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vxnuslogy · 3 days ago

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— what does it mean to be a star?

pairing: sunday x gn!reader

premise: sunday has stayed with you and the stellaron hunters for a few years. your lives has been filled with many adventures, both good and bad. but like any other story crafted by elio, they must come to an end eventually.

– warnings: slight angst if you squint, implications of committing suicide, not proofread that much.

– author’s note: one final (?) stellaron hunter!sunday fic before he gets released. ive missed writing for this man. art credits to 冒火锅海台 on Weibo for the art. | 1.9k words.

— tags: @ryescapades @mitsvriii @https-sourlimes @dazaisms ; if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know by sending an ask off anon or filling out the forms in my pinned !!!

“what do you think makes a star, a star?”

elio asked you that question decades ago. and only now have you arrived at one final answer. out of curiosity, you asked each hunter the same question over the years that have passed, each of them giving one answer that didn’t quite match the rest.

“to be the top player of course!” silver wolf exclaimed, her tone in a matter of fact manner as she didn’t even look up from her console. you only shook your head in amusement, jotting her answer down in a new journal your boss had given you as a present.

“a star you ask,” kafka tilted her head curiously at you. eyes freed from her usual contacts and makeup followed your movement as you stirred the coffee in your cup. “well, a star for me would be something that captures the attention of others without much effort. stars often piqued your interest, didn’t they?” you only smiled in response and nodded. you made a mental note to write it down later before you went to bed.

firefly took a little longer than the last two to answer. you patiently waited, spooning pieces of cake to your lips as the girl in front of you was deep in thought. “a guide. even in your darkest moment, a star will shine as a guide for you to follow so you don’t stray from your path.” she answered in a whisper. eyes wistful as she played with the dessert on her plate.

“a star,” blade’s gruff voice cut through the night like a knife. a few bottles of local xianzhou wine separating you two as you sat on the roof overlooking the stars above. you hadn’t expected blade of all people to humor your questions, but here you were, grateful in his presence. “it means to burn. so brightly you are unrecognizable, to others and yourself.”

“you have a sad answer,” you mutter, taking a sip of the wine from the small cup as the man huffs.

“time takes a heavy toll for both you and i,” the wind sways his hair in a deathly dance. he brings his cup to his lips and drinks in one go. you don’t mention how you can barely finish a cup with how strong the drink was—blade could not feel the pain of it in his throat, and he never will. “you’ve already burned through the remains of your past self. it won’t be long before you look in the mirror and be unable to recognize your reflection.”

you frown at his response. “you’re pessimistic.”

“and you’re hypocritical.”

you have no rebuttal to his accusation, after all, at the very core of your character, the word “hypocrite” hangs like a thorny crown.

“tell me, starcatcher,” red eyes reflected the conflict you’ve been massing deep within the columns of your bones. they crash onto your being like how the oceans do to the shores—unrelenting and loud. “are you that afraid of losing another that you love them as if tomorrow they’ll die?”

you fled the roof that night. unable to face your hopelessness head on after a fresh wound of death lingers by your heart. another attempt, another reminder of the welling darkness that swells from the tip of your fingers and slowly corrupts your entire body. it drowns you and you can’t help but fear that time is clutching your shoulder, weighing you down to the ocean floor as it laughs at your predicament.

“so it’s decided then.”

but that’s no longer the case. no, not anymore. it's been decades since then, and you’ve changed.

elio sits by his office chair, typewriter moved to the side as he personally penned the final bits of your songbird’s script. you were elio’s editor and proofreader. you don’t exactly remember when it started but when you were still an unwilling understudy—an actor who refused to acknowledge the stage—he would trap you in his office and force you to read over his script to make sure there were no errors.

a small and sad smile tugged at your lips as you read the pages of inked fate. “this is for the best.”

“the best, yes,” elio ceases his writing. compiling the papers into one bulk and staring right at you. “but it's not the ending you wanted.”

you shook your head, “my preferred ending isn’t relevant to how the story ends. it’s not my story to tell.”

“yes, but it's a story you’re meant to read,” there was pity in his eyes. your heart felt too heavy with realization to even feel offended by such a look. “you have the right to feel dissatisfied.”

“thank you, elio, truly,” you only gave destiny’s slave one final smile before standing. you quietly made your way to the door, forcing your steps to sound quiet and lacking sadness. but you can’t do that, you never will. building up walls will only prove to be a waste of effort. not when elio knows every brick by heart.

with a heavy sigh, you linger by the office door before making your way to your workshop. memories from years ago flood your mind as the halls fill your senses. photos from vacation, missions, and simple outings hang by the walls while certain trinkets and relics from bygone travels litter the many desks and drawers. time did take a heavy toll just like blade said. kafka’s skin started to wrinkle a bit, silver wolf started growing taller, firefly grew paler and paler, and blade looked more like death with every breath he took.

time was a painful thing to remember—it’s not infinite. and even if it was, it's never always kind to everyone. and you? you are worse than time and death itself. you were the inevitable–finality.

“good morning, [name].”

a voice from behind greets you like a new sunrise–a reminder that a new day is here. you couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips. seeing sunday in blade’s shirt hang over his body like a blanket, firefly’s hair ties on his wrists and a spare console from silver wolf in one hand brings you so much joy.

“sunday, good morning!” you sounded breathless. tucking both hands behind your back to hide your shaking as he joined you on your way to the workshop he’s made as his makeshift nest.

sunday smiles—filled with all the hope you’ve craved and lost. it stings your heart like a needle but you don’t show it. you’re first to look away, like all the other times in his presence, unable to face the way his wings flutter and smile twitch in concern.

when you reach the workshop, you flicker the lights on and sunday makes himself at home. sitting by the windowsill as you sat down by your table. scattered fabrics for sunday’s final mission lay in your hands, and you’d be damned if you messed up now. even with a heavy heart, you willed your hands to work, all the while ignoring the concerned stare of the angel sunbathing by the window.

the two of you spend the first few hours of morning in each other’s quiet presence before your tongue itches to ask him a question. “sunday,” you call his name and you curse the flutter in your chest when he immediately looks at you. he noticed his overly quick response and covered half of his face with a fist, pretending to hide a cough instead of his coloring cheeks.

“yes?” he asks, attention solely on you as you pin the needle back on the cushion and smooth out any creases.

“what does it mean to be a star?”

he blinked owlishly at your question. a soft hum escaped his lips as his fingers tapped on the rim of his cup in contemplation. “is there…” he tests the waters—seeing if it's too hot or too cold. “any particular occasion for you to ask me a question?”

you shake your head in amusement when his more formal tone slips out. “no, not at all. just a little tradition is all.”

“well, then,” the words die out on his tongue. every once in a while, sunday would peer at you like a lost child but you’d only nod encouragingly. “a star means to be remembered.” he looked out the window, watching the clouds pass by in a blur. “even if they aren’t always there, you know they exist.”

sometimes you wonder if it's possible for sunday to look at himself through the lens of your eyes. he was beautiful like the praise of idrila, happiness like aha’s laughter, and the curiosity for adventure like akivili. sunday wasn’t just a star, he was the entire universe. and he remained blissfully unaware of it.

“[name], is everything all right?”

you’re snapped out of your daze when you feel his hand on your cheek. lost in the replays of sunday’s image in your mind, you didn’t notice the stray tears that had betrayed your image of an unbothered editor.

“please, don’t cry,” he whispers, pressing your foreheads together. his thumb gently wiping away the tears that escaped your eyes. you can’t help but chuckle. sunday truly was like a sponge when it comes to others’ habits.

“what hurts you so?”

“what makes you think i’m hurt?” quite frankly, you were hurt. so incredibly hurt by his eventual departure but your heart knows his stay was only temporary. but that didn’t mean you never hoped.

hoped. over the course of a few years, sunday had succeeded in the mission the other hunters failed at. he made you hope again.

“kafka is cooking everyone’s breakfast. it’ll surely brighten up your mood.” he states taking your hand in his and tugging you in the direction of the dining room and kitchen. sunday maneuvered through the headquarters with such ease your ribs began to clamp on your heart again.

this was his home, his respite. but only for a short time.

when the two of you enter the room, you notice his frown. the emotions of everyone were palpable—it felt suffocating. your eyes met blade and you just smiled. one deep breath in and you snapped back into your joyous self. bringing temporary light to the room.

even as you ate and chatted, there were undertones of sadness. sunday nudged your side and quietly asked you, “are you quite sure everything is alright? everyone seems sad today.”

you look at them one by one. kafka’s eyes are slowly being accompanied by eye bags and wrinkles, silver wolf is nearing blade’s shoulder, firefly looks paler, and blade’s hand shakes as he holds his chopsticks. you look at sunday’s eyes, and smile. even he was a victim of time with the way his hair grew longer and face filled with more life.

“they’re just worried,” you look away first like always. meeting blade’s gaze halfway and smiling to yourself when you see him huff in denial. “your next mission is here.”

what does it mean to be a star? elio asked you that question a long, long time ago. and you only found the answer in the form of an angel with wings behind his ears and eyes that shined like the sun. the star you’ve grown to love burns brighter than the sun but still requires rest when night falls.

to be a star means to be remembered, even in the face of departure. you remain bright and unforgotten. left in the care of a conductor and an express you’ve once loved.

to be a star means to face the inevitable that sunday was meant for greater things than being just a fugitive venturing the universe.

#sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail sunday #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #hsr x you #hsr sunday #sunday x you #sunday imagines #sunday headcanons #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

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keferon · 4 hours ago

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So I had ideas for Mecha Pilot AU while reading some of the things that other people have sent and those ideas turned into this!

Enjoy some Hot Rod shenanigans!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It starts when Hot Rod catches First Aid trying to smuggle a metal sheet out of the base.

Well, no, it really started when the higher ups said that Jazz, allegedly, stole a half put together experimental mech unit. Which, Hot Rod would like to point out, makes absolutely no sense. Jazz is smart. If he was going to steal a mech, he’d wait until it was completely built and fully functional. No, there was something else going on and it had something to do with those strange upgrades that a few of the mechs got. Jazz had taken one look at them and booked it.

Then immediately stole a half made mech that was completely covered in the stuff.

All of this happening after he had been gone for months before mysteriously returning.

Point is there’s something going on and it started with Jazz.

Presently, it has something to do with First Aid and the hunk of metal he’s carting around.

The hunk of metal that looks like that strange upgraded plating.

“Sooo…” Hot Rod says as he looks the other pilot over, “We stealing now?”

“No, I- this is- Vortex is up next for the-.”

“Nah man, you’re fine.” Hot Rod walks over to the back of the cart and places a hand on the metal. “I’m game for whatever we’re doing, I just want to know if we need to be sneaky.”

“It- what? We?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod smiles and tilts his head to the side, like this was a given. “So, we stealing?”

First Aid gives him a look that’s a cross between befuddlement and scrutiny. It’s one he gets often, but the newer pilot seems well practiced with it. A solid eight out of ten honestly.

“This isn’t for profit.” First Aid says slowly. “And this isn’t for me.”

Hot Rod’s smile takes a slightly more feral edge. “Even better.”

_._._

Apparently Jazz has an alien robot boyfriend and the higher ups were using parts of his body for upgrades.

Very morbid, but sadly not surprising.

They need to get as much of the original frame as possible back to Ratchet as that would make repairs easier.

They’ve apparently been getting a lot of the pieces that had already been on other mechs through “collateral damage”.

First Aid had shrugged, “It’s not my fault if an upgraded mech gets between Vortex and a monster.”

The real tricky bits to get were the ones still on base and being tested. Which, for some reason, included an entire oversized thumb.

An oversized thumb he and First Aid are trying to sneak out from under Shockwave’s nose.

“The rest of the hand was in random parts of the base.” Hot Rod mutters. “Why did the thumb need to be in such a secure area?”

“Complain louder. I don’t think the bugs heard you.” First Aid sasses in a hissed whisper.

Hot Rod shivers at the reminder of Shockwave’s “helpers”. Knee high robots with four legs and a hexagonal face. They would’ve been cute had their singular yellow eye not reminded him of the eerie visage that is now the scientist's face. Shockwave used them to help in his work but to also keep an eye on his lab and the surrounding hallways.

“Don’t even go there, Aid. You’ll end up jinxing-.”

His warning is interrupted by a faint skittering from around the next corner.

“Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap.” Hot Rod looks around frantically before shoving himself, First Aid, and the thumb into the nearest door.

It turns out to be a closet. What kind of closet? Hot Rod doesn’t know and he refuses to find out. While it could be a normal supply closet, he’s not taking the chance that it could also be storage for strange and dubiously ethical experiments.

So Hot Rod crams himself into the small space while keeping his eyes entirely focused on the door as he closes it. He and First Aid hold their breaths as the skittering of the bug gets louder, comes right in front of their hiding spot, then continues on without pause.

