something stronger than logic or reason. The kiss feels like a release, the pent-up tension from the entire ride coming to fruition in one passionate, desperate embrace.

When you finally break away, your breaths are ragged, both of you still close, your foreheads resting against each other. Your pulse is wild, your heart pounding in your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way he looks at you now-his eyes dark with desire, filled with a hunger that matches your own.

Harry grins, a satisfied, almost predatory look crossing his face. "Well... I guess I got what I wanted," he murmurs, his lips barely brushing against yours as he speaks.

But you know this isn't over. The tension between you both is only just beginning, and neither of you can walk away from it now.

“God, you’re so hot,” Harry mutters against your lips, the hand not on your face sneaking down to your thigh, his fingers gently squeezing the flesh through your jeans. He’s getting drunk on you, addicted to the feeling of your lips on his. He’s never before felt this way, it’s like something in him has snapped in half, the primal and possessive side of him awakening. He doesn’t want to let you go.

The kiss gets more heated, the sweet gestures replaced by desperate and hungry ones. Harry’s fingers dig into your thigh almost possessively, his head tilting to deepen the kiss even more.

His tongue runs over your lower lip, begging for entrance.

As soon as you grant him access his tongue immediately pushes inside your mouth, exploring every inch of your wet cavern hungrily. It’s as if he wants to devour you. His hand moves up from your thigh to your waist, pulling you closer, trying to get the most possible body contact.

“You’re driving me insane, princess…” Harry mumbles against your lips, one hand now gently gripping your chin, holding you in place. He’s practically addicted to the way your mouth feels on his, you’ve unleashed something primal in him, something he has trouble controlling.

“Your car is like.. a perfect spot for this, love,” Harry comments, his lips moving off of yours, down to your jawline. He begins kissing the skin there as he speaks, “Plenty of space… dark, private… you should park somewhere. I bet your backseats are really comfortable.”

There was no denying that he get want he wants and you’re now his… and this is just the beginning

[marysfics]

Through the Dust

Alexia Putellas x DownhillRacer!Reader

Status: Ongoing

Other Chapters: click here

This is a multichapter fic, and trust me, you’re in for one wild ride. Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Grief, Kisses, Smut.

Word count: 3.5k

Chapter 7: "Between the Words We’ve Yet to Speak"

The flight from your hometown to Barcelona felt longer than it should’ve. The anticipation, the excitement, the uncertainty—it all mingled inside you, creating a knot in your stomach. But there was something else too. Something warm and hopeful, like a part of you was being drawn to the city for the first time. You weren’t sure how much of it had to do with the place itself or with Alexia. Either way, you were on your way.

When you finally arrived in Spain, the weather was warmer than you expected, the sun shining brightly, a stark contrast to the chilly mountain air you had grown accustomed to. Alexia was waiting for you at the airport, her smile wide and genuine as soon as she spotted you among the crowd.

She was dressed casually, a soft sweater and jeans, but the way she looked at you, as if she hadn’t seen you in years, made everything around you fade. You could feel the weight of the last few weeks lift, replaced by a sense of peace that only her presence could bring.

“Hey,” she said softly as she pulled you into a hug, the scent of her perfume mixing with the fresh air. “Welcome to Barcelona.”

Your heart fluttered, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks. It’s… good to finally be here.”

“Let’s get you settled in,” Alexia said, pulling back slightly but keeping her hand on your arm. “I want to show you everything. And, if you’re up for it, maybe even let you stay at my place tonight.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at her words. “Your place?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, shrugging slightly. “You’re my guest, after all. You’ve come all this way, I should take care of you.”

Your cheeks flushed a little, unsure if it was the warmth of the city or the way she was looking at you that made you feel so nervous. But you nodded, managing to breathe out a smile. “Okay, I’d like that.”

As Alexia drove you through the vibrant streets of Barcelona, the city felt alive in a way that was hard to put into words. The sun reflected off the buildings, the hustle and bustle of the city mixing with the hum of the Spanish language, but all you could really focus on was the woman sitting beside you, her hand occasionally brushing against yours as she navigated the streets.

She took you to a small café for lunch, a cozy place tucked away in one of the quieter streets. It was here that you noticed how much Alexia loved this city. She spoke about it with such familiarity, the small details—the hidden gems, the quiet parks, the cafes where she liked to spend her afternoons. You loved how much she shared, how effortlessly she made you feel like part of it.

Afterward, she led you around the city, showing you the famous sights—the stunning architecture of La Sagrada Familia, the winding alleys of the Gothic Quarter, and the colorful mosaics of Park Güell. You walked together, talking and laughing, but there was an underlying tension between you that neither of you addressed—at least not yet.

As the sun began to set, casting an orange glow over the city, Alexia took you back to her apartment, a cozy two-bedroom flat in the heart of Barcelona. It was small but filled with warmth and character. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and the windows let in the soft golden light of the late afternoon.

“Make yourself at home,” Alexia said, showing you to the guest bedroom. It was modest but comfortable, a few simple touches here and there that made it feel personal. You placed your bag on the bed, suddenly nervous as she lingered by the door, her hand on the frame.

“Hey, I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. “But… if you’re comfortable, you can stay here. I want you to. I want you to feel like you have a place here.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you tried to form the words you’d been wanting to say. “Alexia, I… I think I want to be more than just a visitor here. I want to be with you. Not just in this city, but… I want to be with you, with everything that means.”

She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes searching yours as if she were trying to read something she wasn’t sure she understood. Finally, she smiled, though it was a little unsure, and nodded. “I want that too.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in your chest slowly easing. You reached out, your hand gently touching hers, a quiet promise between you. “Good.”

You both stood there for a moment, the weight of your words hanging between you. The air felt charged with something unspoken, something new. Alexia’s gaze softened, and without another word, she closed the space between you. Her hand moved to the back of your neck, her fingers brushing against the skin there, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could even process it, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that stole the breath from your lungs. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as if both of you were testing the waters, unsure of how deep this new connection would go. But it didn’t take long for that hesitation to fade.

Your lips moved together more firmly, and you let yourself melt into the warmth of her embrace, the reality of what you’d just confessed sinking in. It felt right—natural, even. Every doubt, every fear about this being too soon, too fast, faded as you felt her heart beat against yours. She pulled you closer, deepening the kiss just enough for the moment to stretch on, each second building more and more intimacy between you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing a little heavier, a smile tugged at the corners of Alexia’s lips. Her eyes were brighter, more alive, and you felt a surge of relief flood through you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” she whispered, her voice low and full of meaning.

Your cheeks warmed at her confession, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Me too.”

It felt like the beginning of something real, something that had always been there but was only now being fully realized. And as Alexia brushed a strand of hair from your face, you knew there was no turning back. This—whatever it was—had only just begun.

A playful glint entered your eyes as you teased her, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “So, I guess that makes you my girlfriend now, right?”

Alexia blinked, her eyes softening, then her lips curled into a grin. She stepped a little closer, her voice warm and full of affection. “I like the sound of that,” she said, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. “I’m definitely okay with that.”

You both laughed, the tension from before easing away completely as the reality of your relationship began to settle in. It felt easy, natural, and with the way Alexia’s smile made your heart flutter, you knew that this was just the beginning of something truly special.

The next day, Alexia decided to take you to her family’s house. She’d spoken about them so much, about her mother, Eli, and her younger sister, Alba, and now, you were about to meet them.

As you arrived at her family’s home, a warm and welcoming house in a quiet neighborhood, you were greeted with open arms. Eli, Alexia’s mother, was a strong woman with a welcoming smile. She immediately pulled you into a hug, making you feel as if you’d known her for years.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Eli said, her eyes kind as she held you at arm’s length. “Alexia talks about you all the time.”

You felt a slight blush creep up your neck. “She does?”

Eli chuckled softly. “Of course. You’ve made quite the impression on her.”

Alexia shot her mother a teasing look but didn’t comment, instead leading you to the living room where Alba was sitting, casually flipping through a magazine.

“Alba, this is the person I’ve been telling you about,” Alexia said, giving you a warm smile before turning to her sister.

Alba, still a little surprised, looked up at you with wide eyes. “So, you’re the one who’s made my sister act all weird and smiley?”

Alexia blushed at that, her hand brushing through her hair in a rare show of embarrassment. “Alba, come on…”

But Alba wasn’t letting it go that easily. “Seriously, I can tell. She never smiles like that unless she’s talking about something—someone—special.”

You laughed softly, feeling more at ease with Alexia’s family than you expected. But as the conversation continued, the mood shifted a little. Eli seemed to get a little quieter, her eyes going soft as she asked, “Alexia, do you ever talk about your father?”

Alexia stiffened slightly, her gaze flickering to you before back to her mother. “I do. Sometimes. Why?”

Eli’s voice was gentle as she placed a hand on Alexia’s. “I just think she’d like to know more about him. Where you come from, what shaped you.”

The conversation turned to stories about Alexia’s father, a man who had passed away years ago. You could tell how much it affected Alexia, the loss still fresh in her heart, but she shared what she could—the way he taught her how to ride a bike, how to fight for what she wanted, how to love fiercely. It was clear that, though he was gone, his memory lived on in the way Alexia carried herself.

As the conversation flowed, you could feel the weight of the memories in the room, the love and sadness mixed in Alexia’s eyes whenever she spoke about her father. She had clearly inherited his strength, his passion, and that same fire to fight for what mattered most. But there was also a soft vulnerability there, something raw, something you hadn’t seen before in Alexia.

Eli continued with the stories, sharing moments that made Alexia laugh softly, a few others that made her eyes glisten with unshed tears. She told you how Alexia’s father had always pushed her to pursue her dreams, no matter how difficult, how scary it seemed. And how, after he passed, Alexia had become the pillar of strength for their family.

"She was only a kid, but she stepped up like a grown woman," Eli said, her voice thick with emotion. "Her father would be so proud of who she’s become."

Alexia looked away for a moment, swallowing hard, her hand instinctively reaching for yours on the couch. You gently intertwined your fingers, offering her silent support, though you could sense the internal battle she was facing. She rarely spoke about her father in such depth, and it was clear that this conversation was both painful and cathartic for her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things heavy,” Alexia said, her voice softer, a little quieter than usual. She leaned into you just a little, seeking the comfort you always seemed to provide without even realizing it.

You gave her hand a gentle squeeze, offering her a reassuring smile. "It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I understand."

Eli’s eyes softened as she watched the two of you. "It’s just that… I know how much she’s been through," she said, looking at Alexia, then back at you. "But I also know she’s found something—someone—who makes her happy. And I can see it in her eyes when she looks at you."

Alba, ever the teasing younger sister, couldn’t resist. "Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes playfully. "This is the most I've ever seen my sister blush. I swear, I’ve never seen her this… well, happy, I guess."

Alexia’s face turned bright red, and she swatted at her sister, laughing. "Alba, stop! You’re making it awkward."

You chuckled along with them, the warmth of the moment easing the weight of the earlier conversation. It felt good to see Alexia, who had always been so strong and composed, letting her guard down a little, sharing her past and her emotions with you.

After a few more light-hearted exchanges, the evening took a more relaxed turn. Alexia’s mother, Eli, offered to make dinner, and the three of you—plus Alba, who kept teasing Alexia in the most endearing way—settled into the kitchen. You helped, albeit clumsily, as Alexia and Alba bantered, clearly at ease with each other.

The evening was peaceful, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. You realized that Alexia’s family, her mother, and sister, were more than just her past—they were an integral part of the person she had become. And, as you sat there, laughing over dinner, you began to feel like you were becoming part of that story too.

Later, as the evening drew to a close, and the two of you found yourselves sitting on her bed again back in her apartment, a quietness lingered between you and Alexia. The night was winding down, and the soft buzz of the city outside could be heard faintly in the background.

Alexia leaned closer to you, resting her head on your shoulder, her hand still clutching yours. The comfort of her touch, the intimacy of the moment, settled over you like a soft blanket.

"I think they like you," she whispered, her voice gentle, her fingers tracing soft patterns on your palm.

