#Curiosity personified

[hyperfixation-hopper]

So uhhh… what if they met huh

[fesenmoon]

no fucking way

[luckylunatix]

I give a very minimal amount of fucks about the US HHN icons but I would take a bullet for this silly little critter right here

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (2)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU. (She/her)

Word Count: 5.9k

A/n: Reader is masc cause this was typically just for me to read but i decided to share it with you all so. Enjoy.

___________________________

The soft chime of a bell echoed through the modest shop as Caitlyn stepped inside. She adjusted the cuffs of her coat, scanning the space for you. The shop was a humble place—wooden counters, shelves stacked with tools and gadgets, and an air of organized clutter.

A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, her brows furrowing in suspicion at Caitlyn’s pristine uniform. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Caitlyn cleared her throat. “I’m looking for your daughter. She—uh—was released from custody yesterday. I wanted to check on her.”

The woman blinked, her suspicion giving way to surprise. “You’re a Kiramman, aren’t you?”

The name seemed to ripple through the shop like a shockwave. A boy, about fifteen with neatly combed hair and sharp, pale features, peeked out from the backroom, his expression caught between awe and curiosity. Caitlyn nodded politely, ignoring the knot forming in her stomach.

“She hasn’t been home,” the woman said with a shrug, her voice carrying an air of dismissal. “Not surprising, really. She’s always been… difficult.”

“Trouble, if we’re being honest,” added a man seated in the corner, presumably your father. He barely looked up from the newspaper he was skimming. “Never fit in, not like our boy here.”

The boy stood straighter at the mention, his demeanor clean and polished—a stark contrast to your rough edges.

Caitlyn’s gaze darted between them, the pieces slowly falling into place. There was something off about the dynamic, something deeper than simple familial tension. The more they talked about you, the more it became apparent that you were the outsider in your own family.

“And she’s nothing like the rest of us,” your mother continued, shaking her head. “Always running off, getting into fights… we’re better off when she’s not here causing trouble.”

Caitlyn’s heart sank, her chest tightening with unease. Her eyes drifted over to a family photo on the wall. The boy’s resemblance to his parents was undeniable. But you… you were missing from the picture entirely.

“Well,” Caitlyn said, forcing a polite smile, “thank you for your time.”

She turned on her heel and left, her thoughts racing as she stepped out into the bright morning light. “She doesn’t even look like them,” she muttered under her breath, her mind spiraling. “Something’s not right. I need help… and fast.”

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When you woke, your head pounded like a drum, and your body ached in ways you hadn’t felt in years. Your hands were bound behind you, ropes digging into your wrists, and the chair beneath you was cold and unsteady. The room smelled like oil and damp metal, the faint hum of machinery in the background.

You groaned, rolling your sore jaw. “What the hell…?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” came a gruff voice.

You lifted your head, blinking away the haze to see a tall woman leaning against the wall. Her broad shoulders were imposing, and her metallic arm gleamed in the dim light.

“Who are you?” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

“Sevika,” she said simply, stepping closer. “And you are?”

You squinted at her, confused and defiant. “Pretty sure you already know the answer to that if you went through the trouble of tying me up.”

Sevika smirked faintly. “I know what you are. A little street rat with a chip on her shoulder. But I’m curious about who you are… before you meet the person who asked for you.”

“Who?” you demanded, your mind racing.

Sevika ignored the question, circling you like a predator toying with its prey. “You don’t look like much,” she mused. “But I’ve heard stories. Fists like hammers, a temper to match. People like you don’t belong in Piltover.”

“And people like you don’t belong outside a junkyard,” you shot back, gritting your teeth.

Sevika chuckled darkly. “Cute. Got any other tricks, or is sarcasm your only weapon?”

“Let me go, and I’ll show you a few,” you snapped.

The banter continued, each of you trading barbs like a pair of prizefighters warming up before a match. The tension in the room thickened until the door creaked open, revealing Clagg. He was fidgety as ever, glancing nervously between you and Sevika.

“She’s coming,” Clagg announced, his tone almost reverent.

“About time,” Sevika muttered. She leaned down close to you, her metallic arm brushing against your cheek. “You’re lucky she wants to meet you. Otherwise, you’d already be in pieces.”

“Charming,” you bit out, then spat at her feet.

Sevika’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and before you could blink, she kicked the chair back. You hit the ground with a jarring thud, the air rushing out of your lungs.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” Sevika growled, her boots echoing as she walked away.

Still tied to the chair, you craned your neck to yell after her. “You think this scares me? I’ve had worse!”

Your voice bounced off the walls, but no response came. Alone again, you gritted your teeth, your frustration mounting. Whoever had gone through the trouble of taking you, they were going to regret it.

The ropes around your wrists burned as you twisted and yanked, desperate to free yourself. Every muscle in your arms screamed in protest, but you pushed through, muttering every profanity and insult you could think of under your breath.  

"Come on, you piece of—" you hissed, jerking harder at the ropes. The chair scraped against the filthy floor as you shifted your weight. "Cowards! You’re all cowards! Can’t even fight me head-on, huh?"  

The sound of a creaking door silenced your outburst. You froze, hearing light, almost playful footsteps approaching.  

Then she appeared.  

The first thing that caught your eye was her hair—a vivid blue, pulled into chaotic pigtails that swayed with every step. She moved with a strange, fluid energy, like she was dancing to a song only she could hear. Her hooded cloak hung loosely around her, barely concealing the mischievous smile spreading across her face.  

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop staring at her. It wasn’t just her striking features—the sharp curve of her jawline, the glint of piercings, or the deliberate sway of her stride—but her eyes. They were a haunting, electric purple that seemed to glow even in the dim light. They locked onto yours, sharp and unrelenting, as if she was peeling back every layer of your mind.  

She tilted her head, noticing your stunned expression as if she was taking inventory of your soul. Without a word, she strode forward, her boots clinking lightly against the ground. With surprising strength, she grabbed the back of your chair and lifted it upright, bringing your face level with hers.  

“Not so loud now, are we?” she teased, her voice smooth yet tinged with mockery.  

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close she was. Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as she leaned in, inspecting you like you were some kind of rare artifact.  

Her hand reached out, almost delicately, tracing a faint line over the scar that ran through your eyebrow. The sensation made you flinch slightly, but her touch was lighter than you’d expected.  

“What’s this, huh?” she mused, her finger trailing down to where a tattoo peeked out along the side of your neck. Her head tilted again, curious, as she studied the intricate lines and shapes. “A map? A secret code? Or just something to make you look cool?”  

You didn’t respond, your throat dry.  

She grinned wider at your silence. “Funny. You had so much to say earlier. All that yelling, cursing. What happened?” Her voice dropped, playful and sharp. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”  

Her teasing only made your pulse race. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as she continued to examine you like you were her newest obsession.  

Finally, she leaned back slightly, resting her hands on her hips. “You’re a fascinating one, I’ll give you that. That punch you threw at that enforcer? Oh, that was beautiful.” She sighed dreamily, spinning on her heel before whipping back around to face you. “I saw you and thought, that one’s got fire. And fire is just what I need.”  

Her words finally broke through your haze. You leaned forward, pushing your face so close to hers that the gap between you was almost nonexistent. Her eyes widened, caught off guard for a brief moment.  

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice low and steady.  

Her lips parted slightly, then curled into a devilish grin. “Takes one to know one, sugar.”  

Her grin widened as if your words had only fueled whatever twisted fire burned inside her. Those vivid purple eyes danced with amusement, mischief, and something far more dangerous.  

She leaned in closer, her nose nearly brushing yours, her lips curving into a sly smirk. “Insane?” she repeated, dragging the word out like it was a sweet candy she didn’t want to swallow. “Sugar, you don’t know the half of it. But you? You’re a little spark in this dull, gray world. And I like sparks.”  

Your jaw clenched, but you couldn’t look away. She was intoxicating, the kind of energy you could feel crawling under your skin. Dangerous. Chaotic. Addictive.  

Her gaze flicked down, studying the scar on your eyebrow again as if it told her a story she hadn’t finished reading. “This,” she said, lightly tapping the scar with a manicured finger, “has a tale, doesn’t it? Did you earn it in a fight? Or did someone get the better of you?”  

You jerked your head back, her finger hovering in the air where your face had been. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”  

“Ooooh,” she cooed, pretending to be wounded, clutching her chest dramatically. “Tough girl, huh? You’re even more fun than I thought.”  

She circled you slowly, her boots scuffing the floor as she moved, inspecting you from every angle. “And these tattoos… I’m dying to know what they mean. Are you some kind of treasure map, or are you just trying to look mysterious?”  

Your lips twitched into a smirk despite yourself. “Maybe both.”  

Her laughter rang out, light and airy, but with that edge that made your skin crawl and your heart race. “I knew I liked you.” She stopped behind you, leaning close to your ear, her breath brushing your neck. “So much potential, all wrapped up in a pretty little package.”  

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you shot back, though your voice betrayed the tiniest hitch.  

“Oh, I don’t need flattery,” she purred, sauntering back around to face you. She crouched down, her chin resting on her hand as she peered up at you with those piercing eyes. “I’ve already got you wrapped around my finger.”  

You barked a laugh, leaning forward as much as the ropes allowed. “You think you’ve got me figured out? Hate to break it to you, but I don’t play by anyone’s rules.”  

Her grin twisted into something darker, more dangerous. “Oh, I’m counting on that.”  

Her gaze locked with yours again, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you. The intensity of her stare was overwhelming, like she was peeling back every layer of you, reading the parts you kept hidden even from yourself.  

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you looking at?”  

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Everything.”  

The word hung in the air, and for the first time, you felt truly out of control. It wasn’t fear—it was something far more maddening.  

“You’re full of yourself,” you muttered, breaking eye contact to glare at the floor.  

“And you’re full of surprises,” she shot back, tilting her head. “That’s why I want you, sugar. You don’t even know what you’re capable of yet, do you?”  

You snorted, finally meeting her gaze again. “And you think you do?”  

Her smirk deepened as she stood, towering over you for a moment. She leaned down, her face close enough that you could feel the heat of her breath. “Stick around, and maybe you’ll find out.”  

Before you could respond, she straightened, her manic energy returning as she twirled on her heel. “But don’t worry, sweetheart,” she called over her shoulder, “I’m not done with you yet.”  

She paused at the doorway, turning back with one final, piercing look. “Not by a long shot.”  

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you tied to the chair with your heart pounding and your mind spinning.  

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

The edge of Piltover where it bled into the Undercity was a liminal space, caught between the polished steel of progress and the grime of survival. Caitlyn tightened her coat as she approached the meeting spot, her sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit area until she spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Vi.  

Vi was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, her usual air of nonchalance masking the weight she always carried in these spaces. She looked up as Caitlyn approached, her smirk lighting up the otherwise somber surroundings.  

“Well, well, if it isn’t Cupcake herself,” Vi drawled, pushing off the railing and striding forward. “What brings you to the edge of the world? Couldn’t be my charm.”  

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Vi. Always the comedian.”  

“You know me,” Vi said with a wink, gesturing toward a ledge that overlooked the Undercity below. “Come on. Let’s catch up like old times.”  

The two of them sat side by side, the hum of Zaun’s machinery rising faintly in the background. For a moment, there was silence, the kind only two people with shared history could share.  

“So,” Vi started, leaning back on her hands. “What’s got you out here? I know you didn’t come all this way just to see me.”  

Caitlyn hesitated, her fingers brushing the edges of the folded paper in her coat pocket. “I need your help, but… I want to ask you something first.”  

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”  

“Did you ever know someone—when you were younger—who didn’t quite fit in on either side of the city?” Caitlyn asked, her voice cautious.  

Vi’s expression shifted, her smirk fading into something more contemplative. “You’re fishing, Cait. But yeah. There was someone.”  

Caitlyn tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Who?”  

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared out over the Undercity. “Back when Vander was still running things, there was this kid who’d come around sometimes. Silco’s kid.”  

Caitlyn blinked. “Silco had a child?”  

Vi nodded, her gaze distant. “Yeah. He didn’t bring her around much. Vander always told us to play nice with her, though. Said she wasn’t like her old man. And he was right. She was a good kid. Quiet, but tough in her own way. Ekko and I used to call her ‘little spark’ because she’d light up whenever she got into trouble with us.”  

“What happened to her?” Caitlyn asked softly.  

Vi’s jaw tightened, and her voice dropped. “The bridge. You know the story—when everything went to hell, and we lost everything. I always thought she was one of the ones who didn’t make it.”  

Caitlyn frowned, her hand brushing her coat pocket again. “She must’ve been important to you.”  

Vi glanced at her, a sly grin creeping back onto her face. “What’s with all the questions, Cait? You getting attached to someone?”  

Caitlyn straightened, her cheeks heating slightly. “That’s not—”  

Vi chuckled, cutting her off. “Relax, Cupcake. I’m just messing with you. But the way you’re talking, you’ve got a soft spot for whoever this is.”  

Caitlyn huffed, crossing her arms. “I do not.”  

“Sure,” Vi teased, her grin widening. “Now, are you gonna tell me what this is all about, or do I have to guess?”  

Reluctantly, Caitlyn pulled the folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Vi. “This is who I’m talking about.”  

Vi unfolded the paper and stared at the mugshot. Her smirk dropped instantly, replaced by a rare look of genuine shock.  

“What?” Caitlyn asked, alarmed by her reaction. “What is it?”  

Vi’s fingers tightened on the photo as she stared at it, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s her.”  

Caitlyn blinked, confused. “Her?”  

Vi looked up, her eyes meeting Caitlyn’s with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “That’s Silco’s kid. The one I told you about.”  

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat. “That’s impossible.”  

“It’s not,” Vi said firmly, her voice steadier now. “I’d recognize her anywhere. She’s older, sure, but it’s her.”  

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the weight of the revelation settling over her like a storm cloud. “If she’s Silco’s child… then she’s in more danger than I thought.”  

Vi nodded grimly, folding the paper carefully before handing it back. “You have no idea, Cait. If Jinx is involved, this isn’t just danger—it’s a ticking time bomb.”  

The two women sat in tense silence, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on both of them. 

You remained seated on the ledge(finally untied and freed), your legs dangling over the edge, gazing out at the endless sprawl of the Undercity. The cool air carried the muffled hum of life below, its chaotic rhythm strangely soothing. Jinx's words echoed in your mind, tangled with your own doubts and fears.  

"You're different. You've got a fire they can't put out."  

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the edge of the ledge. A small part of you hated how much her words resonated. The Undercity, with all its grime and disorder, felt more genuine than anything you’d ever experienced in Piltover. It felt... like home.  

But why?  

Shaking the thought off, you stood, brushing your hands on your pants. The colored neon signs beckoned below, their strange symbols and shapes leading a breadcrumb trail toward what could only be Jinx’s lair. You followed them, the glowing lights guiding your every step through winding passages and corridors that grew stranger the deeper you ventured.  

When you reached the entrance, the sound of laughter and faint music greeted you. The room was an explosion of color and chaos, a living reflection of its owner. But before you could take it all in, something small and solid slammed into your side, nearly knocking you over.  

“Whoa there, kid,” you said, steadying yourself with a smirk.  

The small figure in front of you was a girl, no older than seven or eight. Her oversized helmet tilted awkwardly over her face, obscuring her features. She straightened it, looking up at you with curious eyes. You chuckled, gently pushing the helmet down so it covered her face again.  

“That’s a safety hazard, squirt,” you teased.  

The girl let out a muffled huff, adjusting the helmet again before darting behind your legs as if hiding. You turned, bewildered, just in time to see Jinx leaning casually against a wall, watching the exchange with an amused grin.  

“That’s Isha,” Jinx said, pushing off the wall and sauntering closer. “She doesn’t talk much, but don’t let that fool you. She’s a little firecracker.”  

You crouched down, leveling your gaze with the girl’s. “Isha, huh? You trying to knock me out or what?”  

Isha peeked out from behind her helmet, her big eyes locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without warning, she launched herself forward, wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.  