They both let out sighs of relief and Hot Rod sets his forehead on the door.

First Aid makes an inquiring hum. “There’s a vent in here. Think the thumb would fit?”

“Oh no.” Hot Rod says, face still against the door. “Do you have any idea how loud that would be? We aren’t dragging a large metal thumb through the metal vents and destroying our hearing with the echoing screeches.”

“Well, what do you propose we do then? Take it out the front door?”

_._._

“That never should have worked.”

“You should never underestimate the power of looking like you know what you’re doing while carrying a box.”

“That never should have worked.”

Said large and long box holding the alien robot thumb sat innocently in the back seat of Hot Rod’s truck.

_._._

“We need a movie for Rachet and Drift.”

Ratchet, who is helping Jazz repair Prowl, gives Hot Rod that “befuddled and scrutinizing” look that everyone seems to give him (A definite ten out of ten for Ratchet; truly a professional in giving out looks to others). “What?”

“Well, yeah! We’ve got Ratatouille for Jazz and Prowl. Aid and Vortex got a reverse Ratatouille-.”

“How’d you hear about that?” First Aid demands.

“Tailgate.” Hot Rod answers easily, then turns back to Ratchet to continue his previous thought. “So now we need to think of a movie for you and Drift!”

Ratchet’s eyes narrow in the unspoken promise of bad things to come. “No.”

Hot Rod, being the one who got a mech that catches on fire and made it work, takes Ratchet’s look as a challenge. He snaps his finger and points at the older man “I got it! ‘The Iron Giant’.”

Ratchet scoffs, rolls his eyes, and gets back to working in the alien robot’s arm.

“What?” Jazz protests, while keeping his main focus on the internals of Prowl’s arm, “Iron Giant? Really? That’s a loose connection at best and you know it.”

“Oh? And do you have something better?” Hot Rod playfully challenges.

“Dude, ‘Lilo and Stitch’ is right there.”

“How is that any better than mine?”

“Because War Crimes McGee here,” Jazz gestures to an amused looking Drift before getting back to his work, “is a better fit for Stitch than the Iron Giant any day of the week.”

Jazz may have a point, but while Hot Rod’s mom may have raised a fool, she definitely didn’t raise a quitter.

“So Ratchet here tells Drift all about ohana and kicks off his character arc?”

“Not everything's one to one, Roddy. I’m not using Prowl to become the best chef is Paris. You just don’t want to admit I’m right.”

“I agree with Jazz.” First Aid cuts in.

Hot Rod gives him a mock glare. “You’re just saying that so you won’t have to agree with me.”

First Aid shrugs. “True, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“Children. The lot of you.” Ratchet grumbles.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

And yeah! Ideas was mostly ‘Hey, they could probably have Vortex get pieces of Prowl back since fights like that are bound to be very chaotic and Vortex would have no hang ups about attacking allies every now and then’

It went further as the idea of Hot Rod and First Aid trying to do spy things and be sneaky but somehow succeeding due to Shenanigans was too funny to pass up XD

Loving this AU so far and all the cool stuff people are making for it!

OMG THE CHILDREN ARE STEALING FROM THE BIG CORPORATION IM SO PROUD OF THEM~~

Also the way all these different plot lines are crossing each other and occasionally coming together is just so cool I love it

Like, yeah we have fucked up horror, we have space drama, we have Lilo and Stitch aaaaand we have option to combine them together. Also now there is Shockwave so all the guys have the "free angst" option I gues ahahah

#dude Lilo and Stitch is right there #HELP #YEAH NO THIS ENTIRE AU IS JUST CURSED VERSIONS OF MOVIES WHY NOT HAHA #KFNFBFKGKFNKFF #WONDERFUL #mecha pilot jazz au #tf mecha universe

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gojoswhitebabydolllashes · 2 days ago

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Spongebob me boy😃 we gonna make people cry with this one💪

I was busy grieving and loving.

- a story about the events after you lose jayce and viktor when they sacrifice themselves during the war. -

A/N: This will be heavily poetic and emotional and may contain sensitive topics.

----

It's never been so cold.

So quiet.

A month after the war against viktor's army, piltover and zaun were finally united as one. You're not sure how long it's been since you returned to the university, nor are you sure how long it's been since you've been outside.

The council grows weary of their lives and direction without Jayce, and when they announce that they are losing faith in their will to keep going, you can't help but feel the exact same. You don't know how to help them, and they haven't bothered to ask you to take a position as they know you'll decline immediately.

You have yet to feel the sun on your skin and the feeling emerald grass soft like hair beneath your trembling hands. Silence. That's all there is, is pure, cruel, and violent silence that threatens to crush you as it bloats like a cancerous growth on your soul.

What little will you have left to live like this. Pouring your heart and tears into things that will never be held by their owners again. Gadgets and mechanics that have only ever seen the hands of a nimble, sick man and his broad, cheerful partner. You can't bring yourself to try and work on them. You simply didn't have the guts to finish what they started.

Hours bleed into days, days bleed into weeks. Seconds pass by, and you are still not yet to feign even the smallest of smiles. Some moment after midnight, Caitlyn pays you a visit, but her face reminds you of jayce, and you simply can't bear to look at her.

Your greatest friend. Turnt into your worst nightmare.

When you're truly alone with yourself and are out in a drunken daze staring over the crystalline city that was piltover, you stare at the gun that sits on your desk. Like an evil presence that won't leave you alone, it haunts you. The look of it, the sheen on the metal.

You are forever haunted by the fact that the hextech crystals have been confiscated and destroyed. And so, you may never meet your lovers by such a violent ending.

You were not sure what you were anymore.

Hero?

Villain?

But what hero is designed tragic? And where would a villain be if not out cutting souls with his jagged nail?

Broken, painted fingernails dig crevices into wood when you think about where you're supposed to be, and why haven't you succeeded in completing what everyone asked of you long before the war? Why aren't you on your toes and falling to your hands and knees? Were you broken? No, but you were grieving, and a grieving woman owes no one nothing.

Blood has stained your hands for too long, and you can't wash it off. It never comes off. And you have so desperately tried. Your time has started to be spent in the undercity. Fighting against other fighters, ones who are tall and muscular, massive men and women made of metal and dosed with shimmer.

But it's not about their size. It's that they are fighting someone with nothing to lose. There is nothing more dangerous than a person who has nothing on the line. Vi tries to take care of you, telling you that fighting and getting yourself beat up will change nothing. She knew what it felt like to take your anger out on other people. That you feel like hurting or even killing another person will bring back the one you lost.

But it doesn't.

Sometimes, when you spend a few days staying with caitlyn and vi at the kiramman house, you struggle to accept that your reality may just be that you only have three people left that you love. Ekko, vi and caitlyn are always there for you to lend a helping hand.

And although you don't like how it feels to be near Caitlyn anymore, she has helped you heal the most out of everyone. Caitlyn takes you on walks to places you, Jayce, and viktor used to hang out. She takes you to a cafe in the town square and lets you order the very drink that the three of you shared on your first date.

A strawberry milkshake with whipped cream on the top. It's sweet, tooth achingly so. And the cream is sugary and snowy white. The bright colour of pink reminds you of when jayce would blow into the drink and make sugary sweet bubbles in the pink drink.

It would make you and viktor laugh, and you would put cream on each other's noses and laugh like the world wasn't in pieces.

The next place you go is with vi and ekko, it's to the garden where jayce and viktor first asked you to be their partner. It was a spring day, where floral scents were blowing in the breeze, and the cool air is contrasting the warm sun.

The scenery of bright orange flowers and light green leaves on trees, a pond with mossy rocks and lilypads decorated with a small pink blossom. It looks like when viktor's cane fell into the pond and without hesitation, both you and jayce jumped in to retrieve it.

When you two returned to the surface, sopping wet and covered with green algae. Viktor had no doubt in his mind that he would marry you both one day. Ekko tells you that it's okay if you want to cry and you do. You sit on a rock and feel its bumpy, grey surface under your hand. It's rough and warm from soaking in the sun.

Your tears drip onto the rock, and they, for a second, are there as a wet splatter. But they soon evaporate from the sun, and they are gone as quick as they were there. Watching as the tears disappear, it reminds you that this is a happy place. A place where your soul became intertwined with two scientists.

The last place you go is on your own. It's the room where viktor and jayce first started their research. It's still broken and condemned, and the blueprints on the board are torn and browned. Paper scattered on the floor are stuck from battering rains coming through the hole in the wall. You try to pick one up, and it tears, but it's clear the Ink has stopped bleeding and the writing is incomprehensible but you can tell it was jayce who wrote it by the small j that still barely visible on the corner.

Then again, jayce's writing was always incomprehensible. He didn't need water to make his write all different places. He would write up and down, put lower and capitals in the wrong spots. Viktor and you would find his papers and secretly edit them so that he didn't make a fool of himself infront of the council.

However, viktors was impeccable. He wrote like a poet for a poem about his wife. Always using curls and various big words, his q's always had his signature flick. That's how you knew viktor wrote something. Jayce often took his papers to study.

Looking around the room, you know, for the first time, it doesn't hurt to be here. You're alone in the room where your lovers once stood. Yes, it's painful. Yes, you want to burst through the thick concrete walls and scream while bloody. But for once, you just don't. You can't.

Instead you sit amongst rubble and dust and remember them just how they were.

Cheerful and unapologetically themselves.

#jayvik x reader #jayvik fic #angst #sad #this will give you depression #arcane #arcane fic #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader

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kivishipps · 3 days ago

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x OC fics ≠ x reader fics

Okay guys, I’ve given the gentle reminder as many times as I can without seeming passive aggressive, as a result this is your not-so gentle reminder. Stop tagging your x OC works as x reader for the love of all that is divine. This isn’t a threat, it’s not some long article about how you’re a deadbeat or whatever; The simple fact of the matter is the tagging system was created to help readers find EXACTLY what they are looking for with [relative]ease, and that can’t be if YOU are making them sift through content that has fuck all to do with what they are looking for.

Now there are a couple of assumptions I’ve made seeing some of you guys’ posts. Most of them fall under the writer being insecure and thinking their work will not be seen if they don’t use the x reader tag and I am here to tell you that is simply untrue. I know plenty of people who actively seek out x OC works, and while I am not among them as being called by the name of someone I am obviously not in fiction breaks the immersion for me, this should NOT discourage you from being transparent in your posting.

“It’s called block and move on.” No, it’s called be a good human being and stop evading responsibility for a messy system that doesn’t HAVE to be messy, and thus is so only because you’re making it that way. You are not a singular. There are other people JUST like you doing the same thing further perpetuating the convoluted channels.

Overlooking how self serving it is, it’s also very inconsiderate concerning people that simply struggle to find stories in some already dead or dying fandom. You have no reason to tag it as an x reader unless it is, an x reader.

It’s obnoxious, and frankly, rude.

Again, I’ve given a couple of gentle reminders already but some of you are failing to respond so allow me to put it in words geared more for… I don’t know, hardier audiences I suppose. As always thank you for your time and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful rest of your day[genuine].

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ramblingautisticman · 12 hours ago

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So, I haven't stopped thinking about this post I did talking about Logan being terrified of Wade going quiet because of the whole Stryker-sewing-his-mouth thing, so naturally I wrote a lil angsty thing for it.

(Also posted it to A03 here!)

(Also, @icarusredwings hope you enjoy, cause your little reblog of my post kind of inspired this lol!)

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

It's this constant fear. This constant nagging in the back of his head. Logan can't help it.

Normally, he's fine. Wade is practically talking every minute of every day, but on the rare occasions he doesn't, it catches him out.

Wade doesn't need to know that though. Wade doesn't need to be burdened with more of his own stupid hang ups than he already is. So what if some of his nightmares are more focused on Wade than they are his X-Men? No one but him needs to know that.

Logan just subtly makes sure Wade is fine, reminds himself that "Stryker is dead Peanut, trust me. You made sure of that." and moves on with his day. Mostly. Usually.

And okay, yeah, maybe he should tell Wade. Maybe Wade has a right to know about what happened to the 'other' him. Maybe Logan wants to tell him purely for his own stupid reasons. Maybe he wants Wade to know that Logan won't ever let anyone do that to him. Not this time.

He can't bring himself to tell him though- instead just keeps it buried inside like most of his other trauma- and it works for awhile.

Up until Wade gets a cold and loses his voice.

It's fine. It's totally fine. He is totally fine. Logan definitely hasn't been staring at Wade's mouth just to make sure it's still there. He definitely hasn't woken up terrified and sweating because of the nightmares happening more often. He definitely hasn't had a panic attack because Wade couldn't respond to him. No. Not him. Never.

