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playboysaleen · 28 days ago

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Through Ash and Iron (3)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Just keep letting me cook ok?

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

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

Word Count: 4.4k

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

_________________________

Sevika pushed open the door to Jinx’s lair with more force than usual, the heavy thud echoing in the dimly lit space. Jinx sat cross-legged on her worktable, absently tinkering with a small device, her purple eyes glowing faintly in the shadows.

“Got news,” Sevika said, her voice unusually strained as she moved deeper into the room.

“Unless it’s about the moon exploding or Enforcers turning into frogs, I don’t care,” Jinx muttered, not looking up.

Sevika didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she paced, her metal arm twitching slightly. When Jinx finally glanced up, she frowned at the tension rolling off the older woman.

“It’s about Isha,” Sevika said, her voice low.

Jinx froze, her hands stilling on the device. Her eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

“She’s been taken. The Enforcers got her during the rally.”

Jinx’s face hardened, her fingers curling tightly around the small contraption in her hands. “And you just let them take her?”

“Wasn’t a matter of letting them, Jinx. It was chaos,” Sevika snapped, then sighed heavily. “But there’s more. A lot more.”

Sevika moved toward the balcony, nodding for Jinx to follow. With a huff of annoyance, Jinx slipped off the table, trailing after her. Stepping outside, Sevika leaned against the railing, nodding toward the empty courtyard below.

“Down there,” Sevika began, her eyes narrowing. “She’s been at it for the last twenty minutes.”

Jinx followed her gaze to see you in the courtyard, the remnants of your rage etched into the ground. Shattered crates and barrels littered the space, and you were pacing furiously, shouting into the void. With a guttural scream, you grabbed a heavy metal pipe from the ground and hurled it across the yard like it weighed nothing, the force causing it to embed itself into a distant wall.

“Damn,” Jinx muttered, her brows lifting.

“She went feral during the rally,” Sevika said, her tone grave. “I’m talking tearing through Embessa’s most advanced Enforcers. She ripped the armor off one like it was paper, Jinx. She’s got strength I’ve never seen—speed, too. But it wasn’t just that.” Sevika turned to face Jinx fully. “Her eyes. They sparked. Purple. Like—”

“Shimmer,” Jinx finished, her voice quiet but sharp.

Sevika nodded. “She’s got control… mostly. But when she loses it, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. She’s a weapon, Jinx. A dangerous one. But right now, she’s losing it, and if we don’t get her calmed down, someone else is gonna try and stop her—and we know how that ends.”

Jinx’s gaze lingered on you, something flickering in her expression—curiosity, concern, and something deeper she couldn’t quite name. “That’s her,” Jinx murmured, almost to herself.

Sevika frowned. “Her who?”

Jinx leaned on the railing, watching as you threw another heavy object clear across the courtyard with a shout. “The one I saw. She’s the key, Sevika.”

“The key to what?” Sevika asked, skeptical.

Jinx didn’t answer. Instead, her lips twisted into a smirk that didn’t quite hide her unease. “Doesn’t matter. She’s ours now. We’ll figure it out.”

Sevika glanced at her sideways. “Okay, great. But how exactly do we calm her down? Look at her.”

As if on cue, an unlucky soldier who had wandered into the courtyard to reason with you ended up hurtling through the air, slamming into the wall beside Jinx. The soldier slid down with a groan, leaving a visible dent in the concrete.

Jinx didn’t flinch, though her eyes flicked back to you. She sighed dramatically. “Guess it’s my turn.”

Sevika raised a brow. “You sure about that? She might throw you next.”

Jinx shrugged, already heading for the staircase. “I’m good at dodging.”

When she reached the courtyard, you were pacing, your fists clenching and unclenching as your breath came in ragged gasps. Your eyes flashed purple again, and Jinx felt her stomach twist. Still, she kept her usual banter in place.

“Y’know, if you keep throwing things, there’s not gonna be much left of this place. And I just cleaned up,” she teased, her voice light.

You didn’t respond, barely even acknowledging her. She stopped a few feet away, tilting her head as she watched you.

“Hey,” she tried again, her tone softening just slightly. “Look at me.”

Still nothing. Jinx hesitated, her fingers twitching before she finally stepped forward, grabbing your face with both hands.

You froze at the sudden contact, your wide eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, neither of you moved. Jinx’s breath caught in her throat as she stared into your eyes, the faint purple spark flickering like lightning in a storm.

Déjà vu washed over her, an overwhelming sense of familiarity she couldn’t place. Her grip on your face tightened slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s you…”

Your eyes flickered back to their normal gray, and your expression crumpled. The rage drained from you all at once, replaced by a deep, aching guilt. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save Isha.”

Jinx stared at you, stunned by the vulnerability in your voice. Her hands slipped from your face, and before she could think better of it, she pulled you into a tight hug.

You stiffened in her arms, the gesture so unexpected it left you speechless. Jinx swallowed hard, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she whispered, “We’re gonna get her back. All of us. You hear me?”

You nodded against her shoulder, the faintest tremor in your movements. For once, you didn’t have a sarcastic comeback, just a quiet, shaky breath as the weight of her words settled over you.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Jinx tinkered with her weapons at her workbench, the steady clink and scrape of metal echoing in her lair. Across the room, you stood silently in front of Isha’s pillow fort, the light from her colored lamps casting a soft, almost melancholic glow over your face. Jinx watched you out of the corner of her eye, her hands slowing on the tools.

You leaned down, pulling off your long-sleeve shirt, revealing the toned muscles of your arms and back. Tattoos, intricate and vibrant, ran along your skin, telling stories of battles, losses, and survival. You stood in just a black muscle shirt, your chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths as you stared at the fort.

“What did you mean?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Jinx looked up, confused. “Mean about what?”

“What you said out there. About it being me,” you clarified, your voice steady but low.

Jinx froze for a moment, her tools hovering mid-air. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, her mind flickering with flashes of a distant past. A kid. A memory she couldn’t fully grasp.

“It’s… nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Just… a feeling.”

You turned away from the fort and approached her workbench, your sharp eyes scanning the arsenal. She held out a rifle to you, but you waved it off with a small shake of your head. Instead, your attention fell on a set of knives, their blades painted with vivid, chaotic colors.

“These’ll do,” you muttered, grabbing them and securing them in your belt. You pulled a black bandana from your pocket and tied it around your neck, adjusting it to hide the tattoos along your throat.

You turned back to Jinx, your expression calm but determined. “Let’s go save the kid,” you said simply, your voice carrying a cool confidence that made her pause.

Jinx blinked, momentarily stunned by the weight of your words and the effortless power in your demeanor. She swallowed, trying to mask the strange feeling bubbling in her chest, but the voices in her head were already stirring.

“Look at her… she’s too strong for you.”

“You’re getting soft, Jinx. Don’t let her change you.”

“She’s doing it already—you feel it, don’t you?”

Jinx clenched her fists, her breathing quickening. She slammed her tools onto the bench, her knuckles whitening.

“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes darting nervously.

“She’s not like the others.”

“You’re changing, Powder. And it’s because of her.”

The voices swirled, and for a moment, Jinx’s head throbbed with the chaos. Then, a new voice, softer and steadier, broke through the din.

“She’s helping you, Jinx. She’s pulling you back.”

Jinx’s eyes widened, and her breathing hitched. She looked up just as you paused at the door, your hand on the frame. You glanced back at her, your gray eyes calm but piercing.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice cutting through the noise in her head like a blade.

The voices fell silent, replaced by an eerie calm. Jinx blinked, her lips quirking into her usual smirk to hide the vulnerability that had threatened to surface. “You’re really bossy, y’know that?” she teased, grabbing her gear.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” you shot back, your tone light but edged with sincerity.

Jinx chuckled as she moved to join you, her usual bravado settling back into place. “Let’s see if you can keep up,” she quipped, brushing past you.