You froze, your arms hovering awkwardly before finally settling around her in return. The hug was fierce, filled with an intensity you hadn’t expected from someone so small.  

Jinx stood off to the side, her grin faltering into something softer, something almost vulnerable. She tilted her head, studying the moment.  

“Would you look at that,” Jinx muttered under her breath, her voice quieter than usual. “You’ve got that thing... that spark. The kind that makes people believe in something better, even when the world’s a mess.”  

She leaned against a beam, her purple eyes narrowing slightly as if lost in thought. “I always thought people like you didn’t exist. Or if they did, they’d never make it down here. Guess I was wrong.”  

Isha pulled back slightly, her tiny hands gripping your shirt as she looked up at you with a small smile. You returned it hesitantly, unsure what to do with the sudden warmth spreading through your chest.  

Jinx crossed her arms, a flicker of something complicated crossing her face. “You’re a piece of work. You make people feel things they don’t even know they’re missing.”  

You glanced at her, confused by her tone, but before you could say anything, she clapped her hands, her grin returning in full force.  

“Alright, reunion time’s over!” Jinx said, gesturing grandly toward the chaotic space. “Welcome to the fun house. Let’s see if you can keep up.”  

But even as she walked away, her eyes lingered on you and Isha for just a second longer, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a secret.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

Vi and Caitlyn moved quietly through the shadows of the Undercity, the flickering neon lights casting distorted shapes along the walls. The tension between them was palpable, Caitlyn walking briskly with purpose, while Vi lagged slightly behind, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“Alright, Vi,” Caitlyn snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to face her. “Enough of this. Why are you so anxious about this? It’s obvious you know something you’re not telling me. Just spill it already.”

Vi ran a hand through her short hair, letting out a sharp breath. “It’s not that simple, Cupcake.”

“Don’t ‘Cupcake’ me,” Caitlyn shot back, frustration bubbling over. “You practically froze when you saw that picture. And now, every time her name comes up, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it about her? What aren’t you telling me?”

Vi hesitated, her fists clenching at her sides. She leaned against a graffiti-covered wall, her eyes scanning the dark alley as if trying to find the right words in the chaos around them.

“She’s Silco’s kid, Caitlyn,” Vi finally admitted, her voice low and uneven. “And that’s bad enough, yeah? But it’s worse than that. There’s… there’s something about her—something Silco did to her—since she was just a baby.”

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did he do to her?”

Vi looked away, unable to meet Caitlyn’s eyes. Her voice dropped further, tinged with both anger and sadness. “He gave her Shimmer. Since she was an infant.”

Caitlyn’s mouth opened slightly in disbelief, her mind racing. “Shimmer? That toxin? The stuff that drives people mad? He gave it to his own child?”

Vi nodded grimly. “He called her Spark for a reason. It wasn’t just ‘cause of how she lit up a room with her energy. It was because when she got mad, Cait, there was this… this purple flash in her eyes. It wasn’t natural. And it wasn’t just her eyes—she got strong. Way stronger than any kid her age should’ve been.”

Caitlyn’s hand instinctively moved to her chest, gripping the fabric of her coat as the weight of Vi’s words settled over her. “That’s… inhuman,” she whispered.

“You’re telling me,” Vi said bitterly. “Back when we were all still running around with Vander, she’d hang with us sometimes. Vander told me and Ekko to play nice with her—said she didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Vi let out a shaky breath, her voice cracking slightly. “One time, some goons jumped us. Usual Undercity crap, right? We could’ve handled it, but one of ‘em hit Powder. She lost it. I mean… lost it. It was like a switch flipped. She went from this scrappy, loudmouthed kid to…” Vi paused, swallowing hard. “…something else. She tore into that guy like a rabid animal. Took five of us to pull her off him.”

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the story painting a picture she could hardly comprehend. “How old was she?”

“Maybe eight,” Vi muttered, her eyes distant. “Nine at most.”

Caitlyn couldn’t hide the horror on her face. “And no one did anything? No one tried to help her?”

“Silco didn’t think she needed help,” Vi said bitterly. “He thought it made her special. He was always talkin’ about how she’d be the future of the Undercity. Said she was born to be more than the rest of us.”

Caitlyn stepped closer, her voice firm. “Vi, we need to find her. If she’s still being exposed to Shimmer—or worse, if she gets ahold of it again—she could become…”

“Someone no one can stop,” Vi finished for her, her voice heavy with guilt. She rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding Caitlyn’s eyes. “Look, Cait, I don’t know if she’s beyond saving or not. But if anyone can find her before it’s too late, it’s you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze softened slightly, seeing the weight of the past etched into Vi’s face. “We’ll find her,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll find her. And if there’s even a chance of pulling her back from whatever Silco did to her, I’ll take it.”

Vi gave her a weak smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Careful, Cupcake. You’re starting to sound like a hero.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk on her lips as the two of them continued walking deeper into the Undercity shadows.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

You sat cross-legged in the center of the pillow fort, its patchwork design of fraying fabric and mismatched cushions somehow providing a sense of calm. Isha sat close by, fiddling with another scrap of metal. She handed you a device—a small, intricate thing that looked like a broken clock mixed with some kind of makeshift toy. You turned it over in your hands, your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of it.

“How does this thing even…” you muttered, shaking it slightly.

Isha tapped your arm and held out her hand. You passed it to her, and she pressed a hidden switch with an exaggerated motion, her small fingers moving with practiced ease. The device clicked open, and she handed it back to you, her expression triumphant.

“Ah,” you said, smirking as you caught on. “Got it now. Thanks, kid.”

Isha nodded, pleased, as you reached for a small set of tools and peered into the inner workings of the device. As you worked, focused on aligning the tiny gears, Jinx stood nearby, leaning against a support beam of the fort. Her purple eyes flickered between you and Isha, her fingers twitching idly at her sides.

For a moment, her gaze softened, as though something about the way you interacted with Isha stirred a memory buried deep within her. A fleeting image of another life—of being that child watching someone patient and kind—flashed in her mind. But the memory was jagged, incomplete, and the voices began to stir.

“She’s like them. She’ll leave you, too.”

“Don’t let her in. You know what happens.”

“Softness gets you killed.”

Her hands clenched into fists as her breathing grew uneven. The taunting chorus in her mind grew louder, mocking her, reminding her of every loss, every betrayal, and every vulnerability she had ever exposed.

Then, one voice—a quieter, unfamiliar one—whispered. “Or maybe… maybe she’s different?”

“No!” Jinx’s outburst was sharp and sudden, her hand slamming against the wall of the fort. Both you and Isha flinched, startled. Isha quickly raised her hands, signing something to you, her movements calm despite the tension.

You glanced at her, brow furrowing. “She says it’s no big deal,” you murmured, translating Isha’s message. But something in you didn’t sit right. You set the device down carefully, rising to your feet.

Jinx’s eyes flickered to you as you approached. Her breathing was uneven, her jaw tight as if bracing herself for whatever she thought you were going to do. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped close, reached out, and placed your hand gently on her shoulder.

The contact was electric—not in the physical sense, but in the way it seemed to pull her back from the chaotic spiral in her mind. The voices stuttered, silenced as if they’d been struck mute. She stared at your hand, then at your face, her wide eyes filled with confusion.

“Are you good?” you asked softly, your voice steady.

She blinked, her lips parting slightly as though to speak, but no words came. She didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the storm in her mind had quieted.

“The voices…” she said softly, her words almost childlike. Her gaze locked onto yours, searching. “They stopped.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just left your hand where it was, steady, grounding.

Jinx let out a short laugh, the sound almost bitter as she pulled away. “What are you, a miracle worker now?” she teased, her tone trying to recover its usual sharpness, but it lacked the bite. She crossed her arms, glancing away as though embarrassed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, there was a quiet tension between you—an unspoken understanding that neither of you fully grasped but could feel nonetheless.

She finally glanced back at you, her expression softening. “Thanks,” she muttered, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “For, uh… whatever you did.”

You raised a brow, leaning slightly against the beam. “Don’t mention it.”

But even as she turned back toward Isha with her usual swagger, there was a different air about her. And in the quiet moments that followed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something in her had shifted—just as something in you had, too.

The tense air of Jinx’s lair was broken by the heavy footfalls of Sevika as she strode in, her expression lined with irritation and determination. She stopped a few paces from where Jinx stood, her arms crossed, her purple eyes locked on a distant point in the room. You sat with Isha, fidgeting with the scrap she had handed you earlier, trying to piece it together while she motioned instructions. Both of you froze when Sevika spoke.

“We need to talk,” she said bluntly, her gravelly voice cutting through the silence.

Jinx glanced at her, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “About what? Your new hobby?”

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “The rally. You need to be there. They need to see you.”

Jinx snorted, spinning a small, makeshift grenade in her hand. “Need? They don’t need anything. They just want a show.”

“It’s not about a show, Jinx. It’s about showing strength. If you want people to follow you, they need to see you, not some memory of who you used to be.”

Jinx laughed sharply, shaking her head. “They’ll get over it. They always do.”

From your spot, you glanced at Isha, who gave you a meaningful nod toward the door. Her small hands signed: We should go.

You hesitated, glancing between the two women. Jinx’s smirk was faltering, her fingers twitching as she tossed the grenade between her hands. You nodded at Isha, but as Sevika’s frustration grew and Jinx’s refusal hardened, you couldn’t help but linger, watching the scene unfold.

Sevika’s patience finally broke. “Fine,” she snapped, throwing up her hands. “Stay here. Hide in your fort. But don’t expect anyone to keep waiting forever.” With that, she turned and stormed out.

Jinx stared after her, her smirk fading entirely. She muttered something under her breath, then stalked off into the shadows of the lair, leaving you and Isha alone.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

The streets were alive with energy as you walked through the dense crowd, Isha’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Voices rose in unison, fists pumping into the air as chants echoed off the crumbling walls of the Undercity. The sea of people pressed around you, a strange mix of defiance and desperation in their faces. You couldn’t help but feel out of place and yet… oddly drawn in.

At the center of the chaos, Sevika stood atop a makeshift platform, her mechanical arm gleaming under the dim light as she addressed the crowd with a booming voice.

“They take everything from us!” she roared. “Our homes, our families, our freedom—and they think we’ll just bow down and take it! But we’re stronger than they’ll ever know. We’re the beating heart of this city, and we will not be silenced!”

Her words sent a ripple through the crowd, igniting a fire in their eyes. You stood still, feeling a strange stirring in your chest. Her speech felt like a challenge, a call to action. Around you, people murmured and chanted, their voices swelling with Sevika’s words.

“Where’s Jinx?” someone shouted from the crowd, and the question was quickly echoed.

Your brow furrowed as you looked around, confused. The crowd seemed to be searching, yearning for her. Why are they all so obsessed with her?

Suddenly, Isha tugged her hand free from yours and darted toward the base of the massive, weathered statue that towered over the square.

“Isha!” you called out, pushing through the crowd after her. You caught sight of her climbing up the crumbling base of the statue, her small figure illuminated by the glow of the flare she held high above her head.

The flare’s blue light cut through the darkened sky, a beacon that silenced the crowd for a breathless moment. You felt something deep inside you shift, something raw and instinctive. Slowly, you raised your fist to the sky, the gesture unthinking yet powerful.

The crowd seemed to freeze, their eyes on you, and then one by one, fists rose alongside yours. The chants grew louder, the unity in the air palpable.

Sevika’s eyes snapped to you from her platform, her expression hard to read. For a moment, she looked almost… impressed. She raised her own fist, and the crowd erupted into a deafening roar.

But the unity was short-lived. The roar of engines and the heavy march of enforcers filled the air as they stormed into the square. The crowd erupted into chaos, some scattering in fear, others standing their ground to fight. You were caught in the middle, trying to keep sight of Isha as the chaos unfolded around you.

You spotted her just as a massive enforcer grabbed her, flinging her small body into the stone fountain with a sickening thud. Your breath hitched as you saw her crumple to the ground, unmoving.

A spark ignited in your chest, and for a moment, the world blurred. Your vision tinged with purple, and before you knew it, you were charging toward the enforcer, your movements unnaturally fast.

The enforcer barely had time to react before you were on him, striking with a strength and speed that caught even you by surprise. Blow after blow landed, each one fueled by a fury you couldn’t contain.

A sharp pain exploded in your side as you were suddenly knocked off balance. You hit the ground hard, gasping for breath as you looked up to see Sevika standing over you, her mechanical arm sparking from the spear that had pierced through it. She grimaced but grabbed you by the arm, dragging you away even as you fought against her grip.

“They’ve got Isha!” you screamed, your voice raw with desperation.

“We’ll get her back,” Sevika growled, slamming you into the wall of a nearby alley. Her eyes were fierce, her grip unrelenting. “But we need Jinx. She’s the only one who can get her out of wherever they’re taking her.”

You froze, your breath heaving as her words sank in. Sevika’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained firm.

“Get it together,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for this. You want to save her? Then we need Jinx. Now.”

She released you, and for a moment, you stood there trembling, anger and fear coursing through you. But as the chaos raged on, you nodded, steeling yourself for what was to come.

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

Chap 3 getting edited rn :) Thanks for reading! Isha is alive here I DONT CARE

[blackbleedingrose]

Long Lost Morningstar - Part Two

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing(s): Charlie x reader (platonic), Vaggie x reader (platonic), Charlie x Vaggie

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): minor cursing.

Notes: This is the second installment of LLM. This one will be going more in depth in (Y/N)'s life in Heaven and her relationship with Michael and Charlie. I will also be working on another Hazbin mini series (the one I mentioned in my last post) so part three will take a little longer - so, please, bare with me.

Words: 2215

"This is one of the reasons why I wanted to meet you in the first place. . . My full name is (Y/N) Demiurgos. Daughter of Archangel Michael Demiurgos".

(Y/N) Demiugros have lived in Heaven her entire life among the archangels, seraphims, and winners (human souls who ascended into Heaven after they died).

She, herself, was a seraphim - one with very large and beautiful wings; six in total.

Her father, Michael, was one of Heaven's archangel's and one of the Seven Virtues. He was the one who had created her from stardust.

At least, those were the stories she's been told her whole life.

Though, it was strange. . .

Her father had crafted her in his likeness and yet the two couldn't be more different.

Not to say Michael was a complete stiff or was lacking any sense of humor - in fact, all of the archangels had their own strange quirks. (Y/N) loved being around them and often shared their humor.

The problem here was. . . her curiosity.

She was a naturally curious being and would often dream of things most of Heaven would frown upon - like six-winged ducks.

As a child her curiosity would sometimes get the better of her and she would try to venture beyond the archangel's castle (where she lived with Michael and the other archangels).

Of course, Michael was always there to stop her from wandering too far.

It became evident that (Y/N)'s curiosity and wonderous spirit would only get worse if he didn't stop it right there and then.

He didn't want her to end up like her real parents.

What (Y/N) didn't know was that almost everything she has ever known was a complete lie.

Or that Michael was not her real father/parent.

That title rightfully belonged to Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

But, of course, no one who knew ever planned on telling her; so, instead they twisted the truth.

Michael told her all about what Lucifer and Lilith had done and how the two brought evil into humanity. An act that got them a one-way dropped elevator ride straight to Hell.

Obviously leaving out the part where Lucifer and Lilith were her real parents, and instead told her they were her estranged uncle and aunt.

He had hoped telling her this would stifle her growing curiosity and wandering enough to keep her out of trouble and from ending up exactly where his twin brother and his lover had all those years ago.

It also helped that ever since Lucifer and Lilith's trial, Heaven has been cracking down on teaching their residents obedience and the consequences of straying too far.

And for a long time it worked.

(Y/N) was one of Heaven's top students and a role model seraphim to all angels alike.

On the outside she was grace, obedience, and perfection personified - just as she was taught and just as Heaven wanted.

But on the inside, she was still that curious and wonderous spirit who would secretly write her dreams in a private journal she had to hide away in a pocket dimension with her magic.

