#I do wonder how many of you recognized these

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Dr. Zayne will handle it.

Pairings: Zayne x afab! Reader

Summary: Zayne finds out your gyno appointment is going to be with a male doctor and he’s less than happy about it.

Warnings: not really any just Zayne being jealous yet respectful, idk if I wrote him ooc or not… but it’s a learning experience lol.

Ps- it’s a lil shorter than what I normally write but I have so many ideas brewing.

————

Zayne’s fingers type quickly on his laptop, a warm cup of tea steeping next to him. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose with the lenses reflecting reports and patient files. He had promised only an hour of working in his home office while you stayed with him.

He could hear your voice in the main room arguing with whomever you spoke with. After your tone sharpened slightly, he decided to close his computer, remove his glasses, and see what was happening.

“No, I’ve been waiting for this appointment for two months! There has to be something else you can do.” You plead with frustration.

Zayne raises a brow, wondering what kind of appointment has you so stirred up. He watches as you angrily huff and say goodbye before ending the call. Your phone is tossed to the couch carelessly and you rub your face in your hands.

He carefully comes up behind you, his large hands covering your shoulders and the pads of his thumbs gently massage the tissue.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Concern is evident in his voice.

You nod and turn around to face him. “Yeah, just my stupid gynecologist.”

Zayne remains quiet, obviously waiting for you to continue.

“I’ve been trying to see this specific doctor because the association recommended her, but they just called me and said they overbooked her for this month and she won't be able to see me."

“Why does the association even have a recommended gynecologist?”

His questions hung in the air for a few moments while you scooped up your phone from the couch.

“I guess Dr. Lina is the best in her field. Kinda like how you’re the best cardiologist- most hunters try to see you instead of anyone else for heart issues. I guess it’s the same for her, and since a lot of hunters are women, the association trusts her to handle any issues for us.”

Zayne hums in understanding and places a tender kiss on your temple, his hand stroking your back to relax you. “So, what are you required to do now?”

You let out a sigh, “They can either reschedule me a month from my original appointment or I have to see the other gynecologist that the association recommended… who’s a guy.”

He tenses up and his hand stops moving.

Zayne maintained a high level of professionalism in his interactions with female patients. He recognized that the primary objective of doctors, including himself, is to assist individuals in need. Nevertheless, he experienced a sense of jealousy at the chance of another man observing you in a vulnerable situation.

“And are you comfortable with that?” His voice grows more cold and tense.

You pull your lip that you were chewing on from between your teeth, “Not really… that’s why I was waiting for Dr. Lina. If I’m not cleared soon, then I’ll have to be put on desk duty until I am.”

The foreboding future of being limited to desk duty when you weren't even physically injured was sure to make you go crazy. It was one of the most frustrating things about being a hunter- forget the wanderers, no, it was staying on top of all the appointments to ensure you were completely healthy. Dental appointments, eye exams, physicals, and now gynecology.

“I’ll miss my deadline if I wait for her,” frowning, you collapse onto the sofa in defeat. “Hello desk duty for the next month.”

You glance up at Zayne, searching for a hint of his thoughts on the situation, but he simply exhales through his nose, a silent acknowledgment of your frustration. He settles beside you, and you allow yourself to rest against his chest, feeling the cool steadiness of him. As you roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all, you pull out your phone to dial the clinic once more. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne’s gaze is intently fixed on the screen, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“I’ll just book with that other doctor,” you say dejectedly.

Zayne's hand clamps down on your wrist with a surprising intensity, preventing you from dialing the number. Shock floods your senses, and as your gaze meets his, you can't help but notice the piercing coldness in his green eyes. The tension in the air thickens, making it clear that this moment is more weighted than you had anticipated.

“Zayne?”

You look back to his hand locked onto your wrist. Little white snowflakes flurry from his arm, and from that, you can tell the doctor is having an internal battle with his emotions.

“Forgive me for my impracticality, but I don’t think I’m comfortable with you seeing a male gynecologist.” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice was now lowered and a chill ran through your body.

The flurry of snowflakes burst from his hand in quicker movements at your words and he quickly lets go of you.

“My, my, is Dr. Zayne… jealous?”

“I don’t see why I cannot clear you for this, I am your primary doctor after all.”

Aww, your snowman was jealous. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“Zayne, honey,” you lock your fingers with his, noting the way the snowflakes start to calm down. “As much as I would prefer you to do it over anyone else, the association wants someone specialized in that field.”

Zayne furrows his brow, a wave of frustration washing over him. He knows deep down that he lacks the authority to grant you the necessary clearance, and the thought that another man will see you exposed, no matter how justified it may be for medical reasons, angers him even more. The tension in the room thickens as he rises abruptly from the sofa, his movements are almost forceful as he unintentionally nudges you aside in his haste, caught between concern for your well-being and the turmoil within himself.

“Don’t make the appointment.”

And with that, he leaves the room.

"Zayne!" You call out, but the sound of his office door shutting was all you received in response.

—————-

About an hour ticks by and you never leave the couch, instead just opting to watch some soap opera to pass the time with a throw blanket covering your body as the rain pelts against the windows.

You could faintly hear Zayne's muffled voice speaking to someone over the phone. You didn't want to disturb him, understanding how difficult it is for him to express his emotions. If he needed some time alone, you would give him that space.

By the time the door opens, the main character is already in tears again for the umpteenth time. He stands over you and you turn off the show.

In the stillness, you can sense his struggle to meet your gaze, while your eyes remain locked on his, filled with concern and curiousness.

Finally, he clears his throat.

“You have an appointment with Dr. Lina at 8 a.m. on Monday. Please do not be late.”

Shock washes over your features and your mouth parts open.

“What? Zayne, how did you-”

“Being at the top of your field has its advantages.”

You're silent, not knowing what to say, just overall confused. It would’ve taken you another month to see her and now you’re seeing her in three days?

“One of my colleagues is Dr. Lina's cousin. I explained to him your situation and he talked to her. I guess she was delighted to find out that the one and only Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend wanted to see her- so she pushed back one of her appointments.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Without another thought, you move off the couch and wrap your arms around his neck. Zayne reciprocates the hug and cradles your head to his chest.

“Thank you.”

Zayne's hand continues to stroke your hair, a bit hesitant as he chooses his next words carefully. "Darling, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier."

You pull away with furrowed eyebrows as he meets your eyes.

"You were right, it seems I was a bit jealous." His hand brushes back a stray lock of your hair. "If you were required to go see another male doctor, I should have been more understanding of that. It wasn't right nor professional for me to intervene without your consent-"

"Zayne." Your sharp tone cuts off his apology. "You don’t need to apologize for anything. I understand how difficult it is for you to confront your emotions. Honestly, I couldn’t be more relieved. I had already told you that I wasn’t comfortable seeing a male doctor for this, so you being jealous and taking action like that is kind of sexy."

"You think that was sexy?" Zayne smirks as if humored by the situation. "Really."

You shrug and nod your head, "I mean, yeah. You being all protective like that and realizing you're jealous is something I don't get to see every day. Maybe I should make you jealous more often..."

He lets out a low growl and pulls you back to his chest, lips brushing against your hairline as he inhales your shampoo.

"It would be wise not to push it," He warns. "Besides, I’d much rather owe Dr. Lina a favor than you forced to be uncomfortable.” His thumb brushes over your ear.

“What’s the favor?”

“That I see one of her children. With the discovery of his new evol, I guess his heart had some abnormal fluctuations.”

You frown at his answer. A child with heart problems already?

Zayne notices your change in demeanor and he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“Don’t fret over it darling, I’m seeing him tomorrow and she had already given me a brief rundown on his condition. It sounds like it’s just the body getting used to the abundance of power. It's common in children.”

You nod, relieved. If anyone can figure it out, it’s your boyfriend.

The rest of the night was spent cuddling on the couch and snacking on sweets while the cliche drama played in the background.

———-

Your appointment with Dr. Lina went very smoothly and she said you were in perfect health.

By the next week, you were approved to continue out in the field and the heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders.

Zayne was very relieved to find out his hypothesis was correct with Linda’s son, Ivan. As it turns out Ivan’s evol was super speed and the fluctuations in his heart were just him needing to burn off the energy.

You were glad it all worked out, thanks to your Dr. Zayne.

[impish-baby]

More dad survivor x zombie reader + an old friend :) (tw: dead animal, guns, emetophobia, threats of harm)

"Aw, sugar.." The dead bird is the farthest thing from appetizing but you look so darn happy offering it to him, how's he supposed to say no?

"You're the sweetest, daddy will eat it later, ok?" That at least seems to be satisfactory enough for now, as you drop the poor thing down onto the park table.

The playground has long been abandoned, left in disarray since the apocalypse hit, that doesnt stop Hank from finding it absolutely adorable when you try to climb up a slide. Nearly gives him a heart attack though.

"Baby, come on, you're gonna hurt yourself." He wonders if you remember being little and playing here, your memory isn't the best when it comes to some things but you sure seem to recall what it takes to give him gray hairs. "I know you think it's fun, but your old man really couldn't handle it if you got scratched up while you're messing around."

You get hurt so easily now a days, he's basically toddler proofed the house all over again and yet you still find a way to bang yourself up when he's not around, that's why he's taken to tying you up when he can't keep an eye on you.

When you do finally decide to slide back down, Hank immediately sweeps you up into his arms with a soft chuckle. "Alright, alright, I think you've had enough outside time for today, we should be headin' home."

It would've been a good day, a great one even, if he didn't catch the glittering of a silver barrel from the corner of his eye.

"Shit-" Hank has never been more greatful that he was holding you, because you lunge automatically for the stranger and likewise closer to the gun. "No, sweetheart, shhh..shh..calm down.." God, he'd love it if you listened, it's hard to pull out his own pistol while trying to wrangle you into staying put.

Other survivors aren't very common in town, most people left after the first few months.

