#Phantom 3 Advanced | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aspenmissing · 3 months ago

Note

Heey! Just wanted you to know I love your one shots and the way you write for all characters. I myself am a Viktor enthusiast may you acknowledge how your writings have been feeding me for the last few weeks

In any case, I have an angsty request for you, preferably for Viktor and Silco (since I love that old man too)

What if reader was caught in a accident (or incident, messed with the wrong person, anything) and got severely injured in their arm, but the damage was so bad they had to amputate it. Eventually reader would have the phantom limb syndrome and deal with it

I know that in Arcane universe they have all those cool prothesis and mechanical gears to aid people, maybe the idea of having a cool mechanic arm could help the reader deal with the aftermath

ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍ ᴘᴀɪɴ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 5296 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ/ᴀᴍᴘᴜᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴍ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴇxᴘʟᴏꜱɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ/ᴇɴꜰᴏʀᴄᴇʀ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟɪᴛʏ(ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ). ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴍᴇʟʟ ᴏꜰ ʙᴜʀɴᴛ ꜱᴋɪɴ/ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ/ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀʀᴍ(ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ), ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍ ᴘᴀɪɴ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʏ ʜᴇʏ!! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɪɴᴅʟʏ ᴍʏ ꜰᴇʟʟᴏᴡ ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛʜᴜꜱɪᴀꜱᴛ! ɪ ᴀᴍ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛʏ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ. ꜱᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ꜰᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴅᴏ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!! <3 <3

JAYCE

The world around you was a haze of muffled voices and blinding lights. Pain surged through your body like an unbearable tide, dragging you in and out of consciousness. The last thing you could remember was the explosion—deafening, shattering, ripping through metal and stone like paper. The force had thrown you backward, the pressure in your chest knocking the air from your lungs as everything went black.

And then Jayce screaming your name.

When you woke, the air was sterile, heavy with the scent of antiseptic. The soft hum of machinery filled the room, the gentle beeping of monitors blending with the muffled voices of medical staff outside the door. The glow of Piltover's advanced medical center flickered in your peripheral vision, its pristine walls unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.

Your mind was sluggish, caught in a haze between sleep and waking, but a weight settled over your chest—a foreboding sense of loss.

Then, you felt it.

Or rather, you didn’t.

Your right arm, gone.

Panic shot through you like lightning, your breath hitching in short gasps as your remaining hand grasped at the empty space where your limb should have been. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t—

A sob tore from your throat as the weight of reality crashed over you. The sharp, searing loss of something so integral, the feeling of incompleteness, a hollowness that words could never truly capture.

Then, warm hands cupped your face, steady yet trembling.

“Y/N,” Jayce's voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t stopped speaking your name since the accident. His face was inches from yours, exhausted, his golden eyes rimmed with red. “You’re awake. Thank the gods.”

Your lip trembled. “My arm... Jayce, I—”

“I know,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath was uneven, his fingers tracing softly along your jawline. “I’m so sorry.”

You had never seen him like this—so broken, so helpless. Jayce was always the one who had answers, who could fix things with his inventions, with his unyielding determination. But here, now, he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t bring back what had been lost.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he wiped away your tears with his thumb, his touch lingering, grounding you when you felt like you were about to fall apart.

Days passed. Then weeks.

The pain of the wound itself lessened, but something more insidious remained. A ghost of what once was. The fingers you no longer had curled into a fist you couldn’t see, the itch of an arm you couldn't scratch burned your nerves raw. The phantom pain struck when you least expected it—sudden, brutal, a cruel reminder of what you had lost.

Some nights, you jolted awake, feeling the unbearable ache of a hand that no longer existed. You gasped, clenching your jaw to keep from crying out, but Jayce always noticed. He was always there. Holding you. Rubbing slow circles on your back until your ragged breaths evened out. Whispering reassurances against your temple, telling you he was there, that you weren’t alone.

He never let you be alone.

But the world kept moving, even if you felt frozen in time. Piltover’s shining towers still gleamed under the golden sunlight, its streets still bustled with people chasing innovation and progress. You watched from the balcony of Jayce’s workshop, the city stretching out before you like a reminder of everything you had once loved, everything that now felt so distant.

One evening, as the city lights shimmered outside the window, Jayce placed something on the table beside you.

A blueprint.

“I’ve been working on something,” he murmured, watching your reaction carefully.

It was an arm—sleek, refined, built with Hextech precision. Unlike the bulky prosthetics you had seen before, this was elegant, almost delicate in its craftsmanship. A perfect blend of form and function.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to wear it,” he rushed to say. “I just... I wanted to try. I wanted to give you the choice.”

For the first time in weeks, a flicker of something unfamiliar swelled in your chest. Hope.

You reached out, your fingers ghosting over the design, tracing the careful lines, the care he had put into every intricate piece. You could see it—the sleepless nights spent in his lab, the endless trial and error, the way he had thrown himself into this project because he refused to let you suffer alone.

Your heart clenched as you looked up at him, his expression raw, waiting, hoping. Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t only from grief.

“You did this for me?”

Jayce exhaled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Of course, I did.” He cupped your face once more, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you, Y/N. And no matter what, I will always stand by you.”

A sob caught in your throat, but this time, it was accompanied by a small, trembling smile.

Even in your darkest moments, Jayce had never given up on you. And maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t give up on yourself either.

VIKTOR

The pain was unbearable.

It was like fire licking at your skin, searing deep into your bones, yet when you opened your eyes, there was nothing there. Just emptiness where your arm should have been.

You barely registered Viktor’s voice at first. It was distant, muffled, like he was calling you from across an ocean. The sound wavered, distorted, as if you were underwater, struggling to break the surface. But the moment your gaze met his, everything else faded into insignificance.

“Y/N,” he whispered, kneeling beside your bed. His golden eyes were glassy, his jaw clenched so tightly it trembled. His hand hovered above yours—above where yours used to be—before curling into a fist and retreating. The hesitation in his touch was more painful than the searing emptiness that spread through you. “I… I should have been there.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head weakly. “You couldn’t have known,” you murmured, your voice hoarse from disuse. Even speaking felt foreign, as if your body no longer belonged to you, as if something vital had been stolen away along with your arm.

He exhaled sharply, standing to pace the length of the dimly lit room, the familiar sound of his cane tapping against the floor punctuating the silence. His limp was more pronounced in his agitation, each step uneven, every movement wrought with frustration. You recognized the room instantly—the lab, your home away from home. The smell of metal and oil lingered in the air, a reminder of the work you used to do alongside him. Work that had cost you your arm.

You still remembered the explosion. The blinding light. The deafening boom. The way the force had thrown you like a ragdoll, the way your body had slammed against the cold, unforgiving ground. The sickening crack of bone. The agonizing, splitting pain that had torn through you like jagged glass. And then the darkness…

You didn’t want to think about it.

Instead, you flexed your fingers—at least, you thought you did. The sensation was there, the phantom feeling of movement, but when you looked down, there was nothing. Just empty space where your arm had been. Your breath hitched, and panic clawed at your throat.

“Viktor,” you gasped, reaching out with your remaining hand as if to grasp onto reality itself. “It’s still there—I can feel it, but it’s not, and—I can’t—”

In an instant, he was at your side, his hands gently cupping your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His touch was warm, grounding, an anchor in the chaos threatening to consume you. “Breathe,” he soothed, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with something fragile and desperate. “You are not alone in this.”

Your body shook, your fingers digging into his sleeves. The fabric bunched beneath your grip, your nails pressing against his skin through the thin material. “I don’t know how to live like this.” The words barely made it past your lips, barely existed in the space between you, but he heard them. He always heard you.

The following days were unbearable. The ghostly sensation of your missing limb tormented you at all hours. It ached in ways you couldn’t explain, burning, throbbing, twitching even though it wasn’t there. Sleep became impossible. You’d wake up reaching for something that no longer existed. Viktor was there for each of those moments, rubbing soothing circles into your back, whispering quiet reassurances even when you could see the exhaustion written in his posture.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the helplessness.

Tasks that once came naturally—tying your hair, adjusting your coat, working on the delicate intricacies of your shared research—had become an impossible challenge. Frustration curled in your gut like a bitter poison, your own body betraying you. You lashed out once, slamming the remains of your desk in anger, sending tools clattering to the ground. Viktor had simply watched you, understanding in his eyes, before silently bending down to help you clean up.

It was after that moment that he finally spoke of his idea.

He pulled back, his gaze flickering toward his workbench, where blueprints and scattered notes lay in disarray. The sight was familiar, comforting in its own way. But this time, the sketches weren’t just formulas and equations. They were something more. Something intricate. Something built for you.

“There are… possibilities,” he said hesitantly, as if he feared giving you false hope. “I have ideas—prototypes that may help with the phantom pain. And… perhaps, in time, I can create something for you.”

Your breath hitched at the implication, at the sheer devotion in his words. You had known Viktor was relentless, brilliant beyond comprehension, but this… this was different. This was personal.

“You mean…?”

He nodded, his eyes searching yours, filled with the intensity that always came when he had set his mind on something. “If you would allow it… I wish to build something for you. Not to replace what you have lost, but to help you move forward.”

A fresh wave of emotion crashed over you, but this time, it wasn’t despair. It was hope. Hope that, despite everything, despite the agony, despite the loss—you could still be whole in a new way.

With a trembling breath, you nodded. “Okay.”

Viktor’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, his hand squeezing yours gently. His grip was firm, unwavering, like a silent vow. A promise that he would not let you face this alone.

He tapped his cane lightly against the ground, as if grounding himself as well. “I will make sure of it.” A soft kiss was pressed to your forehead. “You are not alone.”

JAYVIK

The explosion came without warning, a burst of fire and shrapnel that tore through the lab. Smoke curled in the air, acrid and suffocating, as the walls trembled under the force of the blast. You barely had time to react before a searing pain shot through your arm, white-hot and all-consuming. Then—nothing.

When you woke, the world felt wrong. The light was too bright, the sterile scent of the infirmary too sharp, and the weight of your body—uneven. It wasn’t until you tried to move that the realization struck you like a hammer blow to the chest.

Your arm was gone.

A sob wrenched free before you could stop it, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You clutched at the empty space where your limb should have been, fingers grasping at air, at nothing, at loss.

And then—warmth. Hands, familiar and steady, grounding you in the storm of your grief.

Viktor sat beside you, his golden eyes brimming with sorrow, fingers trembling as they brushed against your uninjured hand. “You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice a rasp of emotion.

Jayce stood behind him, his broad shoulders tense, his jaw set tight with barely restrained anguish. He looked at you like he wanted to fix this, like he wanted to tear time apart with his bare hands and put you back together again.

You swallowed, your throat dry. “My arm…”

“It was too damaged,” Viktor said softly, his fingers curling slightly over your hand. “The only way to save you was to remove it.”

Jayce made a choked noise and turned away, running a hand down his face. “I should have—damn it, I should have protected you. I should have been faster.”

Tears blurred your vision. “I can still feel it.” You gasped, voice cracking as you clutched at your shoulder. “I-It’s not there, but I feel it.”

Viktor squeezed your hand, his grip firm despite the tremble in his fingers. “Phantom limb syndrome,” he explained gently. “It’s… common. Your mind still believes it’s there.”

Jayce dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching out hesitantly before finally wrapping his arms around you. “We’re here,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “You’re not going through this alone.”

The days blurred together after that. You woke screaming some nights, feeling the phantom pain as though your missing arm was still burning, still trapped in that explosion. Viktor was always there, his voice a soft balm, whispering reassurances, pressing cool cloths to your forehead when you shivered from the pain. Jayce held you through the worst of it, his arms strong and unyielding, promising you through every broken sob that he would never leave your side.

They worked tirelessly in the lab, pouring over schematics, experimenting with Hextech. “We’ll make you a new arm,” Jayce vowed, his determination almost feverish.

Viktor was quieter about it, but his eyes held the same fierce devotion. “You will not have to suffer like this forever,” he promised one night, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “We will help you. We will fix this together.”

Some days were harder than others. There were moments when you couldn’t bear to look at your reflection, when the loss felt too great, when frustration overwhelmed you. You felt broken, incomplete.

But they never let you fall too far.

Jayce kissed you with reverence, like you were still whole, still the love of his life. Viktor held you as though he could absorb your pain, his touch delicate and sure. Between them, you found strength. Between them, you found the will to keep going.

And one day, when the Hextech prototype was finally ready, they stood beside you, hands clasped with yours, and whispered three simple words that reminded you that no matter what had changed, one thing never would.

“We love you.”

VANDER

The streets of Zaun were never kind, but you knew that well enough.

You had grown up in the undercity, breathing in its smog-filled air, learning how to navigate its dangerous alleys, and carving out a life beside Vander—the man who had become the heart of this place and, more importantly, your heart. You had found warmth in his arms, safety in his presence, and the promise of a future in his eyes.

But safety was always a fleeting thing in a place like this.

It had started as a simple errand. You had gone out to retrieve some supplies from a vendor near the border of the Lanes, a route you had taken plenty of times before. But today, you ran into the wrong people.

A group of enforcers—ones who weren’t just looking for trouble, but were ready to make an example out of anyone from Zaun. And you? You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You didn’t even get the chance to draw your blade before one of them struck. The sharp burn of steel cut through the thick leather of your sleeve, slicing deep into your flesh. You fought, struggled, but you were outnumbered, and the pain only worsened as they pinned you down and made sure you wouldn’t forget their lesson.

By the time they left, you were barely holding on. Blood soaked your clothes, your vision blurred, and the last thing you remembered was someone shouting your name before darkness swallowed you whole.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the dull ache in your body—it was the absence.

Your arm. Your left arm. Gone.

Panic set in, a sharp and suffocating thing, as you tried to move it and felt… nothing. But your mind didn’t seem to understand. You could still feel it—an itching, aching sensation where your limb should have been. Your fingers curled, or at least, you thought they did, but when you looked down, there was nothing there.