(Y/N) yearned to venture outside of Heaven and explore all the different realms to see what they had to offer. Like the ones she's read from the books in Heaven's restricted section that she may or may not break into in the dead of night (she's a sneaky little sneaker :P).

Tales of archons, unique planets, and realms with distorted human desires would fill her head - her heart yearning to one day travel to those places herself.

But for now, her life was in Heaven as a role model seraphim whose curiosity and wandering was kept in check.

. . . Until she caught wind of the Princess of Hell's meeting by her fellow seraphim, Emily, during their weekly hangout.

(Y/N) was aware Lucifer and Lilith had a child born in Hell, but she never expected her demon cousin would ever be granted permission to enter Heaven.

She couldn't help but wonder what her cousin wanted with Heaven.

Whatever it was, it was big enough to warrant a whole trial with the Head Seraphim, Sera.

Oh, no - there goes her curiosity.

(Y/N) knew her father would frown upon her interacting with the daughter of the ones who damned humanity. . . but she couldn't help it! She really wanted to meet her cousin and see what she was like.

Maybe people in Hell weren't as bad as Heaven made them out to be.

Luckily for her, Emily was quite the chatterbox and told her all about how she and Sera were going to give a tour to the Princess of Hell and her partner, the hotel they were staying at, and the exact room number.

Before she went on her way, (Y/N) managed to get one of her doting simps friends to cover for her and her duties to avoid raising suspicion.

When Emily and Sera had finished talking to Heaven's demon guests and brought them to their hotel room, (Y/N) was hidden away in the hallway waiting until they left.

As soon as she was sure Sera and Emily were gone, (Y/N) quickly rushed to the door.

She silently psyched herself up before knocking.

Charlie and Vaggie, who were skeptical to hear a knock so fast, hesitantly opened the door.

"Uh. . . Hello?".

When Charlie opened the door she definitely wasn't expecting to see a very tall angel with long blonde hair, purple eyes, red cheek circle's, and a big smile on her pale face standing outside. For a moment Charlie could have sworn she was almost looking at her mother.

"Hello! You must be Charlie and Vaggie! Emily's told me all about you - well, the only things that she knew before meeting you. Haven't had the chance to ask her about you after meeting you, but since I'm here now I might as well as you yourselves!".

(Y/N) snapped out of her trailing thoughts and rambling, "Oh, shit! My bad! I got a little carried away and forgot to introduce myself. Sorry. My name is (Y/N). I'm a seraphim. It's so nice to finally meet you!"

Charlie and Vaggie had to recover from the whiplash of the seraphim's personality and onslaught of words. Not wanting to offend her and mess up her chance before the trial, Charlie invited (Y/N) inside. (Y/N) eagerly accepted and walked into the room admiring it - she's never been in a hotel before.

"So. . . why are you here?" Vaggie asked rather rudely suspicious of why a random seraphim would go out of their way to talk to people from Hell. "Vaggie!" Charlie whisper-yelled afraid she offended a potential high authority in Heaven.

"Oh, well, I was hoping to get a chance to meet you both. When Emily told me about how the Princess of Hell wanted a meeting in Heaven about her hotel to redeem sinners, I'll admit my curiosity was peaked and I knew I had to see who you were in person".

Charlie gasped, her eyes shining, "Does this mean you think it's possible to rehabilitate demons?!". Vaggie glared at the angelic being, "Why would a seraphim care to meet people like us?".

(Y/N) gave the two a gentle smile, "Well, I tend to be a naturally curious individual - which I'm sure you can imagine isn't something Heaven is too fond of. As for redeeming sinners - I'm not sure. Personally, I would love to see souls in Hell given the chance to be redeemed and enter Heaven. Especially the ones who truly do not deserve eternal damnation. Which is why I'm excited to see how your trial ends. Hopefully you have evidence to prove your hotel works. I mean, if the Princess of Hell is willing to vouch and put in the effort on giving sinners a better chance at an afterlife in paradise, then maybe not all demons are bad after all".

Charlie and Vaggie were awestruck. Sure, Emily was really nice but (Y/N) was the first angel to actually be willing to give them a chance. Charlie had tears in her eyes, "D-Do you really believe that?". (Y/N) smiled and laid her hand on Charlie's, "I do".

Charlie and Vaggie smiled at the seraphim. It was nice to see that there was one angel here in Heaven who wasn't going to shut them down right away - someone who genuinely supported their cause.

The three chatted some more - mainly Charlie and (Y/N) with Vaggie chiming in from time to time. Now that the three got more comfortable with each other, the conversation was going a lot smoother. Despite just meeting one another, Charlie and (Y/N) felt like they've known each other for years.

"So, what do you do here in Heaven?" Charlie asked (Y/N). "Oh! Well, I sometimes help the archangels with their duties, but I mainly work in court trials", (Y/N) answered. Charlie's eyes lit up, "Court trials?".

(Y/N) immediately caught on. She shook her head, "Oh, no. Not in the actual trials; that's for the higher seraphims. In this case, Sera and Emily. I'm just a stenographer and record keeper. I help keep and maintain the court records and sometimes record the trials in person".

Vaggie raised a brow, "A seraphim as a stenographer?". (Y/N) nodded, "It's actually a very important job. . . but, I won't lie and say it was my first choice for a job. It was my father's idea. His way of keeping me busy, entertained, and out of trouble".

Charlie blinked, "Oh! Who's your father?". (Y/N) bit her lip nervous, "This is one of the reasons why I wanted to meet you in the first place. . . My full name is (Y/N) Demiurgos. Daughter of Archangel Michael Demiurgos". Charlie and Vaggie's jaws dropped.

"Archangel Michael?! A-As in my dad's twin brother?!".

(Y/N) nodded fiddling nervously with her hands. Charlie did a double take, "Woah, woah! Wait! Then doesn't that make us-" "Cousins," (Y/N) confirmed. Charlie gasped placing her hands on her cheeks, "OMG! That's amazing!". (Y/N) smiled in relief, "Yeah. I guess it is".

"Who's your mom?" Charlie asked eagerly. "Oh, I don't have one," (Y/N) said rather casually. This made Charlie and Vaggie feel a bit bad, "Oh".

(Y/N) waved her hands, "Oh, it's not like that! I've never had one! You see most angels are typically created here in Heaven using stardust, which is how my father created me. He used his likeness and the female reference of Lilith - your mother. And thus, I was born".

"Oooh - that makes so much sense! Now, I understand why you look so familiar!" Charlie smiled at her newly found relative. She couldn't believe she had a cousin in Heaven. One so kind and beautiful.

(Y/N) was relieved at how fast Charlie accepted her. She was worried she might not be too fond of having an angelic relative.

Vaggie was a bit nervous to discover that (Y/N) was the daughter of a higher ranking angel, but it quickly went away when she saw how happy her and Charlie were talking to each other.

She's only known (Y/N) for a short while, but she truly believed the seraphim had no ill intentions towards them and genuinely wanted to get to know them.

In fact, (Y/N)'s personality reminded her a little of Charlie.

(Y/N) admired her cousin for her big heart and the confidence she had in her own dreams. She was ashamed to admit she was a little envious.

How she wished she could act on her dreams like her little cousin; but, Heaven would never allow it. Her father always had to remind her not to stray too far, or she might end up just like her uncle and aunt. . . Fallen.

This was why she had to always keep up appearances when she was in public. No one other than those closest to her knew of the dorky, cheerful, and quirky side of her personality. To everyone else she was poised, graceful, and elegant.

When Charlie had asked her about her dreams (Y/N) told her seraphims weren't allowed to dream, or at least have dreams that would go against Heaven's rules.

Despite trying to hide how much that bothered her, Charlie and Vaggie noticed the small shift in her behavior. They felt bad for her wishing Heaven could be more open minded.

(Y/N) quickly waved it off claiming she was okay and that she was used it. She understood her father just wanted to keep her safe and out of trouble.

Soon it was time for (Y/N) to go to avoid making her father suspicious of her whereabouts.

Before she left she and Charlie shared a tight loving hug. (Y/N) wished her good luck in her trial and that she would be rooting for her.

Hearing her cousin support her dream and wish her luck made Charlie feel a lot better about the trial.

Being around (Y/N) made her feel comfortable and safe. She felt familiar, which now makes sense seeing as the two were family.

Her dad couldn't be here, so it felt good knowing there was someone in her family here in Heaven who believed in her.

With those thoughts in mind, she was ready for the trial and positive she would change Heaven's mind and prove the hotel's credibility.

. . . Too bad things sometimes don't go as we hoped.

Taglist:

@soobryu @kyo-kyo1 @miyako-night20 @charliecharlie65 @unknow-sama @myluckymoon @lbcreations-blog @moonchaos18

[angelesca]

𝐯𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

☽˚.⋆ “𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐦?” ☽˚.⋆ make a deal with the devil, and pay the price w.c. ¬700 // content: devil!sunday x gn!reader, pseudo-marriage(?), blood, vague violence (but includes "slit neck"), sunday is kinda dominant here, a teeeny smidge of "enemies-lovers"

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬. it is unforgiving; it slices and splits the latitude of its white canvas. wounds along the roof gape open, sunlight bleeding through the lacerations. it gleams atop the rouge galore. you sink to your knees, weak.

you beg with yourself desperately, to restrain the morbid curiosity and force your eyes anywhere but the sinister that lurked below. by your knees were bodies you used to know. 

“a deal… but only the devil makes deals.”  you replay the conversation only minutes ago.

the man sat on the altar, folding one leg over the other. his lips curved amusedly, “is that so?” 

your mouth contorts into unreadable shapes, imitating the phantoms of words, “you… r–really did it,” your lips quiver. 

red blood freezes solid blue in your veins. all that you have left to offer is cold flesh.

“i have rid of your enemies, foes, all that dared to oppose you. this was my end of the negotiation. and now, i will have you grant your half of the deal.”

peering at malice personified, you wonder how this was fair? his appearance is as chaste as angels, but his words bare its blade, threatening your neck and piercing skin. you have nothing to protect yourself with, but hands calloused with prayers, gripping the sword at bay as you attempt to intimidate him with a sharp stare – a weapon of your own. what else could you do but fight for your life? 

the devil pushes himself off the altar table, each step sinking into the blood from the bodies he reaped. he paid less than a penny to the thought of the mutilated corpses. they were nothing but meagre pests, their remains rotting like disease on his shoes.

he stares down at you from his standing position. his shadow dominates over your body, eyes watching. lifting your chin, he inspects the quality of his novel toy.

you meet his eyes, a quiet whisper, “what do you want with me…?”

“you know that already, don’t you?” his silvery tongue is honed with venom, fingers slithering along your jaw. the serpent coils himself around you.

you pay it no mind, competing with his stare. 

he smirks, eyes rolling in disbelief. perhaps this toy is faulty. “you accepted the terms of our deal. is your revenge not satisfactory?”

the harsh texture of his gloves play with the softness of your skin, tracing the length of your neck.

you grit your teeth. there is no escaping; the contract establishes your soul under his submission.

“fine.” you decide to pay the price. “it is only fair…” your voice trails off, mouth trapped in static.

those golden eyes of his are darkly vampiric, syphoning your determination which fuels him. you are his livestock, hooked upside down with a slit neck, dripping blood into his mouth. a chill runs down your spine. 

he crouches in front of you, hand cradling your cheek as his thumb wipes away your pearling sweat. he hums, “good.” the sun praises him with golden radiance, his glorious halo reigning high over his head like a crown. he rules over you, commands you. completely, entirely, and wholly his.

“say my name.” and seal your fate.

the atmosphere constricts– sudden– your breathing. hitches. heavy air… lack of oxygen… his eyes orbit your features, glimpsing into your universe, observing you inside out. you choke out the name that is forced roughly in your throat: “... sun…day…” 

“do you pledge to be mine?” sunday kisses your ring finger, the weight of commitment encircling it, locking eyes with you to ensure that you witness the officiating. you are his, but he is not yours. 

the exhange of vows, a finality which binds your life to his. this must be his sick idea of a marriage, but you do not sense his earnestness. it is more akin to a predator playing with his food before consuming it.

your jaw clenches, gaining back your breath as you entertain his fantasy, “... i do.”

“yet, you look like you want me dead.” sunday nuzzles into your neck, hiding a smirk. “my spouse is quite charming, hm?”

a/n: originally this was nsfw *bonk* but it felt awkward as i built up the plot so i removed it lol. if anyone wants, i can post it as an extra part on my ao3?^^ if the ending feels rushed, it's because it's 3am for me and im tired ahaha thanks for reading!🐕

[hughmanbean]

The Nurturing Queen and the Greedy Duke

Credit to @sky00asara in this post for this idea I love guys who are moms (if you get what I mean) This will follow the same rough story beats but will still have a little of my own flair.

The Nuturing Queen, Mother of the Wandering Princess and Erratic Prince, has been said to provide protection and inspire devotion to all who come across her. Praised as Balance and Duality personified, she is a large influence and very commonly mentioned in every scroll, book, art piece, and all magic artifacts that Constantine has seen. He's heard from so many beings of how great she is, her feats, and her being the largest connection between the Unknown Realms and Earth.

Here comes the problem. The Nurturing Queen has an enemy who's been around just as long as she has, who's also been seen not long after wherever she goes, chasing her trail and lurking. The Greedy Duke. He wishes to have her as his own, and take the throne to himself, subsequently plunging the Unknown Realms into chaos. Whenever he confronts the Nurturing Queen, legendary battles commence, and he is beat back.

But now, things are going wrong. The Lazurus Pits have been reported as acting, well, erratic. The Erratic Prince, some beings say, has been seen discussing things with the Greedy Duke. They fear his loyalties may not lie with his family.

A shift has been felt in the magics community. Unknown Realms Beings have ventured into Earth, either out of curiosity or to wreak havoc. Now, at the watchtower, JLD work out how to summon a being and demand to know what's going on, the rest of the Justice League desperate.

When they finally do summon one, they're launched into the Unknown Realms as an answer, told to "Find our Queen" as the being dissappears. They're on a floating island in a green void.

[dollypopup]

I can't stop thinking about Colin on his travels. Colin, alone, on a journey to 17 different cities, across several countries. Colin on his own.

Colin who writes letter after letter, to his family, to his friends, and barely gets a response back. How long before he understands that they didn't get lost in the mail? How long until he realizes that, just like when he was a boy, no one has the time for him? The space for him? How many letters unanswered before he lets it finally take root and fester in his mind?

He could have died on that tour.

Would they even notice? Would they see when the letters slow until they cease? Would they wonder why? His mum, surely (maybe, possibly, but she has enough on her hands, besides, and he's never been a concern, in need of her assistance, before), but anyone else? Anthony on his honeymoon, Eloise a stormcloud personified, Benedict taking on the familial responsibilities, Fran preparing for the marriage mart and in Bath, regardless. Daphne, his closest sister, a mum running her own estate.

Greg and Hyacinth who enjoy his stories, but are children.

Pen who ignores him. No explanation, no goodbye.

Colin who has no one in his corner. Colin who travels city to city, putting on personas. Will they like me? What about now? Colin who has hardly anything to read from the people he loves. Who do not think of him.

And yet he thinks of them. Brings them back gifts, writes his recollections for them until it hits him that, oh, they don't care. They don't care what he's doing, how he's doing. They didn't want to hear it before, when he was there with them, and they do not want to hear it now, either. Did they even open those envelopes? Did they see them come through the post, just as proof he's alive, and shrug off the contents? Did they look? Once, Colin sends an empty page. No one notices. Easier, then, to send just the outsides. People only ever care about the outsides. Pretty and prim in neat packages, uncaring of what lies beneath. Sea sick on the rocking boats, staring up at stars on the continent, Colin grows aware, but not bitter. Sad, but resigned.