"I like them too," you replied, a small smile curling on your lips. "You’re lucky to have them."

Alexia looked up at you, her expression soft but conflicted. "Yeah, I am," she said, her voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite read. "But they’re right. My father… he’d be proud of me for having you in my life. And I want you to know that."

You felt a gentle tug at your heart as you processed her words. It was as if she was letting you into a part of her life that only a few people truly knew, and you wanted her to feel that same warmth, that same acceptance, from you.

“I think my sister would have said the same thing about me,” you replied softly, your voice steady but filled with meaning. “She always wanted me to find someone who saw me for who I really am… and I think she’d be proud of me, too, for being here with you.”

Alexia’s eyes softened at that, a quiet understanding passing between the two of you. It was in the way she looked at you, as if she could see the bond you shared with your sister, and maybe, just maybe, it helped her feel less alone with the loss of her own father.

There was something unspoken between the two of you now—this shared understanding of loss, of love, and of finding the people who would stand by you no matter what. It felt like you both had finally found that with each other, and that knowledge filled you with a quiet sense of peace.

She reached over and squeezed your hand, her touch warm and grounding. "I’m glad you’re here," she whispered, her eyes locking onto yours.

"I’m glad I’m here too," you whispered back, your heart full of something you couldn’t quite explain. But it was good. It was right.

That night, everything felt different. The quiet hum of the city outside blended with the soft rhythm of your breathing as you and Alexia sat on her bed, a magnetic pull between you both that was impossible to ignore. The tension that had been building up between you over the past few days was thick in the air, charging every touch, every glance. It was almost as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for what was about to happen.

Without a word, you closed the small distance, the space between you shrinking until there was nothing left but the weight of your hearts beating in sync. The moment felt inevitable, and it was in that split second, when everything in the world seemed to slow down, that you kissed her.

The kiss started slow, hesitant at first, but the urgency of it quickly took over. It deepened, a mix of longing and something more—something raw and powerful. Your hands found each other as if they'd always known where to go, your body pressing against hers as the kiss turned more desperate, more urgent.

When you pulled back for a moment, gasping for air, you both looked at each other. An unspoken understanding passed between you—this was real, this was happening. You could feel the heat between you, and there was no turning back now.

Alexia's eyes were soft, but full of admiration and something more, something that made your chest tighten. You could see it in her—her raw vulnerability, her need, and a quiet desire to be seen for who she truly was. You weren’t about to shy away from that.

You leaned in again, your lips capturing hers once more, this time with more intensity. As your kiss grew heavier, you felt her hands move down your body, slow and purposeful, pulling at the fabric of your shirt, eager to feel your skin. Your hands mirrored hers, tugging at the buttons of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders until the soft fabric slid down her arms, revealing the skin you had yearned to touch.

You both moved with a kind of urgency now, each of you needing the other in a way that words couldn’t express. You hovered above her as she lay back against the bed, her body yielding to the moment, her hands guiding you closer. You couldn’t help but admire the way she looked beneath you—her breath shallow, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own.

You began to knead your hands over her body, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the muscles that were a testament to her strength. She responded with a small moan, her back arching slightly as you worked your way down. When your hands reached the waistband of her pants, you felt her tense, her breath hitching in her throat. You paused, sensing the shift in her body, and pulled back slightly to look at her.

Her eyes met yours, vulnerable yet filled with trust, but there was something else in them too—something that made you hesitant. You could see the anxiety in her expression, the momentary insecurity that flashed across her face.

"Are you okay?" you whispered, your voice soft and steady, trying to read the emotions flickering across her features.

Alexia swallowed, her lips trembling just a little. "Yeah," she breathed out, her voice quieter than before. "I just... sometimes I get in my own head. About things people have said about me."

You nodded, understanding immediately. The world had been cruel to her before, making her feel less than she was, and it hurt you to see her struggle with those insecurities now. You leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"You’re beautiful," you whispered, your voice full of sincerity. "Exactly as you are."

The tension in her body eased slightly at your words, but she still looked uncertain, as if the fear of being judged was too big to ignore. You wanted to make her feel safe, wanted to make her feel like she didn’t have to be anything but herself with you.

“I’m here with you,” you murmured, your lips trailing over her jaw, down her neck. “And I want you—just as you are. No pretenses.”

Alexia’s hand found yours again, squeezing it tightly as she pulled you back to look at her. Her gaze was full of a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude, and for a moment, the world outside disappeared. It was just the two of you, with nothing else between you but the truth of what you shared.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice low, but full of certainty this time. “With you.”

And with that, you let go of all the doubts, all the insecurities. You kissed her once more, this time without hesitation, this time letting your bodies speak the words your hearts had been too scared to say before.

----------------------------------------------------------

End of chapter 7.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been trying to focus on thinking about things I enjoy about the idea of the TWST anime. And regarding overblots, I think an anime version would really help illustrate (even more) how terrifying the process is. I really like how the manga shows Riddle's OB, and I love anime as a medium, so I'm pretty hyped to see how it will be conveyed in it.

I really hope they accentuate the horror of it- I'm aware that they might not go all in w the horror like I would personally like, but the thought still excites me. What kind of music will they play? Will the animation change like it does in some animes when the characters are distressed (wobbly lines, glitchy effects)...? What sort of directions will the voice actors get? I mean, they already voiced the game, but anime gives them more room to do voice stuff. I'm really hyped for this aspect tbh...

And I'm also excited for the possibility of dubs, since I'm quite a fan of the whole dubbing world. (I know some ppl have their fears about this last possibility, but in my case even if it turns out to not be so good, I think we could still have a good time w something like that. Plus I've seen some popular eng dub actors hyped about the anime and wanting to be casted for certain characters)

I also wanted to apologize for my previous ask ᕙ⁠(⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠)⁠ᕗ I already did so in the comments, but I felt bad about doomposting on your inbox. My mind's first reaction is usually to see the negative first and become anxious, and it's something I'm working on, but it sometimes goes out of hand. But now that a bit has passed, and specially thanks to your advice, I can sit down and try to focus on the things that excite me rather than the ones that scare me. Sure, building too much expectation could backfire at the end— but as you said, we have little to no information at this point. So I think focusing on the things I'd like to see is a better usage of my time. If they turn out to disappoint me... That's something I'll worry about next year, I'll suppose. I'm still a bit anxious and scared, but there's also lots of things I'm hyped for. I'll try to take your advice and focus on those. 🫂 Sorry if my previous negativity made you uncomfortable.

[Referencing this news! Asker’s prior post here.]

I’ve seen a lot of fans speculating that the OB transformation sequences will resemble magical girl ones! While that’s a fun idea, I do feel like it makes more sense for the anime to portray OB as something scary and all-consuming, similar to how it is depicted at the end of animated dorm commercials and in the manga. For the characters experiencing them, it’s not meant to be glamorous… All that agony, the dripping ink leaking out of their orifices and dripping like blood. Overblot looks incredibly horrific, and I think that should come through in the animation—whether they change the usual style for these segments or keep it the same.

I think the anime would reuse (or maybe do remastered versions of?) the Twst soundtrack for a lot of the show. The compositions are already there, so might as well. Maybe experiencing the anime will help to make the music more memorable, since it seems the game soundtrack alone isn’t doing it for some fans.

No clue about the JP voice cast; I did see some people worrying that they could replace the game’s voice cast for the anime, but as I’ve mentioned already, that’s an unfounded claim. If the usual VAs are there, surely they won’t just reuse the already recorded lines from the game?? 😂 I’d think they’d at least have to rerecord those based on how the script and its scenes are laid out, plus additional dialogue to fill in the gaps (such as new scenes).

No confirmation of an English (or other language) dubs yet either! (Again, this is another topic related to the anime that sparks worry, but I must stress that it’s pointless to get into a tizzy about something that isn’t concrete yet.) But yes, I’ve already seen English VAs expressing interest in certain characters; Daman Mills wants to audition for Malleus, Alejandro Saab has made it known he has Twst on his radar and wants to voice Leona, etc. (The latter has done Twst dorm leader impressions for fun before; I think Mr. Saab could make for a decent Leona or even Malleus!)

Don't worry about the previous ask ^^ I think it's better that we discuss these things with one another rather than post or tweet into the void and allow those negative feelings to fester. If you want to view it in a different way, think of it like the OB boys actually getting therapy/finding someone to confide in instead of being allowed to stew in their own emotions and risking OB a second time. Sometimes all it takes is that gentle nudge or a reminder to step back and take a deep breath. When we let our emotions get the best of us, we end up thinking and acting in irrational ways, and then that can lead to people--whether yourself or others--getting hurt.

[avelera]

Something something… through Viktor’s actions we see his possible linear mental checklist of his goals in life, and those goals included eventually confessing his feelings to Jayce, but before he did he felt he needed to do other things first. Namely:

1) Make Hextech a reality - Check. Viktor and Jayce actually achieved this one by 1.04. They could continue to refine forever but you can tell they both felt a sense of accomplishment in this.

2) Give Hextech to the people - Incomplete. At the end of S1 they had the refined Hextech crystals but the full benefits of their work had not reached the masses. Nor would it/should it ever.

3) Help the Undercity - incomplete, arguably completely unaddressed or even undermined by their work. The Hexgates drew Piltover’s attention away from the Undercity, which is why it languished while Piltover looked to distant markets. Hextech materially made life worse for the Undercity, as the alternate timeline showed us.

4) Hextech innovations lead to a cure for Viktor’s disease and disability - Successful but in the most horrifying way possible, including a body count.

5) Profit - Confess his feelings to Jayce.

(Don’t get too hung up on the order here because obviously a lot of these things could happen concurrently and I don’t think Viktor is stupid he would know that Hextech innovation could take a lifetime and probably wouldn’t wait to confess to Jayce just for that endlessly moving finish line.)

BUT, joking aide, I truly DO think that Viktor is kind and empathetic at his core and he really didn’t plan to confess his feelings to Jayce until he found a cure for his disease, which would require a lot of Hextech innovation to have any hope of reaching. Literally it would take a miracle.

I think Viktor’s belief in his own inadequacy could have festered in the painful doldrums of his own rapidly advancing illness after the initial glow of making the Hexgates happen.

Any hope of finding a cure was always remote, but as his illness advanced, this is when he may have even begun to push Jayce away, knowing the inevitable was coming. He certainly wouldn’t confess feelings to someone he loved with his days so numbered.

And that’s where I think a thread of actual resentment towards Mel might have crept in. To be fair, I don’t think Viktor hated her as a person, as such, nor was he a swooning teenager wracked by petty jealousy. But I think it must have stung to have his days so numbered and have this woman who represented everything he couldn’t offer to Jayce: health, wealth, beauty, position, prestige, etc distracting his attention away during what might be Viktor’s final days.

The thing is, I think rationally Viktor didn’t say anything because again, his days were numbered and Jayce and Mel were happy and well suited and beautiful and perfect together. He had nothing to offer. And it would be cruel to drag Jayce back just so Jayce would have to mourn him even more. Then as a result, Viktor was even more consumed by trying to save his own life by a miracle, though he now had to do it more alone than he ever predicted he would have to.

But there’s that horrible catch 22. He can’t tell Jayce how he feels because he might fail and die anyway and that would be cruel to someone he loves. But if he doesn’t tell Jayce, Jayce won’t come back to his side to help him out with the research needed to maybe save it.

Then Sky dies to the Hexcore and Viktor realizes just how much he’d lost of the parts of himself he liked, the parts that cared about helping others as PART of the cure for himself, and truly just gave up on any of it. He made his peace, decided to support Jayce during the emancipation of Zaun as a sort of ambassador, and resigned himself to the fact this would be the end for him.

Well, we know what happened next. Jayce saved his life, against Viktor’s wishes, using Viktor’s now-hates innovation.

Ok so now for the part that I was trying to get to:

A newly healed Viktor now has to reevaluate his life’s work checklist. It’s a much shorter list now.

1) Save his own life - check.