"You gonna let that thing go so I can shoot it?" He recognizes that voice, and it makes Hank's heart sink into a pit in his stomach. "I ain't.. Hank?" A familiar face is rare, a friendly familiar face is nearly unheard of.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot, just step back for a minute, alright?" When Hank glances over, he wasn't expecting Bo to be emptying his stomach onto the cement.

"I- Fuck-" The man retches again, dryheaving. "You.. God, the kid.." An honorary uncle, Bo knew you since the day you where born, he didn't see the day that was meant to be your last.

"I know," You stopped struggling once you heard his voice, eyes wide as you simply whine to be let down. "You're gonna have to wait, be patient, hun." That never was your strong suit. "The grown ups need to talk."

"Hank.. man, you gotta let them go.." There's tears in Bo's eyes as he takes a cautious step forward. "They're dead. There aren't any ifs or buts, that's a corpse. You can't-"

"That is my child," He's been a sinner for a long time, if it comes down to it, shooting his brother will be one of his worst. "My baby, what kind of father am I to hurt them?"

"A merciful one!" There are days you wake up confused and scared, you cry for hours or at least your body tries to. "They aren't a person anymore, Hank, they aren't themselves. You're fucking lucky they haven't bitten you yet!"

"I'd welcome it if they did." He's thought about it, that first night when you went cold in his arms and many more after that. "You pull that trigger and that's it, a life without my kid isn't worth living."

"Dammit," Hank almost collapses in relief as the gun is holstered, putting his away as well. "You're still an idiot, huh? Figures.."

Bo approaches slowly, never taking his eyes off your still form. All you do is smile and try to reach out for a hug, but he cringes away with a look of disgust.

Hank's heart breaks as you tuck your teary face against his neck. He doesn't know how to explain in a way you'd still understand, all he can is press a kiss to your forehead and shush your sniffles.

[d1onysusw1n3]

Additive

He knew the circumstances that came with messing with me. He knew the consequences. He didn’t care. No amount of discipline could ever separate himself from you.

It was raining outside of the house that was harboring the party you both just came from.

Off limits. That’s what your friend said to you as soon as you seen him walk in. You didn’t know what was so special about him. It was like he had a magnetic pull. Something about how he carried himself just Drew you to him.

Maybe it was the way he walked in not saying a word to anyone. The way he spread his legs adjusting his pants a little after sitting down. The way he instantly started rolling up a thick neat blunt, placing it between his lips, sparking up. Without even a wave or simple hi to any of his friends.

The way he carried himself, he seemed like trouble. You cross your legs, shimmying down your short red backless dress down your thighs in fear of accidentally flashing someone.

The more you stared at him, the more you silently noticed. You noticed the way he tilted his head back quirking his lips in a short smirk as the weed started filing his veins with pure ecstasy. How he looked around bored at every face here, like he’s seen these people millions of times in the same setting.

That was until his eyes were set on you. Slowly lifting his mouth in a smirk. He takes a long drag of his blunt eyeing you down like you were a fresh piece of candy. His favorite candy, he wanted to taste you, breath you in from your every pore. He knew it was wrong, that it was bad, especially when a small cute girl came and sat on his lap, giving him a kiss to his cheek.

When you saw that you switched your eyes to look at your friend handing you a strong drink. Good. Maybe you can forget the feeling he gave you when he smirked at you. The way he made your stomach heat up, the way you clenched your thighs around nothing. He wish it were him.

Between your thighs of course.

But that would be wrong. His small girlfriend he’s been on and off with for years. He just couldn’t stay away. Toying with her, seeing if she would ever leave, if she would ever say no. He didn’t love her no.

He knew he wanted to see what he could get away with before she kicked him out for good. Though she was no angel. She wasn’t new to a players game, how they move on from one to the next. Until they find the perfect candidate to toy with. Seeing how many pieces they can break a girl into and build her back all in one.

And for some reason he didn’t want to do that to you. You just seemed so innocent. So pure. He could tell by the way your nose scrunched at the strong vodka cola your friend handed you. You were practically a virgin to everything. Except.

“Can I hit that?” You say to the mystery man smoking the blunt by himself.

He didn’t realize you moved next to him. Sitting on a small leather couch in the middle of the lounge room. The room was dark. With little to no light, only a Smokey room and dull strobe lights.

“Yeah, don’t trip” he says holding the blunt out for you to take. But no, this was a game. He realized he judged you wrongfully once you take his wrist leaning into his finger tips to take a drag of the blunt in his hand. The way you slowly looked up at him with puppy dog eyes batting your lashes while you press your plump pink glossy lips to his hand. It sent electricity down his spine.

Game recognizes game.

He’s a cocky bastard. And you’re the innocent angel who’d never ever do anything to wrong him. His brain screamed at him. Run, far and fast. Though he didn’t listen, because his dick was sending stronger waves straight to his spine. He couldn’t help but to lick his lips a bit at the interaction. He wondered what your lips looked like around his dick. Hm.

“Thanks!” You Chirped at him after letting out a fat cloud of smoke, making the room noticeably more Smokey. Not a drinker, heavy smoker. He can get down with that.

“I’ve never seen you around here?” He asks lowly, leaning in to talk in your ear so you could hear him better. He could tell you liked that as you got more squirmy in your seat. You lean close to him. He could smell vanilla and shea butter wafting off your neck. He could feel his mouth water at it. It wasn’t a strong sent. Like flowery perfume that made his nose scrunch and gave him a headache. It was like a warm vanilla cake, so sweet and fresh. He wanted to take a bite out of you.

He wanted to devour you.

“Yeah, my friend dragged me here, I’m not a big party person.” You chuckle shaking your head. He could tell the weed was kicking in by the way your leg stopped bouncing, you laid back twirling your hair. Your eyes were low and zoned out, dragging across every detail in the room. Observing. You can say yourself the fog that laid thickly on your mind brought you pure joy. You felt like smiling.

“You should come round more often, it’s nice seeing someone new around here ya know.” He says chuckling.

You see the small girl that was once harbored in his lap. You wondered about her. Who was she?

“That your girlfriend?” You asked looking to observe if he would lie to you.

“Situation-ship, we ain’t dating, we started talking again after breaking up for the fourth time, though I don’t think I’ll ever get back with her.” Damn weed pouring out whatever was on his mind. Even if he was thinking about getting back with her, he sure as hell wasn’t anymore. Now that he has you.

Does he have you? He thinks. He notices your lingering touches to his knee and arm. Just driving him up the wall. The way you bite your lip and nod when he’s talking.

God he’s just infatuated with you. He doesn’t even know your name. He didn’t care. There was only one thing in his mind.

He wants to destroy you. And he wants you to destroy him. You both recognized each others intentions when you walked over here. Every warning signal being tuned out as you both smoke the rest of his blunt. Laughing, joking, almost like you’ve known each other for years.

He has a high tolerance, he could smoke another, but he knew you were done by your loopy smile and low red eyes.

“You need a ride home? Party’s almost over.” He asked kindly. You think for awhile, until ur nodding at him.

“Let me just tell my friend.” You say getting up.

“Hey, I’m getting a Ride home I’ll see you later pretty.” You lean in giving ur best friend of five years a small kiss on the cheek.

She looks over to see him standing behind you. “Be careful y/n, you guys would not mix well.” She says shaking her head at my bad decisions. I’m well aware, is what you wanted to say. but you just laugh it off and shake your head.

“He has a girlfriend, we’re just, friends.”

He frowns at this. Just friends? Oh baby he felt like he could just melt at your smile. He wants to change that. And he will don’t worry.

He opens the front door for you as you both walk out. Your mind was clouded with temptation, you knew the thoughts inhabiting your mind, blinding any morality you once harbored. Soon he opens your side of the car door for you, when you get in he slowly walks around to his side of the car hopping in smoothly, starting up his car, and taking off. Both of you breathing heavily. The weed was kicking in a different way. You were just so horny you couldn’t stand it. Slowly rubbing your wet thighs together, his cold leather seat felt like small kisses on your hot inflamed skin. Your everything was sensitive, and you felt like if you don’t get a release now. you were going to explode.

You didn’t realize the small pained moans and groans that would come out your mouth as he backed up into the road. As you were seated outside your home he looks at you turning off his car.

“Hey, wanna stay and talk for a little bit.”

“What if I want to do more than talk.”

Okay that was supposed to be in your head. Fuck it. You didn’t care anymore. He smirks. That cocky ass smirk, shifting you into his lap. Letting you straddle his thighs. You were so pretty like this. Your dress riding up ur thighs. He slowly drags his eyes up and down your body, allowing himself to drink in your natural beauty. Well he also noticed the small fact that you weren’t wearing panties this whole time. Oh?

“Not wearing any underwear? Didn’t peg you to be such a slut.” He groans as your hips grind into his after he says that word.

Slut.

You know you should be ashamed in letting any man call you that. But you don’t feel like he’s just anybody. And god it felt good. sending heat waves straight down to your soaking pussy. You wanted him so bad you couldn’t open your mouth without small whines and moans.

“Please fuck me, need you inside me.” You groan out in pain. You felt like your skin was melting off your bones. He leans in kissing you on the lips slowly trialing his hands up and down your frame. To your breasts, your bare thighs, your waist, the cuff of your ass. Fuck.

He was driving you fucking insane. He whips out his dick from his pants letting it breathe from the material of his jeans holding it down. He slowly lets you sink down onto him. And fuck you both knew damn well he had a girlfriend. You felt like shit, knowing you should never mess with another girls man.

But he was just so delicious, so fresh and new. Like a new color, or taste, he was different. And you just couldn’t stay away.

He slowly grinds up into your pooling core. Obsessed with every noise that left your mouth. He left wet open kisses up and down your neck, marking you with purple and pink welts that you knew wouldn’t leave anytime soon.

Your legs started shaking as he quickened his pace, rubbing your clit in slow circles. His hips weren’t slow though, as they were working you to your orgasm.

“I have no condom, I have to pull out.” He grunts and you furrow your brows. No. No,no,no,no.

You’re just about to cum.