Just a bandaged stump.

And then there was Vander.

He was at your side, hand gripping yours so tightly that his knuckles were white. His face was drawn, eyes filled with the kind of anguish you had never seen before.

“Y/N…” His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion. “I—”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know how to breathe properly. You had always been strong, capable, independent. But now… now you felt broken.

Vander’s hand cradled your face, thumb brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “I should’ve been there,” he whispered, guilt lacing every word. “I should’ve—”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But it didn’t matter. The pain was still there, twisting and turning, and not just in your missing limb. Phantom pain, they called it. A cruel trick of the nerves, making you feel what was no longer there. Some nights, it felt like your fingers were curling into a fist so tight it would break bones. Other nights, you swore you could feel your arm reaching for Vander, aching for his touch, only to wake up and remember it was gone.

And Vander—he never left your side.

He was there when you woke up screaming, pressing a warm cloth to your forehead and whispering words of comfort. He was there when you flinched at the sight of your reflection, his arms wrapping around you like an anchor. He was there when you broke down, shaking and furious at the unfairness of it all, holding you through the storm until your sobs quieted against his chest.

“You’re still you,” he murmured one night, his lips against your temple, his hand tracing gentle circles over your back. “Nothing’s changed that.”

You wanted to believe him.

It took time. It took pain, anger, and nights spent gripping sheets so tightly your nails nearly tore them. It took Vander kissing away your doubts, reminding you in every touch, every look, that you were still whole in his eyes.

But you weren’t the only one suffering.

The kids—Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder—had been shaken. The moment you had woken up, they had been lingering at the doorway, hesitant, as if afraid that you wouldn’t be the same. Vi was the first to step forward, her usual confidence tempered with something softer as she stared at your missing limb. “You scared the hell out of us,” she muttered, crossing her arms to hide the worry in her eyes.

Powder, on the other hand, had clung to your good arm, burying her face against you. “Does it hurt?” she whispered, her voice fragile.

You forced a smile, running your fingers through her messy blue hair. “Not as much as it used to.”

Claggor and Mylo had kept their distance at first, unsure of what to say, but eventually, they found ways to fill the silence. Claggor would bring you things you needed before you even asked, and Mylo—despite his usual grumbling—made sure to remind you that you were still strong.

The streets of Zaun had taken something from you. But they wouldn’t take everything.

Because Vander was still here. The kids were still here. And as long as they were, you’d find a way to keep moving forward.

SILCO

The factory was dimly lit, the stench of oil and metal thick in the air. It had all started as a simple trade—an exchange of goods, whispers of alliance. But in Zaun, nothing ever went as planned.

Y/N had been at Silco’s side, standing firm as always, unwavering even as the tension in the room thickened. She had learned long ago how to keep her nerves in check, especially in the underbelly of the city where death loomed in every shadow.

Then it all went to hell.

A single misstep, a poorly worded insult, or maybe just the inevitable betrayal—no one could say for sure. But the moment steel glinted in the flickering light, Y/N knew they were in trouble.

A flash of silver, a blur of movement—

Pain.

It came first as a jarring numbness, an almost surreal detachment, before the searing agony took over. Y/N barely registered the scream tearing from her own throat as she stumbled backward, her vision swimming. The air reeked of blood—her blood. Her arm—

Gone.

Sevika’s roar echoed through the factory as she launched herself into the fray, her mechanical arm making quick work of their enemies. The other gang never stood a chance, not against her fury, not against the wrath of Zaun’s undercity.

But Silco—

He was at her side in an instant, his mismatched eyes blown wide with horror. Y/N saw something rare flicker across his sharp features—fear. Real, unrestrained fear.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice strained, hands slick with her blood as he pressed against the ragged wound. It wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

She was slipping.

Silco’s gaze darted around wildly, calculating, desperate. And then he saw it—the pipe.

A rusted section of the massive steamworks, pulsating with heat, nearly glowing. He hesitated only for a second. There was no time for anything else. If he didn’t act now—

“Silco—” Y/N rasped, half-conscious, barely clinging to him.

“I know,” he whispered, pain lacing his voice. His grip around her tightened. “Forgive me.”

Then he pressed her stump against the scalding metal.

Y/N’s world erupted into white-hot agony. A scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, echoing off the factory’s iron walls. Her body bucked violently, every nerve screaming in protest, but Silco was relentless. He held her close, his arms like a vice, his breath ragged against her ear.

The acrid scent of burning flesh thickened the air, nearly choking them both. Her sobs turned into choked gasps, her strength draining with every second that passed.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, though his own voice wavered. “I’ve got you, Y/N. Just a little longer.”

His hands trembled, his grip firm yet desperate, as though he was holding onto something far more fragile than flesh and bone. He could feel her body shuddering beneath him, the last of her fight slipping through her fingers.

Finally, it was done. The worst of it subsided, though the air still sizzled with the remnants of her pain. Silco pulled her away from the pipe with infinite care, cradling her against him. His fingers ghosted over her sweat-drenched hair, his lips pressing against her forehead in a silent vow.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, raw. “Stay with me.”

She didn’t respond. Her body had gone limp, drained, but her breathing was still there—weak, uneven, but there.

Silco swallowed hard, the weight of what had just happened pressing against his chest like a vice. He had done what needed to be done. He had saved her.

The days that followed were a blur of fevered nightmares and excruciating pain. Y/N drifted in and out of consciousness, the echoes of her own screams clawing at the edges of her mind. The scent of burnt flesh haunted her—thick, acrid, suffocating. It clung to her skin, to the sheets, to the very air she breathed, refusing to let her go. Even in sleep, it lingered, curling in the corners of her mind like smoke from an endless fire.

Every breath felt like fire, every movement a cruel reminder of what had been taken from her. Her arm was gone.

And yet, she could still feel it.

The first time it happened, she had jolted awake, heart hammering as her fingers—fingers that were no longer there—curled into an invisible fist. A ghost sensation, sharp and biting, twisting through nerves that no longer had anything to grasp.

She could still feel the burn of the pipe, the phantom ache of her lost limb, and it drove her to the edge of madness.

Silco never left her side. Even as his work called for him, even as Zaun demanded his attention, he remained. He sat by her bed, his sharp gaze softer than she had ever seen it. He watched over her, hands clasped, always ready should she call for him in the middle of the night.

She hated this. She hated the weakness, the helplessness. The weight of his gaze made her feel fragile, something she had never allowed herself to be.

“I can still feel it,” she whispered one night, her voice barely audible in the dimly lit room.

Silco looked up from his thoughts, studying her. “Phantom pain.”

She swallowed, her throat tight. “It won’t go away.”

He reached out, fingers brushing over the bandages that wrapped around the remainder of her arm. It was a rare touch, almost hesitant, but firm. “Then we’ll do something about it.”

Silco went to Singed.

The scientist had always been unpredictable, dangerous even, but he was also brilliant. And if there was anyone who could make Y/N whole again, it was him.

“She’ll need time to adapt,” Singed mused, examining his blueprints. “The body rejects what it does not know. But I can make her something… effective.”

Silco’s fingers curled into fists. “It has to be more than that.”

Singed’s lips curled, amusement flickering across his otherwise impassive face. “Then let’s make her something… worthy of Zaun.”

When the time came, Y/N was skeptical. The idea of a replacement felt foreign, unnatural. But when Silco placed the mechanical arm before her, his expression unreadable, she knew he had done this not for his empire, not for power—

But for her.

And as the metal clicked into place, as new sensations began to pulse through circuits and steel, Y/N knew one thing for certain.

She was not broken.

She was reborn.

JINX

The moment the explosion rocked the warehouse, everything became a blur of smoke, fire, and shrapnel. You barely had time to register the collapse of the steel beams before one of them came crashing down, pinning your arm beneath it. The pain was instant and excruciating, a white-hot agony that shot through your entire body. Your screams were drowned out by the ringing in your ears and the chaos surrounding you.

Jinx was there in an instant, her blue eyes wide with something rare—fear. She skidded to her knees beside you, hands hovering over the mangled remains of your arm. The metal beam had crushed the bones, tearing through flesh like paper. Blood pooled around you, soaking into the dusty ground beneath.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jinx muttered, tugging at the beam, but it wouldn’t budge. She let out a sharp whistle. “Sevika! Get your ass over here—now!”

Sevika approached, her usual smirk absent as she took in the situation. Her mechanical arm flexed as she studied the wreckage pinning you. “This thing’s not moving anytime soon,” she grunted. “She’s stuck.”

Jinx’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then, she did something she never did. She hesitated. Her fingers twitched against the cool metal of the beam before she met Sevika’s gaze. “Cut it off.”

Sevika’s brow lifted. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Your breath hitched. “Jinx—”

She turned to you, her expression softer than usual. “I know,” she whispered. “I know it sucks. But if we don’t do this, you die, and I kinda like having you around, y’know?”

You barely had the strength to nod. Your body trembled as Sevika unsheathed her blade, the steel catching the flickering light. Jinx crouched beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing her forehead to yours.

“This is gonna suck,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve got you. Just hold on, okay?”

The sword came down. You didn’t even get the chance to scream before everything went dark.

When you woke up, the first thing you felt was absence.

Your arm was gone. Even without looking, you could feel it—or rather, the lack of it. A deep, phantom ache pulsed where it should have been, a ghost of pain that refused to fade. Your breath hitched as you tried to move it, only to be met with nothing but empty air. Panic clawed at your throat, a suffocating weight of realization sinking in.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, champ.”

Jinx’s voice cut through the haze. You turned your head and saw her perched beside your bed, knees pulled to her chest. There were dark circles under her eyes, her usual manic energy dimmed, replaced with something more subdued. Her fingers fidgeted with a wrench as she watched you, her expression unreadable.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she said quietly. “The whole… missing part thing.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. The weight of reality pressed against your chest, making it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t just pain—it was the sensation of something being stolen from you, something that should be there but wasn’t. It was unnatural, wrong. Your fingers twitched, or at least, you thought they did. But nothing happened. The limb wasn’t there.

“Jinx…”

“I know.” Her voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge. “I— I couldn’t just leave you like that. So… I fixed it.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering through the pain. That’s when you noticed the worktable beside her, the one piled high with tools, gears, and metal plating. A mechanical arm—sleek, intricate, and undoubtedly Jinx’s handiwork—lay in pieces, waiting to be assembled. The sight of it made your breath catch in your throat.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Jinx… did you—?”

She grinned, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What, you think I’d just let you go around all lopsided? Nah. You’re my best friend. And I don’t let my friends stay broken.”

Your throat tightened, emotions crashing over you in waves. Gratitude, grief, frustration, and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. The loss of your arm still weighed heavily on you, the phantom ache a cruel reminder of what had happened. But Jinx… Jinx was still here. And she had been here the whole time, working, building, fixing.

Jinx set down the wrench and reached for your remaining hand, giving it a squeeze. It was rare for her to be this gentle, this vulnerable. “It’s gonna be different,” she admitted. “But I’ll help you through it, okay?”

Your lips parted, but words failed you. Instead, you exhaled shakily and nodded.

She squeezed your hand again, her grip firm, grounding you. “We’ll get through this together,” she added, her voice more certain this time. “And when we’re done, you’ll have the coolest arm in all of Zaun.”

A weak chuckle escaped you. “Only if you don’t make it shoot fireworks or something.”

Jinx’s eyes lit up with mischief, her grin widening. “Ohhh, now that’s an idea.”

You groaned, but the laughter felt good—real, despite everything. And for the first time since the accident, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you’d be alright.

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ozmosiis · 3 months ago

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vulcan headcanons

saw a post that briefly mentioned vulcan (as a species) biology / history headcanons so im gonna list mine and hope it becomes gospel !!!

warning im a fucking nerd.

Vulcans have increased neural density with a higher degree of parallel processing. This allows them to process multiple streams of thought at once, also allows for more advanced problem solving and emotional compartmentalization ... Cephalopods, like octopuses, do something similar and have complex neural architecture. if it helps... know what im ... getting at.

They have a double circulatory system. To survive the thin atmosphere and intense heat of Vulcan, their circulatory system bifurcated. A primary circulatory system oxygenates vital organs while a secondary circulatory system regulates body temperature and conserves water.

Vulcans have tails. They originally aided with balance, grasping, and maybe even self defense during early evolution. Their tails have the most sensory nerves out of any other part of the body, and serves as an auxiliary point for their touch telepathy. In Vulcans without tails (which is like a 3/4 of the population), they instead have vestigial nerve clusters that strengthens neural sensitivity in their hands and fingertips, which also is a part of why touch is so sacred in their culture.

Early Vulcans were pack predators, and used their telepathic links to hunt more efficently... their tails acted as stabilizers aswell.

Vulcan traditions are actually rooted in pack dominance, when physical contests determined leadership. Touch telepathy provided an advantage by allowing fighters to predict the other guy's intent before they struck.

Some Vulcans, particularly those who struggle with emotional control or embrace emotional experiences (like Sybok) experience phantom sensations where their tail would otherwise be. This manifests as an unconscious need to maintain physical contact with others during heightened emotional states.

Vulcan ears are adapted for radiative cooling, acting like heat exchangers to dissipate thermal energy. The large surface area and high vascularization, allow for excess heat to be expelled efficiently, very similar to the ears of jackrabbits and elephants.

Vulcans have enhanced visual acuity with the ability to see UV light, which allows them to live on the bright landscapes of Vulcan. Their retinas contain a higher density of cone cells attuned to UV and infrared spectrums.

hey guys hope u fucked with that all ... i really, really like eco science and biology. i am such a nerd i know. thats not even it all!!!!!!!!!!! if you want other species headcanons, lmk chat

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scriptedinkbyxim · 5 months ago

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Past the Finish Line: The Final Lap [LN4]

Amidst the warm Spanish countryside and the joy of a family wedding, (Y/N) Sainz finds herself at a crossroads between the life she's built away from the track and the echoes of a world she can't quite leave behind. But destiny has a way of pulling you back to unexpected places — and people, and as laughter and celebration swirl around her, fate steps in with a familiar face, reigniting conversations left unfinished and the undeniable sparks of a story that’s far from over. Will love take on a new form, or will fear keep the past in its place?