Together, you descended the stairs, where Sevika was waiting with her arms crossed. Her mechanical arm whirred faintly as she raised an unimpressed brow at the two of you.

“Finally,” Sevika muttered, eyeing you both. “We’ve got a port waiting. Let’s move.”

The three of you headed out into the depths of the Undercity, weaving through the dark alleys and tunnels toward the transportation point. The faint hum of the city buzzed in the background, a stark contrast to the tense silence that hung between you all.

Jinx fell into step beside you, her teasing mask slipping just enough for a flicker of something softer to show through. You caught her glance but didn’t comment, the quiet resolve in your expression saying everything that needed to be said.

For the first time in a long time, Jinx felt a sliver of certainty—a steadying presence in the chaos. It was unnerving, but she couldn’t deny it. Something about you was different, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if that scared her or gave her hope.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Caitlyn sat on the floor of her quarters, surrounded by a sea of papers, record books, and scattered files. A glass of whiskey rested beside her, the amber liquid half-gone as she sipped distractedly. Her usually meticulous living room was in disarray, evidence of her relentless search for answers. The soft glow of a single lamp cast her shadow against the wall, and her tired eyes scanned through the faded ink of yet another report.

The door opened, and Vi stepped in. She paused at the sight before her, crossing her arms with a raised brow. “What the hell, Cupcake? Did a tornado hit in here, or are you just redecorating?”

Caitlyn barely looked up, her focus pinned on a file. “Vi,” she muttered, her voice weary, “I’m busy.”

Vi stepped further into the room, crouching beside the mess. “Yeah, I can see that. What’s all this about? You’re running yourself ragged. What’s got you so wound up?”

Caitlyn hesitated, setting the paper down and rubbing her temples. She didn’t want to admit it—not even to herself—but the weight on her chest was unbearable. “I… I can’t stop thinking about her,” she finally said, her voice trembling slightly.

Vi’s brows knit together. “Her?”

“Y/n,” Caitlyn whispered, the name laced with something deep, raw. She closed her eyes as the floodgates began to open. “There’s something about her, Vi. Something I can’t explain. From the moment I saw her…”

Vi leaned back, tilting her head. “Go on,” she urged gently.

Caitlyn opened her eyes, her gaze distant. “Her eyes,” she started, voice thick with emotion. “They’re like windows to a world I can’t even begin to fathom. They hold stories—pain, loss, strength—that I desperately want to know. When she looks at you, it’s like she’s offering you a piece of herself, but only just enough to make you crave the rest.”

Vi watched silently as Caitlyn poured out her heart, something she rarely did.

“And her smile,” Caitlyn continued, her lips quirking in a small, bittersweet way. “It’s not like anyone else’s. It’s small, fleeting, but it holds so much power. It’s… tranquil, almost. Like for a second, everything’s okay in the world when she lets it slip.”

She paused, her hands clenching. “Her body… it’s like a temple, Vi. Not just because of her strength or the tattoos that tell a story of their own, but because it’s been through so much. It’s endured battles—some you can see and some you can’t—and yet it stands tall. She stands tall.” Caitlyn’s voice grew softer. “I feel her on a deeper level, and I can’t explain it. It’s like we’re connected somehow, but it’s not enough. I can’t just let her go down this path. She deserves better. She is better.”

She let out a frustrated breath, leaning forward and cradling her head in her hands. “But I don’t know how to reach her. I don’t even know where she is.”

Vi let the silence hang for a moment before letting out a low whistle. “Damn, Cait,” she said, her tone softer than usual. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

Caitlyn glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“This isn’t just some passing thing,” Vi said with a knowing smile. “This is love at first sight, Cupcake. You’re drawn to her, and you don’t even realize how deep it goes. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”

Caitlyn shook her head, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s not love, Vi. I just… I care about her. I don’t want to see her get lost in this madness.”

Vi snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. But you know what? If you care about her this much, I’m in. Whatever you need, I’ll help you find her.”

Caitlyn blinked, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. “Really?”

Vi nodded, her face growing serious. “Yeah. And I think I’ve got a lead. Someone told me they saw her at the rally. You know, the one with all the blue smoke and chaos.”

Caitlyn leaned forward, her heart racing. “She was there?”

“Yeah,” Vi said grimly. “And she already got her hands on Rictus.”

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed. “Rictus? The enforcer commander? Why would she go after him?”

Vi hesitated before continuing, her voice low. “There was a little girl with her. Word is, something went down—Rictus overstepped. Hurt the kid. And she… lost it.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught as she pieced the puzzle together. She frantically searched through her scattered papers, pulling out reports of the rally, witness statements, and a picture of the blue smoke marking the chaos.

“She snapped because of the child,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice shaking. “She wasn’t acting out of malice… she was protecting someone.”

Vi nodded. “That’s what it sounds like. But Cait, if she’s spiraling, we need to get to her fast. Before this gets worse.”

Caitlyn’s resolve hardened as she looked up at Vi, her sapphire eyes blazing with determination. “Then let’s find her. Together.”

Vi leaned against the doorframe of Caitlyn’s quarters, watching her frantically sift through the scattered papers. “Alright, we know she was at the rally, but where would she go after that? She’s not exactly subtle, Cait.”

Caitlyn stopped, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If Rictus got away, he’d want revenge. He’d know she wouldn’t just walk away quietly.” She paused, realization dawning on her. “What if she’s been taken?”

Vi frowned. “Taken where?”

“To Stillwater Hold,” Caitlyn said, her voice sharp with urgency. “If she’s been captured, they’d take her there for interrogation.”

Vi nodded, her expression serious. “Then we don’t have much time. Let’s go.”

Caitlyn didn’t wait. She threw on her enforcer uniform, clipped her rifle to her back, and stormed out of her quarters, Vi following closely behind.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The chaos of the Stillwater break unfolded in a blur of fire and steel. Alarms blared through the corridors, and shouts echoed as Jinx, Sevika, and you tore through the facility to free Isha. After a fierce fight and tense moments, the little girl was finally in your hands.

Jinx grabbed Isha’s hand, tugging her toward the exit, but stopped when she noticed you lingering behind. “What are you doing?” Jinx hissed. “Take her and get out of here!”

You looked down at the child, then at Sevika, who stood at the edge of the chaos. Your gray eyes locked on Jinx, steady and unwavering. “Sevika can take her,” you said calmly.

Jinx’s jaw tightened. “Are you insane?”

Your lips twitched into a smirk as you glanced back at her. “You don’t need me running off. Someone has to make sure your ego doesn’t inflate too much from a dramatic last stand. Besides…” You stepped closer, voice low and teasing. “Dying alone is so cliché.”

Jinx blinked, her lips parting in surprise before a small, begrudging grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You’re a pain, you know that?”

“I’ve heard,” you said, turning back toward the sounds of heavy footsteps approaching.

The clash with Warwick was nothing short of brutal. The monstrous figure moved with terrifying speed and strength, overwhelming even the combined efforts of Jinx and you.

You moved like a blur, your knives a whirlwind of flashing steel. But Warwick’s sheer power knocked you back, slamming you against a wall. You groaned, dazed but refusing to stay down.

Jinx fired round after round, her explosive devices lighting up the darkened room, but Warwick was relentless. He swatted her weapon aside and lunged at her, pinning her against the wall. His massive claws hovered dangerously close to her throat.

Just as Jinx’s breath hitched, you slid beneath Warwick’s massive frame, your voice tearing through the room in an animalistic growl. “Get. Off. Her!”

Your gray eyes sparked with an otherworldly purple light, burning with an intensity that froze Warwick in place. He turned, his snarling mouth faltering as his glowing eyes locked onto yours.

“Spark…” he whispered, his voice guttural and filled with something almost human.

Jinx stiffened at the sound of the name, her eyes darting between Warwick and you.

The name struck you like a lightning bolt, sending a sharp pain through your head. Your vision blurred, and the purple light flickered before you collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Jinx’s chest tightened as she stared at your unmoving form. Panic threatened to claw its way out of her throat, but she forced herself to act. “Damn it,” she muttered, crouching down and hauling you onto her shoulder.