“Fuck, just finish inside, I’m on the pill.” You quickly say. He quickens the pace of his hips, somehow he moves faster. You felt it building up in hot waves. Soon your orgasm crashes. And his does too. Both Cumming and spasming around eachother. The whole scene was dirty. His girlfriend calling his phone wondering why he left her at a party all alone. The steam rolling off the windows as you throw your head back in pleasure dragging your hand down the window leaving a print.

The way his abs contracted and flexed at the pleasure you were giving him. It was all so wrong. But it felt so good. Something about the sneaking, the lying. It was so hot.

Hiding eachother away from everyone’s knowledge. You both were infatuated with one another. And you hate to say it. But at the next party you ‘let you friend drag you too’ you couldn’t help but to notice your legs trailing you to the same man in that stupid lounge room. Like a car on autopilot.

Fuck he was so pretty, your new little addiction. He was like poison in sweet unknown berry’s. Like the thorns on beautiful red roses. You both were like water and electricity. Dangerous.

But You both couldn’t find the time to care. The way you made each other feel, it felt better than any drug. And he knew that you had him hooked. Karma he would say. But he knew damn well that you both would come back for another fix.

You both were irrevocably and completely addicted.

[arcane-ish]

Oil & Water, cupcake

I was rewatching the "Vi in front of the council" scene from season 1 of Arcane. And it's just super funny to me. So the setup is:

Caitlyn: Silco is the big baddie of the undercity. The only reason why you didn't know was because Marcus was lying to you. Jayce: is upset about the bridge attack. He wants to go after Jinx with violent force. Mel: That could trigger war, war is bad. Caitlyn: is worried about the casualties. Mel: wants to negotiate with Silco now that they know what he wants.

Vi is outraged that they want to negotiate with Silco and storms off.

She then has her big oil and water conversation with Caitlyn about how Piltover and Zaun are like Oil and Water and they can never work together just like Caitlyn and Vi can never work out, making Caitlyn cry.

... and then the first thing Vi does is NOT to go back to the undercity. Nope. After just rejecting Caitlyn's offer to come up with a new plan together, Vi goes to Jayce, a different Piltie.

1.) It just intensely amuses me that after like 3 sentences of Jayce Vi immediately recognized him a kindred spirit who she could easily rope into a violent revenge plan. Against the stated wishes of both their girlfriends.

2.) I wasn't really deep into CaitVi discourse in season 1, so I wonder, did we talk about how Vi's speech about oil and water is complete bullshit? And I don't mean that in a meta way, I mean this as: Vi is bullshitting Caitlyn? Yes, I get blabla, Vi is feeling down, she's pushing Cait away. But actually from what is going on on a pure action point of view, Vi is telling Cait Pilties and Zaunites can't work out and then immediately turns around and teams up with a different Piltie to fight fellow Zaunite Silco together?

Like the problem was never that Vi is disappointed that the council didn't help her or that she doesn't think the relationship with Cait can work out. The real "problem" is here that Vi thinks Cait is too kind hearted and cares too much about collateral damage. (which, you know, is deeply ironic considering season 2...)

In that sense, the Oil and Water convo has shades of Vi ditching Caitlyn at the brothel. Deciving and distracting Caitlyn so she can do her own thing.

Vi wants to go after Silco at all costs. Mel is worried that going down after him will trigger all out war. Cait is worried that innocents will get hurt. Vi cares about neither of those things. She is deeply upset at the thought that the council might try to negotiate with Silco.

So she goes after Jayce because Jayce wanted to do the same things as her "We've been talking about talking for weeks now. They're still cleaning the blood off the bridge. When do we say enough is enough?"

I think it's worth noting how masterfully Vi manipulates the shit out of Jayce here. Praising him for being smart, telling him he is a victim (aka insiutating that he's allowed to strike back), suggesting that Cait would want him to strike when we know that is a total lie. [note that I don't think that is a bad thing, like I love Vander and think he likely has his own way of using charisma and I love Silco of course]

Another interesting thing of the council scene of course is that it already shows shades of "Vi thinks Poweder and Jinx are two different people and she's okay with selling out Jinx". That's why she gives Jinx's name to the council. That's why she tells Cait in season 2 that it's okay to take the shot on Jinx.

I think it's also worth noting just how many Zaunites Vi murderizes/helps murderize with the help of enforcers in the factory raid. Beyond just the kid.

And how many more people including children she likely helps send to Stilwater

after just complaining to Jayce how bad Stilwater is.

And after getting tons of Zaunites killed and arrested in her quest for revenge because she is mad that Silco "ruined" Powder, the first thing Vi wants to do is do more raid, kill and arrest even more people.

I want to shout this from the roottops: VI DOES NOT HAVE A SYSTEMIC VIEW ON OPPRESSION. Vi does not give a shit about the undercity people when it comes to pursing her own family goals.

I think it's interesting in the context of season 2, how these threads continue for Vi. Again similarity with Vi giving Jinx's name to the council in 1x08 versus saying she's in favor of killing Jinx at the beginning of season 2.

And how she's willing to carve a bloody path through the undercity with the help of enforcers just to hurt Silco and dismantle his shimmer production. (again at this point it was explicitly stated in the council scene that Silco's core goal is the Nation of Zaun, so Vi knows this and is apparently not impressed) So is her willing to take out the rest of the Chem Barons using the Grey really that different? The only difference is that Caitlyn makes her formally wear the uniform.

It's also interesting to read this in the context of the progression of Caitlyn and Vi's relationship. Like if you read Oil and Water not as a tragic breakup but as Vi lying to Caitlyn because she sees Caitlyn as being in the way of Vi's quest for revenge. Vi ditching Cait and feeling bad or not bad about it is a theme in season 1. It leads to Cait being kidnapped and Cait's mom being killed.

I can see how this leads to Vi's guilt. I don't really see the "family dinner scene" as necessarily "Vi is already deeply in love with Cait and so can't bear to see Jinx hurt her". But more as "Vi sees Cait as a relatively well meaning innocent who doesn't deserve this treatment and also Jinx is acting kind of unhinged".

Cait got Vi out of Stillwater, tagged along, Vi tried to ditch her, Cait saved her from being killed, Cait healed her, Cait got kidnapped by the Firelights, Cait tried to make things right via the council, Vi again tried to ditch Cait and started an ill fated revenge. And then Vi gets a front row seat for Cait's grief over her mom.

This is of course where in season 2 Cait starts showing obsessive and vengeful tendencies and a more prejudiced attitude towards Zaunites.

It's also interesting in how far the season 2 raids continue the threads of 1x08, on one hand Caitlyn still talking about avoiding additional bloodshed, but also it being a continuation of Vi's bloody "dismantle Shimmer" operation (that maybe ends up going too far/veering into the wrong direction).

So the question is when and Vi actually falls for Caitlyn. My personal take as a more casual/occasional CaitVi enjoying person who was never deep in the fandom.

I think Vi saw Caitlyn was hot but basically thought from the start that anything there was a bad idea. Plus she was distracted by her family goals.

I think Caitlyn had feelings very quickly, probably starting to blossom around the "I can tell you have a good heart".

I do think there's an element there of Vi seeing Caitlyn as this well meaning sheltered good thing, the one bright spot. Again especially since imo she's respulsed by Zaun and how much it has changed on her. And yes it's super frustrating that her not feeling attached to Zaun, not seeing the beauty in Zaun seems to include Ekko. Like she is clearly admiring the tree and everything, but her thirst for revenge against Silco is stronger. It seems to me like she still lumps Ekko in with the people who have changed on her and who she doesn't fully recognize and feel at home with.

I think there's some guilt there for having "dirtied up" Cait's life. (again once more: Vi doesn't have a systemic view enough to see Cait as inherently dirtly for being an oppressor of fully grasping that maybe Cait finds it easier to be optimistic and sweet and kind because she grew up cozily, imo she just sees a kindness that she's drawn to and maybe doesn't fully understand)

I'm curious if there was ever any thinking on Amanda's side that turning Cait dark would be an interesting challenge to Vi falling for Cait for her kindness but also Vi discounting/wanting to exclude Caitlyn from certain things maybe with the idea of "Cait is too kind for that, I should go behind her back".

For the record, I don't think that Vi's motivation is just "being pissy that Silco stole Powder or that Silco killed Vander and now rules in his stead". I do think she does on some level see the plight of the undercity, and her analysis/conclusion that Shimmer is at fault for everything just happens to be very shallow. (again repeat after me: VI DOES NOT HAVE A SYSTEMIC VIEW ON THE WORLD

Stop pretending she was an enlightened Marxist/leftist in season 1 when she spent a good chunk of season 1 being very much the opposite of that and blaming Silco while comparatively making excuses for Piltover)

[yongility]

NEO TV # i like me better when i'm with you ꗃ╭╯ jung jaehyun.

──────── chapter ⵌ 8: ghosts of the past.

𒄬 genre: slowburn / angst / suggestive / gang au / rich kid au / e2l

𒄬 warnings: drug use mention / gang activity / fights / use of weapons / adult language / nsfw scenes / illegal activities / mentions of cheating / toxic family enviroment / addictions / manipulation / insecurities / illegal street racing / death mentions / jeno is jaehyun's brother / lots of angst. - cursives are flashbacks in this chapter.

𒄬word count: 4k

if you want to be in the taglist, just lemme know;) enjoy!

The stars didn’t shine in Neo Zone. At least, not the way they did in books.

Jaehyun used to search for them all the time as a child— staring up at the polluted sky, wondering if they had disappeared forever or if they were simply hiding… afraid, just like him. He had asked his father once, on a night much like this, as they sat on the sidewalk of their house.

“Why don’t we have stars, Dad?”

His father had smiled then. a tired, weathered kind of smile, the kind that carried too many things left unsaid. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette – a mint one — lighting it with a flick of his old metal lighter. The orange glow flickered against his sharp features, casting deep shadows under his eyes.