2) Figure out a way to make the world a better place - check.

3) Confess to Jayce now that you’re proud of who you are both inside and outside. You are finally worthy of him. You will finally live long enough that confessing isn’t an act of cruelty. You finally have achievements that make you worthy to proposition the creator of Hextech and the man you love, who is as far as you know, currently dating the physical embodiment of perfection.

And that explains Viktor’s catwalk into the Council Chamber in 2.08. He’s decked out in Mel’s colors. He’s ready to compete. He’s perfect now. He’s found a way to save humanity from itself. He is now worthy of Jayce and in a place where he can actually offer a lifetime together.

And Jayce rejects him.

This stuns Viktor. Actually, it fully knocks him into a villain arc, because Jayce has never refused him anything before. And Viktor can’t comprehend why his checklist didn’t work. Why did becoming perfect not work?

Because Jayce didn’t need the checklist. He’d already broken up with Mel. He didn’t need Viktor to be healed or to have already saved the world or to be anything else but Jayce’s partner. Jayce would have been happier if Viktor proposed at Step 0, but Viktor thought that would be a cruelty if he didn’t have a cure yet.

But I truly think Jayce would have preferred even just a day as Viktor’s official partner if that was all they got over a decade of being held at arm’s length until “everything was perfect”.

And that’s what Viktor doesn’t understand.

And that’s what Jayce had to show him in that final act of love.

[bringthekaos]

Alrighty, here we go. Act III.

Mostly Jayce and Viktor centric, but with some wider thoughts as a whole thrown in. As usual, this is all my opinion, you’re free to disagree with me. Just don’t be a dick.

I am torn. I’m appreciative of the visuals and the JayVik crumbs (even though Christian Linke’s comments post-show have soured it to queerbait for me). But mostly I am disappointed. And I so badly didn’t want to be. I had such high hopes (and that’s probably my fault. I expected too much). They completely massacred Viktor’s character. There was such beautiful setup in season one of his background as a Zaunite living in Piltover. So much of his lived experience came from that—the oppression, the inequality, the xenophobia, the inaccessibility. It formed his opinions and his values, and that’s why he was so adamantly anti-weapon making. That’s why his number one goal was always to help the people in need down in Zaun. They showed us that he was a tinkerer and a builder, that he valued the ingenuity in machinery. They gave us that cute little boat from his childhood and the fucking Hexclaw.

Viktor was supposed to be a Zaunite champion. He was supposed to embrace Techmaturgy as a direct opposition to magic/Hextech. He was supposed to undergo his transformation into the Machine Herald of his own volition, with his own agency and bodily autonomy (yes I know it also stemmed from severe depression and one could argue that it messed with his decision-making, but still… he did that shit on his own). And there were so many opportunities to go this route in Arcane, and it would have worked!! If Viktor augmented his hand and his leg, but it cost Sky her life, he could realize the cost of magic, and turn to Tech. He could have been exiled back to Zaun, where he was supposed to be, and then the shitshow really could have unfolded—having one of Hextech’s creators now working for the other side.

And I know they had to change it so that he could be a bigger part of the overall narrative, as his original lore was rather disconnected. But there were much cleaner ways to go about it than disrespecting his entire character arc by turning him into a grimdark edgelord ethereal magic Jesus who no longer notices or even seems to care about the oppression and class warfare going on in his birthplace. Like. I’m sorry, him “curing” Salo? OG Viktor would have taken one look at a representative of the very oppression he stood against and blown him to kingdom come. (And yes, I also realize that he did it in Arcane because he was “under the influence” of the Hexcore, which only wanted to “infect more people.” But that’s another problem I have. This was never really made all that clear. And watching him go from “we will not be building weapons, that’s not why we invented Hextech/there is always a choice/we were meant to improve lives, not to take them” to making him turn human beings into weapons?? I don’t care that they tried to salvage his character by suggesting he wasn’t in control, it still undermines everything about him. And GOD, original League Vik had so much DEPTH. He was a hypocrite, he was still partly human and so he retained pieces/parts of all the things he preached against, which made him a wonderful contradiction. And he had a sense of humor and whimsy too! He enjoyed sweet milk, he cracked dry jokes and was sarcastic as fuck. He had a personality! And now he’s just… empty space man blinded by forced apathy.

And I think all of this is part of a larger problem—they wanted to use Arcane as a stepping stone to future shows, and as such, the class warfare and systemic oppression plot from season one was completely abandoned. They tried to solve it with “well they have to band together to face a bigger enemy.” Which in my personal opinion is a cheap cop out. There are always bigger fish, that doesn’t change the fact that Zaun has been living in Piltover’s filth with Piltover’s boot on their neck for generations. They’ve suffered injustices most of us can’t even comprehend. And then suddenly we’re supposed to believe they all band together to face this threat, stand side by side with their oppressors because Jayce made one speech about it? With no proof? And then all they get from the deal is one Zaunite seat on the council? And they’re okay with that? I never expected the show to solve systemic oppression, but I also didn’t expect them to abandon it this spectacularly.

The Noxus/Black Rose plot was clearly thrown in to set up future shows, and to show Netflix/investors/whoever that this massive financial investment has a future. And it destroyed the Piltover/Zaun story. I think this could have been a totally isolated story just about Piltover and Zaun, and been completely successful. In fact, I would have definitely watched future projects despite them not taking place in the setting of Arcane. And I’m not at all saying I don’t like Ambessa and Mel. I was very intrigued by the story of a warmonger like Ambessa facing her comeuppance, not just for her warmongering but for her affair with a damn MAGE. And her daughter trying desperately to break the mold her mother has set for her, while also struggling with who she is and these new, incredible powers she has. That shit is juicy as hell, and honestly should have been its own show. But throwing it into Arcane in season 2 with absolutely no hint of the Black Rose or its impending approach (beyond “the people who killed your brother don’t think the score is settled”) in season one, it just felt like the aforementioned cop out to get Piltover and Zaun to get along. And in doing so, they steamrolled Viktor to make him a bigger player in the narrative.

Did I like the final astral plane scene with Jayce and Viktor? God, yes. Is it one of the most beautiful confessions of love and eternal devotion I think I’ve ever fucking seen? Also yes. But it kinda feels like a bandaid on a bullet wound. I got the love I always knew remained between Jayce and Viktor, but I paid for it with Viktor’s entire character. Not to mention Christian Linke keeps pouring salt in the fucking wound, denouncing JayVik and “bromancing” them, and then also suggesting in one interview that Jayce and Viktor are actually fucking dead, and in another that Viktor will be back in future projects (with no mention of Jayce, which suggests that they’re turning him into Sky 2.0 and that he’s dead but Viktor isn’t). And that completely undermines the entire ending of season 2’s “intrinsically entwined/always you/in every universe.” And I know, I shouldn’t listen to this dude’s opinion on the matter, he’s not the only one making this thing, and honestly it was the easiest unfollow/mute of my life. But how hard is it to just shut the fuck up and let people enjoy things? To not comment one way or the other, let people think what they want, and rake in your millions in the process? Haven’t you ever heard of rainbow capitalism, my guy?

Ugh. I’m very sorry for being so negative, I didn’t want to be. I still love the show, and I’d still like to keep writing JayVik, even though it’s just been made near-impossible (I’m actually really glad that I never finished Oasis now, cuz I can go back to that and expand it well beyond what I originally planned cuz… it’s all I have left). I’m just mourning my cyborg wife, and the fact that goddamn SMEECH had what Viktor was supposed to. Hopefully the more time goes on, I can reconcile these changes and embrace them, cuz I love this fandom, I love this ship, and I don’t wanna lose it.

Anyway, I will still be sharing art and memes and posting analyses, because you can like a piece of media and still be critical of it.

[guccixstyless]

Intern (Pt. 6)

Author's Note: Anddd the final part of the Intern Series, I'm so glad I could finish it phew, thank you guys for reading through xx

Word Count: 2941 words

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Masterlist

***********************************************************************

The next morning, the sun streamed through the tall windows of the hotel’s buffet lounge, casting a warm glow over the spread of fresh croissants, fruit, and coffee. It was a rare morning off for the crew, and everyone had gathered around a long table, chatting, laughing, and enjoying a relaxed breakfast before their day off in Paris.

Harry sat at the table, his eyes scanning the room, waiting. His fingers absentmindedly tapped against the edge of his coffee cup as he kept looking toward the door. He didn’t have to wait long. The moment Y/N stepped into the room, his face broke into a wide grin. He couldn’t help it. He felt lighter seeing her, like a weight had been lifted, just by her presence.

The clinking of silverware, the rustle of napkins, and the faint hum of conversation created a comforting atmosphere, but his mind was far from at ease. Will you accept his feelings? Did he make it more complicated by confessing so abruptly?

Just then he saw you entering.

You walked into the room, scanning the familiar faces of the crew. Sarah, Mitch, and Jeff were already seated at the table, laughing about something you couldn’t quite hear. You hesitated for just a second, taking in the scene, before you made my way over to them.

And there he was. Harry.

You don’t know why you still felt this nervous energy around him. It was ridiculous, really. Harry had been your best friend for so long, and even though you’d been through so much recently, you should have felt more at ease around him. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? The unspoken tension that seemed to hang in the air every time you were in the same room. He had been your best friend, and now… I wasn’t sure what we were anymore.

His eyes met yours as you made your way toward the table, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. You saw the familiar warmth in his gaze, but there was something else too—a quiet anticipation, as though he were waiting for something to happen. For you to say something, for you both to fix what had been broken.

You smiled, though it didn’t feel as natural as it used to. "Morning," you said, keeping your voice light, hoping it would mask the anxiety swirling in my stomach.

"Morning," he replied, his voice warm and filled with a kind of relief that made your heart ache. "I’m glad you could join us."

You nodded, sitting down next to him, the familiar comfort of his presence making your pulse quicken in a way you hadn’t expected. You weren’t sure what it was—maybe it was the closeness, the shared history—but there was something about Harry that always seemed to pull you in, even when you tried to fight it.

You noticed how the others didn’t seem to miss a beat, chatting casually about their plans for the day. Mitch and Jeff were already talking about exploring the city, teasing Sarah about how she always wanted to shop for clothes in Paris. Sarah rolled her eyes but smiled in return, clearly used to their playful teasing.

But no matter how normal everything around seemed, you couldn’t shake the sense that there was this wall between Harry and you. It wasn’t visible, but it was there. Every time you looked at him, you saw the familiar flicker of hope in his eyes—the same hope you had been avoiding for days now.

The conversation around the table flowed, but Harry stayed quiet, his eyes finding yours every so often, as if checking if you were alright. And you could feel it, the weight of the question hanging in the air between you. Would we talk? Or would we continue to dance around the unspoken words that neither of us wanted to say?

"You’re looking a little more… relaxed today," Mitch teased, nudging you with his elbow. "What’s going on between you and Harry? You two looking like you’ve worked out your issues?"

You froze for just a moment, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you said, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably. Your eyes briefly flicked to Harry, who had that familiar sheepish grin on his face, as if he too were trying to brush off the comment.

Sarah smirked from across the table. "Oh, come on," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You two totally have something going on. I can see it."

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was forced. "You guys are impossible," you muttered, trying to avoid their teasing eyes. But deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for their distraction. It made it easier to hide the truth that had been weighing on you—the truth that you weren’t ready to face, not yet.

Jeff, ever the good sport, rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "You all know how these things go," he said with a wink. "No rush. Let’s let them figure it out on their own."

You could see the tension in Harry's shoulders, the way his hands clenched around his coffee cup as though trying to ground himself. You knew it wasn’t just about the teasing. He wanted more than just a casual conversation. He wanted us to talk. And God, you wanted to talk to him too. But the fear that had settled deep in your chest was suffocating. What if you weren’t ready to hear what he had to say?

As breakfast went on, the crew made plans to explore the city, taking advantage of the rare free day. They all seemed excited, talking about seeing the sights and enjoying the local cafés. You couldn’t blame them—Paris was beautiful, and the thought of getting away from everything for a while was tempting.