She darted through the shadows, avoiding enforcers and other dangers as she dragged you to safety. Eventually, she found a small, abandoned safe house nestled in the rooftops.

Once inside, Jinx carefully laid you on a worn mattress. She sat beside you, panting and trembling as she looked over the wounds on your face and legs. Blood streaked your tattoos, the intricate designs disrupted by cuts and bruises. Jinx grabbed a damp cloth and began cleaning the wounds with surprising tenderness.

Her eyes traced over the tattoos that covered your arms and back. At first glance, they seemed like abstract patterns, but as Jinx looked closer, she realized they formed a map—a map of the Undercity. Her breath hitched at the realization. “What the hell…” she whispered.

Your face, despite the bruises, was peaceful in unconsciousness. Jinx’s fingers moved almost instinctively, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face.

The voices in her head returned, louder this time.

“Why are you even helping her? She’s nothing.”

“She’s everything, isn’t she? Look at her.”

“Shut up. You’re getting attached. You know what happens when you get attached.”

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing unsteady. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…”

The softer voice returned, calm and steady. “She’s changing you. She’s helping you.”

Jinx opened her eyes, her trembling hand tracing along your jawline. The voices quieted, leaving her in a strange, almost serene silence. Her fingers moved mindlessly, tracing your features as if committing them to memory.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Who are you?”

Your chest rose and fell with each steady breath, offering no answer.

Jinx sighed, pulling her hand back and leaning against the wall. She glanced at the knives you had insisted on carrying, their colorful blades gleaming faintly in the dim light.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jinx felt… calm. But that calm brought with it a vulnerability she didn’t know how to handle.

“You’re gonna make me soft,” she muttered, her lips twitching into a faint, rueful smile as she continued to keep watch.

Jinx left you reluctantly, her expression a mixture of determination and hesitation as she glanced at your unconscious form one last time. She had to deal with Warwick and get Isha to safety, but this wasn’t over. There was someone else who needed to see what Vander had become. Someone who would understand. She’d find Vi, and they’d confront this together.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A day later, you found yourself limping through the polished streets of Piltover, your body aching from the fight, your mind clouded by exhaustion and anger. You weren’t sure why you came back to the family workshop—maybe to grab a few tools, maybe just out of habit—but the sight of the place brought a sinking feeling to your gut.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped inside, hoping to slip in and out unnoticed. The familiar hum of machines filled the space, the smell of metal and oil hitting you like a punch to the chest.

But luck wasn’t on your side.

“Well, look who it is,” your father’s voice boomed from across the room, dripping with disdain. You froze mid-step, turning to see both of your parents standing behind the counter.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here,” your mother added, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression was cold, the kind of look that had cut you to the core since you were a child.

“I just need a few things,” you muttered, keeping your gaze on the floor as you limped toward the shelves.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to stroll in here like nothing happened,” your father barked, stepping out from behind the counter. “You’re a disgrace. A failure. Everything we warned you about came true. The Undercity turned you into a monster.”

Your hands clenched into fists as you tried to tune them out. But their words kept coming, sharp and relentless.

“You’ve always been a disappointment,” your mother hissed. “We gave you everything, and this is how you repay us? Running off to the filth down below? You don’t even belong—”

“Stop it,” you snapped, your voice low but trembling with barely contained fury.

“You don’t even belong to us!” your father spat suddenly, his words slamming into you like a physical blow. “You’re not even our blood.”

The room spun. Your vision blurred, and a sharp, familiar pain erupted behind your eyes. The purple spark flickered in your irises, your breathing heavy and uneven.

“What did you just say?” you asked, your voice cold and trembling.

Before you could do something you might regret, warm arms wrapped around you tightly, grounding you in place. The scent of lilac and gunpowder filled your senses, and you instantly knew who it was.

Caitlyn.

Her presence melted the rage inside you, and you let yourself sag against her, burying your face in her shoulder. You hugged her back, gripping her as if she might disappear.

“Are you okay?” Caitlyn whispered, her hands moving to your face to tilt it up toward her. Her blue eyes searched yours, full of worry and something deeper.

You nodded but avoided her gaze, your voice quiet. “I’m fine.” You didn’t trust yourself to say more, didn’t trust yourself to let her in.

Your parents stormed out of the workshop, still spewing venom. “You don’t deserve someone like her!” your mother yelled. “She doesn’t even know what you are!”

Caitlyn stepped between you and your parents, her head held high. Her voice was calm but laced with authority. “I suggest you stop talking.”

They froze at her tone.

“You might think you know her, but you clearly don’t,” Caitlyn said, her voice icy and cutting. “She’s worth more than you’ll ever realize. And if you dare speak to her like this again, you’ll be dealing with me—and the enforcers.”

The sight of the enforcers behind Caitlyn was enough to send your parents retreating inside without another word. Caitlyn turned back to you, her hand gently wrapping around your wrist. “Come on,” she said softly.

Instead of letting her lead you to her quarters, you took her to the rooftop where you often found solace. You stood there silently as you changed, pulling on a clean shirt and adjusting your knives. Caitlyn stood in the corner, watching you with a mix of admiration and worry.

The tension in the air was palpable.

When you turned to her, Caitlyn stepped forward and held you close, her arms wrapping around you with a softness that made your breath hitch. For a moment, neither of you moved. The proximity, the heat of her body against yours—it was overwhelming.

Caitlyn pulled back slightly, her face inches from yours. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but instead, her eyes lingered on yours. The tension between you grew unbearable, and for a split second, you thought she might kiss you.

But you pulled back, the memory of Jinx flashing across your mind. You couldn’t explain it, but it was enough to make you take a step away.

Caitlyn’s face fell, but she recovered quickly. “I need you to stay,” she said, her voice trembling with urgency. “With me. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You shook your head. “I can’t. I need to leave. This place—it’s suffocating.”

She grabbed your arm, her grip firm but gentle. “You’re better than this,” she pleaded. “You’re good, even if you don’t see it. You have a choice.”

You snapped, her words cutting deeper than they should have. “Good? Piltover treats the Undercity like dirt. You talk about being better, but look around, Caitlyn. This city isn’t better—it’s rotten. Just like the people who run it.”

She stepped back, stunned. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s the truth,” you shot back.

Caitlyn’s voice rose, the hurt evident. “You don’t belong there, but you don’t belong here, either. You’re an outsider, and you know it!”

Her words sliced through you. Your face twisted in pain before you pulled away from her grasp. “I thought you were different,” you said coldly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you’re just like everyone else.”

Caitlyn’s hand reached for yours, but you yanked it away, your heart aching as you turned and walked into the night, leaving her standing there with regret and sorrow etched across her face.

_______________

Aht aht ! Its slight AU, let me cook im marinating the chicken right now- it will all come together (I was so invested writing this and it is everywhere but you all gon see what im seeing once it start cooking- im talking about sizzling with the spices then you gonna look at me like 'ahhhhh i smell it- i see it') so sit there and look pretty while i cook this up <3

#wlw #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn #caitlyn x reader #vi arcane #violet arcane #book #fanfiction #lgbtq #love #slow burn

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a-bucket-in-the-void · 19 days ago

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fhsksbdodns

fuck off why am i shaky

#shouting into the void #i’m so fucking weak this is bad #i need to like move around more #shaking mostly stopped

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island-in-the-shadows · 6 months ago

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The Finale, the Devil, His Minion & His Turning

Before I begin, let me state with clarity that I am not an expert in book lore. I’m, at best, semi-pro. I, however, do my due diligence when it comes to my passions and my hyperfixations and this has been one that has stuck around for most of my life. So, I wanted to weigh into the whole Devil’s Minion situation as pertains to how S2 ended as well as implications for the future of it combined with the bits and pieces of things we’ve heard RJ etc say regarding it. I know this is all a big kerfuffle one way or the other. I’m writing this mostly for myself, but I wanted to share with anyone who wants to read because fandom metas are fun even if we disagree with parts of them or even the whole of them. So, disclaimer aside, strap in for this very long post…

Let's talk about Devil's Minion and the implications of the Season 2 finale.