“We do have them, kiddo. They’re still up there… you just can’t see them from here”

Jaehyun had frowned, kicking a rock that was near his feet and pouting slightly. “Why not?”

“Because this part of the city is too loud. Too many lights, too much smoke. The sky is covered in all the things people would rather not see.”

Jaehyun didn’t understand what he meant back then. He only knew that the stars were gone, and it felt like the universe had abandoned this place.

“Does that mean we can never see them?”

His father hesitated. And now, years later, Jaehyun would recognize it for what is was – a moment of truth too painful to say aloud.

“Not unless you find a way out, son.”

There had been something in his father’s voice that night… something heavy, like a man speaking from experience. Jaehyun hadn’t questioned it. He had simply leaned into this father’s side, feeling the weight of the man’s arm around him. It was one of the only times his father had truly held him, warmth radiating from his body despite the cold wind that always howled through Neo Zone´s streets.

“Do you ever wish we lived somewhere else?” Jaehyun had asked quietly.

His father chuckled, ruffling Jaehyun’s messy hair. “All the time.”

“Then why don’t we leave?”

His father didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked down at his cigarette, tapping the ashes off the edge off the sidewalk. His face had darkened, deep in thought, his usual sharp confidence replaced with something Jaehyun now knew was regret.

“Because some places don't let you leave, Yoonoh. No matter how much you want to.”

Jaehyun had furrowed his brows at that. It didn’t make sense to him. Back then, he still believed that anyone could choose their own future.

“That’s stupid” he muttered, pouting. “If you wanna leave, just leave.”

His father had smiled again, but this time. There was sadness behind it, something Jaehyun couldn’t quite place. His father had looked at him then — really looked at him, the way a man looks at something too precious to keep safe in a world like this one.

“You’re still young, kiddo. That 's good. Keep thinking like that for as long as you can.”

“But you’ll leave one day, won’t you?” Jaehyun had pressed. “You and me… and Jeno?”

His father had turned away at that, staring to the dark sky… looking for the stars.

“Maybe you will” he murmured. “But me? I was born in this place… and I’ll die in it”

Jaehyun hated that answer. He hadn’t understood why his father spoke about himself like he was already gone. He had wanted to argue, to tell him that they could leave together, that they could find a place where the stars were bright, where they could breathe air that didn’t taste like metal and cigarette smoke.

“Listen to me, Yoonoh. When you grow up, I need you to be safe—  to watch your back. I need you to take care of Jeno”.

Jaehyun blinked up at him. “Why?”

His father’s eyes were distant, as if he was seeing something Jaehyun wasn’t. Something he hoped his son would never have to see.

“Because in this zone, people don’t like it when you start thinking for yourself. The higher-ups?” he scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. “They’ll smile at you, tell you you’re one of them. But the second they think you’re a liability? They’ll take matters into their own hands.”

Jaehyun shivered, not just from the cold, but from the way his father said it.

“Doesn’t matter who you are, the position you are in… in this place you just have to be in the way to go down if they want to.”

Jaehyun hadn’t fully understood what his father was trying to warn him about. He had thought his father was just being paranoid… but his father deep down knew what was coming and Jaehyun wishes he also knew back then…

Because weeks later, his father was dead.

And Jaehyun never saw the stars again.

Jaehyun wasn’t expecting to see Jeno when he walked into the room.

 But there he was.

Sitting comfortably across from Sooman, one arm draped over the back of the leather chair, his posture too casual— too at home in a place he didn’t belong. At home with the person that was the reason for all the bad things that had happened to him. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the thin stream of some curling lazily towards the ceiling. The dim lighting made him look older, sharper, like he had already shed the last pieces of the kid Jaehyun had spent his life trying to protect.

It took Jaehyun a second to react. Just a second. But it was long enough.

Jeno noticed. Sooman noticed.

And suddenly, Jaehyun felt like he was the outsider in this room.

“Took you long enough, hyung” Jeno muttered, not bothering to stand.

Jaehyun’s jaw tightened. He ignored the empty chair Sooman gestured to, his focus locked on Jeno.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Jeno smirked, tapping the ashes off his cigarette. “Business.”

Jaehyun turned to Sooman, voice tense. “Since when?”

Sooman leaned back, swirling the whiskey in his glass, amused by the exchange. “Since I said so.”

Jaehyun’s fists clenched, but he forced his voice to stay calm. “He’s not ready for this.”

Jeno scoffed, shaking his head. “You heard that boss? Hyung thinks I’m still a kid.”

Sooman chuckled, setting his drink down. "I hear it." His gaze flicked back to Jaehyun, sharp and knowing. "But I also see what’s in front of me."

Jaehyun didn’t like that answer.

Jeno sat up slightly, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off a weight. "You always do this," he muttered. "Act like you can control me just because you got here first."

Jaehyun exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his temper in check.

"That’s not what this is about."

Jeno arched a brow. "No? Then what is it about?"

Jaehyun didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, he didn’t know how to explain it—this gut-wrenching, sinking feeling in his chest. The way his father’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him of the little boy who once followed him around, who clung to his hoodie in his sleep, who looked up to him with eyes that still saw something worth admiring.

"He’s lucky to have you, you know? He’ll look up to you one day. Just make sure he has something worth looking up to."

Jaehyun had spent years trying to protect Jeno from this world.

And now?

Jeno was staring at him like he was the problem.

Sooman watched the silent tension between them with interest before finally speaking.

"Relax, Jaehyun," he said smoothly. "Your brother’s not a child anymore. He’s smart. Capable. And most importantly, he’s loyal."

Jaehyun hated the way he said that.

"That’s why I trust him to be here," Sooman continued. "To sit at this table. To handle things like a man."

Jaehyun’s stomach twisted.

Because Sooman wasn’t just praising Jeno.

He was claiming him.

Jaehyun knew this game. Sooman had played it with him, too. And now, he was playing it with Jeno—feeding him just enough power, just enough approval, so that he would never want to leave.

Jeno wasn’t just sitting at this table. He was being pulled into it.

Jaehyun finally sank into the chair, his movements slower than usual, measured. His eyes never left Sooman.

"So what’s this meeting really about?" he asked.

Sooman smiled. "Business, of course." He leaned forward slightly, voice calm, almost casual. "The exchange is happening soon. I need you ready."

Jaehyun felt the weight of those words settle over him.

"And Jeno?"

"He’ll be ready, too."

Jaehyun’s heart clenched, but his expression remained blank.

Sooman was pulling Jeno in, deeper and deeper, with every word, every look, every casual nod of approval. And Jaehyun couldn’t stop it. Not here. Not now.

So he said nothing.

Sooman leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze flickered between the two brothers before settling back on Jaehyun.

"You’re unusually tense today." He smirked. "That exchange got you nervous?"

Jaehyun forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "No."

"Good." Sooman studied him for a moment longer, as if peeling back layers Jaehyun had spent years building. "Because I don’t need hesitation."

Jaehyun stayed silent.

Sooman reached for his drink, taking a slow sip before setting it down with a soft clink. "Jeno tells me you’ve been a little... distracted lately."

Jaehyun’s fingers twitched under the table.

He turned to Jeno, his voice steady. "That what you’ve been doing? Running your mouth?"

Jeno just exhaled another slow breath of smoke, unbothered. "Just saying what I see."

Sooman tilted his head, his smirk widening just a little. "You wouldn’t be letting anything... personal interfere with your duties, would you, Jaehyun?"

Jaehyun knew exactly what he meant.

His pulse thrummed in his ears, but his voice was smooth when he answered.

"No, boss."

Sooman watched him for another second, then nodded in approval.

"Good."

Jaehyun stayed quiet, staring at the table as Sooman took another sip of his drink.

"Jeno, step out for a moment," Sooman said suddenly.

Jeno hesitated, glancing between them.

"Why?"

Sooman gave him a look. "Did I stutter?"

Jeno exhaled, muttering something under his breath as he pushed himself up from the chair. His cigarette burned low, the last ember glowing faintly before he dropped it into the ashtray.

As he passed Jaehyun, his voice was low.

"Try not to embarrass yourself, hyung."

Jaehyun didn’t move. Didn’t react.

Just stared at the smoke curling from Jeno’s abandoned cigarette.

The last piece of warmth fading into nothing.

The door shut behind him.

And Jaehyun finally looked up.

Sooman’s eyes were already on him, unreadable.

"Now," he said, his tone almost amused. "Let’s talk."

Jaehyun didn’t sit.

The chair across from Sooman was empty, waiting, but he stayed standing. His fists curled at his sides, jaw clenched tight enough to ache.

Jeno was gone. Sooman had sent him out like a child dismissed from the dinner table.

But Jaehyun knew better.

That hadn’t been dismissal. That had been claiming.

And now, Sooman was watching him, like he always did—calm, amused, dangerous.

Sooman sighed, motioning lazily to the chair. "I’m not gonna bite. Sit."

Jaehyun sat.

Not because he wanted to. But because this was how it worked. You didn’t refuse Sooman.

"You seemed tense earlier," Sooman mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Something bothering you?"

Jaehyun knew the game.

This wasn’t concern. This was a test.

"No."

Sooman hummed, unconvinced. "Good. Because I need your head in the right place."

The words sat heavy in the space between them.

Jaehyun knew what this was about. The exchange. The weapons deal. The reason he was still in this life.

"I assume you’re ready."

Jaehyun’s jaw tightened. "I’ll be there."

"That’s not what I asked."

Jaehyun finally looked up. Sooman was watching him carefully, dark eyes sharp with something unreadable.

"I don’t like surprises, Jaehyun. I need to know that when the time comes, you’re not going to hesitate."

Jaehyun held his gaze. Didn’t blink.

"I won’t."

For a moment, silence.

Then, Sooman smiled.

Not a kind smile. Not approval.

Something colder. Sharper.

"That’s what I like about you," he murmured. "You understand how things work."

Jaehyun didn’t respond.

He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning.

Sooman leaned back in his chair, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

"Jeno’s got that same drive, you know."

