#AND NOW AT THE END ALL I KNOW THAT I'VE LEARNED IS THAT ALL THAT I KNOW IS I DON'T KNOW A THING??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heliosunny · 11 hours ago

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I've read a manhwa with the plot of MC being in a marriage of convenience with the ML in their first life and they work hard to make it work/feel like an actual marriage but the guy didn't give it much thought so they died and in their second life, the MC just decided to not focus on the guy but that somehow attracted the guy's attention

So that premise with Mydei (or Phainon, I just thought it suited Mydei more) where in reader's first life they had loved him and dedicated their whole being to him but they end up dying so in their second life they were more confrontational and willing to potentially piss off Mydei but that just had the opposite effect on him.

Bonus I guess if he remembers what reader did after a certain time and makes him fall harder (or go full on yan route idm)

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[Artist]

You had loved him once.

It was a quiet, steady love, the kind built on careful devotion rather than reckless passion. A love that manifested in the way you always reached for his hand in public, in the way you made him pomegranate juice exactly as he liked it, in the way you handled every social obligation so he wouldn’t have to. A love that, despite being arranged, had been genuine on your part.

Mydei, however, had never given you much thought.

Your marriage had been one of convenience, a political arrangement that benefited both parties, nothing more. You knew that. You had known it from the start. But knowing didn’t stop you from hoping, didn’t stop you from trying to be someone he could come to love.

Yet you had tried.

You learned his preferences. You shielded him from trivial nuisances. You defended him against enemies in court. You ensured his home was warm when he returned, even if he never cared whether you were there waiting or not. You gave him everything you had to offer, even as your own needs went unnoticed, unfulfilled.

And then, one day, you died.

It was an illness, slow but inevitable. The kind that ate away at you little by little until there was nothing left to give. You had fought to stay by his side, to live long enough for him to notice you, to care. But as you lay on your deathbed, your body weak, your breath shallow, Mydei had stood beside you with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

“It’s unfortunate” he had said, his voice calm. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

He hadn’t held your hand. Hadn’t begged you to stay. Hadn’t even asked if you were afraid. And so you died, alone in a marriage that had never truly been shared.

But then, against all reason, you awoke again.

A second life. A second chance.

And this time, you wouldn’t waste it on him.

----

The first time you met Mydei again in your new life, he had the same detached expression, but this time, you weren’t the same.

“Oh. It’s you.” he said, mildly surprised.

You stared at him, deadpan. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback. In your past life, you would have smiled softly, eager to please. Now, you met his gaze with all the warmth of an ice sculpture.

“You seem different.” he noted, as though observing the weather.

“Yes, well, dying does that to a person.” You crossed your arms. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to cater to your every whim anymore. I have better things to do.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a reaction so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well. It was funny. For the first time, Mydei found himself unsure of how to proceed.

Days turned to weeks, and you continued to avoid him as much as possible. When you couldn’t, you treated him with polite indifference.

“Here, I brought you tea.”

Mydei raised a brow. “Tea?”

“I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” You sipped your own drink with a smirk, watching as he hesitated before taking a sip. No more pomegranate juice, but you made no move to correct it. Let him suffer.

He gave you a long, unreadable look, then quietly finished the tea anyway.

You weren’t sure when it started, but Mydei began seeking you out more often. Not for anything important, just small, meaningless interactions that, in your first life, he would have ignored entirely.

“You’re busy” he observed one day, watching you pour over books in the library.

“You’re perceptive” you deadpanned, not looking up.

“I can help.”

You finally met his gaze, incredulous. “You? Help? With something that doesn’t benefit you?”

“I’m capable of generosity” he replied smoothly.

You scoffed. “Sure. And I’m the Empress of the Universe.”

To your growing unease, Mydei only chuckled, as if thoroughly enjoying the challenge you presented. If he had ignored your love in your past life, he now seemed intent on prying into your every thought in this one.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

What made it all the more complicated was that Mydei had no idea you had already lived and died once before. To him, this was just the first time you had ever looked at him with anything less than quiet admiration. And while he couldn’t understand what had changed, he was undeniably intrigued.

-----

The third prince’s birthday celebration was an unavoidable event. No matter how much you wanted to stay far away from Mydei, you were both expected to attend.

Dressed in formal attire, you entered the grand hall, carefully ignoring Mydei’s presence beside you.

As expected, the noble ladies flocked to him almost immediately, their voices sickly sweet.

“Mydei, you look as composed as ever” one simpered, lightly touching his sleeve. “Surely you must save a dance for me?”

“And me as well” another chimed in. “It’s not often we get to see you at these gatherings.”

You sipped your drink and turned away, uninterested.

Mydei, however, seemed less inclined to entertain them. His gaze flickered to you, watching your utter lack of reaction.

“You’re ignoring me” he murmured, stepping closer.

You didn’t even glance at him. “Congratulations, you’re learning.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if amused. “Are you jealous?”

You turned to him at last, offering the driest look you could muster. “If I had a single grain of salt for every second I cared, I wouldn’t even be able to season a meal.”

He chuckled. And you had the distinct feeling Mydei wasn’t going to let you ignore him forever.

Sensing your chance to leave, you excused yourself quietly and slipped away. You navigated through the bustling crowd until you reached the gardens, where the young third prince stood alone, watching the lanterns flicker above. You wished him a happy birthday, exchanged brief pleasantries before excusing yourself, intent on leaving before anyone noticed. Unbeknownst to you, Mydei had followed—watching from the shadows as you spoke to the young prince with a warmth you had never once given him in this lifetime.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click as you stepped into your quarters, letting out a sigh of relief. The evening had been long. You had done your part, made an appearance, and now you could finally shed the pretense of civility and rest.

You barely had time to unfasten the heavy jewelry weighing on your ears before there was a knock at the door. Your brows furrowed. It was late. Too late for someone to be calling on you unless it was urgent.

Still, you already had a sinking feeling about who it was.

“Enter” you called, bracing yourself.

The door opened, and sure enough, Mydei stepped inside. His usually pristine attire was slightly disheveled, his coat unbuttoned at the collar. But what truly caught your attention was the way he moved, slower, more deliberate, as if something was weighing on him.

He had never been one to drink, and yet, something about him seemed... off.

You sighed. “It’s late, Mydei.”

“You left early” he countered, shutting the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something quiet and simmering beneath the surface. “Without informing me.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to retire for the night” you replied dryly, turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I saw you” Mydei interrupted.

You stilled. “Saw me?”

“With the third prince” he clarified, stepping closer. “In the gardens. You seemed… close.”

You exhaled through your nose. “He’s a child, Mydei. I was wishing him a happy birthday.”

“And yet, you looked at him with more warmth than you’ve ever spared me.”

You turned to face him then, brows arching. “Are you jealous?”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you. He took another step forward, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact.

“Would it matter if I was?” he asked at last.

You scoffed, stepping back. “No. Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mydei was a man of control. To be thrown off balance, to be met with resistance where he once found compliance, was undoubtedly foreign to him.

Good. Let him feel what you had felt all those years.

You turned away, signaling the conversation was over. “Go sleep, Mydei. We have nothing more to discuss.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. “You truly are different now.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have noticed the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. And you might have realized that Mydei was far from willing to let things be.

-----

Over the next few days, Mydei seemed to have an unusual amount of free time. His duties, which once kept him busy, were now seemingly cast aside. Wherever you went, he was there.

It started subtly: walking in step with you through the halls, his presence a quiet shadow. Then it grew bolder. Sitting beside you at meals, his knee brushing against yours and never pulling away. Standing behind you, fingertips grazing the small of your back under the guise of guiding you forward.

You would have ignored it, written it off as coincidence—if not for the way his touch lingered. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if it were second nature.

One evening, as you sat by the window, lost in thought, you felt it again, his hand, warm and steady, against your shoulder. A familiar presence, yet wholly unfamiliar in its intent.

“You’ve been avoiding me” Mydei murmured.

“I’ve been living my life” you corrected, not looking up.

His fingers curled slightly, almost as if to pull you closer, but he hesitated. “And yet, somehow, I find myself a part of it more than before.”

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why that is.”

A smirk ghosted his lips, though his eyes held something heavier. “Oh, I have.”

You had tolerated it long enough. Mydei’s constant presence, his lingering touches, the way he hovered around you as if he had never been indifferent.

The final straw came when he followed you into the private study, an intimate space he had never once stepped foot in before. You slammed the book you were holding onto the table and turned to face him, irritation burning in your chest.

"Enough!" Your voice was firm, unwavering. "What exactly do you want from me, Mydei?"

He arched a brow, unfazed. "I would think that’s obvious."

You scoffed. "Obvious? You ignored me for years, treated our marriage as a mere obligation, and now—now you cling to my side like a shadow. Why?" Your breath hitched slightly, but you pushed forward. "Is it because I no longer chase after you? Because I finally see this marriage for what it is?"

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—something unreadable. He took a step closer, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No" you said sharply. "No more. This ends now. I want a divorce."

For the first time since his sudden shift in behavior, Mydei’s expression darkened. "You don’t mean that."

"I do." You met his gaze head-on. "I refuse to stay shackled in a marriage that was never real."

He exhaled slowly, as if reining himself in. "And what makes you think I'll allow it?"

Your fingers clenched into fists. "Because it’s not your decision to make."

"You truly have changed."

You didn’t back down. "And I intend to keep it that way."

His eyes lingered on you, calculating, something darker stirring beneath the surface. Then, as if making a silent decision, he took another step forward.

"Then let's see how far you’re willing to go" he murmured.

-----

Determined to push him into agreeing, you invited Duke Laurent, a respected noble and someone with a clear interest in you, to visit. If Mydei would not agree to divorce out of reason, perhaps jealousy would make him let go.

Just as you began conversing with the duke, Mydei’s arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You stiffened at the public display of intimacy, something he had never once shown before. The duke’s expression remained polite, though there was clear tension in the air.

Mydei leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "You think bringing another man here will make me release you?"

He turned his gaze to the duke, his expression composed but lethal. "You see, we are still very much married."

Before you could shove him away, he tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your lips, just enough to make the moment scandalous.

"Mydei—" You hissed, shoving at his chest, but his grip remained firm.

Then came his final blow, spoken with a smirk against your skin. "If you truly wish to fulfill the divorce, then surely, as tradition dictates, our marriage must bear an heir first. Otherwise, it would be incomplete."

The audacity of it, the sheer arrogance—

Fury surged through you. Without thinking, you leaned in and bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him tense, hard enough to leave a mark through his fine fabric. Just hoping it'll make him let you go. He inhaled sharply, but instead of anger, something else flickered in his gaze. Interest.

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist. "How intriguing" he murmured, almost amused. "You’re becoming more and more fascinating."

You could only glare, breathless with anger, as he leaned in even closer. "I’ve decided—I shall never let you alone."

That night, Mydei made his final decision.

You found yourself restless, pacing in your chambers, feeling trapped in a game you never agreed to play. The door creaked open, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"Leave!" you ordered without looking up.

Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You asked for a divorce. I gave you my terms," he said smoothly. "But I have a better idea."

You turned, narrowing your eyes. "I don't care for your ideas, Mydei. I want my freedom."

"And I want you," he countered effortlessly, closing the distance between you. "So, it seems we are at an impasse."

He reached out, tracing a hand over your wrist. "You see, I’ve realized something," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I cannot let you go."

"Then you will have to learn."

"No" he whispered, leaning in "I will simply ensure that you never wish to leave."

This was no longer a battle of marriage or freedom.

This was war.

Then, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you try to run, I will find you. If you seek another, I will ruin them. And if you deny me..." His fingers trailed over your throat, "I will make sure you have nowhere to go but back to me."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Wouldn’t I?" The smirk on his face only triggered you more. "You forget, my dear, I am not a man who lets go of what is his. And you? You belong to me."

A slow, measured pause before he added, "So fight me if you must. Hate me, struggle, scream. But in the end, you will always return to me. I will make sure of it."

---

Another day passed. Nothing happened. Until-

You were sitting stiffly in your chambers, the weight of Mydei’s last words still pressing against your mind.

Mydei entered, once again without your consent.

A goblet sat before you, filled with deep crimson liquid—the rich, unmistakable hue of pomegranate juice. It was his favorite, something he drank often, something he had tried countless times to get you to enjoy.

“I had the servants prepare this just for you” Mydei said smoothly, swirling the liquid in his own goblet. “It would be such a shame if you ignored my gift.”

You hesitated, glancing at the drink. Something about his tone made you wary, but refusing would only stretch this moment further. You reached for the goblet, only for Mydei to intercept, his fingers ghosting over yours as he picked it up himself.

“Let me.”

His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head slightly. Before you could react, the cool rim of the goblet pressed against your lips, the sweet aroma of pomegranate thick in the air. The moment the liquid touched your tongue, warmth flooded through your body. A strange, numbing sensation curled through your veins, heavy and inescapable. Your limbs felt sluggish, the world turning soft around the edges.

Your breath hitched as your body betrayed you, sinking against the silk sheets.

Through your hazy vision, you saw Mydei standing by the door, watching. His expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Rest well, my dear”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he moved closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek before he slid into the bed beside you. His arms wrapped around you, firm yet deceptively gentle, caging you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and in your hazy state, resistance felt… unnecessary.

“You’ll understand soon” he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. “You don’t need to fight anymore. Just listen to me.”

Your thoughts wavered, slipping further into a fog. Your body felt too heavy to move, your mind too sluggish to argue. His presence, once suffocating, now felt… inevitable.

Through the night, he held you close, his grip never loosening. Each time your thoughts stirred, his voice was there, murmuring soft reassurances, reinforcing his presence, reminding you he was always there.

By the time morning light crept through the curtains, your mind was no longer as sharp as before. The idea of pulling away seemed distant, unnecessary.

He was still here.

His arms remained locked around you, as if this was how it had always been. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against the side of your neck, warm yet oppressive.

“Awake already?” His voice was low, thick with the drowsiness of someone who had slept well.

You swallowed, trying to shift, only to realize just how intimately entangled the two of you were. One of his legs had hooked over yours, anchoring you beneath the weight of him. His fingers, idly tracing over the fabric of your nightclothes, stopped just at your wrist, where his hold subtly tightened.

You were trapped.

“I need to get up” you muttered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Mydei didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his arms curled around you more securely, pressing you deeper against his chest. “You don’t, actually,” he murmured. “Stay.”

Something in his voice made your stomach twist. There was no plea, no request, just the quiet certainty of a man who had already decided what would happen.

“I have things to do” you tried again, frustration slipping into your tone. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” Mydei interrupted lazily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you properly. His hair was slightly tousled, falling over sharp eyes that gleamed with something unreadable. “You haven’t been well. I think it’s best if you rest today.”

“I feel fine” you lied, pushing against his chest.

He caught your wrist easily, his thumb pressing against the rapid beat of your pulse. “Do you?” His smile was slow, knowing. “You still look dazed. You’re warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were falling ill.”

Mydei had always been perceptive, dangerously so. And in this moment, with your thoughts still sluggish, you knew you were at a disadvantage.

“Mydei,” you tried to keep your voice steady, “what did you do?”

His grip on your wrist didn’t waver, but his expression softened into something almost… fond.

“I’ve merely helped you see things clearly.” His fingers traced over your knuckles before he lifted your hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your palm. His lips curved against your skin. “You always try to run. You make things so difficult for yourself.”

“You drugged me.”

Mydei sighed, tilting his head as if mildly disappointed. “It was just a little something to help you relax. To stop you from making rash decisions.” He leaned in closer, his nose grazing against your cheek before his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions, would you?”

A surge of unease coursed through you, your body screaming to move—to fight. But your limbs still felt leaden, and Mydei knew it. He had planned for it.

“I thought we had an agreement” you gritted out. “You can’t keep me here like this.”

“What do you mean by 'keep you'? You’re mine, my dear. You always have been.”

Your breath hitched as he finally released your wrist—only to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him properly.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere mydei #mydeimos #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #mydei #bsd x you #honkai star rail mydei

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peekofhistory · 3 days ago

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Do you have a favourite c-drama, either historical, modern or fantasy? I really enjoyed watching Everlasting Longing

I absolutely have a favourite, along with 3 other that come really close 😃 These 4 shows I've watched for almost 30 years now and I still keep re-watching them because of how amazing they are.

a) 1994 Romance of the Three Kingdoms (三国演义) b) 1986 Journey to the West (西游记) c) 1987 Dream of the Red Chamber (红楼梦) d) 1998 Water Margins (水浒传)

These 4 series were based off of the classical novels of the same names. They were produced by CCTV, the central broadcasting network in China, so we call them 央视版 (central broadcast version) because there are many other adaptations.

Romance of the Three Kingdoms, out of these 4 series this one is my ABSOLUTE favourite. Not only for Chinese drama, this is my favourite show historical, modern, Chinese, English, the top spot in my heart.

This story is set in the Three Kingdoms period of Chinese history. Out of all 4 classics, this one is the most historical, but the story DOES contain many fictional aspects. Many people say it's 70/30 (70% based on history, 30% made up/tweaked from history). The characters themselves ARE all real in history, and the general direction of the story follows history as well.

Near the end of the Han Dynasty, local warlords started gaining power, eventually splitting the country into 3 Kingdoms. That's pretty much the basis of the story. It goes into strategies used in warfare, psychology of using strategies, famous battles, etc. People also use it to discuss some philosophical questions like, honor, right vs wrong (kill an innocent person to calm an entire army, is that justified? etc.), what is acceptable as a leader, being faithful to your country, not giving up, etc.

I've watched this series no less than 20 times over the past 30 years and every time I still laugh and cry. I also know enough about the background when they were filming to know how difficult it was. The series is 84 eps long, they filmed in 5 groups for 3 years (so basically all 5 groups were filming at the same time to save time), even utilizing the military for some of the larger battles. Main character roles were paid 250 yuan/episode (about $34 USD today), which was fairly good for salary back then but nowhere near the outrageous amounts actors get today compared to average worker. The first few months before filming all actors went through training, horseback riding, fighting, going over the novel with experts, learning etiquette and mannerisms, etc.

This series also has my favourite historical figures, Emperor Liubei and his Prime Minister Zhuge Liang. After researching the actual history of this period, these two are my top historical Emperor/advisor pair. An Emperor who trusted his Prime Minister with his Kingdom, and a Prime Minister who fought to the last breath to fulfill the dream they had together T___T 为什么我的鱼水君臣要 BE...😭😭😭

If you're interested in watching this series, @hanchaozhilang is doing English subs for the whole series

Putting up 2 MVs for them here (combined into 1 video), 我家昭烈帝和武侯有排面！！

Srcs: 一知半解书【悬溺一响，诸葛亮登场】 https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1nP411W7tA/

博文儿吖【刘备|正史燃向】翻译翻译什么叫昭烈！ https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV14r4y1m7rs/

Journey to the West is based off of a true event in history, during the Tang Dynasty. A monk went on a journey from Chang'an (now Xi'an) to India for Buddhist scriptures. I'm not too familiar with the actual history, but I can imagine back then it would've been an incredibly difficult journey to make.

The novel took that journey and expanded it. They wrote in 3 disciples for the monk (technically 4...the horse who's the son of one of the Dragon Kings is also one), and put 81 "tests" along the way. The monk and his disciples had to overcome these attempts to thwart their journey to finally reach their goal.

The main character of this series isn't actually the monk but his eldest disciple, the Monkey King (top right). The Monkey King (named Sun Wukong) was birthed from a rock, and learned skills like how to transform into various objects, how to fly, etc. At one point he trashed the Jade Emperor (Emperor of the Heavens) palace and was sentenced by Buddha to be trapped under a mountain, but was tasked to assist the monk on his journey 500 years later.

When they filmed this series they were desperately short on funding, only had 1 video camera to use xD Every single main actor took on several roles (some of the smaller monster roles, once all the makeup was on you couldn't tell anyway). The actor who played the Monkey King, Liu Xiao Ling Tong, he came from a family of Peking Opera performers who specialized in the Monkey King role, so he excelled in it.

The novel Dream of the Red Chamber is originally called Story of the Stone (石头记). It centres around several large, rich, powerful families interconnected through marriage, with members serving in the court and one of the daughters even being a concubine to the Emperor. Although the story doesn't specify a dynasty, most people speculate it's likely set in Ming (the author was from the Qing Dynasty).

There are numerous storylines throughout the story, but the main one is between a young man, Baoyu, and his cousin, Daiyu (top left). This novel is incredibly complicated, with an entire profession dedicated to studying just this book (called "Redology" 红学). It can be viewed as telling the rise and fall of a family, but can also be viewed to describe a society and the rise and fall of dynasties. There are many, many characters in this book all with different story arcs. When I was a child, watching this show was just pretty clothes and hair, but as I grew, every time I re-watched the show I found reflections of life in this story. Family relationships, friendships, colleagues, bosses, this story touches on all of them, so whatever age you read this book/watch this show there's things to think about.

Many of the actors for this show were not actors by profession, literally plucked from the crowd. For two years prior to filming, all of them lived together, learning the script, reading the novel, going over it with experts, learning mannerisms, how to write calligraphy, poetry, etc. Their roles weren't immediately set, so during those two years they all tried out different roles, memorized lines, basically like living in a giant dormitory together, so once filming did start their "acting" was very natural.

Water Margins is set in the Song Dynasty. This story, to me, is darker than the other 3. The story depicts a court that is very corrupt and unjust, which forces a lot of otherwise good people to resort to criminal activity. Over 100 of them gather on a mountain in the middle of a lake, called Liangshan, where they essentially become a gang.

The traditional view of them tended to be kind of like Robinhood, raiding local cities and distributing the wealth to the people but if you actually read the book it's darker. Before joining the group, some of them would kidnap women and **** them, or one person had a restaurant where she murdered customers and made them into meat buns O.O;; So...yeah, dark stuff.

But anyway, the story goes into how this group take on the courts, lots of fighting, lots of bloodshed, the ending's really tragic T_T

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moonyswolfie · 2 days ago

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Study Session

A/N: So I just finished a torturously long exam session and this fic is a result of all the stress and mental breakdowns I've accumulated like Pokemons during this time. I actually wrote this piece between two of my biggest and most difficult exams, hence the N.E.W.T.s coming in to play. I hope you enjoy and if you relate, I'm so sorry! Remember that you are strong and no amount of academic stress can bring you down!

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

Masterlist

The table you were sat at in the Library was so crowded with textbooks and parchments that you could not see the wood any longer. Notes and cheat sheets, explanatory scrolls of parchments, quills and bottles of ink covered the entire surface. Hell, Lily even brought a dictionary. Merlin knew what use would a muggle dictionary have when it came to magical terms, but you learned a long time ago to never question her genius.

It was N.E.W.T.s season and to say that all 5 of you were stressed would be an understatement. James thought that once you passed your O.W.L.s, the N.E.W.T.s would not be as scary as everyone made them out to be. It was an exam session, a very long and tiresome and perhaps crucial exam session, but it wasn't Voldemort, right?

Wrong. The stress was growing by the hour and despite having two more weeks at your disposal to revise and memorise all you needed to, it didn't feel like enough.

But then again, was it ever enough?

You've been preparing for the N.E.W.T.s since the beginning of the school year, forcing yourself to attend every class and take a ginormous amount of notes that you knew would probably end up useless or lost somewhere at the bottom of your book bag. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to pause. Failure was not an option.

So far you tackled Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, all of them easy and rather entertaining subjects, if you were to say so yourself. Right now however, you were stuck on the same Potions chapter for the past four hours and were just about ready to scream, cry, Avada Kedavra yourself or better yet, all of the above.

"Hey, Sirius?"

He hums and looks up, noticing your twitching eye and the exasperation rolling off you in waves.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

The concern was palpable and it caught the attention of your boyfriend in an instant, yet Remus knew better than to pester you with questions right now. He was adamant about rest and health being your first priority, but considering his own overcrowded study schedule, he would be a hypocrite to point it out at the moment. He did, however, push a goblet of water in your direction, which you eagerly accepted and gulped down in seconds. You weren't exactly allowed food or beverages in the Library, but what Pince didn't know would not hurt her.