He loves his family, he loves Pen, loves them to grace, loves them to it's okay. It was him, he determines. Too chatty, his letters too long, uninteresting, his passions dull or droll, or else, worse, he's displeased them in some way. Colin who takes refuge in stranger's arms and homes, who dreams and tries to sate his curiosity. Colin who pretends, because anyone, anyone but him would be received better, he's sure of it. Colin who must talk too much, surely, and with no one to listen. Colin who learns to hush.

Yes. Remarkable- as in, I have many remarks about it.

How many times did he go to excitedly write of what he did that week, and stopped himself, knowing it was a waste? How many times did he write and throw into the fire a letter asking Why don't you see me? Why don't you care?

If he didn't make it, how long would it take for anyone to notice? A month? Two? A year? Would they wave it off as his frivolity, denounce him as a flake and fume about the funds? Would they wonder where it was he had lost himself off at?

He cannot fall into that, so, he writes in his journal, instead. Of the ache of it, of how he longs for connection, for understanding, for someone to take him seriously. He keeps it with him, this log of his discontent, of his folly and felicity, of his pitfalls and pains.

If he didn't make it, would they realize all that's left of him is what he sent them, not even a body to bury? Did he look over the side of a bow of a boat and look at the churn of the ocean and think of how many bones it held? Did he tip his face to the sun? How many new scars did he earn? Who did he befriend?

Who did he become?

Somewhere along the line, Colin learned. He learned the real him wasn't wanted.

Somewhere along the line, somewhere between Patmos and Paris, Colin left Colin behind.

And, somewhere along the line, Colin laid face to face with loneliness in his bed, and it wrapped its arms around him.

[scrapsovereign]

“I Have Standards”: A Choose Your Own Adventure Smut Fic

Description: NSFW. Astarion rejects you after defeating the Goblin Camp, so you seek out a certain wizard to make him realize what he's missing out on...

Pairings: Astarion x F!Tav, Gale x F!Tav, Astarion x Gale x F!Tav

Trigger warnings/tags: breeding, predator/prey , breath play, noncon/dubcon elements, Jealous Astarion, Possessive Astarion

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

(You enter your tent after leaving Gale’s)

(Go Back!)

As you enter your tent you notice Astarion, lounging on your bedroll with a bottle of wine to keep him company.

He’s temptation personified. His once porcelain ivory skin now takes on a slight sun-kissed glow, his nearly naked form showing off muscles that could have been chiseled by the finest artisans of Toril. His perfect tits are out on display, the monster between his legs outlined by a swath of silken fabric. His regal ruby eyes acknowledge you with his gaze, beckon you to kneel before him on his crude throne…and oh, how you want to worship him.

You exhale with a stuttering breath, mentally preparing yourself for a long, hard night.

“Well hello, darling! Did the wizard’s wand leave you wanting? Was he tongue-tied when he tried to show you what a cunning linguist he was?” He giggles, amused by his own cleverness.

“Astarion, what are you doing in here? I thought you…”your words are robbed from you as the fabric falls away from him when he rises to his feet, the full glory of his cock filled with your blood standing proudly at attention.

Your eyes are fixed on him, unable to look away from the length that has twitched against your body every single night. He’s big for an elf- his uncommon size is long enough to massage the deep places in your channel that ache for attention. A bead of pearly fluid seeps out and you find your mouth watering in curiosity, licking your lips as you imagine how his release might taste spurting on your tongue.

“Like what you see?” He wraps his words around you sensually, similar to how you want to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

Astarion’s eyes regard you with a half-lidded smolder as he hunts you, closing the distance between you.

“That’s…I mean, yes, but-” you rasp, your mouth suddenly feeling like it’s full of sand. “Why are you here, naked in my tent?”

Astarion draws near to you. His cool fingers feel like heaven as they brush up against your warm, flushed cheek. Your heart hammers as you notice him looking up and down the length of you, undressing you with his eyes.

“I wanted a midnight snack before I turned in for the evening, and decided to pay a visit to my favorite little treat,” he purrs, the scent of wine heavy on his breath. “Although, now that you’re here? I find myself ravenous.”

You don’t believe a word he says. “If you wanted to simply drink my blood, you could have come in like you usually do while I’m asleep.”

“But what if I want to come in you while you’re awake-“ he stops himself mid-protest, flouncing a hand to his chest, feigning a scandalized gasp. “Oh dear, did I really say ‘come in you’? I’d never assume I had permission.”

“Unless that’s what you want. For me to claim you, to fill you with my seed,” he whispers to you, as if he’d plucked the scene out of your most sordid imaginings.

He tugs up at the fabric of your skirt and pins it in place with his thumbs, thrusting two fingers against a warm spot at the crotch of your undergarments.

“Judging by how wet you are, I’d say it's a yes,” he traces the pads of his fingertips back and forth, the glide of pooled arousal sending a lightning bolt to your center. You gasp and tilt your head back, finding purchase on his arms to hold you steady.

“I…I thought you didn’t want me,” you manage to say, every rational thought you have being replaced by the need for his cock to fill you.

“I changed my mind when I saw that delicious backside of yours sway over towards the wizard,” he murmurs to in your ear, a hint of poison creeping in at the mention of Gale.

“It took every ounce of strength I had to not barge in, take you right in front of him…remind the both of you that your body is mine,” he growls, punctuating his statement with a single thrust of his hand upwards at your clothed entrance.

“Ahh!” You cry out, lurching forward with a sharp inhale as he catches you by the throat, his hand gently resting against your pretty little neck. Your heart and your needy sex flutter with his touch, your mind reeling from the whiplash of his rejection to saying you’re his.

“I don’t belong to you,” you remind him with a timid voice, though you secretly wish otherwise. “And I thought you didn’t want to have sex with me. You said that you weren’t interested. You turned me down.”

“A mistake that I can…hardly wait to correct,” Astarion chuckles at the pun he’d made, taking your hand and placing it around his cock to punctuate his statement.

You gasp at how soft his skin is, like silken velvet wrapped around a rod of steel. He twitches in your palm, as if the blood that fills him recognizes its maker. He hums with false disinterest as your growing arousal draws another pathetic noise from you.

“So, what do you say, darling? Are you ready for me to devour you in every sense of the word? Use your body to sate my appetite? Fully claim you as mine, and mine alone?”

Astarion’s elegant fingers tighten ever so slightly around your neck, his lips curled in a malicious smile that should frighten you.

Instead, your core tightens and your walls clench, your entire body aching to be at his mercy. Your clit twitches when you think of him doing this to you in the darkness of the forest, far away from camp so that no one can hear you cries of passion. You need his undead body to fuck your mortal one to its ruin, to make you suffer a million little deaths from his selfish pleasure-seeking.

Before you give your consent, you catch something out of the corner of your eye. It’s fast- a brief flicker of sadness on his beautiful features before his mask of seduction slips back into place.

Nevermind what you want…is this what he wants?

Let Astarion wreck you after hunting you as his prey: “I don’t believe you…yet. You’ve turned me down once, you’re going to have to chase me if you want me.”

In Progress - Decline Astarion’s offer because you don’t think he really wants it: “Astarion…you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

[cheeseceli]

Summer with you

Pairing: Lee Know × Gn!Reader (established relationship)

Genre: fluff, short drabble, almost non existential angst

Prompt: "I loved you for three summers now, honey, I want them all"

Warnings: none? Let me know if I missed any

A/n: honestly I thought this was very cute, pls do let me know what you guys think! | Join the 1k event

Minho never really liked the summer.

The dancing routines would become more tiring, he would constantly feel like he's sweating and it's just very uncomfortable overall. He liked the winter way more than the summer.

Funnily enough though, he met you in the sunny season. You were radiant: glowing skin with a shiny smile. It was almost as if you were a sunray personified that came down to earth just to say hi. And just like he would usually despise the heat, he thought he was fated to hate you.

That never happened though. Pretty much the contrary. Your presence would slowly melt him, in the most positive way possible. You were the light he had been denying but desperately needed.

Interesting how most of the milestones in your relationship happened in the summer.

The first one was when he met you. At first, he didn't give the encounter much importance. You were just another person in his life. Maybe even a temporary one. Just like the summer, one day you would go away as well. But you didn't.

You were there for every single thing. For the celebrations and the losses, for the smiles and tears - for him. He felt like he was experiencing the sneak peak of true love. And his curiosity was awaken, wanting to know what it could be like if he just stuck around for a little bit more.

For the first time, he didn't think the cloudless and bright blue sky was annoying to his sight. He thought it was rather pretty.

The second summer was when you both became an official couple. Without a single doubt, that period became the beginning of a life where Minho had a reason to smile every day.

The amount of dates intensified and he got to see you pretty much everyday. Picnics, walks to the park, pool dates and travels to the beach were often in his life. He felt like living an eternal holiday whenever you were around.

For the first time, he didn't think the heat was suffocating. He thought it was rather welcoming and warm.

The third one was when you argued for the first time. It was a very bad fight, making you both refuse to see each other for a whole week, be it for the pride or the pain.

He felt lost during this whole period. That's when he found out that during the time he got to know you, he became a sunflower while you were his sun. He followed your glow. Without it, he didn't know where to go. That's what made the hug he gave you after that one week be the tighest one you ever received.

For the first time, he missed the sun he thought he'd rather not have.

And now, on the first day of this summer, he was going to ask for your hand. Maybe he was being too eager. Three years of knowing each other and only two of those dating was probably too early. But when he kneels down in front of you saying he wants to spend every future summer with you and you say yes, he swears he could feel the sun shining above just a little bit more.

He's excited to know what next year's summer will bring to you.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: Awaken beauty

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143

Credits for images 1 , 2 and 3

Dividers by @enchanthings

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Faith

Kim Rok Soo; a conversation about faith.

"Do you ever think of believing in something before?"

Kim Rok Soo raised his head when the question slipped from their lips. It wasn't particularly an odd question, but it did give him a twinge of unease at the pit of his stomach. His dark eyes turned to them, and he saw a flicker of curiosity in their eyes.

When he stayed quiet for a second too long, they added for clarification, "Faith. Gods and religions and whatnot."

Rok Soo lowered his eyes from theirs. The question surrounding faith wasn't something he spent his time mowing about when they lived in an apocalyptic world where everything around them was despair personified. If he were to confess, the idea of a higher being existing and seeing all of this pain and not doing anything to stop it made him feel slightly bitter.

But then again, such an omniscient being can't possibly understand the pains of a mortal, smaller being.

"I don't..." Rok Soo began, choosing his words carefully. He noticed a gap he hadn't noticed before with this question and he didn't want to destroy the semblance of understanding between them that had been built over the years over the matter of faith. "I don't really do that."

"I see," they replied with a faint hum. "I'm sorry if that was something invasive to ask."

"Can't be invasive if there's nothing to invade," Rok Soo replied, taking a swig from his bottle of soju.

They let out a soft chuckle. "I suppose so."

There was a moment of silence that hung in the air between them before Rok Soo added slowly, "It's not that I haven't thought about it. I just... don't have that connection."

They smiled. "I understand. I struggle with it sometimes, too."

"You do?" Rok Soo raised an eyebrow.

They laughed when Kim Rok Soo leaned back in interest at their confession. "I do, yes. It's so hard believing in something you can't see or prove. I believe there's an analogy for it using teapots."

Rok Soo tilted his head. "Russell's Teapot."

They clapped their hands once. "That's it, that's the one!"

"I constantly think about it," they murmured quietly with a wry smile. "It's exhausting."

Another silence between them. Rok Soo didn't know what to do or say to respond to that admission. Was he supposed to tell them he's sorry? Reassure them that their faith is right and they shouldn't be worried when he himself does not hold onto a belief?

"If a god were to exist," Rok Soo began carefully. "It's hard to imagine that they'll understand us."

"That's the opposite of what I had been taught ever since I was young," they replied with a hearty laugh. "That whatever we do, our God will understand us, because He is a merciful God."

Rok Soo looked up at the ceiling and they simply looked at him with a smile. "Tell me."

Rok Soo looked back at them. "What?"

They leaned to him and then tapped at his temple twice with their finger. "Tell me what's in here. What you're thinking."

Rok Soo made himself comfortable on the floor, his tailbone slightly hurting. They had been sitting on the floor of the balcony of his apartment for a while now, their empty bowls of ramyeon stacked by his side and two empty bottles of soju between them both. The cool wind blew against his dark hair and their own, which made him turn to look at them properly.

"I think the idea of a god being perfectly loving, all-knowing, powerful, and everywhere present could not exist without contradictions," Rok Soo began quietly.

"Me too," they admitted with a wistful smile. "A loving God. Yet why does the devil receive no mercy?"

Rok Soo adjusted his position, suddenly interested in the mention of the devil. "You think the devil deserves mercy?"

"Only He could give it to 'em," they said, gesturing at the sky lazily. "Does that mean... even the worst of the worst could still not be forgiven?"

They look up at the sky. "Do you think... our comrades could forgive us?"

Rok Soo grew quiet. He suddenly dreads this conversation.

They chuckled in resignation. "God, who am I kidding? If a God can't even forgive me, then how can--"

"Enough." Rok Soo sighed. "The soju is getting to you."

"Maybe it is," they hummed, leaning to him and closing their eyes. "I'm sorry."

Rok Soo stayed in his position, holding onto his bottle of soju and looking at it thoughtfully.

"You know," they began softly to him. "I may struggle in believing in my God, but not you."

"Never you."

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

Just watched a miles morales spiderman movie… so spiderman! gaz anyone? (this is not going to be canon complicit or probably be accurate at all LMAO) (this so has been done but its iconic so wtvr)

spiderman!gaz who gets bit right after he graduates high school. scares the fuck out of him when he starts attaching to walls and breaks his one of his mom’s favorite mugs. spends a lot of time alone and trying to figure out what's wrong in secluded places in public parks, etc. that's how you two meet--when he's climbing a tree with just his fingertips for grip.

gaz begs you not to say anything but you're just curiosity personified. "how'd you do that? what happened? oh my god you're practically a spider."

you two are together constantly from then on. same college, same interests, same work. you help him develop the web slingers and design a spider suit. you help with cases and scare him regularly. gaz is constantly taken by your bravery, but your willingness to put yourself in danger scares him. holds you close after you nearly get your head taken off by one of the villains. gaz realizes how much you mean to him in a moment like this.

he swoons like a lady in a romance in 1830s England when you help him patch up after a particularly horrible fight. it's all worth it to feel your fingers run down his face to clean up his spilled blood. your careful hands which piece him back together. kyle's so thankful when your done. shows it by tenderly washing his blood off your hands and kissing each finger softly. tomorrow he'll claim blood loss for his sappiness, but tonight he's all puppy eyes and asking if he can sleep in your bed with you.

he eventually has to rescue you while you're on a date that you did not inform him of. gaz gives you an earful for it ("god, doll, you can't just go off with random men without telling me. how am I gonna protect you if I don't know where you are or who you're with?"). next time you tell him about a date, he watches from the next rooftop over. the entire time (fuming). he's supposed to curl up beside you like a kitten, not that fucker. he has to keep himself from kicking the guys ass after when he sees the little kiss you press to his cheek. gaz needs it to be him for you, not some other bastard. he's spiderman for God's sake, how hard could it be?

gaz starts to try to make you jealous with the photographs on the news of him holding other people close. he gets more flirty with a girl in one of his classes and makes a show about it-- but he finds himself angry by your lack of attention.

it comes to a head one night when you're both walking to your home from his apartment. you've both had a few too many, but he wants to make sure you get home safely. gaz keeps an arm firmly wrapped around your waist. his mouth is too close to your hair, neck, and face. he's looking for anything to say you feel similarly, so when you tilt your head up to meet his eyes it goes batty. even more when you drunkenly slur "ky... you look sooo good when you're in your suit. swinging around..." and you giggle. like it's nothing at all, like his heart isn't in his throat, like you haven't given him the hope he's been looking for.

ends up with you two going to a party a few nights later after you and the other fellow break up (has nothing to do with gaz, sure). kyle wipes the streets the morning of to keep him from having to leave you. however, they'd have to pry him off you. keeps a hand at your waist or in tucked in yours for the entire night. leers at anyone who glances at you too long or any who make you the slightest bit uncomfortable. by the end of the night, he's made his intentions clear. so when you press your lips to his cheek in goodbye that night, gaz knows he's doomed to love you forever

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (12)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

This is actually the last chap for a few days cause this is actually where i stopped (oops). So soak it in and reflect cause baby this writers block aint it- Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Cant even lie i cringed a bit on some of these things but fffffuck was i down bad these last two weeks for jinx and caitlyn.