First things first, let’s discuss Daniel Molloy. He’s a difficult guy and I get why there’s a bunch of people who dislike him even though I can’t relate. I love him. I love that he’s a sassy loudmouth who has even louder opinions and can be horribly inappropriate. I love that, when he’s doing his thing, he’s like a dog with a bone and he won’t let go. I love that he has suffered for it because the consequence of being a dog with a bone, of having an addictive personality, of having sarcasm and sass as a defence mechanism, and of having a truly atrocious sense of self-preservation is that he got fucked up by vampires, blew up his life, “destroyed two marriages,” and “fucked up two daughters.” He’s not the character that people who want to black/white moralise this show can point to as a bastion of “goodness,” even if he was, until recently, the only human main character. In fact, it’s precisely because he was human that it made sense that he was a fucked up person. After all, all humans have their good and bad aspects.

And then, he was turned (offscreen so that people like me can shout manically into the void). I LOVE that he was turned. I’ll get into the larger implications of it later but, for now, I want to explain why I enjoy Vampire Daniel.

For a bit of background, here’s what we know about his book counterpart in broad strokes: he smokes, he interviews Louis in San Francisco, he published Interview with the Vampire anonymously, he went to NOLA searching for Lestat but found Armand instead, cue here everything that has to do with the 12 years in which he and Armand were what they were together, he’s an ash blonde with violet eyes, he’s an addict, he’s a sarcastic loudmouth, he’s morbid, he went mad, he liked building miniature cityscapes, he spent most of the years of his madness (and some after he regained his sanity) with Marius, he and Armand reunite after +- 25-30 years of separation. That’s it. There’s a lot about him that you can certainly infer in the limited page amount where you can read about him, but that’s about it. We especially don’t get to know much about him after he is turned aside from when he got the vampire zoomies at Lestat’s concert and Maharet’s compound, his madness, Marius, his cityscapes, and his reunion with Armand.

Seeing Daniel Molloy be a vampirically amplified version of himself BY himself is, to me, extraordinary. Here, he’s, technically, unconnected to any of the other vampires and is standing on his own two feet. He chose to publish the book with his name on it (which is fucking insane when you think about it), he’s the one choosing to “call” Louis every week to check in on his bestie, he’s the one choosing to comment on some guys headphones before he eats him. In scant minutes we were presented with the vampire Daniel as an individual. This, in many ways, outdoes how he exists as a vampire in the books where he is never truly disconnected from one of two well-known vampires: Armand, and Marius.

Secondly, we seldom, if ever, get a vampire in live-action film or TV who looks 60+ in mortal years who, by design, is a sexy swaggering sarcastic menace who wears a leather jacket, an AC/DC tee, and cunty sunglasses. I racked my brain trying to find other vampires who look “older” in human years and even asked friends to help me and, ultimately, came to the following list of best examples (but feel free to tell me more): Gary Oldman in Dracula who is made to look creepy before he gets de-aged in order to be “sexy,” Bill Nighy as Viktor in Underworld, who looks great and powerful, but he’s the villain and he’s not technically designed to inspire anything more than loathing, and Viago’s long-lost lover in What We Do in the Shadows, Katherine ( from which we get the fun Viago being a cradle snatcher meme). This is all my opinion, but it’s fantastic to have a man in his 70s with wrinkles and grey hair be turned into a vampire and be framed as desirable and powerful. Personally, I want to see more vampires who are adults and older adults vs consistently seeing teens and people in their early twenties.

That being said, as much as I love Daniel being a man/vampire in his seventies, this fact alone upends one of the major beats of the relationship between him and Armand as written in Queen of the Damned. The part that is irreparably changed has nothing to do with Daniel’s age because that is irrelevant to Armand who, in book canon, wanted Daniel to live a mortal life, much to Daniel’s chagrin. He even tells Daniel, “Don’t you realise that any one of us would give it up for one human lifetime?”

Daniel doesn't believe him but their arguments regarding mortality only have a level of resolution in 1985 when Armand turns a dying Daniel. What changes here is twofold: the first is that Akasha did not wake from her sleep (which tracks with the timeline of the show thus far, as she wakes up because of Lestat’s music and she ruins the world tour). The second is that, presuming that Daniel and Armand had a past in the 70s and 80s, which is very likely, Armand let Daniel go. Armand letting Daniel go is a HUGE change. Yes, part of him likely let Daniel go because he was still involved with Louis whereas in the book he didn’t have a partner at the time. However, presuming that Armand and Daniel’s relationship in the 70s and 80s was as codependent and obsessive as it was in the source material, letting this one mortal boy go was arguably one of the most emotionally difficult things Armand has ever had to do. It changes a whole host of things in their dynamic moving forward.

This is why the fact that so many are turning on it now after 2x8 is a little baffling to me. I am a pessimist at heart, especially when it comes to things like this because I have been burned time and time again. It’s been a shock to me that so many who were rock solid on this after 2x5 are now panicking. And yet, I understand the concerns.

For example, according to Louis and later repeated in interviews by Rolin and sort of by Assad, Daniel was turned out of “spite.” Assuming that this is true, it is devastating. In the source lore, Daniel was turned out of love. Armand tells Daniel he’ll turn him “[…]because I am a coward. And I love you too much to let you go.” Except, in the show’s universe, Armand has already let Daniel go once even if it wasn't because Daniel was dying. Then again do we know if the younger Daniel was dying? If he overdosed once or multiple times? No. But at some point, Armand let him go. At some point, Daniel’s memory of whatever time he spent with Armand was erased. Presuming that something like this happened, that act alone was not out of spite.

Further, it is Louis who said Daniel was “burdened out of spite.” Except Monsieur du Lac has a very particular perspective and is currently quite cross with his ex. Those words, if I may borrow from book Armand, “That’s Louis’ language.” Note that while Daniel retorts, “Make it up to me. We’ll do a follow-up book,” this comes after Louis says “I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.” Daniel neither confirms or denies that he was made out of spite. He’s, to some extent, assuaging Louis’ guilt while segueing to try to get something he wants from Louis. We didn’t see Daniel being turned so we can’t be certain where it happened or when it happened or why it happened.

I know you’re probably reading this and going: but Rolin said they wouldn’t build the Dubai set again! Rolin said we won’t see the turning! Rolin said it was out of spite! Yes, fellow tumblrina, I know. But, like Claudia’s journals, like Louis’ or Armand’s narration of events across both seasons, anyone working on the show would have cause to obfuscate, omit, or lie. After all, was it not Rolin who also said we weren’t getting Rockstar Lestat when we are, in fact, getting Rockstar Lestat? Ah! That, my friends, is an unreliable witness.

Any creator can lie about their work for whatever reason they see fit including marketing or trying to keep spoilers away. To use a recent example, Andrew Garfield consistently and frequently lied that he was not in Spiderman: No Way Home. Oh, there was a set leak picture? No, that wasn’t him it was a double. He kept that party line until the movie came out, regardless if people knew or not. Same thing applies here and it creates doubt. The tricky part of this all is that, because Season 3 is The Vampire Lestat, it’s likely that anything we do see regarding Daniel and Armand will be quite limited.

Another thing that truly frustrates longtime Devil’s Minion girlies, especially those who have religiously read the Devils Minion chapter (really, it’s the only thing we have to go off of because Anne Rice put Daniel on a shelf and never really took him off it except in vague mentions in other vampires’ stories and, I guess, she wanted us to go fuck ourselves because Daniel is basically a negative footnote in The Vampire Armand) is the implication that Daniel wants to know where the fuck his maker is because he has been abandoned. We keep thinking: Armand would never abandon a newly turned Daniel. I’ve seen plenty of posts and some fics fully assuming that Armand turned Daniel in the penthouse and then left him right then and there. Which tracks only if he were being made out of spite. Except, at this time, we simply do not know that that is the case. Likewise, we do not know that Armand immediately abandoned Daniel.