When breakfast wrapped up, everyone stood and started gathering their things. You didn’t know why, but you found yourself lingering behind, unable to shake the nagging feeling that something was going to happen today—something you weren’t quite ready for.

Harry was right next to you, walking slowly, almost as if he were waiting for you to say something. You stole a glance at him, watching as he tugged the collar of his jacket higher, his eyes lost in thought. He looked up suddenly, catching my gaze, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

"Y/N," he said quietly, his voice low but filled with something I couldn’t quite name. "You okay."

"I'm fine," you whispered, feeling the tightness in your chest.

After strolling for a bit and when everyone was at a distance, Harry finally said, "I can’t stand this anymore," he continued, his gaze intense, searching your. "I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when I’m barely holding it together. I need to know where we stand, Y/N. Are we done, or is there something left here? Because I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel something. I'll accept being just your friend too, as long as your'e in my life"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Harry," you said, your voice shaky but steady enough to make him stop in his tracks. "I miss you. I miss us. I just don't know if we're rushing."

His eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. "We don’t have to fix everything right now. I just need you to know that I’m here. I’ve always been here, Y/N. And I’m not going anywhere."

You squeezed his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding you in that moment. There was so much fear swirling inside you, but his sincerity, the softness in his gaze, was starting to break through the walls you had built.

"I keep fearing that I'm just a rebound," I said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. "I don’t want to be with you because you’re afraid of being alone."

Harry looked at you for a long moment, his thumb gently rubbing over your hand as if trying to reassure you. "I would never do that to you. This isn’t about being afraid, Y/N. It’s about knowing what I want. And what I want is you. Always you."

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to hold yourself together, but the emotions were overwhelming. "But… how do we know it’s the right time?" you whispered.

He smiled softly, stepping closer. "We don’t. But I’m willing to wait. For as long as it takes. I’ll wait for you, Y/N. You’re worth it."

Your heart swelled at his words, the wall you had been building around yourself starting to crack. "You really mean that?"

"More than anything," he said, his voice full of certainty.

You met his gaze, the truth in his eyes undeniable. For the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the man you had always known—steady, genuine, and full of love. Maybe we didn’t have all the answers. Maybe things were still complicated. But for the first time in a long while, you were ready to take a step forward. With him.

"Alright," you said, my voice barely above a whisper, "let’s try this. Together."

Harry’s smile lit up his face, his eyes brighter than you’d seen them in days. "Together," he whispered.

You pulled him in for a kiss, and he kissed you back with so much intensity and full of love, you could hear your friends whislting behind with a chorus of "I knew it!" "Finally." "I told you."

You both break the kiss with a smile and look at each other fondly.

"Can I take you on a date?" Harry asked shyly.

"I'd love that," you answered.

You both ditched the friend group and went your way.

***********************************************************************

The evening air in Paris was crisp and refreshing, the kind of cool that made you want to hold hands and pull your jacket a little tighter around you. Harry and you had decided to take a stroll through the streets of the city, away from the chaos of the concert and the noise of the hotel. The city lights twinkled like tiny stars above, casting a soft glow on the cobblestone streets. It was as if Paris itself was putting on a show just for us.

"Where to now?" Harry asked, his hand intertwinded with yours, as you walked side by side. He looked down at you with a playful glint in his eyes, his messy curls barely visible under the low light, his lips pulled into a grin.

“How about that little bakery over there?” You suggested, pointing to a shop with a window display full of colorful macarons and tempting pastries.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “Macarons, huh? Are you sure you can handle all the sweetness in one sitting?”

“Hey,” you laughed, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “I’m not the one who can't resist sugar. We both know you have a secret macaron addiction.”

He looked at you with mock offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “I am not addicted!” he insisted, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “But… since you’re offering…”

Yoy walked into the bakery, the warmth of the place immediately surrounding us. The shelves were lined with delicate pastries and neatly stacked boxes of macarons in every color imaginable. Harry’s hand found yours again, and you squeezed it, feeling the familiar rush of happiness at the simple contact.

“You go ahead and pick something,” he said with a smile, his eyes scanning the colorful treats. “I’ll just be over here, making sure I’m not eating the entire shelf of macarons.”

You nodded and went to see the options, finally you picked out a box of macarons in soft pastel shades. “These look like they’re from a fairy tale,” you said returning to Harry’s side, holding the box out for him.

His eyes widened in playful surprise. “You’re right, they’re practically magical.”

With a smirk, he plucked a pink macaron from the box, carefully inspecting it. “How about a challenge?” Harry asked, his voice low with excitement.

“Challenge?” I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of challenge?”

“If I guess your favorite flavor, you have to let me feed you the first bite,” he said with a grin, clearly proud of himself for coming up with such a clever idea.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re on, Styles. But don’t get cocky. I’m not easy to guess.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, focusing intently on the box of macarons. After a few moments of dramatic consideration, he picked one up and held it out. “This one. I think it’s your favorite. You’ve got a thing for vanilla, don’t you?”

You bit my lip, pretending to deliberate. “Vanilla? Are you sure? What makes you think that?”

Harry shrugged, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “I’ve been paying attention. You always pick the simplest, most comforting things.”

You raised an eyebrow, impressed with his reasoning. “That’s… kind of sweet, actually.”

“Well, I am sweet,” he teased, winking at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling my heart soften at his words. "Alright, fine, you got me. Vanilla is my favorite."

Harry beamed with victory, his eyes twinkling. “Told you.”

He then took the macaron, gently breaking it in half, and offered me the first bite. You leaned forward, taking a small bite, savoring the smooth, creamy filling. The sweetness was subtle but perfect, and you found myself smiling without even realizing it.

“That’s good,” you said, looking up at Harry. “You have good taste.”

His face lit up at the compliment, and he reached for another macaron. “So, do I get to try one now?” he asked, the playful edge still in his voice.

“Of course,” you replied, offering him the box. “Go ahead. Just don’t eat them all.”

“I’ll try to save some for you,” he promised, flashing me a mischievous grin before taking one of the macaron halves and biting into it.

After finishing the box of macarons, you left the bakery and continued walking through the city, Harry slipping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. The chill of the evening air didn’t seem to matter anymore, not with the warmth of his touch and the quiet, unspoken connection between us.

He stopped walking and turned to face you, his hands on my shoulders, gently pulling me closer. “I’ve always had feelings for you, Y/N. But I didn’t want to push you, not after everything. I’ve been an idiot for not telling you sooner.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at his confession. “I’ve cared about you too, Harry. Since the beginning of tour actually. But I was just scared to admit it, scared of what it would mean for us.”

Harry stepped closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Oh baby, we wasted so much time, yeah? Now let's make up for those,” he smiled softly.

You closed my eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. When you opened them again, you smiled up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “Well, if we’re going to make the most of our time, we might as well make it official.”

His eyes sparkled with excitement. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

You leaned up, brushing your lips against his lips, giving him a quick peck, then whispered in his ear. “Yeah, I’m saying ask me to be your girlfriend already, Styles”

Harry grinned, his hands pulling me into a tight embrace. "Finally," he whispered, his voice full of relief and joy. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as he spoke, like this was the most important question he could ever ask. "Will you be my girlfriend, Y/N?"

Your heart skipped a beat. The way he asked it—so raw, so vulnerable—made everything inside of you light up. You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks flushing. You had imagined this moment countless times, but hearing it from him, feeling it, made it more perfect than you could have ever dreamed.

You looked at him, the words y’d been holding in finally escaping me. "Harry... yes. Yes, I will. I want to be yours."

The relief on his face was immediate, his eyes lighting up like a thousand stars. His grin spread across his face, and he didn’t hesitate to pull you into a tight hug. You felt his warmth surrounding me, his arms strong and reassuring as he whispered in your ear, "You have no idea how happy that makes me, Y/N. I promise, I’ll never take you for granted."

You smiled, pulling back just enough to look at him. "I’m happy too, Harry. I’ve wanted this for so long."

He leaned in then, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before pulling back with a playful glint in his eyes. "Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me now."

"I think I can live with that." You laughed

As you both sat down on a bench nearby, the world around you seemed to melt away. It was just you and Harry, sharing this perfect, intimate moment together. The kind of moment you never forget. It wasn’t just a first date anymore—it was the beginning of something real, something beautiful, and it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

"I love you, Y/N," Harry murmured, his voice soft but filled with certainty.

"I love you too, Harry," you whispered back, knowing, without a doubt, that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

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Taglist: @ever-since-the-kilt @pxrrishly @jld20047 @thecraziestcrayon @emma1998sblog @lovrrysworld-ally @jackiehollanderr @sassamanda77

[xetlynn]

Can I ask for claggor x a piltover reader? She was raised in piltover and is very smart but was never ignorant to the condition of zaun and always tried her best to advocate and help the suffering people. I can imagine she would have a strong sense of guilt for loving claggor because she doesn't really understand the struggles he went through but will always try to help. <33 thank youuuu

Of course, I think I made this a little more dramatic than I meant to😭 but I hope this is good!

Arcane Imagines- Claggor

Mysterious

[arcane] [main page]

Prompt: In which reader is from Piltover and makes a friend in Zaun. Feeling guilty for liking him since she doesn't understand his struggles.

My feet achingly moved seemingly before me. My back hurt as I carried a box full of stuff from Piltover to give to a friend in the undercity.

When I was younger I was so fascinated by the people of Zaun. About the difficulties they’ve been through. My mother was always bitter about them. Going on tangents about how the people from the undercity should be more grateful since everything is better now. And whenever she does that I have to remind her of their struggles to get to this wonderful position they’ve been creating for themselves. Supporting them only pisses her off further than before. She asks what about Piltover’s struggles which is never the point of my argument. 

We’re privileged enough to never know what it’s like going without food, running water and a roof being over our heads. Most of Zaun could or still to this day can not say the same. It’s something I’ve written about in school essays, joining groups to learn more about the undercity. 

As a younger teen I snuck into Zaun, wanting to understand them better, know them rather than read about their history. Hear it from the people themselves. I won’t truly ever know their struggles but I still wish to help them. Advocate for their history and their growth as a community. Help them be one with Piltover eventually without there being discourse of if they deserve it. 

Everyone deserves happiness, love, and a life without ridiculous danger. They deserve peace as much as the next person.

I was reckless when going to Zaun. Sneaking out of my house as a teen and somehow to the undercity without being caught will forever blow my mind. The reason I kept doing it though was after I sat down in this bar. It’s called The Last Drop. I just needed a place to rest after walking for miles. 

Talking with the people there. Not really a scene a young teenager should be in but I didn’t care. I just wanted to listen to their stories. And they always enjoyed having me around. Seeing me as a niece of some sort.  Hearing the first one made me want to hear more. Hence why I kept coming back. And more recently there's a new reason.

I met a new friend. His name I still don’t know. He never properly introduced himself to me. Not by his birth given name but by the first letter. He wanted me to guess. 

It’s been 3 months and he has yet to tell me what it is. Or in his words I didn't guess good enough.

I guess his father was the owner, Vander is his name. I’ve met him a few times but I never sat up at the actual bar. Just in a corner keeping to myself before I went to adventure out into Zaun after hearing random stories.

When I met C he had started working more hours at the bar to help out since it was getting busier and busier after some time with people from the Uppercity decided the place was a hit. I guess he worked earlier shifts so that’s why we never crossed paths when I first started going there. 

C and I hit it off slowly in the beginning.  

It was a rough start since we both had different upcomings. I didn’t know what it was like to have to get my hands dirty and work for things I want or need. I’ve always just… had it. 

Talking about C’s childhood and things he went through as I had nothing bad to say except for the fact that my mother is a witch of a woman. It made me realize how weird I am for being so interested in others' lives. It made me realize I don’t have a life of my own. I want to fix people who don’t need to be fixed. They’re perfect the way they are, no matter what they went through. They don’t need me to stick up for them. I also figured out that I’m falling for a friend, who again… I don’t know the name of and we will never share a similar story. He deserves someone who understands the same livelihood he knows. Someone who can appreciate things more than I ever could.