Pairings: Lando Norris x Sainz! Female Reader, Ex! Max Verstappen x Sainz! Female Reader, Sainz! Female Reader x Brother! Carlos Sainz, Sainz! Female Reader x Sainz! Family.

Warnings: Smut (Non explicit), Talks of sex but nothing explicit, Pregnancy. This is LONG.

A/N: Hi, Xim here. Here is one of the alternative endings of "Past the Finish Line" short series. English is not my first language so apologies in advance for any mistake. There won't be more parts.

Part. 1 | Part. 2 | Part. 3 | Charles Ending

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

Love had always seemed like a race to (Y/N). A relentless chase, with no time to catch your breath. Corners you had to take at breakneck speed, hoping not to crash. And when she met Max, it had felt exactly like that — thrilling, intense, and dangerously beautiful. But love like that always came with tire degradation. Eventually, you ran out of grip.

Her heart had skidded out long before she was ready to let go, crashing into a barricade that left her questioning everything she thought she knew about love and herself.

Now, three months after that chapter closed with that chaotic night in Abu Dhabi, life had slowed into a gentler rhythm. There were no screaming engines or frantic pit stops, only the steady hum of mornings spent writing by her window, her fingers tapping across the keyboard as she poured her heartache onto the page.

She had retreated from the world of Formula 1. The flashing lights of the paddock had been replaced by the quiet solitude of her writing desk. Her latest book on how to get over a heartbreak — ironic as it was — had become her sanctuary, a raw and honest exploration of grief and healing. It was cathartic but draining, each page pulling memories she had tried to bury.

But something was still missing, tugging at her, like the faint echo of a faraway engine calling her back to the track — a sense that her story with the paddock wasn’t over.

That nagging sense of incompleteness lingered even as she tried to ignore it. Even when life had settled into a steady rhythm — book signings, interviews and late nights spent agonizing over words that never felt quite right, the adrenaline rush, the unapologetic chaos, and the heart-pounding passion for racing stayed with her like a phantom ache. Despite the miles she'd put between herself and that world, there was no denying that it still called to her in whispers, tempting her to return.

However, for now, she’d chosen a different kind of chaos — one involving family, celebration, and a sprawling villa tucked deep within the Spanish hills. Her sister’s wedding awaited, promising laughter, love, and perhaps something she hadn’t realized she was looking for: a chance to remember how joy could feel uncomplicated again.

The vibrant Andalusian countryside sprawled beneath the golden light of a late summer afternoon. Rows of olive trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, their silver-green leaves shimmering under the sun. The grand villa, with its whitewashed walls and terracotta roof, stood proudly atop the hill, surrounded by an explosion of wildflowers in hues of crimson, violet, and gold.

The air was thick with the scent of lavender and fresh earth, mingling with the distant laughter of wedding guests scattered across the family villa grounds. She stood just beyond the arched entrance, fingers lightly brushing the silk and lace of her bridesmaid gown, a soft sage green that fluttered around her ankles.

The day was perfect, but her thoughts were restless.

It had been a long time since Abu Dhabi — the last time she had been near the world she once lived for. Back then, everything had been a blur of celebration and chaos. Lando had won that race, his first victory in far too long, and she had wanted to congratulate him, to share in his triumph and to talk about his early confession. But the paddock had swallowed him whole, pulling him into endless debriefs, media duties, and team festivities. She had waited for a chance, lingering by the garages until the night air grew cold and her resolve wavered.

In the end, she'd walked away without saying a word.

And that was it—no texts, no calls. Just silence.

Her book had filled the void, but even as it topped charts and resonated with countless readers, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that her story with Lando was unfinished.

"(Y/N)," Carlos's voice broke through her reverie, warm and teasing. "Stop daydreaming. Anna will kill you if you're late to the procession."

She turned, forcing a smile. Her brother looked effortlessly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"I'm not late, and I’m not daydreaming" she protested, smoothing her dress. "Just... thinking."

Carlos's brow furrowed briefly, but before he could press her, the wedding coordinator gestured for the bridesmaids to line up, so she took a steadying breath, falling into place in front of Anna's closest friends. The music swelled, and they began their walk down the flower-strewn aisle.

The ceremony was beautiful—full of laughter, heartfelt vows, and the kind of love that made her chest ache with equal parts joy and longing.

By the time the reception began, the villa was aglow with lanterns strung between olive trees, casting a warm, golden light over the gathering. The scent of grilled seafood and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with bursts of citrus from the signature cocktails being passed around.

She wandered through the crowd, her gaze occasionally flickering toward her sister, who danced joyfully with her newly wed husband near the center of the makeshift dance floor. She smiled softly, grateful for the happiness that radiated from Anna's face.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, lost in thought and hesitant to rejoin the swirling chaos of the reception. The night was a symphony of joy, yet there was a distance between her and everyone else—a veil that even her sister’s happiness couldn’t fully lift.

Then she felt it: the distinct sense of being watched.

"Didn't invite a plus one, huh?"

Carlos's voice came from beside her, playful as ever.

"No," she said simply, sipping her drink. "Figured I'd let you steal the extra seat for one of your friends."

He grinned, his expression suddenly mischievous. "Oh, I think you'll approve of who I brought."

Before she could question him further, Carlos nodded toward the approaching figure—lean, familiar, and dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame.

Lando Norris.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His tousled hair had been tamed just enough to look polished, but his boyish charm remained intact. There was something different, though—a maturity in the way he carried himself, as though the time since Abu Dhabi had changed him too.

"Hey, Darling," he greeted with his focus now solely on her, voice warm and tinged with that familiar British accent that she loved.

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh despite herself. “Still calling me that, huh?”

“Old habits die hard.” His grin was boyish, but the nerves were evident in the way he shifted slightly on his feet.

"Lando, What... What are you doing here?," she managed, her heart racing.

"Carlos insisted," he said, shooting her brother a look that was half-grateful, half-exasperated. "Apparently, I'm an honorary Sainz now."

Carlos clapped Lando on the back. "Damn right you are. Now, I'll leave you two to catch up."

As Carlos disappeared into the crowd, an awkward silence settled between them. For a moment, neither of them moved. There was a nervous energy thrumming between them, charged and uncertain.

Lando's lips curved into a tentative smile, but his eyes held something more—a mix of apprehension and determination. Her heart stumbled, the rhythm uneven and unfamiliar.

"You look beautiful," Lando said finally, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long.

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension. "I tried."

A moment of silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of music and laughter.

“I missed you,” Lando confessed, his voice low and raw. “Not just at the races. Just… you.”

Her breath caught, the vulnerability in his words cutting through the defenses she’d spent months carefully building.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to you after Abu Dhabi," she said, "It was... hectic. I didn’t mean to disappear,” she admitted, her voice hesitant, barely above a whisper. “I just… needed time. After everything.”

She remembered the plane ride back from Abu Dhabi. It had been strangely quiet, filled only with the weight of her thoughts. (Y/N) had never imagined walking away from the paddock world that had shaped her for years—but life had a way of demanding pauses when your heart grew too heavy to carry it all.

Lando nodded, his expression softening in understanding. "Yeah, it was. I wanted to find you, but everything was crazy. I thought about calling, but... I didn't know if you'd want to hear from me."

"I would've," she admitted quietly.

His lips curved into a faint smile. "Good to know."

The air between them shifted, charged with unspoken words and lingering questions.

"Do you want to get out of here for a bit?" he asked suddenly. "Take a walk?"

Before she could second-guess herself, she nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that." He started getting closer, both weaving through the throng of guests with an almost magnetic pull.

They made their way through the villa grounds, the sounds of the reception fading behind them. The path was lined with lanterns, casting soft pools of light over the cobblestone. The scent of wildflowers hung heavy in the air, mingling with the distant hum of cicadas.

"So, a book about heartbreak?" Lando asked, his tone teasing but gentle.

She laughed softly. "Yeah. Seemed fitting at the time."

Max had been the kind of love that consumed her, bright and relentless, burning through everything until there was nothing left. He had taken the best parts of her, chipped away at her confidence, and left her with fragments of a girl who used to believe in love without question. Writing about heartbreak had been her way of piecing herself back together.

Her book had become a testament to survival, an anthem for those learning to find joy again after love had gutted them. Heartbreak was universal, but healing was personal, she had written. And yet—now standing under the Andalusian sky—surrounded by laughter and warmth, she couldn’t help but question her own convictions.

Had she truly healed? Or had she just learned to mask the cracks well enough to fool herself?

"Is it any good?"

"Top of the charts," she quipped, grinning.

He chuckled. "Of course it is."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of the past three months gradually lifting.

"I meant what I said earlier, I missed seeing you around the paddock," Lando admitted quietly.

She glanced at him, her heart skipping a beat. "I missed being there."

"Think you'll come back?"

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully. "But... it would be different now."

He nodded, understanding without needing an explanation.

As they reached a small overlook, the villa lights twinkling below them, Lando turned to face her.

"I'm glad Carlos dragged me here," he said earnestly. "I didn't realize how much I needed to see you."

Her breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. "I'm glad you're here too."

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The past lingered between them, but so did the possibility of something new—something softer, more grounded.

Lando's hand brushed hers, tentative but hopeful. And in that simple touch, she felt a spark of something she hadn't dared to believe in again.

“I’ve never been great at waiting, you know? So I’m here now.” Lando said with determination and a crooked smile. “Hoping for a second chance.”

(Y/N) felt her resolve waver. Lando had always been bold on the track, unafraid to take risks. But this was different. This was personal.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” she said quietly, though there was no edge to her words.

“I think I do.” His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Look, I’m not saying I’ll fix everything, but I want to be there with you while you figure it out. You’ve written a whole book about heartbreak, but maybe this time, let’s give us a chance to write something different together.”

Her lips parted, but the words caught in her throat. He was giving her a choice, not demanding anything. And that, more than anything, made her chest ache with possibility.

“You know, hope tastes better,” he said suddenly, noticing her uncertainty, afraid he might've pushed too hard.

Her heart skipped a beat, the memory of his cheeky comment back in Abu Dhabi resurfacing. Despite everything, he had always been Lando—optimistic, resilient, and undeniably charming.

“And what exactly are you hoping for?” she asked, her voice teasing but tinged with vulnerability.

“You,” he said simply. “Just you, Darling.”

The sincerity in his words broke something open inside her. There was fear, yes. But beneath it, there was hope too—sweet and daring.

Watching her sister Anna walk down the aisle earlier that day had brought forth a wave of bittersweet emotions. The kind of love her sister shared with her husband radiated ease and joy—a stark contrast to the battlefield her past love had been.

Max had taught her the danger of giving too much without being given enough in return. But hadn’t she learned? Her book had said as much, urging readers to love boldly, to not let fear dictate their hearts.

So why did she hesitate now?

Her gaze drifted across the illuminated courtyard, where soft lanterns swayed gently in the warm night breeze. Couples swayed on the dance floor, lost in their private worlds of joy.

And then there was Lando.

His blue eyes glinted under the golden light. There was an ease to him, a brightness that made her chest ache with something she didn’t quite know how to name.

Max had been a taker. But Lando? Lando looked like all he ever wanted to do was give.

“Okay,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips.

His grin softened into something tender, and he reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m not letting go this time,” Lando promised.

The night seemed to hold its breath as they stood there, the world fading into the background. And she remembered her mom’s words, maybe love didn’t have to be a battlefield. Maybe it could be simple and kind—a steady presence rather than a storm.

The realization settled over her like a weight—unexpected but not unwelcome. Her heart, though still wary, beat with a rhythm that whispered maybe. She just wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to listen.

The days that followed Anna's wedding were a strange, beautiful blur for (Y/N). It started innocently enough—an unexpected text late one night after Lando had flown back to whatever race he had.

Still thinking about you, Darling.

She stared at the glowing screen notification in her darkened bedroom, her heart skipping a beat.

Didn’t pictured you as the clingy type, Norris.

Only for you ;)

Their conversations were effortless, filled with teasing banter and moments of quiet vulnerability. It was a gradual unfolding, filled with stolen moments, hesitant steps, and the quiet realization that love could be rebuilt from the rubble of heartbreak.

From that moment on, communication between them flowed easily, naturally. Text messages turned into voice notes, filled with his laughter and stories about chaotic team meetings at McLaren. Then came the video calls, where he lounged in hotel rooms with messy hair and sleepy eyes, talking about everything from his races to the best places to have churros in Madrid, voices dipping into vulnerable confessions during the quiet hours of the night. But there were moments when the distance gnawed at her—a hollow ache that lingered long after their calls ended.

On one rainy evening, she curled up under a warm blanket on her bed, wine glass in hand, her laptop propped up on the coffee table as Lando’s pixelated face filled the screen. He was shirtless, fresh from the shower, damp curls clinging to his forehead, lounging on the couch at his flat in Monaco, propping his phone on his knee, grinning lazily at her face through the screen.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, grinning. “Is my commentary on tire degradation better than Crofty’s?”

She snorted. “Not even close.”

He feigned offense. “Rude.”

“Honest,” she shot back, sipping her wine.

Their laughter echoed through the speakers, warming the space between them despite the distance.

“So, what are you writing today?” he’d ask, his tone gentle but curious.

“Trying to write,” she’d admit, tapping a pen against her notebook. “It’s hard to focus.”

“Maybe you need a change of scenery,” he suggested, eyes gleaming mischievously.

The suggestion turned into reality when she found herself boarding a flight to Monaco, heart racing at the prospect of seeing him again. The weekend was spent in quiet bliss—sun-soaked walks along the harbor and late-night talks on his balcony overlooking the shimmering coastline.