He could deal with it. Wade was just sick. It was his stupid shitty healing factor working over time to stop the cancer, and as a result he had a cold. It was fine. People got colds. People lost there voice. It wasn't the same. Stryker hadn't done this. He still had his mouth. He could still make noise- hell- he could still speak! It was just alittle croaky and quiet.

Logan knew it really shouldn't get to him this much. After all this time, he should be able to move on from that stupid shit, right? He was over 200 years old, he was grown ass man, he shouldn't be hovering near Wade to make sure he is still breathing out of his mouth. He shouldn't be sitting so close to him on the couch just to hear the tiny mutters he makes. He shouldn't be glaring at his mouth just to make sure he still fucking has one.

He knows this Wade- the Wade that saved him- never went through the Stryker bullshit, and he knows that should comfort him. He knows that should fill him with relief, and in a way it does. It means he never had the one thing he holds so dear taken away from him. It just also means that- that could still happen- couldn't it?

Sure, Stryker was dead, but that didn't mean anything. Laura was still made in a lab and experimented on. Wade was still tortured and traumatised. Just because the guy that started all this shit wasn't around anymore, didn't mean it still didn't happen. Logan couldn't help but think that, any day, someone was going to come and take Wade away. Someone was going to hurt him in a way he wasn't sure he could fix.

Wade wouldn't be Wade without his mouth. He was called 'The Merc With A Mouth' for a reason. Wade's whole thing was talking. He loved making his family laugh and using stupid pet names and telling Logan all about the lore of his favourite show. He loved reading to Al and helping Laura with her drama class. He loved coming up with quick comments and snarky remarks while he killed assholes on missions. Wade just wouldn't be the same if he couldn't talk. Logan knew that all to well- and the though that one day, it might still happen? It just didn't sit right with him.

Even after Wade's healing factor fully kicked back in again. Even after Wade was back to rambling about cartoon dogs and his latest mission. Even after Wade had killed someone with a stupid joke. Even after he started making gross sexual remarks again.

Logan still woke up from nightmares terrified that the Wade he was laying next to had a scar tissue covered mouth. Logan still had panic attacks where the only thing to sooth him would be Wade's soft voice. Logan still subconsciously found himself staring at Wade's mouth- just incase. Logan still hated when Wade was quiet while watching a movie or eating something.

He wasn't sure he would ever get over it. Not fully. He would probably get better with the nightmares, grow used to them in a way he had with the others that frequented his mind, but he would still make sure. Double checking.

He would get used to Wade going quiet when he focused on a show or if he had a mouth full of food, but his eyes would still drift to his lips, making sure they were still there.

He would be okay with Wade sometimes loosing his voice, but it would still send a wave of panic over him. It would still make him lean in alittle closer so he could make sure Wade was breathing through his mouth or muttering something.

Wade would probably never know, Logan would probably never tell him, but he would get better. He would remember that this Wade hadn't been touched by Stryker faster when he woke up. He would settle quicker as Wade mutterd a quiet "I got you baby" as he wrapped an arm around him. He would find comfort in the fact that this Wade- his Wade- would never shut up.

No matter how hard anyone tried.

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #wade wilson #deadpool 3 #deadclaws #deadpool #logan howlett #wade x logan #logan #wade winston wilson

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focusonkayjay · 15 hours ago

Text

between the ride and the roses (6)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 4.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: mature language, mention of injuries and wounds.

A/N: thinking of uploading another story soon and simultaneously updating it with this story. anyways, let me know how this part was <333

part 6: bruises before the blossom

The harsh buzz of the alarm pierces through the silence, dragging Jungkook from a restless, fitful sleep. His head throbs, heavy from the lack of rest, his body aching from tossing and turning all night. The bed feels too cold, too empty, and it’s a reminder of just how miserable he feels.

Even in his sleep, his mind never truly let him escape the images of you... the sound of your voice cracking with anger, the hurt in your eyes, and the way you turned away from him.

He drags himself out of bed, a sigh slipping from his lips as he rubs at his eyes. The entire day ahead seems like a mountain he’s not sure he’s capable of climbing. He’s still trapped in the mess he made.

There’s a weight pressing down on his chest that doesn’t ease, not even when he tries to focus on the simple motions of getting ready. His mind keeps replaying the argument, each harsh word, each painful silence, and his stomach churns with guilt.

The ride to his shop is cold, the morning breeze biting through his jacket. As he rides, all Jungkook can do is replay the mess he’s made in his mind, searching for a way to fix the chaos he’s so recklessly caused.

The hum of the shop’s overhead lights and the scent of motor oil mixed with leather greet Jungkook as he steps into his motorcycle shop, the familiar setting providing a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos inside his mind.

It’s early, and the place is quiet except for the occasional clinking of tools or the sound of an engine being worked on in the back. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it doesn’t help. The weight of yesterday still hangs over him like a dark cloud.

Yoongi’s already there, sipping coffee at the counter, his eyes flicking up when he hears the door open. He raises an eyebrow at Jungkook’s disheveled appearance and his tired eyes. He doesn’t need to ask if something's wrong.... it’s so obvious.

“Wow, you look like shit.” Yoongi comments dryly, leaning back in his seat, the mug still in his hands.

Jungkook drops his bag onto the counter with a heavy sigh. He doesn’t even respond right away, simply running a hand over his face in frustration. The guilt is eating him alive, gnawing at the edges of his every thought.

Jungkook remains silent, pulling up a stool and sitting down beside Yoongi. He leans forward, elbows on the counter, his gaze unfocused. “I screwed up, hyung. I fucking... I fucking messed up.” he starts.

Yoongi furrows his brows, not quite sure where this was coming from but he watches Jungkook carefully for a moment, before placing his mug down and crossing his arms. “What happened?” he questions.

Jungkook swallows hard. “We… we had a fight. Last night... me and Y/n... And... and I...” He pauses, grimacing at the memory of how he’d snapped, how everything spiraled out of control. “

"I didn’t listen. I said things I shouldn’t have, Hyung. Hurtful things. And the worst part, we weren't even alone. People were watching...And now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The way she looked at me when she walked out…” His voice falters, a knot tightening in his throat. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Yoongi’s expression hardens slightly, the disappointment clear in his eyes. “You messed up that bad, huh?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he grips the edge of the counter. “I don’t even know why I acted like that. I just... got so caught up in my own head, I didn’t even think about how she was feeling. And now… she’s pissed. Probably doesn’t want to see me... ever.”

Yoongi exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “Listen, Kook… sometimes you really act like a damn idiot. But come on... you know better than this. She didn’t deserve that. I don’t care how stressed you were, how tired you were… there’s absolutely no excuse for treating anyone like that, especially her.”

Jungkook flinches at the words, but he can’t deny the truth in them. Yoongi’s never been one to sugarcoat things, and right now, his bluntness is exactly what Jungkook needs to hear.

“I know...” Jungkook mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really know. I just… I don’t know what to do next. How do I fix this?”

Yoongi lets out a long, resigned sigh. "I know I helped you out last time, but this time… I’m afraid you’re on your own, Kook. You’ve got to figure this out yourself." He shrugs, not sparing the younger man a single glance.

Even though his words sting, Jungkook knows Yoongi’s right. This time, he has to take responsibility for his actions and find a way to make it right on his own.

The morning stretches on, but Jungkook’s mind is stuck in an endless loop, the weight of his actions from the previous night pressing down on him with an unrelenting heaviness. He keeps glancing over at your shop, the stillness of the street on your side, unsettling, your shop’s "Close" sign glaring in the quiet morning light.

Something’s not right. You’re never late to open. His thoughts spiral, consumed by guilt. Did his words hurt you so much that you’d decided to close for the day? The weight of the uncertainty gnaws at him, each minute dragging him deeper into the pit of regret.

As the clock ticks on and the day wears into afternoon, Jimin and Hoseok finally arrive at the shop, both as lively as always, their energy contrasting sharply with Jungkook’s clouded mood.

They step inside, their footsteps echoing on the concrete floor, but they immediately halt when they see his expression... dark circles under his eyes, shoulders hunched, and the tightness of his jaw.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he watches Jungkook. “What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Hoseok, ever the teasing one, chuckles as he makes his way to the counter, but the moment he catches a glimpse of Jungkook’s face, the humor fades. “Man, what’s with the face? You look like a kicked puppy.” he worries.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet theirs for a moment before they quickly drop again. His heart is too heavy to lift his head properly, too consumed by the thought of you. He can barely form the words, his chest tight with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Finally, he exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sinks onto the stool, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Y/N’s not opening her shop today...” he mutters. Jimin raises both eyebrows, the concern immediately evident on his face. “And that’s got you looking like you’re about to collapse?” he questions.

Jungkook nods, his voice strained as he continues. “I… I messed up last night. Badly. I...” His voice pauses as he struggles to form the words, the guilt threatening to choke him. “I hurt her. I said things I shouldn’t have. And now… she’s not even opening her shop. I think… I think I pushed her too far.”

Hoseok steps forward, his expression hardening as he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “You hurt her? How? What did you do?”

Jungkook’s eyes are glassy, filled with regret. He hesitates, his mind racing back to the argument, to the harsh words he’d thrown at you in the heat of the moment. He swallows hard, before narrating the entire incident from last night.

Both Hoseok and Jimin listen to him intently and Jungkook can't seem to ignore the disappointed look on their faces.

Hoseok, places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You can’t undo what’s been said, but you can make things right. It’s not going to be easy, but you need to give her space. Let her process everything. Don’t push her.” he says.

Jungkook nods slowly, his throat tight. All he can do for now is just wait and see when he's about to be gifted the opportunity to talk to you again and set things right.

You pull the blanket tighter around you, cocooning yourself against the world as you lie in bed. The echoes of last night’s argument reverberate in your mind, pressing down like an unbearable weight. It’s not the anger that lingers... it’s the shame.

The shame of losing control, of letting your emotions boil over in front of him. You hadn’t meant for him to see that part of you... the part you keep carefully hidden, locked away behind walls you’ve spent years building. Now, the memory of it stings, and the question gnaws at you: Will he ever see me the same way again?

Today was supposed to be a normal day. You’d planned to open the shop, lose yourself in the routine of arranging flowers and greeting customers. But the idea of facing the world... facing him...feels unconquerable.

So you stayed in bed, letting time slip by as guilt and self-doubt festered. The shop, your sanctuary of independence, momentarily feels like a burden, a tether pulling you towards a confrontation you’re not ready for.

Your thoughts churn, trying to make sense of everything. The tears, the words you shouted in the heat of the moment... they feel too raw, too exposed. You wish you could take them back, even as a part of you knows they needed to be said. But guilt has a way of distorting things, making you second-guess what was right, what was wrong, and what was simply human.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, Taehyung and Juwon show up, their familiar faces offering a much needed reprieve. They find you exactly where they probably expected... in bed, unmoving, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Taehyung doesn’t ask questions, he simply sits beside you, his hand warm and steady as it rests on your arm. Juwon mirrors his quiet support, settling on your other side, their presence wrapping around you like a shield against your own thoughts.

They don’t press you for answers or force you to recount the night. Instead, they coax you out of bed with gentle persistence, presenting the takeout they’ve brought like a peace offering. Though you can’t bring yourself to talk about the turmoil brewing inside, the quiet comfort of their company begins to lighten the heaviness in your chest.

Taehyung eventually puts on a movie, something lighthearted and familiar. As the scenes play out on the screen, you find your mind wandering to tomorrow.

Closing the shop today might have been necessary, but you can’t keep hiding. There’s a business to run, responsibilities to shoulder... even if the thought of seeing Jungkook again ties your stomach in knots.

The anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface. What he said, what he did... it wasn’t excusable. But a small, stubborn part of you wants to hear his side, to understand why. Will you ask him? Probably not. Not yet.

For now, all you can focus on is how to avoid him tomorrow, how to navigate the day without letting his presence unravel you all over again.

A week passes, and you’ve become somewhat of a pro at ignoring Jungkook. Each time he walks past the shop or lingers in the vicinity, you manage to find something else to focus on, your eyes never straying in his direction.

He doesn’t approach you either, which you figure is his way of giving you space. Though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you’re grateful for the unspoken truce.

The planning meetings for the town fair have stalled, but you push the thought aside, convincing yourself it’s not worth worrying about right now.

It’s Friday evening, and the shop feels unusually quiet. Taehyung had called earlier, practically buzzing with excitement. He’s sold one of his paintings to a famous singer who not only bought the piece but also promoted it on social media. The result?

Tae's art business exploded overnight. To celebrate, he invited you and the rest of the group to a jazz club, and there’s no way you’re missing it.

You decide to close the shop early, flipping the sign on the door with a small thrill of rebellion. The usual routine of tending to customers and tidying up can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you’re determined to let loose.

You brought your outfit with you earlier, knowing you wouldn’t have the time to go all the way back home, just to change and get ready. You head into the storeroom, a quiet hum of anticipation filling the air as you change out of the clothes you're wearing.