“[Name]!” A voice shouts, shaking me from my thoughts. “C!” I grin, shimmying the box in my hands. “Is this everything?” He takes it from me with furrowed eyebrows, looking it over. “Mhm, every single thing you asked for.” I place my hands on the back of my hips, stretching to crack my back. Letting out a small sigh of relief afterwards. 

“You alright?” He asks with a chuckle, leading me into his apartment that he and his brother share. “Yeah, I definitely got my exercise in for the day.” I half-heartedly joke, shutting the door behind us and he places the box down on the counter. “What is the food for, exactly?”

When he first requested the stuff from me, he told me it was for an experiment. Not really saying much after that. A few foods and then things you can really only get in Topside. 

“To eat.” He grabs an apple and bites into it. My shoulders fall, not expecting that answer. For some reason I thought it was going to be something cooler. “Oh.” I let out a breathy laugh. “I was hungry when I was putting in that request.” He rubs his stomach sadly. 

I shake my head with a smile. “It’s okay. So can I know what this project is now?” I hop up on the barstool in his kitchen. “It’s a secret.” He says briefly, putting the food away in his counters. I frown. “Dang, keeping another thing from me, C?” I tilt my head. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes, by being a mysterious, interesting man. Don’t want you getting sick of me.” He quipped, now giving me his full attention after placing the box on the ground. I glanced down at it then back to him. “I’ll always find you interesting. Maybe even more if you just tell me your name.” I pout.

Have I mentioned that I don’t know his name? No? Yeah, don’t know it. 

“Soon.” He reaches over and messes up my hair. I smack his hand away. Attempting to fix what he did. “I hope so.” I cross my arms. 

“I wish you could guess it. You didn’t even try hard enough.” He exclaims, my jaw drops at his words. “I can’t think of anything else! It has to be some sort of crazy unique name!” I utter, throwing my hands in the air. He lets out a belly laugh, “It’s not super unique.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, jokingly annoyed. “I told you my name.” I murmur. “That’s because you’re not mysterious like me.” He purses out his lips, doing a little peace sign. “I know almost everything else about you. You are not mysterious.” I point a finger at his chest. “Really? What’s my favorite color?” 

“You tell people it’s blue but it’s actually yellow. Like dandelion yellow.” I raise my brows, making a face that expresses that he should try me. “Okay, pssh, lucky guess. Favorite food?” 

“Halibut, but only when it’s fried because you’re weird.” I tease, his eyes seem to widen at my words. “See, not so mysterious, huh?” I cross my arms. “Two things. That’s all you answered.” He walks away over to the living room. Plopping down on the couch. I stand up, rushing over to him. Bouncing on the cushion beside him. My hands holding his shoulder as I shake him. “Then ask more questions. I have the answers~” I sang out, leaning back. 

“Fine, how old am I?” He raises a brow. I put a finger on my chin, pretending like I was thinking. “21.” I simply say. “Okay, I never told you that. How’d you get that?” He scrunches his nose in confusement. I laugh. “Honestly I truly guessed that time. I’m 21 and I always figured we were the same age.” I snicker. 

“Wow, okay. Next question, how many siblings do I have?” I think back to conversations we’ve had or the time I bumped into his brother Mylo. He always talks about a girl named Powder. I want to say there’s one more though. I just can’t remember…

“... three?” I estimate. “Or two.” I perk up my posture. “Hm, it’s three. You really do listen.” He hums out. “Yeah, it’s Mylo, Powder and I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got the last one’s name.” I press my lips together, trying to rack it in my head. “Violet. She passed away when we were younger.” He sighs, I look at him through my eyelashes not wanting to make full eye contact as my heart drops.. 

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “It’s alright, [Name]. You didn’t know.” He gives me a smile. It goes silent between the both of us. “Um… can I ask how? If not I totally understand. I don’t want to push that topic.” I shake my hands at the thought of forcing him to say something he wasn’t comfortable with.

“We were doing a stupid thing in Piltover. Sneaking into someone’s house. Just trying to get a few things for our dad. Extra money in his pocket. Something exploded. The impact unfortunately killed Vi.” He seems spaced out as he tells the story. I reach out and grab his hand.

I remember when that incident happened. It was all anyone talked about for a while. An undercity child passes away in an explosion after breaking into a scientist’s home. My mom… was an ass about the situation. 

“Any more questions?” I make an effort to switch the conversation so he doesn’t get upset due to my questioning of his sister's death like the dumb idiot that I am.

He looks down at my hand that was on top of his. “Claggor.” He suddenly says. I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Claggor?” I question, was that something I had to answer? “My name.” He mutters out. 

My mouth goes into the shape of an 'o.' Claggor... An interesting name for an interesting man like him.

“Hm… cute. It fits you.” I squeeze his hand before letting go. I didn’t even notice the dusty rose color across his cheeks. He mutters out a small thanks before we continue the conversation of me knowing certain things about him.

The entire time I think back to his sister, my chest aching. They were only kids trying to help their father. Not knowing that one of them wasn’t going to make it back home. How devastating. 

“You okay, [Name]?” He sits up, turning his body to face me. I fake a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking. Sorry.” How am I supposed to be his friend if I carry guilt that has nothing to do with me? How can I like him and not be able to understand him? It’s idiotic looking. It makes me look selfish, turning other people's problems into my own. “Thinking about?” 

“Your name. How I never guessed it.” I force out a chuckle that sounds like a high pitched animal making me wince in embarrassment afterwards. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks me again. 

“I’m fine, Claggor.” His name rolls off my tongue easily. Like it was meant to be said from my lips.

“I remembered I have somewhere I need to be. My mom will kill me if I’m late. See you later?” I ask him, blinking tears away as I abruptly get up. “Um, yeah. Tomorrow?” He gets up with me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, I can’t. Family thing.” I lied. “Oh, maybe the next night? Mylo wants me to go to this party where his crush is djing. I do not want to go.” He laughs, walking me to his front door. My stomach flips, not knowing how to respond. “Maybe, I’ll let you know the day of.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Okay, okay. I don’t mean to cling. I just like spending time with you.” He smiles softly. I avoid eye contact. “Me too, Claggor.” I whisper before pulling him into an embrace. 

He lets out a small yelp of surprise before his hands slowly snake around my waist. “You’re a good friend, [Name].” He mumbles into my shoulder. Tears begin to threaten my eyes once again. “You’re a better one.” I pat his back before letting go. “See you.” I curtly wave before leaving. 

Man, I’m an idiot. 

It’s the day of the party, I haven’t left my bed since I came home after leaving Claggor’s house. My head racing with a million thoughts about how selfish and ridiculous I am. Cringing at all the conversations I’ve had with my friends about the Undercity. How incredibly obnoxious it always sounded. 

How strange I look just being this upset about everything. I wonder if Claggor thought the same about me. How strange it was that a girl was so wrapped up into his struggles. I would never want to tell him that either because I’m overthinking. I know I am. 

He’s my friend. He would tell me if I was being over the top.

Right? 

Right.

Stop it brain. 

A knock at my door echoes in my room. “Yes?” I call out, not bothering to get up. The door creaks open. “[Name] there’s someone here to see you.” A house worker tells me. I sit up, tilting my head confused on who would be here. “Um, tell them I’ll be right down.” I say, climbing out of bed. “Yes, ma’am.”

I grab my robe from my vanity, throwing it on over my pajamas. I slip my feet into my house slippers. I look like a mess but I don't care. It’s probably just a school mate to ask about some homework we have. 

I exit my room, heading down the stairs. I see Claggor and my body freezes in place. Staring down at him. Shit. I look like a mess! And that is not a school mate. 

He was looking around my home before his eyes locked with mine. His face erupts into a smile. “Just wake up or something?” He teases and my face flushes in response. “Uh- yeah, slept in.” I awkwardly chuckle, walking towards him. “How’d you know my address?” I asked him. “Also, why are you here?” 

“Well, first I bumped into one of your friends I met before. She told me you lived here. Second ouch, I can just leave if you want me to.” He points to the front door and I roll my eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I was just wondering, I was gonna come to you.” I cross my arms, and when I do his eyes flicker down to what I’m wearing.

Suddenly I’m extremely aware of how I look. My hair a mess, face puffy, and wearing a fancy robe with slippers. Weird combination. 

“I felt like when you left yesterday it was a bit… off? You seemed like you were about to cry so I thought I’d come here and maybe talk to you about that.” He fidgets with his hands, I observe his demeanor. He seemed extremely anxious. “Oh, I told you I was fine. Might’ve had something in my eye.” I shrug lying straight out of my teeth. 

“You know how I said you are not mysterious like me?” He asks. “Vaguely.” I smile but not understanding why he’s saying that. “It’s because you aren’t a mystery at all. Maybe I’m not either since you seem to know quite a bit about me. Anyways, not the point.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You don’t hide your emotions well. You’re an open book just by looking at you.” He chuckles and I tense up, feeling a little offended. He notices and sighs.

“What I mean is, when I first met you I knew you were a very empathetic person. Your emotions are what drives you to be who you are. I really enjoy that about you. I never thought someone could cry over a bug they killed until I met you.” He laughs at the memory of when we were hanging out one day at the bar and a bug was on the floor by my foot. I stomped on it and immediately felt bad. Thinking about the fact that it could’ve had a family. 

“You care so deeply for people you’ve never met. Wanting them to succeed even if it means you are risking your own happiness to do so.” He says softer than all his other words. “I hope you know that you have never upset me by asking your questions.” His eyes find mine and I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He read me like a book. He practically studied me. I don’t even know how to respond. 

“I know that’s why you got upset. My sister passing away. I don’t mind that you asked. It happened as unfortunate as it is. You didn’t know and you wanted to. Because you care.” He places a hand on my shoulder. I look down at his arm then back to his face. “Please don’t feel bad for caring.” 

My eyes begin to water and I pull him into a hug. “I don’t deserve your friendship.” I mumble into his chest. “I think you do.” He disagrees. 

“I like you, Claggor.” I told him. “Like a lot. I care for you more than anyone else I’ve ever met. I’m scared that I can’t be what you need. I want to be. Everything and more.” I confess, pulling away from him. “Did you know that? Was I not hiding that emotion well either?” I try to uplift the mood. 

“I didn’t have a clue actually.” He grins. “I like you as well. Like a lot. You are everything I need and more. I promise you that.” He pulls me back into his arms, looking down at me as I look up at him. 

He closes the distance between us, his lips landing on mine. It was a short, soft kiss but it was something I never felt before. Shivers sent down my spine. I flutter my eyelids open, both of us smiling ear to ear like giddy little kids. Taking in the moment for a few seconds.

“Does that mean you’re going to join me at this party that I’m soooo excited about?” He sarcastically asks and I giggle in response. “I guess so. I definitely need to clean myself up first though.” I motion to my hot mess of a state that I’m in. “I think you look beautiful in this. Don’t even need to worry about changing.” He jokes and I lightly hit his arm. 

“What a liar.” I fold my arms. “Hm, maybe a little. Want me to come back to pick you up?” 

“You could hang out in my room while I get ready. Maybe choose my outfit?” I propose and his eyes light up. “Yeah, let’s go.” He happily responds. 

[sunliights]

“that’s not…” if it was what they really believed then hannah wasn’t sure there was anything that she could say to change their mind about it. she hoped they’d realise that meant she didn’t suddenly stop caring about them even after they broke up. once they set her down, she moved to get herself comfortable up leaning against the pillows. “i guess so.” she knew they probably felt a little stuck and unsure right now, which made sense. this was pretty uncharted territory. “i’ll get changed in a bit, not sure i’m ready to face the art of taking pants off. at least i won’t need to put them back on, yet.” however, that didn’t really help daxton and how they should fill their time. maybe she should’ve made them just put her on the couch. shrugging slightly, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask them to stay. “take a seat,” she murmured, patting a space on the bed.

as much as daxton wanted to believe what she was saying was true, they simply couldn't. they could probably count on one hand the amount of people that had turned up for them. people that they had managed to push away either due to their addiction or attempting to protect themself from being hurt. "i'm not so sure about that. i've made it pretty hard for people to want to care." reaching her bedroom, they made their way towards the all too familiar bed and gently placed her down. "i guess that tells you all you need to know about why i turned up at the hospital when they called." dax's voice was soft as they looked down at her, unsure of what to do next, "can i get you anything?" it was a question she was surely sick of being asked but they were there to help out. "i could get you water or your medication? change of clothes from your drawer?"