Word Count: 9.3k

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

The soft hum of your lamp illuminated the small trinket in your hands. It was a delicate piece, carefully crafted with intricate gears and a tiny painted bird that reminded you of Isha’s wide-eyed curiosity. The brush in your hand moved with precision, adding the final touches of vibrant blue to the wings. You smiled faintly to yourself, imagining the way her face would light up when she saw it.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comforting. You were alone, but not lonely. The promise of Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha arriving later for dinner filled you with a rare sense of peace. For now, the soft clinking of your tools and the faint scent of fresh paint were your only companions.

But then, everything shifted.

It was subtle at first—a faint prickle at the back of your neck, a sensation you couldn’t quite place. Your heightened senses, a gift and curse of the shimmer in your blood, suddenly flared to life. The comforting silence was no longer still; it felt heavy, oppressive. Every sound, even from the distant streets below, seemed amplified. The faintest intake of breath, too close, too foreign, sent a jolt through you.

You didn’t hesitate. In a blur, you sprinted for the balcony window, your body moving on instinct as the front door exploded inward. A shimmered soldier burst through, their massive frame colliding with the doorframe as they entered.

The apartment became a war zone in an instant.

You vaulted through the open balcony window, your feet barely touching the ground as you scaled the adjacent rooftop. The soldiers followed, their movements unnaturally fast, but you were faster. The rooftops became your battlefield.

One soldier lunged at you, their hand swiping inches from your shoulder. You twisted mid-air, your boots catching the edge of a railing as you flipped onto the next roof. The sound of their heavy boots pounding behind you pushed you forward, your muscles burning but refusing to slow.

A second soldier closed in, their arm outstretched to grab you. You ducked low, sliding under a low-hanging pipe and using the momentum to kick their legs out from under them. The soldier hit the ground hard, and you didn’t wait to see if they got up.

The chase continued, your movements precise and calculated as you weaved through obstacles. You scaled walls, leapt over gaps, and sent two more soldiers sprawling with swift, brutal strikes. But then, you felt it—a sharp impact to your side.

The advanced soldier.

The blow sent you crashing through the roof of your apartment. The world spun violently as debris rained down around you, your body slamming into the floor with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain radiated through you, sharp and unforgiving.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arms shook, and you collapsed back to the floor. Your vision blurred as the advanced soldier loomed over you, their massive frame outlined against the light filtering through the hole in the roof.

Before you could react, they grabbed you by the neck, their grip like a vice. You clawed at their arm, your muscles straining as you fought to free yourself. They lifted you effortlessly, your feet dangling above the ground.

With a roar, the soldier hurled you through the balcony doors. You landed hard on the handmade patio, the wood splintering beneath you. Memories of quiet moments spent here with Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha flickered in your mind—laughter, conversations, warmth—all of it now reduced to shattered wood and broken glass.

You forced yourself to stand, your breathing labored. Your eyes burned with anger, glowing a fierce purple as the shimmer surged within you. But before you could act, the soldiers stilled.

Mel stepped forward from the shadows.

She was calm, poised, her golden robes catching the faint light of the shattered apartment. Her expression was unreadable, but the glint in her eyes was anything but.

“You really are extraordinary,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “More powerful than I realized. I’ve seen you hold back time and time again. For them.” She gestured lazily toward the horizon. “For Caitlyn. For Jinx. Belittling yourself. Dimming your own light to protect theirs.”

Her words dripped with venom, cutting deep.

“Tell me,” she continued, taking a step closer, “how does it feel to give everything to two women who will never truly understand you? Who hold you back from being what you’re meant to be?”

The insult hit like a dagger. The anger in your chest ignited into a roaring inferno, and without thinking, you charged.

You moved faster than should have been possible, your body a blur of motion as you closed the distance between you and Mel. But just as you leapt toward her, the advanced soldier intercepted you, their massive hand wrapping around your neck once more.

You struggled, your hands clawing at their grip as you fought to free yourself. But they were relentless, their strength overwhelming. Mel approached you slowly, her gaze cold and calculating.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against your face, a gesture as mocking as it was intimate. “You’re wasted on them,” she murmured. “But don’t worry. Soon, the world will see what happens when the Commander of Piltover’s forces and Zaun’s most infamous rebel find out I have you.”

Her words sent a wave of rage and hopelessness through you. You roared in defiance, your voice raw and desperate. But Mel simply nodded to the soldier.

The soldier’s grip tightened. Pain exploded in your head, and the world began to spin. Your struggles weakened as darkness crept into the edges of your vision.

Your body went limp.

Your arms fell to your sides, your fingers twitching once before they stilled. The last thing you heard before the darkness took you was Mel’s voice, calm and triumphant.

“Bring them.”

Jinx strolled next to Caitlyn with a rare calmness about her, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Isha walked between them, occasionally glancing up with her wide eyes, splitting her attention between the two women. For once, there was no tension. No insults. Just the quiet sound of boots and shoes hitting the pavement as the trio made their way toward your apartment.

“You know,” Jinx started, her voice carrying her trademark teasing edge, “this whole thing? Us hanging out together like one big happy family? I didn’t think I’d hate it as much as I thought I would.”

Caitlyn smirked, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across her shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable. I still have a list of reasons why I can’t stand you.”

“Oh, yeah? Go on, Piltie,” Jinx shot back, her grin widening. “Make my day. Let’s hear it.”

“Where to start?” Caitlyn mused, tapping her chin dramatically. “The explosives? The chaos? The constant threats to my life?”

“Pfft,” Jinx waved her off, leaning down slightly to nudge Isha. “Kid, you think I’m a threat, don’t you?”

Isha giggled silently, her blue hair bouncing as she reached up and slipped her hand into Caitlyn’s. The unexpected gesture stopped Caitlyn mid-retort. She looked down at the small hand gripping hers, the soft, trusting eyes staring up at her, and something in her chest tightened.

Jinx caught the look, her teasing expression softening for a moment. “Guess the kid likes you, Piltie,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Caitlyn squeezed Isha’s hand gently, her lips curving into a small smile. “I like her too.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Isha now clutching Caitlyn’s hand as Jinx walked slightly ahead, her gaze scanning the streets around them. “You know,” Jinx said after a moment, “maybe we should… I don’t know, do this more often? All of us. Together.”

Caitlyn glanced at her, surprised by the suggestion. “You mean… spending time together?”

Jinx shrugged, trying to play it off. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re still annoying as hell. But… they like it. You know, being with both of us. And I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly. “High praise, coming from you.”

As they approached your building, Isha let go of Caitlyn’s hand and started to run ahead. Jinx smirked. “Hey, careful, kid!”

Isha’s foot suddenly caught on something, and she stumbled, nearly falling. Caitlyn was quick, lunging forward to catch her before she hit the ground. “Got you,” she said softly, lifting the little girl into her arms.

Jinx frowned as they both looked down at what had tripped her. It was one of your tools—scratched, familiar, and out of place. Caitlyn’s expression shifted immediately, her sharp eyes darting toward your apartment building just a few meters ahead. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw it.

The patio.

Your handmade rooftop patio, the one where you spent countless quiet moments with them and Isha, was in shambles. The wood was splintered, the furniture overturned, and jagged glass glinted in the fading sunlight.

“God,” Caitlyn whispered, her grip tightening around Isha as her heart raced.

Jinx’s hands balled into fists as she stared at the wreckage. “No. No, no, no,” she muttered, panic rising in her chest.

They sprinted toward the scene, Isha clinging tightly to Caitlyn as the two women climbed the stairs and burst into your apartment. The devastation was worse up close. The door hung off its hinges, the walls were scorched, and debris was scattered everywhere.

“Y/n!” Caitlyn called out, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. She set Isha down carefully and began searching through the wreckage.

Jinx was already tearing through the room, her hands shaking as she pushed aside broken furniture and shards of glass. “Where the hell are you?” she shouted, her voice cracking.

Isha wandered toward the center of the room, her wide eyes scanning the chaos. She picked up a small trinket—the one you’d made for her—and held it tightly in her small hands.

“Y/n?” Caitlyn called again, her voice more frantic this time. She was holding it together for Isha, but tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Then, a faint sound broke through the silence.

“Mama.”

Both women froze.

Isha’s voice, barely a whisper, carried through the room as she clutched the trinket to her chest. She was searching, her small lips forming the word again. “Mama.”

Caitlyn turned away, unable to hold back the tears as she covered her mouth with her hand. Jinx scooped Isha into her arms, holding her tightly as her own tears slid down her cheeks.

“Isha…” Jinx whispered, her voice breaking. “We’ll find her. I promise.”

Caitlyn’s gaze fell on the broken glass near the balcony. Among the debris was a faint smear of purple blood, its unnatural glow catching her eye. Her stomach twisted, the sight confirming her worst fears.

“She’s hurt,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice hollow.

Jinx turned to her, Isha still in her arms. “What?”

Caitlyn pointed at the blood, her jaw tightening. “She’s hurt, and someone took her.”

Jinx’s expression darkened, her tears drying as a fierce determination took over. “I know who it was,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Caitlyn straightened, wiping her face as she stepped closer. “Who?”

Jinx’s grip on Isha tightened. “Mel.”

The scene began with a heavy steel door, the kind that sealed away secrets too dangerous to surface. Deep in the bowels of Mel’s tower, beyond layers of cold stone and mechanical locks, the air was oppressive, stifling. Muffled sounds seeped through the cracks, but as the door came into focus, the noise grew louder—violent banging, chains rattling, and primal screams that echoed with fury and defiance.

Inside, the room was cavernous, more like an abandoned auditorium than a cell. The floor was slick, faintly reflecting the dim light of a single, swaying bulb. In the center of it all, you struggled against heavy iron chains. They coiled around your wrists and ankles, tethered to thick metal anchors embedded in the walls. A heavy collar wrapped around your neck, its chain rattling every time you moved, forcing you into a bowed posture that left you vulnerable.

Your body was bruised, cuts lining your exposed arms, but it was your eyes that radiated defiance. The electric purple glow swirled like a storm, flickering with rage as you strained against the bonds.

Across the room, Mel sat leisurely in a sleek, high-backed lounge chair, her golden attire catching what little light the room offered. She crossed her legs elegantly, a goblet of wine in her hand. She observed you with a look of utter satisfaction, the corners of her lips twitching as if suppressing a smirk. She reveled in your fury, your unrelenting spirit, and the raw power you exuded even in chains.

“I must say,” Mel drawled, swirling her wine, “you’re quite the sight. All that anger, all that fire. It’s… intoxicating.” Her eyes lingered on you, tracing the lines of your tensed muscles and the veins that pulsed faintly with a purple hue. “Those eyes of yours—they glow so beautifully when you’re like this. It’s almost like they were made for me.”

You growled, the sound animalistic, as you tugged at the chains again. The metal groaned under the strain, and a faint creak echoed from the wall. “Mel,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom, “the moment I get out of these chains, I’m coming for you. You won’t make it out of this room alive.”

Her laughter was soft, almost amused, as she set the goblet down on a nearby table and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, “you’re already mine. That anger? That hatred? I own it. And, by extension, I own you.”

She tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Though, I wonder… what would dear Caitlyn think if she saw you like this? Or Jinx?” She let the names hang in the air like poison, watching with glee as the chains rattled violently when you surged forward.

“You don’t get to say their names!” you roared, the sound reverberating through the empty room. The chains tightened, straining against the metal anchors in the wall. The sound of creaking steel filled the space, and for a brief moment, Mel’s expression faltered. But only for a moment.

She stood, her movements slow and deliberate as she approached you. From her pocket, she produced a small vial of shimmering liquid, holding it up between two fingers. The vibrant purple inside seemed to glow unnaturally, swirling hypnotically within the glass.

“This,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery, “is what you’re meant to be. This little vial holds your full potential. The true you.” She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “But look at you. Cowering, leashed like a puppy.” Her words were sharp, designed to cut deep. “Isn’t that what you are? A loyal little pet for Caitlyn and Jinx?”

You staggered back, pressing yourself against the cold wall as if the shimmer itself burned. Your chest heaved with fury, your teeth bared. “I don’t need that poison!” you spat. “And I’m no one’s pet.”

Mel’s smile widened as she closed the distance between you. Her hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly. Her nails dug into your skin as she tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her golden eyes roamed over your face, lingering on the fresh wound on your lip. Slowly, she swiped her thumb over the blood, the touch invasive and mocking.

“I wonder,” she murmured, leaning in so her breath ghosted over your lips, “how far your loyalty really goes. What would they do if they saw you like this? Would they still love you?”

You snarled, your body trembling with the effort to pull away. “Get your hands off me!” you roared.

Mel didn’t flinch. She stopped just short of kissing you, her lips inches from yours, her smile never wavering. “So loyal,” she whispered, her voice both mocking and admiring. “It’s almost endearing.”

Then, she stepped back, her hand falling away from your face as if releasing a toy she had grown bored of. She turned to the shimmered soldier standing silently in the shadows. “Show them how to behave,” she commanded, her tone cold and authoritative.

The soldier moved immediately, his massive frame looming over you. Before you could react, his fist collided with your stomach, the force knocking the air from your lungs. You gasped, your body jerking against the chains as another punch followed, this one aimed at your ribs. The sound of cracking bones filled the room, but you didn’t scream. You refused to give Mel the satisfaction.

“You’ll regret this,” you hissed through gritted teeth, your voice strained but defiant. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Mel watched from her chair again, her eyes gleaming with amusement as the soldier continued. “Oh, darling,” she said, raising her goblet in a mock toast, “I’m counting on it.”

The days passed in a blur of pain, rage, and exhaustion. The dim, cavernous room had become your prison, the chains your constant companion. Each day was a test, a battle against the oppressive weight of the restraints and the unrelenting presence of Mel. She visited often, her golden robes glinting faintly in the pale light as she lounged in her chair, always watching, always waiting for you to break.

You didn’t make it easy for her.

The first time she mentioned Caitlyn and Jinx, you lunged forward, the chains straining against the anchors in the wall. The metallic groan filled the room, the sound of your strength testing its limits. "Say their names again," you barked, your voice sharp and venomous, "and I’ll make sure they’re the last words you ever speak."

Mel only smirked, her chin resting lazily on her hand. "Oh, darling," she drawled, "do you think they’re even looking for you? Caitlyn’s busy saving Piltover, and Jinx?" She tilted her head, her golden eyes glinting with malice. "She’s probably found someone else to play with by now."

Your roar echoed through the room, a sound of pure fury. You jerked against the chains, the collar around your neck biting into your skin. But before you could lunge any closer, the shimmered soldier stepped forward. His massive hand struck like a hammer, slamming into your side and sending you crashing to the ground. The pain was sharp, but you didn’t cry out. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

"Such a temper," Mel mused, standing slowly and approaching your crumpled form. "It’s almost... charming." She crouched beside you, her fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. You flinched, your eyes glowing fiercely as you glared up at her.

"You’ll pay for this," you spat, your voice low and seething. "Every bruise, every insult—you’ll pay."

Mel laughed softly, the sound dripping with condescension. "And yet," she said, leaning closer, "you’re still here. Still chained. Still mine." She straightened, her gaze cold and calculating. "But let’s see if we can’t find a way to teach you some manners."

She motioned to the shimmered soldier, who stepped forward again. His fists were like battering rams, each strike a calculated effort to wear you down. You took the blows silently, your body screaming in protest, but your eyes never lost their defiance.

It wasn’t until she mentioned Isha that something inside you snapped.