The dress you’ve chosen is simple yet striking, a dark, elegant number that hugs your figure perfectly. You smooth it down, catching glimpses of yourself in the small, dusty mirror propped in the corner. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do.

Once dressed, you grab your makeup bag and head to the washroom to finish getting ready. The harsh fluorescent lights are far from flattering, but you lean close to the mirror, carefully applying your eyeliner and adding a touch of highlighter to your cheekbones.

When you finally step back to take in the full picture, you pause, a small smile tugging at your lips. You look... radiant. The shadows that have clung to you all week seem to lift, and for the first time in days, you feel more like yourself. The heaviness that’s been following you takes a backseat, and you let the excitement of the evening take its place.

With one last swipe of lipstick, you grab your clutch and flick off the washroom light. Stepping back into the shop, you take a moment to glance around before locking the door behind you.

The cool evening air greets you as you step outside, a soft breeze carrying the promise of a night to remember. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to look forward to something other than your next obligation.

Tonight, it’s about celebrating Taehyung and, for just a little while, forgetting everything else.

Once you lock the door behind you, you’re ready to leave the day behind and immerse yourself in the celebration waiting for you. But just as you turn to head down the street, you stop in your tracks.

Sitting on the curb a few feet away is a figure so familiar, your heart recognizes him before your eyes fully process it.

Even with his face tilted downward, you know it’s Jungkook. His dark hair falls in loose strands over his forehead, and the slump of his shoulders speaks of exhaustion. He’s completely still, almost like he’s waiting for something... or someone. The sight makes you pause, confusion flickering across your face. What is he doing here, sitting outside on the curb, right outside his shop?

You take a hesitant step closer, the sharp click of your red pumps breaking the silence. The sound alerts him, because his head lifts slowly, and suddenly, his gaze meets yours.

In that instant, it feels like time itself stops. His dark, expressive eyes hold yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to fall away. It’s the first time in what feels like an eternity that you’re truly seeing each other.

You take a sharp breath as your eyes scan his face, and what you see makes your stomach twist. A nasty bruise blooms across his forehead, his split lip is still raw, and the faint trace of dried blood lingers at the corner of his mouth.

He looks like he’s just come out of a fight. Panic rises in your chest, questions swirling in your mind. What happened to him? Who did this? And why is he sitting on the curb like this? You remember he was like this the other night too... the night he snapped at you, the night you snapped at him.

While your mind races, Jungkook sits frozen, too stunned to speak. He’s captivated, his eyes drinking in every detail of you like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you. Your long hair cascades freely down your back, glossy and catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

The sleeveless cherry red satin dress hugs your curves with a perfect balance of elegance and allure, the thigh-high slit teasingly revealing the smooth length of your leg with every subtle shift of your body.

He can’t stop staring, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders, the way your dress glides effortlessly with your movements, and how your red pumps seem like they were made just for this moment. You look breathtaking. Ethereal. He almost forgets the pain in his body, too lost in the sight of you.

“You look…” he begins, but his voice falters. Words seem inadequate for what he wants to say. His throat tightens as he tries again, but nothing comes out. His eyes do all the speaking for him, wide and reverent, as if he’s looking at something impossibly beautiful.

Your heart hammers in your chest, torn between the storm of emotions his presence stirs and the worry that knots your stomach at the sight of his injuries. “Jungkook…” you whisper, your voice soft but tinged with concern. “What happened to you?” you question softly.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on you, as though he’s afraid to look away and break whatever fragile spell this moment holds. But you don’t miss the faint twitch of his lips, like he wants to say something but can’t.

The silence stretches between you, charged and heavy, until finally, you take another step closer, your concern overpowering your hesitation. “Jungkook...” you say again, firmer this time. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you step towards him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. Without a second thought, you crouch down beside him and gently place a hand on his arm, your fingers curling against the fabric of his jacket.

“Come on.” you murmur softly, your worry overpowering the tension that had hung between you for the past week. Jungkook stiffens slightly at your touch, caught completely off guard. He hadn’t expected you to come near him, let alone help him.

But before he can process it, he’s distracted by something entirely different... your scent. It envelops him, warm and sweet, with a faint floral hint that makes his head swim. It’s intoxicating, like you’re some kind of drug, and for a brief moment, he forgets the sting of his bruises.

You carefully pull him up, his weight leaning against you as he stumbles slightly. “Let’s get you inside.” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t protest, letting you guide him towards the entrance of his shop. With one arm wrapped around his waist for support, you open the door and step inside, the small chime above the entrance ringing softly in the quiet.

It’s your first time in Jungkook’s shop, and as you help him inside, your eyes instinctively wander. The space feels intimate, yet rugged, filled with the unmistakable smell of motor oil and leather. Rows of polished helmets and sleek motorcycle parts line the shelves, glinting under the dim, warm lights.

A large workbench sits towards the back, cluttered with tools and blueprints, while a sleek black motorcycle stands proudly in the center of the room, gleaming like it’s just been polished.

For a moment, you’re almost in awe. You’ve passed by his shop countless times, but stepping inside feels like stepping into a part of him you’ve never seen before. Each detail seems to hold a piece of Jungkook... his precision, his passion, his identity.

But while you’re busy taking in the space, Jungkook is busy watching you. He leans slightly against you, his gaze fixed on your face, illuminated softly by the warm light.

The way your eyes dart around, curious and intrigued, makes something stir in his chest. Even now, with everything that’s happened, he can’t believe how stunning you look and how easily you take his breath away.

Finally, you spot a counter against the wall, and with a quiet urgency, you guide him to it. “Sit here.” you say, your voice firm but gentle. He lowers himself onto the stool with a wince, and you step back slightly, taking a proper look at him.

His face is a mess of bruises, and his split lip looks worse under the harsh lighting. The sight makes your chest tighten with worry.

“Look at you...” you murmur, shaking your head. “You’re hurt.” In that moment, it’s as though all the unresolved tension, the arguments, and the awkward silences are erased. The only thing that matters is him and the pain he’s in.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” you ask, your voice steady but laced with concern. Jungkook hesitates for a second, his eyes still glued to you. It’s impossible for him to look away... the way the soft red of your dress clings to you, the shine in your hair, the way you’re moving with such care for him...it’s overwhelming.

Finally, he clears his throat and gestures toward a cabinet near the workbench. “Over there.” he manages to answer, his voice hoarse. You move quickly, locating the box and pulling it out with purpose.

Taehyung’s jazz party, your plans for the night, everything fades from your mind as you return to Jungkook’s side. Setting the first aid kit on the counter, you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze, ready to tend to his wounds.

As you gently dab at the cut on his lip, he flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he watches you intently, his gaze softening with every careful motion you make. The way you focus on him, your brows furrowed in concentration, makes his heart ache in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries.

“Why didn’t you take care of this sooner?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence as you work. You don’t look at him, your focus entirely on cleaning the dried blood from his forehead, but your tone carries a mix of frustration and worry. “You shouldn’t be walking around like this.” you add.

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his lips twitch into a faint, rueful smile. “Didn’t think it mattered.” he mutters, his voice barely audible. You pause at that, your hand stilling for a moment before you continue. “Of course it matters.” you say firmly, your tone soft but resolute. “You matter.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Jungkook feels something warm begin to thaw the cold wall between you.

You want to ask him what happened... why he’s in this state, all battered and bruised, like a fragment of some untold story. But the words falter before they can leave your lips. There’s a hesitation you can’t shake, a fear that prying might break whatever fragile tether still holds the two of you together.

So instead, you focus on the tangible, the here and now, pouring your attention into tending to his wounds while your questions remain locked inside.

For Jungkook, the proximity is intoxicating. Your scent is subtle but distinct, wrapping around him like an embrace, a drug he knows he shouldn’t crave but can’t resist. Every small movement you make draws him in deeper.

The way your long hair cascades over one shoulder, framing your face, the delicate piece of jewelry resting at the hollow of your throat, catching the faint light like a whispered secret. You look like something out of a dream, and he wonders, for the briefest of moments, if this is some cruel trick his mind is playing on him.

“Why are you all dressed up?” The words escape him before he can think them through, his voice low, almost reverent.

You glance at him, your fingers pausing for just a second before resuming their careful work on his bruised knuckles. “My friends and i are going to a Jazz club. Just a small celebration.” There’s no irritation in your tone, no sign that his question was unwelcome. Just calm sincerity, as if speaking to him like this is the most natural thing in the world.

The weight of guilt suddenly bears down on him, sharp and unrelenting. “I’m ruining your plans.” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to the floor, his voice tinged with regret.

You shake your head, an easy, unthinking gesture. “You’re not.” you reply softly. “There’s still time.” The simplicity of your words only deepens the ache inside him. How can you be this kind, this patient, after everything? The warmth of your presence, the gentle tone of your voice... it’s disarming, unraveling the careful composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.

As you place the last bandage on his forehead, smoothing it down with a tender precision, he can’t help but watch you. Every detail, every gesture, is etched into his memory like a masterpiece he’ll never get tired of admiring. And then, as you pull back, your hands brushing against his ever so slightly, something in him snaps.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his hand finds your waist, pulling you closer with a delicate urgency. The motion is fluid, instinctive, and you freeze, startled by the suddenness of it all. Your heart skips a beat, your breath hitching as you find yourself standing between his legs, your hands bracing against his shoulders for balance. His touch is firm but hesitant, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, your voice fragile, barely audible.

He wants to speak, to apologize, to address the distance that’s grown between you, but the words just won’t come out. He’s too distracted by the feel of you so close, by the way your wide eyes meet his with a mix of surprise and something else, something he can't really read.

He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to say something... anything... but the words die before they can form. Instead, his gaze drops to your lips, the space between you charged with an intensity neither of you can ignore.

He drinks in the sight of you... the soft sheen of your skin, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly. He’s utterly lost, caught in the gravity of this moment, and he doesn’t want to be found.

You, too, are caught in the pull, your thoughts hazy and disjointed. Your eyes trace the curve of his lips, lingering on the slight swelling from his injury, and before you know it, you’re leaning in. The distance between you seems to disappear on its own, like some invisible force is drawing you together.

Jungkook’s heart is pounding, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. His mind is a whirlwind, and yet, everything feels perfectly still. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment where everything changes. He’s so close now, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours, and he swears he can feel the faintest ghost of a connection with you.

But then, like a cruel twist of fate, your phone rings. The sound is loud, jarring, shattering the fragile bubble that had enveloped you both.

You jolt, startled as you harshly step back, breaking the connection. Your cheeks flush as you fumble for your phone from your clutch that was placed on the counter, the spell broken but the aftereffects still lingering. “Sorry,” you mumble, your voice shaky as you glance at the screen. It’s Seokjin. Of course, it’s Seokjin.

“Where are you?” his familiar voice, laced with concern comes through the line once you answer.

“I... uh...I’m on my way,” you stammer, trying to steady your voice. “I’ll... I'll be there... I'll be there soon.” You hang up quickly, your hands trembling as you slide your phone back into your clutch. Turning back to Jungkook, you open your mouth to say something, but the words won’t come. Instead, you hold your clutch close, your movements rushed and uncertain.

“I...ummm...I have...I have to go,” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turn and run for the door as your heels click against the floor while your heart pounds against your chest, your mind trying to process what just happened.

Jungkook doesn’t stop you. He stays where he is, leaning against the counter, his hand still tingling from where it had rested on your waist. A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and filled with longing. He can still feel the warmth of your presence, still smell the faint traces of your perfume lingering in the air.

His heart is a riot in his chest, his mind replaying the moment over and over like a movie he can’t turn off. He tries to calm himself down and to make sense of it all, but one thought keeps cutting through the haze. You were there, with him.

And even if it was for a fleeting moment, everything....everything felt right.

taglist: @kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey (if i missed someone, pls lmk !!)

<- part 5 // part 7(coming soon)->

series masterlist

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #bts fic #enemies to lovers #jungkook fanfiction

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twirlyleafs · 7 hours ago

Text

Falling apart, alone.

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: The season has been brutal, everyone could see it. Everyone could see Lando struggling. You could see it too, you just didn’t know how to help him when he so clearly didn’t want your help.

TW: bad mental health, anger, helplessness.

Notes: all I want in life is for Lando to be happy ngl I love that boy. Also sorry max <3 ALSO I got an anonymous tip to add summaries so I’m trying that thank u anon!! xx

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The sun hung low in the sky, illuminating the almost unbelievably blue water and bouncing off the golden cliffs. Your eyes had been caught out the window ever since you got out along the coastline, Lando maneuvering the car along the squiggly road. The blur of golden hues, olive trees and colorful villas had you let out a content sigh.