Why are we assuming this? Because Louis says he left them alone? He did but, he also told Daniel to get his things because he’d “arrange a car and a plane to take you home”. With Louis’ money and power, he could’ve had Daniel on a plane to JFK in, tops, an hour. If we want to suppose that it was out of spite, then Louis just left Daniel alone with Armand right away? Louis didn’t change his clothes or pack a bag or grab a wallet to go to NOLA? He had his Amex with him at the hotel and he was wearing different clothes, so there is time unaccounted for in Dubai. Then we have to suppose that a newly turned and abandoned Daniel was alone or eating staff in the penthouse despite being expected on a flight that was probably private, because Louis wouldn’t have done it by half measure if he wanted Daniel out of there ASAP. Then we have to consider the amount of time that Louis was supposedly in NOLA. How long would it have taken him to go to NOLA, have his reunion with Lestat, wait out a hurricane, come back and find a fucked up Daniel in that penthouse? We’re still missing time.

I could present you a different scenario. I could say that Armand stalked Daniel back to NY (which would be on brand, but I digress) and turned him there out of spite or not out of spite. That Daniel remembers or doesn’t remember their past together. That Armand possibly stayed with Daniel some time until Daniel, rightfully pissed off for San Francisco or the gaslighting Armand did to Louis or directing the trial or erasing Daniel’s memories or any of the fucked up shit that Armand did in their shared past (there’s a LOT that this gremlin has done that would make Daniel angry), asked Armand to go away. I could even tell you that in Queen of the Damned Daniel and Armand fought, a lot. I could tell you that Daniel left Armand for months at a time when he was pissed off because Armand wouldn’t turn him. I could tell you that after Daniel was turned, things soured between him and Armand dramatically and, per Armand, Daniel left him.

I can quote Queen of the Damned to state my case:

“Conversations, sparring matches, and downright fights became the rule.”

“Ugly fights, terrible fights, finally, Armand broken down, glassy-eyed with silent rage, then crying softly but uncontrollable as if some lost emotion had been rediscovered which threatened to tear him apart.”

“And the wandering started, the escaping, and Armand did not follow him. Armand would wait each time until Daniel begged to come back. Or until Daniel was beyond calling, until Daniel was on the verge of death itself. And then and only then, Armand would bring him back.”

I can quote The Vampire Armand for you in the parts relevant to Daniel to show you the contentious separation that also reeks of Armand’s self-loathing and his desire to complete his self-fulfilling prophecy even though it’s painful for me:

“…the boy, who had been my faithful mortal companion, and only sometimes an intolerable nuisance…”

“Daniel, though alive and wandering, though civil and gentle, can no more stand my company than I can stand his. Equipped with my powerful blood, he can contend with any who should be foolish enough to interrupt his plans for an evening, a month or a year, but he cannot contend with my continuous company and I cannot contend with his.”

“I pushed his face into the flesh of the first young innocent he had to slaughter for his inevitable thirst, and thereby fell off the pedestal on which he’d placed me in his demented, over imaginative, feverishly poetical and ever exuberant mortal mind.”

“[…]when gaining Daniel as a fledgling, I lost him as a mortal lover and gradually began to let him go.”

“[…] I rejoined the world in a way which I had not done since my fledgling, my one and only fledgling, Daniel Molloy, had left me. My love for Daniel had never been entirely honest, and always viciously possessive, and quite entangled with my own hatred of the world at large, and my confusion in the face of the baffling modern times which had begun to open up to me […] Daniel himself had no use for the world […] Heaping every luxury upon him, I only sickened him with mortal sweets so that finally he turned away from the riches I offered, becoming a vagabond. Mad, roaming the streets in rags, he shut out the world almost to the point of death, and I, weak, muddled, tormented by his beauty, and lusting for the living man and not the vampire he might become, only brought him over to us through the working of the Dark Trick because he would have died otherwise.”

“[…]he loathed me in his heart for having initiated him into Living Death, for having made him in one night an immortal and a regular Killer. As a mortal man, he had no real idea of the price we pay for what we are, and he did not want to learn the truth; he fled from it, in reckless dreams and spiteful wandering.”

The last sentence in the quote above fucking bullshit, by the way, because Daniel actively asked to see Armand kill and Armand told him no but, whatever.

“and so it was as I feared. Making him to be my mate, I made a minion who saw me all the more clearly as a monster. […] There was never any chance, no matter how beautiful the twilight gardens in which we wandered. Our souls were out of tune, our desires crossed and our resentments too common and well watered for the final flowering.”

But for all those quotes, for all the extrapolating, and for all the suppositions, we simply do not know. We weren’t given concrete answers to anything. Which, yes, is frustrating as all fuck. Because, if we read into it at face value, if we follow that this trend would destroy two characters and a core relationship and what it means to them both in the long run, then we have to accept defeat. We have to admit that the writers of this show don’t actually care about this pairing or these characters as individuals. We have to admit that something that we have wanted (and some of have wanted this since Queen of the Damned came out in 1988) is never going to happen. That we, like Louis, have been gaslit and taken advantage of.

We’d have to reframe all the charged looks, the oddly sexual “yeah,” Armand knowing how to make drinks to Daniel’s exact tastes, Armand de-escalating Louis’ humiliation of Daniel (I know some of you think he was making it worse but, neither the tone of Armand’s voice or his facial expressions read that intention to me, sorry), the overly elaborate courses of food served to Daniel (which, to book readers, is a nod to when Armand ordered everything in a restaurant for Daniel), the brief announcement of a Night Island spinoff, Armand feeling the need to justify himself directly to Daniel in 2x6, putting Assad and Eric/Luke together for press stuff, etc. are all some sick trick. That they either want to make it into enemies to lovers (which it never really was) and forfeit its true meaning or, worse, that it’s all been shipbaiting to keep us on the hook when Devil’s Minion girlies already know that this is the Lestat and Louis show.

I get it. This is not what many of us wanted. We wanted to see the turning. We wanted to see it be about love. We wanted to see Daniel get even a hint of who he and Armand had been to each other in the past, because they definitely had one. We wanted confirmation that, once upon a time, Armand found some of his humanity through a mortal he loved and that, after 30+ years apart, he broke the rule he withheld for nearly 5 centuries because of his love for this boy. We got none of it. All we know is that Armand turned Daniel, that Daniel doesn’t know where his maker is, and that Daniel’s pissed at him. That’s it.

It leaves us, essentially, with nothing. Frankly, it’s more of a nothing than I thought we were going to get. Again, this is the Lestat and Louis show. They are the protagonists and it is their stories (apart and together) that are the A plot. So all that we can do, if we want to see a good version of Devil’s Minion, is wait and hope. Hope that the good writing that has been done in sections of the show holds true to this also. Hope that, given that the plot hole we ALL noticed in 1x2 was explained in 2x8, all of the subtle hints we have been given are actually going to pay off. Hope that this team, that has put a lot of love and care into this show, doesn’t massively fuck over two characters. Hope that someone gets Eric violet contacts in S3 (unless it’s like the theory @cbrownjc has regarding body swapping which would be very interesting---also if you haven't already, follow her, her blog is incredible and has fantastic insights) because if they can give Jacob green ones, there’s no fucking excuse.

(Yes, this is a nitpick. As an aside, the established vamps do change shades of eye colour, because Louis and Lestat have had at least 2 shades of green and blue respectively in S2, and Armand had 3 shades of amber/brown/reddish orange in 2x8 ALONE. The weird bit with Daniel’s eyes specifically is how dramatic of a colour shade change it is, how quickly the change happens, and that, say it with me kids, NONE OF THE SHADES ARE VIOLET.)