You thanked Remus and handed the goblet back, before turning to Sirius and taking a deep breath to regain your composure.

"I have been rereading this chapter for the majority of our time here and I still don't understand the origins or the side effects of Amortentia when used for a longer period of time. No one really bothered to detail on them in any of our textbooks and I am not sure anyone ever subjected themselves to testing it out and then writing a memoir about it. However, Slughorn oh so graciously announced us that it might be included in the advanced exam topics. Do you happen to have anything on this? I know he mentioned some in class, but I didn't catch all of them."

"I think I do..."

He shuffles some parchments and knocks down some books, thus earning himself a stern look from Madame Pince, but ultimately finds the notes and hands them over.

"There you go, love."

You smile and thank him, humming while you scan the information. For such a chaotic human being, he had the neatest handwriting you've ever seen.

It doesn't take long for you to find the part about side effects, however there was nothing you didn't already write down yourself. Thankfully though, Sirius was the type of person to absently write down everything he heard so you found other helpful pieces of information. This was why you asked him for the notes in the first place, instead of Remus or James. Remus, much like yourself, only wrote the parts he was less certain of, whereas James didn't write anything at all. And Lily, Merlin bless her, she was a growing disaster when it came to writing information down. There was, contrary to her claims, no method to her madness.

You rolled up the parchment once you were done writing, yet kept it close, just in case you needed it again later. Sirius was studying for Transfiguration, so he wouldn't miss the notes anytime soon. Lily turned to you, ready to ask a question regarding a Charms lesson she was too sick to attend, but stopped and frowned, browsing the page spread out on the table in front of you.

"Y/N, why are your notes bilingual?"

You turned and followed her gaze to the margins, specifically to the terminology you borrowed from Sirius...

You unscrolled his notes again and placed them next to yours, looking from one to the other with a bemused smile. Next to the name of the potion, you drew a little arrow and wrote amour et obsession, which would have been inconspicuous, had you not added une potion délicate and l'amour impossible devient possible.

There were a few more next to the ingredients list and some corrections made regarding the mode of preparation. As you scanned the two sets of notes, you noticed that his were entirely in French, while you half translated, half copied your added bits.

You didn't know what was funnier, that you mindlessly wrote the information in Frenchglish, or that you didn't notice it was in another language to begin with.

English was your mother tongue, yet like every other pureblooded offspring, you were forced to attend a variety of language lessons to determine which ones you would be more skilled in. Romantic languages proved to be your forte, so you stuck with French, Italian and Latin. It wasn't easy in the beginning, seeing as they are all mere variations of the latter, therefore making them ridiculously easy to mix up and combine in the oddest of sentences, but you persevered and were now fluent in all four.

Regardless, slip ups like the one you were tiredly staring at now were not unheard of. You were certain it was a testament to how tired you truly were. Perhaps Remus was right, you should rest more.

But then again, this was not a simple exam session. It was the one that would determine your entire future. You could sleep when you're dead.

"You write your notes in French?"

Sirius' head shot up immediatey, confusion written all over his face.

"Yes?"

By now everyone's attention was on your exchange, which deepened his frown. James looked like he missed everything until that very moment, Remus was watching his best friend with a raised brow and Lily was silently shaking her head, smiling. She didn't know how she ended up with the lot of you, but she knew she loved you dearly.

"French is my first language" Sirius added, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

Sadly, it did nothing to clear up the confusion. When neither of you said anything, he added "doesn't everyone take notes in their first language?"

Despite Remus being the only other person in your group who wasn't a native English speaker, therefore making him the best candidate to answer his friend, you all shook your heads, your faces betraying different levels of amusement and fondness. It was a rather endearing situation.

"I don't take notes in Welsh, if that's what you're asking. I don't think I can even translate half the things correctly. Besides, the spells are in Latin, so imagine how that would look on a piece of parchment."

You chuckled at the mental image of magical notes looking more like pages taken from that muggle author's book, Tolkien. Lily followed and you both received a glare and a pointed "shhh" from Madame Pince. Honestly, it was a wonder she wasn't kicking you out at this point.

"Wait a second" James turned towards his best friend "ALL of your notes are in French?"

Sirius nods. Poor baby looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"But don't you..." you frown, unsure how to formulate your question "I see you writing constantly. If the Professor speaks, you write. How..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and shaking your head "my brain hurts. You look as if you write down everything that is said in class, so I assumed that you do?”

You peek an eye up only to be met with Sirius chuckling silently.

“I do write mostly everything that is said in class, but first I summarize it and I guess it’s easier to summarize it in French. I find it easier if I reformulate the information because it shows I understood the concept, but to avoid learning something mechanically and forgetting it when I flip the page, I use my own words. The only issue is that sometimes I forget the word I need in English or there isn’t even a word in English for said thing to begin with. Thus French. And no one really asked me for my notes before you so I didn’t see any reason to put any effort in translating them. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with it anyway.” he adds with an amused smirk, remembering Lily’s previous comment about your notes

You mask your chuckle with a cough and glance at your notes again.

“That is actually a great idea, Pads, I might have to start doing it myself.”

“NO!”

The lot of you was startled by James’ whisper-shout. You gave him a bewildered look, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Are you alright, big brother?”

“Don’t you dare. I know you and your disturbingly brilliant mind. If you start implementing this method, you’re going to write your notes in Latin” he squints, an accusatory look in his eyes “and where am I going to get my last minute notes from then?”

That was it, you couldn’t hold it in any longer if you tried. You burst out laughing, prompting an exaggerated “SHHH” to be directed your way.

“This is your last warning, if you cannot keep quiet, I suggest you move your little study session to your Common Room.”

Madame Pince was stern, yet you couldn’t fault her this time. You were loud and you certainly disturbed a few of your peers seated at nearby tables.

“Sorry” you whisper with a sheepish look.

You returned your attention to the table just in time to catch Lily placing a sweet kiss on James’ cheek, mumbling “don’t worry, my love, I won’t leave you noteless” which seemed to lift his spirits immediately. As grossed out as you were by their affection sometimes (what are sisters for after all?), you couldn’t help but smile at the scene. You were really happy he found his better half, even if it happened to be one of your best friends.

But after all, you did return the favour, did you not?

Remus’ hand found yours under the table and he squeezed it affectionately. You squeezed right back and smiled up at him, mouthing “I love you” and delighting in the beautiful smile that took over his face for the rest of the day.

#harry potter #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #marauders #fantasy #fiction #my writing #writers #potter!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x potter!reader #james potter x lily evans #james potter x sister!reader #sirius black x potter!reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #N.E.W.T.s

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pronouncingitwang · 7 hours ago

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[ID: 8 screenshots of text reading

DOCTOR: What happened? AMY: Twelve years. DOCTOR: You hit me with a cricket bat. AMY: Twelve years. DOCTOR: A cricket bat. AMY: Twelve years and four psychiatrists. DOCTOR: Four? AMY: I kept biting them. DOCTOR: Why? AMY: They said you weren't real.

And this was where Amy Pond usually woke up - unable to make sense of this strange, unsettling dream about a mother she didn't have… about a memory she was sure couldn't be real. In a cold sweat, she reached for the glass of water by her bed, gulping at it. And then, as psychiatrist number three had taught her to do, she counted to ten. She had stopped trying to learn her psychiatrists' names. There was no point when they never lasted. And they never lasted because she kept biting them when they told her he wasn't real. Her raggedy man.

Remember that dog that got run over? I can still see the van driver cradling it and saying the same thing over and over, really desperately hoping that it was all going to be OK. Now here's Amy Pond, standing in the freezing ocean, hold- ing the dead body of her imaginary friend, and shouting at the sea to make him better. Yeah. If only my therapists could see me now.

[Living room] (The nice lady psychiatrist is looking at a painting of the moon and stars.) CHRISTINE: It's a lovely painting, Amelia. And what are all these? AMELIA: Stars. SHARON: Oh, Amelia. CHRISTINE: Tell you what, shall we go outside? [Outside the house] CHRISTINE: What do you see, Amelia? AMELIA: The moon. CHRISTINE: And what else? AMELIA: Just the dark. CHRISTINE: But no stars. If there were stars up there, we'd be able to see them, wouldn't we? Amelia, look at me. You know this is all just a story, don't you? You know there's no such thing as stars.

Amy's eyes were filling with tears but she blinked them away quickly. She knew that eventually she would have to tell him, but she didn't know how. Not without him thinking she was crazy, just like her psychiatrists and her aunt and the school counsellor. And she really didn't want to bite Rory when he was being so nice to her, and …

INTERFACE: Unexpected visitor. Welcome. Please seek assistance. (A Handbot is up ahead.) AMY: Hello? Hey. Oi, wait. (The Handbot turns and scans her.) HANDBOT: You are carrying unregistered bacteria. Please let me help you. AMY: No, I'm not from this world. Your medicine'll kill me. HANDBOT: Statement rejected. Do not be alarmed. This is a kindness.

'That's ironic. So, you just keep them locked up here?' the Doctor said. He sipped his tea. 'How moral and ethical is that?' Jackson set down his tea on one of the few empty spaces on his desk. 'They're here for their own good.' 'I've heard that before,' Amy retorted. 'No, I mean it. They're here for treatment.'

AUGUSTUS: At the age of six and announced that the new head teacher wasn't real because she looked like a cartoon. AMY: Shut up, Dad! RORY: Amy? AUGUSTUS: Amelia? AMY: Sorry, but shut up, please. There's someone missing. Someone important. Someone so, so important. RORY: Amy, what's wrong? AMY: Sorry. Sorry, everyone. But when I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend. TABETHA: Oh no, not this again. AMY: The raggedy Doctor. My raggedy Doctor. But he wasn't imaginary, he was real. TABETHA: The psychiatrists we sent her to.

/end ID]

amy pond + involuntary / coercive treatment

( the eleventh hour / the girl who tore through the universe by nikita gill / dead of winter by james goss / the big bang / the girl who tore through the universe by nikita gill / the girl who waited / apollo 23 by justin richards / the big bang )

#doctor who #long post #psychiatry tw

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meguwumibear · 20 hours ago

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dominant!zayne x submissive!reader

tw for light BDSM, bondage/shibari, sex toys (vibrator), fingering, and some minor angst. mc calls zayne sir like twice. if i've missed something else that needs a tag, just ask! nondescript female reader with a bit of a backstory, just to make her feel more connected to the world.

Additional Disclaimer: Takes place after the events of the main story (which I am not fully caught up on). Reader is NOT the game MC in this fic. In my mind's eye MC decided to romance one of the other characters and Zayne does what he can to move on.

and yes, zayne's harness in the fic is 100% inspired by his harnes in the new trailer

In 2034 the world you as you know it ends. It happens suddenly one mundane spring afternoon. A great, gaping maw opens in the cloudless blue sky above Linkon City, releasing a tidal wave of ferocious monsters unto the earth. Locals come to call the event the Chronorift Catastrophe. The world later discovers that the great, gaping hole in the sky was the appearance of the first ever Deepspace Tunnel which attracted alien beings now colloquially referred to as Wanderers.

Everyone in Linkon City remembers where they were that day. They remember what they were wearing and who they were with. A flashbulb memory, the psychologists call it. A memory that endures. A memory that persists.

Like most survivors, it isn’t just the red rain falling from the sky or the horrible sound of the earth splitting around you that you remember: it’s the actions you took to survive. The people you ran past. The neighbors you didn’t save. The hand you didn’t extend to the woman who tripped over her own two feet running from the creature. The debris you didn’t help remove from the body of the elderly man too weak to push the plank away without aid.

For three weeks you see a therapist. You’re an adult now, still plagued by nightmares of the event. You tell the woman you’re meeting with that you are suffering from memories. She tells you that your body needs to learn that the danger has passed. The problem with that logic? The danger hasn’t. Your body can’t stop secreting stress hormones when you daily lunch breaks are constantly interrupted by Metaflux monsters.

Your past becomes a prison. An inescapable cage. Your therapists asks how you would feel if someone flung open the doors for you. You tell her it would depend on who opened the door and what’s happening outside.

The session before you ghost your shrink, she asks you to practice breathing exercises. She prattles on and on about the importance of nervous system regulation in trauma recovery. Apparently exhaling is supposed to activate the “rest and digest” response—the antidote to the “fight and flight” response that your body is stuck in.

And that’s all well and good but even twenty years later the Wanders keep manifesting in Linkon City in numbers that the Hunters can’t keep up with. You’d move, maybe, if you had the means, though you did read somewhere once that a scared animal will continue to seek out their home, even if their home is no longer safe.

So you find an alternative way to cope with the stress of the new world.

There’s budding red light district about an hour outside the city. You go sometimes on weekends to decompress. Your favorite haunt is a small BDSM club run by a couple of old widows who lost their husbands to the war. They verify ages at the door and ensure all the drinks at the place stay virgin.

You’re not heavy into the scene or anything—you actually have quite a few hard limits—it’s just…nothing else you’ve tried has helped you to shut off your brain. To shift your focus from the past to the present. To shut out all thoughts of Hunters and Protocores and Wanders.

The doms you’ve had up until this point were perfectly adequate; they listened diligently to what you were open to and respected all of your boundaries. You aren’t sure why you’ve never asked for a more consistent routine with any of them. Something, somehow, was always missing from the encounters.

There are a lot of new faces at the club tonight. Or, rather, there are a lot of faces new to you. The club has many regulars, but you don’t make the hike often enough to have them all committed to memory. Still, you’re certain you’ve never seen the tall, stoic man in a leather harness swarmed by a gaggle of women before. Despite the fact that he clearly has his pick of the litter, your gaze keeps wandering to his solid form. The way his abs flex when he breathes. The way his lips quirk when he talks.

He's halfway across the room but must somehow still feel the heat of your wandering gaze because after a few stolen looks he locks eyes with you. Your whole body flushes as he acknowledges you with a raise of his drink. The tips of your ears burn as he takes a healthy swig of the beverage without breaking the eye contact. It’s you who looks away first.

When you chance a glance back over, he’s excusing himself from the women who flocked to him like a tourist attraction to pick his way towards you. Your heart flutters anxiously as he closes in, and you have to remind yourself not to take a step back once he’s close enough to touch.

“First time?” he asks, voice smooth like ice.

“Ouch,” you reply, gripping your own water glass to ground yourself. “It’s not. Do I really look that unaware.”

His expression doesn’t change but his eyes move to assess you, “What are you drinking?”

Though his tone is relaxed you can’t help but feel as if the question has a correct answer.

“Just water.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Something with electrolytes would be more efficient. If you’re looking for a session tonight, that is.”

“I don’t like the taste,” you tell him, trying to keep the glass in your hand from shaking as desire swells within you.

He frowns, “Without electrolytes, your body will dehydrate, no matter how much water you consume.”

“You a doctor?” you ask.

He hums in what sounds like confirmation before wrapping his hand around yours. “I take the health of the people I play with seriously. This is about much more than sex to me. I like when my partners eat three square meals a day and have an effective exercise regimen implemented.”

You don’t resist when he slips your water from your grasp. You also don’t hesitate to open your mouth when he raises his own perspiring glass to your lips. His fingers don’t even graze you as you swallow down the fruity liquid, yet you can feel your insides come alight as you obey. As your pussy begins to leak it becomes increasing clear to you that you would do just about anything to have this man dominate you tonight.

“Good,” he says once you’ve downed the drink. “Now, do you happen to have a list of what you enjoy and your hard limits on you?”

With shaky hands, you reach wordlessly into your bag to retrieve what the man has asked for. He spends a few moments skimming the contents before simply stating, “I believe we are compatible.”

You follow him to a private room near the back of the club and watch as he begins to gather some equipment for the session. Without turning to look at you he says, “I noticed that you have some experience with light bondage. I prefer to use traditional single ply shibari rope or silk as restraints. These two methods prevent chafing and other potential complications like skin lesions or rashes. Do you have a preference for today’s session?”

“No preference, uh…” you trail off, wondering what the man would like you to refer to him as.

Sensing what’s on your mind, he offers, “I have no preferred titles, but you may assign me one if you like.”

“No preference, Sir,” you say, watching the man for his reaction. He seems unfazed by the moniker and continues to ready himself.

“Do you have any allergies or medical conditions I should be aware of?” he asks.

A lie forms on the tip of your tongue but the truth slips out anyway, “My heart’s a bit weak. Nothing serious. It didn’t develop properly when I was younger. I haven’t had any issues with it before.”

The revelation seems to give the man pause. He turns to you and motions for you to hold out your wrist for him, so you do. His warm fingers slip under your sleeve and find purchase on your pulse point. After a few excoriatingly silent minutes, you attempt to put his mind at ease.

“I’m, uh, a bit more excited than usual at the moment. My resting heart rate is probably higher than normal.”

The pads of his fingers don’t leave your wrist when he asks, “What’s your typical resting heart rate?”

You want to ask what that fucking matters, but sensing that won’t get you any closure to what you want you decide to humor the man. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a doctor. Back when they used to have you track it, the rate could vary depending on what task you were completing. It was higher, usually, when doing something strenuous. When you rested it would drop again.

“Usually around 90 beats per minute.”

His eyes flick to your face as he drops your wrist. “You should see a specialist.”

You roll your eyes impatiently, “Are we fucking or not?”

In response to your outburst, his hands find the hem of your shirt. “Who said I had any intentions of fucking you?” he asks, voice frustratingly emotionless. Your arms raise instinctually as he toys with the fabric, and the takes the opportunity to relieve you of the garment. “As I said before, this is about much more than sex to me.”

He circles behind you and draws you in close to him. It occurs to you suddenly just how much larger than you the man is. He rests his chin on your head as his fingers slowly trace down your sides, leaving a field of goosebumps in their wake. His hands make their way to the button on your pants.

“You aren’t just here for sex. Are you?” he asks, voice low. You feel the words vibrate his chest as he speaks them.

“No,” you whisper, eyes suddenly blurring.

“Good,” he says, undoing your buttons. “Let’s use the traffic light system today. It’s a simply way for me to check in on you and see how you’re doing.”

He lets the words sit in the air for a bit, fingers fiddling with your zipper. The only sound in the room is your own uneven breathing that you fight for control over.

The man pinches the tab of your zipper and shifts so his cheek is pressed against your forehead. “Color,” he asks, breath hot on the shell of your ear.

“Green,” you practically moan.

He slides off your pants with ease once he’s taken care of the zipper. He even helps you to keep your balance as you step out of them, one foot at a time.

“Color?” he asks again, as his fingers settle on the clasp of your bra.

“Green,” you reply, voice steadier now.

He undoes the hook with one hand.

You expect him to remove your panties next, but his fingers instead find the meat of your breasts. One of his arms wraps around you, securing you tightly against him, as you nearly keel over in a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

“Sensitive here,” he observes, cupping one of your breasts in his free hand. He uses a foot to nudge your legs further apart and slip a leg between them. The man isn't lying about getting off on this; his cock is hard as a rock against your ass.

“Fuck,” you whine as his bends you over ever so slightly. Just enough to rub your clothed pussy against his pant leg.

“Wet already,” he informs you, as if you don’t already know. As if you can’t feel the way the cotton material sticks to your lip. “All I did was undress you. That eager to begin?”

“Please,” you groan, desperate for him to take you apart with his slender fingers. “Please, Sir, I want you so fucking bad.”

“On the bed,” he instructs, releasing you, careful not to harm you as his leather harness peels away from your skin.

The rope he ends up choosing for the session is the jute rope. He takes his time winding the instrument around your wrists and pulling them above your head. His movements are practiced and skilled. His hands steady like a surgeon’s. You don’t even realize the effect watching him restrain you is having on you until a firm hand finds its way to your pelvis to stop your squirming.

Once you’ve settled, he retrieves two strands of additional rope.

“Are you familiar with the Spiral Futomomo tie?” he asks. “I understand that you’re still a beginner and tie will force you into a fixed position for an undetermined length of time. I trust you will use your safe word if needed?”

“You can trust me,” you assure him. “I know my limits.”

He must believe your words are sincere because he sets to work binding your ankle to your thigh, checking in periodically to ensure the wrappings aren’t too tight. The man is clearly in no rush and seems to delight in taking breaks between knots to steady your shaking form. You also notice the way his eyes shift to the growing wet spot beneath you as he progresses.

“What do you like about bondage?” he asks as he begins to work on your other leg.

“I don’t know,” you say, attempting to shrug before remembering your pose prevents you from such movement. “I’m never in control of my life anyway. May as well surrender myself to someone I know will take care of me.”

He doesn’t look at you, but you can see the way his eyes lighten. Your response must please him somehow. You decide to push the issue, “You like being in control?”

“I like caretaking,” is his response. “I like giving people what they need.”

“What if I need your fingers inside me?” you dare, feeling bold.

A small smile, but a smile all the same. “Then, you’ll have to patiently wait until I’m finished with the task at hand.”

He double checks all of his bindings once he’s finished securing you, mumbling under his breath about optimal blood flow. It’s cute, the way he seems so set on ensuring this is the best possible experience for you. You can’t remember the last dom you had who was this doting.

When he finally situates himself between your legs, it’s with gloved hands and a vibrator. You jump as the cool leather of the hand covering finds your inner thigh.

“Keep these spread for me,” he says, referring to your legs. Then he’s rubbing the vibrator, still off, up and down your panties with just enough strength for you to truly register the tool.

“You’re soaked,” he observes in that neutral tone of his, though his eyes glistening with awe. You wonder if he even realizes the vibrator isn’t on. His eyes find yours and for the first time all evening he smiles warmly at you. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take excellent care of you.”

Then he turns the vibrator on its lowest setting and your pussy truly begins to drool. He circles the vibrating toy around your clit strategically, watching your response to his ministrations intently. Fire pools in your belly as he slides the vibrator down your cunt and presses the tip of it gently against your opening. The panties you’re still wearing dull some of the vibration, but you can still feel the ungodly amount of slick that slips out of you at the slight penetration.

You do your best to stay still for him as he ups the setting, but your body starts to twitch in pleasure, back beginning to arch, toes threatening to curl. Your breath quickens as well as all the blood in your body seems to pump directly to your swelling clit. The same clit the man is now more firmly rubbing the vibrator against.

“Fuck,” you cry, starting to lose your composure. Your hips buck away from the relentless thrumming of the vibrator. Or maybe towards it. You’re not actually sure. It’s both too much and not enough at the same time. You need more. You need less. You need…

His unoccupied hand presses your hips back against the bed. “Easy,” he coaxes. “Don’t pull against the ropes.”

When you’re unable to obey, too overwhelmed with desire, he switches the vibrator off. The lack of sensation is so abrupt the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill, slipping down your heated cheeks. An animalistic whine you didn’t even know you were capable of escapes you.

“We’re not done,” he assures you, swiping at your tears with his thumbs. You wish suddenly he wasn’t wearing the leather gloves. You yearn to feel him skin to skin. The fabric is warm at least from the heat of his fingers. “You’re just getting a little fussy. I want to make sure everything is alright before we continue.”

He settles back between your spread legs and hooks his pointer finger in the bottom of your panties, pulling it aside to expose your dripping core and swollen lips. “Impressive,” he says, “how simple it was to elicit this response from you.”

He collects some of your spend on his index finger before starting to slide it inside you. It’s met with no resistance. He sinks easily in, straight to the knuckle. When he slips out it’s only to coat a second finger in your slick so he can sink that one in alongside the other. The two digits begin working you in tandem with each other, pumping deliciously against your walls. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.

“Here,” he states, pressing and holding the tips of his fingers against the sensitive area. You involuntarily clench around them, body begging him to move them once more, but the man—to the devastation of your body—is nothing but the living embodiment of self-control.

You audibly cry out when he pulls his fingers from you. He locks eyes with you as he coyly promises, “Soon. I’d never leave a woman unsatisfied, and any man who would isn’t fit to be a dom.”