The break couldn’t have come at a better time. That’s the thought that constantly ran through your mind. This break, a three week break from everything that racing and f1 brought with it, came at the last minute and you couldn’t be more grateful. The season was grueling, both physically and mentally. You’d watched Lando push himself harder than ever, the pride of being on top overshadowed by a desire to do better. You could see how the weight of expectations, both others and his own, dragged him down like an anchor and you felt for him. His smiles had started to falter and the usually bright light in his eyes had been dimmed these past few months, only getting worse with each race weekend. He needed this, time away from the spotlight and the relentless scrutiny from the media. Time to just relax and be reminded that he’s loved, loved and appreciated. Max and P were already waiting for you at the villa you’d rented for the week, a little house tucked into the Italian hills. When Max brought it up as a suggestion you’d immediately accepted, not even giving Lando the chance to decline. Max was his safe space just as much as you were and the more people to support him the better, you thought. You hadn’t told Lando this of course, instead expressing how much you’d always wanted to rent a house on the Italian coast, but some part of you still believed he knew this was mostly for him. For his health.

You glanced over at him in the drivers seat, one hand securely on the steering wheel and the other resting on the console between you. His curls had gotten longer recently, almost dropping down over his eyebrows, and you made a mental note to offer to cut his hair while you were here. If he’d let you. Your heart ached at the tightness of his jaw and you gently reached over to wrap your fingers around his larger ones. Lando immediately glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he flipped his hand to intertwine with yours.

“What?” He asked softly. “Why are you staring?”

“Nothing.” You smiled, leaned over to press a gentle kiss against his shoulder. “I’m just excited. We’re almost there, right?” When Lando nodded you let out a soft breath. “I’m happy we’re doing this. It’s going to be so nice.”

“Me too.” Landos smile had grown, although there was a flicker of something else in his eyes. Something somber. He brought your hand over to press a quick series of kisses against it before focusing back on the road, the silence settling in the car again. Just a few minutes later you rolled to a stop outside the villa, the epitome of picturesque with pale stone walls and green shutters surrounded by cypress trees. The front door opened just as you stepped out of the car, both Max and Pietra slipping out with huge smiles on their faces. You beamed as P skipped down the steps, hurrying over to wrap you up in a hug and greeting you with the type of enthusiasm that made you feel welcome and wanted.

“You’re late.” Max teased loudly as he offered you a hug, P moving to lovingly greet Lando.

“We took the longer route, more scenery.” Lando quipped back, backing away as Max approached him. You stopped to watch them, a smile tugging at your lips when you heard Lando let out a laugh as Max grabbed him in a playful headlock. Maxs laugh was louder, ruffling Landos hair before he finally managed to wrangle himself free. Watching them you felt a flicker off hope. If Max could pull a laugh from Lando after thirty seconds, maybe a week together would really do Lando some good.

The first few days in the villa passed in a haze of slow mornings and lazy afternoons, the four of you enjoying the quiet and each other’s company. Lando and Max made it a routine to take a morning run together while you and P prepared breakfast, all of you eating together on the patio when they got back. The breakfasts usually went on way onto midday, time not really being an issue for any of you. It felt like the rest of the world was on pause and you had all the time in the world. You would catch Lando smiling, the kind that actually reached his eyes and made you believe he might actually be doing better. But those moments didn’t last. It was the small things; the way his gaze would drift during conversations or the way he picked at his own cuticles until he started bleeding. He laughed and joked like normal but there was an edge to it, almost forced, and if you and Max and Pietra hadn’t known him as well as you did you never would’ve noticed. You also noticed how often he’d excuse himself for a few moments, disappearing under the guise of checking emails or answering calls. One evening the four of you were gathered in the living room, Lando absentmindedly rubbing circles on your back as you handed out the cards for the upcoming round of poker. The game started lighthearted enough, Maxs usual trash talk and both you and P calling him out when he tried to cheat. Lando made a rare mistake and before he could think Max called him out for it, teasing him about being off his game. You could see the way Landos jaw tightened, a flicker of something darker flashing across his face before he forced a strained smile. A comment like that was normal, usually nothing anyone reacted to, but it obviously got under his skin tonight and once again the worry settled in your stomach. That night, laying in bed together, you reached out to gently run your fingers through his curls. Lando hummed, opening one eye to glance at you.

”You okay?” The careful question had him pressing his eyes shut again, offering a nod.

”Yeah, of course. Just tired. Are you?” You knew he wasn’t but you didn’t want to push, didn’t know how he’d react, so you just mirrored his nod before shuffling closer. Lando wrapped you up in his arms, pressing a soft kiss against the top of your head.

The days went on like that, a wobbly line between worry and relaxation, until one evening. You and P were already sprawled out on the couch, tucked under a blanket each as you scrolled through the different streaming services.

”Im telling you, the parent trap is a classic.” Pietra declared, reaching over to grab her glass of wine. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

”It’s a classic you’ve already made us watch like three times.” She laughed at that, nudging you back after you softly kicked her. As you continued bickering over the movie for the night low voices could be heard from the kitchen. Max and Lando had been there for a while, preparing the snacks, but from where you sat in the living room you didn’t notice the tension brewing.

Lando stood with his back against the counter, his jaw tight as he watched Max lean against the opposite side of the kitchen island. Max’s brows were furrowed in worry while Landos eyes were dark, angry.

”Im not saying you have to quit.” Max spoke in a low voice, laced with concern. ”I’m just saying, maybe it’s worth it to consider it? Or at least a break, before things get worse.”

”I don’t need a break.” Lando let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head. ”And I’m definitely not quitting. I just need to push through.”

”Push through what? This season? Next? For how long? You’re exhausted Lando, we can all see it. You’re not sleeping, barely eating-”

”You’re exaggerating. Im fine.”

”You’re not!” Max’s voice rose, the frustration he felt breaking through. ”You’re not fine Lan, stop saying that.”

”You’re acting like I’m about to fall apart Max, it’s not that-”

”Not about to.” Max interrupted him, words hard and snappy. ”You are falling apart. I can see it, I know what that looks like. I’ve been there, you know I have. You think I don’t recognize the signs?” Lando visibly stiffened, hands gripping the counter behind him roughly enough to turn his knuckles white. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again, voice laced with venom.

”This isn’t like that Max. It’s not the same.”

”Isn’t it?” His voice cracked slightly as Max stared at his best friend. ”I know it’s hard to admit that you’re struggling Lando, especially when you’re under as much pressure as you are but please, you have to let us help you. If you keep going like this-“

”Just because you couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean I can’t.” The words cut through the room like a knife, Max flinching as if he actually got cut. Silence settled in the kitchen, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant giggles from you and P out in the living room. When Max stayed silent Lando felt the need to speak again, although his words had lost their harshness. ”I’m not you.”

”No, you’re not.” Max nodded, voice steady but clearly hurt. ”But you’re not that different. You’re not invincible Lando and pretending you are…it’s only going to make things worse.”

”I don’t need a lecture. I am fine, even if you don’t believe it. I’m handling it.”

”Handling it? You call this handling it?” Landos face flushed as Max raised his voice again. ”Snapping at me, shutting out your girlfriend, acting like you don’t have a care in the world-”

”You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lando interrupted, his own voice getting louder too.  ”I know exactly what I’m talking about!” Max shot back, his frustration spilling over. ”I’ve fucking been where you are, I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t afford to stop, like the weight of it all is going to crush you if you admit you need help but come on Lando, snap the fuck out of it. This, what you’re doing now, its self-destruction.” The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. For a moment Landos expression faltered, the anger on his face shifting into somethings else, maybe fear, but just as quickly he masked it again. With a shake of his head he turned his gaze away, crossing his arms over his chest. Max realized he wouldn’t be able to break through Landos walls, not tonight, and with a resigned sigh he stepped back. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but shook his head instead before walking out. Both yours and Pietras heads snapped up as he walked past the living room, having heard the last couple of sentences exchanged between the two men. When Max’s gaze found your worried one he simply shrugged his shoulders.

”What-” you began, not finding the words.

”I don’t know. I tried, I really did but he doesn’t want help.”

When you slowly entered the kitchen a few minutes later Lando was still standing tensely, bracing himself against the counter. He didn’t look up when you entered and the tension radiating of him was almost scary. When you softly spoke his name, taking a step closer, he flinched.

”Don’t.” His voice was sharp enough to make you pause. Swallowing harshly you forced yourself to stay calm, your voice to stay soft.

”I just want to talk.”

”Well I don’t.” He finally lifted his face, glaring at you. The anger in his eyes should’ve made you back down but the unshed tears glossing them had your heart aching instead. ”I don’t need you telling me what to do too.”

”No one is trying to tell you what to do Lando. We’re just worried about you, you’re not doing well-”

”Worried about me. Right. What did Max say to you? That I’m losing it? That I need to quit?”

”No,” you argued, frowning. ”No Max didn’t say anything to me but we’ve all seen you these past months, not to talk about these last days. We’re all-”

”Worried! Yeah I fucking get it.” Your eyes widened as he raised his voice, not being used to him speaking to you like this. ”You’re all looking at me like I’m fucking crazy but I’m not. I don’t need your help, I don’t want your help, so just fuck off for a while and let me deal with it.” You stared at him, heart slowly cracking open. He was unraveling infront of you and you didn’t know what to do, how to help him, and you felt like the worst girlfriend in the world. The worst friend. His words stung, sure, but you didn’t really have time to think about how he hurt you when all you could think about was getting through to him.

”I just want you to be okay, Lando.” Your words were mere whispers, broken by the amount of concern and sadness you felt. Landos eyes flickered away, the veins in his neck popping as he clenched his jaw. For a moment you had hope he might say something, anything, but he stayed silent. You felt your throat tighten, the tears pressing behind your eyes, and you realized you didn’t have anything else to say. Nothing that he would listen to anyway. Instead you whispered how much you loved him before turning and walking away. The living room felt colder when you returned, the sympathetic expression on Pietras face as you sunk down in the couch enough for the tears to start flowing. As you curled up against P your thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess. You felt helpless, as if no matter how hard you tried it was never enough to reach him. He was slipping further and further away and you didn’t know how to pull him back. Maybe it wasn’t just him, you thought, maybe it was you. You replayed the moment in the kitchen, voice soft as you tried to get through to him only for his anger to snap back at you. You’d never seen him like that, so defensive, and it had left you shaken. But more than that, it left you questioning yourself. How could you stand there and call yourself his girlfriend when you couldn’t even get him to listen to you? What were you doing wrong? You wanted to be his anchor, his support, the person who helped him shoulder the weight he carried. But right now, it felt like everything you did only pushed him further away. Now, with P’s arms around you, unsuccessfully shielding you from the cold reality of the evening, you couldn’t stop the creeping sense of failure.

”I don’t know what to do.” You whispered, shoulders shaking with sobs. Pietra and Max exchanged glances over your head, somber expressions on their faces. Neither did they.

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elkian · 16 hours ago

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More about GGG's finale and core plot (that is, BIG SPOILERS BELOW)

One recurring trend is loneliness. King's actions help connect people, and our protagonist continues in her footsteps, but the loneliness of the characters who play antagonists is especially notable.

The God Awards (which I've mentioned before, the whimsy of them made me totally blip over the red flags and implications) mention Inspekta doing everything for them. What would they be without him, Capochin asks?

"Lonely!"

Inspekta gathered the lonely hearts together. Gave them purpose. Gave them a charismatic leader to follow.

Saul is one of the most antagonistic non-Bizzy humans, and a recurring refrain in Milldread is how lonely everyone is. How gatherings are now somehow either discouraged or outright illegal (hmm, wonder whose idea that was). In fact, most of the Milldread citizens only have good or at least compassionate things to say about him.

(Sometimes I feel like the antagonists are shown a little much compassion given the way this plot goes, but it is also important to remember that deprogramming cultists etc. is based around showing compassion and reminding them that the world is not innately hostile to them. And there's only so much a single game can say in the span of a few hours, so, like, I get it.)

In fact, you have to insult Saul twice to progress in Milldread. How do you do this?

One, you get a dog to make a dog noise, and Saul loses it and comes over to harass the dog (and fail).

Two, after this point, he'll say that he "hates that shaggy little man". This is the line you need to give Budd to progress. When he asks for an insult levied at Saul, you can travel the town... and find that everyone has good things to say about him. He's misled, he's actually very sweet, his friends miss him.

It's very telling that the only way to effectively insult Saul to Budd is to use his own words to do it. Even writing this, I realize that this also implies a bit of a persecution complex with Saul - the people around him don't hate him, or even think he's particularly incompetent. They're worried about him. They understand that he's stressed. He was lead astray by a bad element but he snaps out of it (with help) in time to rejoin his community.

And speaking of throwing words back in faces...

Capochin shows a pretty regular skill for recognizing voices when you fling words at him - it's funny, because a lot of people in this game don't, so he's an outlier and that's amusing. In the battle against him, it means you have to work around him - you can't use his own words against him directly.