Listen, this hasn’t really had a thesis statement but I’ve ranted enough that it could be an actual term paper. But I want to end this by saying that what gives me hope is that, thus far, the quality of this show, in every aspect, is fantastic. Heck, I get hope in the fact that the Loustat girlies have been DEEP in the trenches for two seasons and it’s getting a little better for them. Louis is where he needs to be at this point of the story and we know that Lestat, the real Lestat, is coming. Goodness knows, Sam’s gonna keep fighting to make sure it is the real Lestat, warts and all, even with the changes that most people didn’t like. So, let’s hope. Let’s hope that the showrunner/head writer is, yet again, being a massive troll. Let’s hope that the writing team actually understood what the point of Devil’s Minion was and where its beauty lay and that they don’t diminish it to be something entirely foreign. Let’s hope that the massive holes, the missing time, missing scenes, all equate to a net positive. Let’s not give up yet.

TL;DR Don’t be fatalistic about how S2 ended and what it means for Devil’s Minion, because there’s way too much that is missing to conclusively write it off at this time.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv meta #Daniel Molloy #the vampire armand #devil's minion #the devil's minion #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #eric bogosian #assad zaman #jacob anderson #sam reid #rolin jones #there's a lot more to discuss and speculate and go into #this is not the end all be all of this discussion but it would take me many more pages to go through it all #also please be kind if I missed anything I did re-read the chapter for this and rw 2x8 but im probably missing stuff

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deeptrashwitch · 2 months ago

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Exodus

Taglist (just to show :3): @alypink @stuffireadandenjoy @snootlestheangel @islandtarochips @raresvtm

@cynicvice @midnight193 @mutantthedark @justasmolbard @welldonekhushi

@tapioca-milktea1978 @imagoddamnonionmason @stargazing-sapphire2 @milkteaarttime @blacktacmopsi

@maymaylyn @thatonesillyducko @seraphiixiao @me-is-confused @gunnrblze

Mario entered the House of Lebanon with his daughter, trying to ignore the sounds of the dawning city. He left her inside the Mayor office next to the door, hidden under a table while he kneeled beside her for a second. Softly he asked her to stay hidden until he was back and not to come out no matter what she heard. And Juliana simply nodded a bit nervously.

After that he ran inside the House of Nariño for a last emergency reunion. Once inside, he found Camilo, who was uneasy watching everything and mostly how the congressman and the presidential cabinet fought while the President himself seemed surprisingly quiet while he looked to the void for a second. Meanwhile, Camilo asked Mario what would happen now.

“What else?” Mario whispered at him. “You and I know what those Feds will do as soon as they find us here.”

“So we’re condemned.”

“If we don’t go on the run, then that’s about right.”

The reunion lasted for a while longer, with Mario and Camilo going to speak with the other officers that were there. They planned what to do, trying to get a single hope while outside the sounds of the tanks and the infantry soldiers getting closer and closer by the minute. In the end, the Defense Minister sighed and did something that left everyone in silence.

He went to untie the flag with a pained look.

“This isn’t something we have much of a voice in.” He whispered while folding the flag, his voice echoing inside the room. “We hate it or not, Colombia will fall. We can only try and keep it alive in the shadows. Mr. President, even if we fight tonight, we’ll just get some hours.”

“Then what do you suggest?” The President asked, surprisingly calm.

“Keep safe our symbols, the flag, the sword of Bolivar and our constitution. If we ever let those get lost, we lose who we are. We stop being Colombian to be simple cowards.”

In silence, the President looked at the door and sighed before nodding with his eyes closed and his shoulders slumped. One of the guards nodded and went to another room to get the Sword of Bolivar, which the President took with a tired look, simply extending it to the Defense Ministry. Said Minister just went to get the constitution, and then he went to Mario, who was watching everything from a wall, to give it to him.

“Jiménez.” The MInister said, just looking at him.

Mario straightened up, surprised. “Sir?”

“I’m well aware of what you, Ortiz and many others intended to do. And I can’t say I blame you for that. The man said, giving Mario the objects. “I need you to swear that you will protect these with your life if that’s required.”

“I…”

“General Jiménez, will you protect what makes us a nation?”

Mario doubted for a moment, but ended up nodding and took the three things before putting them inside the bag he brought with him. The Minister just nodded at him and looked at the other Ministers, who seemed to want to start arguing about who should really take the symbols. But before that fight could even start, a rumble called their attention. It wasn’t there, it was in the House of Lebanon.

Mario’s blood froze in his veins. “Juliana….”

“Mario, wait-!” Camilo exclaimed, but Mario simply grabbed the bag and ran towards the door, pushing everyone in his way away while his heart crashed against his ribcage.

“MY DAUGHTER IS THERE!” He shouted terrified to Camilo, and at the same time, a second rumble alerted everyone that the Feds were taking control of the House of Nariño.

Mario ran without even taking care that he might get shot, he simply entered the House of Lebanon and ran to the place where he left Juliana, praying that she was okay. He found her under a table, covering her mouth with her hands while trembling and crying. In a second he kneeled next to her and pulled her to a hug.

“It’s okay, J.J, dad’s here.” He whispered softly.

Juliana just hiccuped and clung onto him. “Dad, I’m scared.”

“Everything will be alright, I promise. We’ll…we’ll be alright.”

After that, he carried her and ran downstairs to escape that place, just to see how the entrance was blocked by Feds. Mario took another route to find an exit while he cursed under his breath. Once he found an open window, he crossed Juliana first and then he crossed, and for a second he saw how the Ministers and the President were lined up in the middle of the Square.

He carried Juliana again, who hid her face against his chest, still crying.

“What’s happening?” She asked, trembling like a piece of paper, and trying to look up.

Mario put a hand over her head to stop her. “Close your eyes.”

“Dad-”

“Juliana, close your eyes!”

She did, and seconds later, the sound of shots echoed in the square, making Juliana scream and seek refuge against his father’s chest. Meanwhile Mario kept running, trying not to see how slowly the center of the capital got tainted in red. He ran for a while, until he felt his legs were about to give up, while he noticed how most of the city was doing the same.

Hundreds of people, no, thousands of people were running, grabbing whatever they could and fit in their hands before leaving everything behind. Some even gave their kids to some of the passing people, asking them a single thing. Keep them safe.

Even he saw how some of the officers with who he worked and trained were running as well, some carrying children or bags, even some with rifles. And not so soon after, he found Camilo against a wall with a devastated expression. He stopped beside him, worried.

“Ortiz, what is it?” He asked, noticing Camilo’s sadness.

“My wife, my kid…they’re still there.” He whispered, holding back his sobs.”They can’t escape, she’s pregnant and my son is too young to endure this.”

“Ay Camilo…”

Camilo slowly fell to the floor, passing a hand over his hair. “They’ll die, won’t they?”

“Don’t say that.”

“THEN WHAT, MARIO?! THEY’RE CONDEMNED THE SECOND THEY FIND THEY’RE MY FAMILY!”

Then J.J yelped and grabbed her dad’s shirt again, still terrified and crying. That surprised Camilo and even Mario looked down to look at her. She had been so quiet that he forgot she was crying for a second. Camilo looked at him and at Juliana for a second, then sighed and started to cry as well trying not to have a complete breakdown there and then.

“Goddamnit…” He whispered, desperate.

Maio sighed and moved J.J a bit so he could put a hand over Camilo’s shoulder, looking at him with sadness and sympathy. “Listen brother, I understand the pain you’re going through. But we need to go, I can assure you that we will come back one day. And you’ll see them again.”

“How are you so sure?” Camilo asked with a sigh.

“... We'll make it possible, sooner or later.”

It took a while, but Camilo ended up standing up and the three of them ran once again to go as far as possible from downtown. At some point, Camilo took the kid a woman asked him to take away to safety. So he carried the boy and promised the mother to keep him safe.

A shooting broke the silence.

“Damnit! Camilo, let's go!” Mario shouted while he covered J.J with his body.