In April, he flew to Madrid for a rare weekend off. They wandered through the narrow streets of Salamanca, hands brushing but never quite holding. She and Lando had snuck off to a charming cafe tucked away from prying eyes, the one she talked so much about. They sat side by side, her hand resting comfortably on his thigh as they shared a plate of churros. He stole bites of her spanish pastries and she made him laugh so hard he nearly choked on his coffee.

“You’ve got sugar on your face,” Lando teased, leaning in to brush his thumb across the corner of her mouth.

“You’re such a dork,” she laughed, her eyes sparkling.

That evening, as they sat on the cafe balcony watching the city lights flicker, he leaned closer, his voice soft.

“I like this,” he admitted.

“What?” she asked, glancing at him.

“Being here with you. Feels... right.”

Her chest tightened. “Yeah. It does.”

In May, she surprised him by flying to Monaco again after a particularly grueling race in Imola. They spent lazy mornings tangled in his sheets, afternoons exploring the city, and evenings cooking more disastrous meals in his sleek kitchen.

One night, as they sat on the floor eating takeout straight from the containers, he looked at her with a seriousness that made her heart skip.

“I’m not good at this,” he confessed. “The whole relationship thing.”

She set down her chopsticks. “Neither am I.”

He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “But I like that I’m trying. With you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Me too.”

As the night deepened, Monaco's city lights flickered through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. Empty takeout containers lay forgotten on the floor, the remnants of laughter and conversations lingering in the air. Lando's thumb brushed over the back of (Y/N)'s hand, their fingers still entwined as if letting go was simply not an option.

For a moment, the world stood still just them and the charged energy thrumming between their bodies. Then, like a match igniting, something shifted.

He leaned forward, tentative yet resolute, capturing her lips with his. It was soft at first, testing the waters, but when she responded, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, the tenderness gave way to something more desperate, raw, and consuming. Years of unspoken emotions unraveled between them, a tapestry of longing and newfound love.

She straddled his lap, her hands sliding into his hair as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His lips trailed down her jaw, pressing fevered kisses to her neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. Her pulse quickened, matching the erratic rhythm of her heart.

"(Y/N)..." he whispered against her skin, the sound of her name on his lips sending shivers down her spine.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He helped her discard it, their breaths mingling in the charged air. She traced the lines of his chest, marveling at the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. In response, his hands roamed her back, reverent and wanting all at once.

Clothes were shed piece by piece, a trail of fabric left forgotten in their wake as Lando stood, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist feeling his arousal against her heat, their mouths never parting as he carried them toward his bedroom. The journey was clumsy, filled with laughter between breathless kisses as they stumbled through the doorway.

He laid her down on the cool sheets, hovering above her, his gaze filled with equal parts reverence and desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Her fingers caressed his cheek. "So are you."

What followed was a dance — a blend of passion and tenderness, messy and rough in the way only young love could be. Their bodies moved in sync, guided by instinct and the desire to be closer than ever before. It was a claiming, a letting go of past uncertainties, and an embrace of the present.

Whispers of each other's names mingled with soft gasps and quiet whimpers. Their touches were tentative at first, growing bolder as they explored one another without reservation. Time seemed to blur, the world fading away until nothing existed beyond this sacred space they created together.

And when they reached the crescendo of their passion, it was like stars exploding behind closed eyes — a moment that spoke of promises and possibilities.

As their breathing slowed, they collapsed into each other, limbs tangled and hearts beating in unison. Lando pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her back.

(Y/N) nestled closer, her cheek pressed against his chest. "This... this feels right," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his hold on her. "It does."

Hope bloomed in her chest, radiant and unstoppable. This was the future Lando always spoke about — unpredictable, maybe even messy, but filled with love and light.

As sleep claimed them, they clung to each other, wishing this was how they would spend the rest of their lives — tangled up bodies, unburdened by the past, and ready to face whatever came next.

Their connection deepened with every text, call, and stolen weekend. But it wasn’t without its challenges. The distance, his demanding schedule, and her lingering fears sometimes crept in, threatening to unravel the fragile thing they were building. Yet Lando had a way of grounding her, reminding her that love didn’t have to be complicated or painful—it could be simple and joyful.

They were so caught up in their little world, there was no denying that something beautiful was growing between them. She found herself counting down the days until his breaks between races, hoping he’d find time to visit.

And he always did.

The sun dipped lazily over the Madrid skyline during one of Lando's Secret visits, spilling golden light over (Y/N)’s kitchen. The chill in the air that came through the window was softened by Lando's shirtless frame, arm wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting atop her head as they stood in peaceful silence.

She sighed, leaning into him. It was surprising how easily she'd fallen into this rhythm with Lando—mornings filled with laughter over burnt toast, afternoons spent strolling through quiet neighborhoods, evenings tangled up in each other as the world faded away. It was a quiet, growing intimacy that both thrilled and terrified her.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You good, muppet?”

That nickname. It had started as a joke after she tripped over herself on one of their first dates. But now, when he said it, it was warm and endearing, a reminder that he saw all her clumsy, unpolished edges and adored them anyway. Still, she prefered Darling Better.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m good.”

But was she really? She'd spent so much time mending the cracks Max had left in her heart, convincing herself she was whole again. But with Lando, she felt like a canvas being repainted—brighter, bolder, and more beautiful than before. The question lingered: was she ready to give herself fully to another man again?

As if sensing her thoughts, Lando tilted her chin up so their eyes met. His gaze was steady, sincere. “Hey, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours darling?”

(Y/N) murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just thinking."

Lando’s arms tightened around her waist as if sensing the weight of her thoughts. “Dangerous habit, that,” he teased, his lips brushing lightly against her temple.

She laughed quietly, the sound easing some of her lingering unease. “Someone has to think in this relationship.”

“Ouch.” He feigned offense, grinning down at her. “Guess I’ll stick to driving then.”

The playful banter was effortless, but beneath it was a quiet understanding—the acknowledgment of how far they had come and the unspoken hope of where they were headed.

Their moment of peace, however, was abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. The door swung open, and Carlos's familiar voice echoed through the apartment.

"(Y/N)! I brought churros—" Carlos's voice trailed off as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him.

Lando, shirtless and still holding (Y/N) against him, froze like a deer caught in headlights.

Carlos's gaze flickered between them, realization dawning with alarming speed. His brows shot up. "No me jodas... Is this what I think it is?"

(Y/N) felt her cheeks burn, but Lando, ever the confident racer, recovered quickly. "Uh, hey, mate. Fancy seeing you here."

Carlos crossed his arms, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Fancy? Really? This is my sister's apartment, Norris."

Lando grinned sheepishly. "Fair point."

(Y/N) sighed, stepping out of Lando's embrace. "Carlos, I can explain—"

Carlos held up a hand, cutting her off. "No need. I'm just glad I finally figured it out, and before Anna. She owes me so much money now"

Lando blinked. "Wait, what?"

Carlos smirked. "We've been waiting for this to happen for months. Honestly, I was starting to lose faith in you two."

(Y/N) stared at her brother, stunned. "You... knew?"

"Come on, hermana. I'm not blind," Carlos said, shaking his head. "Just promise me one thing—don't let him cook. I've seen the disasters."

Lando laughed, the tension breaking. "No arguments there."

As Carlos grabbed the churros and headed to the living room, he called over his shoulder, "Just be happy, okay? That's all I care about."

(Y/N) exchanged a glance with Lando, her heart swelling with warmth.

"You heard the man," Lando said, his voice soft. "Be happy."

She smiled, leaning into him once more. " I already am."

They stood there for a moment, the tension melting away. Lando brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle. “You really mean a lot to me, you know that, right?”

Her heart stumbled at the sincerity in his voice. “I know.”

“And I’ll keep waiting, as long as you need,” he added softly. “But just so you know, I’m already all in.”

Her breath caught in her throat. There it was—that terrifying, beautiful thing she’d been afraid to face. Love.

But this wasn’t like before. With Max, love had been a battlefield, a constant fight to be seen and valued. With Lando, it was steady and grounding, like coming home after a long journey.

Love, she realized, didn’t have to be grand gestures and dramatic declarations. Sometimes it was churros in a quiet cafe, soft reassurances, midnight flights and a boyfriend who could face an overprotective older brother. And that was more than enough.

She cupped his face, her thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. “I think I’m falling for you, Norris.”

His grin was slow and devastating. “Good. Because I fell for you a long time ago, Darling.”

As their lips met, she knew one thing for certain—she was finally ready to love again. And with Lando, it wasn’t just safe; it was exhilarating.

The first time (Y/N) returned to the paddock had to be for Lando's home race.

Silverstone roared with life.

The cacophony of engines reverberated through the air, mingling with the excited chatter of fans draped in papaya orange, waving McLaren flags proudly against the overcast sky. (Y/N) stood at the edge of the paddock, the familiar scent of burning rubber and petrol thick in the air. Her heart raced—not from the adrenaline of race day but from the unfamiliar territory she now found herself navigating.

Gone were the navy hues of Red Bull’s garage and the familiar faces she once mingled with. Instead, the papaya-drenched world of McLaren welcomed her, a universe she was still getting used to.

“First time in papaya?” Lily, Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend, teased as she linked arms with her.

“Is it that obvious?” she laughed nervously, brushing a hand down the McLaren leather jacket Lando had insisted she wear.

“Just a bit,” Lily grinned. “But you’ll love it here. Zack’s basically everyone’s favorite uncle, and the crew is great. Plus, you’re here with Lando. He’s a national treasure around here.”

(Y/N)’s gaze drifted toward Lando, who was deep in conversation with his race engineers. The sight of him, confident and animated, filled her with a warmth she hadn’t expected.

Being here for him felt right, even if it was new and a little intimidating.

As the pre-race chaos buzzed around them, Zack Brown approached with his signature jovial smile. “(Y/N)! Welcome to the papaya family.”

“Thanks, Mr. Brown,” she said, returning his handshake.

“Call me Zack. We’re glad to have you. Lando’s been walking on air since you agreed to come.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I’m glad to be here.”

Zack winked. “He’s a good lad. You picked a winner—on and off the track.”

As Zack moved on, her gaze settled back on Lando. Their eyes met across the bustling garage, and his face lit up with that boyish grin she adored. He jogged over, a bounce in his step.

“Nervous?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“A little,” she admitted. “It’s different being here for you.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And if not, I’ll just have to distract you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” she teased.

“Both.”

Lando’s touch was grounding, steadying the nerves that threatened to creep in.

As the race countdown began, she found herself in the heart of the McLaren garage, surrounded by the hum of technology and the focused intensity of the crew. Lily stood beside her, providing a comforting presence.

The race itself was a blur of speed and strategy. Lando battled fiercely on the track, his determination palpable even from the screens in front of her. Her heart raced with every overtaking maneuver and pit stop, her hands clenched in anticipation.

But amidst the adrenaline, her thoughts drifted unexpectedly to the navy dark car of Max Verstappen. She watched as he fought his own battle on the track, his smooth driving style a testament to his skill.

Memories of the past tugged at her—moments spent cheering for him from the Red Bull garage, believing they had a future together. But that future had crumbled, leaving her with lessons she hadn’t realized she needed.

Max had been a storm, intense and consuming, leaving her breathless and battered. Lando was different—steady, grounding, and warm. Love with him wasn’t a battlefield; it was a refuge.

When the checkered flag waved, signaling the end of the race, a collective roar erupted from the McLaren garage as Lando crossed the finish line in first place. The realization hit (Y/N) a heartbeat later, her breath catching in disbelief before pure joy swept through her like wildfire. He had done it — won his home race at Silverstone. The engineers and crew leapt from their seats, jubilant and triumphant, their cheers blending with the deafening crowd outside. Without thinking, she pushed past the bustling bodies, her heart pounding as she raced toward the barricades by the podium.

Her feet barely touched the ground as she weaved through the sea of papaya-clad team members, her senses overwhelmed by the chaos of victory. The air smelled of burnt rubber and triumph, thick with the thrum of celebration. Lando's wide grin was infectious as he parked the car near parc fermé, the helmet tilting slightly as he looked toward the crew — toward her. She knew that look, filled with an almost boyish disbelief and pride. She sprinted faster, joining the team pressed against the barricade, her voice lost in the chorus of chants for Lando Norris.

When he finally emerged on the podium, champagne dripping from his suit, the crowd roared anew. (Y/N) watched, her heart swelling with pride, as he hoisted the trophy high above his head. Then, just as he had at Abu Dhabi, he shifted his gaze down to her, standing amidst the jubilant team. With deliberate precision, he pointed to the gleaming trophy in his hand and then to her. Tears prickled her eyes as she beamed up at him, their connection undeniable and profound. This time, they were no longer hesitant strangers dancing around the idea of what could be — they were partners, sharing in each other’s victories, in love and in life.

As the team celebrated their efforts, (Y/N)’s gaze drifted once more, this time landing on a familiar figure in the distance. Charles stood beside his new girlfriend, Alexandra, his expression calm despite Ferrari’s continued struggles.

Their eyes met briefly, a silent acknowledgment. Charles offered a polite nod, and she returned it with a small smile.

The hum of Silverstone's paddock buzzed behind her with post-race interviews and celebrations, she wandered toward the hospitality area, craving a moment away from the noise, needing a moment to gather her thoughts. The sky had softened into a muted gray, casting a serene hue over the chaos. The crisp scent of rubber and engine fumes lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the nearby lounge.

Her mind was still unraveling the emotions stirred by the race—the steady pride she felt for Lando, the unexpected but gentle closure in seeing Charles with Alexandra, and the quiet contentment that had begun blooming in her chest.

But fate, as always, had a sense of humor.

“Y/N.”

The voice, familiar and edged with a hint of surprise, cut through the tranquility.

She froze, heart skipping a beat before turning slowly.

There he was—Max Verstappen.

Time had carved subtle changes into his face, softening the sharp edges she once knew so intimately. His eyes, still that striking shade of blue, carried a weight she hadn’t seen before. But it wasn’t just Max who caught her attention.