Instead, you put words in "Inspekta"'s mouth and bring that to Capo.

He shows an awareness, to a level, that this isn't really Inspekta talking. But this realization is a long time coming, and he can't repress it anymore. He can't deny reality when it's thrown in his face, when he's all alone, when nobody wants to work with him anymore. When even his god is only using him, spending more time with the Godpoke, leading him astray.

The Bizzyboys (and Hector; Yugo Limbo said that all of them come from Drain, hence them looking alike(?) ) evoke a very specific type of person, to me: the incel. Or at least, something adjacent. They're all referred to as "he" as Bizzys (I'm of a mind that Bizzyboys are all he/him while Bizzy, as, like, an honorary gender, mostly because it's just a silly idea; though in retrospect it also meshes with the enforced similarity situation). They're all lonely. They've banded together under a mutual purpose, but they don't really support each other.

And when they start to, between Hobbyhoo and BuzzHuzz? When they begin to collaborate, talk about taking a break from all this fash shit "investigating"?

Capochin shuts them down. Hard.

And Patty says he's scared of Capochin, but the other Bizzies say he would never hurt any of them. But when Capochin blows his top, all of them get really timid.

Capochin not getting involved in the violence until there's literally no one else to hide behind is so cliche that it almost just seems like a joke, until I took in the rest of the story.

Playing this game makes me think a lot of Fallout: New Vegas, a game where you can also destroy fascism and avert a cataclysm as a vaquero-themed courier.

One thing that becomes achingly clear in FNV is how the Legion is a cult of personality: it's not just the Legion, it's Caesar's Legion. Legate Lanius is terrifying, yes, but nobody talks about him as a leader so much as a warrior. Once Caesar dies, it seems obvious to me that the entire thing is going to crumple like a house of cards. Caesar didn't leave any backup plans, any true heirs, because the whole thing was his vanity project. There's no point to the Legion without Caesar, and he never once considered that there should be.

Inspekta and the Bizzyboys work very similarly. The whimsy and goofiness of the setting, which we also see in Smile For Me, lead me to miss some major red flags (I am also just. very dense.), which is a known problem in real fascism - the use of cutesy facades to cast absurdity on any claims of propaganda.

Anyways. My point is that the Bizzyboys seem at first to be a group, but are really more underlings in a cult of personality. Everything falls apart when faith in the system - in Capochin, in Inspekta - is lost. And Capochin is the Joshua Graham to Inspekta's Caesar; both of them culpable, both of them seeming in charge, with Capochin primed to take the fall as soon as things go wrong. But he volunteered for that! He wanted to be Inspekta's #1! The right-hand chump! The prime goon! He's getting everything he ever worked for, so don't question the system, Capo, because that's the same as doubting Inspekta. And doubting Inspekta means you're not a good Bizzyboy. Means you're ungrateful. Means that maybe what you have should go to someone who'll appreciate it.

They literally have their names stripped away - and I think the constant belittling and name-withholding of Patty, who genuinely displays real competence and intelligence at points if you pay attention, is a deliberate ploy. You don't want to be like P. You don't want to be a failure. Look at you, earning your letters! You almost have a full name! Not like that loser at the bottom of the barrel. You're a real winner, here.

And you, P? You need to try harder. Look how Alexei has his whole name back for doing hardly anything! How can you fail to get even a single letter back, compared to him? When Patty asks for his name back in Milldread, Capochin mentions solving mysteries - mysteries of "what does Capochin want for lunch", etc. It's silly, but it's also sinister. It's the most overtly self-centered bit of Bizzy lore we get for maybe the whole game. Capochin outright says he comes first and we laugh because of the delivery.

(The videos are fantastic, because they really set up the reveal in a lot of both subtle and unsubtle ways. Even the very first video, where Capochin insults Patty for asking a scripted question, before moving into the answer, is foreshadowing for the constant emotional abuse all of the Bizzys and Patty in particular are subjected to. There's probably much more I'm forgetting.)

Under the whimsy and humor of the game is a very real statement about cults and fascism and the kinds of people they recruit, and how they do it. They amplify the concerns of the disenfranchised and alone, people who have difficulty connecting with a community. They give those people somewhere to belong, ideals to uphold, and targets to gang up on.

Anyways. Good game.

#elk text #ggg spoilers #bolded for readability i hope #ggg p #bizzyboy p #and all the rest #i am not an expert this is just my personal take #great god grove #im not gonna call this an analysis bc i think that's overselling it but it's... close?

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crystaljelly64 · 3 days ago

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It’s that time of the year again, travelers of the night, that we bring you another month of prompts for Moon KnightCember! 🌙✨ This list contains a variety of words we had saved when making last year’s list, as well as a few new ones to add to the winter themes! This time, it’s a smaller, more spaced out list that gives you some time between each prompt :)

Just like last year, this list is for all forms of Moon Knight, as well as all kinds of fan work, from writing to illustration to craft and more! When participating, use the tag #MKCember2024 and tag me!

Make sure to read the additional slides to get more info on some of our prompts 💜 I hope you all enjoy, and happy creating!!

Shoutout to @tiptapricot for helping me with ID description, as well as fellow friends who gave feedback and helped me polish up this list! :D

Basic IDs in ALT and full image descriptions, including written out prompt list, are below!

ID:

Slide 1: A stylized prompt list for Moon Knight-Cember, a Moon Knight themed prompt list for the month of December. The list is drawn to look as if it’s a price sheet on a snowy taxi cab window. The prompts read:

December 1st: Tire Tracks, December 4th: Luna Llena, December 7th: Window Pain (pain spelled as in painful), December 10th: Ijo de ken sos tu? December 13th: SnowsCape (the C in the middle of the word is capitalized to emphasize Cape), December 16th: Relic, December 19th: Fuchsia Scarf, December 22nd: Tide, December 25th: Craters, December 28th: Bimuelos, December 31st: Wrapped Up Tight.

Details in the rest of the image include a moon sticker by the left of the title, a sticker for Gena’s Diner, The Other Place, on the other side of the title, and a “My Rules” list seemingly written by Jake Lockley. The rules are in all caps and scrawled to the side of the prompts. They read: No smokin’, no eatin’ or drinkin’, feet stay on floor. A note at the bottom reads: O me voy a golpear tu cara!!

Slide 2: A version of the prompt list image with no added snow effects for easier legibility.

Slide 3: The same taxi window sign graphic as before, this time with definitions and explanations. The text reads:

Luna Llena: Spanish for “full moon.”

Ijo de ken sos tu?: Ladino for “You are the child of whom?”; the Sephardic version of playing Jewish geography, asking where one grew up to find mutual Jewish connections.

Bimuelos: fritter-like treat that’s often had in Sephardic homes during Hanukkah.

Slide 4: The same taxi cab graphic from before with reminders. The text reads: Reminder! This prompt list, as well as our previous one, are made to focus on different aspects of Moon Knight, including their Jewishness, and for the show versions, their Latino heritage. To be respectful and aware, we ask that you leave Christmas for other projects, and let our lists recognize other ways people enjoy December (smiley emoticon). /end ID

#moon knight #moon knight art #moon knight fanart #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #khonshu #art prompt #art prompt list #art challenge

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nekrosmos · 10 hours ago

Note

questions about nikolai and price (originally from an ask meme about original characters but i wanna hear your thoughts):

what do they want to hear?

what do they need to hear?

what do they dread to hear?

Thank you for the ask !! I honestly struggled with the answers, I'm not the best at deep character introspection so this really had me scratching my head. I hope what I came up with makes sense !

What do they want to hear?

Nikolai: "I trust you."

Nik is intimidating, isn't he ? Intelligent, strong, well-connected Nikolai. People know that. It usually takes only a half a second glance to know that you do not want to be on this man's bad side. He's used to it, really. But how many times as he entered a room only to see people shift uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of his presence? He makes people uneasy, whether he wants it or not. It's fine when he's on an op and needs to be menacing, but it gets old quickly when he just wants to relax, sometimes.

He's trustworthy, despite his shady dealings, he's loyal. Thankfully, a handful of people know that.

Price: "You made a difference"

Yes, his hands got bloody, but it was all worth it in the end, right? He saved people by pulling the trigger when it needed to be done. No hesitation, it's what the world needs. So what if he can't sleep at night and his file is covered in black ? He made a difference, the rest, he can live with.

What do they need to hear?

Nikolai: "You need to think of yourself, too."

Nikolai puts others first, this has always been true. He likes to help out, likes to feel useful, ready to answer a call. Loyal to a fault, devoted to his friends. But when was the last time Nik put his needs as a top priority ? Has he ever done that ? He has no trouble flying to the other of the planet at a moment's notice if someone asks him to. How many nights of sleep has he missed because someone needed a hand? How much time has he spent fixing up his helo because it got banged up the last time a friend needed transport in hostile territory ? It's always others first, never himself, and he needs to be reminded of that.

Price: "You matter."

It's easy to forget that you're someone when you've been used as a weapon since you were 16. You forget that you have a purpose outside of your work, too. You forget you're a human first, with needs and wants and desires. You are Captain John Price, but you are also just John Price, and he matters too.

When he comes home for a break, what does he see outside of blank walls and a barely lived in house he never really took the time to make his ? It's temporary, he thinks, he doesn't really live here.

Maybe John needs to be reminded that he exists outside of his work.

What do they dread to hear?

Nikolai: "You don't belong here."

From either side. I think Nik feels strongly about his relationship with his home country, how he's been working against it and how his actions might be perceived by his countrymen. I think he's scared of losing this part of himself, and being rejected, even though all he's done was in the name of his country.

And then on the other side, Nik knows he stands out, knows people see him as a "could have so easily been the enemy" kind of guy. People like him, sure, but how many, aside from Kate, John and Gaz actually trust him ? Everyone else sees him as useful, but ultimately, they still look at him with a suspicious eye.

Where is home for Nikolai, really ?

Price: "You failed them"

Losing people, he's used to it. It never gets easier though, does it? Men and women under his command, people he's known for years, people who trusted him, friends. But, there is something entirely different between losing someone when you did everything you could have done and it was the way it was supposed to go, and losing someone because of your mistake. He failed them, he knows that, and it haunts him.

#cod #john price #cod nikolai #does it make sense ? I hope it makes sense VHJSIOVJHSV #Feeling like I'm not smart enough for this kind of deep character thoughts y'all LMAO #it makes sense in my head at least so huh work #funny that Price and Nik have a similar -ish kind of answer for what they need to hear huh #anyway I tried to answer this without thinking of their ship #thank you so much for the ask <33 it really made me think #nekro yapping

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augustameretrix · 3 days ago

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you know what i kinda do like the "i'm the dirt under your fingernails" image on its own and had it been deployed in an overall clearer and cohesive script for caitvi in s2 i would have absolutely loved it

some dont like it because it implies vi is a mere stain on caits person, evoking her own experience in regards to the dehumanization zaunites are systemically subject to in order to prop up top siders. on the other hand ive seen other people who, like me, like the line say: "oh its not that. what it means is that not only is vi going to be there whenever cait will do the good but hard work ("blisters and bedrock") but that by always being there shes putting an onus on cait to show up and actually do it". and while i dont disagree with literally any of that, i also dont think that cancels out the first, more literal interpretation of the line, but i kinda like that?

because as sad as it is, vi has made service and self-deprecation her lifestyle - her circumstances may have beaten it into her, but she has fully accepted it and embodied it. moreover shes shown to be perfectly aware of the deep-seated power imbalances between piltover and zaun as well as how that affects her relationship to cait (s1 act 1 and s1 act 3; s2 act 1 respectively - how id LOVED to see a proper argument between them in s2 act 2 or 3 goddammit): since nothing on that front has been dealt with because of the convenient noxus invasion/glorious evolution double whammy which once again resulted in zaunites being used as cannon fodder in exchange for one (1) lousy seat at the city council vi has no reason to pretend like things aren't the way they've always been. the disparity - both in the city and in her and caits entaglement - is still there, and vi is saying "the inequality it's there and it's fine that it is there for now because you are going to fix it with me" (implying vi will never let cait pull the kind of shit she pulled in s2 act 2 again i wish they'd spelled... something! out).

so it is kinda both the meanings at the same time there: cait has a moral and political duty to get her hands dirty and the dirt is vi because as a child of zaun she is what cait works on and for. moreover vi is caits reminder of what she shoots for, her other, better eye if you will. cait does what she does because she freely chooses to do it, and she has the power and resources to put to good use. vi's sense of duty on the other hand comes from her and her family's lived experience, and long before meeting cait (s1 act 1) she had decided to be the good use. now she gets to be it with cait, and it is absolutely grueling work. they both know it, that's why cait asks vi if she's still in it, and after a moment's consideration vi can't help but smile, and there's a bit of bitterness and a bit of almost content resignation in it. so cait, who came in looking for reassurance, now makes room for vi to snuggle under her chin: reassurance she got, but in that subsequent close-up, among all the things she could be possibly thinking, there might be - finally - the realization of what all of it has cost vi.

again i wished the caivi and class inequality storylines had been handled more and more carefully in s2, but even when it's not at its best there's lot to say about arcane...