He picks the vibrator again and this time, when he touches it to your clit, it’s under your ruined panties. The thrumming sends a bolt of electricity skittering up your arched spine. Fuck, you’re so unbelievably wet. You feel your pussy fluttering around nothing and hiccup out a sob. You’re so empty. You’re so, so empty.

“Need,” you hiccup.

“What?” he asks patiently. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your fingers. I need your fingers. Please.”

He slips the same two from before back inside you.

“So well mannered," he praises. Then he asks, "Here?” as he presses the appendages against that spot once again.

“Yeah,” you agree, though you’re so far gone you would agree to anything he asked of you in this moment. “Yeah. Yeah. There. Right there. Fuck!”

He uses his fingers and the vibrator to bring you right to the brink of an orgasm. It’s so good. He’s so good. He’s touching you everywhere you need to be touched. Pushing all the buttons that need to be pushed. Your time in these rooms has never felt anything like this before, and you doubt it will ever feel anything like this ever again.

“Can I-”

“I don’t remember telling you that you needed my permission.”

Your orgasm ripples through you, strong and steady like a cresting wave. Once he’s certain he’s wrung the last of it out of you, the man withdraws his fingers and switches off the vibrator.

“I’m going to remove my gloves and start undoing your bindings,” he says.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply.

It takes a few minutes for him to completely untie you. Once he has, he asks permission to massage your legs and arms to reencouraged blood flow which you readily agree to. He produces a bottle of lotion that smells like eucalyptus from his bag and starts working the muscles of your arm.

“I wish they had showers here,” he offhandedly comments. “I don’t like sending people home without a proper washing.”

“A bath does sound nice,” you agree, sagging into his embrace.

“Promise me you’ll take one when you get home. I don’t want you getting into your bed dirty.”

“I would never make a promise I couldn’t keep, Sir.”

A comfortable silence falls over the room as he continues to provide you with aftercare.

“Zayne,” he eventually says, eyes fixed on the foot he’s been massaging for the past few minutes.

“What?”

“My name. You could use it if you’d like. Sir is fine too, if you’d truly prefer it, but I find names are much more intimate.”

“Oh,” is all you muster. Then you tell him yours.

“Could we move to the sofa while we continue to wind down?” he asks after testing the sound of your name in his mouth. “I like the casual skin to skin contact after a session. I’ll remove my harness but leave my slacks.”

“Fine with me.”

It takes Zayne a moment to remove his harness. Perhaps it’s his first time wearing this particular set of gear. You watch him wrestle with the final clasp through drooping eyelids. His expression softens when he catches you lazily staring at him.

“Admiring the view?” he teases.

“Never had a better one,” you reply easily.

He positions himself behind you when he joins you on the sofa. The two of you lay there comfortable for some time, breath seeming to synchronize in the quiet of the room. The world outside this secluded space slowly begins to creep back into your mind. Back to Metafluxes and Protocores. Back to Wanders and Hunters.

And then you start to cry.

If you weren’t so close to Zayne, you could probably hide it from him, but he notices the change in your mood instantly. He tugs gently at your arm, a wordless plea for you to turn to face him. You allow him to reposition you, curling yourself into his large body, tucking your face into his neck.

He pets at your hair soothingly while you let the worst of it out. When an appropriate amount of time has passed, he asks, “What brought that on?”

“It’s, uh, well it’ll probably ruin the moment if I told you.”

“I’d still like to know if it’s all the same to you. Debriefing is part of the scene after all.”

At first, you’re not sure you want to tell him what triggered the outburst, but considering the dynamic, you figure you owe it to him.

“I was thinking about my ex,” you admit.

Zayne stiffens, his caressing hand on your head stills. “They hurt you?”

“They loved me.”

Zayne tangibly relaxes at your response, and he resumes petting your hair.

“What happened to them?” he asks, tone carefully neutral.

“They left me.”

The silence that follows your confession is welcome. You think you even dose off. When your eyes open again, Zayne is full dressed, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows as he sanitizes the sex toy you soiled.

Sensing you stir he says, “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

Zayne dries the toy and sets it aside, turning to face you.

“I like to follow up with the people I dom for. You don’t have to give me your number if you’re not comfortable. An email will suffice.”

“You can have my number,” you say, gesturing for him to hand you his phone. “I’d actually appreciate a check in tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

He walks you to the train station once he’s certain the number you’ve given him isn’t a fake.

“Remember to get a full eight hours of sleep tonight,” he tells you. “And please eat a protein-based meal for breakfast. Something with eggs and meat, maybe. A shake if absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Doctor Zayne,” you joke, offering him a crisp salute as you step onto the train platform. Maybe you're imagining things, but you swear he flinches at your response.

A firm hand on your wrist stops you from fully entering the car. You turn to face him one final time.

“About that,” he says, expression unreadable. “I was serious about you seeing a specialist for your heart.”

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne lads x reader #zayne lads x you

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tinylilacbun · 1 day ago

Text

School Fights

Pairing: brother!rafe cameron x teen!sister!reader

Warnings: reader getting into fights, arguing, angst, set in s4, mentions of ward being dead, fluff at the end

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝ ͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ 𝅄

Rafe's on his way towards your school, again, this is the third time this month that the principal has called him because you got into another fight.

Ever since Ward died, Rafe took it upon himself to take care of you since you didn't want to stay with Rose and leave the island you grew up on behind but boy, he really didn't expect that taking care of a teenager would be this exhausting.

You kind of remember him of himself when he was around your age, which scares him sometimes, because he made stupid decisions and even more reckless stuff.

He couldn't say no when you somehow managed to come back to Kildare all on your own from Guadaloupe, standing in front of him sobbing and begging him to let you stay with him, saying that you miss him and everything.

Now it's been a while and things have gone smoothly, all until the calls from your principal became more frequent and worse every time.

Arriving in front of the school building he takes a deep breath before climbing out of his car, making his way inside and towards the principal office, the way all too familiar for him by now.

As he opens the door to the office he sighs at seeing you sitting in the seat in front of Miss Tinks desk, your arms crossed over your chest and a faint bruise forming on the corner of your mouth together with a cut on your eyebrow that the school nurse already patched up.

"Mr. Cameron, please take a seat." She greets him, a small professional smile on her face to ease the already growing tension in the room.

"What happened now?" Rafe asks, taking a seat right next to you, reaching out to tuck your hair away to get a proper look at your face but you just turn your head from his reach.

"Well, there's been a little altercation between Y/N and some other students during lunch break." Your principal starts to explain everything, that you lashed out at two other girls for reasons you wouldn't tell her yet as you knew it wouldn't change a thing.

"A'ight, we'll- I'll talk with her. It won't happen again, I'm sure of it." Rafe says, knowing there's no way in hell that things would change but he has to say something to assure that he's capable to take care of his sister.

"Mr. Cameron, with all due respect. I've been patient for a while now, and I can't let these things slide anymore. Y/N will be suspended for the coming three days. Should things not work out soon I'm forced to take more drastic measures to ensure a healthy learning environment for my students." Miss Tinks states calmly, sliding the paper with your suspension towards your brother.

Rafe clenches his jaw, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing at you, who seems completely unbothered by this whole situation.

"Okay. I'll handle it from here, I apologize on her behalf." Rafe musters up a forced smile as he stands up, shaking your principal's hand goodbye, turning to face you. "Let's go."

You grab your bag and stand up to catch up with your brother, walking silently beside him as you both make your way outside and to his car.

After he slams his door shut he starts the engine, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he wheels onto the road, staring ahead but he's visibly upset, rightfully so.

"What happened?" He asks through gritted teeth and when you don't reply he breathes deeply through his nose.

"Y/N, I'm trying to help here but- but when you don't give me a reasonable explanation I'll ground your ass for a damn month and take away your phone, if that's what you want instead be my guest." He waves his hand.

Again, just silence. He's about to start scolding you again when you mumble something under your breath. "Speak up, kid. I can't understand gibberish."

"You wouldn't understand..." You mutter again, trying not to cry as you feel your eyes well up.

"Then help me. At least try to explain what the hell is going on. I can't change things when you don't talk with me, you know that." He runs a hand over his buzzed head, not used to talks like this with you.

"They all pick on me...e-everyone whispers when I walk past them, saying how Dad's a murderer and that he deserved what happened, t-that you're psychopathic, that Sarah turned into a dirty pogue, telling me that I'll just end up like all of you." You finally ramble out, starting to sniffle as the tears roll down your cheeks.

"I just- I couldn't stand it anymore, hearing all that shit and just snapped. Bitches had it coming ever since I started school again..."

Rafe doesn't say anything for a moment, taking everything in you just said, already preparing himself for the phone call he's gonna have with your principal when he gets home.

How can shit like this just slip past all those teachers? Hell, he's pretty sure he can press charges for the fact his sister gets suspended after getting harassed by fellow students. A healthy learning environment, my ass.

"I...I get it." He finally responds, starting to calm down now that he knows why you've been acting so strange lately. "You just wanted to defend your family name. Guess we got more in common than I thought, huh?"

"You- You're not mad?" You question, wiping the tears from your cheeks subtly.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm actually proud of you for not only standing up for yourself but also for dad. He wouldn't get it, but I do...hell I understand you more than anyone ever could."

There's some silence after that, both of you processing the depth of the conversation you just had, there's never really been a chance to talk about what's bothering you since you're still partly grieving your father's deaths.

He wasn't the best dad of the world. Everyone knows that, but still, he tried everything to protect all of you and make sure you'll never have to worry about anything in the future 'til his last breath.

"I miss him..." You whisper suddenly, looking down at your bruised knuckles.

"Yeah, me too." Rafe replies with a low voice.

You furrow your brows when you notice that he doesn't turn into the next street towards his house but keeps driving straight ahead.

"Where are we going?"

He simply shrugs, a smirk forming on his face. "I think we both deserve some McDonald's, don't you think?"

You finally start to smile again, a sight that Rafe hasn't been able to witness for a while now. He should have paid more attention to you, having deep talks like this, he's all you got now after all.

#sister!reader #rafe cameron x sister!reader #brother!rafe cameron

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sylus-doll · 2 hours ago

Text

Synopsis: Sylus has always lived a lonely life, unfamiliar with pleasant company. Being with you again is something he must get used to. He's learning how to, and so are you.

Warnings: Lowkey doesn't make sense because the author is exhausted but wanted to churn something out for you guys. Also mentions of blood. Might be a little angsty.

Author's note: I've gotten busy recently, so I won't be able to write as often. Sorry! I come bearing lowkey dependant Sylus. Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

Throughout his life, Sylus has spent all his time alone. No one would count enemies as company, even if they do trail him and keep an eye on his every move. They were the ones who wanted to see him fall off his throne; cause and spectate his suffering. A walking target. Sure, he had Mephisto and the twins he took under his wing... But could a mechanical bird count as a friend? Or a pair of twins who work directly under him, following his commands? No, that is obedience.

Sylus did not have anyone to call his own. No one to trade secrets with or share his warmth. And in turn it has made him cold, self-reliant, for he cannot trust in another person. He had never learned how. But he takes comfort in the teachings he does know— the ones of his only love. Melodies dance in the air, a comforting tune. He attempts to hum along, taking pride in the fact that he is able to unlike the past. A respite he is allowed to have in this harsh world.

When the both of you are reunited— albeit, unknowingly on your part— Sylus is at a loss. He had thought that you, too, would remember the past just as he did. Yet you stare into his eyes with the guarded malice of a stranger. It is a gaze he should be used to by now. And he is... Just not from you. Where has his beloved's familiar softness gone? Only your fierce claws and teeth remain. Sylus does not know how to fix this. He was never taught to build relationships or tenderly lower defenses with the patience of a saint.

Your relationship is rocky at first; like oil and water. Both of your lives are completely different from the other. With the Hunter Association actively hunting down Sylus, whatever you have with him is illegal. Forbidden. Although... Surely they would not mind if you stuck around? Gathering intel for them could be useful in the future. This is fine, you are simply using him, you are not delusional. Humans have always desired for what they cannot have.

“You're sticking around for intel on Onychinus? Well then, be my guest. Don't be shy when using me.” Sylus's sardonic smile is etched into your mind.

He tells no one that being of use to you is the only way he knows how to keep you close to him.

Be disgusted, you will yourself. Be repulsed, resent him for all he has done and will do. You will only come to regret being so entangled with his life. This is insane and you are supposed to be a good, law-abiding citizen of Linkon. A hunter. Yet you cannot help feeling like prey— engulfed by a predator who kills and comes back to you with blood soaked hands. Most times, even his own. How will you ever learn to hate someone who learned to be vulnerable with you?

Over time, you start to notice that Sylus is quite... lonely. You are the only one who checks up on him, through text or call. The only one who visits, who teases and jokes, who surprises. You, you, you. Comfortable and happy with someone so dangerous. So of course he eventually craves your presence in your absence. Sylus will make up whatever excuse, put himself in any situation, just to be able to spend some time with you. When it ends, he is distraught.

“You're abandoning me when I'm no longer useful to you? Your skill in being heartless is assuring.” His tone is teasing, as always. But his eyes hold a far-off melancholy.

It feels as though your heart has been punctured with shattered pieces of a fragile thing.

“Abandon? You're sorely mistaken. Useful or not, you're stuck with me, you have no other choice.” You reach out, grabbing his hand.

Something new for Sylus to learn; that you will not throw him away when he does not serve any purpose to you. You are his companion— his beloved who cares for and loves him. Not because you owe him or as an obligation. Simply because you do. And you are both still learning. It will be okay. Having each other means neither of you will ever have to face the cruelties of this world alone.

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butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway · 2 days ago

Note

that post you reblogged about pressuring people to cum reminded me of something that bothers me. how do you know if you've cum? does it really feel that noticeably different? i get a thing where it feels slightly more good than before but like in a fraction kinda way. like 1/10 better than before. and then i feel so tired i can't stay awake. is that cumming? if it is then what the hell it sucks and i hate it

So like. Yes and no.

Oooh this is such a good question anon. You have no idea, let me see if I can break this down into something coherent.

Orgasm is an intensification/culmination of sensory and psychological pleasure that combine to basically flood the brain with various fundamental hormones. These hormones tend to leave people feeling really physically relaxed (or even sleepy!) But that doesn't always correlate to actual sensation based pleasure.

So for a REALLY long time, I "couldn't cum". And it felt a lot like you describe. I would start getting close, and this sort of scrambled frantic feeling would happen, and there would be a little uptick in the sensations, and then it would wash away feeling super muffled or even entirely gone and leaving me feeling frustrated and exhausted. And eventually I started having BETTER orgasms and realized that yeah. Those were orgasms. In the kink world, they are sometimes called "ruins" because they are "colloquially" a "ruined orgasm" that is stopped just on the edge of reaching it. It tends to feel....upsetting and intense if it's not the sort of thing you're into in that moment. If I'm not in the right headspace I can literally just burst into tears and get really fucked up emotionally for hours after.

But no, not ALL orgasms are like that. There are resonances, like the gradual swell of pleasure, the risk of it slipping away if your head isn't in the right place for what you're doing (esp if you have any anxieties specifically around sex or intimac, and the way it may leave you overly exhausted after. But orgasms are as much psychological as they are physical. Part of the point of the post you mentioned is that pressure to reach orgasm as an inherent or necessary part of sex tends to REALLY fuck with the psychological factors of orgasm.

Case in point, one of the best orgasms I've ever had had absolutely zero touch from my partner except an "anchor" (their hands in my hair). My partner just kept talking to me through the whole experience and the relaxation, anticipation, and intimacy ended with an orgasm strong enough to briefly black me out.

Conversely, I've had REALLY GOOD SEX where the orgasm just couldn't come no matter what because of the headspace I was in, and as much as I was enjoying myself, the more the orgasm escaped me, the more frustrated I got until eventually we had to stop or I was going to have a tantrum. It didn't matter that we were doing things I liked or that felt great, it could have been the literal best sex in the world, and if I tried to force an orgasm, or got overwhelmed by the lack of one, I'd still fully ruin it for myself.

I have a MUCH easier time with orgasm now that I literally don't care if it happens. And that isn't the point, a guarantee for others, or why people should stop treating orgasm like the pinnacle of sex, but it's still relevant.

Pleasure is a sensation, an emotion, and a state of mind. Give yourself the space to learn how all three best align for you! You might like where you end up.

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dp-marvel94 · 2 days ago

Text

Real -Chapter 6

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

First->Previous

Also on AO3

The chapter count is gone since I've stopped trying to predict how long this story is going to be. At this point, I think I'm just going to keep writing it until I'm out of idea. That's what I get for starting without a plan. 😅

Jason leaves the apartment and Danny’s core aches. His hands tremble now that the danger, the explanations are over. He just watched Jamie melt into ectoplasm. He… he almost lost his twin. Now Jason knows about both of them being ghosts and about his brother being a clone. Jamie lied to the vigilante about his origin. And….

A spike of anxiety lashes from Jamie’s cold spark, lodged just below the half ghost’s sternum. The quiver of emotions draws the boy out of his own growing fear. He exhales; he needs to keep it together, needs to focus on the tasks Jason gave him, needs to make sure his twin is okay.

Danny’s hand rises to rub where he feels his brother’s almost-core. “How are you feeling… other than the obvious?”

Scared. Tired. The clone sounds it, his mental voice shaking. Can Jamie sleep?

Danny blinks, surprised by the question. A traitorous part of him wonders if it’s an excuse to avoid the questions buzzing at the edge of his mind. But… the fatigue wafts from the younger ghost, lapping at Danny through their bond. Almost dissolving into ectoplasm surely is exhausting.

“Yeah.” The half ghost nods. “You can go to sleep.”

At least in this there is no fear. After all these weeks, Danny has no doubt Jamie will remain, even if his energy quiets and stills, mind lost to sleep.

The clone’s presence settles, the sensation unfortunately like Jamie rolling over in bed to stare at the wall and avoid Danny’s gaze. Still, the half ghost offers what privacy he can, even while again having to share a body.

True to his word, Danny sits down to eat dinner. He packs a bag with clothing for both himself and his brother. He tries not to let himself spiral into anxiety.

His twin is there, the half ghost reassures himself. Jamie is still there, still present. His mind and emotions are stronger than ever, in no danger of fading despite the recent destabilization. And yet….

Jamie’s cold spark pulses faintly in its familiar spot. And it is just that, a spark. Not quite a core. Perpetually refusing to solidify.

Hum? Danny’s mind whirls. Is that the cause of the instability, the unformedness of Jamie’s core? And why? Why has it yet to take permanent shape?

At the same time…. The fear holding Jamie’s tongue, influencing him to lie to Jason. Again, Jamie started melting after he panicked over telling Jason the truth.

The clone’s unformed core, his anxious avoidance of the truth, and his instability… these three things must be related.

Shaking his head, Danny puts the thoughts away. He can worry about that later, try to question his twin once he’s awake.

Soon enough, Jason returns. “Are you both ready to go?” Concern still wrinkles his brow ever so slightly.

“Yeah.” The half ghost shrugs the bag onto his back. “So, we’re going to the BatCave? That’s like Batman’s headquarters, right?”

“Yes.” The vigilante nods. “And actually, we’re going to Wayne Manor.”

“Wayne Manor… because your adopted dad, Bruce Wayne, is Batman.” Danny blinks for a long second, letting the impossibility of that statement take him.

Not that he should be surprised. Despite how sparce Jason had been with his past, the half ghost had learned very early that Damian was the man’s brother through adoption. And the tween was nothing if not proud that he was the “only blood son” of the famous prince of Gotham, even if he was at the time annoyed at his father for grounding him. After meeting Jason as Red Hood, Danny had already suspected that the man’s family were the other Gotham vigilantes. The pieces weren’t exactly hard to put together.

Dismissing the surprise, the half ghost’s expression shifts into something touched. “You’ll really trust us with everyone’s secret identities?”

“Of course.” The man steps forward and ruffles Danny’s hair. “You’re both good kids.”

Despite his nerves, the words are comforting, the action pleasantly familial. “Thanks.” The half ghost can’t help but blush.

Jason says nothing on that, though the hint of humor in his eyes says he saw that blush. Instead, he continues. “I was going to take us on my motorcycle. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Yeah.” Danny nods. “I’ve ridden a motorcycle. Actually….” He offers a playful grin. “I might have stolen one of my rogue’s bikes before.”

Jason chuckles. “You’ll have to tell me that story later. Is Jamie okay with taking the motorcycle too?”

“He should be.” The half ghost says. At the man’s pointed look, he explains. “Jamie’s actually asleep right now.” He frowns. “I don’t really want to wake him up to ask. Almost…. Uh… that took a lot out of him.”

The vigilante’s expression softens. “I can see how it would.” A flicker of worry again. “But you’re sure he won’t freak out if he wakes up and we’re riding a cycle?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Danny nods. “We’ve got a lot of experience with this body sharing thing. More than I’d like.” Frown deepening. “But Jamie’s used to sleeping while I go to work and do my own thing.”

“Alright.” Jason let out a sigh, apparently accepting the words. “Let’s go them.”

The man leads the half ghost and spectral passenger downstairs, to where his bike is locked up. He dons a helmet, red in color though fortunately not that of the Red Hood, after offering Danny his own to use.

The ride to Wayne Manor is decently long. Out of Crime Alley, passed the park near Danny’s work, and into unfamiliar parts of Gotham. The buildings grow taller and then shorter again, eventually spreading out and leaving the crowded streets behind. Blocks of apartments become suburban neighborhoods, and finally massive, gated lots with mansions.

Just as twilight is darkening into dusk, Jason slows down at one of the gates. The wrought iron bares a W as wide as Danny is tall. An intercom crackles, a metallic click as the gate unlocks and swings open. The vigilante drives forward, coming to a stop soon after at the bottom of a set of stone steps which lead to the wide front doors.

Three figures stand at the bottom of the steps: Damian Wayne, a salt-and-pepper haired man whom Danny assumes is Bruce Wayne, and an older man in a butler’s suit.

At Jason’s lead, Danny dismounts the bike. “Uh. Hi.” He waves shyly.

The middle-aged man offers a warm smile as the two approach. “Hello. You must be Danny.” He holds out a hand to shake. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Danny accepts the hand with some awkwardness. “It’s uhh.. nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Just Bruce is fine.” The man shakes Danny’s hand, gentle yet confident. “I know you’ve already met my youngest, Damian.”

Danny releases Bruce’s hand, turning to look at the younger boy.

Damian scowls, distrust wrinkling his brow. “Where is the other one?”

“Master Damian.” The oldest man cuts in, voice ringing with disappointment.

“No, it’s fine.” Danny tries to wave off the prickliness, addressing the man. “It’s fine, mister….”

“Alfred Pennyworth.” He gives a slight bow. “The Wayne family butler at your service, Master Danny.”

“You don’t have to call me that.” Danny blushes, again trying to wave off the words. “And…” He turns back to Damian, a nervous flicker of the eyes to his neighbor. “Did Jason not tell you about the uhh… overshadowing?” At the preteens continued hard look… “Jamie is here too.” Vaguely, the half ghost motions up and down his own chest. “We’re sharing until he's better.”

Damian’s face softens slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“Stop interrogating the kid.” Jason finally cuts in, pointing at the now scowling preteen. “And you, old man.” He narrows his eyes at the tellingly quiet man. “Don’t even start.”

“Master Jason is correct.” Mr. Pennyworth adds. “Master Danny is our guest. As is Master Jamie, whom we’ve rudely yet to address.” Another slight bow. “Greetings, young sir.”

Danny lets a slight smile part his lips at the exchange. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to meet you when he wakes up.” At the questioning looks… “Jamie’s asleep so you know… not aware of what’s happening now. I’ll see if he wants to talk or anything after he’s done.”

Mixtures of curiosity and suspicion paint Bruce and Damian’s faces at the explanations, belying their desires to press. Wisely, neither say anything.

At the same time, Alfred nods graciously. “I see. We will look forward to your brother’s presence once he is rested, then.” He steps to the side, motioning to the door. “In the meantime, can I interest you in a cup of hot chocolate?” His lips turn up. “I just finished a batch of cookies as well.” More than a hint of humor flicker in his eyes.