Camilo nodded and hugged the kid. “It's okay, little one, you’ll be fine and so will your mom.”

The child just kept crying while they ran to somewhere safe. For what felt like hours, they kept running until they arrived to a building to hide. They stayed hidden for a couple of hours, until the night almost ended.

At some point they started to run again until they managed to steal a car to leave the city. Mario put an asleep J.J on the back seat, cleaning the trail of tears that she had in her face. She curled up in her sleep with a sigh and a frown.

Meanwhile, Camilo put the boy under his care beside her. They both looked at the kids before putting Camilo's bag in the trunk with the rifles. And soon they were on the road, taking alleyways to avoid the Feds around him.

“Where to now?” Camilo asked while driving.

Mario sighed and looked down at the bag with the symbols he was entrusted. “Far away, somewhere we can be safe for enough time to figure it all out.”

“Alright.” He murmured before looking at the people trying to escape from Bogotá. “Look at that, all of them escaped as well. This is a damn hell.”

“This is our life now.” Mario murmured exhausted while he looked at the people escaping. “Soon enough, we’ll have to walk again and we’ll need to gather the people before the Feds do.”

“I seriously wonder if we’ll ever see this place again, like you said. I kinda hope we do.”

Mario smiled falsely for a minute, then sighed and looked through the window with a devastated look filled with grief.

“I hope the same.” He whispered softly to himself trying not to cry.

#call of duty #cod oc #ocs #oc #cod ghosts oc #cod ghosts #cod ghosts original character #call of duty ghosts #one shot #one shots #my writing #writing

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simple-seranade · 2 years ago

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Repair My Broken Gears

Something is wrong with Scar. Cleo regrets signing up for this.

(That’s a lie. They’re terrified what would have been if they hadn’t.)

CW: loneliness, arguing? that’s about it

in which sera takes a single line of dialogue scar had about knowing loneliness and runs with it

(also i was thinking of @stiffyck the entire time i was writing this so like. sorry if this tag is unwanted lol)

>>>>>>>>>*<<<<<<<<<

Look, Cleo isn’t worried. She isn’t. She isn’t.

But-

It’s just-

She sighs, running a hand through their tangled orange hair as they watch Bdubs and Scar bicker and laugh by the animals.

It’s something about the way Scar seems so insistent on finding a way to be useful. How he makes off-handed comments about knowing what it’s like to be alone, accompanied by a flippant laugh that does nothing to quell the small pit that grows in Cleo’s stomach at the words. How his face will fall for a split second when Cleo jokes not to call them “mom” before bouncing back to that damn grin of his. How that grin becomes so much more real when she does something as simple as toss him some food or ruffle his hair.

So no, Cleo isn’t worried. Just… healthily concerned.

They can practically hear Joe lecturing them about emotional awareness. He is so lucky he doesn’t come to these things, otherwise she would be whittling his clock down without a second thought.

A shout rings out across entertainment mountain, and Cleo sees Scar holding Bdubs’ clock- the one Impulse gave him, not his countdown- above his head, well out of the shorter man’s reach. As Bdubs lets out a string of words that sound way cruder than they actually are, she sighs. She should probably go stop them before one of them falls off of the mountain. Again.

Void, she really did just pick two idiots to team with, didn’t she?

Still, as she approaches the two men, she can’t find it in her to regret it.

“Scar! Bdubs!”

Their gazes snap towards her, eyes wide. Bdubs is the first to start talking.

“Mom-“

“Not your mom.”

“-he took my clock!”

Scar quickly stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying and failing to look nonchalant. “What? No I didn’t!”

Cleo raises an eyebrow at him.

“… ok, I did, but he started it!”

“I DID NOT!” Bdubs tugs on Scar’s arm, trying to get his hand- and subsequently, the shorter man’s clock- out of his pocket. This, to no one’s surprise, does not work, mostly because Scar is a good foot and a half taller than Bdubs. This does not stop him from trying.

This also does not stop them from bickering with steadily increasing volume.

“Hey, hey, hands off the merchandise, Bdubs!”

“I put my hands where I darn well please! You keep your hands off my stuff!”

“I don’t have your stuff!”

“Bullcrap! I see it in your pocket!”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Jeez! If I had known I’d be getting conned with my own schtuff I’d have had second thoughts about this team-up!”

It’s almost unnoticeable, so quick that Cleo can almost convince herself she imagined it. But, for a split second, Scar flinches.

“I- Well, it’s what I do, Bdubs!”

“You con and lie and bully! This is bullying!”

Void, Cleo does not get paid enough for this.

“BOYS!”

The two men freeze in their tracks.

“Scar, give Bdubs his clock back. Bdubs, apologize for yelling- actually, wait, both of you apologize for yelling.” They cross their arms, staring the men down.

Bdubs sputters. “What- no, I’m not apologizing, why wou-“

He’s cut short by a soft clinking sound. With wide eyes, he looks between his hands, where his golden clock now sits, and Scar, whose gaze is fixed firmly on the ground as he turns away.

“Sorry, Bdubs. I’ll just- yeah. You’re good. Sorry.”

“I- sorry, Scar, I shouldn’t have-“

“No, no, you’re fine! You can just- you stay here with Mo- Cleo, I’m gonna go get- get some air.”

“Scar, wait-“

Bdubs’ words fall on deaf ears as Scar hops off the rocks, towards the base of the mountain. He turns to Cleo, brow furrowed. “Was it something I said? Did I-“

“I don’t know, Bdubs.” The pit in her stomach is back, gnawing and twisting as she stares at the spot where Scar just was.

“… what do we do?” His voice is quiet, so unlike how it normally sounds. It makes Cleo want to shake him until he’s back to his usual self.

“We don’t do anything.” She sighs, turning to face her friend. “You go ahead and get some rest. I’ll talk to him.”

“But-!”

“No buts.”

Bdubs sags, his shoulders slouching considerably. Cleo reaches forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Bdubs.” She waits until he looks up, meeting their eyes. “It’ll be ok, alright?”

Bdubs pauses before nodding hastily. “Of course, of course- I- I have no doubt. The great Bdubs just- just needs to go get some sleep.”

“You go do that.” They squeeze his shoulder one last time before letting go, turning towards the edge of the mountain.

“Goodnight Mom!”

“I will stab you in your sleep!” She tosses over her shoulder as she carefully slips down, doing her best to take minimal fall damage.

Scar is… much farther down than they expected. It takes a good minute of scaling down to finally see him, walking around with a frantic fervor and muttering under his breath. The words become clearer as they approach, and with them, so does the anxious feeling creeping in her mind.

“… can’t go back up to the chests. There goes my chance at a monopoly. Still, it’s between that or them being mad at me for taking stuff and then-“

“Scar?”

The man freezes in his tracks. Cleo takes a step closer.

“Scar, what was that up there for?” She tries to keep her words from being cruel, but receives a flinch nonetheless. She’s not sure how she expects him to respond, but…

“Sorry, I’m leaving. It- It’ll not happen again, no need to worry!” The upbeat tone has no place with the shaky voice and trembling hands accompanying it as he begins pacing again.

“You know Bdubs wasn’t actually that mad about the clock, he’s just like that-“

“No, no, he had every right to be, right? I was being a bad teammate. But- but don’t worry, I am getting out of your hair-!”

“Scar.”

Silence.

“You don’t have to leave.”

“But I do!” He faces them now, finally faces them, but they almost wish he hadn’t. His face is still in that wide smile, bright as the sun, even as tears run down his cheeks. “That’s how this works, right? Scar’s alone! Again! All he does is lie and cheat, he doesn’t care. Just betray him! You mean nothing to him anyways!” His chest heaves with unshed sobs, and his eyes are screwed shut.