#i hope this makes some sort of sense #arcane #arcane season 2 #caitvi #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman

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grimmsbride · 5 hours ago

Text

LOVERS ROCK [ daisuke / reader ]

keeping your relationship a secret from your coworkers was no doubt; thrilling. and also, very, very challenging. it didn’t help the two of you just loved to push your limits

notes / #bringbackdryhumping | reader is the same janitor reader in my previous fic (obviously). i got this idea randomly, daisuke seems like the type to take his partner to scenic places for dates. and well.. the nighttime screen is about as scenic as it gets on the tulpar. i hope you enjoy and as usual please excuse any grammar mistakes or typos 🫶🏾. i feel i made him very ooc, i’m used to see daisuke smut being quite submissive to the reader so i wanted to go a different approach.. i think in situations like this he may be a little more confident, especially if his partner is reciprocating to the feeling. if you have any thoughts on the manner let me know <3

The Tulpar was filled with mundane tasks. Wake up, clean, eat, shower, and go back to sleep— a routine that’s been ingrained into your body. A continuous cycle that would have bored you to death without your beloved music. You were grateful for your position, no matter how minuscule, yet you couldn’t deny the wish for something more.

And luckily it came true; in the form of a young man nonetheless.

You weren’t one to mix business and pleasure, it just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. Coming across Tulpar and the demographic you expected to be on the ship — older people that certainly weren’t your type — you were quite confident you wouldn’t go against your usual code. But alas, you surprised yourself while falling for a certain intern.

As bright eyed and slightly clueless he was, Daisuke was a pocket of sunshine you’ve come to truly adore. Always there when he can be, even if it means a quick kiss when you’re cleaning or a gentle pinch when passing by to remind you of who was in your corner.

Keeping your growing relationship a secret from your coworkers was troublesome but extremely necessary. You couldn’t imagine the expressions the others would display, especially Jimmy who just seemed to be far too eager to stomp on just about anyone's happiness; no matter the size.

Still, you couldn’t deny how thrilling it was at times. Pulling your partner into a quiet dark corner for a few extra kisses, or the secret looks the two of you gave each when in a public setting. The line was thinning longer and longer, close calls increasing as time passed.

And yet here you were, seated upon the living room couch; waiting for your beloved Daisuke.

Usually if the two of you wanted alone time when everyone was asleep you alternated between your bedrooms. At least there, there was a door and bed. But for some reason, Daisuke was adamant on spending some time out here; underneath the pretty nighttime screen.

Your eyes stared up at the blues and whites, head leaning back against the shoulder of the couch as music poured into your ears. Your thumb traced the little device, perfectly at ease.

That was until something delicately traced the back of your neck.

You swallowed a yelp, quickly turning with a jump to glare at the one responsible— who only grinned back at you.

“Daisuke! What if I had yelled?”

You stood up from the couch, watching the man walk around the before waltzing down the little steps. Within two strides he was standing in front of you, glancing down at you with the sweetest smile.

“But you didn't!” Daisuke chuckled the moment you lightly shoved his chest, catching your wrist in time before you could move it away. In doing so, he locked your fingers whilst his free hand went for the earbud occupying one of your ears. Pulling it out, the man then lifted it to his own, bringing himself closer to your form.

You met him, unoccupied hand sliding up to wrap your arm around his waist, laying your head against his chest. Between the melody of his heart beat and Tv Girl running through your ears, you were at complete bliss. As if you could fall asleep right then and there.

The two of you swayed, allowing yourselves to get caught up in each other rather than your surroundings. You felt his free hand sneak underneath your arm, pulling it higher until your hand was on top of his shoulder. After which, Daisuke’s hand found your waist, tugging you even closer and actually adding moves to your swaying.

You snorted softly, mumbling softly about him being corny to which the man only laughed. Silence continued after as the two of you danced slowly, carefully, as to hopefully not alert the others of your rather embarrassing nightly activities.

A step, another, and then a graceful stride. You wondered if Daisuke danced a lot back home. The thought caused you to laugh once again, just in time for your lover to twirl you.

Slithering his arm tighter around your waist, he pulled your back to his front, face being shoved into your neck.

Your eyes peeled open, staring up at the nighttime screen that stared back at you. “Dancing under the stars, huh?..”

“A perfect date.”

You smiled at his words, hand rose to reach back and lightly fuss with his hair. “Yeah, all girls love dancing at work while watching a blown up image of a fake sky.”

Daisuke laughed into your ear, the pitch perfectly going along with the music you shared.

“I told my dad I knew what the ladies wanted.”

You groaned softly, teetering between amusement and playful annoyance. You turned around in his hold, hands rising to hold his warm cheeks.

“You’re corny..”

Daisuke smiled, thumb tracing the small of your back, messing with the fabric of the top you wore. “And lucky for me, you’re into it.” You didn’t need to agree nor deny, given the sweet kiss you pressed to his lips was answer enough. He kneeled to meet you fully, tugging you so close as if wishing to melt into you. Your noses brushed against each other, cold tips warming as you consumed one another. You loved kissing Daisuke, not just because he was your boyfriend but more-so cause he was a damned good kisser.

His lips always moved so slow at first, before slowly picking up the longer you continued. A hand rose from your back to instead cup the back of your head, a shiver running down your spine the moment his fingers traced up your scalp; messing in your hair.

So desperate.. you two always were. The thought of any interruptions spurred you on to always savor each and every moment with as much as passion as possible.

And it seemed the both of you intended to do just that, as — ever so carefully — Daisuke walked backwards, leading you with him. Once close enough he was descending to the couch, taking you with him by the waist and pulling you onto his lap.

The two of you broke apart for a moment, gulping up the air around you greedily before smashing your lips together with even more vigor. Your hands were clutching his shoulders at this point, suddenly being reminded Daisuke wasn’t just some clueless man.

You shivered as you felt his hand glide, intruding your top to lay his fingers upon your warm skin. With each interlock of your tongues his fingers were digging into your flesh, a soft whine being pushed from his throat into your mouth. The sound alone caused your thighs to clench, moving carefully in his lap.

Which of course, was met with a hiss and a quick squeeze. You questioned this for a moment, before quickly realizing why it happened in the first place.

This only caused you to smile against him, lowering your hips fully before dragging them against him slowly.

Daisuke was off your lips in minutes, hands falling to your waist as a hushed groan escaped his bruised lips.

“Here?..” The man spoke gently, eyes flicking from between your bodies before back to your face. His eyebrows furrowed as you continued your languid drags, biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You nodded slowly, leaning closer to press your lips to his ear. “Mhm.. here.”

“Then.. I want to feel— more. Please.” His words were sweet, allowing them to settle in the air for a moment before his fingers were curling to tug at your pants, allowing you to get the message. You stood up rather quickly, pushing your pants down and off, the bottoms pooling at your ankles.

You watched as Daisuke did the same, now only in plain boxers, a funny contrast to the gaudy everyday shirt he usually wore.

Stepping out of your pants, you caught his hands as you made your way back to his lap, brushing your clothed cunt right against his growing bulge as you sat down. It was your time to whine as you felt him through your thin fabrics, Daisuke capturing your lips rather quickly afterwards.

Slowly, you began that same languid pace, gripping his shoulders for stability as you dragged your hips back and forth.. back and forth. His nails were digging into your thighs, meeting your movement with a small, desperate thrust. Moans passed between the two of you, warmth, and music mixing into a sensation that you could only describe as euphoria.

Dramatic sure, but what else could you call it, exactly?

“Could come.. ju—just from this.” Daisuke mumbled the moment the two of you broke apart for air, his face falling to your neck to stamp wet kisses to your skin. He was gentle not to focus too much on a single area, worrying about leaving behind a mark. Though, it seemed rather contradictory given the location the two of you chose for your.. fun.

You were aching, panties surely soaked with arousal as that itch grew. You could only pant in his ear, unsure how exactly this felt so good. Maybe it was pent up, a mixture of stress and the misfortune of lack of alone time. Regardless, it wasn’t your job to figure it out at the moment.

The only job you had right now was to continue to chase this feeling, for as long as you could.

Daisuke pulled you closer if humanly possible, hips rising up from the couch as he ground up into you. He wasn’t lying early, despite zero actual contact he could feel himself twitching— begging for release. The effect you had on him was far too great, after all.

Desperate breaths escaped you, thighs shaky yet yearning for more. His touch, everything, you wanted to feel it all. Your fingers rose to curl into his hair, leaning into his ear as the softest more, dropped from your tongue.

Your words spurred him, fingers squeezing your flesh, nails tracing against those pretty marks that lined your hips.

“You want more?.. Of course, whatever you want.”

Daisuke could never deny you, no matter how small the request was. In minutes he was tugging his boxers down to his thighs, hand lazily dragging across his length. It was a pretty color, lighter than him, with a mole on the under side of his shaft.

The man then reached with his other hand to curl his finger on your panty, tugging it to the side and exposing your soft cunt to his hand. For a moment his finger gently circled your hardened bud, enjoy the pleasant noises you struggled to keep down.

But soon enough he was becoming as desperate as you, helping you position carefully, rubbing his weeping tip against your clit. Daisuke hissed, continuing to coat his dick in your arousal before finding your entrance, lining up, and raising his hips to push himself inside.

The both of you groaned, your eyes pinched closed as you sunk down. Your walls wrapped around his length perfectly, swallowing him up and keeping him deep inside. With each breath you released you clenched, causing the young man under you to struggle to keep his mind straight. Daisuke couldn’t help being so inexperienced, and well.. neither could you, given you felt a single movement would be enough to push you over the edge.

Your eyes slowly opened, gaze falling to his face, taking the time to map out his expression. Would it be corny to call him beautiful? Was it corny to find your lover beautiful in a such state? Under your mercy, as close as biologically possible? Maybe.. but you didn’t dwell on it long, instead deciding to graze your palms across his cheeks, thumbs coming to trace the moles on either side.

“I love you.”

Your words were earnest, laced with the sweetest honey. You smiled, watching his own signature smile cross his face, perfectly. Like any other time.

Daisuke pulled you even closer, a grip to your thigh as he leaned to just a breath’s away.

“See. Now you’re the corny one.”

Your lover swallowed the pretty laughter threatening to leave your chest, all smiles as his arms wrapped around your waist. Once tucked close and snug, his hips, the small thrust enough for the both of you to sigh into the other’s mouth.

Soon enough your knees were pressing against the cushions, hips rising and falling into his lap. With each drop, wet skin smacked against each other, certainly a worrying sound but the two of you seemed to no longer care.

You were too caught up in each other anyway.

Your fingers curled into his silky locks, crying out into his mouth as he stirred you up deeply. His length hit each spot perfectly, a mold made specifically for you. And what’s more, the moment a hand snaked under your skirt to drag his thumb across your nipple— you began to see stars.

Daisuke groaned into you, meeting each drop of your hips with desperate thrusts. You felt so good, way too good. He tried to keep his voice down as to avoid alerting the others, and hear you. You just sounded far too good to ignore.

Your shaky breaths, the way your voice pitched whenever his tip brushed against that special spot — don’t even get him started on the gasps you made when Daisuke went, just a little too deep. Alas he couldn’t focus on the growing list of reasons for his obsession you; bringing you complete pleasure was the main objective.

“You’re clenching me.. you’re going to come, aren’t you?” Daisuke drawled against your lips, pressing a kiss to them before dragging his own over to your ear. Each pant and groan hit it directly, the man at this point helping you rise and fall upon his cock.

“I want you to finish.. all over me.”

“Daisuke—!”

“Not so loud..” The intern spoke in a soft rasp, squeezing you close as his end grew closer. “I don’t need the others to hear you like this. It’s on—only for me, yeah?”

You shook your head rapidly, lip nearly bleeding from how hard you were biting down, your fingers digging into his shoulders— sure to leaves marks despite the shirt he wore.

Within moments you were seeing white, clutching him as you fulfilled his wish. Your arousal coated his dick and thighs, making a sticky mess that was surely on the couch by now.

Daisuke swore under his breath, bringing you onto his lap in one final thrust before filling you up. Luckily he remembered you took the pill as to regulate your period.

The two of you panted, in sync with each other and the music that seemed to still be blasting in your ears. How exactly your earbuds sustained that erratic movement, you will never know nor question.

You pulled back to glance at Daisuke, spotting the man already looking at you, smiling brightly.

You rolled your eyes, glancing down at the space between your two bodies.

“This is going to be so annoying to clean.”