“Cookies!” Jason’s eyes light up at the word, Damian perking up with a similar look. The man quickly swings his legs back over his bike. “I’m gonna go park this. And I mean it.” He points again. “Don’t grill Danny while I’m gone.” Then, a more playful narrowing of his eyes. “You also better save me some of those cookies, demon brat.”

Damian turns up his nose, trying to look offended. Still, the excitement for cookies sparkles in his eyes.

The exchange is enough to make Danny chuckle. He turns back to Mr. Pennyworth just as Jason speeds away. “So you’re the Gramps, with the war starting cookies.”

Something touched and proud flickers in the butler’s eyes. “I suppose I am.” He steps towards the door, holding it open. “Shall we?”

Danny follows the other three into the mansion and down winding halls. Bruce points out notable rooms. The family game room, the library, his own office. They pass a massive ballroom, a dozen guest rooms, an indoor pool. The half ghost would be more awed if he hadn’t been to Vlad’s castle many times before. Still… his eyes widen, taking in all the sights. He’s definitely going to need a map.

Soon enough, the group arrives in the kitchen. Danny stops a few steps in front of the door, while Mr. Pennyworth approaches the fridge. The half ghost’s eyes flicker around the countertops and appliances, taking in the room. Then… a flicker of nervousness returns. He shifts foot to foot, unsure what to do with himself.

Before the anxiety can build too much, the older man turns to the half ghost with a gentle smile. “Master Danny, you may take a seat while I prepare your hot chocolate.”

With a grateful nod, Danny does so, sitting down on a bar stool at the kitchen island.

The butler continues. “Master Bruce, Master Damian, would you like a cup as well?”

“Yes please.” Damian agrees, taking his own seat.

“No thank you.” At the same time, Bruce refuses. “I would enjoy one of those cookies, though.”

Mr. Pennyworth motions to a metal tin on the island. “Of course, Master Bruce.”

Bruce lifts the lid, grabbing a powdered sugar covered cookie. “I will be in my office.” He turns to the two seated boys. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you need something, Danny.” He finally takes a bite of the cookie. Letting out a pleased hum, he nods gratefully at the butler before leaving the kitchen.

Damian takes a cookie as well and at the two Waynes’ leading, Danny finally takes his own. “Wow.” At the first bite, the boy’s eyes widen, breathy with awe. “These are incredible, Mr. Pennyworth. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Master Danny. And really, just Alfred is sufficient.”

Danny doesn’t say anything on that, finishing his cookie and then taking another. His anxiety is melting away, comforted by the treat and the hospitality even as Damian studies him curiously. Still…. The preteen keeps his peace, enjoying his own snack silently. Soon enough, Alfred presents the two boys with coco. The half ghost sips his, humming pleasedly at the rich taste.

Alfred quickly cleans up, putting the sauce pan in the dishwasher before dismissing himself to set up a guestroom. After his absence, the kitchen is quiet for the next few minutes, just the gentle sound of mugs clinking, of the dish washer churning. Then, two other teenagers arrive.

A shorter boy, black-haired and blue eyed, enters through the door. “Bruce said you would be in here.”

Recognition tickles Danny’s mind. “Tim. Hi.” Tim Drake he knows as a regular at his coffee shop job, caramel macchiato with seven pumps of espresso. And the other…

“Hi Danny. I’m Duke. We talked on the phone last week.” The second teen, dark skinned with short cropped hair, introduces himself.

“I remember.” The half ghost nods; he had recognized that voice. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”

“B said something about your brother being hurt.” Worry shines in Duke’s eyes. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah.” A knot forms in his throat at the reminder. “He’s okay for now.”

“That’s good.” The meta looks relieved. Then, his brow wrinkles as his eyes search the room. “Is he here too?”

“Todd said not to interrogate him.” Damian cuts in, clicking his tongue.

“It’s okay. I can answer a few questions.” Danny offers. “I guess I’ll tell you guys what me and Jamie told Jason….”

The half ghost explains in brief, Jason returning about a minute in. He’s a ghost, a former vigilante on the run from his ghost hating parents.

“Oh… and a ghost hunting branch of the US government called the Ghost Investigation Ward.” Danny scowls at the words.

Surprise flickers on Jason’s face before turning to protective anger.

Before the man can say anything, Tim cuts in. “How didn’t we know anything about this?” He whips out his phone, typing intently in a way that achingly reminds Danny of Tucker.

“And your brother?” Duke redirects before questions about the GIW can be bombarded at him. “Who’s apparently hurt and still not here?”

“Actually he is here.” Danny shrugs. “Just currently overshadowing me, also asleep.”

At the confused looks, the halfa continues. Jamie being a clone of him, his twin almost melting this afternoon, the boy acting as a ghostly passenger in Danny’s body to keep him stable.

After the explanations, Duke offers the first question. “So that’s why you were asking about undocumented metas…”

“Yeah. Jamie wasn’t exactly born in the typical way so-”

A pulse of energy just below his sternum, followed by a comfortingly familiar sleepy mutter cuts off Danny’s words. His eyes widen, expression suddenly brightening. “You’re awake!”

“What?” Tim and Duke both blink at him, confused.

Jason picks up on what’s happening more quickly. “Jamie’s awake?” He offers a comforting smile. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Danny snorts at the greeting. He places a hand over where he can feel his twin’s forming core, attention turning inward. “Hey, baby bro. We’re at Wayne Manor, with Jason.” He looks up, eyes falling on each of the other vigilantes. “You remember Damian. That’s Tim; you met him that one time you visited me at work. And Duke… I talked to him on the phone about the Meta Human Foundation.”

Damian, Tim, and Duke offer their own greetings with various degrees of unsure awkwardness.

A blink of confusion from Jamie. Then… a startled jolt. With a gasp, Danny’s body turns intangible and he falls through his seat, his elbow impacting the floor.

“Ow.” The boy complains, rubbing his sore funny bone. “Been a while since that happened.”

Then his legs shift out of phase. Jamie’s voice mutters in his head.

“I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Danny responses, too relieved to be worried.

Another full body shiver of intangibility. Why can’t I separate us?

The clone sounds more confused that startled, the pure bewilderment making Danny chuckle. “I think you’re getting some wire crossed, buddy. You just want to turn yourself intangible, not all of us.”

Another whole-body flicker. Then… a rubber band pulling, like the familiar sensation of making a duplicate. The feeling leaves Danny panting. “Not like that.” The half ghost shakes his head. “I don’t think you have enough energy to separate, Jamie. Just stay put for now.”

No. But… want to. The clone whines, again turning their shared form intangible.

Danny sighs, ready to ask his twin to stop again, when Jason squats down in front of him. “Jamie, you should listen to your brother. We’ll keep you safe until you’re ready to be on your own again.”

The flickering stops, Jamie’s attention shifting. Danny feels the clone looking through his eyes. Jason?

“Yeah, we’re at Wayne manor with Jason.” The half ghost again explains. “Now,” He chuckles, raising an eyebrow at his brother. “Are you going to stop trying to un-overshadow me long enough to get off the floor?”

Yes. Jamie says bashfully.

It’s okay. Danny presses the words across their bond, a sincere comfort to counter the embarrassment. I’m glad you’re awake.

The half ghost pushed himself to his feet, again taking his seat. Then, he notices Duke, Tim, and Damian staring at him. “What?” He blushes.

Tim shakes his head, the corner of his lip turning up. “You weren’t kidding about the possession, were you?”

“It’s called overshadowing. And nope, no kidding.” Danny laughs, trying to dislodge some of the awkwardness.

“And the phase-shifting was Jamie trying to reverse the overshadowing but not having any luck.” Duke says. Then, looking almost impressed. “You took the random power bursts surprisingly well.”

“Sadly, I’m used to it.” Danny shrugs. “My powers were like that first few months, going off all the time. It’s definitely better to know why it’s happening now.” He smiles teasingly. “I can tell the culprit to knock it off.”

A flicker of teasing in kind comes from his brother, with the impression of a sound that might be blowing a raspberry.

Danny slicks out his tongue, just as jokingly petulance. “Love you too.”

Despite the audience, it feels so good to joke with his brother.

“I assume James is able to speak to you without being heard externally.” Damian cuts in, eyebrow raised.

Ew. Jamie complains at the name.

At the same time, Danny’s nose wrinkles. “Ew. Don’t call him that. It’s Jamie. But...” The somewhat mock disgust melts away, replaced with something sincere. “Yes, I can hear him in my head, hence the saying random stuff.” Another embarrassed blush. “Sorry. I probably sounded crazy just then.”

“No, you didn’t.” Jason says plainly. “We get it.”

“Yeah.” Tim adds. “We get it.”

“Good. Because it would be annoying to relay everything he says-“

Hey! Not annoying. A grumble from his head-mate.

“Okay, not annoying.” Danny put his hands up disarmingly. “You know what I mean, Jamie. I would be a lot to relay everything you say.” Not that you want me to say everything, am I right?

A muttering begrudging agreement from his brother.

Danny continues, looking back at the four vigilantes. “And it would be even more confusing if we switched out who used our mouth.”

Brows wrinkles in confusion, taking a moment to process before Tim and Duke’s expressions morph into surprise. Jason does not look shocked, of course, having already seen the twins cutting each other off out loud. Damian though… appears startlingly unphased.

“Tsk.” The pre-teen tisks. “I do not know why you are surprised, Drake, Thomas. It figures in case of possession the possessor can control their vessel.”

Tim narrows his eyes at the younger boy. “It’s not like we’ve dealt with possession that many times, let alone it being consensual.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. We’re weird.”

In a good way? Jamie asks shyly.

Yes, in a good way.

The vigilantes trade looks, partly unsure how to respond to the comment and another part debating what to ask next. At the same time, Danny reaches for another cookie.

Jamie notices, excitedly perking up. Cookie?

The half ghost pauses. Yeah. Want to try one?

A wordless mental nod from his twin. Danny let himself sink deeper inside himself, letting the other ghost rise to the surface.

Now in control, the clone lifts the confection towards his mouth.

“Hey Jamie.” Jason takes notice. “You’re trying one of Alfee’s cookies?”

The younger boy stiffens, curling in on himself slightly at the sudden gazes. Danny hears a brief wonder. How did he notice? But with the change in posture and the green eye light softly bathing their hands, the switch must have been obvious.

Jamie nods. “Yeah. Can’t taste it unless Danny lets Jamie take control.” Still wary of the studying eyes, the clone takes a bite. In blink though, the unease disappears. “Wow.” He chews, covering his mouth with one hand. “These are great.”

Jason chuckles. “Told ya. Danny reacted the exact same way.”

“Oh…” Jamie blushes, a hint of disappointment.

At the comparison… Danny silently wonders, shielding the words from his brother.

“Everyone goes starry eyed at Alfred’s cookies.” Tim says, the soothing undertone suggesting that maybe he picked up on the source of that disappointment too. “I’m Tim. It’s nice to see you again, Jamie.” He smiles, a sincerity in the words. “Danny told us your backstory. I’ve got a friend who I’m sure would love to meet you. He’s a clone too. Do you want to see about meeting?”

“Uh… yeah, sure. Sounds good.” Jamie shrugs, finally taking another bite of the cookie. His eyes roll back exaggeratedly, his enjoyment obvious.

Then, he turns to the dark-skinned boy. “And you’re Duke. Can… can the Meta Human Foundation really help us?”

“Definitely.” Duke nods enthusiastically. “And now that we know everything B will definitely want to help.”

“Father cannot resist helping a teenaged vigilante.” Damian rolls his eyes. “And with his tendency to adopt youth with black hair and blue eyes, which you both have-”

“Wait.” Jamie’s eyes widen, startledly interrupting. “No one said anything about adoption! Besides…” He shakes his head. “We don’t really have black hair and blue eyes.”

“Those eyes might glow green now,” The preteen scoffs. “But I am not blind James… Jamie.”

The clone pouts, arms crossed his arms. “No, really!”

The raise of Jason’s brow says that he knows what Jamie is talking about. At the same time, others look something between confused and dubious.

Danny catches a whiff of frustration, the outline of an idea as Jamie’s almost core reaches for his. Wait, what are you… He trails off as the clone triggers their currently shared body to transform. Huh. You can still do that? The half ghost muses curiously

Jamie has no time to respond. In a flash of light, the glowing white-haired form of Danny Phantom floats above the floor.

“What the-.” Tim jumps back, startled.

Duke covers his eyes, shouting about the brightness.

“Damn kid.” Jason shakes his head. “Warn a guy.”

And Damian pulls a knife. “Pit demon!”

Eyes popped wide, Jamie flickers back, hands raised. “Don’t!”

“Master Damian.” A chastising voice sounds from the door. All eyes turn to find the Waynes’ butler standing in the door, one eyebrow raised disappointedly. “Is there a reason you are holding our guests at knife point?”

Damian instantly lowers the knife, looking surprisingly remorseful.

Jamie takes a relieved breath, lowering his arms. “You weren’t joking about stabbing.” He frowns. “Wasn’t very nice to threaten Danny, the first time we meet.”

The preteen says nothing, simply scowling in response.

“Master Jamie, I presume.” The older man interrupts the tense moment. “Alfred Pennyworth at your service. Are you enjoying the cookies?”

The clone’s eyes literally brighten, nodding excitedly. “Yes! They’re really good!”

“I am glad to hear it.” Alfred smiles gratefully. Then, turning to address the rest of the group. “I believe some of you have nightly activities.”

“Oh yeah. We’ve got a… thing in B’s office.” Tim points a thumb in the direction.

“They know about us being the Bats.” Jason says, eyebrow raised.

“Right.” The shorter teen chuckles. “I’m still a little dazed from that light show.”

“Yeah.” Duke lowers his hand, squinting at the ghost. “You’re really bright.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jamie blushes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Their neighbor offers. “Just warn everyone next time?”

Damian clicks his tongue. “That would be wise.”

With that, Jason, Tim, and Damian excuse themselves.

“We’ll see you in the morning.” Jason says, eyes softening. “Tell Alfred if you need me. I’ll drop whatever I’m doing for both of you, okay?”

Shyly, Jamie nods. “Okay.”

The vigilante ruffles the white hair. “Good night Jamie, Danny.”

“Good night.” At the second name, Jamie lands on the ground. “Uh Danny? Do you want to…”

Understanding the request, Danny switches places, taking back control of his body. His posture straightens. “It’s Danny again. Good night. And thanks Jason, for everything.”

The three vigilantes leave for patrol, Duke dismisses himself to go to bed, and the half ghost and clone are left with Alfred.

“I’m going to turn human so… you might want to look away.” Danny says.

The butler does so. After the light is passed… “May I show you to your room?”

With a nod, Danny agrees. A few twists and turns down vaguely familiar hallways find the three in front of an unassuming wooden door. Alfred opens it

“There are two beds, should separate sleeping arrangements be necessary. You will find an on-suite bathroom stocked with anything you may need. The closet and drawers also have a wide selection of clothes. Feel free to borrow anything you like. You may also leave your dirty articles outside the door, and I will have them washed for you.” He motions to the box on the wall. “You may call me on the intercom should you need anything.”

The half ghost gives a nod of understanding, stepping inside the room.

Alfred offers his own comforting nod. “Master Bruce said his waiting to hear back from Justice League Dark contacts but will have an update by the morning. Rest assured, young masters Danny and Jamie, the family is doing everything in its power to help you. All that is required of you is to rest. And try not to worry.”

The words provide some comfort. Still… “We’ll try.” Danny smiles dimly, anxiety creeping.

“Goodnight.” The butler offers one last kind smile.

“Goodnight.”

With that, the door closes and Danny and Jamie are alone.

Notes:

I've started on the next chapter which will be a conversation between the twins. I need to think about it some more though, figure out exactly how much of Jamie's thought process needs to be revealed to Danny before Bruce's Justice League Dark contact shows up. 🤔 This story is really making me think for something that was supposed to be a fun little tangent. 😂

#Danny Phantom #my fic #Danny Phantom Clones #dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover

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my-past-disgusts-me · 3 days ago

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Adding my two cents except I'm a little Shin freak so I've always thought about this from that perspective. Heads up there's likely a lot of speculating and conjecture and I'm probably making up shit sorryyyy anyways:

Sara and Midori are equal-opposite characters to me. They're so so so similar. Powerful, charismatic, capable of manipulation and taking control of a situation. Twisting the world to their favor is like second nature to them. But where Midori was raised isolated, in an unnatural and unloving environment, Sara was raised like a normal child (mostly). Where Midori has learned to harness his capabilities intentionally for the hell of it, Sara has let them lie dormant and barely knows they're there. Where Midori found a plaything and an object of obsession, Sara found a best friend and a relationship of mutual respect. Where Midori feels like he's in charge (even though the situation is continually slipping from his grasp), Sara feels like she can do nothing (even as she gains more power and influence over the outcome of this game).

And then I look at this from Shin's perspective. Your best (and maybe only) friend from highschool has terrified you the entire time you've known him. You don't know why. He's just off-putting. You ignore the feeling, ignore the primal urge telling you to run. And it's. Fine. Right? You're good friends, right? He's cool and smart and can twist any situation to his favor. He's everything you wish you could be. And then he fucking dies. And you're left reeling, dealing with the loss of the closest person to you, dealing with the feeling of freedom you now have. The sense of safety that you forgot. And that's. Fine. You get on fine. And then one day you wake up in an unfamiliar room, maybe with a headache, and a shadowy figure who feels uncomfortably like your own subconscious tells you that you are going to die. You are going to die unless you become someone else and fight to survive. And this person, her, that girl, she kills you. Unless. So you take on a persona based on the scariest person you know. The friendly, easygoing demeanor, the control, the secretiveness, the deceit. You follow this girl, the one who could kill you. And to your horror, the more you watch her, the more she reminds you of him. From the first main game on, you realize why she was the one to have the highest percentage. You watch her take control of the conversation effortlessly, while you're fighting desperately to not be destroyed by it. And you lose. You lose everyone's trust, any sort of camaraderie or help, anything you could use to keep yourself alive. She takes it all for herself. She has them wrapped around her pinky finger the way he had you. And you know where that gets people. You know how that ends. You know what she can do. And you can't do anything about it... Come to think of it, Hiyori died, didn't he? Despite everything. He died... Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be like him after all.

And then you look at Sara's perspective. You're just trying to survive. You're just trying to live. You're trying to get everyone out alive. You're dealing with the weight of the world on your shoulders and you can't back out now. And you've been trying so hard, so fucking hard, but it's not working, people keep dying, you don't know what to do besides stay alive. And god it hurts. And then you meet this man. This awful, horrible, sadistic man. The man who your nemesis has taken the name from. The man who made the most antagonistic force besides your captors into what he is. And he's terrifying. And he's saying he's just like you. And maybe, for the first time, you understand why Sou has been so scared of you. Because if this is what he sees when he looks at you? The remnants of this man and a whopping 15.5% chance of survival? Fuck. You'd be terrified too. But you can't back out now. You can't change the direction you're headed. You have to survive. You have to win. For your best friend. For everyone who has died believing in you. That's your responsibility. Right? ...right?

And then you look at Midori's perspective. You've imprinted on this sad little... well, he's a boy when you meet him but by now he's a man. And he's so tiny, and so weak, and so lonely, and so pitiful. And you love that. He's perfect. And he's going to die. You know it's almost guaranteed. You're not in the game anymore to protect him, and you've been keeping an eye on the simulations, he hasn't won a single one. Poor, sad, helpless Shin. He's not going to make it. And you would've won if you could've joined, obviously, and you would've taken him out with you, of course. But you can't. So you keep an eye on who looks like the winner (and she just keeps piquing your interest, she just keeps reminding you of what you would've done in that game, how interesting~ how fun~) and you think of how you can turn the tables, just a little. Just enough to surprise him. Because you're alive! How wonderful is that? It's the best feeling in the world, being alive. Especially when you get to watch people die while you survive. The satisfaction of living where others fail. You want him to taste that. To see the world from your eyes. And that's it. He just needs to be more like you, right? Ruthless, focused on living, surviving, winning. He just needs a wake up call. He's clever enough to make it from there. After all, the projected winner is so, so similar to you, isn't she? That must be it. You two have something that sets you above the rest. God, you can't wait to meet her in the game~ to see her in action!! And then. That boy comes with her. And your Shin, he's doing so well, but that girl, she's nothing like how she should be. Where's the ruthlessness? The manipulation?? And she's still winning, she has everyone on her side, she could have this all in the palm of her hand if she just took hold of the opportunity!!! And your Shin he would've done it, he could've but she ruined it and now she's not even taking advantage of that fact. And that's fascinating sure but it's not what you were looking forward to. Maybe she just needs a little push. A little nudge in the right direction. That's all it took for your Shin, isn't it? And he turned into a ruthless killer, a cold-hearted manipulative bastard who only cared about himself, and wasn't that fun? Wasn't that amazing to watch? God, she could have it all why doesn't she want it?? Save everyone???? It's preposterous!! It's insane!!!! She should be more like you, she has to be more like you it's the only way it's how to win the game!!!! You are the one who can survive this!!!!!!! And then you die. You lose. To her. Who is resisting the pull to be like you. Who is choosing not to. Who killed you to save a competitor, a stupid autistic child who calls her "big sis" and carries around a cat pillow. Why? How? She was supposed to be like you. But she wasn't. And she won.

Idfk the Sara-Shin-Sou parallels triangle drives me insanneeeee I'm always thinking about them. I'm so so normal about them fugck. Yeah. Anyways. Because where Shin chose to be like Hiyori and failed, Sara chooses to not and succeeds. Or maybe Shin failed to be like Hiyori, and Sara failed to avoid it. Either way, they both made their choice. They're lying in the beds they made. Sara's is built from trust and companionship, whether she chooses to honor or betray that is up to you. Shin's is built of deception and loneliness, and whether or not he survives it backfired on him and cost him dearly. And Hiyori. He didn't have a choice and he didn't want one. He was unapologetically himself and it got him killed. Twice. Godddd whatever I don't even care about them (lie). I hope I was coherent.

I am so insane about Sara and Midori parallels YOU DONT UNDERSTAND

Anyways have my analysis :3

#ghhhggghhhhhgg they make me want to explode #sorry i made it about shin again. oops. <- guy who did it on purpose.#all of this off the top of my head. i should play the damn game so i can do some actual analysis but I'm. not going to. <3

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bloopitynoot · 20 hours ago

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Reading TGCF: Chapter 36

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Comfy vibes only today!

Matcha tea to go with the looping soundtrack in my brain that is Abracadabra. I finally watched the music video and this song has taken over my life LOL. The choreo, the cane choreo, the CHAIR choreo. Stellar, S tier, 100%, no changes.

You are welcome, I hope it's also stuck in your head;

Let's go chapter 36!!!

Mu Qing LOL; I snorted reading this. This guy is watching Xie Lian jump off the wall like, IDGAF, I've seen him do this shit before, he's fine. p113

I hope he doesn't end up being problematic later, because I have a healthy respect for Lang Ying. I stand with those out there working to overthrow oppressive governments. p115

Qi Rong over here getting himself into some bullshit. I would not be surprised if it was his fault (Re: hanging upside-down from a tree). p117

"Do you think what you're doing is right" p119 He absolutely does not think it's right. Xie Lian doesn't see an alternative though.

This art is incredible! So haunting! This is White No Face? I think they were mentioned earlier (maybe by Hua Cheng) but I can't recall what we learned about them. p121

"But you'd be better switched to a saber" p126. I love this kid so much. I also hope he's no problematic.

Another build-up chapter

I feel like this is so close to shit absolutely going down. Too many things are in motion rn. We have a god intervening, the king taking a stance, a rebel army, and now GHOSTS.

#bloopitynoot reads tgcf #tgcf mxtx #tgcf spoilers #tgcf #mxtx #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #qi rong #lang ying #things are about to get bad #i feel it in the earth

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yurisorcerer · 2 days ago

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Every week I walk in to the torment nexus and walk out with my heart broken in three places. What a fucking show.