"That little girl," Mel said, her voice soft and deliberate, "I wonder if she even knows you’re gone. Or if she’s already moved on. Children are resilient like that, don’t you think?"

Your entire body tensed, the glow in your eyes intensifying as your breathing became ragged. "Don’t," you growled, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t you dare talk about her."

Mel’s smirk widened, sensing the shift in you. "Oh, but she’s the key, isn’t she? The one thing that keeps you tethered. Such a sweet little thing. It would be so easy to bring her here. To show her what happens to disobedient pets."

That was it. You roared, surging forward with a strength that surprised even the shimmered soldier. The chains rattled violently, the wall cracking slightly under the strain. Mel stepped back slightly, her composure faltering for a split second, but she recovered quickly, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.

"Finally," she whispered, stepping closer as you slumped, exhausted but still defiant. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek. "There it is. The fire. The rage. I knew you had it in you."

You jerked your head away, glaring up at her. "I’ll never be your pet," you hissed, your voice raw but steady.

Mel leaned down, her face inches from yours, her golden eyes boring into your own. "We’ll see," she murmured. Her hand trailed down your jaw to your neck, her touch invasive and infuriating. "Everyone has a breaking point. Even you."

When she finally straightened, she motioned to the shimmered soldier. "Teach them some respect," she ordered coldly.

You spat at her feet as the soldier approached, your chest heaving with fury. "You’ll never win," you snarled. "They’ll come for me. And when they do, you’ll wish you never touched Isha."

Mel paused, her gaze flicking back to you. Her smile was icy, her voice almost a whisper. "I think I’ll bring her here," she said, tilting her head. "Just to make sure you behave."

Her words hit like a blow, and for the first time, a flicker of true fear crossed your face. You struggled against the chains, yelling threats and curses as the shimmered soldier advanced, his massive fist raised.

But as the blows rained down, one thought burned in your mind, brighter than the pain, brighter than the rage: They will come for me.

The chaos within Zaun was unparalleled. Streets that once simmered with the quiet tension of survival now burned with uproar. Jinx stood atop one of the towering buildings, her purple eyes glowing with fury. The radiant hue pulsed, reflecting her emotions as she overlooked the city below. Her hands were clenched into trembling fists, her knuckles white, as her mind raced with thoughts of you.

Her voice carried like a storm. "No stone unturned! No corner untouched! Find them!" she bellowed to her people, her voice echoing across the jagged streets. "Anyone who knows anything, I want to hear it! NOW!"

Her loyalists scattered, even those who feared her more than they respected her. The sheer power emanating from her, the glow of her eyes, was enough to send shivers through the bravest. Even the rebels who had long opposed her rule bent under the weight of her rage, searching tirelessly for any trace of you.

On the other side of the city, Caitlyn’s office was a hub of frantic energy. Papers littered every surface, maps strewn with red markings of places searched. Enforcers came in and out, relaying reports of dead ends, but she refused to stop. Her pristine uniform was disheveled, the buttons at her collar undone, her hair tied back messily. Her eyes, dark with exhaustion, burned with the same determination as Jinx's.

"Double the sweeps in the lower districts," she ordered sharply, slamming her hand on the table. "Every alley, every abandoned building. If it’s big enough to hide a body, I want it searched."

"Commander, we’ve already—" one of the enforcers began, but Caitlyn cut him off with a glare that could silence a storm.

"Do it again," she snapped. "And again, until we find them."

The fire in her voice left no room for argument, and the enforcer nodded before hurrying out. Caitlyn leaned heavily on her desk, her hands gripping the edge as she stared at a map of Zaun and Piltover, her mind racing. "Where are you?" she whispered under her breath, frustration etched into her features.

Vi moved through the streets of Zaun with a purpose, her jaw clenched and her fists wrapped tightly. She was paired with Sevika, a partnership neither enjoyed but both knew was necessary. The tension between them was palpable, but they set their differences aside for one reason: you.

"You’re slowing us down, Vi," Sevika grunted, glancing at her over her shoulder. "Do you always walk this slow, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

Vi shot her a glare. "I could say the same about you, tin-arm. Just keep moving."

Despite the biting remarks, the two worked in tandem, questioning anyone who looked suspicious, chasing leads no matter how thin they seemed. Even Zaun’s most notorious dissidents, those who opposed the alliances you were trying to build, found themselves cornered and interrogated.

"If you’re hiding something, now’s the time to talk," Vi growled at one man, pinning him against a wall.

Sevika loomed beside her, her mechanical arm whirring ominously. "We’re not playing games. You tell us what you know, or I make sure you regret it."

Caitlyn’s quarters were eerily quiet despite the chaos outside. Jinx sat across from Caitlyn, her leg bouncing restlessly. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the sound of papers shuffling as Caitlyn reviewed reports. Isha sat in the corner, clutching the trinket you’d made her. She hadn’t spoken or smiled since you vanished, her wide eyes now dull and distant.

Jinx finally broke the silence. "This… waiting around. It’s killing me."

Caitlyn sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It’s killing all of us. But we have to keep our heads clear if we’re going to find them."

Jinx’s eyes flicked to Isha, her expression softening. "The kid… she’s not herself."

"None of us are," Caitlyn admitted, her voice heavy. She hesitated, then added, "They mean so much to her. To all of us."

For once, Jinx didn’t respond with a snide remark. Instead, she looked at Caitlyn, truly looked at her. "They mean everything to me," she said quietly. "I know it’s the same for you. So maybe, just this once, we try to work together without killing each other?"

Caitlyn met her gaze and nodded slowly. "Agreed."

A commotion downstairs snapped them out of the moment. Shouts and muffled arguments echoed up to the quarters. Caitlyn stood abruptly, grabbing her firearm. "Stay here with Isha," she instructed Jinx.

"Like hell I will," Jinx shot back, already following her.

They hurried downstairs, finding Vi and Sevika in a heated exchange with the enforcers at the entrance. "You’re not authorized to be here!" one of the guards protested.

"Let me through," Vi growled, her fists clenched. "I’ve got information."

Caitlyn stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise. "Stand down. Let them through."

The enforcers hesitated but obeyed, and Vi and Sevika wasted no time stepping into the room.

"We found something," Vi said, her voice low. "Singed. He’s working with Mel. And…" She hesitated, glancing at Jinx. "They’ve got shimmered soldiers."

Jinx’s eyes widened, the purple glow flickering faintly. "And?"

Vi sighed. "I think they have them. In her tower. Deep down, somewhere."

Jinx was already moving toward the door. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s go."

Caitlyn grabbed her arm. "Wait. We need a plan. If we rush in—"

"We don’t have time for plans!" Jinx snapped, pulling away.

"Enough!" Sevika barked, silencing them both. "We move now. We can argue about strategy later."

Caitlyn reluctantly nodded. "Fine. But we’re doing this together."

They turned back upstairs to gather their gear, but the moment they entered Caitlyn’s quarters, the air changed.

Isha was gone.

Caitlyn’s heart dropped, her eyes darting around the room. "Isha?"

Jinx was already searching, her movements frantic. "No, no, no. She was right here!"

Caitlyn’s chest tightened as she noticed the open window, the faint breeze stirring the papers on her desk. She clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "They took her."

Jinx turned to Caitlyn, her purple eyes blazing. "We get them both back," she growled. "No matter what it takes."

—

The days blurred into a haze of agony and exhaustion. The shimmered soldier’s “corrections” had left you battered and weak, each session pushing you closer to a breaking point you swore you’d never reach. Your face bore fresh bruises, your lips split, dried blood crusted at the corner. Your arms, once strong and sure, trembled as you tried to remain upright. The chains rattled softly with your every shuddering breath, reminding you that you were far from free.

Mel sat a short distance away, her posture relaxed in a lavish lounge chair that belonged more in a palace than this dank, hidden auditorium deep beneath her tower. She observed you with that maddening smirk, sipping from a goblet as if attending a show. She had made a sport of taunting you. Every mention of Caitlyn or Jinx brought your anger roaring back, every implication that they’d abandoned you sparked another desperate attempt to lunge forward. The chains would screech, and the soldier would punish you anew, leaving you wheezing and cursing.

“That temper,” Mel murmured, leaning forward with a feigned concern painted over her arrogant smile, “it suits you more than the docile hero they think you are.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, eyes half-lidded in delight. “You’re only stalling the inevitable. They’re not coming. They’re busy playing house, doing what they do best—forgetting.”

You snarled, your voice raw. “Shut your mouth. They’re looking for me, and when they find out what you’ve done…” Your threat trailed off into a cough, your strength waning.

Mel tilted her head, her laughter low and indulgent. “How adorable. Such faith.” She was about to continue when the heavy door groaned open. The shimmered soldier stepped aside as a Piltover enforcer tossed a small body into the room.

You felt your heart stop. It was Isha. She stumbled forward, confusion and fear distorting her usually bright eyes. Her small frame trembled, and she looked so out of place in this grim hall. The enforcer backed away, merely watching her, as if awaiting orders.

You strained against the chains, ignoring the pain slicing through your shoulders and wrists. “Isha!” you managed, your voice cracking. Your cheek was pressed against the cold tile floor, and you could barely lift your head, but you had to let her know you were here.

Isha turned at the sound of her name, her gaze sweeping the room until it caught sight of you, chained and broken. You watched her face crumple—there was shock, and terror, but also a heartbreaking relief when she recognized you. She clutched a small object in her hand, the trinket you’d made her before all this began. Quiet as ever, she took trembling steps forward, each one a struggle against her own fear, until she knelt beside you.

“Mama,” she whispered so softly that no one seemed to catch it but you. It broke something inside you—your anger wavered, your eyes stinging with tears. She pressed herself gently against your side, hugging you with all the might her tiny arms could muster. Your vision blurred as you tried to comfort her without words, your entire body aching to protect her.

Mel stood, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. You tensed, trying to shelter Isha behind you despite your chains. “It appears I’ve struck a nerve,” she said, her tone syrupy sweet. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her—if you see reason.”

You bristled, fury refueling your battered form. “You brought a child into this? You piece of—”

Mel raised a hand, and the shimmered soldier took a step closer, warning you to choose your words carefully. “Let’s talk arrangements,” she purred. “I want you. Your loyalty. Your hand… in marriage, shall we say? We can unite under one roof—a councilor and a… what are you again? A hero without a cause?” She laughed lightly. “If you marry me, I leave them alone. All of them. Jinx, Caitlyn, this precious little one.”

Your swollen eyes widened, horror etched into every line of your face. “You’re mad,” you hissed, voice trembling with disgust and anger. Marry her? The idea was so vile it choked you. You tried to shake your head, your neck chain rattling. You couldn’t form words.

Mel delighted in your shock. She reached out as if to stroke your cheek, a twisted parody of tenderness. Isha, terrified but brave, tried to stand between you and Mel, pushing at the woman’s arm with tiny hands. Mel snarled softly and slapped Isha away. The crack of that slap echoed like a gunshot in your heart as Isha tumbled onto you, clinging to your broken form, her cheek red and stinging. Your rage exploded into a roar, purple sparks flaring in your eyes. The chain rattled violently as you surged forward, but the soldier yanked it back, forcing you to choke on your fury.

Mel stepped back, her face calm but her eyes dancing with glee. “Isha, is it? She’s quite protective. Almost like a daughter.” She let that sink in, enjoying the despair on your face. “If you’d just cooperated, this could have been simpler. Marry me, and none of this would be happening. You’d be at my side, revered, adored.” She sighed theatrically. “But no, you cling to them—and to your misguided ideals.”

Your chest heaved. “I’d rather die by your mother’s hand than marry her filthy, corrupted daughter,” you spat with every ounce of venom you had left, your voice scraping your throat raw.

Mel’s hand lashed out, slapping you hard enough to snap your head to the side. The metallic taste of blood spread across your tongue. She grabbed your chin roughly, leaning in close so that your noses almost touched. “You will marry me,” she hissed, her voice low and chilling. “I’ll break you piece by piece until you beg for it.”

She released your chin and spun on her heel, robes whispering against the floor. As she strode away, she tossed an order over her shoulder. “Make sure they understand who’s in charge here.”

The shimmered soldier stepped forward. You braced yourself, shielding Isha as best you could, though you were helpless in these chains. The soldier’s blows rained down, each one a hammerstrike of pain. You grunted, your voice rising in furious oaths and hollow promises of revenge. Through the haze of torment, you managed to twist your body so Isha wouldn’t see the worst of it. She clung to you, trembling, tears falling silently.

“I’ll get us out,” you murmured to her between gasps, voice muffled and choked. “I promise.”

But the soldier’s blows only intensified, and you could do nothing but endure.

In the loading docks of Piltover’s industrial district, the air was thick with the smell of oil and metal. Wooden crates were stacked high, and the clank of moving machinery provided a constant, metallic soundtrack. A Piltover officer, helmet tucked under his arm, scanned the area with tired eyes. His name was Garrett, a junior enforcer known for his eagerness to please but never quite rising above mediocrity. Today, he wore exhaustion like a second skin—he’d been running checks on shipments non-stop, searching for any clue of your whereabouts.

As he moved between crates, he nearly bumped into a man wearing an unfamiliar armband—a deep gold emblem marking him as one of Mel’s own officers. The man looked worse for wear: disheveled hair, sweat staining his collar, and a certain wildness in his eyes.

“Hey,” Garrett said, steadying the man by the shoulder. “You okay? You look like you just ran halfway across the city.”

The officer shot him a glare, but it lacked conviction. “Not your concern,” he snapped, trying to maintain some dignity. But Garrett’s presence seemed to crack something in him. He glanced around, confirming no one else was close. “Had a… meeting,” he said, his voice dropping to a hush. “With her.”

Garrett’s brow furrowed. “Her?” He paused, lowering his voice instinctively. “You mean Mel?” The name carried weight—Mel Medarda was a councilor known for her cunning. Her involvement meant big trouble.

The officer rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as if recalling something painful. “Yeah. She’s got that hero locked down, deep in her tower. It’s… not pretty.”

Garrett’s heart sank. The hero. You. He remembered you—he had initially disliked you, or at least he’d claimed to. But now, hearing this, something twinged in his gut. He tried to keep his tone dismissive to mask his unease. “Huh. Good. If they were causing problems—”

The older officer gave a knowing smirk. “You say that, but you look a bit… pale. Too invested?”

Garrett’s spine stiffened. “I’m just tired,” he lied. “Long day.” He caught a few words as the officer continued: “If the hero had been married to a councilor—if this whole… fiasco is discovered—Piltover would burn. It wouldn’t be Zaun this time. It’d be Piltover at war with itself.”

Garrett’s eyes widened. Married to a councilor? His mind raced at the implications. If Mel was scheming something so twisted, it would destabilize everything. He forced a shrug. “Well, Mel’s plans, not my business.” Then he excused himself, trying to appear unconcerned, though his mind was buzzing.

A short time later, Garrett ended up at the main checkpoint, where the chaos of the joint operations between Piltover and Zaun was at its peak. He spotted Jinx there, pacing, her purple eyes ablaze with fury and desperation. He swallowed hard—she was not one to approach lightly, but he had to get this information to someone who could act.

“Jinx—” he began, stepping forward with hands raised in surrender.

Before he could finish, Jinx moved like lightning. She grabbed him by the collar and flipped him onto his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. In an instant, she was atop him, hair spilling forward, her eyes glowing fiercely.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she hissed, pressing a forearm against his throat. “What do you want? I know who you are—Garrett, right? You gave them grief before. Trying to talk to me now?”

His heart hammered. He’d never felt smaller, more terrified. “I… I have information,” he managed, voice strangled. “About them.”

Jinx’s grip tightened. “You think I trust you?” She seemed ready to snap his neck when a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she froze.

Caitlyn stepped in, her eyes still carrying that cold edge but tempered with a calm authority. “Jinx,” she said softly. “Let him speak.” The tension drained slightly from Jinx’s frame as she leaned back, still straddling Garrett but no longer pressing down. She tilted her head toward Caitlyn’s hand, as if drawn by the simple kindness of the gesture. Reluctantly, she let Garrett up, though not without a warning glare.