[welldonekhushi]

"Separation" | PART I

WHAT IF: Instead of Jane, Vasili was kept under the Separation Drug?

To understand this plot even better, read Vasili's lore in the Black Ops 6!

Summary: Vasili Sokolov, formerly known as Bell, is held hostage in the Rook after going rogue, and gets tested under the Separation drug. He then reveals his reasons that made him join the Pantheon, their ultimate plan.. and somehow, a long-ongoing grudge.

Warnings: Just some potential BO6 spoilers? For those who still haven't played the game yet, and some profanity.

Note: Italic texts represent Troy and the rest communicating with Vasili. Red texts represent Vasili's alter ego trying to break the control of the drug in his system. And I'm only afraid that it didn't turn out to be how I expected it to be, but I tried my best to make it simple so I hope you understand.

[A distant voice was heard in the void.]

Marshall: Vasili.. do you hear me?

Vasili: What.. what's going on?

Marshall: It's Troy. I'm going to ask you some questions.

Vasili: What did you do to me?

Marshall: Adler calls it 'Separation'. Just relax.

Vasili: Is this some lame trick?

Marshall: Believe us. We really need you right now, Vince.

Marshall: Tell us about everything. We're all ears.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The screen fades to black before a surreal image emerges through the scene. Vasili waking in a fractured, void-like realm. The atmosphere is chaotic, with fragmented platforms suspended in the abyss, shattered buildings, and distorted surroundings drifting aimlessly in the darkness.

Marshall's voice echoes through the desolation. "This is your true self, separated out from the rest. We need your help, Vasili."

"There's a bioweapon. And someone is planning to unleash it through some kind of attack. Can you tell me about it?"

Vasili hesitates, his voice uncertain. "I can try. But, I would never do something like that.."

Marshall presses gently. "Where are you right now?"

Vasili's mind flickered. "I'm home."

Vasili’s gaze fixed onto his old home in the distance, its facade fractured, yet hauntingly familiar. Carefully, he stepped across the unstable, crumbling platforms. Reaching the warped doorstep, he hesitated before gently pushing the door open. The hinges groaned, and beyond, his childhood room unfolded, a snapshot frozen in time.

Standing at its center was a younger version of himself, wide-eyed and unscarred by the burdens of the future.

There, he saw her. Eva, his mother entering the room. She smiled as she pulled his younger self into a warm embrace, a quiet moment of love frozen in time.

Vasili’s throat tightened, his voice barely a whisper trying not to break. "Mama."

"I was so happy, but—" Vasili’s attention was drawn to a glowing mirror in the corner of the room, its light calling him to uncover the truth. He moved toward it, his hands reaching out, ready to touch the surface.. until something stopped him.

The older man watched the heartfelt moment unfold, one that brought him an unexpected sense of comfort and delight, free from the burdens and worries of the world. He seemed.. truly happy, and it made Vasili want to hold onto this one, single moment forever. The figures disappeared in thin air, signifying they were all just memories. Even if they had gone distant.

"Stop it, Mama!" Little Vasili was getting tickled by his mother, playfully.

Vasili's eyes widened in fear as he saw a hand grapple his arm, turning around to see his younger self, staring back at him with an unsettling awareness. The child's eyes, once innocent, now darkened to a tar-like black, twisted with a wicked smile. The distorted, yet mature voice that followed sent a chill down his spine.

"Welcome back, Vasili."

Suddenly, the reality before him began to fracture. Cracks splintered through the air, distorting the scene as the floor beneath his feet shattered. In an instant, Vasili held onto his younger self's arm, but instead he let him go, the ground giving way and sending him hurtling into the endless void below, shrouding him in the darkness along with a shrill silence.

"But then?" Troy's voice cut through the stillness, steady and probing. "What even drove you to do all those disastrous things?"

"Revenge."

"No.. not revenge!" Vasili’s voice trembled, a mix of defiance and uncertainty. "There is still so much that I don't understand."

He wakes up with a sharp inhale, and coughed for air, finding himself on another fractured platform, the impact jarring him. Around him, new fragments emerge, which were the pieces of his old life. A KGB dossier drifts past, along with broken picture frames and faded documents. He steadies himself and presses forward.

"I need to go to work.. maybe I’ll find answers where it all began."

The fragmented world twists again, forming the skeletal outline of the KGB headquarters. Vasili steps inside, the dim corridors feeling strangely alive. The faint whispers of his past missions echo in the shadows, and mannequin-like figures of agents stand frozen in eerie poses, their hollow gazes following his every move.

"It was my passion and dream to join the KGB. All my education and efforts are devoted to this very day.. to see myself as a Major."

"Do you see anyone familiar?"

"I need.. I need to find Belikov," Vasili muttered, his voice strained. "I have to know if he's okay.."

"Why do you even care for him?"

"He's my friend."

"Belikov and you were together?"

"Since the beginning. When I joined the KGB."

Vasili moved through mannequin-like agents, their lifeless poses adding to his growing unease. His search for Belikov felt futile, but he pressed on.

"You're getting away from the topic, Vincent!" Woods's voice rang sharply in his mind.

"You don't know anything!" Vasili shot back, his frustration boiling over. Even if he was straying from the topic, he needed to believe he wasn’t alone in this broken reality. There among the figures, he finally met his eyes with that one familiar presence, that relieved him from his fear, waving at him.

"Vasya!" Belikov's cheerful voice rang into his ears. The man sighed in relief, approached him at full speed, grabbing his shoulders.

"Dima.." Vasili scanned the man before him, searching his face, his posture — anything to confirm if it was truly Belikov or just another cruel illusion.

"I was just looking for you, and oh! Anton Charkov's waiting for you in his office," Belikov said with a casual tone.

"What? Did something happen? Or was it one of your mishaps?" Vasili asked, his suspicion lingering.

"What? Not at all!" Belikov chuckled. "But... he looked serious. Not disappointed, though. You should check on him."

"Alright. And you? Where are you headed?"

"President Gorbachev is waiting for me upstairs. I need to get there soon, but I thought I’d inform you about Charkov’s message first."

"Alright, I’ll catch you later." Belikov squeezes Vasili’s shoulder, before disappearing into the shadows. Vasili watches him go, the unease starting to creep within him. The warmth of the encounter feels too real to be a fabrication, yet too perfect to trust.

"General Charkov.. he announced my retirement request," Vasili murmured to himself, his voice heavy as he pieced together the fragments of his distorted reality.

"Charkov was then murdered by poison when you left." Woods’s voice interjected, sharp and cutting. "Then they thought you had murdered him."

Vasili, now outside the headquarters, clutched the documents Charkov had handed him after relieving him of duty. His steps slowed as a memory surfaced. "But I saw something before I left."

"What did you see?"

The reality around Vasili shifted into slow motion, each step dragging as if time itself had fractured. He passed by a figure, their presence pulling at his focus. Something about them felt familiar, almost tangible. Vasili slowed, his gaze narrowing as he tried to make out their face.

But no matter how hard he looked, the face remained blurred, as if the very memory refused to take form. It was an agonizing blank, teasing him with a truth just out of reach, and it walked away from Vasili, the man still staring at him.

PAUSE.

"Your only enemy."

"I missed it. I need to think about it again."

Reality rewound itself, pulling Vasili back to the exact moment he had passed the agent before leaving the headquarters. Time dragged, each detail sharpening as the blurred face began to take form.

It took a few agonizing seconds before recognition began to creep in. The features slowly emerged from the haze, piece by piece, like a puzzle assembling itself in his mind. The surrounding sounds warped and distorted, rising in a chaotic crescendo as the image finally came into focus, the truth staring back at him. The face was blurred out but the prime features of the man reflected to him.

Those gold shades. That scar on his left face.

"I knew him." Vasili spoke gruffly, as the vision around him erased in front of him. "My enemy."

"Whose him?" Troy asked the man, curiously. "Who was your enemy?"

Suddenly, a sharp ring of a bell echoed behind him. Vasili turned, his breath hitching as he came face-to-face with another version of himself. He knew those eyes, black as tar — and that cracked, distorted face.

"Why do you even care, Marshall? He was never cooperating with you, but me."

(a rough sketch, appearance of Vasili's alter ego formed during the Separation drug)

"Fuck!" Vasili’s head throbbed, hearing the same sharp ringing of the bell again as all of his memories surged, which started to drag him forcefully to a stretcher beneath a glaring surgical lamp. The harsh light stung his eyes, turning away from it as his vision blinded.

"Don't you remember what they did to you?" The voice of Vasili's alter ego cut through the silence. He paced himself around the stretcher. He blinked, the safehouse coming into focus. This wasn’t the Rook at all, and he was certain of that.

"I need to give them answers!" Vasili protested, but his alter ego loomed over him, its presence unyielding.

"It's only a matter of time before you break free from this drug, Vasili." He moves closer to Vasili, tilting his head as he smiles. "And I'll be back in control." The entity dissolved in thin air, as the bell sharply rings in the background again. Vasili gets up from the stretcher, seeing a distorted reality ahead of him when he steps out of the safehouse.

"Think harder, Vasili. How is it that you don't remember anything again?" Woods's voice spoke to him.

"As they said, I was always a tool," Vasili muttered, bitterness edging into his words as he rants.

"Is the MK-Ultra still in effect?" Woods asked.

"It always has." Vasili croaked, escaping the room with the help of a ladder in front of him. "Couldn't even guess if it's really me, or someone else."

Reaching the end of the ladder, Vasili had finally reached outside of the safehouse, seeing all the fragmented, distorted and broken elements scattered around his reality.

"Try however you want. You'd never find any answers."

"As if I'd never try, mudak." Vasili growled at his alter ego, whose mocking gestures cut deep. He suddenly froze, the scene drastically shifting around him. The air grew thick as reality itself began to warp, distorting around Vasili like liquid. One moment, he was in a fractured, floating realm. The next, he was pulled through a dark tunnel, his surroundings flickering between his crumbling childhood home and empty voids. Time and space warped, creating a disorienting blur of broken moments. The world seemed to shift at will, leaving Vasili struggling to grasp what was real.

The world continued to twist and fracture around Vasili, as though each step was a battle to keep his footing. Amid the chaos, a massive laboratory door loomed ahead.. cold, foreboding yet painfully familiar. It felt like a door from another life, one that could offer answers or more confusion. Below him, on the ground, sat a small chest. Kneeling down, his hands shaking, he opened it carefully, revealing a letter tucked inside. The paper was old, its edges frayed, as if it had been waiting for him to discover it all this time.

"After my retirement, Perseus brought me in." Vasili murmured. "He wanted to guide my career, offering me a higher position within his faction."

He pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the hallway of the Perseus stronghold, its emptiness echoing around him, bringing him a feeling of unease.

"My life was about to change.." Vasili continued, his tone heavy with regret. "Hoping I had another reason to serve my people." He paused, bitterness creeping in as he started to hear echoey voices of the past.

A voice echoed in the background. "But I have other plans for you. Perseus thinks too highly of you."

"But who knew I was serving my loyalty.. all this time for a bunch of snakes."

"I don't want the competition."

Vasili spun around, but before he could actually act upon, it was too late. Arash Kadivar stood behind him, gun aimed with deadly precision. The shot rang out, and Vasili groaned in pain — realising that he had never hit the bullet. He was all normal in one piece, but then all his surroundings started to explode and destroy itself, as the man started to escape the facility, breaking in through doors through doors, as the voices flooded his ears.