Some interesting play with structure and framing this episode. At last week's conclusion Soyo was shown discovering Mortis, and the whole scene was framed in slasher movie tones. Here, now that she has a better idea of Mortis' whole, you know, thing, Mortis is instead framed as the angry, lost girl that she really is. I really enjoyed (and did not at all expect) Soyo actually playing along with Mortis' whole 'calling the doctor' bit, it shows a pretty deep empathy that I don't really know if we've seen the character express before? (It's been a while since I watched MyGO, so I may be forgetting something.) Also, she apparently spends 3 whole days sleeping over there trying to patch things up, which, while there's definitely a selfish aspect to her motive (she misses CRYCHiC too, after all), I think deserves serious real one points. I don't think I have the emotional stamina to spend 3 whole days consoling anyone about anything.

Full credit to Rana also, who can just intuit what's going on with Mortis and Mutsumi without even actually being told. (She doesn't actually go out of her way to help, though, and spends a decent amount of time this episode playing with cats. Rana remains this subseries' most mysterious character.) Mortis actually seems to develop a bit of a crush on her, and is that a twinge of jealousy I detect from Soyo about that fact? My god, what a relationship chart this series has.

I like Umiri's brief scene in this episode. Forever the eternal mercenary, she describes the breakup of Ave Mujica as though it happened around her and not to her. And yet when Ricky Taki calls her on this, she gets annoyed. Truly the "fake ass IDGF'er" meme in human form.

The first half of this episode, I must stress, is actually pretty light by this show's standards. So of course, there needs to be a breaking point somewhere. Here, that breaking point is between Mortis and Mutsumi, who stirs for the first time in a solid month only to find how awry things have gone in her absence. This isn't what she wanted, and Mortis is appalled to learn so. The two have an argument in headspace, which of course to anyone outside of the Mutsumi-Mortis system's own head just looks like an argument with herself, and she actually carries on so bad that she ends up tripping and falling in front of Live House Ring and making a huge scene, which of course a throng of anonymous busybodies are nearby to witness. It's SO much that it would come off as contrived if the show weren't so set on showing us how badly this is fucking over Mutsumi and Mortis. It's hard to watch.

There is something admirable about the show's complete lack of handholding with this kind of thing. This episode alone depicts multiple conflicts within a fully-realized mental space, a tug-of-war between Mortis and Mutsumi for their collective fate that is just profoundly sad to witness. I do wonder how legible this is to audiences who aren't plural. Part of me---literally part of me---is worried this series might be too ahead of its time for most audiences to properly appreciate.

(I've barely talked about Sakiko here and she is absolutely going through it up and down this episode. From the horrible, obviously untrue claims she makes about not caring about either band or even about Mutsumi, to the fucking folder of notes she's gotten from Tomori over the years, to the fact that she sadly looks for another one despite telling Tomori off for them last week. To. This fucking expression, just, god.)

There's a mostly-lighthearted interlude with Nyamu (it remains really funny that her dark secret, compared to everyone else's, seems to just be that she's from the sticks), but even that is twinged with her finding out about Mortis and Mutsumi's public breakdown. The episode then ends with MyGO finding out about Sakiko's whole extremely fucking complicated family situation. Episode 7 is entitled "Post nubila Phoebus," "after the clouds, the Sun." In most other contexts that would be a shining beam of hope, and maybe it is here too, but I'm fairly sure things will get worse before they get better. (Recall, we still have no idea what's going on with Uika, just as one example, and she's the only character from either band who doesn't put in even a cursory appearance in this episode. Where is she!)

#yurisorcerer talks about media #Ave Mujica #bang dream

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girlwith15cents · 16 hours ago

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Oversharing on the internet about ADHD

I've been trying to write this post for awhile now. It relates to my previous post about mental disabilities. But it's proving difficult cause it keeps sounding too pathetic, but that's kinda the point.

I, in my present, have an idea of who I am. My interests, how I act, how I dress, who I associate with, my gender expression. These are all observable things. Ways that other people can form opinions on me. These are, by most means, who I am.

However, who I want to be is pretty drastically separate from that. I know a version of me that I can try and project but will always fall short of. I want to learn and enjoy makeup. I want a larger wardrobe of clothes that I genuinely like. I want to learn an instrument. I want to get into streaming games for fun. I want to be able to take my friends out to dinner and buy them gifts and go around the city with them. I have so many ideas for tattoos and I have piercings I want to get. There are so many things I want and yet cannot have and have no real avenue to get.

The reason I cannot reach for these (very reasonable) things is because of my lack of capital and personal agency. Extremely debilitating executive dysfunction has stripped me of any milestones of adulthood someone of my age might be seeing. I've never been able to hold a job without growing deeply suicidal due to the effort required. Hobbies cost money. Rent costs money. Expressions of the self cost money. I have always had to exist within the confines of someone else's generosity to take care of me. It has stripped me of opportunities to grow as a person. It has made me less and less who I want to be and more who I am.

All too often because of this people don't take me seriously. Financial burden that I am, I have learned to make myself small better than any other skill. I choke up when asked to assert my wants. I put others first. I'm quiet and guarded. Any strive to make myself the person I want to be feels deeply embarrassing. Like a child who is convinced they're something they aren't. So people who meet me see the child. They see the loser who won't take steps towards employment because they're lazy. They see the girl who orbits a social group but never belongs. They see a nice girl who has far less desirable qualities than the other candidate for this job position. It hurts so fucking bad to be condescended to without any ability to rebut it.

So when does it end? When I find work that won't end up being the death of me? When our government wises up and pushes for UBI or expands upon disability payments? When they invent adderal that doesn't have a million side effects? When I get sick of it and give up? There's no real end in sight, and every time ADHD gets laughed at as a pop-psych joke it gets further away. Am I doomed to be a child forever? When will I see the respect I know I deserve?

And sure, pathologizing behavior is 'bad'. Maybe the answer to all my woes is to grit my teeth harder than I already have been my entire life. Maybe the real reason I see no forward movement is because I'm projecting my own helplessness. But can't it be a little easier? Everyone else is having a rough time, but at least they're having a time. The behavior I exhibit is very normal to neurotypical people on a bad day, but it makes up my entire existence. And it sure feels a hell of a lot more severe than someone having a day of bad focus.

The fucked up thing about it is that I like me. The present me and the me I want to be. We both have so much to offer. We're both one of the best friends you've ever had. We both have skills and qualities that make us very likeable people. But these qualities have little to no monetary value. Any way that I could monetize it would also require investment. Investment that I cannot make without agency. So I'm stuck as a vague bundle of good qualities and talents that everyone sees so much potential in and is eagerly awaiting a moment where I channel it somewhere. A moment that will never occur without agency.

#ADHD #mental health #etc etc idc i never tag posts i just wanted a bigger audience to cry at

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pleaktale · 2 days ago

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(this reblog starts on the 4th lol)

IS HE SEARCHING FOR US FOR DAYS???? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

wait why am I crying why is this so beautiful in a way (and why did I relate Reader being a noxian to being a woman nowadays- like, we have to be this and be that and people think we don't have our moments of vulnerability but when we have is something to be ashamed of or made fun of- ok ill shut up)

I want to cry he's so sweet :(

NOOO HE WANTED TO TOUCH HER :(((((

THEY BROKE OUR HAND?????????? ARE YOU KIDDING ME ARTIST'S WORST NIGHTMARE RIGHT HERE

jesus christ this is a suicidal mission after all why didn't I see this coming katy when i catch you

I legit feel like crying of emotion from how well you write these dialogs like wdym this isn't real??? THIS IS OBVIOUSLY REAL LIKE ??? HELLO??? WDYM IT CAME FROM YOUR HEAD

do you see this world building??? katy I want to be you when I grow up

"this is why I liked you from the get go." DON'T MAKE ME CRYYYYYYY AHHHHHHH

jesus christ I've only read like 1/6 of it what the fuck

I CANT BREATH WITH FIGHTING SCENES HELP MEEEEE AHHHHH

"Looks like you didn't learn your lesson after Jinx, huh?" KATY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IMMA NEE DTO THROW HANDS WITH YOU

WE ARE SO BADASS LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

HELLO WHAT IS THIS IS THIS A THROWBACK IS THIS MEMORIES WHAT IS THIS KATY WHAT IS THIS

OH FUCKING HELL GET BACK YOU DEMON WHAT THE FUCK

oh my fucking christ I literally got chills

oh the way he softens seeing us awake :( i dont want to continue i know this will end i dont know if this will end good though katy im scared of you

(long time skip on my end, now it's feb 8 😭)

the way he gets curious but then R feels how it is like to be asked was a kick to the already beaten me

VI WAS VISITING!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 HI POOKIE DOOKIE

Vi is literally that "it's always me and you and you and me and your friend STEVE-" but because she sees this thing going with the both of you ☺️

HE ACCEPTED TO HELPRK29WAAAAA😭😭😭😭😭😭

katy what tbe fuck I literally cried when we were on Mrs. Talis interview I could hear her old and shaky voice but I don't even know how she sounds like????,

INVITING HIM OVER 👀👀👀

one answer to that particular scene: 🧎‍➡️ folded

SIR HELLO ARE YOU TRYING SOMETHING OR SHOULD I GET SCARED

he didn't go away 😭

oop, hiding Viktor are we? I see you Katy 🧍

THESE TWO DUMB MFS PLAYING LIKE HIGH SCHOOLERS ON THE LIBRARY 😭😭😭😭😭 UGH

WAIT SO THAT'S WHY YOU TALKED TO ME ABOUT PORO YOUUUUUUUU *shakes you*

I'll literally give you the world for this little jealousy scene with Steb I swear to god 🧎‍➡️🧎‍➡️🧎‍➡️🧎‍➡️ "So.. you and Steb?" AJBSIWRKOQ*+*#¥×#?¥+*#×¥$ BARKING CLAWING THE WALLS PINCHING MY ARM AHHAHHAHRJWJAA

KATY I OWN YOU THE FUCKING WORLD

still scared because there's a shit ton of words still and for you to make this into tension again takes two words 🧍

Bite Marks

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.6k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW food mentions, TW death mention, body horror, CW violence and injury, TW blood and gore, alcohol mention. Slowburn, Part 3 of ink and bedrock, noxian! Reader. Spoilers for s2.

Ekko Masterlist

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Part 2 <<< Part 3 >>> Part 4

Ekko has been all over Zaun and Piltover, his board leaving trails of green smoke as he looks for you and the familiar shade of red you always wear. As the hand on his pocket watch ticks, his concern grows larger.

His first stop at the Vyx was hours ago, earning a shocked look from the business’ madam. He even tasked a few of his firelights to look for you after he combed the entirety of the lanes. While the search goes on, his worries eat at further. The wind turns harsh, cold and nipping at his skin while he hovers around at quick speed. Then, a last minute decision comes to mind, he turns his board around, twisting expertly around buildings to get to the docks where Sevika's place is near. Maybe she saw you, or better yet, you're there for another extra interview.

As he flies overhead, his eyes are cast down on the ground in hopes that he'll see you walking by. His heart almost sinks down to his stomach when he sees your noxian red jacket floating in the waters of Zaun. He drops down immediately at breakneck speed.

The water feels cool under you, waves crashing against your clothed legs, skin raising into pinpricks of goosebumps. Ekko finds you half submerged in the waters of Zaun, baptized by its tides, mixing in with your blood.

His boots crunch under the pebbled sand, footsteps measured and quiet as if he's trying not to startle a doe trapped in the jaws of sharp metal. Eyes roaming over your sitting form, legs folded on itself, arms embracing your body close— your blank eyes stare at the fading sunset in the horizon. Its hues paint you in its orange and pink glow, illuminating your swollen cheek, shining a light on your injuries.

The docks are quiet this time of day, no workers running around and trying to finish their quota for the day. No ships passing by, or machinery beeping and whirring above the sound of the waves.

Seagulls squawk above, wings flapping as they fly off into the sunset. The air feels fresher near the water, the cool breeze feeling like needles upon your heated skin. Your breath is shallow as you intake air, fists shaking as it remains tightly closed.

Ekko remains standing next to you, his own mind reeling from the sight of you, you whom he thought was invulnerable, tough like raw metal; and incapable of being the small form balled next to his feet. You're a force to be reckoned with, a noxian who's not afraid to bite. And yet, you sit on the banks shared by Zaun and Piltover, looking like a lost child.

Ekko knows this feeling well, having lived through it a dozen times before. He remembers the day he lost everyone he ever knew in a single night— the blank stare he had, the tear stained cheeks, and the hidden anger swirling in his eyes. All he ever wanted that day was for someone to stay with him, not to speak of apologies or comfort. Just for someone he knew to be there for him. So he sits down wordlessly next to you, following your heavy gaze to where the sun fades down into the water. The sky slowly turns a dark blue, as if waving goodbye to you.

A minute passes, then five, then ten, and he's still sitting there with you, his own lower half drenched in the water together with your own, his presence warming you. Your plan was for him to get used to you so that he'll slowly warm up to you— But you hadn't realized that he has done the same to you. With him just being there alone could help calm the buzzing in your ears, wave away the rose scented wind wafting across your bloodied nose to be replaced with the smell of seared metal and mint.

You open your split lips, wheezing a sharp exhale before speaking. Your lungs aren't any better than the state of your face. Chin placed atop your knees, the previous sunlight is now replaced with the street lights, its harsh white light not doing you any favors.

“S–Sorry, you must've been waiting for me back at the hideout.”

“I thought you were going to see Sevika?” Ekko still sits right next to you, eyes roaming all over your swollen and broken face. He notices your rolled up sleeves, free of your usual crimson jacket that now reveals battle scars dotted along your arms. Pinpricks of raised skin, marks left by a blade, long elongated scars that still bear the pain it once had.

“That was last week, Ekko. We finished last week.” You gesture with your head towards the councilor's home further away by the docks. Its towering roofs are unmistakable. Your shoes are completely drenched under the lapping tides, the water ebbing upwards and wetting more of your clothes. “No one's home anyway, I think she's stuck in a meeting at Piltover. My other interview went well at least, despite, you know.” Your hand ghosts all over your swollen face.

“Why didn't you fight back?” His voice is soft, not laced with a condescending tone or a reprimand.

For once, you think he's concerned about you.

“How'd you know I didn't?” You glance at him as best as you can with your black eye, seeing his hand reach towards you. His trepidation wins over him before retracting his hand back to his side.

“Your knuckles, they're pristine, spark.”

You chuckle at the use of the nickname, eyes flitting across your fists before unfurling them despite the throbbing pain on one of your wrists— all the while hiding the fact that your assailants might've broken your dominant hand.

“Guess they are.” They're as unclean as the dirt under your nails. “They ambushed me is all.” A moment passes between you as you let the cool water kiss your skin, drenching you and Ekko further and further with the rise of the tides. “I–I didn't want to fight, how would that look if they found me with their bodies? It could cause another crisis. Have another war on our hands.”

“They wouldn't be dead. You wouldn't have killed them.” He cranes his neck towards you, brows knitted together, eyes glimmering under the light.

“You don't know that, Ekko.” Your eyebrows furrow, fists opening and closing to shut your anger down. “I could've— I could, I know I can.”

“So you didn't bother to fight back?” He inhales, reeling in his anger that was untoward. Remembering that you're not the enemy. “Did you see their faces?” He gently takes your shoulder, eyes shining in the light as he stares at your split lips, swollen eye and bleeding brow. “Did they—” he inhales shakily. “Did they do anything else to you?”

You shake your head, hand gingerly wrapping around his wrist. He thinks you're about to pull him off of you, but you don't. Instead you run your thumb across the inside of his wrist. “They didn't. They took my bag and my pen before running off. I guess they were still afraid of me so they whacked me on the head and kicked me a few times before bolting off.”

Ekko nods, guilt written on his face. You know it well. “Or they were afraid of me.” He lets go, hand falling back on his lap.

You laugh despite the ache on your face, grin subsiding when you see his serious face. “Oh, you were serious? Yeah, sure, probably, bossman.”

He huffs, head shaking with a subtle smile. Another silent moment passes, it's a comfortable silence that has your mind finally calming down. His palms gather pebbles next to his legs, balling them together and picking up bits of colourful sea glass.

“That's pretty.” You say as he holds a blue sea glass in the palm of his hand. “Did you used to gather them up when you were a kid?”

Ekko reminisces, lips curling into a small bittersweet smile. “Off the record, spark?”

Chuckling, you scooch closer to look at the sand, pebbles and sea glass all bunched together in his hand. “Off the record, firefly.” Smiling, your index rummages through the pile, finding a bright emerald glass that reminds you of the shape of your old home. It's smooth around the edges, sheer but opaque enough to let the colour show.

“A few times.” He pockets the blue glass before picking up the green one and raising it above the two of you to see the light reflect on its smooth surface. “Used to swim here too, before the water got too murky and smelled of shit.”

“Now it doesn't smell like shit, thanks to you and Sevika.”

Placing the glass back down, he flips it in between his fingers. “I did it for my people, so the kids could experience what I had.” With a glance at you, he pockets the green sea glass before handing the pile on your waiting palm. “Why do you do this?” Blurting out, he expects you to glare at him, instead, you continue to rummage through the pile, wordlessly letting him continue. “You're noxian, you're doing something against your own people.”

You hum, tired eyes finding a shard of red sea glass among the pile of rocks. “I could be from Demacia or from Ionia, being noxian doesn't change anything. I hate their warmongering, a lot of us share the same sentiment, but not all of us. Not enough.” Heart stuck in your throat, you take the crimson glass, dropping the rest of the pile next to your feet, watching it plop down in the water. “That's why I'm doing this, the more people who know the effects of what they've done to the other nations, the more people would be against it. Something has to change.”

“What if it doesn't work? That you running around Piltover and Zaun would be for nothing?” He ducks to meet with your downcast eyes. “That you getting hurt would be for nothing.”

“Well, someone has to do it.” You smile sadly, “after this gets published for the whole world to read, I–I may not be able to go home.” The shock is evident in Ekko's brown eyes as he settles in on the sadness of your tone. “The moment I step foot in Noxus I— they could kill me for what I've written.”

Ekko inhales sharply, brown eyes scanning your features for a lie. He finds none. “They can't do that just because of it.” A half lie. He truly doesn't know that they would, only that they could be capable of it.

“They have. And they will. There are forces in Noxus that the world will never see, or even hear of.” Your eyes fill with unshed tears, a sob threatening to escape from your throat. “My professor was supposed to be here with me, did you know that?” Looking at Ekko, you see yourself in his eyes, finding the same hurt you have in those pools of light. “She lived a hundred lives, wrote more than anyone in the world has, dedicated her life to the truth. And she— she should be here, not me.” You throw the red glass angrily into the depths.

You stare at the ripples it has left on the water until it reaches you. “Mel found me in the bottom of a bottle, blacked out drunk just after I found out.” You grimace at your previous pitiful self. Ekko listens intently with an open heart. “She trusted me enough to continue my professor's work. I promised them both, Ekko.” Moving your head towards him, the tears flow freely from your eyes, mixing in together with your determination. “So please, we need to trust each other for this to work. Right now as we're talking, people in Ionia are dying from the hands of my own people, and people barely blink an eye at it. The entire time I've been here I've only seen the war mentioned in the papers twice. Twice!”

Heaving, you feel his arm hover above your back unsurely. You blink the tears away, wiping it with the crook of your elbow. “I may not be able to stop what's happening there, but I can warn people about it. Tell them their strategies, their ways of conquering so people would know how to defend themselves when they come. Noxus is on a conquest, and the entire continent is on its path.”

You continue as his eyes morph into worry. “Piltover was a lesson to them. Something to learn from so they could be better the next time. Bolder, and more terrifying than the last.”

“They're planning something, aren't they?” Ekko's eyes narrow angrily, mind going back to the fight.

“Mel thinks they are. They hate Piltover and even Zaun just because you helped. They could be, knowing what they're doing in Ionia right now. There's also that shit back home,” you spit out, cursing their very being. “Let's hope that they're too busy fighting themselves to set their sights back here.” You switch to a more light hearted tone after wiping down the tears gathered in your eyes. He seethes next to you, feeling his warmth ebb closer to your own form. So you try to calm the storm within him. Nudging him, you gently smile. “They hate you over there.”

“Do you?” He raises a questioning brow, air feeling much lighter than before as he stares at your unwavering smile. But the dark feeling still looms over his head, simmering into his hundreds of worries.

“No, I don't. I get why you've closed yourself to others, built a wall around you. I know it too well.” You sigh, hands rubbing along your arms for warmth. “And I don't hate you, Ekko. I rarely like people and I guess you're one of them now.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” He uses your own words against you. His small smile fills your chest with comfort.

“Finally got the boy savior to smile.” Beaming at him, the lamp light illuminates your features.

He inhales, twisting around to face you fully, leg propped up with his elbow resting atop his knee. “If you want me to trust you, you need to tell me the truth.” His instincts still defy him from trusting you fully. “Who are you really? Before you took up a pen. And no more lies.”

“I…” you swallow down your trepidation, palms balling into fists before releasing the pressure. The scars on your skin feels like it's on fire. “...Was part of a guild back home, not the kind that weaves baskets or sells shit. The kind you didn't want to mess with. If you got the gold then we get the job done. Whether it's messy or clean, we do it. Then I was briefly in the noxian legion after my father pulled rank and dragged me into their shit show. I thought I would be doing good back then, until the real fighting started. Barely a fight when your enemies couldn't defend themselves.” You shake your head, regret spilling from your words.

Ekko listens with a stiff lip. “Then after a couple of years I went home and I found him—” you hesitate for a moment, choking in your own words. “My younger brother— passed and I was lost. So I went back to the guild, stained my hands for gold so that I could be worthy of a noxian death just like they have.” Shutting your eyes, you let a tear escape before exhaling and opening your eyes to see the open waters of Piltover. “Until I came across my professor. Or rather, I saw her on the end of my gun.” You chuckle at the memory, chest heavy with sorrow. “Can you believe that she managed to talk me out of killing her?”

“She must've been something.”

“She was.” You smile, nudging Ekko gently with your shoulder. “I had to lie to the council, Ekko. I told them I'm just a historian so they'd let me do what I need to do. If I told them I used to… they wouldn't have let me. My promise would've been broken before I could start.”

“You lied to the council?” He's impressed based on the tone of his voice. “What else have you lied about?” He challenges you with his sharp gaze.

“I actually did study under my professor. Straightened my life out, got my degree, masters. And got more degrees. I've got a talent for it, you see.” You proudly say. “I cut ties with the legion and the guild way before that so you don't have to worry about more noxians popping in the undercity looking for me.”

His brows knit together, trepidation on the tip of his tongue. “You must've been too young to do all that shit.”

You chuckle without humour. “They start you young back there.” Your tone wavers as you stare back into the dark depths, aching legs now stretched in front of you, watching the water lapping across your legs.

“Anything else?”

Humming, you feel the hard rocks underneath your palms, anchoring you back into the present. “I have no one else back home. Parents are long gone just a few years after my brother.” You shrug, shivering in the calming cold. “Everything else I've told the council and you were truthful.”

“And Mel? Did she know about you?”

“Yes. I thought she was going to recruit me like her mother did years before, and I almost fought her because of it.” You remember the day she trespassed in your own home only to find you almost passed out from drinking the day away. Good thing you blacked out before threatening the younger Medarda with your sword.

“I would pay good money to see that.”

“Is that a joke? Coming from the boy savior himself?” You smile, chuckling softly as you look at him.

“I—” his own smile fades, eyes darting behind you. “Right in the fucking open.”

Following his gaze, you see a familiar group a few ways away on the shore. They look weary and worried as they wait in front of what looks like a broken down building. The two of you watch as a large man opens the door and lets them in with a simple wave. It's a shimmer deal.

“Oh, now I remember what I'm doing here. Must be the concussion making me forget.” Standing up, you stretch your throbbing neck and dominant hand that's definitely broken from how you were shielding yourself from their onslaught of beatings.