Jaehyun’s stomach twisted.

He should have known. Of course this was about Jeno.

"Smart kid," Sooman continued, like this was just a casual conversation. "Quick on his feet. Knows how to read a room. You should be proud of him."

Jaehyun forced himself to stay still.

"He’s not ready for this."

Sooman tilted his head. "Neither were you."

The words hit like a hammer to the chest.

"But you adapted."

Jaehyun’s grip tightened on his knee.

"You think I don’t see it?" Sooman’s voice was almost amused now. "The way you tense up every time his name comes up? The way you look at him like he’s a little kid, while he’s sitting at the same table as you?"

Jaehyun didn’t respond.

Because Sooman was right.

"You spent all these years trying to protect him," Sooman mused, lifting his drink. "And yet, here he is."

Jaehyun swallowed. His father’s voice whispered once again replaying the same words in the back of his mind.

"He’s lucky to have you, you know? He’ll look up to you one day. Just make sure he has something worth looking up to."

But Jeno didn’t look up to him anymore.

Jeno was looking up at Sooman.

"You should be proud," Sooman said again, softer this time. "He’s one of us now."

Jaehyun’s fingers dug into his jeans.

"Jeno’s got a future here."

Jaehyun’s throat tightened. The final nail in the coffin.

Because there was no future outside of this.

Not for him. And now, not for Jeno.

Sooman leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. "And you, Jaehyun… you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your brother’s future, would you?"

Jaehyun’s pulse thundered in his ears.

It wasn’t a question.

It was a threat.

"No." His voice came out flat. Lifeless.

Sooman smirked. "That’s what I thought."

Jaehyun felt sick.

Sooman picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip before speaking again—this time, more casual.

"You’ve been a bit of a topic lately, you know."

Jaehyun forced himself to look up.

"People talk," Sooman continued, swirling the whiskey in his hand. "They notice things. Like who you spend your time with."

Jaehyun’s spine stiffened.

Sooman was watching him too closely now, like he was waiting to see if Jaehyun would flinch.

"It’s nothing to worry about," he murmured, voice smooth. "I just think it’s best if you keep a little… distance."

Jaehyun’s grip tightened.

"You understand why, don’t you?"

There it was.

The real reason for this conversation.

The exchange was just an obligation. Jeno was already claimed.

But (Y/N)?

She was a problem.

Sooman wasn’t threatening her. Not directly. Not yet.

But he didn’t have to.

Jaehyun knew what happened to people who became liabilities.

"I don’t need distractions on my team," Sooman added, taking another sip of his drink. "And you don’t need them either."

Jaehyun exhaled slowly.

"I understand."

"Good."

Sooman leaned back, looking satisfied.

"That’ll be all, then."

Jaehyun hesitated. Just for a second.

"Jeno…" His voice barely sounded like his own. "He’s still young. You don’t have to rush him into this."

Sooman studied him.

Then, he smiled.

"Your father said the same thing about you once."

Jaehyun didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Sooman reached for his lighter, flicking it open. The flame danced in the dim light, flickering gold against his expression.

"Look at you now."

Silence.

The night was too quiet.

The kind that wraps around your chest and sinks its claws in deep.

The city was always loud—always alive with the hum of neon lights, the distant echoes of tires screeching, the faint murmur of conversations in alleyways. But tonight?

Tonight, there was nothing.

That was the first sign.

(Y/N) had been texting Daeho for hours. No response. She had tried calling, too—straight to voicemail. That was the second sign.

Daeho had been dodging her all day, but that wasn’t unusual. He was good at running. Good at pretending everything was fine until it wasn’t.

But this time, something was off.

She didn’t know how to explain it—just a gnawing, stomach-turning sense of dread creeping up her spine.

Something was wrong.

(Y/N) sat in her parked car, phone pressed to her ear, waiting. Listening. But there was no answer.

Again.

Her screen dimmed, the contact name DAEHO staring back at her, the last messages left unread.

9:57 PM – Where are you? Ur mom have been calling me all day asking about you… 9:59 PM – I know your parents are away and you hate that, but at least answer their calls.10:20 PM – Daeho, pick up your damn phone.10:45 PM – I swear, if you’re doing something stupid again—

The typing bubble had appeared for a second. Just one. Then it vanished.

Her fingers curled around the phone, pressing redial.

Ring.

Ring.

Voicemail.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Daeho was reckless. Self-destructive. A disaster waiting to happen. But he always picked up. Even if it was to curse her out for nagging..

Something wasn’t right.

With Daeho being in a vulnerable state everytime his parents were away off the city, (Y/N) didn’t want to think the worst… but it was impossible, because when her stomach twisted, she didn’t hesitate the slightest– she just drove.

Lots of memories filled her mind as she drove her cars with her legs trembling — her family lake house held her most precious childhood moments with Daeho and she knew it held the same feeling to him. That’s why when she knew his cousin wasn't anywhere near the city… she found herself driving to that place.

Which it didn’t quite set well for her.

As she drove, her hands trembling on the wheel, memories of childhood flooded her mind. The family lake house, the place where so much of her life had unfolded alongside Daeho. The laughter, the secrets, the comfort of familiarity. She knew the house like the back of her hand, knew the way it felt to step through its doors.

It was a place of safety. Of home.

But tonight, as she turned onto the road leading there, it felt wrong. The air felt thick, heavy with something dark, something ominous.

The moment she pulled into the driveway, her chest tightened. She didn’t even need to step inside to know something was wrong.

The air outside was thick with an unspoken warning, thick like smoke, clinging to her skin.

Her legs carried her to the stairs almost of their own volition, her heart pounding in her ears, but her feet felt leaden, as if each step was harder than the last.

The door stood ajar. Not wide open, but just enough to leave room for doubt.

A voice inside her screamed to turn around. To leave. To get out.

She knew– She knew even before she even stepped inside.

The air was too thick, the kind of silence that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

And then—

Her breath hitched.

Daeho.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. He was lying there, motionless, his body sprawled on the floor in a way that didn’t seem natural. Still.

Too still.

It took a beat for her brain to catch up with what she was seeing, her mind desperately trying to reject the image in front of her.

But her body was already moving.

"Daeho!"

She was at his side in a heartbeat, dropping to her knees, hands shaking as she gripped his shoulders, her voice raw as she begged, "Wake up. Please. Wake up."

Nothing.

His skin was clammy, his breathing ragged, eyelids fluttering but not opening.

His skin was cold, clammy, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths that were too ragged. His eyes fluttered but didn’t open.

A wheezing breath rasped out of him, the sound like a death rattle in the stillness. 

Shallow. Wrong.

Panic surged through her veins, hot and violent, swallowing her whole.

"No, no, no, no—Daeho, wake up! Please—"

Her fingers scrambled against his pulse point.

Faint. Too faint.

She gasped, barely managing to grab her phone. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Ring.

Ring.

"911, what’s your emergency?"

Her voice was unrecognizable—broken, panicked, fragile. "It’s my cousin, he’s—he’s not waking up. I think he overdosed. I don’t know what he took, but—he’s barely breathing—please, you have to send someone—"

Her words were tumbling out of her mouth, fractured and disconnected, her focus wavering between the dispatcher’s voice and Daeho’s still, too-still form.

Nothing. No movement.

Her hand shook as she pressed it against his clammy face, trying to force his eyes open.

Daeho wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t fighting her anymore.

Her free hand reached up, gripping his face, trying to force his eyes open.

"Daeho, listen to me—stay with me, okay? Help is coming. Just—just hold on."

Her voice cracked.

"You hear me? Just stay awake."

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t even twitch.

Tears blurred her vision, hot and stinging. She didn’t even realize she was crying.

She needed to call someone else. Someone who would come.

Her heart pounded in her chest, erratic, like a trapped bird trying to escape its cage. The phone trembled in her hand as she dialed his number, each passing second feeling like it stretched into infinity. She could barely breathe through the panic that twisted in her gut, the air around her growing thin, almost suffocating. Her thoughts were jumbled, a whirlwind of fear and desperation.

"Pick up, please, just pick up," she whispered, her lips barely moving.

The phone rang again. Once. Twice. The third time, her breath hitched.

"Please, please, Jae” Her voice cracked, a soft, broken plea that carried more weight than she could bear.

And then, just as her panic reached its peak, his voice cut through the chaos. Low. Sleepy at first, like he’d been woken from a dream.

"Angel?"

Hearing him, hearing that voice—so familiar, so warm—was like a thread of sanity pulling her back, just for a moment. But it wasn’t enough to stop the tidal wave of fear crashing through her.

"Daeho... Daeho’s not waking up. He’s not moving." Her words were disjointed, stumbling over themselves as she fought to keep her composure, but it was slipping through her fingers like sand. She could hear the desperate edge in her own voice—the pleading that she couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried.

"I don’t know what he took, Jaehyun. He’s barely breathing… please, you have to come, you have to help him!"

Her hand shook violently, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. The words felt like they were being ripped from her throat, each one harder to get out than the last. She could hear the hollow sound of her own voice, breaking with the weight of everything she couldn’t control.

Jaehyun was silent for a moment, his breath slow and steady, as though he was trying to process what she was saying. He couldn’t help the flicker of hesitation that passed through him. It was the first time they had spoken in days, the first time since their fight. That distance, that anger—they were still there, lingering between them like a heavy fog.

But it didn’t matter. Not now.

"Where are you?" His voice was sharper now, like a switch had been flipped. Cold, direct. He had no time for awkwardness or old wounds.

His pulse hammered in his chest as he gripped the steering wheel of his car, already on the move. He wasn’t sure if he was moving because of the urgency of the situation or because hearing her voice—desperate, broken—was too much to ignore.

"I’m at the lake house, Jaehyun. He’s... he’s not moving, he’s not—"

She couldn’t finish the sentence. The words felt too much to say aloud, too real. Too final.