Caitlyn crossed her arms, her voice cool. “Alright, talk. Make it quick.”

Garrett rose shakily, rubbing his neck. “I… I heard something from one of Mel’s officers at the docks. They said the hero is locked in Mel’s tower. They mentioned… something about Mel wanting marriage, a twisted plan to keep them under her thumb. If it gets out, Piltover might—”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened, shock washing over her features. “Marriage?” Her voice almost cracked. “She can’t be serious.”

Jinx practically snarled, pacing a few steps away. “That bitch wants to marry them?” She slammed her fist against a crate, splintering the wood. “I’ll kill her. I’ll tear her apart for even thinking—”

Caitlyn helped Garrett steady himself. “Thank you,” she said curtly, “You’ve done well. Now, you should prepare. I’m going to need every enforcer I can get.” Her tone suggested no argument. Garrett nodded, confused and a bit relieved, and hurried off to follow her orders.

Jinx watched him go, then turned to Caitlyn, frustration knotting her brow. “What the hell are you going to do, Cupcake?” She tried to mask her worry with anger, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair, her jaw set. “Something very hard,” she admitted quietly. “For all three of us. It’s risky. But it will save them—and Isha.”

Jinx took a step closer, tension thrumming between them. She knew Caitlyn well enough to understand the gravity of that statement. “Don’t keep me in the dark,” she demanded, but her voice softened. “I’m in this with you.”

Caitlyn nodded, meeting Jinx’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “I know,” she said softly. “We all are.”

They turned to go back upstairs to gather what they needed, only to find Isha gone. In her absence, the air thickened with dread. Jinx’s eyes flashed again, fury returning, while Caitlyn closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. They would find you. They would find Isha. And somehow, they would stop Mel’s twisted plan.

You barely had the strength to sit upright, your body aching with every breath. The constant beatings had ceased for the moment, leaving you in a lull of pain and exhaustion. Your back rested against the cold stone wall, your head lolling to one side. Isha clung quietly to your arm, her small body pressed close as if proximity alone could shield her from this nightmare. You whispered faint reassurances, quiet words meant for her, but a part of you needed them too. You told her it would be okay, that you’d figure something out. Every syllable felt like a plea to the universe for mercy.

When the enforcer stepped out, leaving you and Isha alone in that hollow silence, you managed to crack open an eye. Isha began fumbling in her pockets, her tiny hands producing small tools and bits. Confusion mingled with amazement as you realized what she was doing—trying to pick the locks. With painstaking care, you moved your chain-bound wrists closer to her. She worked with surprising skill, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Each click of metal teased hope into the stagnant air.

You whispered her name softly, voice rough with emotion. “You’re so good at this… Jinx’s little minion, aren’t you?” The faintest flicker of a grin tugged at your swollen lips. Isha looked at you, her eyes brightening slightly, and she let out a small, breathy sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so cautious.

With a final, delicate twist, the chains fell away, clattering softly on the floor. Freedom felt unreal. You scooped Isha into your arms, hugging her tight despite your bruises. “Thank you,” you breathed, voice trembling. “We’ll get out of here, I promise. It won’t be easy, but hold on tight when we run.” She nodded, her silent determination shining in her eyes.

Hurriedly, you repositioned yourself, chains draped loosely around your ankles as though still secured, just in time for the enforcer’s return. Isha retreated to your side, feigning calm. The guard looked at you both and sniffed dismissively. He had no idea what was about to happen.

Isha, holding leftover scraps of stale bread she had been given as a meager meal, suddenly flung them at the guard. Her tiny arm’s throw was more defiance than danger, but it was enough. The soldier stiffened, scowling at her insolence. He advanced, intent on disciplining the child. The moment he reached for her, you moved like a coiled spring released, your newly freed hand snapping up around his neck. Purple sparks danced in your vision, fury ignited. He had no time to react before you lifted him from the ground by sheer, desperate strength.

Your voice was a snarl, low and dangerous: “Touch her again, and I’ll send you to hell myself.” With a grunt of pure rage, you hurled him against the nearest wall. The thud of his impact shook dust from the ceiling as he slumped, unconscious, crumpling onto the cold stone floor. Isha rushed to your side, her eyes wide, but you touched her hair gently. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice tight with adrenaline. “Let’s go.”

You scooped her up again, holding her to your chest. She clung to you like a baby monkey, arms around your neck, face pressed into your collarbone. The shimmer in your blood surged. Pain became background noise. You were moving before you knew it, darting out the large cell door, your footsteps echoing through dim corridors. Guards shouted, startled, fumbling to raise their rifles, but you were a blur. They tried to form a line—too slow. You crashed through them, sending them spinning like toys. One’s gun clattered uselessly as you batted it aside. Another swung at you, but you ducked and used your momentum to hurl him over a railing. Your muscles burned, tears welled in your eyes from pain and fear, but you kept going. You had to.

You reached a grand hallway with a towering exit, only to stop short, your boots skidding on polished marble. A flood of soldiers waited at the main entrance, their weapons ready. Isha gasped softly against your chest, and you tightened your grip. Your heart hammered. You cast about desperately, spotting a staircase winding upward into uncertain heights. Without hesitation, you took it, each step a test of endurance as you carried Isha and fled from overwhelming numbers.

Outside the tower, chaos was brewing. Caitlyn, flanked by her enforcers, stood at the main gates, demanding entry. Her posture was rigid with determination, her face set in grim lines of fury. She barked orders, her voice echoing over the crowd, insisting they let her inside. Jinx was beside her, eyes ablaze with wrath and worry, a small throng of Zaunites behind her shouting insults at the guards. Sparks of tension danced in the air. The crowd hissed and spat, voices raised, fists waving. They wanted you back—every faction, every loyalty aligned for one cause.

Inside, a muffled explosion rocked the mid-section of the tower, sending a tremor through the ground. The enforcers at the gate hesitated, fear slipping into their eyes. They rushed back inside to respond to the new threat, leaving Caitlyn and Jinx on the verge of a confrontation with no one to stop them. The pair shared a look—dread and hope mingled. This was their chance.

You climbed higher, a frantic rhythm of footfalls. Bullets whizzed past, pinging off railings and walls. You threw open a door at the top, stumbling onto a broad balcony. The setting sun bathed Piltover in a golden haze. The city spread below like a jeweled tapestry. But you were cornered now. The soldiers massed behind you, rifles raised, their barrels gleaming. Isha whimpered softly in your arms, and your heart cracked. You tried to gauge your escape, your eyes drifting down toward the bay below. A dizzying drop. If you jumped, what then?

You glanced over your shoulder at the lines of soldiers. Mel parted them like a queen crossing a courtyard. She stepped forward, chin high, eyes bright with twisted pleasure. “This is it,” she said, voice cool as wind. “Surrender now, come with me. I can make it easy for you.” She paused, a hint of a sneer curling her lips. “Or refuse, and I’ll ensure Jinx and Caitlyn suffer. I’ll make them pay for your defiance. I’ll rip Isha from their arms, and you’ll watch, helpless.”

Your heart pounded, rage swelled. You bared your teeth, eyes blazing violet. “You can burn in hell,” you spat. “I’d rather die a thousand times than be your pawn. You have no idea what I’ve endured. You can’t break me.”

Below, in the gathering dusk, Jinx and Caitlyn had finally pushed their way into view of the towering structure. A crowd had formed, gasping at the scene above. Caitlyn spotted you first, high above them on the balcony, soldiers pressing in. Jinx saw Isha’s small form clinging to you. Panic gripped them both. Jinx screamed your name, voice ragged, and Caitlyn slapped a hand over her own mouth, tears streaming silently. They were too far away, too powerless, forced to watch as fate played out.

You glanced down at the crowded streets, saw the horrified faces. You looked at Isha in your arms, her big eyes filled with trust and fear. You felt Caitlyn’s soul from afar, and Jinx’s fierce love, pressing against your heart like an anchor. You whispered softly, voice cracking with tears, “I love you—I love you all.” Time slowed, and the world narrowed to a single choice.

The soldiers cocked their rifles. You snarled and turned, your muscles coiling. In slow motion, your body moved. A foot on the railing. A leap into empty air. Isha clung to your chest, her small arms locked around your neck, eyes squeezed shut. You twisted midair, determined to shield her from the impact as much as you could. A shot rang out, a soldier panicking, pulling the trigger. Mel shouted, “Don’t fire!” too late. The bullet hissed through the air, but you had already committed to your fall. The city’s roar muffled, replaced by the wind’s howl as you plummeted thirty stories down toward the bay.

Caitlyn and Jinx screamed, voices tearing from their throats. Caitlyn’s knees buckled and she sagged against a post. Jinx’s eyes were wild, tears coursing down her cheeks. The crowd below watched in dread, some crying out. In that eternal second, your body spun gracefully in the air, the shimmer in your blood igniting in a flash of purple radiance. But you could not fly. Gravity was merciless.

Your back slammed into the water of the bay like hitting concrete. The spray fanned out in a shimmering arc. Thirty stories, three hundred feet, a fall that no one should survive. Your figure vanished beneath the waves, Isha clutched to your chest.

Above, on the balcony, Mel stared down in shock and fury. The soldiers parted nervously, some looking unsure. Below, Jinx howled like an animal wounded beyond reason, and Caitlyn pressed her trembling hand over her mouth to stifle desperate sobs. The crowd murmured prayers and curses. The day dimmed as if the sun itself mourned, casting long shadows over a city that had just witnessed something terrible and perhaps final.

In that final image, as the ripples in the bay spread outward, everyone held their breath. The world paused, uncertain and grieving, as the sky darkened, and no one knew if you would ever surface again.

Sevika and Ekko skidded to a halt on the wet stone ramp by the bay, breathless and desperate. The salt spray and smell of rusted metal clung to the air, the water’s surface still rippling from the impact just moments before. Even before Ekko could reach the edge, Vi had already plunged in, the sound of her body hitting the water echoing in all their ears. Ekko followed without a second thought, his own heart pounding as he dove beneath the choppy surface.

A tense silence stretched, then Ekko emerged, coughing and sputtering, but victorious. He cradled Isha against his chest, the little girl choking on mouthfuls of water. Sevika rushed to them, her mechanical arm hissing softly as she eased Isha from Ekko’s trembling grip. She turned Isha on her side, patting her back firmly, coaxing the child to spit out the brine and breathe. Isha’s eyes fluttered, her small body shivering, but alive.

Moments later, Vi surfaced, her short hair plastered to her skull, eyes wide and frantic. In her arms, limp and pale, was your body. Ekko’s relief soured into dread at the look in Vi’s eyes—there was no spark of hope, only grim determination. She hauled you onto the ramp, water dripping from every seam of your clothes, your limbs hanging slack. A dark, ruddy stain spread across your back, and it didn’t take a doctor’s eye to see it was a bullet wound.

On the upper walkway, a contingent of Caitlyn’s enforcers and Zaunites alike watched with silent dread. Some moved aside involuntarily as they saw your lifeless form laid on the cold, wet ground. When Caitlyn and Jinx arrived, Sevika barked an order, “Nobody passes!” The enforcers at first stepped in front of them, out of protocol, but Jinx snarled, and Caitlyn wielded her authority like a blade. Jinx’s purple eyes blazed, and Caitlyn’s voice cut through all objections. “Move,” she said, her voice edged with frantic resolve, and they parted like frightened animals before a predator.

Caitlyn stumbled down the slick stones, pushing past Vi and nearly knocking her aside. She dropped to her knees beside you. The world seemed to slow to a crawl—the muted thunder of the crowd, the distant cries and clanks of Piltover’s machinery fading into a dull hum. She placed her trembling hands over your chest, starting compressions. Water ran in rivulets from her uniform sleeves as she counted under her breath, her hair clinging to her cheeks. You were so still, so pale, the purple hue of your veins dulled to a sickly pallor.

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Come back to me. Please.” Tears blurred her vision as she pressed down rhythmically, her arms shaking with each push. “We need you—we all do,” she whispered, choking on sobs. “Jinx… Jinx loves you, and so do I. Isha needs you, she needs her—” Her voice hitched, and her words came out in a desperate tumble. “We can’t lose you now. Do you hear me? You can’t leave us!”

Jinx hovered just behind Caitlyn, tears carving silent paths down her face. She held Isha, who had awakened just enough to watch with frightened eyes. The child clutched Jinx’s shirt, still too weak to stand on her own. Jinx tried to calm her, tried to be strong, but a whimper escaped her throat. She’d never looked so vulnerable, the hot rage drained from her, replaced by raw anguish.

Vi tried to put a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, to steady her, but Caitlyn shrugged her off violently. “They’re not gone!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Not gone, do you hear me?” She refused to stop the compressions, even as her muscles threatened to give out. Her tears fell onto your cold skin, mixing with the salty water. “Medics!” she screamed, her voice carrying over the hushed crowd. “Where are the medics?!”

At last, the medical team arrived, clambering down with their stretchers and gear. They tried to reach you, to place you on the stretcher, but Caitlyn huddled over you like a lioness guarding her cub. “No, I’ve got this,” she insisted through tears, pressing her ear to your mouth as if hoping to feel the faintest breath. She refused to let them approach, arms flung wide, even as her voice cracked, “I can save them—I can—”

Vi’s arms encircled Caitlyn from behind, pulling her gently but firmly away. Caitlyn fought, sobbing openly now, her cries muffled by Vi’s shoulder. “Don’t take me away,” she wailed, “I can’t leave them.” But Vi’s strength held her steady, tears glistening in her own eyes. “We have to let them help,” Vi whispered, her voice strained, “Please, Caitlyn… please.”

Jinx watched, teeth clenched, her own tears silent now as Isha pressed her small face into Jinx’s neck. The child trembled, clinging to the trinket that had fallen from your pocket. Jinx swayed gently, whispering incoherent comforts to the girl, but her eyes remained fixed on your limp form as the medics finally lifted you onto the stretcher.

The crowd parted, people craning their necks in horrified fascination. Some covered their mouths, others whispered prayers, and still others turned away, unable to bear the sight. The stretcher bearers hoisted you carefully, water still dripping from your clothes, blood seeping through. The medics’ faces were grim and focused, their steps measured in the silence that followed.

As they carried you away, the city seemed to hold its breath. High above, the tower loomed, its silhouette etched against a bruised sky. Below, the watchers—enforcers, Zaunites, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi, Isha—stood suspended in a moment of collective despair. Each step the medics took with your body felt like an unbearable eternity.

Caitlyn, still cradled in Vi’s arms, swallowed hard. She watched the stretcher disappear into the haze of city lights and medics’ lanterns, her heart writhing in her chest. Jinx held Isha tighter, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. The child peeked over Jinx’s shoulder, eyes hauntingly empty, as if understanding too much for one so young.

The world moved in slow motion, every gesture weighed down by sorrow and uncertainty. The echo of your desperate struggle lingered, and the question hung unanswered in the humid Piltover air: would you return to them, or had Mel’s cruelty sealed your fate forever? --------------------------

So, yeah...

I read a post about someone explaining a fic pet peeve where they cant stand how an author can make a book about the main character having so much power, strength and all those things along the lines but makes them so weak and puts them through hell. Like whats the point of making them like that just to make them so small and weak. OKAY? Heros are not someone you can just put in a book and expect them to be this pretty little perfect thing. IMMA PUT THIS MF through some shit. Cause if you follow along and understand the show you already know this damn MAIN CHARACTER is going to go through some shit.