“What? I know you want to help but you're injured.” Ekko clicks his tongue at you, arms crossed over his chest.

“They're the ones who took my pen, Ekko.” He gives you a pursed look. “Just like you, I don't do anything half assed. I heard them whisper about where they're trading it before they left me.”

“And here I thought you were here to brood.”

“Oh I was.” Shrugging, you unclasp your belt and pull it from the belt loops to wrap it around your fist in makeshift brass knuckles. The golden buckle shines under the moonlight, the carved rune on it taking Ekko's attention briefly. “I'm going to take back what's mine, Ekko, whether you let me or not. I'll hold back my punches, don't worry.”

“You can barely see straight and you're still bleeding. At least let me call for backup—”

“They'd be long gone by then.” You step in front of him, standing toe to toe with him in ankle deep water. “I've been hurt worse before.” Your walls crumble further down as you stare into his deep chestnut eyes. “The pen was my brother's. Please let me take it back.”

With apprehension, Ekko nods once. Before you could race towards the dilapidated building, he takes your hand gently to pull you away. “We need a plan.”

You smile, “this is why I liked you from the get go.”

—

Your banging fists against the metal door resonates throughout the whole building, shaking it at its core.

“Help!” Kicking and screaming, your throat pinches in your neck. What must've been a minute of yelling, the rusty door swings open, revealing the same man from before. His metal jaw tightens at the sight of your beaten up face. “Sir, please help me! I've been robbed and I just need—” just as planned, the same crew who ambushed you stands inside the room with a shimmer dealer. “Them!” Pushing past the metal jawed man, you manage to take him by surprise and even make it halfway inside the building before he captures you in his arms. “Where's my shit?!”

“It’s the noxian!” The one who held a gun to your temple says. Everyone seems to freeze up in place. Your pen and satchel is in his hands, ready to be traded, while the other is in the middle of exchanging it for a whole bundle of purple vials.

“You brought a fucking noxian here?!” A sharply dressed woman with face tattoos exclaims, worried eyes roaming over your form.

Now that the haze of pain from before has ebbed away by the rush of adrenaline, you now realize that the same crew who took your belongings and beat you were the same ones who tried to rob you on your first day in Zaun. Ekko's not going to like this.

With a swift back kick to the man's groin, you're free from his grasp as he kneels down on the dirty ground, groaning and tearing up. Running at quick speed, you raise your arm above your head as if you're shielding yourself from the sun. Your eyes hone in on them like a predator hunting its prey. Body moving on instinct, as if you never left the fighting behind. You barely make any noise from your rushed footfalls.

The sheer terror on each of their faces was worth almost getting captured. Luck seems to be on your side for now.

“Shit!” The group braces themselves, a few raise their weapons, guns and knives aimed at your form.

Just as you're near them, the glass roof above the building shatters. Glass shards fall like rain upon their shocked faces. With a streak of green light, Ekko drops down, hoverboard whirring as he strikes the dusty ground with his green clock arm weapon, twisting and turning around them on his board, collecting them in the middle and creating a whirlpool of dust and smoke to hide you from their eyes.

While they're too distracted by Ekko's tornado-like movements and the dust in their eyes, you tighten your hand around your belt that's still wrapped around your fist. The golden buckle glows, yellow light appearing around you like a halo as it creates a shield.

At a mad dash before your opening closes, you make it inside the curtain of smoke, quickly taking your things from the befuddled man in quick succession.

Jumping away and skidding across the ground, you meet up with Ekko just in time for him to stop right where you landed. He grabs you by the waist, guiding you up on his hoverboard.

“Got it?”

Looking down at your hands, you see your pen in your palm and satchel around your elbow. “Got them!” You hold on tight to his waist.

He pats your hand before kicking and flying up. As you fly higher and higher, you see the assailants cough and pick shards from their face and bodies. Serves them right.

“Let's go, Ekko. We'll get them next time—!” Before the hoverboard dashes away into safety, a loud thunk hits the metal fans inside, sparks flying, causing the board to malfunction and fall. “Shit!”

You feel his arms wrap around you as you both fall on the hard ground, puffs of green smoke enveloping around you.

Both of you clatter and split up on the dusty floors. A cloud of smoke trailing behind you as you skid on the rough ground harshly. You groan at the pain blooming on your head, hand feeling numb from how you landed wrong on it. If your hand wasn't broken before, it's definitely broken now.

Eyes wandering to your side, you see Ekko lying a few feet away from you, his eyes are bloodshot, capillaries broken from the fall. His nails dig into the dirt, trying to stand back up.

The hoverboard sparks from a couple steps ahead with a sharp dagger embedded in one of its metal fans. Your head throbs as fresh blood drips down your face, mixing in with the dried ones. Ekko yelps in pain, and you look at him immediately. His face is shoved on the dirt by a boot, and you immediately see red.

The next thing you know, you're up on your feet again, lunging and shocking the tattooed woman. She flinches and hurriedly throws daggers your way. dodging blades, you block it with your glowing rune that's still wrapped around your fist. But it may not be enough when a few nicks your arm and legs.

“Come on, noxian! Show me what you got!” The same one who had her foot on Ekko's head taunts. Her purple eyes from using shimmer glows, mixing in with the golden light the rune emits. Her feet dance with your own, auburn hair flowing as she dodges your frantic and angry attacks as you take her attention away from Ekko.

Meanwhile, Ekko shakily stands up, temple bleeding as his vision warbles for a second before clearing up. The four men look at him with frightened eyes, weapons clutched in their shaking hands. It seems that his reputation has gotten to them.

The firefly leader gets up, crimson flowing down on his lips, staining the ground in red. “Didn't I tell you to go home?” He kicks his hoverboard up, standing it straight into his waiting hands. His weapon is too far away from him to get a hold of, so he settles with the next best thing.

“Noxian gold pays better than being a bartender.” The one with the gun says, “are you running away, firelight?” He taunts, eyes narrowed at the hoverboard in Ekko's hand.

Ekko glances at you briefly, seeing that you're holding on your own despite your injuries, you've gotten hold of your sword again as blades crash against each other. Fixing his stance, he holds the board with two hands like a large bat ready to strike. His mind works on instinct, calculating all the ways they could attack him. And in turn, he plans his retaliation in his head. His breathing evens out, mind settling on a plan, and with a measured step, he bolts off towards them.

His head moves a few inches to the side, dodging a whizzing bullet, feeling the air run by him. Just like he thought it would. Then with a side step, he smacks the nearest man right on his head with his hoverboard, effectively dodging his rusty knife aimed at Ekko's side. Blood gushes out of the assailant's nose, eyes rolling back inside his head as Ekko knocks him out. Fountains of crimson splashing out whilst Ekko dodges again to avoid another bullet aimed at his leg.

Twisting around, his furious eyes hone in on the second man with a butcher's knife shaking in his lithe hand. The man slashes wildly at him, Ekko uses his board as a shield, but one passes through, the blade nicking his forearm. The man uses this opportunity to hack and slash at him frantically, and Ekko staggers backwards.

Then a sudden golden ring of light protects him, he glances at you, seeing that you're protecting him even though you're occupied with your own battle. With the protection, you give him time to immediately push the board towards his assailant and make the man stumble backwards and slam into the one with the gun. It accidentally goes off, shooting his own friend.

“Shit–!”

Ekko pushes and rams them both until they hit a stone pillar, smashing their bodies together on the solid wall. Their heads slam in tandem, a sickening crack bouncing off the walls just like how their heads bounced on the wall. They fall limp, knocked out and bleeding as they slide down the pillar together.

“Get fucked!” The unfamiliar voice says victoriously, spitting out blood as she staggers backwards.

Ekko hears you yelp in pain. Head turning towards you quickly. His eyes widen at your crouched form, your hands holding onto the broken rapier. He yells your name, feet already moving to shield you from the oncoming blow you're about to face. But he gets yanked backwards, hands flying towards his neck, he feels rough leather wrapped around him. Falling down harshly, his body skids across the ground as he's pulled and dragged towards the doorman whom you encumbered beforehand. Ekko didn't see him coming and standing back up from how hard you kicked the man in between the legs.

His choked breaths echo around the building, struggling against his binds whilst the man tightens his hold on him. A hulking arm wraps around his neck. The firelights leader struggles, legs kicking about and nails scratching at the man's arm. Ekko opens his mouth, biting down at flesh, drawing blood. But it barely fazes the assailant.

“I thought you would've fought better, boy savior.” The doorman chuckles against his ear. “Go watch your girl get her shit kicked in. Looks like you didn't learn your lesson after Jinx, huh?” He lifts Ekko up from the ground, making him watch as you receive blow after blow on your face and body.

You take it all in, shield building up but getting shattered almost immediately. The sound of Ekko's choking grabs your attention, mind remembering the same position your brother was in all those years ago. The thorns wrapping around his neck, roses blooming around him before he disappears into the rose scented void.

Ekko's vision fades away slowly, unconsciousness slithering and threatening to hold him down.

You see red, fire engulfing your body.

With a thudding heart, adrenaline fueling your broken body, you launch yourself towards your assailant, yelling a battle cry.

Pushing her down with a firm shoulder, making her fall backwards. You don't waste time in building the rune up with a silent whisper of words you learned years ago during your years in the legion. Clawing your way up to face her, you raise your fist as the golden light encases your whole hand. Quickly, yellow light engulfs the whole room, warmth seeping from your body and flooding everyone’s senses. Her eyes widen in horror as the light turns solid, like molten gold about to drip down on her face and scald her skin. The last thing she saw was the gilded punch meeting her nose, and the sickening crack of her cartilage filling your ears.

Warm blood stains your clothes, mixing well with the crimson tint of your noxian clothing. Spitting out ichor, you quickly grab a fallen dagger, sending it flying across the room and towards the hulking man holding onto Ekko.

He tries to use Ekko as a shield, but with a squeeze around the rune, you shield him with the warm light. The blade grazes the golden hue, harmlessly bouncing off of Ekko but hits the man directly on his shoulder.

The large man falls back, groaning in pain and letting Ekko go.

“F–Fucker.” You shakily heave out, stumbling towards Ekko as he gasps breathlessly whilst crouched on the ground. “Ekko.” He continues to cough out, hand placed on his bruised neck. “Ekko, move!” You now sprint, eyes wide as the doorman looms over him with the whip held menacingly.

With a guttural scream, you shield Ekko with your own body, grabbing the whip with your own arm as it wraps tightly around you. “Enough!” With a pulse of energy, you send it crawling up until it hits the handle and sending the man flying backwards into the wall with a hard thump. Your hands and clothes are smoking, letting out small puffs of auburn smoke. You give a hard yank at the leather, breaking the whip from its handle and tossing the weapon away, your eyes stares furiously at the man.

But he still doesn't give up or cower away, metal jaw grating as he clenches it tightly. You ram him further into the wall with your shoulder, barely making him stumble. So you quickly grab hold of the dagger embedded on his shoulder blade, wasting no time in twisting it until he's on his knees, yelling in pain.

“I said enough!” You scream, voice grating, eyes aflame. The rough handle of the knife fits perfectly in your grasp. “Stay down or I'll make you stay down.” The man nods, but you see a lie within his eyes. Yanking the blade out, you stab him again on the same spot, sending out ribbons of warm iron to splash across your face. He falls limp against the wall, unconscious from the pain and shock.

Ekko whispers your name, voice hoarse.

As you turn around to face him, you see the same woman you fought start to clamber up, crawling towards her fallen dagger.

You step around Ekko, eyeing her down, waiting for her to throw it towards you. Just as you predicted, she aims and throws it.

You raise your arm and shield in just the right time, slowing the blade's momentum until it's fully stopped in between the shield and mere inches away from your face. Grabbing the handle, you twist around, sending the dagger hurling towards her at great speeds. It hits her dead on the stomach. Her screams ring in your ears. You ignore it.

As you turn back around, you give Ekko a helping hand. He looks at your open palm that's stained with iron, then over to your face that's marred with running blood. Your heart clenches at the thought of him being afraid of you.

Instead of flinching and running away, he takes your hand in his. Staining his own hand with the same crimson. He holds onto your arm, and you hold him up with your hand grasping on his back.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tone whispered. Your vision warbles, legs shaking underneath your weight.

“I— that was you holding back?” He jokes, palm placed on the small of your back.

Chuckling, your smile fades as your eyes roll on the back of your head. Darkness encapsulates you, but warmth holds you in place.

“Spark!” Ekko catches you in his arms, hand placed right on your pulse. You feel like you're running a fever. He sighs when he feels your heart still beating, but it's slow. Dangerously slow.

He needs to get you out of here.

—

“Ekko?” Your voice is carried by the breeze as you set foot inside the familiar treehouse. You find him on his desk as usual, back hunched and turned away from you while the single red light of his lamp shines down on him. “I bought sweets as an apology.”

As you step closer, the door shuts close behind you, sucking in any light from the outside. “Are you still mad?” Once the words leave your lips, a searing heat hits your cheeks like a windblown flame carried by the breeze. “Jeez, can we open a window here? Your machine's going haywire again.” Chuckling, you cross the distance towards him, finding the familiar head of white hair. “Firefly?”

Your hands inch closer towards his still shoulder, the second your palm touches the soft cloth of his jacket, his head tilts back at inhuman speed— breaking his neck, bones cracking as thorny vines crawl from his neck up to his sunken cheeks. His brown eyes are now white as sheets, devoid of life.

“No! Ekko!” Flinching back, you hold your screams in your trembling hand, eyes wide as his limp body rises from the chair and floats above you with his arms raised to his sides. “Not him, you bitch!”

The fire in you settles in your chest, pushing you to lunge at the vines holding him up. As you click your pen and summon the gilded rapier, hacking and slashing at the vines— you try to cut him down. Desperately trying to free him.

“No, not him! Take me instead!” Your throat burns as you scream his name. Vines are cut but more replace them with every hit of your sword. “Please! You can't take another!”

Thorns fly from the severed vines, landing on you and piercing your skin in a gush of blood. But you don't stop cutting. Ekko's head tilts to the side, dangling loosely down to his clavicle as he opens his mouth and reveals a rose.

The room smells like funeral roses.

Suddenly, the vines holding him up bloom into bundles of red and black roses. The bulbs open up, revealing faces you've met, people you've cut down with your own bare hands.

The scent is overwhelming, acrid on the nose, a stench that cannot be washed out like the blood staining your hands.

As you look down at your hands, the sword clatters down on the floor as the void spreads around the room, shadows oozing from the torn off faces until darkness covers the whole place.

Your heart feels like bursting from your chest, hands trembling, feet frozen from under you as you look around the domain of chains and thorns. Tears flow down your cheeks freely as you watch Ekko hanging above you.

A silent scream escapes from your mouth when you see who's beside Ekko. There, trapped within the vines, skin pierced with thorns and eyes lifeless— is your brother.

“Hold—!” You reach towards him but you're yanked back by a vine and into the light.

Your head spins on its axis, vision blurry from the bright light shining from above you. Like the sun is in your eyes, warmth sweating through you akin to a fever. Heart beating like a war drum, you can still smell the roses in your nose.

Groaning, you place your hand above your eyes to shield yourself, only to find that your wrist is wrapped in a tight cast. The stark white plaster makes your head ache, a thrumming sensation bouncing around your skull. You feel like you're drowning in mud, sounds muffled and breath heavy in your throat. You can barely feel your fingers, wiggling each of the digits, your relief is palpable when they dance above the cast like rabbits peeking above the snow. You surmise that your wrist is broken.

“Shut the lights off, Scar.” Ekko's voice is the light in the tunnel you follow as the lights dim, and his face greets you from above. He sighs in relief, tensed brows easing up from the sight of your opened eyes. “You're awake.”

“Leaving you to her. I'll tell the others she's alright.” Scar's voice fades away as your eyes try to steady on Ekko's worried face.

Eyes narrowed at him, you purse your lips together, feeling the dry skin crack as you run your tongue over it. You exhale, breath shaky as you let it go. “Ekko?”

“Yeah,” sighing, you don't miss how his eyes wander towards your hand. “Water?” He asks, voice soft.

“Please.” The second the word escapes from your dry lips, you immediately hear water getting poured out into a cup for you. Roaming your eyes around the room, you recognize your surroundings— you're in Ekko's treehouse, all bundled up in his sheets, head placed atop his pillow that still has his minty scent wafting over your nose. “Why am I h–here?” Clearing your throat, he returns with a glass of water for you.

“You don't remember?” He asks permission to touch you, with a quick nod from you, he gently slides his hand on the back of your neck to sit you up. His thumb is placed right on your pulse, feeling your quick heartbeat under his finger.

You shut your eyes as the scene of the fight flits around in your vision. “I–I remember, why am I here?” You croak out the words.

“Drink first.” Ekko instructs, his hand is warm underneath your neck, while the other is cold as he holds the glass near your lips, condensation dripping from his fingertips.

You do as you're told, leaning closer to let him help you drink. The cold helps you feel at ease, senses slowly returning back with every gulp. To help yourself drink faster, you take the glass with your free hand, unknowingly holding Ekko's hand in turn. Water drips from your lips, and Ekko patiently waits for you to finish your drink.

With one last sip, you dip your head back and he helps you gently lay your head against the bed’s headboard. Clearing your throat, you see the bruises on his knuckles, purple hues marring his hands, and lesions along his clavicle and arms. The purple contusion on his neck has you frowning, and drowning in guilt. He places the cup on his work table right next to what looks like your pen sword all broken in half. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the sight of it.

Your brother entrusted you with it and you manage to get it destroyed like everything you touch.

“I was asking why I'm here in your room instead of the infirmary.” Your voice floats above the silence, tone raspy as you take a breath.

“The fuckers are in the infirmary.” He curses and practically spits their names out. “Don't worry, our doctor treated you, not me.”

“I don't doubt your medical abilities, Ekko.” You manage to joke, cheek squished above the hard headboard. The bed is nothing special, the mattress is lumpy but comfortable enough to sleep in, sheets in patchwork cloth that he probably sewed himself. But the pillow under you is soft, perhaps even made with real goose feathers. You softly smile at the thought. “Did you at least get yourself checked out?” There's a sudden tightness against your forehead, reaching above, you now feel the bandage wrapped around it. The pads of your fingers gliding over the rough surface.

“I'm fine,” he says, jaws clamped shut at the way you tug at your bandages. “Here, let me. You're gonna rip your stitches.”

“Whoever the doctor is, tell them that they wrapped me too tightly. I'm still too alive to be mummified, you know?”

Ekko manages to scoff at your joke, a sound akin to a laugh. Crossing the small distance, he gestures for you to scooch over and make space for him to sit next to you. You of course oblige, moving a little as the bed dips underneath his added weight.

“‘I’m fine,’ is the code word for ‘no, I haven't seen the doctor.’ I know it well, I invented that shit, Ekko.” You let him unclasp the bandage briefly and adjust it to a more comfortable wrapping by making sure two of his fingers fit inside it. He smells of dried blood and smoke. It reminds you of home. “Can you let me at least look you over?”

“Are you a doctor now on top of being a historian?” His arm flexes above you as he secures the bandage.

There's a deeper gash on the back of his arm that you notice. You stare at him through your lashes, breath hitching in your throat as you can see every scar and mole on his skin and face. He's too occupied to notice it.

“Technically I am, but not a medical doctor. I know basic first aid from my time fighting.”

“A talented noxian then.” Ekko removes his hands from you, eyes giving you a once over for an injury he might've missed. “I'm fine, spark.”

“The cut on your arm is deep, Ekko.” You poke near the inflamed skin, making him wince and flinch away. “It'll get infected if we don't clean it. At least let me help you with that. I may be down with one hand but I can suture with my eyes closed.”

“I can do it myself.”

“It's on the back of your goddamn arm, unless you want a crick in your neck—”

“If I let you do it will you shut up?”

You smile victoriously. “Maybe.” Shrugging, you watch as he stands up, tongue clicking in annoyance.

While he grabs the necessary supplies, you look around on this side of the room that you never bothered to take a peek at for his privacy. There's a few portraits tacked on the wall, drawings of people he cared for, some you already know— especially the familiar head of blue staring down at you on his bed. You try to close a fist with your broken hand, finding that you can't do that anymore, not while it's still in a cast. Sighing, you keep roaming your eyes around the small space, there's trinkets on his bedside table, a small lamp made from an old pipe. A cracked seashell, a few screws and bolts right next to a recognizable set of colourful sea glass.

The sound of a chair scraping on wooden floorboards gets your attention away from his knick-knacks. Ekko pushes an armchair closer to the bed, the same one you've been sitting on for months. You notice his iconic jacket laying on the seat. Looking outside the window, you find that it's already dawn, bitter blue slowly ebbing away the dark of night— which means he's been sleeping in the armchair all this time, looking out for you. Your eyes brim with hot tears, which you immediately wipe away before he notices. No one has looked out for you since your professor died. Before that, it was your brother.

He notices your stare. “What? I wanted to be comfortable.” Your lips curl into a knowing smile without saying the exact words. “Can you get up?”

“I think so.” You lift both arms up like a child asking to be carried. “I need help though.” You smile wider, eyes sparkling with mischief. Ekko stares at you, brown eyes heavy with lack of sleep glaring straight into your soul. “Don't push it, got it.” You say, sitting up with few resistance from your aching body. And unbeknownst to you he was readying to help you up. Dangling your legs over the bed, you take the box of medical supplies from him and wash your hands with alcohol without another teasing jab as you concentrate on cleaning his wound.

He scooches closer to you, arm folded and lifted above his shoulder so that you get a better view of the gash. As you lean closer with the antiseptic, he sees himself in your eyes. Now seeing the burden that once gathered in the swirling pools. There's tiny scars dotted along your neck and chest that he just now notices. Like the scars on your arms and hands, it bears the ordeal of what you have done back in your homeland before you decided to take a pen rather than continue on whatever path you thought was best for you back then. Whatever it was, whatever you've done, he knows you're still trying to atone for it, carrying it over your shoulders in a lead covered box of grief.

Ekko knows that it took a lot to get where you are now. To be the kinder person than you were before, to cover the jagged lines with cloth, to make the sharpness of your teeth blunt and no longer pierce through skin like razor blades. It hurts to know that Jinx could've done that with time on her hands, if only she had time, she could've been good just like you.

“Ekko?” You call, and his eyes immediately hone in on you. “I was asking, what's gonna happen to them?”

“Sevika.” You nod as you gently tap the cotton of antiseptic on his wound. “One of her people saw what happened, and she called the enforcers to take them once they can breathe through their noses again and not through their mouth.” He intended to only glance at you, but his eyes stayed focused on the concentration on your face. “All I'm saying is they'll live.”

“There goes my reputation with Sevika.” You sigh, relieved that you didn't kill someone on the undercity soil. Your eyes glances towards Ekko's face, only to find him already staring back at you.

“Trust me, Sevika and the council already knew you could fight.”

You scoff, accidentally inhaling a whiff of the strong concoction. “That's a stereotype, Ekko. You know better than that.” Pausing to grab the suture kit, you make a face at Ekko. “They're right though.”

Ekko chuckles breathily, earning a smile at you. “Sorry about the sword.”

“Don't worry, I'll get it fixed once I'm back in Noxus. I'm more of a claymore girl myself anyway.” As you thread the needle, your tongue pokes out in between your lips. He can't help but chortle at the sight of your expression and how hard you're focused on putting the thread into the eye of the needle with one broken hand. “Damn.”

“Here, give it.” Flexing his open palm, you surrender the sutures to him. “It's that deep?” He gestures with his head towards the gash on his arm.

“Yeah, just a bandage over it won't help much.” You sniff, rolling your neck as you stretch the stiffness away.

“You hurting?”

“No, just stretching.” Your nape throbs, but you don't tell him. A comfortable silence settles in the room as he easily threads the needle.

“There,” Ekko hands it back to you and resumes his previous position as you ready the cold needle against his skin. “Where'd you learn this?”

“Short answer, you fight too much and you end up with a lot of stitches.” You chuckle, “deep breath, Ekko.”

“Don't have to—! Shit.” Wincing, he hisses at the piercing pain.