A few steps behind him, Kelly stood beneath the awning, her sleek hair shining under the overcast sky. She cradled their newborn son against her chest, gently swaying to soothe him. Penelope clung to her leg, chattering excitedly about something only a child could find fascinating.

The sight hit (Y/N) harder than she expected—a snapshot of a life she had once envisioned for herself. A life that had slipped through her fingers.

Max shifted awkwardly, his usual confidence faltering. “Long time, huh?”

“Yeah, it has been a while,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

He nodded, glancing briefly toward Kelly and the children before returning his gaze to her. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” she said, and for the first time, it wasn’t a lie. “Really good.”

“You look it, you seem happy” he admitted, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“I am,” She truly meant it.

Her eyes flickered to the McLaren jacket she wore, the papaya orange bright against the muted backdrop. Max noticed it too, his expression shifting slightly.

“Norris?”

She smiled softly. “Yeah.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no bitterness there, only quiet acceptance. “He’s... steady.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Steady’s good.”

Max exhaled, a breath laced with something close to regret. “Yeah. It is.”

The weight of unspoken words hung between them—remnants of a love that had burned too fiercely, leaving ashes in its wake.

“I’m happy for you, Max,” she said sincerely, glancing toward Kelly and the baby. “It looks like you’ve found what you were looking for.”

He followed her gaze, his features softening. “Yeah. Took me a while to get my head straight, but... I’m getting there.”

Kelly caught sight of them then, offering her a polite, knowing smile before turning her attention back to the baby. Penelope giggled, tugging at her mother’s dress, oblivious to the gravity of the moment unfolding nearby.

Max’s voice lowered, tinged with something raw. “I was selfish with you. Took too much and gave too little.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened, but she held his gaze. “We were both trying to be what the other needed, and we couldn’t. But we’re both okay now.”

He looked at her for a long moment, as though searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe closure.

“You’re different,” he said finally.

“So are you,” she replied gently.

The sound of Lando’s laughter carried over the noise, pulling Y/N’s attention. He stood near the McLaren hospitality entrance, talking animatedly with Oscar and Zack, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found her.

Her heart swelled at the sight of him—bright, hopeful, and entirely hers.

Max noticed the shift in her expression, following her gaze. A bittersweet smile curved his lips. “He’s good for you. He’s a decent guy.”

“He is,” she agreed, her voice unwavering.

Max extended a hand, a gesture heavy with meaning. “I hope he gives you what I couldn’t.”

She shook his hand, the gesture sealing something between them. “And I hope you find everything you’ve been looking for too, Max.”

As he turned to rejoin Kelly, who now had Penelope balanced on one hip and the baby still nestled against her chest, (Y/N) watched them go, the weight of the past finally lifting from her shoulders.

A long time ago she had imagined a life with Max once—a life filled with wins and championships and many children. But that life wasn’t meant to be, and she was finally okay with that.

Lando’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Hey, Darling,” he called, grinning as he jogged toward her, his eyes lighting up as she approached.

She smiled, her heart light.

“Everything okay?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Yeah,” she said, leaning into him. “Better than okay. Just realizing how lucky I am.”

His smile was soft. “I’m the lucky one, darling.”

As they walked back toward the McLaren garage, she knew without a doubt—love was a quiet, steady force that mended what was broken and built something stronger in its place. And with Lando by her side, she was ready for everything the future had to offer.

5 YEARS LATER

The roar of the Dutch Grand Prix crowd reverberated through the air, a symphony of cheers, air horns, and waving orange flags. The atmosphere vibrated with anticipation, charged by the electric energy of a race weekend nearing its climax.

(Y/N) stood by the McLaren garage, her hands gripping whatever was at reach tightly. The humid breeze carried the faint scent of rubber and fuel, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby sea. The rhythmic pounding of her heart mirrored the tension on the track as Lando rounded the final turn, his papaya-colored car streaking toward the finish line.

“Come on, Lando,” she whispered under her breath, barely aware of the words escaping her lips.

The orange-clad McLaren crew erupted into jubilant celebration as he crossed the line first, securing the victory and maintaining his lead in the championship. The sound was deafening—cheers, claps, and the metallic clang of wrenches hastily discarded in triumph.

Her breath caught, emotions tangling in her chest. He’d done it. Again. Her heart swelled with pride, a fierce, overwhelming warmth spreading through her.

As the garage crew surged forward, she found herself pulled along by the momentum, feet moving on instinct toward the barricades where Lando was slowing his car to a triumphant stop. The smell of burnt tires filled the air as smoke curled from his rear tires in celebration.

He climbed out of the car, helmet in hand, eyes scanning the chaotic sea of orange and papaya until they landed on his wife. His grin was blinding, pure exhilaration radiating from every inch of him.

Lando sprinted toward the barricades, leaping over them with the agility of someone who hadn’t just driven at breakneck speeds for two hours. He reached her in moments, wrapping her up in his arms. The scent of sweat and engine fumes clung to him, but she didn’t care.

“You did it!” she laughed breathlessly, her arms circling his neck.

“I did,” he grinned against her temple, voice rough from exertion. “But it’s only worth it because you’re here.”

Before she could respond, he cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, and kissed her with a ferocity that left her breathless. The world blurred around them—mechanics cheering, photographers snapping pictures, and fans roaring from the grandstands. But in that moment, there was only him.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, eyes gleaming with triumph and something softer, deeper.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his hand slipping instinctively to her belly, hidden beneath the loose folds of her red dress.

Her lips curved into a soft smile. “We’re good. Both of us.”

The unspoken secret between them lingered in the air, sacred and precious. They hadn’t told anyone yet, wanting to keep this joy just for themselves a little longer. But she knew Lando already carried the weight of that future, balancing the demands of racing and fatherhood with unwavering devotion.

And he never faltered.

As the team swept him away for interviews and podium duties, (Y/N) lingered near the rest of the team, watching as he climbed onto the podium. The Dutch fans roared for their hometown hero, Max Verstappen, who stood beside Lando with a small smile of begrudging respect.

Max’s gaze shifted briefly to (Y/N), his expression softening when he caught sight of her. From this distance, he couldn’t miss the glint of the massive ring on her finger or the subtle curve of her hidden baby bump.

His lips quirked into something resembling acceptance—a silent acknowledgment of how far they’d both come. Their lives had diverged in ways neither of them could have predicted, but there was peace in that now.

Kelly stood nearby his team, holding their son, a pre-teen Penelope on her other hand. Max’s future was etched in those small faces, just as hers was in the life she carried and the man who now stood triumphant on the top step of the podium.

Lando lifted the winner’s trophy high, champagne spraying in every direction. The glimmering liquid caught the sunlight, shimmering like gold.

(Y/N) clapped, her heart full as she watched him revel in his victory. This was their life now—sometimes chaotic, sometimes overwhelming, but always filled with love and unwavering partnership.

As Lando caught her gaze from the podium, his smile softened into something intimate, meant solely for her. Continuing their cherished tradition, he lifted the trophy high before pointing directly at her—a silent dedication, just as he had done countless times before, each gesture a reminder that every victory, big or small, was as much hers as it was his.

And in that moment, she knew with absolute certainty: first loves weren’t always meant to be forever. But sometimes, the love that came after—the one that was scarier, quieter, but infinitely steadier—was the one that truly lasted.

She placed a hand over her belly, feeling the flutter of new life beneath her palm.

Their story was still being written, and she couldn’t wait to see where it would take them next.

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

A/N 2: For those who wanted a more concise endings, here is It how things Will have turned out If (Y/N) choose Lando. I think this two are very cute together. Also I love Carlos as a matchmaker. What ending do you prefer? Hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writting it.

You can check Charles' ending here.

Love you -Xim

Tagglist:

@cmleitora

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daylighted · 2 months ago

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CAMP DAYLIGHTED it's 1989, and you've just gotten yourself a summer job as a camp counselor. one last summer of freedom before the real world comes knocking, one last summer of recklessness and fun. or, so you thought. maybe it's just the campfire stories unsettling you, and the complete isolation of nature surrounding you. or maybe, something really is watching you, phantom eyes that never let up from studying your every move. something's amiss at camp daylighted. can you figure out what it is before it's too late? BELOW 4 EVENT DETAILS! — @CAMPDAYLIGHTED 4 ALL DETAILS!

WHAT IS KNOWN ࿐ ࿔ * : ･ﾟ

☀︎ story of choices — you are a direct participant in the direction this story goes. whether in the form of voting on choices or writing the next part, what you pick and do decides the fate of the characters and what happens next.

☀︎ vote to decide their fate — do you go left down the path or hide in the cabins? each part will end with a vote, and the winning result will affect what comes in the next writer's part. one little choice could safe a life or end it, or hint toward the identity of the culprit.

☀︎ anything can happen — participating writers are in charge of keeping the story going. you have an arsenal of details to pull from (settings, lore, characters) and it is up to you to take what the last person wrote, and continue off of it. no one is safe, and no possibility is out of reach.

WHAT IS UNKNOWN ࿐ ࿔ * : ･ﾟ

☀︎ the cast list — there are only four set characters, ones there to enact as romantic interests if you so please, or to just serve as characters to advance the story. the rest of the counselors? are made and submitted by you, as !readers.

☀︎ the killer(s) — no one knows who the set killer (or killers) is, not even the writers. as characters die and the writers hint at what could have been the cause, a clear picture will start to be painted . . . or it won't. as stated above, anything is possible. use the provided resources to forge a pathway, and integrate it into the full picture.

☀︎ the survivors — with each part on a rotating schedule of writers, there is no telling who will be the final characters standing. perhaps you will want to save yourself, or save a loved one. what and who would you sacrifice for that outcome? who would your character(s)?

HOW TO PARTICIPATE ࿐ ࿔ * : ･ﾟ

☀︎ must follow @campdaylighted — this is the center for all things involving this event & alternate universe. you will find the camp's lore, locations, other participants, and eventually, every posted part in this universe there.

☀︎ must follow @daylighted — this is for tracking purposes, and of course because i created this!

☀︎ must be inclusive & engage — this event is, of course, for fun, but also to meet new friends or connect with mutuals you don't necessarily talk to! this is why it is as immersive as it is; form friendships and bonds over this shared interest! send asks about others' !readers, include them in your writing when your part comes, and make friends!

☀︎ make a !reader intro post — this is how people will learn about your involved reader and how i will see your submission! the necessary requirements are on the campdaylighted blog. please tag me in all submissions! you may make up to three, so as many people who want to participate can, and so that you have backup characters in case one is killed off.

☀︎ tag your writings & submissions under the camp daylighted specific tag - the specific tag is on the aforementioned blog! this is to keep all of the stuff easily accessible <3 plus, i want everyone to be able to write stuff for their !readers outside of the main storyline, like drabbles and one shots! ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⤷ on this note, don't forget to end your writing part for this main collaborative fic with a poll, so readers can vote on a part of what happens next! this is collaborative for everyone!

LIMITED SPACES AVAILABLE - 1/24 !READER SLOTS OPEN.

☀︎ director's notes hi everyone!!! as you can see, i may have been late to making this to the milestone, but i wasted no effort in it! some might even say i did too much effort . . . ANYWAYS. i hope you all sign up to participate and to spread the word so others can too! again, thank you for 1.5k followers hello??? now it's nearly 1.6k which is even crazier! i hope all of this makes sense. most questions i hope will be answered in this post and then on the blog with the other details! if not, please message me or comment and i will provide clarification<3 i wanted to create something immersive for everyone, participants and readers following along, so i hope this delivers and isn't too crazy 😭😭

☀︎ my mutuals @deansbeer @deanswidow @bruisedfig @angelblqde @rubyvhs @theosaurous @voidsuites @chxrrywines @inbred-eater @ultravi0lence14 @whyyouegg @honeyryewhiskey @jensenacklesballsack @angelicjackles @funkycoloured @rositaslabyrinth @chevroletdean @bluemerakis @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @samslovebug @cowboysandcigarettes @unfortunate-brat @benscumgluzzer @bejeweledinterludes @jasvtsc @h8aaz @fuckedupfate @mahi-wayy @blossomingorchids @faiszt @losers-clvb @cherrygirlfriend @briisbananass @0ccvltism @beausling @stereotypicalbarbie @pieandflannel @religionlost @honeyroots @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @tinas111 @acklesangel @littlesoulshine + so many more!

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bestest-brackets · 2 months ago

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Now the the qualifying round is over, It’s time for the official announcement!

Introducing…

The Most in Need of a Hug Bracket!!

This is by FAR the biggest bracket I’ve ever run

The first round will likely be posted on Friday, May 9, although it is finals week, so that is subject to change. If May 9 looks impossible I’ll let you know in advance.

Anyway, the full lineup is below the cut!