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched, the weight of the moment sinking in. This wasn’t the time for past arguments, for bitterness. For a second, he wanted to scream at her for the way things had ended between them, for how they had left things unresolved. But her words—her panic—had him pressing down harder on the accelerator.

"Stay with me, okay?" Jaehyun’s voice softened for just a moment, before the tension rose again, thick and strong. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not when she needed him. "You’re not alone, (Y/N). Breathe, just breathe."

He could feel the tightness in his chest, the sharp pang of regret as he remembered their last conversation—the one where they both said things they didn’t mean. The one where silence had stretched for days. But that didn’t matter now.

Just her. Just Daeho.

"Just focus on breathing for me," he said, trying to keep her grounded, even as his own hands trembled. His voice was steady, but the fear was there—beneath it all, in the spaces between his words.

"Just stay with him. Help’s on the way," he urged, his mind spinning with the worst-case scenario, but he couldn’t let it show.

But (Y/N) wasn’t responding. She was breathing faster now, her panicked gasps cutting through the silence between them. It wasn’t enough to reassure him, to calm him down.

"I’m almost there, just hold on." His words were desperate, cracked at the edges, as though he couldn’t quite believe them himself.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white. He was already second-guessing every move he made, replaying the moments before the fight, wondering where it all went wrong between them. But there was no room for that now.

"Stay strong, (Y/N). I’m coming," Jaehyun whispered, almost to himself. He couldn’t leave her alone—not now, not when she was falling apart. He had to be there.

Her sobs were muffled now, and his heart broke at the sound. The cracks in her voice were unmistakable, and it drove a wedge deeper between them—familiar, but painful.

"I swear, (Y/N), just hold on." Jaehyun’s words, softer now, cracked under the weight of what they both had yet to face.

He should have seen this coming. Of course it was Daeho.

The kid had been on a collision course for months. Jaehyun had watched it happen—hadn’t stopped it.

By the time he arrived, the ambulance was already there.

Red and blue lights pulsed in the dark, sirens slicing through the night like a warning too late.

Jaehyun stopped mid-step.

Daeho was being wheeled out on a stretcher.

And he looked—

Gone.

For one horrifying second, Jaehyun thought it was too late.

Then, a flicker of movement—fingers twitching.

Still alive. Barely.

(Y/N) climbed into the ambulance with him.

Jaehyun didn’t.

He just stood there, watching the doors shut.

Jaehyun found (Y/N) in the waiting area, curled up in one of the plastic chairs, looking smaller than he’d ever seen her.

But before he could speak—

Jaehyun barely had time to register the shift in the air before (Y/N)’s mother was upon him.

Her presence was suffocating, like an icy gust cutting through the sterile hospital lights. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights above seemed to only heighten the intensity of her stare—sharp, unforgiving, a laser focus locked onto him as if she were seeing nothing but the embodiment of everything that had gone wrong.

"You."

Her voice rang out, filled with so much venom it made the air crackle with it.

She stormed toward him, her heels striking the floor with heavy, purposeful steps, her entire body coiled with an intensity he hadn’t seen before. Jaehyun didn’t flinch, but it took everything in him not to. She reached him in seconds, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with the sterile hospital air, and before he could even brace himself, her hand collided with his chest. The impact pushed him back a step, the force behind it surprising for someone so refined.

Her fingers dug into his shirt, her eyes cold as ice, her voice cutting through the space between them like a blade. "This is your fault."

Each word hit him like a physical blow, but it wasn’t just the blame in her tone that stung. It was the weight of it—the certainty, the finality of the accusation. She wasn’t just blaming him for Daeho’s condition. She was blaming him for the decay she saw in her family, the damage he had brought into their perfect, orderly life.

"You ruined everything," she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "You, with your dirty past, your gang... You think you can just waltz into my daughter’s life, drag her down into this mess, and there are no consequences?"

Jaehyun’s heart pounded in his chest, the words sinking in like poison. He had expected some anger, some condemnation, but hearing it in her voice—the disgust, the judgment—felt like he was being stripped of every last scrap of dignity.

"You came from nothing," she went on, her face twisted in a mixture of disdain and sorrow. "And now, my daughter is tangled up with you. With your filthy, violent world. You’ve turned everything upside down, and for what? She has a future! and you know who also has a future? Daeho! but now my nephew’s life is hanging by a thread, all because you people… all of the Neo Zone people do is ruin other people's lives…I knew you were gonna be a problem the night I saw you with my daughter.”

Jaehyun didn’t speak. He couldn’t. What could he say? She wasn’t wrong. Deep down, he knew the weight of the destruction he’d caused—the violence, the danger he had brought into her life, into her family’s life. But hearing it so plainly, so directly from her mouth... It was suffocating.

Her mother laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "You’re a joke. She’s a pawn in your world now, and don’t you dare try to make me believe otherwise."

Her words were venomous, cutting deep into his soul, ripping away the thin threads of self-worth he had clung to. He wasn’t just a disappointment to her. To her, he was a symbol of everything that could tarnish her family’s reputation—everything that had the potential to tear them apart.

(Y/N) moved to step in, her hand outstretched as if to intervene, but her mother’s cold gaze stopped her in her tracks. "No," she said sharply, her voice filled with finality. "Not this time."

Turning back to Jaehyun, her expression softened only slightly—enough for the raw, trembling hurt in her eyes to seep through. "You’ve done enough. You’ve broken my family. You people have broken him."

Jaehyun swallowed hard, but there was nothing he could say. 

(Y/N)’s mother gave him one last, hateful look before she turned away, dismissing him without a second thought. 

As her mother walked away, Jaehyun stood there, the weight of her words pressing down on him, suffocating him in the silence that followed. His hands were shaking. His mind was reeling. He had known the consequences of his life, but hearing her accuse him, hearing the complete destruction in her voice... that was something he hadn’t prepared for.

He stood there for a long moment, unsure of how to move, unsure of what to do next.

With one last glance toward (Y/N), he turned, walking away without a word, each step feeling like the final severing of a bond he hadn’t even known was important until it was already too late.

His father once told him that life was about the choices you made. But standing there, staring at the cold hospital doors, Jaehyun realized—maybe he had already made his choice.

a/n: NOT PROOFEAD! i would really love if you could gave sum feedback!(specially since english is not my first language, so it makes it a little harder to write).

taglist is open! if you want to be added just lemme know;)

taglist: @spicyryujin @daegalismybiasinnct @peachfulnight @gojoscumslut @bluedbliss @dear-97 @girlwholovespreppyattire @hana-off-icial @cigarettesafterjae @bts-iris @dojaejung @methneo @kriizztin @mrsuhnshine @pieddpiperr @completelyjae @daegalismybiasinnct @kanekisheart (idk why some of the tags just don’t work out!)

Feel free to send any asks here if you want!

[earthlybeam]

Hi, I just recently started rewatching and getting back into the Hobbit and LOTR and I found your blood and I’m in love with it. I love the way you write and how you portray the characters so well. If you’re still writing for LOTR and are accepting requests then could I ask how you think the elves (Legolas, Thranduil, and Elrond plus whoever else you like) would react to an aggressively affectionate reader? Like for example, with cuteness aggression, randomly when the reader sees Legolas and thinks he’s cute, they end up jumping on him and tackling him, possibly squeezing him extremely hard in a hug. The reader’s acts of aggression affection are random and happen whenever and wherever. The reader just loves their elf so much that they cannot control themselves. Please and thank you

Welcome back to the wonderful world of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings! It’s always exciting to revisit Middle-earth, and I’m so glad you’re enjoying it all over again. 🎉 And wow—thank you so much for your kind words! That truly means the world to me. Writing for these characters is such a joy, and knowing that you love how I portray them makes it even more special. 🫶 I absolutely love your idea! The contrast between the elves’ usual grace and composure and a reader who just cannot contain their love is hilarious and adorable. 🤣🤌

Thranduil, Elrond, Legolas and I added Gil-galad all versions below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand halls of Thranduil’s palace shimmered with the golden light of lanterns, their glow casting long, elegant shadows across the polished stone floor. Delicate carvings of twisting vines and woodland creatures adorned the archways, the very walls seeming to hum with ancient whispers of the forest. It was a place of quiet grandeur, of timeless elegance.

And standing near the entrance, draped in robes of deep forest green, was Thranduil—King of the Woodland Realm, ruler of the elves of Mirkwood, a figure of both awe and intimidation. His silver circlet rested regally upon his head, catching the flickering light with an almost ethereal glow. His expression was composed, unreadable, though there was a certain tightness at the corners of his mouth—an unspoken exasperation that only those who truly knew him might recognize.

He should have already been on his way, attending to whatever pressing matter awaited him beyond these halls. He had responsibilities, duties, obligations that demanded his attention. And yet… He could not move.

Because there you were—wrapped around his leg like an overgrown, determined koala, clinging as if your very life depended on it. The long, elegant lines of his robes pooled around you as you anchored yourself to him, arms and legs locked in a vice-like grip. Your cheek was pressed against the fine embroidery of his outer cloak, and from the way you stubbornly tightened your hold, it was clear you had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

Thranduil’s sharp, ice-blue gaze flicked downward, his expression a mask of pure disbelief. “…What,” he intoned, his voice as smooth as polished glass, “do you think you are doing?” You barely lifted your head, merely nuzzling further into the warmth of his robes. “No.” A single, elegant brow arched. “No?” You buried your face fully against the intricate designs woven into his attire, voice muffled but determined. “You’re leaving.”

“I am the King,” he reminded you coolly, the words carrying the weight of centuries of command. “I have responsibilities.”

“I don’t care,” you mumbled. Your grip tightened like a vice. “You’re too pretty to leave.” A long, heavy pause. Somewhere in the vast expanse of the hall, a nearby guard shifted awkwardly, very pointedly averting his gaze, as if pretending he wasn’t witnessing this absurd display. The soft rustle of banners and the faint flickering of candlelight were the only sounds that filled the air.