“Told you to breathe in.” Shaking your head with a smile, you continue to suture his gash carefully. “My brother was the one who was doing most of the stitching. He had a steady hand, and eyes that are so clear I swear he could see an ant from miles away.” Smiling at the memory, you remember him nagging you with every stitch he does. But he still does it for you. “After the ninth visit, he finally taught me so I stopped bothering him in his lab. He still does the suturing whenever I bleed on his floor though. He told me I'm shit at it even though I'm pretty much an expert.”

“Is he the one you were dreaming about?” Ekko didn't mean for the words to fall out of his lips, his curiosity got the best of him.

You freeze in place, needle half inside his skin. “I was dreaming? What was I saying?”

“A name.” He answers with a solemn tone. “And mine.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. Hands going cold underneath his warm skin. He can feel it too, so with an apprehensive hand, he wraps your wrist with his fingers, anchoring you to him and in the moment. He knows the feeling, he's awfully familiar with it even though he refuses to acknowledge it whenever it rears its ugly head.

Smiling shakily, you take your eyes off him and continue to stitch him back together with gentleness. “I don't remember the dream. Must've been something though. We fought together and that must've made my brain make up things.” You ramble on. Your eyes dart towards his neck, tears pricking in your eyes from the sight. The pads of your fingers brush along the bruise, guilt felt through the subtle touch. “I'm sorry about this— about everything.”

He whispers your name, voice apologetic and brown eyes swimming with concern. You move away from his touch, quickly and effectively covering his injury with a bandage and some tape. “I'm—”

“My head suddenly hurts.” You try to play it off, finger jabbing at your temple, but the shaking of your hands betrays you. “The doctor said I need to rest, right?”

“Yeah, he said you need to stay here for a few days.” Ekko holds the fresh bandage, lips pursed together. “Look, I'm—”

“Sorry, I know.” Patting his knee, you give him a tight smile. “You just caught me off guard is all. It's okay, really. You're curious. Now I know how it feels to be questioned.”

He nods, but he can't help but feel the guilt gnaw at his chest. “Fine, go rest. If you need anything I'm just here.” Standing up, he takes his hoverboard that's perched on the wall. Dusk lights up his features, hair shining under the sun even with the grime of today's activities mar it.

“Yeah, I'll yell for you.” You joke as you slide back down on the bed and tuck yourself in.

Ekko places his board on his workbench to fix it. “Always a show with you.”

“Hey, it's effective, okay.” You can see him behind the armchair in the same position you always see him— hunched over his work table with his gloves on. “You should rest too, Ekko.”

His head turns to you as he slips on his goggles. “Where? You're on my bed.”

“It's big enough for two.” You tease, fighting a yawn. His pillow is so soft that it's cradling you to sleep.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” When you don't turn around after he clicks on his soldering machine, he sighs and twists back around towards you. “Turn around or I'll blind you.”

“I like watching.”

“Turn around.”

You make a mocking sound, blowing raspberries at him, “my nurse is rude. Absolutely no bedside manner.” You say as you reluctantly turn your back to him.

Ekko fixes his board for a few hours, finding that there's minimal damage at the least. He rubs his tired eyes before sneaking a peek at your sleeping form. Your chest rises up and down, lips slightly parted as your eyes dart underneath your eyelids. You're dreaming again.

When he moves his attention back to the table, he sees your broken sword and weighs the gilded handle in his hand. It wouldn't hurt to try a crack at noxian tech.

—

A familiar knock against the door to the tree house echoes out into the room— one short knock followed by three sharp knocks consecutively. The same signature knock you've been doing whenever you visit Ekko in his tree house.

“In a minute, Ekko!” You say as you pull down a clean shirt over your head. Trying to look presentable even with you being bedridden for three days, you smooth down your shirt and pants before sitting down on the edge of Ekko's bed.

“How'd she know it's you?” Vi's muffled voice sounds out from behind the door.

“Okay, entré!”

The door creaks open, the light outside flooding in as Vi pushes Ekko to get inside first. Making the said man grimace at his childhood friend.

“And they said you won't make it!” Her heavy footsteps follow her as she walks towards you with an arm stretched towards you. “How are you, spark?” She clasps your head, gently patting you and careful of your recent injuries.

“Better, the doctor said I only had a mild concussion and some bleeding.”

“Her hand's broken.” Ekko adds flatly, sitting down on the armchair with his arms crossed and leg over the other. “And it wasn't mild. Not even near mild.”

“C’mon, firefly, I was trying not to worry her.”

Vi watches the interaction with a curious brow.

“She's gonna find out anyway through Caitlyn. There's reports about what happened.”

You puff your cheeks at Ekko before ignoring him and turning your attention towards Violet. He rolls his eyes, yanking off his gloves to stretch his hands. “Where is Cait?”

“She sends her love. *Firefly here doesn't like it when she visits.” She teases, using your nickname for him as ammo. You'd pay big money just to see them during their younger years.

Ekko scoffs, head moving away from Vi but eyes staring daggers at her. “She's persona non grata, Vi.”

“C’mon, man, let bygones be bygones!” Vi claps his shoulder loudly, “that was years ago.”

“You're lucky I'm still letting you in here.” His nose scrunches, face paint folding as he glares at Vi. Thankfully, you already know what they're talking about. Kiramman's task force sending out the grey into the streets of Zaun three years ago still hasn't seen Ekko and Sevika’s forgiveness. “You have ten minutes left by the way.” He checks his stopwatch, its chain dangling from his belt.

Vi sighs, “whatever, firefly.” She turns towards you again, smiling when she meets with your eyes. “I've got your clothes from your place, I hope you don't mind me taking them.” You now notice the paper bag in her hand. You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously. “I didn't snoop!” You narrow it further, lips pursed together. “I swear, I didn't!”

Taking the bag from her with a disapproving shake of your head, you rummage through the pile of clothes, finding that it has everything you need. Hair brush, deodorant, a tooth brush and your perfume.

“You look good for someone who hasn't brushed their teeth in days.” Vi teases with a grin.

“I brushed my teeth, Vi.” You look at her, offended.

Ekko sits up from his seat. “Please don't tell me you used mine.” You smile, eyes shining with playfulness. “You—!”

“I didn't!” You laugh, hands raised in surrender. “Scar gave me a new one, jeez.”

He sighs, sitting back down but without leaving his pointed glare from you.

Vi smiles at the interaction. She sits down next to you, bed dipping down under her.

“Great, everyone's taking my bed now.” Ekko mumbles, jaw clenching in annoyance.

“You took the chair, man!” Vi exclaims, hand gesturing wildly at Ekko. They both settle down as you chuckle at them. “So, tell me what happened?”

You swallow thickly, the stitches in your head radiate phantom pain. “I—”

“She got robbed.” A half lie. Ekko answers for you after noticing your trepidation.

You can't exactly tell her that they ambushed you simply because they're holding a grudge on noxians. Vi will tell Caitlyn and Caitlyn will tell the council, and that might put your position in danger. And your work in danger of being disapproved.

“I did tell her not to flash her money.” He continues, eyes glancing at you briefly. You give him a subtle smile as a quick thank you.

“Well, good thing our boy saviour was there to help you beat them up, huh?” Vi gently nudges your shoulder and pushes Ekko's boot with the tip of her shoe.

“Yeah,” you look at Ekko softly. “Good thing.” With an inhale, you bring your attention towards Vi. “Thank you for bringing my things, Vi, but I won't need it since I'm coming back to the apartment.”

“No, you're not.” They simultaneously say in different cadence. Ekko's tone was more intensely concerned. While Vi said it with surprise.

“What? I'm fine now, trust me, this is nothing compared to—”

“We get it, you're noxian, you're tough and you've seen battles yadda yadda.” Vi mocks a talking mouth with her hand.

“Hey!” You knit your brows at her.

“The doctor said you're still not in a good shape to walk around.” Ekko explains in a much kinder tone this time. “You need a few more days of bedrest.”

“He's right. I'm no doctor, spark, but you're still swaying and you're just sitting in place.” Vi says apologetically, hand placed in between your shoulders to reassure you. Or to keep you from unknowingly swaying.

“I am?” They both nod. “I just don't want to intrude. I've been here for three days and Ekko hasn't slept in his own bed. I need to get back out there.”

“You said it yourself, there's no deadline.” Vi looks at Ekko for backup.

“I’m fine sleeping on the armchair for a few more days, red.” Ekko agrees with Vi. “‘Sides, you're not getting any writing down with your broken hand.” With the mention of your injury, the three of you look at your plastered hand with the many writings and drawings of firelight children that came to visit you.

“I'm ambidextrous.” You blatantly lie.

“I've seen you wield a sword, no you're not.” Ekko tilts his head back, looking at you like you're one of his firelights that needs a reprimand.

“I cannot not write!” You frustratingly say. “What am I supposed to do? Stay here until the doctor cuts this off?” You lift your broken hand for emphasis, waving the cast around. “That will take months!”

Vi hums next to you, eyes darting between you and Ekko. “I've got an idea.”

You pout, eyes trying to decipher her look. “Do you want Ekko to build me a writing robot that can write whatever I dictate?”

“No,” she backtracks. “Smart but no. Wait, can you do that? Like, record whatever she says?” She asks Ekko, awe in her tone.

“That'll take longer than for her hand to heal.” Ekko shrugs, but you can tell that the cogs in his head are turning trying to build your idea in his head.

“Well, in the meantime you can help her.” Vi holds the two of you by the shoulders. Connecting the two of you together.

“How?” You and Ekko speak at the same time.

“Thought you two were smart?” She chuckles, “you dictate.” Her head turns to you, “and you write.” Then she turns to Ekko.

“No.” He flatly says.

“Absolutely not.” You nervously say. “He's busy, and I've still got a lot of interviews to go through. Not to mention my own research at the mines— I'll be running around!” Rambling, Ekko nods with every word, except for when you mentioned the mines.

“That’s exactly why you need him.” Vi intercedes. “You can't write, and he has hands for it.” She takes Ekko's dominant hand and wiggles it about in front of him before he wretches it back with a glare. “And what if you suddenly collapse? Or a bunch of assholes try to rob you again? That cast is a fucking sign that says ‘I’m vulnerable, please rob me!’”

“But—!” You and Ekko share a look.

His watch clicks, a sign that your visitation hours are done.

“Looks like my time is up.” She stands up, clearly glad of the excuse as she smiles at her two flabbergasted friends. “You two can figure it out.” Before you and Ekko could protest again, she's already at the door. “Zaun’s brightest and Noxus' genius together working hand in hand!” Cackling, she leaves the room.

Silence permeates the room, and you slowly turn towards Ekko, who has his fingers pinching the space in between his eyebrows; Mumbling a curse upon Vi’s name.

“She does have a point, unless you already have that robot.” You intend to tease, but you're between a rock and a hard place right now. Maybe you can hire someone to follow you around?

“No.” He sighs, standing up, hands placed on his hips as he thinks.

“I can just ask Steb or—”

“I'll do it.” Ekko stares at you but his eyes avoids your own for a second before meeting your own. He figures that you've only got a few months left in the city before you finish your research so he agrees in hopes that the months will come by quickly. “But on my own terms and schedule.”

A grin blossoms on your cheeks. “You've got a deal, firefly.”

—

“So,” you start whilst munching on a piece of toast courtesy of the firelights mess hall. Ekko sits adjacent to you, eyes looking much better after a certain pink haired woman gave him his own mattress to sleep on after you've made a home for yourself in his room and former bed. You could've moved to a spare room somewhere in the hideout, but truth be told, you're still shaken up from what happened. Ekko's presence was a welcome peace to you. He never protested, and the two of you danced around the situation. “On the agenda today—”

“The doctor just cleared you. Too much spark, spark.” He looks at you over his mug.

“I know,” you shrug, eyes roaming around the open space with its string lights and people milling around during breakfast rush. “I don't want to waste time, genius.”

Ekko sighs, remembering the words genius and madness that suddenly popped up in his mind after years of not thinking about it. Chugging his coffee with a gulp before he stands up and gathering his things, he leaves you on the table.

“C’mon then.”

“Wait, hold on, you haven't eaten your bread yet!” Taking your satchel and jacket, you juggle between your toast between your teeth Ekko's uneaten slice for him to eat while walking. Feeling eyes on you, you see Jericho, the firelights chef give you a glare. “I'm giving it to him!” You reassure him that Ekko gets his daily dose of carbohydrates instead of eating it like he thought you would. As if you’ve stolen Ekko's food. Well, it happened once, and Jericho was the only one who gave you shit for it. You still have no idea how he even knew you did that.

As you run after Ekko, you fall back into pace with him, noticing that he slowed down for you and didn't take off on his hoverboard.

Shaking the piece of toast in front of him until he groans and takes it, you smile victoriously as he finishes it in three bites. The two of you exit the firelights commune, and the undercity greets you with the scent of coffee and steel lingering in the cool morning air.

“So schedule for today.” You wipe the crumbs off of your hands. Opening your bag, you grab your notebook and open it to where you bookmarked it last night. Your chicken scratch writing is evident on the page courtesy of your broken hand. “We have an interview with Mrs.Talis, but we have to make a quick pit stop to my place before we start talking to people.” Rubbing your temple where the ache persists, the action isn't missed by Ekko.

“Why?” He asks, keeping a close eye on the people that pass you by. “You forgot something?”

“Yeah, a pen.” You sigh, missing the weight of the gilded pen in your hand. “I've just been using yours, and sorry, but it's shit.”

Ekko casually brings his hand to his jacket pocket, rummaging through it whilst walking along the streets towards the bridge of progress. His hand feels around the cold cylinder, then without wasting time, he hands the golden pen to you.

You pause midstep, eyes widening at Ekko's hand. “You—” your breath is stuck in your throat. It looks much better than before, shinier as if nothing happened to it. It looks just like how you remember it when it was still your brother's. “—you fixed it?”

He makes a face, nose scrunching, giving you a casual smile as his eyes look behind you while you're distracted. He can't let his guard down, the people who hurt you might be behind bars now, but he still hasn't found the chem baron responsible for it. Apparently after some investigation from the enforcers and Ekko's own interrogation, he found that the said chem baron sees you as a threat. A noxian in Zaun brings less traffic for his business as some people still see you as someone to be feared— that you're in the undercity to put out any remaining flames from the past. He finds the guy, he ends the shimmer production once and for all and in turn would keep you safe. It's easier said than done, especially that you have him by your side every morning throughout the afternoon for three days a week. It's a miracle that he talked you down from making it to six days a week.

“I did.” He says, now staring at the awe on your face.

“How? I've seen people get blasted by ink just because they forced the fucking thing open!” Exclaiming excitedly, you catch a handful of attention towards you and Ekko.

With a casual hand on your forearm, he guides you back to walking further towards the bridge in the distance. “It's delicate,” he says, eyeing a particular man watching you. “You can't force it open.”

“Is that why you got a splotch of ink on you a few days ago?” You poke his side teasingly, feeling how tense he is under his jacket. Making a face you act like you're staring at something behind him. “What's that?”

“What's what?” Ekko quickly turns around trying to find what you were staring with concern at.

Reaching towards his chest, you place your warm palm atop where his heart is. He looks at you, glancing between your hand and your face with furrowed brows. “Quiet, it's beating.” His heart beats louder as you whisper to him closely. “It's beating faster.” You say, feigning shock and awe.

“Right, I get it, shut up.” He pushes your hand away gently, eyes rolling from your joke. Glancing at a shadow near an alleyway next to the two of you, he visibly stiffens.

“You okay, Ekko?”

Turning his attention towards you once the man walks away, Ekko nods and squeezes your arm before letting go. “Yeah, what's on our agenda today?”

Clearing your throat, your smile hasn't faded since you got the pen back in your hand. Clicking it open, you scratch out the first part on your schedule. “Well, we don't have to go to my place anymore so, Mrs. Talis first in upper Piltover, then if we still have time we need to swing by the academy.”

“We'll make time.” He says, eyes stopping by Vander's statue and the eternal blue flower that's always fresh near his bronze feet.

“We don't have to rush, you got hurt too you know.” Nudging his shoulder, you spot him stare at the flower for a brief second before he turns towards you. “Thank you by the way,” you say softly, “for fixing my pen sword.”

“Don't worry about it,” he places his hands back inside his pockets. “We're even now, spark.”

“Nope, I owe you.” You laugh when he glances at you with a raised brow and flat look. “How about…” glancing around, you see the last drop, it's probably almost done based on the fact that they're now putting up the lights. “I’ll buy you a drink once the tavern opens.”

“You won't even be here when it opens.”

“Says who? Stop trying to get rid of me, firefly.”

“You just noticed?”

“I'm hurt, Ekko.” You say as he abruptly stops near the bridge that's now bustling with life. Smiling, you nudge him gently on the shoulder. “Looks great, right?”

“There used to be barriers and spotlights here.” He utters, tone soft and small from the memory. He has flown above the bridge a handful of times before, but he never got too close to see it all.

“I think they scrapped those.” Grinning, you gently take him by his sleeve, urging him to walk through the bridge but not pushing him. You let him go at his own pace. “They have a shop here that gives out free shit if you're a new customer. They have a wheel you can try and it's full of free stuff you can win.”

Ekko closes his eyes for a moment, head turned towards the blue sky. The sunlight bathes him in its glow, illuminating his subtle smile. “Where?”

Grinning, you can't hide your excitement as you tug him along the shops. “Come on! I need to show you where I buy my ingredients and sweets!”

—

Ekko's boots thump quietly on the hallway leading towards a lone apartment at the end of the expansive hallway. The walls are in the signature Piltover colors, pristine white paint and golden accents decorate the space. When he was younger, he always wanted to stay at a place like this. Now that he's older and much wiser, the place feels stiff, something akin to feeling out of place. It doesn't feel like home to him.

“What am I supposed to do here?” He asks gruffly, pausing by the door as you ready your knuckle to knock. He senses your slight apprehension.

“Just write everything I ask and their answer. I'll clean it up once I can actually hold a pen.” Sighing, you stare at the number on the door. “And if you're feeling poetic, you can write what the atmosphere is like, or how they're feeling.”

“How would I know how they're feeling?” He leans against the side wall, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at you with a questioning brow.

“I thought you're perceptive, firefly.”

“Never said I am.” He raises his chin at you, “what are you waiting for?”

“Just…” you inhale, “If you ever decide to get in on the conversation, please remember to be tactful. These people lost someone, and us talking to them would take so much out of them. We're dredging through things they don't want to be reminded of.”

“You said that you don't ask questions if they don't let you.” You nod at his genuine question. “Then why do they let you?”

“Closure. Sometimes people just want to let it all out to someone rather than letting it fester. Even if that someone is a stranger.” Finally, you knock, the same rhythm you always do. You leave Ekko thinking in the corner as the door swings open.

“Can I help you?” A lithe older woman opens the door, peeking through the tiny crack as she looks at you and Ekko with uneasiness.

“Hello, Mrs.Talis, I'm the one you sent the letter to, the historian.” You smile politely, “and this is my assistant, Ekko.” He side eyes you, subtly rolling his shoulders. “I hope you don't mind that I brought someone with me. My dominant hand isn't in good shape.”

She opens the door a bit more, concern written on her face as she knits her brows at the fading bruises and the cast on your hand. “You're hurt?”

“Not anymore, thanks to him.” You gesture with your head towards Ekko, he glances between you and Mrs.Talis for a second. “I'm recovering well, don't worry. And I'm sorry for rescheduling our meeting three times.”

“It's alright, now I know you weren't joking about the reason.” She chuckles, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in, I was just putting the kettle on.”

“Thank you.” As you enter, you immediately notice the empty shelves and cabinets where there's still shapes made of dust, as if she took all the decorations out and left the place bare. You and Ekko share a look.

“Please sit down, I'll get the biscuits.”

“Oh, no need.” You show her the paper bag that has pastries you bought just for the occasion. It's missing a couple of pieces from when you and Ekko snacked on them on the way. “We got them from the bridge. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all.” She smiles, but you can sense that she's nervous. It's probably the first time she has guests over in a long time. “I'll get the plates.” She scampers towards the kitchen, disappearing from view.

You sit down on the plush couch, placing down the paper bag on the coffee table. Ekko sits adjacent to you on a brown armchair. Rummaging through your bag, you hand him your notebook and pen. “Here, before I forget.”

He stretches over the table to get your things. “I've got my own pen.” He doesn't miss the fact that you've entrusted him with the precious pen.

“Didn't know you're prepared for this.” Chuckling, you smile sweetly at him. “Use whatever you want.”

With a shrug, he opens the notebook, careful not to give the pages a read as he flips through to get to an empty page. He swears he saw a drawing of him in a couple of them. Glancing at you as you look around the apartment, he clicks your pen, ready to take down the interaction.

Eyes roaming around, you see the walls that are covered in old photographs. Some are from what you surmise as Jayce's childhood, the others were pictures of his achievements. From a newspaper clipping, to his graduation picture that sits front and center, his smile is plastered all over the walls. As you look to your left, you see an ajar door, where boxes upon boxes of arcane memorabilia is hidden from view. There are stones that are as blue as the sky, runes carved in various shaped stones. You now know what used to sit on the empty shelves. Eyes narrowed to see closer, you spot a single picture frame where a dusty photo of Jayce and someone you don't recognize stands next to him. You decide to be extra careful with your words during the interview.

Feeling eyes on you, you crane your neck over to Ekko as he gestures towards the kitchen, where Mrs. Talis is currently exiting with a tray of plates, teacups and a teapot.

“Sorry for the wait.” She smiles as she gently places the tray next to the paper bag of sweets.

“No worries, it wasn't that long.” You say as you help her place the pastries on each plate, making sure you give the bigger one to Ekko.

An uncomfortable silence permeates around the room while she pours tea over each cup.

“Sugar?”

“Please.” You smile politely as she hands you your cup.

Mrs. Talis turns her attention towards Ekko, and he shakes his head at her. “None for me, thanks.”

“My partner here doesn't like tea.” You try to lighten the mood. “Says that it makes his nose itch.” Ekko scrunches up his nose at you, face paint folding as he tries not to huff.

“Oh, alright then.” She chuckles, and you smile victoriously from getting a genuine reaction from her. And in turn easing the tension. Taking a sip from her cup, the slight shake from her hand can't be missed as she places it quietly back down on the tray. “Sorry, I haven't done this before.”

“It's alright, just treat this like we're old friends chatting away at a cafe.”

“That's a nice thought.” She places her hand over her heart.

“It is. I'm sorry about your son.” She purses her lips, the words leaping over her head as if she has heard the exact words one too many times for it to matter anymore. You hear Ekko writing away, and you smile fondly at how he's slowly falling into deep concentration like how he usually is when he's trying to fix tech. “How are you, Mrs.Talis?”

She chuckles nervously, fingers picking at the dry skin around her nails. “After everything?” You nod, “I— I don't know really. Just…floating around, I guess. Have we started yet?”

“We have, but if you want we can strike that from the interview.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I—I…feel alright. Getting there.” Clearing her throat, you can see her shoulders stiffen. “I know you're here to talk about my boy, so I won't waste your time talking about myself when there's nothing to talk about.”

“That's not true, Mrs.Talis. I'm here to talk about you too.” You try to get her to ease up, but the way her lips wobble, you know she's still hurting. “We're conducting this research about citizens in Piltover and Zaun. To know the effects of war on regular people. Not just what happened that day.” Ekko, looks at you and then to the anxious woman.

Her sniffs shift through the quiet in the room. You let her take her time, inhaling through the emotions rolling in her. You know that she reached out to you for a reason, to finally get the pain out of her chest even if it hurts more to speak about it. Because saying it loudly makes it real, but not speaking about it would eat at her, chipping away the woman her son knew.

“My son was a good boy.” She says after a minute of silence. “I want the people to know that.”

“The people know that, Mrs. Talis. They're grateful for everything he has done for them.” You say, and the grieving woman takes your hand abruptly. Ekko watches the interaction with a close eye.