Most in in Need of a Hug Bracket

Cloud Strife (Final Fantasy VII) vs Coco (Witch Hat Atelier)

Mono (Little Nightmares II) vs Milo Thatch (Atlantis: The Lost Empire)

Hunter (The Owl House) vs Arthur Lester (Malevolent)

Jason Todd (DC Comics) vs Aoyama Mitsuo (Atarashii Joushi wa Do Tennen)

Bamora (Dandadan) vs Zelda (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom)

Big Man (Splatoon 3) vs Dante Sparta (Devil May Cry)

Stanley (Spiritfarer) vs Sora (Kingdom Hearts)

Mizu (Blue Eye Samurai) vs Wheelbarrow (Monopoly)

Susie (Deltarune) vs Sunny (OMORI)

Kyle Milton (The WereCleaner) vs Klemper (Danny Phantom)

Misfortune Ramirez Hernandez (Little Misfortune) vs Sam Winchester (Supernatural)

Kissy Missy (Poppy Playtime) vs Haymitch Abernathy (The Hunger Games)

Frankensteins Monster (Frankenstein) vs Mizi (Alien Stage)

Yellow Guy (Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared) vs Taranza (Kirby)

Carlos De Vil (Descendants) vs Denji (Chainsaw Man)

Rocket Raccoon (MCU) vs Soren (Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn)

Sigma (Bungo Stray Dogs) vs Shane (Stardew Valley)

Evan Kelmp (Misfits and Magic) vs Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and Ferb)

Alan Wake (Alan Wake) vs Sayori (Doki Doki Literature Club)

Peril (Wings of Fire) vs Kermit the Frog (Muppets)

Boy (Hunter: The Parenting) vs Kurode (Fragaria Memories)

Siffrin (In Stars and Time) vs Maia Drazhar (The Goblin Emperor)

James “Jim” Lake Jr (Tales of Arcadia) vs Emily Pope (Control)

Alluka Zoldyck & Nanika (Hunter x Hunter) vs Kiyotaka Ishimaru (Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc)

Sanji (One Piece) vs Tom (Paralympic Mascot)

Erik (The Phantom of the Opera) vs Dys (I was a Teenage Exocolonist)

Ray (The Princess and the Frog) vs Bumble (Warriors)

Neeko (League of Legends) vs Ruffian the Blue (A Hero’s Guide)

Starscream (Transformers) vs Gideon Nav (Gideon the Ninth)

Merlin (Merlin) vs Wylan van Eck (Six of Crows)

Count Bleck (Super Paper Mario) vs Varian (Tangled)

Nagasaki Soyo (BanG Dream!) vs Eustace Winner (Ace Attorney Investigations: Prosecutors Gambit)

Asahina Mafuyu (Project SEKAI: Colorful Stage) vs Silver the Hedgehog (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Molly Blyndeff (Epithet Erased) vs Jennifer (Rule of Rose)

Sakura Matou (Fate/stay Night) vs Towa (Slow Damage)

Jonathon Sims (The Magnus Archives) vs Hershel Layton (Professor Layton)

Thorfinn Karlsefni (Vinland Saga) vs Veronica Sawyer (Heathers the Musical)

The Princess (Slay the Princess) vs Crutchie Morris (Newsies)

Golden Cheese Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom) vs John Thomas Ward (FAITH: The Unholy Trinity)

Deena (Nexomon) vs Serizawa Katsuya (Mob Psycho 100)

Nicky Little (Pepper Ann) vs Torbek (Once Upon a Witchlight)

Bryce Hanson (Hfj0NE) vs Zena (Dragalia Lost)

Kaladin Stormblessed (The Stormlight Archive) vs Mark Heathcliff (The Mandela Catalogue)

Beatriz (“Autistic? Me?”) vs Adrien Agreste (Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir)

Shang Qinghua (The Scum Villain’s Self-serving System) vs Arven (Pokémon Scarlet and Violet)

Nina Tucker (Fullmetal Alchemist) vs Violet Baudelaire (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

Hatake Kakashi (Naruto) vs Shoko Nishiyama (Koe no Katachi)

Kang Tae-jun (Akatsuki no Yona) vs Angela Orosco (Silent Hill 2)

Ruby Rose (RWBY) vs Venom Snake (Metal Gear Solid V)

Yassen Gregorvitch (Alex Rider) vs Ceroba Ketsukane (Undertale Yellow)

Gordon Freeman (Half-life) vs Jay Halstead (Chicago PD)

Amane Momose (MILGRAM) vs Senshi (Dungeon Meshi)

Glisten (Dandy’s World) vs Homura Akemi (Puella Magi: Madoka Magica)

Serial Designation J (Murder Drones) vs Lestat de Lioncourt (Interview with a Vampire)

Israel “Izzy” Hands (Our Flag Means Death) vs Falco Grice (Attack on Titan)

Vinicius (Olympic Mascot) vs Stanford Pines (Gravity Falls)

The Doctor (Doctor Who) vs Medkit (Phighting)

Isaac (The Binding of Isaac) vs Rob (The Amazing World of Gumball)

Monroe (Grimm) vs Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone)

Alex Fierro (Magnus Chase) vs Lucas (Mother 3)

Flowey (Undertale) vs Frodo Baggins (Lord of the Rings)

Evan “Buck” Buckley (9-1-1) vs Nanami Kento (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Harrier du Bois (Disco Elysium) vs Zuko (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Romano (Hetalia) vs Michitaka Sakai (Kono Oto Tomare!)

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alleyangelss · 15 days ago

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Sun & Moon

(Sophia x reader)

Pairings: Bratty Duelist! Sophia x Fem Gryffindor Keeper! y/n(but not really a Gryffindor...?)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, Brat & Brat tamer, Angst, Slight choking, Blood, Phantom pain, Horror

Part of Series: Part 3, Part 4 here!

Sypnosis: Daniella...well, not just Dani asks you to substitute her in that week's quidditch matches. And gradually, one match turns into two, and then ten. And it's no problem at all. You're Ravenclaw's prized genius. Everything comes naturally. Now if only you could find a way to tame the problem that it seems both you and the Gryffindor quidditch team share. Sophia Laforteza. She sabotages their quidditch matches and always suceeds. Somehow. And you need to know. Not just because you're a sore loser, because you're a scholar at heart. And definitely not because you and her made a bet. Not at all. And there seems to be something more to her, too...you're interested, and so is she.

Summary of chapter: You overthink your day's encounter with Sophia. A lot. And something happens, something you can't explain. Phantom pain, a presence, a-you can't be alone. You need to feel, smell something. And chocolate, the scent of it, seems to be...and it definitely doesn't help the fact that Sophia feels like it.

You've barely escaped that horrible charms lesson when you head to the dorms again, and the clock's constant ticking reminds you that lunch is soon. God, a project with Sophia Laforentza. And yet.

Her warmth. The smell or chocolate, and the...you can feel the phantom feeling of her fingers lacing over yours, lingering, hovering over each of yours. It's imprinted in each and every valley of your fingers, the knuckles, as deep and permanent, yet as different as each of your fingerprints. It differs wildly, the warmth-licking, coating each of your nails as they swirl and lap at your nail beds. Her hand is still there in your other reality.

But right, lunch is almost here. And you really need to at least figure out what Flitwick was rambling on about in charms before you lose your standing again. You're pretty damn sure that the only reason he let you off the hook like that for being late-very late, in fact. About twenty minutes late, to be exact. The only reason he let you in with a mild warning is because you are his top student. Which might not be very sustainable if your Charms lessons continue like this. Damn it, the thought just strikes you again. He must've taught something before you came as well, which means even more to catch up on. Well, if you weren't in deep shit already. You're pretty sure none of the people in the same classes as you would even bother to fill you in. You're all competitive, and you all...you like it that way. Purely transactional relations in that class, all benefiting the other in one way or another. But now, you really need help.

Most of the people in the advanced classes are Ravenclaws, of course they are. What other way to uphold their standing as the genius, snotty house. Occasionally, they'd be a sprinkling of Slytherins, as seen very evidently by the presence of your new desk partner. Ravenclaws would not share, especially when it comes to something that concerns grades. They would see it as an opportunity, especially for you, with your grades...they would see it as an opportunity to out your standing. Besides that, your only other options are Flitwick and...god, you don't even want to imagine that scenario.

Flitwick, well, asking him for help was like handing yourself a death sentence. He'd know at once that you were not listening, and you'd definitely lose your star student privileges. You rule that out immediately, striking it out with a clean line on the list in your head. He is the last choice you'd even make. Which leaves...you can hear yourself sigh. It's not even in your head anymore, it's a literal reaction.

It leaves the other house students in the classes. Which consist of Slytherins, which are similar to Ravenclaws in mentality when it comes to grades, just that you'd get a little more than a push down in your standing. Perhaps a bit of bullying too. Besides, you're not even close to the Slytherins. Even approaching them would set off alarms in their head and they'd sense weakness and pounce like rapid Panthers. Sometimes you wonder if the Gryffindor lion should've been Slytherin's animal...

So, of course. There is only one other option on your list, one that swims on the paper and confuses you, and yet drenches you in chocolate scent.

Sophia, your desk partner. Also a Slytherin out for your blood and more, considering how the both of you are on less than the best of terms. Though, she did...

Something in your mind calls out to you. She leaned on you, you leaned on her, you learnt what her hair smelt like and the warmth of her skin before finding out her favorite food. But she did that to trigger you, to get a reaction out of you. And it worked. God, do you really have to...

You don't have a choice, do you?

You sigh yet again and shove the thought somewhere else in your mind, the thought that you'd have to find Sophia and willingly approach her to get whatever Flitwick was mumbling about this morning clear.

But now, it's lunch. You can hear your stomach rumbling, and Megan did promise you that she'd save a seat for you at the Gryffindor table.

"Do you know what McGonagall did to me in detention, honestly-you were lucky, so damn fucking lucky y/n...it was pure torture-" Dani says to the other three of you at the table, wringing her hair in her hands and complaining with her whole chest. She'd just gotten released from detention with McGonagall and she had apparently felt the need to tell you everything. You're not going to stop her. It's amusing, and you can feel yourself smiling again. You clamp the silent laughter down as Dani lifts her head up, finally, and continues her story.

"God, and she made me clean up the filth that the rest of the quidditch team did to the brooms and the quaffle. I didn't even know the quaffle needed cleaning. I swear she just made it up because she needed an excuse to-"

You can't control your laughter anymore, and it spills from your lips. You try to muffle it, but it catches the attention of all three of them and Dani sends a death glare your way. She furiously jabs her finger at you, and you bet she'd plunge it firmly into your chest if she wasn't at the opposing end of the table. Thank god for the width of the table, otherwise you'd find yourself stabbed and pierced within seconds.

"y/n...you lucky scoundrel! I swear, your luck is just-ughh!" The rest of them all start laughing at her predicament, and you're finally free to. You take yet another sip of the soup you've spooned yourself, and the salty taste of the chicken soup soaks your tongue. Leave it to the Hogwarts chefs to have culinary skills of the gods. You fork yet another serving of chicken-not from the big dish in front of you, but straight from Lara's plate, to her indignation. She glares directly at you, and you send her a smug smirk. You're expecting her to retort any minute now.

"HEY! Isn't it right in front of you? God, y/n, you really have a skill for pissing people off, you know," Lara feeds herself yet another mouthful of chicken from her plate, her hand holding the fork now protectively hovering in front of her serving of chicken. "Maybe that's why problems always seems to find you. Especially with Sophia, mm? Have you told them what happened earlier today?" She sends you a smirk back, and you feel yours wavering. You've almost gotten the thought out of your head. It's confusing you now. Sophia.

"Again? Hell, Lara's right. You got yourself into another situation with Sophia again? Maybe the both of you are made for each other at this rate, with the amount of-" Manon finally speaks up from devouring her meal, and of course it's to tease you. She has at least a combination of ten dishes on her plate, and she's still reaching for more. Despite her gluttony, and the fact she's stuffing her mouth right now, she still speaks up. God.

"It's not my fault, I swear. I literally wanted to help her, I didn't think she was playing another trick," you try to defend your actions, but you know. They all send you knowing looks when your speech flatters. You know. They've all told you, just avoid her. But you can't. Of course you can't. But they seem to pity you the tiniest bit, with Dani sending you a soft glance as if checking if you're ok, before starting to lecture you. Have they all considered taking up the new position as a history of magic teacher? You sincerely think they'd all do well at it.

"No matter what. Just don't go with her, don't come into contact with her, don't talk to her." Dani says again for the hundred-probably edging into the thousandth time, while Lara, Megan and Manon nod their heads in agreement. Megan hasn't even spoke this whole while-she's been hogging her food down like Manon, and yet she's vigorously shaking her head. Traitors, all of them. And yet...

"It's going to be quite hard to not have a conversation with someone that's you're deskmate, don't you think?" The words come out of your mouth before you think. Damn, you really need to work on your impulse control. Maybe you would stop getting yourself into such shitty situations then-like this one, where everyone is looking at you and grinning like Cheshire cats. That's not a good look, especially on your friends. You want to sink into your shoes and dissolve. Of course they'd...

"Sophia is your deskmate? I take it back, I don't want your luck anymore-" Dani almost sniffles trying to muffle her laughing. You would laugh too, you want to at your current situation. It's hilarious in all the wrong ways. The irony, honestly. You can hear all of them in various degrees of laughter and shock when you feel a gaze on your back. They're all still laughing, and it's definitely not Megan, who's still stuffing her face with-is that pudding? How did Megan-you know what, you won't question it at this point. Things just seem to happen around her. Your gaze is still there. It pierces you like fingernails pressing into your skin, as if someone is holding you, their head on your shoulder from the back, her hands holding and swimming across your back. You shiver, but definitely not from the cold. It's sweltering hot in here, with hundreds of students in thick, thick robes.

The gaze continues to send shivers and tremors down your spine. It's like swimming in electricity-not that there is, of course. You want to turn around, but your head feels locked in place. Unmoving, as if something's holding it in place, as if someone's nails are digging into the sides of your head and holding it up right. Your neck locks itself. You cannot turn. It's not even a feeling anymore, you are really and truly locked while the sensation of sharp nails digging into your face continues. The world seems to blur, and the four of them don't notice. They don't. Their laughter seems to stretch on and on, and it's distorting, the noises and the sounds and the...the lights are flickering, and every colour seems to creep into the edges of your vision and spins, spins, spins like a children's colour wheel.

You are paralysed. On the table, sitting upright, with a drink halfway tilted into your mouth, and the juice about to pour itself not in your mouth, but rather onto your newly cleaned robes. And you definitely do not want to have a talk with the new and very scary cleaning witch. You need to move. You need to move. Your nerves are frayed, and your muscles are tingling. You have every control over your body, and yet something, something still holds something over you. You-

The drink starts spilling onto your lap. The drops, one by one, slowly, as if defying all laws of physics. It slows down as it drips, and it does not cascade like a waterfall. It goes drop by drop, as if teasing. The fingernails dig deeper into your skin, as if holding you back even more than possible already, and it's the light prickling again. But it feels closer. It feels real, the heat from the hands now travelling along your back and digging into your collar bones. You want to move, the presence is right behind you.