Thranduil exhaled a slow, suffering breath. By the stars, why were you like this? He could handle many things. He had led his people through war and shadow, navigated the treacherous politics of Middle-earth, survived centuries of rule in a realm beset by growing darkness. He had faced down dragons, battled the forces of Sauron, endured loss and grief that could break lesser beings. But this? This unrelenting, absurd display of affection that completely ignored all notions of decorum, personal space, and reason? He did not know what to do with you. “You will release me at once,” he commanded, his voice edged with warning.

You shook your head. “No.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. Thranduil’s lips pressed into a thin line. He was a king. A ruler of elves. A warrior who had seen battle. And yet he was currently being held hostage by a stubborn, overaffectionate mortal who refused to let go of his leg. “Do you truly intend to remain attached to me like this all day?”

“Yes.” Silence. The faintest flicker of something almost imperceptible crossed his features—something caught between frustration and bewilderment. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if considering his next move. Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. And yet, despite the exasperation curling in his chest, there was something else, something he could not quite name. A warmth. A quiet amusement, buried so deep beneath layers of centuries-old restraint that it barely made itself known. No one had ever dared to cling to him like this. Not as a king. Not as a warrior. Not as Thranduil.

He was Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm. His presence alone was enough to command both awe and fear. Yet you clung to him like he was just… yours. He sighed heavily, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if summoning patience he did not have. And then, without another word, he moved. In one fluid, effortless motion, he bent down, wrapped an arm around your waist, and lifted you clean off the ground. The world tilted. You let out a small yelp as you were suddenly airborne. “Hey—!”

He adjusted you in his arms with practiced ease, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing at all. His grip was firm but careful, one arm secured around your lower back while the other supported you effortlessly. “If you insist on behaving like a child,” he murmured, his tone smooth and unimpressed, “then I shall carry you as one.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned. The sheer ease with which he had lifted you left you momentarily speechless. He didn’t even seem strained. The scent of his robes—fresh pine, autumn leaves, and something distinctly Elven—wrapped around you, grounding you in his presence. For a moment, all you could do was stare. And though his expression remained regal, unreadable, you did not miss the way his grip subtly lingered.

Without another word, he began walking. Through the grand halls, past the ever-watchful eyes of his guards, Thranduil carried you as though you were nothing more than an inconvenient parcel he had been forced to bring along. His posture remained flawless, his pace even, utterly unaffected by your weight. You, however, grinned up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. “See?” you hummed, tilting your head in his arms. “This is nice.” Thranduil did not dignify you with a response. Instead, he merely muttered something in Elvish under his breath—something you suspected was not particularly flattering. But he did not let go.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The Council of Elrond was meant to be a place of solemn discussion, a gathering of minds to determine the fate of Middle-earth. It was a time for wisdom, for deliberation, for diplomacy. It was not meant for this. At the head of the long table, Elrond stood with effortless grace, a pillar of composure and dignity. His robes, flowing and regal, caught the light of the midday sun filtering through the high arched windows of Rivendell’s great hall, the silken fabric shifting with the movement of his breath. His hands, long and elegant, rested lightly upon the polished wood as he spoke, his voice measured, calm, and steady—each word imbued with the weight of centuries.

The gathered council members—elves, dwarves, and men alike—listened intently, their expressions ranging from grave contemplation to hesitant agreement. Some nodded in silent accord, others furrowed their brows as they pondered his wisdom, but all remained enraptured by the Lord of Rivendell’s presence.

His back was turned to you. And you, seated among the others, were watching him—watching the way he carried himself, poised yet powerful, a figure carved from both wisdom and war. He was too graceful, too composed, too breathtaking for his own good. And you loved him. You loved him so much it made something in your chest ache. Which was why, in an act of pure, unfiltered instinct, you launched yourself from your seat and sprinted toward him at full speed.

The world blurred at the edges. There was no room for thought, no space for hesitation—only the singular, all-encompassing need to be close to him. The air rushed past you, the murmuring voices of the council fading into the distance, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the sudden intake of breath from those around you. Elrond, for all his centuries of wisdom and foresight, had precisely half a second to sense the shift in atmosphere before it was too late.

The impact was swift and merciless. Your weight collided into him with full force, your arms locking around his shoulders just as your momentum propelled him forward. A startled inhale—sharp, indignant, and vaguely resembling a half-formed Elvish curse—escaped him as he pitched forward, his long fingers shooting out to brace himself against the council table. The polished wood groaned under the sudden weight of an Elf-lord and his very enthusiastic assailant.

Scrolls tumbled to the floor in an unceremonious cascade of parchment. A goblet tipped onto its side, spilling deep red wine dangerously close to a very alarmed dwarf, who yelped and jerked his legs away just in time. A quill snapped in half beneath an abandoned tome. Someone audibly gasped.

And you? You clung to him like your life depended on it. Elrond exhaled, slowly and deliberately, his forehead lowering to meet the table in what could only be described as the ultimate gesture of long-suffering patience. His back remained straight despite the additional weight, his arms still outstretched in a bracing position, his chest rising and falling in a manner that suggested he was counting to ten in Quenya before deciding how best to proceed.

The council chamber had fallen into absolute silence. Elrond did not move. Neither did you. The only sound was the faint rustling of fabric as you nestled against him, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. A long, long sigh escaped him. “Mellon nín,” he said at last, his voice as even as ever, though beneath it lay a complex weave of emotions—resignation, exasperation, and, buried so deep it was nearly imperceptible, the tiniest sliver of amusement. “Was this absolutely necessary?”

Without lifting your head, you nuzzled into his shoulder, entirely unrepentant. “Yes.” His fingers twitched where they lay upon the table—whether from the urge to pry you off or pull you closer, even he wasn’t entirely sure. A chair scraped against the stone floor as one of the men leaned forward, brow deeply furrowed. “…Is this… normal?” From his seat, Gandalf let out a quiet chuckle, stroking his beard with twinkling amusement. “Ah, young love,” he mused. “Quite… enthusiastic, in this case.”

Elrond closed his eyes briefly, as if beseeching the Valar for strength. He was a Lord of Rivendell. He had led armies into battle, forged alliances with kings, stood against the darkness of Sauron himself. And yet, here he was—bent over a council table, carrying the full weight of someone who had, quite literally, thrown themselves at him in the middle of one of the most important meetings in the history of Middle-earth.

Still pinned beneath you, still braced against the table, Elrond finally turned his head just enough for you to see his face. His expression was unreadable at first—his brows slightly drawn, his lips pressed into a firm line, the very image of composed dignity fraying at the edges. But there, in the smallest crease at the corner of his mouth, was something else.

A smirk. A very small, very restrained smirk. “Are you quite finished?” he murmured, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear. You grinned against his shoulder, squeezing him just a little tighter. “Not even close.” Elrond inhaled deeply through his nose. He did not move. He did not protest. He simply accepted his fate.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The moonlight bathed the clearing in silver, casting an ethereal glow upon Legolas as he stood at the edge of the trees. The gentle night breeze stirred his golden hair, making him look like something out of a dream—untouchable, otherworldly, perfect. His sharp gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, lost in thought, the weight of centuries pressing upon his immortal soul. And then—A blur. A rush of footsteps. A sudden, breathless surge of movement cutting through the quiet of the night.

Before Legolas could fully register what was happening, an impact slammed into him with startling force. Strong arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing with unrelenting affection. His body staggered back under the sheer intensity of it, boots skidding against the soft earth, his normally impeccable balance momentarily thrown off. His hands instinctively caught hold of the figure assaulting him, fingers gripping tightly to steady both of them.

His first thought? An ambush? No—there was no malice, no danger. Only warmth. Only the frantic beating of a heart pressed against his chest, the breathless laughter of the one person in Middle-earth who would dare launch themselves at an Elven warrior in such a reckless manner.

“Mellon nîn—” he exhaled, his voice a mix of bemusement and disbelief. Youonly clung tighter, your face buried against his shoulder, arms locked around his waist in an unbreakable grip. “You’re too pretty,” you mumbled into his tunic, your voice muffled but no less desperate in its declaration. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Legolas blinked, his mind catching up with the absurdity of the situation. Was this… an attack of love? A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, still breathless from the unexpected tackle. “And for this, you choose to strike me down?” he asked, amusement laced in his tone, though his arms had unconsciously wrapped around you in return.

You lifted your head slightly, your eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered adoration. “Yes.” Your answer was simple, as if there was no other possible explanation. “You were standing there looking all beautiful and tragic under the moonlight, and I just—” You squeezed him tighter. “—I just had to do something about it.”

Legolas sighed, though the corners of his lips betrayed him by curving into a small, helpless smile. He was not used to this—this overwhelming, impulsive affection. Elves did not love in such a chaotic manner. Their passion was deep, but it was slow-burning, controlled, and tempered with time. But you… you loved as fiercely as a firestorm, with all the grace of a hurricane, and he—he was powerless against it.

“You are relentless,” he murmured, but there was no reprimand in his voice. Only quiet wonder. “Yes, I am.” You lifted your head fully now, eyes locked onto his, still latched onto him as though you had no intention of ever letting go. “And you’re stuck with me, so get used to it.”

Legolas simply looked at you, his arms still securely wrapped around your waist, his heart doing something strange and unfamiliar in his chest. He had faced countless battles, had stared down creatures of shadow and flame, had fought against the tides of darkness for centuries without flinching— And yet, here, held within your grasp, he felt utterly and completely conquered. “Then I shall endure it,” he murmured at last, his voice soft, reverent. “For as long as you wish it.”

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad sat in his study, his sharp blue eyes scanning the delicate script of an ancient elven manuscript. The flickering candlelight cast golden shadows across his regal features, highlighting the quiet intensity in his expression. His brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, his long fingers resting on the table as he contemplated the wisdom of ages past. His posture was perfect, dignified as always, radiating an air of calm authority.

But none of that mattered to you at this moment. Because as you sat across from him, watching his impossibly noble face, something inside you snapped. He was just too beautiful. Too serious. Too composed. And suddenly, an overwhelming need overtook you—a need so strong it nearly made you dizzy.