“I just— I can't help in thinking that it was my fault.” She squeezes your hand. “You said that we should talk like old friends, this is me speaking like we are.” You nod in understanding, letting her speak her piece. “I warned him years ago. I told him to let it go. But maybe I shouldn't have, I pushed him away further into it.”

“Further into what, Mrs. Talis?”

“Further into the arcane just because it saved me that day.” She continues as you search her tearful eyes. “If that didn't happen, he might be alive, I'd be dead but at least he'd be alive. He was so young, too young for… I don't even know what happened to him up there. They just told me that he was taken by an explosion caused by hextech.” Heaving, she wipes away her tears. “That damned hextech.”

Her sobs echo around the room, prompting you to grab a piece of tissue from your bag and hand it to her. She accepts it gratefully, then wiping away at the fallen tears.

“It wasn't your fault, what happened to him was set off by different circumstances that no one could've prevented or seen coming.” You try to ease her as more tears flow. Your heart weighs heavy at the sight of the grieving mother. Was yours like this when she heard of your brother's fate? You wouldn't know when you chose to run away from it all.

“I know what happened up there.” Ekko's voice has the woman looking up at him. “I was there.”

You trust Ekko enough to let him take the reins, but you can't help but worry that his next words wouldn't bring comfort to the sorrow in her heavy heart. With a nod and a wordless look at him, you let him continue.

“You saw him?” Mrs. Talis stares at him with shock, listening intently at the stranger before her.

“He fought until the very end. He brought me enough time to get the final hit in.” Ekko's eyes shine under the light, soft as he comforts her. “We wouldn't be here if he didn't. He didn't fail.”

“He did all that?” Her sobs turn into a hopeful smile. “Oh my boy.” She turns towards his picture on the mantle, palm placed above her heart. “Thank you.” She tells Ekko tearfully.

You gently smile at Ekko, and he gives you a curt nod. After a while, Mrs. Talis looks over to you with renewed energy. “Can we continue? This time I won't derail the interview.”

“You didn't do any derailing.” You whisper to her with a more playful smile that she gladly beams at. “Are you sure we can continue?”

“Yes, the people need to know about Jayce. I'm not letting my boy dissolve away.”

You pat her hand, nodding at Ekko to continue writing. “Alright then. Tell me if it gets too much and we'll stop.”

—

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Talis—” You say before you're interrupted by a hug from the woman. “Oh.” Patting her awkwardly, Ekko tamps down his chuckles with a hand.

She lets you go, holding you at arm's length. “Thank you, I feel…alright now. Lighter.” Turning towards Ekko, she gives him another grateful grin. “And thank you again, Ekko. What happened up there would've been a mystery to me if you didn't say anything. So thank you.”

“‘Course.” He says, smiling softly at her.

The two of you leave the building in silence. It's midday now and people are milling about the restaurants to grab a seat during the lunch rush.

“Do you want to have lunch at my place?” You blurt out, nudging his side.

“You buying?”

“No, but I'm cooking.”

“As long as it's not sweet.”

“I'm not hearing a no though.” You say with a lilt. He rolls his eyes, but the subtle smile he has on his lips betrays him.

—

The air smells savoury as Ekko opens a window to let out the smoke from the kitchen. You stir at a pot of stew, it was quickly thrown together with whatever ingredients you have in your fridge, but neither you nor Ekko are complaining about it. Your sleeves are rolled up, battle scars unabashedly on display. And Ekko is more casual now that he doesn't have to look over his shoulder and behind you with vigilance. He shrugged off his jacket a while ago, now in his regular tank top and bandana. Twists up in a bun after he helped you chop some vegetables.

“How do you do it?” He asks as he leans against the counter right next to you.

“I just threw whatever I thought would taste good together.”

“Not what I meant, spark.”

“I knew exactly what you meant, firefly.” You pause from stirring, lifting up the wooden spoon to scoop out a bit of the stew. After blowing on the steam, you hand it to Ekko. “Try it. I might've added too much salt.”

“You haven't answered my question.”

“Taste the stew and I'll answer it.” You push it towards him until he takes the spoon, hand brushing along your own briefly.

He gives you a narrowed look before sipping at the soup. “More pepper.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Ekko places the spoon on the counter as you shake the pepper shaker a few times before stirring the pot with a new spoon. “The question.”

“I’ve gotten used to it, this is my job you know.” You stretch your hand before mixing again. “And I'm not as heartless as you think I am.”

“I don't think that you're heartless. And that's not what I meant.” Ekko takes the spoon from your hand, and you let him. Side by side, he stirs the pot for you. “I meant how you could listen to all of that without wanting to fight against the very thing that hurt them.”

You lean on the counter, hip pressed against the cold marble. “I want to and wanted to. But violence answered by violence leads to more bloodshed. But that doesn't mean I haven't tried. Or have done it before.”

“You took revenge for someone else?” He levels with you, hearing the stew bubble up before shutting the stove off and blending it again.

“Too many times, Ekko. But I quickly learned that how many times I do it for someone, nothing will bring the dead back.” You leave the counter to take the plates from the cupboard. “And I got an earful from my professor, which helped.”

He chuckles as you briefly leave the kitchen to place the plates on the dinner table. Your apartment is small and cozy but you're grateful enough to even have your own place while you're here. Ekko feels right at home with your strewn about papers all over the bed in the corner, and various photographs that you temporarily taped beside your bed. He saw what looked like you and your brother in a small laboratory, and a polaroid of you with an old woman. You're all smiles in all of them, but your eyes hide pain underneath the printed ink.

You return to his side, leaning over him to grab the drinking glasses from the upper shelves. His back presses against your front, and he side steps to give you space, swallowing thickly from the brief contact.

“Your turn.” You hold the glasses, eyes staring at him suspiciously. He raises a brow. “Are any of the things you told Mrs. Talis truthful?”

Ekko stares at you head on. “Does it matter? It helped her.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Yes, because this is history, Ekko. If you decide to change it on a whim, how truthful would the rest be?”

“I assumed that he did—”

“So you lied?”

“You did.”

The argument has the air inside the apartment tense and smothering. The heat from the stove has you over the edge, but with Ekko beside you, he holds you away from the cliffs unknowingly.

“I did,” you move closer to him, standing toe to toe with him. “So I could do my job. Now tell me, Ekko, what really happened to Jayce Talis?”

He inhales, getting a whiff of his own soap on your skin, and the sweet smelling perfume you always wore. “He was already injured when I got there. So I assumed that he fought hard until he couldn't. Viktor was too powerful,” he knits his brows together, memories of that day flicking through his mind. “I can't explain it, but I saw them talking to each other in the void for a second when his puppets got to me. I think Jayce talked him down.”

A smile slowly spreads across your cheeks, clinking the glasses together like you're celebrating.

Realization hits him. “You knew I wasn't lying.”

“Yep, I can read you like an open book, my guy.” Walking away, Ekko follows behind you, hand reaching for your elbow. He twirls you around, gentle enough not to hurt but the shock of it is evident on your face. The small of your back hits the dinner table, he notices, sliding his hands in between you and the wood to prevent it from happening again. He then leans close to your face until your breath fans across his cheeks. He looks like he's about to swallow you whole. “Finally got something out of you, boy savior.”

“What is up with you?”

“Still can't get a read on me?” You tilt your head, palms placed atop his chest, his warmth radiating off him. You look like you're about to let him swallow you whole. “Let me spell it out for you. You're stubborn, and if I'm never going to get an answer out of you, then might as well get a partial one.”

He glares at you, the light shining right on his eyes. If anyone walked in on the two of you right now, they'd think something else was happening as you're placed so close to him that his face is mere inches away from you. If you just lean a bit closer you can smudge his face paint with the tip of your nose.

“Has anyone told you that you have pretty eyes?” You say with a longing sigh. It's not a lie, not even a half assed one. “It's so easy to get lost in them.” The simple words have him letting you go with a huff.

Ekko pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly irked by you and your mind games.

“If I didn't ask, I wouldn't know about Viktor if you didn't mention him. Until now he has been nameless. Vi called him the cult guy. It's like they erased him.”

He lifts his head up, “no one told you about him?”

“Nope. Now I really have a genuine reason to ask the council permission to go ask questions around the academy.” Your sly smile has Ekko conflicted.

Ekko groans, stomping away towards the coat rack to grab his jacket. “We were supposed to go there today and you're telling me that you don't have a permit to go and sniff around?”

You shrug, “yeah. Now you're into permits?” He puts on his jacket with a click of his tongue. “Before you storm out, can we eat? I made too much and I don't like wasting food.”

Ekko takes a beat, head downturned, shoulders sagging and admitting defeat. Then he yanks off his jacket and places it back on the rack before shuffling towards you and sitting down on the dinner table.

“Good choice.” You snap your fingers at him. “Get ready for your taste buds to be opened!” He groans in reply.

—

Ekko waits for you outside the academy, hoverboard strapped on his back, and a face that has students walking away from him before they could ask what his business he has in the place.

The morning sun is pleasant across his cheeks, warming him up from the cool breeze when he was flying towards Piltover. He takes out his watch for the umpteenth time, checking how late you are. With every minute that passes, Ekko's annoyance gets bigger. And with every second that passes where he doesn't see you in the designated meetup place, he worries that it's just like time. What if you got beat up again? The sight of your limp body in his arms still haunts him to this day. He'll never admit to anyone that he was in awe of you that day, or that you remind him of a certain someone. He'd rather talk to you about what happened to him during the war than speak about his thoughts while he was desperately getting you back to the hideout.

Your familiar footsteps have him looking up from his pocket watch. “You're late.”

“Holy shit, you're here.” You heave in place, stopping right in front of him.

“Why wouldn't I be?” He quickly checks you for injuries, thankfully finding none.

His eyes on you doesn't fly over your head. “I thought you'd be too mad at me to actually come.”

Narrowing his eyes, Ekko walks away with his hands in his pockets. “You're right.”

“Wait!” You reach for his wrist with your good hand. “Come on, you're already here anyway.” Smiling sweetly, you give him a squeeze. “Please, Ekko. I promise I'll be on my best behaviour this time. No mind games, no bullshitting you.” You haven't noticed that your hand has slid down his wrist, and that you're now holding his hand in the middle of the academy plaza. “Just honest to god work.”

Ekko looks at the intertwined hands, mind reeling back to the day before the war when he held her hand. You duck to meet with his eyes, following his line of sight, you take his silence as him being uncomfortable with your touch. So you slide your hands away, chuckling nervously as you wring your hands together

“Sorry, I sometimes forget that I'm touchy with friends. Haven't hung out with one in a few years.”

“We're friends?” He raises a brow, genuinely asking the question, he doesn't mean to hurt you with the words. But after everything, he doubts that you see him as one.

“I'm going to act like that didn't hurt me.” Turning around, you hide the pained look on your face with the excuse of getting inside the academy. “Anyway, we've got a full schedule for today. So let's get on with it before you burst a vein.”

Ekko opens his mouth to say…something. He doesn't even know if it'll be an apology or another sarcastic comment that usually matches your own. Before he could, the large double doors open automatically. The gears churn from the weight, and he marvels at the engineering. It's simple but given its age, it was advanced back then.

Stepping inside, the large expansive halls of the academy greets the two of you. Walls upon walls of portraits and sculptures line the hallway. Anyone who was important in Piltover and the academy was there, leaving their permanent marks on its ancient walls.

Marble columns hold up the place, decorated with laurel leaves and carved owls that look down from their perch. There, in the middle of the room sits a statue of no other than professor Heimerdinger. His marble form is perfectly carved in stone, Ekko can practically hear his voice from the sight alone.

“The man of the hour.” You say, looking up at the statue. “Does it look like him, Ekko?”

He takes his attention from the statue to you, “it's accurate enough, needs a bigger mustache though.”

Your rolling laughter echoes in the halls, a few students pause to check the commotion before returning to what they were doing. Ekko smiles softly then takes another look at Heimerdinger.

“He looks intelligent.” You whisper to him after you disturbed the peace. “Was he fun? I heard from the council members that he was actually quite funny. Eccentric was the word they actually used.”

Ekko gives the statue a fond smile. “He was.”

“Come on,” you nudge him gently. “We need to talk to a lot of people.”

“I thought we were here for Viktor?”

“Yeah, and Heimerdinger too. Apparently no one knows what his fate is. And as someone as important as him, that's fucking weird.” You walk away, and he falls right into step with you.

“And you think you'll get your answers here?” He asks, eyes glancing at you.

“Nope.” You pop the letter ‘p’, a bit too cheerful for the subject of the missing professor. Eyes flicking towards him, you smile. “It won't hurt to try though. What if he's just hiding within these halls, you know? I like a good mystery to solve.”

“He's not here.” He shakes his head at your playfulness. He's thinking that you already have a theory on who might know what happened to him. And the answer is staring right at you.

“And you'd know that because?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Sure, a hunch.” Your smile tells him the answer to his own question.

—

After five whole hours of speaking to a few of Heimerdinger's former students, fellow professors and even the lunch lady, you surmise that he's not anywhere near the academy. Or even in the same country. There's a few theories floating around in your mind, either he ran away to another country after what happened to hextech. Or the answer lies to the last person who saw him, who coincidentally is right next to you, shuffling through documents in the academy archive.

The place is as expansive as its history. Rows of bookshelves line each wall. Like a library but filled with boring information like student records and academy files rather than riveting stories. The harsh lights have you shielding your eyes, and the air is kept stale inside to preserve tha documents. So no windows to open to let in fresh air, not to mention that you can't bring in food or drinks, so munching on sweets while researching is out of the question. You're bored out of your mind after three hours of looking through documents. it's like you're back in your academy studying things you already have knowledge about. The place even smells like it, old books and withered paper floating around the windless space.

You roll up next to Ekko on an office chair, arms crossed over the back casually and chin pressed atop it. “Psst!” You let out a sound like a bird call. Ekko rolls his eyes, craning his head to look at you. “Do you have the answer to number twelve?”

Ekko furrows his brows with a confused smile. “What? Is that how you got your numerous degrees?” He jokes back, earning a grin from you.

“No, and I was just fucking around.” You chuckle, poking his bicep, unintentionally feeling the hard muscle underneath. You clear your throat with a timed cough. “Any luck on your end?”

“None, just the usual academy shit. Complaints, student records, nothing on Viktor.”

You furrow your brows, “not even a mention?”

Ekko shakes his head, frustration rolling off him like waves on the shore. “You're right, it's like they erased him.”

“That's fucked up.” Pushing your feet forward, you roll around him, stopping when your hip hits the other side of the table. “Is there a chance you know anything about him?”

“No, all I know is that he helped develop hextech and that he was from the undercity.” He sighs, pinching the corner of his tired eyes. “I remember that he preferred to be in the background, but his name was everywhere back then. Not as much as Jayce, still, he definitely existed.”

“Maybe I can find something in Zaun then. You're just as intrigued as me, huh?” Poking his cheek, he leans back, waving your finger away from him. “Are you sleeping well, Ekko?” Your tone is laced with worry.

His eyes narrow suspiciously at you. “Why are you late?”

“Asking my question with a question, classic deflection tactic.” You chuckle, feet swinging around as you stare at him teasingly. He stares at you, not backing down. “Fine, nosey. I had to convince the council to let me conduct an investigation here. It took some convincing. And me talking down at them and saying that if they've got nothing to hide, then they shouldn't worry.”

“And that worked?” His brown eyes widened for a second.

“God no. I only said that in my head.” You poke your temple, joking and earning a chuckle out of him. “I did manage to convince them though.”

“With bribes?”

“Of course.” You tilt your head, the tip of your shoe nudging his seat. “You know me so well.” Smiling, you pull yourself closer to him with your foot kicking you in place until you slam gently against his chair. “My turn, have you been sleeping well since I left?”

“What makes you think that you've got anything to do with it?” He pushes you away from him with his foot.

“Please, you were sleeping like a baby when I was there.” Not backing down, you pull yourself back into place, annoying him further. “Was it my calming presence—?!” The next thing you know, you're rolling away from him after he kicked your chair.

“It's the opposite, spark.” He says, now ways away from you as your chair hits a book cart.

“Your snoring says otherwise!” You yell, palms cupping up next to your mouth. You ignore the ache around your broken wrist.

You can hear his scoff from where you are. “I don't snore.”

“Yes, you do.” Chuckling, you see him rolling towards your way. “Shit.” He's getting closer, speeding up towards you. “Catch me if you can!” Waddling away, using your legs as paddles as you push and roll away from him, your laughter echoes throughout the space.

“Come back here!” He can't prevent the smile appearing on his lips. “I don't snore.”

“Yes, you do!” Giggling, you mimic the sound of snoring.

The sound of a ruler slamming down on the table has you and Ekko freezing up in place.

—

“Man, I can't believe that old lady can be so mean.” You frown, stretching your broken wrist as the two of you exit the double doors of the academy after getting kicked out. Your wrist has been throbbing ever since the archivist made the two of you clean up all the piles of books and documents you picked up from the shelves.

“You haven't met a lot of old ladies then.” Ekko glances at your wrist. “You hurting? How's your head?”

“I'm good, don't worry.” You chuckle, eyes staring fondly at the concern on his face. “Just aching a bit from all the lifting.”

“I told you to leave it to me.”

“What do you know, I'm stubborn, just like—”

“Me, I know.” He interrupts, and yet you grin at him.

The sun is setting, birds chirping and the people are on their way home just like you. It's way past Ekko's designated schedule with you, but he doesn't seem to mind when he hasn't mentioned it.

“I've got a question, Ekko.” He side glances at you, lips pursed together. “Off the record, I promise, just genuinely curious.”

“You're always curious.” He stops walking, letting you continue.

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Smiling, you stare at him through your lashes. “Why didn't you go to the academy?” He saw that question a mile away. “You're smart, I'm sure you would've gotten in. Hell, I'm betting good money that you're smarter than the students we interviewed today. Seriously, who describes being sad as sad? You're a PHD candidate, use sorrow or melancholy for fucks sake.”

Ekko's laughter has you grinning from ear to ear. The sunset shines on him, brown eyes sparkling, hair drenched in orange as the charms wrapped his twists glimmer just like his smile. Your heart skips a beat, hopefully unnoticeable by the man himself.

His laughter subsides, leaving the crinkle in the corner of his eyes in its wake. “I didn't have time, I had people to take care of. Studying in the academy wasn't worth it when you don't know how you'll be able to survive to see next week.”

Your heart squeezes in place. “That's— I'm sorry.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Don't worry, I know I'm smarter than them. I don't need a piece of paper to tell me that I am.”

“Very humble of you, firefly.” You playfully punch his forearm, “very true though. You're smarter than anyone that I currently know.”

“That was almost nice of you.”

Your shared laughter mixes together in harmony, filling the near empty academy plaza with warmth.

Suddenly, your name is called from behind, stopping the two of you mid laughter. Turning around, you see the source of the voice.

Your face brightens up even more from the sight of the familiar enforcer. “Steb! What are you doing here?” Waving him over, he speed walks towards you as he carries a bundle of fur in his arms. “You cold or something?”

His eyes smile at you, blue skin sparkling under the setting sun. “No, just arresting a little menace causing mayhem in the streets.”

Just as he says it, a pair of eyes pop open from the bundle, then a snout, and then the cutest yelp you've ever heard.

“Is that Heimer’s dog?” Ekko asks, whilst you coo at the ball of fur.

“He's so cute!” Your hands reach towards Steb, palms splayed atop his hands. Ekko sees the enforcer softly smile at the contact. “Oh,” you lift your head, staring at Steb. “Steb, meet Ekko. Ekko, meet Steb.”

Ekko lifts his chin up in greeting, shoulders straight, and hands nonchalantly in his pockets. Steb nods curtly, glancing between you and Ekko briefly.

“Nice to meet you.” The enforcer politely smiles then turns towards the cooing you with a much gentler smile. His voice is smooth, like a whisper in your ears. You always found it calming, just like Ekko's. “Found him running around with trash in his mouth, so don't let him lick you.” You giggle, petting the tiny ball of fur. “He's not usually this friendly to strangers. Do you want to hold him?”

You gasp, grinning. “Can I?” Steb nods, handing the dog to you carefully. “He's so soft!” Jumping in place, the small dog looks up at you with a tilt of his head. You introduce yourself to him like usual, making the two men next to you smile. “You're so cute! You remind me of the dogs back in Noxus, the only difference is that you won't maul me.” Giggling, you cradle him in your arms. “What's his name?”

“Porofessor. Poro for short.” Steb answers with a subtle smile as you squeal in place. “He's blind in one eye, probably just as old as his owner.”

“Who's his owner?”

“Heimerdinger.” Steb and Ekko answer at the same time. Ekko glances briefly at the enforcer, while Steb clears his throat, hands crossed over his back.

“I heard you were attacked.” Steb asks, concern laced in his tone. “I processed the criminals myself.” Your smile falters for a second, aching wrist throbbing against your cast. “But I want to know how you are.” His hand grazes along the white plaster. Ekko clenches his jaw briefly, eyes looking between you and the uniformed man in front of him.

“I'm doing okay now, Steb. You really don't have to worry. You know me, I can handle a punch, or two.” You reach for his elbow, giving him a squeeze before releasing. He smiles, Ekko can practically feel the fondness rolling out of Steb in waves. “Anyway, who's been taking care of poor Poro?” The dog barks when he heard his name.

“No one,” you and Ekko give the dog a worried look. “Well, everyone pitches in to take care of him, but he keeps running away and back to the academy. He doesn't stick too long in one place.”

Your hand brush along his soft fur. “He's probably waiting for him.” Your tone is mournful, arm giving the dog a squeeze. “What if I take him with me for now? I'm sure he'd like the company. And just like you said, he's gonna run back to the academy anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Steb asks, taking a closer step towards you. To Ekko's surprise, you don't move away. “If it's not too much trouble for you, I can inform the academy grounds keeper that Poro’s with you. He's usually the one feeding him.” With a hand upon your back, Steb casually gives you a half hug. Ekko feels like he should turn away, or fly away. “I'm really glad you're alright, red.”

Ekko realizes that he's not the only person who calls you that.

“Thank you, blue.” The two of you smile at each other. Ekko should really turn away now. His eyes look around, refraining from staring at the two of you for too long. Suddenly he finds the roof of the academy intriguing. “And yeah, I'm sure. And I promise to bring him back before I leave.”

Steb leans away, hands retreating back to his side, smile never leaving his lips. “You better, he's the academy mascot at this point.”

You lift up Poro in front of your face, his pink tongue rolls out of his mouth. “I'll be back. Don't worry, Steb.” You say in a high pitched tone, miming like the dog is the one who's talking.

The uniformed enforcer chuckles, “right, see you around, red.” He gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Ekko.” Nodding at Ekko, he returns to his straight edge enforcer self as Ekko replies with his own brief nod. With one last smile from him to you, he walks towards the academy.

You turn towards Ekko this time, Poro still lifted up in front of your face. “Wanna have dinner at my place?” you continue to mime using Poro, who looks like he's having the time of his life as he wags his tail happily. “I'm starving!”

Ekko shakes his head, laughing at your antics. He can't believe you're the same person he saw beat up a whole gang even when you're already injured. You must've been something during your time at the guild and the legion.

“Stew?” He asks, petting the dog as he smiles at you.

“Sure, if you want it again. I've stocked up on ingredients this time around.” Putting back Poro in your arm, you beam up at Ekko. “We have to invite another guy though.”

Ekko frowns for a half second before realizing that you're talking about Heimerdinger's dog. “I'm sure he likes the invitation.” You grin bigger at his reply.

The two of you start walking outside the academy gates. Ekko casually takes the satchel from your shoulder, and you let him carry it as you glance at him with a knowing smile.

“So you and Steb?” He asks, a bit muffled above the breeze and Poro’s breathing.

You tamp down your grin by biting down at your lower lip. “Simple answer, no.”

Ekko nods, hand reaching behind you with an open palm placed on the small of your back with the guise of guiding you around the busy city.

A/N: I had to cut this in half because it's gotten too long lol thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

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