"Comrades.. The United States and its allies slowly consume that which is dear to us."

Perseus’ voice reverberated in Vasili’s mind like a haunting refrain, the words spilling from his own lips as they mingled with the deafening roar of explosions tearing through the facility. Each step forward felt like a battle for survival as he searched desperately for an escape route amidst the chaos.

“Marshall, we’re losing him!” Woods’ voice cut through the cacophony, strained and urgent.

“Once we control the Greenlight arsenal, we will detonate them all from the safety of Solovetsky.” Perseus’ vow lingered, a specter of the mission that had led them all here.

"Stay.. out from my head!" Bursting through the final set of doors, Vasili was met with a startling vision. Perseus, in it's distorted form stood ahead, standing in front of him from a distance. Without hesitation, Vasili charged forward, forcing his way through the oppressive, crumbling reality around him.

He stumbled out into the open, his chest heaving as he collapsed to his knees. Gasping for air, he coughed, each breath ragged and desperate after the chaos he had just endured. Then, a change. He paused, realizing the air around him had shifted—it was fresh, clean, and pure, unlike anything he had felt in what seemed like an eternity.

Vasili lifted his face slightly. The sunlight struck his face, a harsh yet liberating contrast to the suffocating smoke inside.

"Vasili, are you alright?" Marshall asked, concerningly.

Vasili had gone still for a while, admiring the fresh Arctic breeze filled his lungs, and for a brief moment, he felt a sense of freedom he had always longed for. But as he took it all in, his eyes caught a faintly glowing mirror at the end of the cliff. The same mirror he saw back in his room. He could feel it.. the mirror was about to reveal the truth.

"I can finally know the truth. It's in front of me."

Marshall and Woods were eager to know about what Vasili had for him in store, despite the distractions — and his own anger and past trauma, coming in between. Vasili could reach his hand over the surface, until..

“Heroes have to make sacrifices. That’s why I’m asking you for one more, Bell.”

The voice froze him in place, sharp and unrelenting. Vasili turned, his breath hitching as realization dawned. Standing before him, was a figure — with the same shades, and scar on his face. The figure illuminated by the sunlight, revealing it to be Russell Adler. His heart raced, each beat pounding louder than the explosions behind him. Panic gripped him, and his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Adler..” He whispered, the name holding disbelief and dread. “Don’t do this.”

“Adler? Was this all about him? Vasili—Vasili, calm down!” Marshall’s voice broke through, but Vasili barely heard him. He shook violently, his mind dragged back to the moment that had shattered his world.

“Woods, we need to stabilize him!”

“Please..” Vasili begged, his voice cracking with desperation. “I beg of you—don’t.”

Adler’s expression hardened. “I’m sorry, Bell. But it was never personal.”

The gunshot rang out, splitting the air with an unbearable finality. Vasili flinched, ducking instinctively as the sound left his ears ringing painfully. For a brief, harrowing moment, he braced for the impact—but none came.

Vasili opened his eyes slowly, his breath still unsteady, and what he saw made him freeze in disbelief.

There, before him, stood Bell. Who saved him from getting shot under the agent's hands. Bell had Adler lifted by the neck, his feet dangling helplessly in the air as he gasped for breath. "Bell?!" Vasili shouted.

“I thought you wouldn’t do the expected.” Bell said, his voice cold and unrecognizable, laced with fury. “So I interfered.” His glare bored into Adler, seething with the weight of betrayal and anguish. “You’ll finally know what it feels like to be in our place, you monster.”

Bell turned his gaze to Vasili, his expression unreadable, a mix of determination and something far more unsettling. “We’ve got a job to do.” He declared, his voice ringing with finality.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing bell tone echoed through the air, as Bell and Adler flickered unnaturally, glitching away from existence before vanishing altogether. The cold Arctic air filled the void they left behind, leaving Vasili standing alone, stunned and silent.

"Adler.." Vasili murmured, his voice barely audible, the weight of realization sinking in. "He's gone. Bell took him away."

"What are you going to do?" Marshall asked him.

Due to the transmission, a fractured dimension began to take shape, where Bell had escaped with Adler.

Behind him, the mirror’s glow intensified, beckoning Vasili to step through the portal, promising to reveal the full truth about the Pantheon. Yet, something held him back. A sense of unease settled within him, and he hesitated. The pull was undeniable, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of conflict, the growing reluctance to face what lay beyond.

To be continued?

[lachencha]

Cien Años: Anya Mouthwashing x Reader

Please enjoy! I hope you guys like it!

Warnings?: Anya kinda having a breakdown, and death :(

I remember when I first met you. We were both in college. I remember when you first passed by me, our eyes met, and you still passed with no regard. But for some reason, in that moment, I found myself drawn to you. Though you didn't see me, I saw you. Though you didn't hear me, I heard you. I thought it was just a crush, but I would've never possibly thought that you would become the sun of my life.

You remember sitting at the same table as her in your anatomy lab. She didn't really talk to you unless it was to ask a question or pass along whatever unit you were studying. But then again, you never made much of an effort to talk to her either. Still, no matter what, you both sat next to each other every lab, a quiet, unremarkable duo. And that was that—or so you thought.

Then the new semester began, and there she was again, in another class with you.

There was no way you could talk to her, you told yourself. No way.

It started with a small conversation—just a casual exchange, the kind you could've had with anyone else. But none of them were her. None of them were Anya.

You soon found her to be ambitious, focused. She knew she wanted to be a doctor, and she'd known since she became a CNA at sixteen. That's when she realized she wanted to help people—anyone, everyone. You admired her for her determination, her heart, and her resilience. You admired her for simply being her.

And that's how it started.

You became friends, meeting at the library to study, sneaking snacks in your bags, and finding the farthest corner where no one would bother you. You tried to stay quiet, when you were together, everything was funny. You almost got kicked out twice before realizing that maybe studying in the dorm rooms was a better option.

Even though your majors were different, studying with her became something to look forward to. Just having someone to keep you on track felt like enough, but you soon found yourself getting distracted.

It was the way she adjusted her glasses. The way she frowned ever so slightly when she lost her page. The way she teased you when she caught you staring. She was mesmerizing. She made you feel things you'd never felt before, things no past girlfriend or boyfriend had ever stirred in you.

She was everywhere—living full-time in your thoughts and your heart. No matter what you did, you always found a way back to her.

With Anya in your life, it felt like there could never be more rainy days. Her smile being enough to pull the sun from the clouds, making everyday a sunny day.

And somewhere along the way, you realized you were falling for her. Desperately. Completely.

You'd never expected it, not on the first day you saw her. You didn't sense it coming. But now it consumed you.

You thought you hid it well. You were sure she hadn't noticed. Anya was always focused—engrossed in her books, attentive in class. There was no way she'd caught on.

But she had.

You weren't as subtle as you thought. The way you tried to brush her hand. The way you laughed and immediately looked to see if she was laughing too. It was written all over you.

And she called you out on it one night.

The glow of the laptop cast soft, shifting light across your faces as the movie played on. You hadn't said a single word in ten minutes. Your gaze kept drifting—no, pulling—to her. The flutter of her lashes, the curve of her cheek, the way her hand rested just a breath away from yours on the blanket.

She adjusts her position, her shoulder brushing yours, and whispers teasingly, "You're not even watching."

Her voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you realized she caught you mid-stare.

Your breath hitched. You could've denied it. Maybe you should have. But there was no point.

She turned slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to face you, the movie forgotten. "If you're going to keep looking at me like that," she murmured, her voice low and steady, "you might as well just go for it."

Your heart pounded. The scent of her strawberry shampoo filled your senses, and every nerve in your body screamed at you to close the gap.

When you finally kissed her, it was everything you imagined—and more.

It felt like the world stopped spinning, like a weight you didn't realize you carried had been lifted. It was a moment you knew you'd never forget.

That was your first kiss. And every time you think of it, you can't help but smile.

After that, you were hers, and she was yours.

It wasn't a fantasy anymore. It was real. And it was everything.

We started off as friends but we were both aware that we could be more. It started with one kiss. One kiss and my life began to feel like a never ending dream. Because with you in my life, there are no rainy days, with your kisses you have erased the scars in my heart. With you, there are no more lonely nights, and they are once again wonderful, knowing that I get to hold you close, and wake up each morning with you.

"When we graduate, where would you want to live? I think I'd want to live in the suburbs," Anya murmurs, shifting closer to you."It's quieter and way better for driving. The apartment is nice, but do you really want to keep hearing our drunk-ass neighbors every night?"

You chuckle and lean your head against hers. "I think I'd like the suburbs too, but wouldn't we still have to drive a lot just to get to work?" You try to calculate the drive times in your head, but her warmth against you makes it hard to focus.

Anya lets out a little laugh, "Yeah, but don't you remember that time we went to that pumpkin patch?"

"The one near Martin County?"

She nods, her face lighting up. "Yes! That one!"

A smile tugs at your lips as you watch her talk about how much she loved that little town. Her eyes shine with excitement, and you can't help but feel your chest tighten. It's in these quiet, unassuming moments that makes you realize just how much you love her. Waking up next to her every morning feels like a gift. Even when she accidentally kicks you awake because she's running late, or when her alarm blares three times before she finally turns it off.

With graduation looming, the two of you spend so much time talking about the future. Right now, it's one of many conversations: Where should you live? What kind of house should you buy? How many pets should you adopt? The questions pile up, but none of it feels overwhelming. With her, the future doesn't feel scary—it feels like something to look forward to.

Whether it's the good or the bad, you love every single part of her. When she almost burned down the kitchen trying to microwave something wrapped in foil. When she was thirty minutes late picking you up from work but made it up to you with your favorite coffee. When she stayed up all night to help you with that essay you couldn't finish. When she cut up fruit for you on a bad day because she knew you needed comfort.

You look at her now, rambling about the pumpkin patch, and you can't help but interrupt.

"I love you, Anya."

She blinks, caught off guard, her lips parting slightly. "Where did that come from?"

You shrug, a soft laugh slipping out. "I don't know. I just wanted to tell you."

Her cheeks flush, but she quickly smirks and lightly slaps your chest. "Don't do that! You scared me for a second."

You laugh and pull her closer, burying your face in her neck as you pepper her skin with kisses. She's laughing too, her hands weakly pushing against you.

Moments like this make everything else fade away. Whatever happens next, you know one thing for certain: you're the luckiest person in the world to love her and be loved by her.

Along with your kisses, give me your sorrows, your sighs, give me your pain. Let me wipe your tears. I'll remind you of your strength, and lift you up when you are low. Because the foundation of our love is stronger than any challenge life throws at us.

"I didn't make it in."

Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper, as she grips the rejection letter, crumpling it in trembling hands.

Your heart shatters at the sight of her tears. Without a second thought, you pull her into your arms, her body collapsing against yours as she sobs. She clings to you like you're the only thing holding her together, her cries muffled against your shoulder. You gently rub circles into her back, hoping it might soothe the ache you know you can't take away.

"It's my second rejection," she chokes out, her words jagged. "I—I can't take the test for another year. What am I going to do?" Her tears fall harder now, streaking her face as despair overtakes her.

You cup her face in your hands, brushing your thumbs across her wet cheeks. "Anya, it's going to be okay. The MCAT is one of the hardest tests in the world—"

She jerks away, shaking her head as fresh tears spill over. "But I worked so hard! Hours, days, weeks! I thought I had it this time! I wasn't even close." Her voice cracks, rising with every word. "How can I be so stupid?" She buries her face in her hands, her words muffled but sharp. "They're going to bar me from taking it because I'm a fucking idiot!"

"Anya, stop—"

"Five more attempts." Her voice drops to a whisper, full of fear and self-loathing. "That's all I have left."

You reach for her hands, gently pulling them away from her face, your heart aching as her shoulders shake. "Anya, listen to me. You're not stupid. You're brilliant. You've worked so hard, and I know how much this means to you. Don't let this stop you. You can try again, and I'll be right here to help you through it. Every step of the way."