You had to squish his face. Before your rational mind could intervene, your hands shot forward, cupping his cheeks in your palms. His skin was smooth and cool beneath your touch, his cheekbones sharp yet softened by your fingers as you squeezed ever so slightly. His lips pursed slightly from the pressure, and his already strong jaw tensed in mild surprise.

Gil-galad froze. His piercing gaze, once lost in deep thought, now locked onto you with quiet disbelief. He did not pull away, did not even attempt to stop you—no, he simply blinked, utterly bewildered by what was happening to his very dignified royal face. “… What is this?” he finally asked, his voice calm but undeniably puzzled.

You barely heard him, too consumed by your own chaotic affection. His skin felt so soft. His cheekbones were so regal. He was like the world’s most serious, most elegant cat, and you could not help but give another gentle squeeze, watching as his expression remained caught between confusion and resigned amusement. “You’re too handsome for your own good,” you declared, your thumbs pressing lightly into the hollows of his cheeks. “It’s unfair. I had to do something about it.”

Gil-galad exhaled slowly, as if trying to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here he was, the High King of the Noldor, a warrior, a strategist, a ruler of Elves—and yet, here you were, treating him like a mischievous house pet in need of affectionate punishment. And the strangest part? He let you.

He did not remove your hands, did not chide you for your impulsiveness. He merely regarded you in silence, his face still gently smushed between your fingers, as if attempting to decipher how he had found himself in such a position. “If you are finished treating my face as though I were some—some petulant kitten…” he murmured, one brow lifting ever so slightly. You grinned, tilting his head slightly from side to side as if testing the optimal level of squish.

“… Not yet,” you admitted cheerfully. Another slow, measured blink. A pause. And then, ever so softly, the barest hint of a sigh—one that, if you listened closely enough, might have concealed a tiny trace of amusement. “Very well,” he relented, his deep voice tinged with something you almost mistook for indulgence. “Do as you must.” And so you did

[icecoldbeauty]

Your friends sound wonderful, happy to hear you've got people like that around for you! I wish I'd been able to be that close to others at my age. I'm thankful to have the friends I do now of course, they all mean a lot to me- but sometimes I just wonder if I might've been happier if I'd had even just one or two friends myself back then- if then I could look back on my childhood with more fondness than I do… I enjoyed my gym challenge and my league days and all, but I try to avoid thinking about anything before then really, because it wasn't good. I usually feel worse after looking back upon those memories than I had beforehand. Maybe it could've been different, but… well, I'd like to think that I still turned out okay enough in the end, and I'm happy with the way I am and people I surround myself with now.

I actually do think becoming famous did a fair bit of good for me as a person, but my goodness that couldn't ever stop me from despising some of the things that come with it- all the reporters and interviewers asking the most ridiculous questions on earth and writing even more ridiculous things about me, people invading my personal space and privacy, getting recognized everywhere, treated like I'm better than everyone else just for existing- I don't miss things like that at all. (Frankly I think I'm too afraid of what it could possibly say to check my own Wikipedia page, and I've now made so much more information public and easily accessible that could be put on there… I do NOT want some of the silly things I've posted to be on an article about me, no thanks, not going to find out if they're there!)

Wait, you're the only one that lives there? I thought my little island of 20 people was abysmal before this, but 'only resident' would top that on list of worst living situations for sure. In general I just think it's nice that someone else actually wants to hear me, haha! Not too many people are really jonesing to listen to a middle-age lady talk about her youth and whatnot. I almost wish I'd had someone willing to listen to me go on about some of these things sooner honestly!

Really, I've already spent so much time regretting that I'd kept it to myself so long- but that was also because I'd already convinced myself it was over, that I'd messed up permanently and would never get to go back or try again… In truth, I think a lot of it was just… me being scared, as silly as it feels to say. But maybe you're right and I should just… at least try. At least let her know while I've still got time to… Perhaps writing to her will be in order after this sends. Ah, crazy to think all I really needed all this time was a chance to talk about it and get a little push! I was really badly stuck in my own head about it all and overthinking it for the longest time, wasn't I? Alas, I always have had an unfortunate penchant for such a thing- and don't oft have someone around to talk me down from it anymore.

I almost wonder if it'd be more efficient for other regions like Kanto to use a similar system… Especially things like a seasonal Gym circuit and this whole endorsement idea, it actually does seem rather smart. Goodness, I'd have loved not having a year-round system when I worked in the League… Loved my job, but doing it almost every day all year is exactly as exhausting as it likely sounds! Also what is with so many world-ending plots happening during League battles?! The fact I've heard more than one instance of this now is insane and honestly almost comical. Are all the criminals plotting specifically to ruin some 12 year olds championship battles for some reason? How else does this happen more than once like that? Also, why are there so many criminals trying to destroy the world to begin with, I swear I've heard of this in every region by now- I'm starting to think that someone trying to commit atrocities and getting stopped by actual children IS a normal Saturday with how many times I've heard it! Insane it is, I'm glad the Indigo league didn't have too many incidents that level of crazy after Giovanni.

Oh yeah wait you're too old to know what inkay games is my bad

Oh, please, I’m only twenty-three.

[ he’s not old. don’t make that mistake again. ]

—💎

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

I've been seeing a trendy tag game on here, which is posting your ten favourite movies as gifs. And since the likelihood of me getting tagged are devastatingly low, I shall just do the game on my own post and tag others in it. Why, cuz it's fun! Anyways, here goes!

In no particular order and probably different to my list of ten movies from a month or so ago:

no pressure tags! @virtie333 @thekenobee @russell-crowe

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[sysig]

He was a human pirate, which you wouldn’t think you’d have to specify and yet (Patreon)

[mel-loly]

Dont mind me:3

I- Tsu.. You didn't need to... But.. Yeah, uh... Thanks..😅💛

(no pressure, but if you can read the tags, I'd be happy! and that doesn't just apply to tsu but to everyone)

[deoidesign]

I have a question, but it may be already have been answered in the story (my brain is just not the best with memory).

Since vampirism symbolises for you chronical illness (which, omg, that is a hot take I've never thought off before and love from now on), does Steve count as chronical ill, too, with the whole halfvampire thing going on? So, would his uncontrollable time jumping each month be a symptom of that chronical illness?

not in the story, no worries! Just a possible interpretation and my personal intent when writing.

As a small aside I personally don't like to think of chronic illness as something that people "count" as, so to speak, it's an extremely personal label and incredibly varied between individuals and as with all disability there is never such thing as hard lines or black and white... but I understand why you worded it that way and I understand what you're asking.

So, yes, Steve is also chronically ill within this framework. The entire comic is sort of shaped around this, to be honest! I mean he canonically has some pretty extreme memory issues... He's also canonically homeless (not that this is an illness but I just mean it's something I think most people forget about him when discussing him). And, yes, his condition is uncontrollable and is severely impacting his ability to live the life he wants to live.

He has just been barely coping up to the point we meet him, and has been very desperate which is what led him to creating that list of deviations. He has periods where his body is out of his control, he is unable to form relationships, he hurts others without meaning or wanting to... Yeah. He's metaphorically relating to a lot of things, really.

So, yknow, you're welcome to interpret him as you'd like! for me I relate a lot with my various issues and conditions and thus that's why I've projected on him the way I have, but of course I would understand entirely different interpretations of what is inherently metaphorical.

[peachznscream]

genunely sometimes do not know how to cope with the world being so cold and bureacratic and people who withold care and essential rights to people over arbitrary rules and money and

[pineapplesagainstpizza]

Okay okay one last thing because it pissed me off.

This whole attitude of framing anxious and cautious women of being hysterical and going "Oh the chances of assault are so slim. I carry a gun so it'll never be me yada yada" will not shield you from assault or harassment. The people that always say this aren't victims; they've never been assaulted, harassed, stalked and followed home. They think that because it never happened to them that its not experienced frequently by other people. It's a take lacking empathy

[imminent-danger-came]

Do you think that -in the inevitable MK vs. his friends confrontation- Mei will accidentally seriously hurt him with the Samadhi fire? 🤔

Since strong emotions can cause it to run haywire, and there is nothing that would make her more afraid than having to fight her best friend.

There is NO way that they are completely done with the Samadhi fire. (Unless she lost it?? Subodhi did say she 'once' wielded it. So not anymore???)

But yeah- I bet it would come back into play during the MK/Mei battle. Especially if LBD mistook MK‘s destiny for her own. (Since that one vision she showed made it look like MK was burning before the world exploded. And she wanted everything he ended up having; the staff, his own powers, the Samadhi fire -indirectly, and well, a new title that implies destruction on a reality shattering scale.)

My view is that post the Embrace Your Destiny special, they resealed the Samadhi Fire (unsure if Mei still has her piece with her or if they successfully resealed it into 3 rings this time). We at the very least know she doesn't have it in s4 (MK has to save her in 4x01, she's worried about losing her sword in 4x05 which she didn't need with the Samadhi Fire in EYD, the Subodhi quote you mentioned). But, I don't think Mei using the Samadhi Fire again is completely out of the question. There are things that have come back that I never expected to be acknowledged again (The 1x01 seal being the same as the 4x01 and 4x14 flower fruit mountain seal was a huge shocker for me).

So the Samadhi Fire coming back into play with the MK/Mei battle? That would work super well! Especially with the way characters tend to reach for power and endanger their loved ones. It's a huge risk to take again, but if they feel they don't have any other choice it's something we know they're willing to resort to.

[caffeinatedopossum]

People actually valuing the things I do is so shocking and heart warming to me. Like I guess my only "skills" (listen I don't have the self esteem to call them skills whole heartedly yet) are things that are often abstract and awkward to put into words. Like I can... talk to.... people? But also I really care and I try to bring as much insight and understanding as I can to a conversation. Sometimes I can be confusing or pedantic because autism but yknow other than that. People have really been vocal about telling me how much they appreciate that about me and its just so strange to me. I can't believe I can be valued for something that I do naturally.