Daisuke stifled his laughter, pulling you into a tight hug, eyes shining whilst he stared up at the screen;

“Maybe… I love you too, [Name].”

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phone4pills · 11 hours ago

Note

Can robot Chris fight? Like what if nerd reader and him go on a late night McDonald's run and on the way back they encounter sketchy people. Like can he defend them?

I've been obsessed with robot Chris omggg. Also, like ik it's about a girl but still I get this song in my head for robot Chris

https://open.spotify.com/track/3FtYbEfBqAlGO46NUDQSAt?si=37ec643a7a0e4798

I listened to the song, it really takes me to robot!Chris and nerd!Reader dancing in the kitchen half way through making cookies or treats together. like this song comes on and they just get lost in time. he probably calls you his ‘electric girl’. also why does it remind of me of New Person, Same Old Mistakes by Tame Impala? idk

robot!Chris doesn’t like to fight but he knows how to deter a threat

fries. nothing brought temporary relief to your aching muscles and overcrowded mind like the savoury smell of the thin cut potatoes. you were glad Chris was willing to drive you guys to McDonald’s at such a late time, usually he’d be fast asleep in your bed with his head on your thighs.

you were on your way back to the car, as the drive thru had shut and there was no other way to order but in-restaurant, when two sketchy looking guys approached you. they had full black on and seemed like they’d been in the parking lot for a while. “scuse me miss, mind helping me out? and you sir. got an important parcel in the back of the car and we can’t get the boot to open.

Chris raised an eyebrow, not even turning to you, only placing a hand around you arm with a strong grip. he shook his head. “we’re sort of in a hurry to go somewhere. barely had to time to stop here for a snack.” the men glanced at each other, and one reached out a hand, placing it on your shoulder. you shuddered at the feel of his nails digging into the bare skin that was revealed by your tank top.

“it’ll only take a minute. you can wait in the car if you’re so inclined to leave.” your breaths became almost sharp as the situation thickened. Chris however, was not having another second of it. “it’ll take a minute for you to get out of our faces. I’d get to it if I were you.”

when the men realised they weren’t going to crack you guys, they hunched over and snuck away. understanding how shaken you were, Chris pulled you into his side. his warm hand made contact with the light bruising on your shoulder, causing you to hiss. he apologised, but kept his hand there. and you were glad he did because the warm of his hand surprisingly soothed the pain in time.

the two of you drove home and you couldn’t fall asleep again. so he turned on the TV and picked a random movie so the two of you could watch it. sort of. because really, it played in the background while you made out.

#phone4pills #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #ʀᴏʙᴏᴛ!ᴄʜʀɪs #chris sturniolo angst #profoundbreadzombie

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slowcatsisland · 1 day ago

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I love your Post about Laws ideal type. 💯😍Do you see him more with a boy or girl?

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A/N: omg I love this question sm bc regardless of what points I say it’s ambiguous and up to the audience’s interpretation and ultimately Oda’s however I seriously doubt Law would have a significant other in the canon timeline. Ty Ty for asking I had a ton of fun writing this out!

- I’m not religious and haven’t read the Bible so don’t attack me if I say smth improper about any of the sects of Christianity bc I’m using my preconceived and second hand knowledge abt it. if u think of smth pls comment and share ur thoughts w me I would love to be educated by another further respectfully ^^

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Trafalgar D. Water Law; Boy or Girl SO Preference?

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If you look at Flevance, they resemble a typical small Christian community, even if it isn’t explicitly stated. There were religious crosses, nuns, churches. There was most definitely a theme in Flevance’s religion about hope and the good in others, as the nun that Law sees says smth like, “There’s always a hand to help you.”

Flevance also had a high status of wealth (the whole diamond scheme) and the average cost of living/luxury of the average person was reasonably high. There vastly majority of the couple in Flevance were also probably traditionally monogamous, with one man and one woman.

I think if Law had grown up in Flevance his romantic interests would solely be focused on a female partner bc that would be the socially acceptable way and he wouldn’t view males in the perspective of a potential suitor. (Idk if this is recent interpretations of the Bible or not but it’s realistic to say that there would be stigmatism surrounding same sex couples in Flevance as most traditional believers of Christianity view same sex romantic relationships as ‘wrong ish’. At least where I live..)

However, the destruction of Flevance brought change to Law’s character and perception of love. Because of this and his loss of faith from this experience, I think adult pirate Law would be more willing to engage in a same sex relationship. (Would actually be a good writing moment made by Oda if it did happen imo but I digress)

I don’t ship LawLu, but I think Luffy is a real example of the type of person that could help Law heal and has aspects of what Law would need in a relationship. LawLu is good on a companionship/spiritual level imo but sexually/potentially romantically I do not see it at all being reciprocated by either Law or Luffy.

Just the fact someone like Luffy exists that had met Law is a good argument for Law being with a male, just not Luffy specifically.

Law’s significant other to me represents stability, safety, and humanity. This can manifest in people differently though so I don’t see him looking for something based on physicality.

Because of that I don’t see Law in canon having a preference between boy or girl for a partner. Perhaps a leaning towards female because that’s the traditional way of his hometown and in the One Piece world it seems like.

He’d need someone emotionally before he’d need them sexually imo, so if he found someone that worked for him and he was ready, that’s it no matter the gender.

Sexually he would probably be more attracted to females, and a lot of times sexual tension is mistaken for romantic tension but I don’t see Law acting upon either.

Hate to leave this discussion without giving u a definite answer anon but I just don’t think there is a definite answer yk.

My personal preference tho is him with a female because I see him falling for someone with a strong maternal presence. Yk little instincts and gestures they do towards him and the crew that sometimes make them sigh ‘okay mom’ while drawing out the ‘o’ in mom. Someone that reminds him of the feeling of safety and peace he felt as a kid in Flevance where his body wasn’t so tense all the time.

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Hope u liked reading this and it helped u form ur own opinion on who you prefer Law with !

Mwah 😽

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luxheroica · 1 day ago

Text

under your tree (3/3)

Part 3/3 - Ekko, ???, and the tree. An epilogue

Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed along the way, thank you for allowing me to express how much I love these two characters.

Part 1

Part 2

Also on AO3

---

How he drags himself back up after the memorial, Ekko will never quite be sure.

The Firelights need him. Zaun needs him, now more than ever, and after everything he gave his promise. It’s harder than it ever was before, to get back up and keep at it. His fight was always about making the city better for his people– and now there are so few of them left.

But he’s damned if he’s going to just give up.

I’ve never seen you give up on anything, Ekko.

He wanders until he’s at the tree. The leaves are green and vital, the arcane spillover that was slowly poisoning the ancient tree gone with Viktor’s final sacrifice. The Firelights still call it their home– only it is no longer a closely guarded secret. Any who wish to come can, and there they can find a meal and a warm drink and a place to mourn their dead and a warm hand to hold.

“How did you do it?” he’d asked that other-Vander, on one of his few-and-far-between breaks from building the Z-Drive. “How did you unify Zaun? With all the warring factions and everyone out for themselves…”

And Vander had smiled and said, “Mostly, some cussed good luck. But I’ll tell you what, it started with building a community right here– and then fighting for it.”

And Ekko is trying to build a community where he is. Some days it’s harder than others.

There isn't any space left on the wall to depict those they’ve lost along the way, and he doesn't even know all their faces to draw them anyways.

He easily finds the drawings that Jinx made, with their neon bright colors standing out from all the rest. He traces the paint with his hands.

After the battle was over he looked for her. He found Vi instead, broken and grieving. Her reaction told him all he needed to know.

How many times do I have to lose you?

He still remembers the time they spent together. Too short, and an eternity all at once. It hadn’t been easy– her pain had come spilling out of her in explosive ways, and his caution had time to rear its ugly head– but in those scant days they had found a kind of equilibrium between them. Working on turning her lab into a flying weapon of war, intertwining their ideas together until at last they had something that might turn the tide of Ambessa’s ambition. In the quiet moments, Ekko dying her hair and Jinx altering his clothes (which didn't always remain on), and kissing her until they were both breathless.

It reminded him sometimes, of that other Powder in the other universe. Building something together, something that would help the world.

And now she is dead.

He traces the lines of her drawing with his fingers. Misses her.

Then he starts to paint. There is no space on the wall and so he covers the lines of Powder's portrait with Jinx. Changing her hair, updating her eyes, turning her at last into an older version of herself.

At last his hands are covered in blue paint, but there she is– immortalized on the wall. Another one of his ghosts.

“You really think I'm dead, huh?”

Ekko whirls around. The figure coming towards him is wrapped in a cloak. She walks with a limp and her face is scarred. There is still a trace of telltale blue peeking out from underneath her hood.

“Wha–how–?”

He stares dumbfounded as she takes down her hood. She is unmistakably Jinx. There is a wide burn scar across half her face, but still she grins and she is as wild and as vital as ever.

“Miss me?”

Ekko rushes forward. Envelops her in a crushing hug. She nearly buckles under his weight. “Easy there tiger–” she starts to say, and then he kisses her. She relaxes into the kiss.

Ekko pulls back, not quite sure if she's real… but she is. He cradles her face between his hands. “How are you–?”

“Alive? Blast knocked me clear,” Jinx explains succinctly. “Then I think one of those hexgate things activated and I got tossed halfway to Kumangra. It’s been a wild ride getting back, believe me.”

Ekko laughs. It bubbles up out of him, unable to be suppressed. He’s just… happy. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

“Someday, maybe.” And her tone isn’t like he’s ever heard it, not for years. It’s far off and quiet.

Ekko takes her hand in his. Holds it tight. Holds onto her.

“Have you told Vi?” he asks. “That you’re alive?”

She shakes her head. And from the set of her mouth– wistful, resigned– he knows that she doesn’t plan to.

“Jinx is dead, remember?” she gestures up to the portrait he’s just finished painting for her. “It’s better for her– better for everyone– if she stays that way. If she remembers me as the sister who saved her, maybe she can finally let me go. But, I wanted you to know.”

She turns towards him, and her expression is fond and faraway.

Ekko understands in that moment that she’s not staying. He twines his fingers tighter with hers, like he might hold her here by the strength of his will alone. But holding onto her is light holding onto an explosion– the tighter you try, the more it will hurt.

He relaxes his grip, and her fingers slip from his.

“When am I gonna stop losing you?”

His voice is choked.

She smiles, leans forward and kisses the bridge of his nose. “Hey,” she says. “If you keep losing me, I guess that means I always come back, right?”

He smiles slowly. Her fingers find his and they gently twine together. Not clutching or holding tight just touching. For this moment and this moment alone.

“Like a lucky penny.”

She laughs. Looks up, and her face is dappled with golden light. “Or a tree, that just keeps coming back.”

“Where are you gonna go?”

She cocks her head. Shrugs her shoulders. He thinks, she has finally shed the weight of everything weighing her down. “No clue. Somewhere far away. Someplace that’s never heard of Piltover or Zaun or any of this.”

“I want to ask to come with you,” Ekko admits.

Jinx smiles. She understands him, maybe better than anyone else ever has. “But you won’t. Cause you’re the Boy Savior, and this place needs you.”

Zaun and Piltover are to be one city. A common enemy has forged them into one being. Sevika apparently got herself a place on the council. He hopes it will stick. But he knows that their problems aren’t so easily solved, and old hatreds have a way of rearing their ugly heads, and without some threat breathing down their necks people will remember the old ways of power and privilege. In the meantime, somebody’s got to be here to build something worth hanging onto.

“You could do a lot of good here,” Ekko offers.

Jinx’s answering look is wistful and sad. “I think I would have liked that– just building things with you.”

Ekko nods. It hurts, right in that place to the left of his ribcage, but it’s a different kind of ache from before. This, he thinks, is more manageable. She laces her fingers between his and kisses him slowly and deliberately and he knows it is goodbye. Ekko savors the taste of her, presses back into her, making sure she won’t forget him.

Then she pulls away. Untangles their fingers. She takes two steps away and hops off the platform, and Ekko remains at the tree watching her go. She wanders off, still dappled by that sunlight, light as the wind.

Sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind.

What’s one more goodbye?

He isn’t expecting her to turn back, to look over her shoulder at him.

“Five years,” Jinx calls. Ekko raises his eyebrows at her. “Give me five years– to get my head on straight, to see the world, to figure out who I’m gonna be next. If you’re here in five years– meet me here.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ekko shouts back. “Shine the place up nicely for you!”

“You’d better!”

She throws a peace sign over her eye. Grins.

And then she is gone.

Ekko waits for a long time. Leans against the wall and watches the patterns of green-and-gold light from the leaves of the tree. Then at last he looks up at her portrait on the wall and sighs. Smiles.

“Well, time to get to it.”

---

True to her word, she comes back. True to his word, he is waiting.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #timebomb #my writing #jinxekko #ekkojinx #ekko x jinx #ekko arcane

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