Her wide, tear-filled eyes search yours. "You don't think I'm stupid?" she hiccups, her voice trembling.

"I would never think that," you say softly, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "You're the smartest, most determined person I know. And I know you can make your dreams come true. I believe in you, Anya, and I'll do everything I can to help you."

Her lip quivers, and she nods, finally letting herself melt into your arms again. She buries her face in your chest, her sobs quieter now as you hold her close, cradling her with all the love you can give.

You had me so accustomed to your love, that the biggest challenge for me were the months that I had to be away from you, your hugs, and your kisses. Waiting at home like an abandoned puppy, wishing for you to come back home already.

"I need to talk to you."

You look up from your plate, signaling that she's got your attention.

"I got a job interview." She murmurs, pushing her food around with her fork.

You immediately sense something is off, but you try to mask it.

"That's great! But... what's wrong with the job you have now?"

"Nothing. But this company offers nursing classes. I could train to be a nurse there."

Your brows furrow. "What company?"

She hesitates, then barely gets the words out. "The Pony Express."

You pause mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air. "Wait, isn't that the company that does shipments in space?"

She slowly nods.

"You're not thinking of getting on one of those ships, right?"

Her eyes dart away.

"Anya."

"Shipments only take a few months," she says quickly. "The money is supposed to be pretty good."

"Anya."

"I'll be gone for a little while, but with that check, you wouldn't have to work so much. We could finally get a house together. I could finally—" her voice cracks, "I could finally be something."

You set your fork down and lean back, rubbing the bridge of your nose. "You don't have to—"

"I do!" she snaps, tears spilling over. "Do you think I like being stuck here? Stuck in this same place, day after day, while you go to work with a purpose and I—" She swallows hard. "I can't do it anymore. I need this."

Her words cut deep, and you know she's not wrong, you know it's been killing her. Still, the thought of her being out there, alone, on one of those ships...

"Anya, it's dangerous. You've heard the stories about what can go wrong out there. It's not worth the risk."

"I don't care." Her voice softens, breaking apart. "For once in my life, I want to feel like I'm going somewhere."

You sigh, your shoulders slumping. As much as you hate the idea, as much as it twists in your gut, you can see it in her eyes—this is something she has to do.

"Are you mad at me?" she asks, her voice small.

You shake your head, barely meeting her gaze. "No. I just—" The words catch in your throat, but you push them out. "If this is what you want to do... I'm not going to stop you. I'll support you. No matter what."

She reaches across the table and takes your hand. "Thank you."

Her smile is fragile, but you force one in return. Even if it hurts, you'll stand by her.

And it did hurt.

When she finally stepped onto that damn ship, you told yourself you'd be okay. You told her you'd be okay. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. Every fiber of you wanted to grab her hand and pull her back, beg her not to go. But you didn't. You couldn't. She needed this, and you had promised—promised—to support her no matter what.

The first few days, you checked the clock constantly, imagining where she might be in the vastness of space. The silence between you felt like an eternity. No calls. No messages. Just the void. Seven months, you told yourself. Seven months without hearing her laugh, seeing her eyes light up, or feeling her fingers brush against yours.

It felt like an eternity.

Nights were the worst. The bed seemed colder, emptier than ever, like it was mocking you. Dinner tasted bland, the silence deafening. You'd catch yourself staring at her empty seat, whispering things you wished you'd said before she left.

But when those long, torturous months finally passed, and you saw her standing there on the dock, it was like the world finally started spinning again.

You didn't think—you just ran. Ran through the crowd, past the families and her fellow crew members. You didn't care who saw. You crashed into her, your arms wrapping around her like they never wanted to let go again.

And she didn't care either. No teasing, no scolding. Her lips were on yours before you could even speak, her hands gripping you as tightly as you held her. For a moment, it was like the whole world disappeared—just you and Anya, tangled up in each other.

"I missed you so much," you whispered, your voice cracking. You buried your face against her neck, breathing her in.

"I missed you too," she murmured, her breath warm against your cheek.

When you finally pulled back, your hands stayed on her shoulders, as if to reassure yourself she was real. You smiled through the tears threatening to spill. "Do you want me to take you out? You must be starving after seven months of... whatever you guys eat up there."

She laughed—a real, warm laugh that you hadn't heard in far too long. "I just want to go home."

On the drive, she talked about everything: the fear when the ship launched, the monotony of the days, the quiet moments alone. But then her voice softened.

"The hardest part was being without you," she said, turning to you, her eyes glistening. "The moment I got on that ship, I regretted it. Every single day, I regretted it." She hesitated, her voice catching. "The contract's for two shipments, but after this next one, I'm taking the test again."

You pulled into the driveway and turned to her, your heart swelling. "I'm proud of you, Anya."

She blinked at you, surprised. "For what? I haven't done anything yet."

"For not giving up," you said softly, your smile trembling as you looked at her. "You've always been stronger than you think, Anya. Even when things feel impossible, you keep going. That's what I love about you. No matter how hard it gets, you never stop reaching for what you want."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. You reached out, gently tilting her chin so she'd meet your gaze.

"I'm proud of you—not because you went to space, or because of what you're planning to do next—but because you never stop trying."

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, she just looked at you, her eyes searching yours, shimmering with the tears she refused to let fall.

"Anya," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

But then she shook her head, a faint, trembling smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "You don't get it," she said, her voice breaking. "It's you. You're the reason I keep going. You're the reason I don't give up."

You didn't think, you just leaned in, your hand cradling her cheek, and kissed her. It was soft at first, careful, almost tentative, but when her hands found your shirt and gripped it tightly, pulling you closer, it deepened.

Nothing else mattered—not the months apart, not the uncertainty of the future. Just the warmth of her lips, the way she breathed your name against your mouth, the feeling of her heart pounding as fiercely as yours.

When you finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps.

"I missed this," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

"Me too," you said, your thumb brushing gently against her cheek. "But we're here now. Together."

She smiled again, this time a little stronger, and kissed you once more—this time slower, as if to savor every second.

"Let's go inside," she said softly.

And this time, you didn't argue.

Her next shipment was longer than the first—over a year this time. You knew you'd never get used to the long stretches of time apart, but you clung to her promise. Just this one last shipment, she'd said, and then she'd take the test again. Then she could finally chase her dream. Just one year. You told yourself you could survive one year.

You were driving home from work when the phone call came. At first, you didn't think much of it, glancing at the unfamiliar number on the screen before answering.

"Hello, is this (Y/N) (L/N)?"

"Yes, this is (Y/N)."

"Hello, (Y/N). I'm calling from The Pony Express. We have your number listed as the emergency contact for Anya Musume."

Your stomach dropped. "Is she okay?"

The voice on the other end hesitated—a moment too long. "Are you driving right now?"

Panic clawed at your chest. "Yes! What's going on? Is Anya okay?"

"I'm going to ask you to pull over. Please, for your safety."

Your hands were already trembling as you flicked on your hazard lights and swerved into a nearby parking lot, barely noticing where you ended up. You turned off the car, but your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

"I've pulled over," you said, your voice cracking. "Just tell me—please—is she okay?"

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then, in a voice carefully measured but edged with regret, the caller spoke.

"(Y/N), Anya was aboard our space freighter Tulpar. A few days ago, we lost contact with the ship following a crash."

You gripped the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. "What do you mean, crash?"

The voice softened, though it didn't waver. "We regret to inform you that the crash was catastrophic. All evidence suggests that there were no survivors, including Anya and the other four crew members. We are currently searching for the wreckage to confirm, but... we believe the loss was total."

It felt as though the air had been sucked from your lungs. For a moment, you couldn't speak. Couldn't even think. And then the words sank in.

"No," you whispered, the denial tearing its way out of your throat. "No, that's not—she promised—"

"I'm so sorry," the voice said quietly. "I truly am."

Your vision blurred with tears, and before you could stop yourself, a sound erupted from your chest—a raw, anguished wail that filled the car. You clutched the wheel as if it could anchor you, but the world around you was already spinning, collapsing, crumbling into nothing.

She was gone. Anya was gone.

The drive home was a blur. You didn't even remember how you made it there, your body moving on autopilot while your mind remained trapped in those words.

No survivors.

You sat in the car for what felt like hours, staring blankly at the steering wheel, as if waiting for the phone to ring again and tell you they'd made a mistake. That she wasn't gone.

But the phone stayed silent.

Inside the house, everything was just as she'd left it. Her favorite mug sat on the counter. The blanket she always curled up with was draped over the couch. The framed photo of the two of you at graduation still sat on the coffee table, her smile so bright and alive.

It felt wrong. It felt impossible.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and you collapsed onto the floor. The air felt heavy, like it didn't want to fill your lungs. You pressed your hands to your chest, as if you could physically hold the pieces of your heart together, but it didn't help.

"She can't be gone," you whispered, your voice trembling. "She can't be gone."

The room was silent, but in your mind, you could still hear her laugh. See the way she'd roll her eyes when you teased her. Feel the warmth of her hand slipping into yours.

You'd told yourself so many times that she was coming back. You'd counted down the days, dreamed about the moment she'd walk through the door again.

But now the only thing you had to hold onto was the echo of a promise she could never keep.

Tears streamed down your face as you curled in on yourself, your body shaking with the weight of it all. The emptiness was unbearable, and yet somehow, it was all you had left.

A few months later, you stood alongside the families of the other crew members at a memorial service. The mother of the young intern cried out, a raw and guttural sound, as her husband clutched her trembling frame. She dropped to her knees, screaming that it was her fault, that she should have never let her son work for the company. Your heart ached as her cries echoed in the air—a mother had lost her son, a sister had lost her brother, a wife had lost her husband. And you... you had lost the love of your life.

The wife of the ship's mechanic placed a trembling hand on your shoulder. The two of you stood there, silent yet bound together by a shared pain—both of you had lost the love of your lives.

"You know," you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it all, "I was going to propose to her when she came back. I even wrote her a speech. But now—"

The words crumbled in your throat, and she pulled you into a fierce embrace.

"We had so many plans," you said, your voice muffled against her shoulder. "A house. Maybe adoption. So many dreams... why?"

And then there were no words, just the shuddering of your bodies as you wept into each other's arms.

At the end of the service, you found yourself alone at her headstone, clutching a weathered piece of paper. It was meant to be the start of something beautiful—the words you'd planned to say when she came home. Now, they were your farewell.

"I remember the first time you walked past me," you began, your voice trembling. "Our eyes met for just a second before you kept walking, completely unaware of what you'd done to me. In that single moment, I felt something shift—like gravity had finally found its center. You didn't see me, but I saw you. You didn't hear me, but I heard you. At first, I thought it was nothing—just a passing crush—but I never imagined that you'd become the sun of my life."

You paused, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable, but you forced yourself to keep going.

"We started off as friends, but we both knew we could be more. And then there was that kiss—the one that changed everything. It wasn't just a kiss—it was the beginning of a dream I never wanted to wake from. Because with you, there were no rainy days. Your love erased every scar, every ache in my heart. You made the nights less lonely, and the mornings something to look forward to. You were my everything."

Your fingers tightened around the paper as tears blurred your vision.

"I would've given you all of me—your pain, your joy, your burdens—I would've carried them all, just to keep you close. You made me strong. You made me whole. You gave me a love that felt invincible, even when you were thousands of miles away. But now..."

Your voice broke, and the paper slipped from your hand. You fell to your knees, tracing her name etched into the cold, unfeeling stone.

"And now, without you, the world feels empty. But I know, no matter how many years pass, no matter how far I go, you'll always be with me. You're tied to my soul, my existence, in a way that even death can't undo."

"And if I lived a hundred years—or a hundred lifetimes—I would still spend every moment loving you."

This was inspired by the song Cien Años by Pedro Infante, a song about unrequited love, but I mostly was inspired by the last lyric:

“And yet, you remain tied to my existence,

and if I live for a hundred years,

then for a hundred years I’ll think of you.”

It’s a beautiful song! I love being mexican 🇲🇽

hope you guys enjoyed :)