The light flickers even more irrationally. It should not act this way. No light acts this way. The colours seem to settle, pooling at the edges of your vision. There is someone behind you, and the feeling, the feeling of multiple hands, the phantom feeling.

You gasp. A sound comes out. You don't even realise how quiet its been until you did that. And then ringing starts. It vibrates, strikes itself through your ears, and it encapsulates, encases, and it feels like you're in an echo chamber. The little sound that comes out of your mouth rings and rings forever, and it keeps coming back. It gets louder and louder every rotation, and you would move your hands to cover your ears if you could-

Oh, you can't move your hands. At first it was just your neck, but now you're paralysed from the neck down. The only thing you can feel yourself move is your eyes, and your face-your facial muscles have frozen too. The water is up to your chest. It stings. The fingernails are starting to sting, and you feel something wet at your back. It's warm now, and you can feel it soaking through your robes, the black cotton now sticking to the skin of your spine. The nails are piercing. It stings, it opens wounds, it tears your flesh. The metallic smell stings the air. You feel. The ringing sensation. The-

What is that? It creeps behind you, and your eyes finally freeze. It's cold, so, so cold. Your eyes can't move. They're trained and focused in front of you and your whole body just. Betrays you. It's not the nails now. You can feel their fingers, their palms, their arms coming closer, their hands circling around your neck, and they're squeezing. Lightly at first, as if a warning. They press lightly, then hard, then light again. A pattern. One where you breathe in and out and the sound reverberates around you again and again and it just comes back to spite you. It closes around you, and your blood freezes in your veins. It's cold. Your lips can't be felt. You can't feel your face, your hands, your body. It's as if you've become a spectator to your own body, your consciousness drifting away, separate from your own...

It closes. Like a noose. With killing intent.

You pant, and then you try to take in a sharp breath, only to find you can't. It's no longer closing around you, it has closed. The fingernails on your back, on your chest, all disappear. They are all around your neck, all of their fingers, all of their hands, all pressing down on you, all choking out your last breath, all wrapping around your throat and causing the last of the air in your lungs to be expelled out. You accept it, you can't even scream without your ears probably bursting from the echoes. You can't move, you can't escape. You can't feel anymore.

The metallic smell is stronger than ever, and your vision blurs worse than before. It's graying and it's splitting from yourself.

But. The scent changes. You're pretty sure your blood doesn't smell like melted milk chocolate and butter. If it was, you're sure you would be a medical study. Well, you're probably going to become one, since you're probably going to drop dead within the next minute if you can't breathe.

But it's chocolate, and it's warm, and the nails and the hands and the air and the sounds-they all fade. The world speeds up again, the seconds becoming seconds again and the milliseconds flying away. It's warm for a second, and you can feel twin pulses in your hands-your hands intertwined. On the table. An hour ago. You and Sophia on that desk, your hands wrapped together. But you're there. It's here now. You are there, but you can't possibly be. But her hand is there, and the strong chocolate scent is too, and you can't-this isn't a phantom feeling. Her warmth is clearly there. But when you look again, it's not. But if you blink, it's back. You don't know what to...

God, the chocolate scent is dizzying. The world has sped up to normal, and you feel yourself-the laughter of your friends is back, and the lights are constantly shining in all of your faces and back to normal. It feels hot and sweltering again, not the cold. And the water is soaking your robes in your lap. It's wet, it's cold, and it's there. You don't have time to...

What even happened? It all felt like...everything's gone now. But your hands, they were there, Sophia's hand, it was there. Phantom-like. And the pain, before it got real too, like phantom pain. And the scent in the air? There is not a trace of hot chocolate, with it clouded with floral and the scent of fresh food and hot stews. Musky, masking it, you must be-

"God, how did you manage to spill something on yourself within seconds? Seriously, y/n, how will you live by yourself in the future?" Daniela makes a 'tsk' sound, though she hands you a napkin anyway. You smile, you try to bring it, but it doesn't reach the ends of your cheek. Of course you can't smile. You couldn't move your facial muscle a while ago, seconds ago. Your hands blend themselves into the background, wiping furiously and uselessly at the blooming stain on your robes now, and you distract yourself with groans and thoughts about how you're definitely going to get screamed at by the cleaning lady. But it doesn't help.

You're certain you escaped death there. You...

Don't they always say that there's a certain scent around death? Disgusting, but then also a slight floral undertone that makes the scent undeniable. A unique one of sorts. Death. That's the scent they all say when they smell a rotting corpse. From the spectator point of view. Of course, the person in death would not be able to smell it. It's different, and there's never be one that escaped death by that much of a silver of thread to smell it.

The air when you froze was nothing. There was nothing at all, nothing but freezing, the sensation when you take your first steps into a pool, no scent at all when it froze. Until the chocolate scent, when you felt the warmth come back and the hand, the phantom sight of the hands, yet another thing you couldn't explain.

Was that the scent of death? No scent at all. Nothing, despite the fact that there should have always been something. You didn't even sense your own heartbeat. It felt locked with your chest, the thumping paused and it held behind a glass case. Your heart in the hands of the person, the phantom feeling of the person, and their nails pressing in until the blood was spewing from the heart, the pumping ceasing and it flowing.

The bell ringing breaks you out of your trance, and it's rings remind you a bit too much of. No feeling in your limbs, and your body, your chest, your heart, your-

"Hey y/n, don't you have a class soon? And you look kind of pale, do you want some chocolate?" Manon hands you a piece of chocolate, breaking it off from a bigger bar, and you take it, trying to control the tremors and your shaking hand. You don't even thank her before moving off the bench and booking it to the dorms, only sending them a frantic wave and forced smile of reassurance before scrambling for the staircases, which you feel yourself fly over. The chocolate melts in your hand as you run, and only when you make it back to your dorm do you finally shove it into your mouth, not square by square but rather the whole thing at once. It melts, swirls on your tongue, and the scent fills the air. It's comforting, and you're alone in the dorm. You're alone in the dorm. You don't want to be-

It's back again. The hands. The fingernails digging into your skin, but it's closer now. It's crawling towards your throat, towards your throat, it's climbing faster than before. You don't even bother putting on your shoes before sprinting out of the dorms again, and only pausing when you make it to the staircase outside. The tears are springing from your eyes. But you can move, you can feel, and the hands are gone again. You swallow down the chocolate, licking your lips to get every last bit of it that coats your lips. It's there. The hands...the hands were there.

Goosebumps everywhere, on your back, oh your arms. Your hands can't stop shaking, and you hold on to the railing for dear life. You can't...the tears fall, and they're warm, and you thank god they're warm because if not then...

The cold would've been back. You want the warmth, you want the scent, the musky chocolate scent. The hands, the fingernails seem to avoid the scent. The warmth, too. Without thinking, you allow your nails to scrape the edges of your arm, around your wrist area, and allow blood to drip and force something of a halo around the area. You could laugh at the irony. The blood is warm, though, and the metallic scent is something you'd take over no scent at all. You need it. You need to breathe something, something, anything at all that isn't just nothing.

You walk back to the dorms, hastily grabbing all your books before heading to the next class, covering up your dripping wrist with your sleeve, mimicking and parallel to how Sophia did. Except now, there's no one to help you.

You've grabbed perfume on your way out, and it's pressed against yourself in your pocket. Something. A scent of something. Vanilla is the closest and yet the furthest from chocolate.

You make your way to class a stark contrast to how you made your way to charms. You reach there as one of the earliest, and you park yourself next to Megan before she can protest otherwise, and out of the corner of your eye, you can spot Sophia in the group of students now pouring in. She takes a seat next to one of her friends, Yoonchae, and you remember seeing her around school briefly. For a brief moment, of course, because otherwise she seemed to blend into the background. You can rest easy now, because there's no shot that you can be close now. You're on opposite ends of the room, with you taking a seat near the front and her at the back.

Still, you spritz a bit of the perfume on your wrist before settling down again. You can feel someone's gaze on you, and it's exactly the place that Sophia is sitting. Exactly there. But you brush it off.

It's transfiguration. The one subject that you're currently behind her on. You need to focus. McGonagall sweeps into the room silently just as you have that thought. She presses her hands together, and she meets your gaze for a split second-you catch that glint-before settling in the middle of the crowd.

"Now class, I see you've chosen your seats, but unfortunately, we're going to have to make adjustments to ensure that all of you get the adequate attention and help. You'll be seated by ranks, now. Anyone unsure of your rank can come up to the front and ask me, where I'll be waiting with a paper."

Oh. My. God.

You're already seated in front, so you don't even budge. Because you know what's coming, and you know exactly. You're rank two, of course you're going to be with-

"Hi, again. For the third time together, I suppose."

She draws out the words, and you hear it. You feel it. You smell it.

The chocolate scent overpowers the faint vanilla on your wrist.

#sun!moon #katseye #katseye sophia #katseye sophia x fem reader #katseye sophia x reader #sophia x fem reader #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza #sophia x y/n #choking #phantom pain #gg fics #sophia x reader #writing

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ryanisasleep · 1 year ago

Note

HELLO HELLO I AM…. SEMI ALIVE

would like to req a silly ghost fic w/ male reader :3 just some fluff hcs as they retire from the task force and go about their daily lives (CUDDLING SESSION AAAAA)🥺🥺🥺

also hope ur having a good day ^^

Little things

Retired Ghost x Retired male reader

Tw: none just mentions of scars and injuries

After servicing the SAS for around 30 years it was finally time to retire and enjoy the time spent by the people you always protected. The Task Force 141, created by Price, was now led by Gaz and Soap after Ghost and you decided to retired as well following the old man, or rather father of the TF, that retired to spend time with Nik. After 2 years, you and Ghost reached the age of 55 and it was now time to put away the guns. You and him still wanted to be in the frenetic life of constant alert but after an incident that left you with having to walk with a cane (you were not fully disabled, you just needed support, not always, your knee sometimes gave painful troubles. The problem, most of the time, was solved by wearing a medical device, a knee brace) and him to manifest phantom pains with constant migranes, the time to give up was finally here. After being discharged with honor and with badges of recognition, saying goodbye to Johnny and Kyle and making sure that these two would be able to lead the future of the task force, you two left the army forever.

Before leaving, a decision was made. During dull times when there was nothing to do, you and Simon discussed possible houses and flats to live in after retirement, these conversation started way before the deadline and sometimes it would end up with the two of you not having emitted the final verdict. You always wanted to visit Manchester and maybe live in it too as Simon always described it a an "ok" city. Eventually, an apartament was found and it was quiet cozy too. It had a wall window (not fully glass) that was facing the west giving the possibility to gaze at the setting sun, it had an elevator too as you needed it. It took some time to get adjusted. It was a sort of challenge itself to buy the furnitures as you and Simon had different tastes that were difficult to mix together and the fact that it was a struggle to arrange everything, but eventually your new house was done and was full of memories too.

The small table and the walls around the TV were full with photos of vacations as well as after missions times with your friends: the time in Las Almas, with Alejandro and Rudy, then there were Farah and Alex with Nikolai too. Other photos showed vacation trips with the whole 141 and your outer friends too. In the more intimate and more secured side, the medals acchieved over time by you and Simon stood neat and clean, in the studio, in their cases showing the best of the best.

You two helped eachother with everything: Simon helped to install the cupboards? You wasted no time to fix a leaking sink, you went to buy groceries, he helped around the house.

You two where 50 and still in great physical form despite your respective pains, you were accepted to work as a personal guard to assist the CEO of a very advanced High-tech company that helped in the reaserch in many fields…..it did pay very well….while Simon, who liked more quiet places was hired as an intelligence specialist where his tactical skills were put to use, formuling plans or mapping the perimeters, when squads of police or other special forces had to get their hands dirty. At the end of the day, when you both were home, you two got to spend the evenings on the couch watching some football or play matches in Call of Duty making some people rage quit since they couldn’t compete with veterans.

Sleeping was a challenge though, Simon had chronic pains over his whole body and sometimes the treatmens where not really effective, he ended up waking up in the middle of the night with pains in his legs or arms (trust me they are unbearable. I say this as someone who sometimes has their legs and foot-fingers blocked for the amount of pain) that makes him become restless. Lucky for him you are there as you try and sooth everything with massagess. To say thank you, he lets you sleep on his torso and wraps you around his arms if they don’t hurt and you do the same gifting him a small and content smile. If you are the one waking up with knee pains, he makes sure to try and make it lessen by applaying some pain relief oiment.

Mornings are spent lazily if none of you have to work, usually you wake up with him being the big spoon while he had his head on your pillow, other times he wakes up with you on top of him with your arms sprawled on the bed. He rolls around, waking you up in the process, and giving you light kisses on your forehead and temples while caressing your exposed tummy, warm light usually fills the room finding it’s way to your exposed torsos filled with scars of all types, symbols of your endurance and courage.

White hair did began to appear on your scalp and Simon noticed it while washing your hair in the bathtub.

‘’Pup, you have some white hair here and there…’’ he spoke as he massaged your scalp and cheek bones.

You looked yourself in the dull reflection of the soapy water and that was true.

‘’Ah-…sigh’’

‘’Don’t worry about it, they look good on you’’ he smiled.

‘’Don’t joke about it, since you have some on your eyebrows too, look at the base!’’

And so days were spent like this. You two were finally taking back the time ripped away from your work duty, callused hands traced the necks of one-another and scarred faces expressed the most sincere of feelings repressed by the ruthless requirements of the war world. Sometimes, the little things done with the heart, each day…are the ones that matter the most.

-The end

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x male reader #male reader #tf 141 #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley #simon riley x male reader #ghost x male reader

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whereserpentswalk · 1 year ago

Text

You are going to get the chance to go to a university in another plane of existence for one semester. Everyone in your life will just think you're abroad somewhere. When entering the new plane you'll be given a new body that matches that plane's inhabitants, (most people probably won't believe you if you ad it you're from another plane). You'll also automatically know the language they speak there.