Sigh, it made me upset and hella insecure to keep posting cause damn? just.....keep scrolling? But even if i didnt fall in that, (i did.....LOL) Y/N baby you get no kinds of breaks. I mean you are dating the most dangerous (and insane if i might add) criminal in Zuan and the motherfucking Commandor of the goddamn Piltover Army. What you think I was gonna do? Put you up in the house to cook and clean? Baby this is Arcane! MF you gon see what its about when you fuck around (with jinx and cait) and find out. My case is closed. Thank you for reading. Working on the new chap as we speak. Thank youuuuuuh

[sunflowerhae]

Ch. 6 Wattpad Fanfiction

“Love is the opening door, love is what we came here for, no one could offer you more..do you know what I mean? Have your eyes really seen,” you silently hummed the lyrics under your breath while cutting your brownies for your neighbor. To be honest, at first you weren’t sure why you needed him to like you. Jaemin - ever the wannabe therapist - suggested it might be a psychological response of needing strangers validation, due to your job. Giselle offered the idea that maybe you want more friends in your apartment complex. Both ideas, you have to admit, are sound arguments - and probably have a lot of truth behind them.

Once you really had time to think about why you need your neighbor to like you, however, you discovered it’s sadly much more embarrassing.

He’s cute.

And that’s really saying something, seeing as you only saw his eyes. In those two seconds the both of you locked eyes, a blush found its way onto your cheeks, and you were at a loss for words. Maybe that’s why you subconsciously found yourself cutting the brownies into heart shapes. Maybe that’s why you threw in some strawberries (also in hearts), why you double checked your appearance before stepping out the door, and why the blush once again finds its way to your face as you knock on his wooden door, anxiously praying that he really was just having a bad day initially and doesn’t have some personal vendetta against you.

God, you really need to get laid. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you recently. It’s like a title wave of ovulation symptoms passed through your system and you’ve been a walking love machine - waiting to find a lone victim to poor your adoration on. And almost like someone splashed cold water on your face, you suddenly find the situation you’re in at the moment completely ridiculous. Heart shaped brownies? Blushing cheeks? Walking love machine? What wattpad fanfiction did you just stumble into?

Just as you found it in you to laugh at yourself and turn to walk away, you hear the swinging of a door opening and feel a blast of cold air knock on the side of your body facing your neighbors door. Turning your body back around, you find yourself face to face with your now unmasked neighbor.

And God help you, he’s even hotter than before. Moles line his cheek like constellations in the sky. He has lush and full lips, puckered open just slightly enough to give him an air of innocence that drives you mad. And your favorite feature - his eyes - stare wide at you in curiosity and wonder, like the last possible thing he could have expected would be you at his door, but that he can’t wait to hear the reason why you’re there. He wore a huge, oversized black jacket with the hoodie pulled up and clear glasses wrapped around his face, paired with grey sweats and slippers. He looked like cuddling personified, to be quite frank. And it took you a solid minute to even join Earth long enough to realize you knocked on his door and stood there staring at him in silence. You felt like an idiot, and mentally kicked yourself before getting out, “sorry, hi! I’m your new neighbor, y/n. I know we briefly met the day I moved in, but it was so hectic we didn’t really get to talk. I just wanted to come over and introduce myself and give you a gift to say thank you for dealing with me moving in, and just to say hi and introduce myself!” You finished your ramble by practically shoving the container in his hands, and waited for him to say something..anything..back.

After a beat and a half of him just staring at you with an unreadable expression, he literally shook his head and a small smile appeared, along with an outstretched hand your way, “Thanks for the brownies, y/n!” You both shook hands, then stood again in silence. Should you leave? Should you invite him for dinner like you originally planned? You can’t even look him in the eyes, your own finding solace in just about any place other than his face.

“Sorry, what was your name again?” You finally settled on asking.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m ha-“

“Haechan?” A voice called out from behind you, and you both look to find one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen walking up behind you, a confused expression written on her face.

“Rin, hey” Haechan answered back, and you looked over at him, just to see him nervously scratching the back of his neck while looking between the two girls in front of him.

“Uhh, y/n, this is Karina. Karina, this is my new neighbor, y/n.” At the word “neighbor” Karina’s eyes went wide in almost shock, and she quickly bowed to you. You bowed back with a smile, before turning back to haechan.

“I won’t bother you anymore, but enjoy the brownies!” You rushed out, not letting anyone say a word before practically running back to the safety of your apartment, foregoing a brief thought to look back at the scene you just left.

Behind the closed doors of your apartment, you lay outstretched on the couch; Nala resting on your stomach and your phone tucked between your ear and the pillow.

“He has a girlfriend, selle,” you pouted, sad that your brief crush was interrupted by reality.

“Are you sure it was his girlfriend? Maybe they’re just friends.” Giselle had always been a rock for you, keeping you from flying away in the confines of your own imagination. Regardless of whatever amazing thing was happening in her life, she never lost time for her friends - you only hoped you could be there for her half the amount she was for you.

“Nah, you should have seen how they looked at each other. Plus he was hella awkward when she came up. I hope they don’t fight because of me..” you trailed off, getting distracted by the stressful thought of causing issues in your new neighbors relationship.

“Well it’s for the best, you shouldn’t be trying to get with your neighbor. That’s how you get kicked out of buildings,” you sighed, knowing how right she was.

“I know, he was just so cute.”

On the other side of the wall, Haechan was slightly freaking out. When he got to the door after the initial knock, he didn’t even bother checking to see who it was, expecting Karina to show up any minute. Needless to say, he was NOT expecting you on the other side. So you can imagine his surprise when he opens his door and his dream girl is standing in front of him, smiling and holding what looked like a container full of sweets. To him, it sounded like the start of many dreams he’s had, and for a good minute haechan was convinced he had been asleep. God does he wish he was, for now he believes - no, KNOWS - he just made a complete and utter fool of himself.

“I could barely hold a conversation, rin. I just stood there like an idiot - she had to ask me for my own name,” he mumbled out sadly, his head buried in his hands while he sits slumped on the couch. Karina sighed from her spot on the floor, books already skewed out in front of her as she silently waiting for him to finish pouting so they could study like planned.

“You didn’t make a fool of yourself, haechan. You just think you did because she’s hot. But really, she’s just a normal girl - and a sweet one, seemingly - so I doubt she’s reading into your reactions as much as you are.”

Haechan lifted his head with a sigh, sliding off the couch and down into the floor next to Karina, “yeah, you’re probably right. I just still can’t believe she’s right there. I mean, you’ve been in my apartment. I have her poster in my bedroom, rin. It still doesn’t feel real at all to me.” Karina patted Haechan’s back uncomfortably, not knowing how to console him, which made Haechan chuckle. He loved his friend, but he knew her strengths - and this definitely wasn’t it.

“It’s okay. I guess it was as fine as it could be. Let’s forget about it for now and just focus on our notes.” Karina hummed, happy that Haechan was moving on. She started talking about their chemistry notes, but honestly, Haechan zoned out. He was too focused on the brownies that laid in their now open container next to him. He focused on the fact that she made them into heart, for him. Not for some boy he thought she was dating. No, she took time to make them into a heart shape with him in mind. She tweeted about them, and was “manifesting” something about him. Y/L/N Y/N thought about him. And he couldn’t help but just smile in awe at that. He felt his cheeks go warm as it settled in him that he just met you. He just had a conversation with you. You know his name. And as he bites into a brownie, and a godly, goey, consistency flows past his tongue, haechan can’t help but think they’re even sweeter because you made them.

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Notes: Haechan visual! Just imagine him standing in his doorway looking at you like this bro ur cooked. yay first written and boy is it long. And also not proofread! So if there’s any mistakes then womp womp

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[nobodyinfart]

Scones worthy of moans

Thank you so much for the notes, y’all I’m so honoured! Some of the reblogs are the funniest that I can’t help but choke on my laughter a lil 😭😭😭

Maybe this is just the addiction to the series Midnight Diner talking but, I adore the idea of a mysterious eatery around the base of Task Force 141. Although there is no publicity of the spot, chef! you get a comfortable amount of regulars thanks to your homestyle food that is noted to take customers to a new realm of comfort. 

Perhaps, as of late, you notice a guy that seems to be a personified example of Intimidating regularly visiting. Maybe it’s the black balaclava he wears that hides his features, or the bulky figure of the man that spooks you at first. Although, you must admit that his chiselled features makes him out to be quite a looker, despite you not having seen his face other than his mouth. 

Other than his appearance, another thing that sets him apart is his order; “Just a tea, a little bit of milk.” He muttered the first time, then proceeded to only refer to it as his ‘usual’ as if it's some sort of national secret. No matter the time or day, you are intrigued if just a cuppa makes him satisfied. And, obviously, you can’t help the curiosity. 

“You want some snacks with that? I’ve baked some scones earlier that’s fantastic with some jam,” You commented after some deliberation (especially since this man looks like he could crack you in half like you did to those eggshells a while ago). He paused just as he pulled the cup to his hands, before giving a stoic nod as he took a sip. The way you brightened at his compliant response had you dashing to the kitchen to bring them out with a fresh dollop of cream and a big spoonful of homemade jam. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man blinked as he watched you scurry to the kitchen and come out with something that smelled like heaven on a plate. Watching you tend to other customers, he bit into the scone and had to hold back a groan at how good it tasted. Crumbly and buttery, just the way he enjoyed his scones. You must be some sort of mindreader, even the tea he had was spot-on the first time. 

Looks like his ‘usual’ has expanded to include the scones. And that, Simon will be visiting this hidden spot a lot more often now.

[calamiitywrites]

— qimir x osha

apothecary headcanon: a headcanon, mostly from osha's pov, of the apothecary scene.

note from author: So, we've been lowkey talking about this scene on my oshamir discord server because I pointed out how watery osha's eyes are in the scene. It made me feel like there was so much going on in her head the entire time this scene was happening and I just wanted to put my own spin on her thoughts. this is all from my own theories so please do not adopt it as truth. I would actually love to see other interpretations of this scene so if you have one please let me know / comment etc. thanks! - calamiity

The moon was her only friend with the way that it hid her secrets in the night. She would have preferred to work under its cover, but Sol and the others demanded answers now—and so did she.

Mae, was alive. That meant that she had survived the fire and had been living all this time. Where had she been hiding? Why had she returned now? What drove her to kill Jedi, and for how long had she been doing so? — so many questions, but no answers to satiate them. Just an endless precession of her screaming into the void praying to hear something back. Only to be faced with the darkness no different than the darkness that surrounded her now.

It curled its impeccable fingers around her and danced against the midnight blue cloak that she threw on to her body to resemble the phantom who wore her face. It was both a comfort and a torment; a guise that filled her body with a level of unease so powerful that it made her body ache.

Each breath she took rattled against her lungs with a sense of self loathing and discomfort. she felt like a stranger in her own skin and the moment she walked into the apothecary shop, she felt as though she were a marionette manipulated by strings that were far too short to get the job done.

Her body moved slowly across the front window of the shop and her reflection caught her eye in a twisted mockery of reality. she was nothing more than a semblance of the sister she once knew, a stranger whose form inspired nothing but betrayal and anger. Every detail of her disguise was a contribution of the deceit that she was meant to embody. Her walk, her cloak, the intricate style of her hair and even her tone. How was she meant to personify a sister that she didn't know? They shared nothing but a face, a mere shadow of kinship. Why was it so difficult for them to get that, beneath the surface, their very essences were in contrast?

“Hello...” The word slipped from her lips with a voice that was distant and cold. So altered and strange that it reverberated with an unfamiliar authority which was in complete opposite to the trembling anxiety within her.

"Hello." He responded casually.

"Hi."

"Hi." he retorted, the simplicity of his reply holding a sense of humor that seemed to mock her. "You alright? You're back so early."

There was a subtle shift in his tone, a smooth transition from casual to what sounded like concern. This surprised her to the point where she was nearly startled. If he was really just someone that Mae had bought a poison from then why did he bear such an emotional weight? Even his transition from behind the counter to align himself with her and offer his full attention suggested a deeper connection. Was it possible that he and Mae were more to each other than she first thought?

His words were smooth and enigmatic the way they wrapped around her like a silken thread, pulling at her curiosity leaving her with no choice but to engage. she couldn't lie, the concern reflected in his tone pleased her. it reminded her of how sol used to interact with her before she began working on the ship.

Every muscle in her body tensed, every nerve was on edge and she struggled to maintain the fragile mask of composure. In an effort to save her face from falling into a look of utter despair, her eyes ventured off to the boiling pot in the distance for a distraction.

"I wanted to see you." It was a risky confession to play on her suspicions, but when his eyes lit up in response she lifted her chin in an effort to avoid the feeling of her facade threatening to suffocate her.

"To see me, oh....Mae ...uh are you ok? Did the poison work?" his surprise was clear and his confusion seemed genuine.

She couldn't suppress the slight nod of her head as the realization of her mistake set in. It was as if an audible light bulb had flickered to life in her mind, so loud that she feared he might hear it. If they weren't friends then what were they?

Her overall sense of confusion gave way to an overwhelming anger at the idea that she was even being forced to do this in the first place. She had devoted her entire life to the Jedi. Every step she made was meant to bring her closer to her dream of being her own person. Yet here she was, forced to embody someone else. Her life was meant to be her own, but the Jedi had made it relatively clear that the only value she had to them was if she became a mere shadow of herself. They simply needed her to play the role of Mae — to wear a deceitful mask to extract crucial information. There was no proving herself. There was no working her way up. She would never be good enough for them.

The only reason she wasn't a jedi now was because of the decisions of Mae. The reason her coven was dead was because of Mae. The reason she was arrested was because of Mae. The reason she was here, talking to him, right now, was because of Mae. Mae's decisions had stolen her life, claimed her coven, led to her arrest and now her every action was dictated by the remnants of Mae.

Mae. Mae. Mae.

Did anyone ever wonder about Osha? Did anyone ask how she felt about discovering her sister was alive? Did anyone question her thoughts on the possibility of capturing or even killing Mae?

"You're acting so strange." He continued, but she could barely hear him over her own thoughts.

It’s not fair. Why am I even here with him? The Jedi didn’t destroy our family; Mae did. Killing Indara, Kelnaka, Torbin, and Sol won’t undo any of that. Why can’t she just take responsibility for her actions? Why did she have to set that fire? Why did she have to cause all of this mess? I just want to be myself—why is that so selfish? I hate her. I shouldn’t hate her… she’s lost, confused. It’s wrong to harbor hatred for her. She’s my sister. She’s family. If I hate her, doesn’t that make me just as bad?

"Wait...You killed Torbin without the poison, he will be so pleased." he continued with a voice laced in satisfaction. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice that he had gotten closer to her. There was a brief moment of hesitation on her part where she had half a mind to back away, but it was too late.

"No I used it, I just wanted to thank you." her voice was barely above a whisper. She couldn't speak louder without revealing the tremor in her tone. She couldn't tell if it was rage or sorrow, but it was so intense that she could almost taste it. She was losing her control and the sight of his eyes on her simply made it worse. It was as if he were drinking in every movement she made, there was no room for error.

But it hurt. so. much. The pain of betrayal, the torment of loss, and the agony of deceit all came together, creating a storm that reflected in a rage behind her eyes. She was trapped in between her own chaos and the quiet atmosphere of his shop.

There is a sense of clarity in his eyes and they flickered to her lips in a way that was more intimate than what she was expecting. Did he see them quiver? Did he notice her attempt to keep them pressed together to stave off tears?

He moved again, closing the distance between them with a dangerous proximity that seemed almost predatory. It was something about the way his eyes looked at her that caused her to pause. It wasn't the casual look of concern like before, there was realization in his eyes. They searched her face and for a moment she could swear that he saw her.

"You look.....exactly like her." He muttered as if didn't mean to say it aloud. Even though his words were clear to her, she couldn't move. It was his eyes that held her in place. They searched her face, moved down her frame and drank in her posture in a way that made her feel exposed in more ways than one. It wasn't until his eyes returned to hers that she felt an ominous intent that she couldn't decipher, an edge that left her trembling.

She wanted to question him. She wanted to get to the bottom of his relationship with Mae and how he knew she wasn't her. But the distant, echoing sound of footsteps brought her back to the present. With a sharp intake of breath, she instinctively lifted her gun and stepped away from him.

The Jedi would get to the bottom of this.....