Your options are:

1: a university in a plane where no biological life exists, and instead the main inhabitants are advanced robots. Your new body will probably be pretty alien to the one you have now, so it might take soke time getting used to it. The technology of this plane is also more advanced than yours. And the university you'll be going to is inside of a massive pyramid.

2: a university within the plane of the faeries. This is actually one or the planes that's had the most contact with your own, though they don't look upon humans well. Faeries are diverse creatures, ranging from elegant humanoid, to buglike and fungal monasteries, it also seems they don't have a human concept of morality. Also note that their idea of a "school" is much diffrent from ours.

3: a university in an alternate timeline where the KPG mass extinction never occurred. The earth here has a single sentient species, who evolved from feathered raptors. This is an alternate earth instead of a truly alien plane, so it's not going to have diffrent physics, though you will be dealing with a species very alien to your own.

4: a university within a plane of endless sea. There are three main species here, one who have humanlike bodies but gills and mouths like jawless fish, one who have hard crablike shells that almost look like armor, and one who have long shark like tails but more humanoid upper halves with four arms. Humans also exist here, and live exclusively on ships and submarines, but they're rare.

5: a university in a plane similar to our own earth, but where magic, cryptids and monsters all exist and are known to exist. While the school is mostly humans, a few undead, lycanthropes and other strange creatures have attended here. The university you'd be sent here if you choose this to is in a major cultural hub, and while it doesn't teach exclusively magic that is an option. It should also be mentioned that humans don't have sex here and their bodies lack any sex characteristics, and how they reproduce is a mystery.

6: a university in a plane where demons, djinn and fallen angels come from. This is a vast realm, filled with caverns, dark forests, vast deserts, and massive artificial structures, with the university you'd be going to here being at the massive city in its center. The creatures here are far less evil than many think, and their forms are probably the most diverse of an plane listed here's inhabitants. This is also another plane which has had some interaction with yourse.

7: a university in a plane of endless forest, with trees so massive entire cities are built into their trunks. Nobody has ever seen its floor, and nonody has reached the top of the tallest known trees. This plane is inhabited by insectoid humanoids, of many diffrent varieties, and it seems that no vertebrate life exists here.

8: a school in a plane that exists entirely digitally. Some parts of it are static screens, others entire 3d or 2d worlds. It can be hard for mortals to adjust to this type of world, but if you've spent a lot of time on the internet or playing video games you kind of get how it feels to be here, just without any body required to interface with this location. Also note that there are some very malicious entities here that might harm you if you aren't being careful here.

9: a university in a desert plane where humans have become outnumbered by various types of undead, ranging from liches and phantoms to vampires. The undead here are sentient and have mostly assimilated into human society by now and most humans have adapted to their culture, and the war between the two kinds has long ended. While this world is at about a 21st century level of technology, there's proof it may have once been far more advanced long ago. Due to a past conflict humans here have lost what we'd consider 'afab' bodies, and require strange magic involving water to create offspring.

10: a school in a plane that consists of an endless city, constantly bathed in summer night. Technology here is slightly more advanced than it is in your world, and alongside humans, cyborgs, and robots are quite common, some of whom take on forums quite alien to humanity. Humans here also all posses bodies we'd consider 'afab', due to events long past, and reproduce using technology. The university you'll go to if you choose this one is in one of the most populated parts of the endless city, near the center of the known world, though they say strange and unknowable creatures lurk near the edges of the known city.

11: the university in the nameless city of yetoth.[Warning, this is a highly dangerous option and involves entities not cleared for human knowledge]

Reblog to teleport to the plane of your choice. Like to bring home a gift from where you went.

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danielleargentino · 6 months ago

Text

blackbright stuff + rant for todayyy!!!! happy holidays everybody :))

christmas blackbright . hell yeah

silly doodles for a twitter thing.

ms paint thing i did in 10 minutes based on a song i really really like (luna roja by soda stereo). please listen to it i'm begging youuuu. if you do tell me your thoughts on the tags pleasepleaseple

very quick aziracrow gomens thing . not a fan but felt like sharing you know. whatever man. i might edit it later though

blackbright body hcs andd the little rant!! i've been thinking about them and how i want to interpret their relationship . so i've decided that my drawings will feature an au where bobby was kidnapped and rescued a short time after turnabout for tomorrow. very important warning i need to do research and stuff for this, these are just my initial thoughts on the matter. stuff will probably change.

he and simon reunite, they had worked together 7 years ago on some cases and met again much later a week before bobby's abduction (which was a bit before the events on dual destinies). now that they're meeting once more, feelings are weird and complex.

the phantom has affected them both a lot, the trauma is fresh and simon didn't even get a chance to process his feelings of betrayal before bobby appears again and now he's feeling so many things at once he thinks he might die. they have a slowburn that also goes super quick ? how do i explain it.

after a month or two, they impulsively move in together because they can't stand how lonely their respective houses are. they're pretty much the only ones who can understand each other, they need each other a lot; but they also feel like running away and from the other and hiding forever.

simon needs constant reassurance that bobby is himself and not the phantom; on occasions he can't look at him in the eyes, he feels unsafe with him at times and has to leave and look for other's company and comfort. still, he also wants to cling to bobby and never let him leave again, to know him properly, to learn to love him healthily.

bobby on the other hand feels horribly guilty, responsible for the things the phantom had done and the damage he'd caused simon even before taking his form. the way simon looks at him sometimes makes him feel dangerous, but because of that he needs to be there for simon, to help him heal, to give him all the love he's been deprived of.

they have to work a lot on their problems, attend a lot of therapy and take some time off work, and, slowly but surely, learn to trust and love each other.

aaghdhs whatever these are just sketchy thoughts please don't be mean if you don't like them i will cry a lot and die

same au, three years after aa5 just like in the previous picture because. i like to draw them healed and happy. but i will draw more of their process.

...about that, however, i won't be able to draw on my computer for like two weeks starting this saturday, since i'm going on vacation. i really hope i can buy a new drawing tablet when i come back, tho!

thank you if you read everything <3 wishing you all a happy new year in advance too!

#ace attorney #bobby fulbright #simon blackquill #blackbright #my art

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elizabethemerald · 7 months ago

Text

The Meeting

The Beginning of the New Pantheon: Part 3

Masterpost

“What do you mean, what?” Cassie demanded. “Do you know about Olympus and the Hellenic gods?”

“Yes, we know about the Greek gods!” Sam snapped. “We’re not stupid you know!”

“I’m just asking!” Cassie put her hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t certain if I had actually stumbled into an alternate dimension where instead of Olympians the domains were managed by sentient mayonnaise and the oceans were filled with shredded cheese.”

Her statement knocked both of them onto their back foot in a way that announcing she was on a mission from Zeus didn’t. Maybe they were used to higher powers reaching out with missions?

“Has that actually happened?” Tucker asked.

Cassie took a moment to think about all of the weird alternate realities she and Young Justice had gone through.

“Uh… not exactly, but pretty close sometimes.” Cassie said. She pulled out her JL comm “Anyways! I’m going to call for backup. I can explain more once they are on the way.”

“You probably won’t get very much range on that thing.” Tucker said, looking at her comm.

“Wha…t?” She looked down at her comm in confusion.

The top of the line Wayne Tech communication device that Red Robin had personally modded and improved even beyond the rest of the League’s equipment was now a generic two way radio. Like something fresh from the box at Radio Shack, from back when Radio Shack still existed and was popular. Her confusion changed to mounting horror as she pulled out the palm computer that was capable of hacking into the pentagon and instead revealed a flip phone capable of playing snake (maybe).

“Ok, while not an alternate universe full of mayonnaise, Amity Park is still apparently trapped backwards in time, and all technology is forced to match. Cool. Cool. That might make calling for help a little difficult.”

Sam looked sympathetic as Cassie tried to contain her freak out. Tucker looked curious at the thought of whatever advanced technology that might be available outside the city. Cassie took a deep breath and steadied herself.

“I’ll go for help personally as soon as I can, but in the meantime, I’m here now. If you two or Phantom need any help, I’ll do whatever I can.” Cassie declared, her voice once more steady and sure.

“How do you know Phantom?” Sam demanded.

Before Cassie could respond or explain, a wailing claxon sounded, the loudspeakers screaming a warning of some kind. Both Sam and Tucker tensed and Cassie prepared for a fight, whatever was coming, she would be here to help.

Donna gave a small sigh of relief as she touched down just outside Titans Tower. Nightwing was there to greet her, and it was clear that the rest of those she had asked for were already here. She led the way to the Tower’s war room. By the time she had settled at the head, the rest of the table was full. Not everyone present would be part of the New Pantheon, but she knew those who would be needed the support from the rest.

“Thank you all for meeting me so quickly.” Donna started. “Diana, Cassie and myself have just returned after being summoned to Mount Olympus by Zeus himself.”

Everyone in the room sat forward, laser focused on her. She had to take a steadying breath. Sure, Zeus had named her the next Queen of Olympus, and it would be her duty to guide and lead the New Pantheon, but she was not alone. She had friends here, allies, some who would share the responsibilities, some who would willingly follow her orders. They could take the domains of the gods and make something better of them, for the whole planet.

“They gave us dire news, and a mission, a larger mission than any we have faced before.” She watched as the others tensed, ready to spring into action, so she raised her hands a little. “The Earth is not currently in any danger. The threat that they foresee will come in decades, not days.” The room relaxed, the air feeling breathable once more. “Since we have been given the time to prepare, we can prevent what they predicted from impacting the denizens of Earth.”

“Well then, what is this threat, so that we may vanquish?” Damian demanded, his hand tightly grasping a weapon, his chest puffed out so he could make up for his short stature. Donna carefully hid, her grin, he would not appreciate being taken less seriously.

“The Gods of Olympus are dying.” Donna said, then she continued on to explain what she, Diana and Cassie had been told.

“I’m not certain I trust when they say that there is nothing that can be done.” Red Robin said, leaning forward while he thought. “We’ve faced impossible and improbable before and succeeded.”

“That’s true, but in the meantime, we should consider the option that has been provided, successors to the gods chosen from among our numbers.” Donna said, she knew no matter what she said that there would be some of them who would try and find an alternative, she wasn’t certain there was one, Greeks in general and the Olympians in particular weren’t known for giving up without a fight, at least as long as they had any other option.

“Who was chosen to be a successor?” Impulse asked, then zipped around to the other side of the table, an armful of snacks appearing in his arms.

“I was chosen by Zeus to be his successor and the next Queen of Olympus.” Donna said.

She had mentally braced herself for disparaging remarks or someone contesting her potential rule, instead she was surprised by the outpouring of support from her companions. Everyone seemed to feel that Zeus had chosen well and that she deserved her future role.

“You definitely should be Queen, but I’m kind of surprised Cassie didn’t end up as Zeus’ successor considering the whole lightning lasso thing she’s got going on.” Kon said.

“Cassie was chosen by Ares to be his successor.”

Donna could see the other three members of Young Justice scowl at the God of War’s involvement, except Dick quickly snapped his fingers at them.

“Hey let’s keep our diplomatic faces on for the time being. I’m sure some of us aren’t happy with some of these decisions, but the last thing we want is for this to devolve into an unnecessary conflict with the Olympians.”

She smiled at him, glad for his support. The Olympians ruled through a monarchy, and the League teams knew they needed a single leader during a crisis, but maybe this New Pantheon could rule with something more egalitarian.

“And speaking of our Boy Wonder, Nightwing, you were chosen by Apollo to be his successor. The League’s Sunshine boy will be our God of Light.” Donna announced with a smile, but when she met Dick’s eyes she knew he could see more truth in her words. Apollo was not just a god of light, he was also a God of Truth, which made perfect sense for a detective like Dick. Plus there were few who could equal Apollo’s wrath when scorned.

“Wait, does that mean he’s your kid?” The younger Superboy, Jon asked.

“We are not literally becoming the gods, we are taking their place.” Donna said quickly before anyone could get any weird ideas. “So no one needs to marry their sibling, no one needs to eat their children, and I will not be leaving a bunch of demi-god bastards all over the planet.”

“If Cassie was chosen by Ares, where is she?” Impulse asked. “Did he already make her a god and we missed it?”

“No. The Olympians agreed not to elevate anyone until all of their chosen successors were together. Cassie went to make contact with a group of heroes who were not in the League database.” Donna watched as Red Robin frowned and started to type on his wrist computer. “According to Cassie they weren’t even on the super secret Young Justice only database that the rest of us are supposed to pretend we don’t know about.”

His frown grew more pronounced and Dick smiled and reached over and ruffled his hair.

“So who are these heroes we’ve apparently never heard of, but have caught the attention of the Olympians?” Dick asked, half to take the attention off Tim and half out of genuine curiosity.

“None of them have names I recognize, half of them don’t even have hero names, just regular civilian names.” Donna replied as she pulled out her copy of the list. She had less information on the new heroes as reaching out to them wasn’t her responsibility.

“Maybe it's something like Constantine?” Stephanie asked. “He’s always just known by his full name, even though his enemies call him the Hellblazer.”

“They could also face magical threats of some kind.” Raven said, her hair floating a little and the shadow under her writhing for a moment. “Demonic incursions are usually handled without the input or knowledge of the rest of the League.”

Donna bit her lip. As a demi-god, Cassie was one of the better members of the younger heroes to face a magical threat, but it was very possible for her to get in over her head. She would trust the younger girl, but if she didn’t report back by the time the rest of Young Justice and the Teen Titans were informed and gotten over their respective fits about it, she would have to go herself to ensure that Cassie was safe.

Though how much trouble could she really get into in the middle of the country?

#cassie sandsmark #dp x dc #sam manson #tucker foley #donna troy #dick grayson #Cassie's had some weird adventures with her friends you guys #she has a higher baseline expectation of weirdness #in my opinion very well suited for the DP weirdness #tell me any ships you would like to see for this AU #and keep giving me your guesses on who fulfills which divine role

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