“It’s not like I can bring anything else to the team,” he continues. “After all, I die and I die and I die, I die and try to make stupid deals that only an idiot would take! Which makes me the biggest idiot of all, right? I-“

No one knows what he was going to say next, because in the same moment, a pair of arms wraps around him impossibly tight. He can’t stifle the gasp that escapes him at the contact, the warm warm warmth that enveloped him as Cleo squeezes, making his ribs creak and his heart swell. His tongue feels useless in his mouth, any words he could say stopped up in his throat.

“Scar, I want you to listen to me.” Cleo murmurs, not letting go. “We don’t want you here because you’re useful, or pity, or any of that. We want you here for you.”

He tries to talk, void he tries, but all that escapes his lips is a high-pitched keen. Cleo- beautiful, crazy, kind Cleo- simply hugs him tighter, rubbing a hand on his back so firmly and gently that it makes his heart ache.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Let it out. We don’t want you to leave, the exact opposite.” She leans forward, resting her forehead on his. “We love you, Scar. We don’t want you to be alone.”

That’s all it takes for the dam to break.

Three games’ worth of pent-up sobs echo through the landscape as Scar sags, crying into Cleo’s shoulder. They hold him up, carding their fingers through his tangled hair. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t need to, because her arms are around Scar and she’s here and she isn’t leaving-

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, how he’s atoned for all his sins enough that he has Bdubs to tackle him in excitement when Cleo leads him back to their home. He doesn’t think he’s done enough to warrant one person being stuck with him in one of these horrid games, especially two people.

He doesn’t want to let it go, though.

The universe ticks down. Their lives lose length with every passing second they spend like this.

But they aren’t alone, none of them, and they won’t be again.

(And if Cleo doesn’t chastise Scar the next time he calls her Mom? Well, nobody needs to know that.)

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cherryjuicegf · 1 year ago

Text

the injury of finally knowing you

On need and want, and the failures of sight.

2.1k, T, angst [ao3]

A flick of fingers.

Jaskier has not taken more than two steps outside the shed, just enough to feel the absence of Radovid’s hungry stare, when he freezes. It’s not the sound, not that alone. No, the way his knees suddenly go numb is because he knows what follows just a little too well, and that he catches with the corner of his eye, still hidden behind the corner, and a sudden sob gets caught in his throat. A flame. A flick of flame.

“Is there another way?”

Lips still fervent, touch still burning. Somehow he has managed to count the lashes of his eyes one by one, golden under the moonlight as is fit for a prince, and leans to kiss them. “What do you mean?”

“For this. For us.” A complaint. As though he doesn’t know already. “Maybe you could come with me.”

A laugh. “In court? Right. We can stroll in the throne room and duet on Song of the Seven.” The prince has no time to answer, for his lips are captured again in a kiss. Mostly to savour, mostly because of the knowledge that looms over their heads that there is no time for savouring. Mostly that, but also because he can’t bear seeing the look in his eyes, that of a hidden truth, of a grief he is not ready to admit to himself.

He doesn’t admit it. Not yet.

His first instinct is to run, and only after he has stepped back on shaking feet and hidden in the shed does he remember to curse his cowardice. Ciri. He has to get to Ciri.

Yet the screaming in his mind has a different voice, one he has not managed to forget even after all this time, one that makes him wince with an invisible pain, that paralyzes his legs and weighs down on his chest like a rock, cutting his breath. A voice then, behind him.

“Jaskier?"

And how foreign the name suddenly sounds on his lips, how distorted.

Fighting to regain his voice, he turns at him. Stutters. “He’s here. Rience.” And then he meets his eyes. And then, the shreds of his heart cutting bloody through his chest, he admits it. “Oh. But you knew that already.”

It’s absurd how beautiful Radovid’s eyes look under the moonlight, under the shadow that falls on them. Something that resembles guilt, but not quite. No. A violent hope. He shakes his head. “You don’t have to go outside.”

Absurd. Because it’s his words that make Jaskier’s legs finally solid, and his breath steadier, sharp. And now it’s easier to look him in the eye. But now, despite the terror, despite the shaking, he has to go.

Only, he doesn’t.

For the moment he huffs, half-dismissal half-pain, the moment he turns his head and remembers Ciri’s laughter and chooses to try to be brave, at that moment there is a bruising grip around his wrist. At that moment, his throat is stopped by a knife.

He gulps in a breath, stills. The blade is cold and sharp and licking his skin and it feels so awfully familiar, so awfully alike the kisses that carved their peculiar love on him just minutes ago. “Radovid.” It’s not a question, because he already knew. It’s more like a plea, trembling and honest and soft, as though he can’t afford otherwise. Because somehow, even now, he still hopes.

Yet the prince only pulls their bodies close, and makes amends out of his sight. “I can’t let you go outside.” A shaky breath. A parody so spot on Jaskier almost laughs. “I’m sorry.”

Then shouting, like soldiers giving orders. Then, a scream.

“Ciri…”

It’s no more than a breath and the knife presses into his throat, gently, lovingly, for it doesn’t cut. And Jaskier hears the screams, and the shouting and the sound of his name wretched out of the girl’s lips with heartbreaking complaint , and Yennefer’s name, and Geralt’s and the void that answers back as she fights alone, unarmed, a child, and Jaskier feels tears burning his eyes and struggles against the blade. “You have to let me go,” he pleads and thinks, for a prince, Radovid’s grip is solid. For a lover, it’s exact.

Laughter, outside. He knows that laughter. It makes his skin crawl and his legs shake again and he wants to run, to do something, anything. But Radovid wraps his arm around his chest and feels the tremors of his body on his, and swallows. “Rience can’t hurt you if you don’t go out. And I won’t have to hurt you either.”

It sounds almost like regret.

It sounds almost like a promise. And twisted as it is, this shield that backstabs him, Jaskier feels the warmth of his body just like he did before, and the blade on his throat like the sweetness of a caress, and the sound of his heart beating so loud it almost shovels its way inside his own back, and replaces the pieces of his broken one. And the tears streaming down his eyes seethe with selfishness and guilt, for he can’t tell apart the ones drawn out by the screams outside, and the ones reserved to quench the thirst of the knife.

Jaskier. Jaskier!

A sob tears his throat apart before any foreign blade manages to, in hope it will be enough of an answer, enough of a presence. An apology. His knees buckle as though the earth drags him down, wailing, this is where you should be, this is where you were supposed to be, for her.

And Radovid holds him tighter as he cries, as he kneels on the ground shaking, eyes blurred and empty, he holds him in a mocking embrace, a gentle lie, whispering wrecked comforts in his ear, “This is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This is not what I wanted.”

What else, what else could he have done?

It is tender, perhaps, the way their fingers entwine on Jaskier’s chest. The way Radovid buries his head between his shoulder blades as though between the pieces of a mirror he himself had shattered, and keeps him close.

“Destiny must have something to do with it. The future, us. You sing its stories. You can’t possibly refuse it.”

Deft fingers buttoning a rumpled shirt, arming. A huff. “I sing what I choose to sing. Destiny is only an excuse for the world’s most abominable actions. I have never known anyone using it to explain good deeds.” Blue eyes blazing attentively under the moonlight. “Have you?”

The prince doesn’t answer. Only, he lowers his gaze.

The shouting outside suddenly becomes choked, terrified. Another voice, howling above all others.

Ciri!

Jaskier lets out a loud gasp, like surfacing from deep water, and his shoulders slump in relief. Yennefer. Fire for fire. Always, just before it’s too late. He heaves a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Radovid’s body slowly goes rigid behind him with the same realization that made him welcome the knife, but now, he finds he doesn’t care as much.

Come, we don’t have time.

Jaskier-

He parts his lips but his voice is cut by the silver blade suddenly digging into his throat with more force than before, choking him. Only now, the prince’s hand is shaking.

He will be alright. A pause, as though to make sure, as though knowing somehow that he can hear her, and waiting for confirmation. Come on .

Then, deafening and long-awaited, silence.

The last remnants of fire crackling somewhere over the body of a soldier, and even the cicadas have stopped singing. In the air, the hum of fading magic.

Radovid is breathing shakily, almost inaudible over the thumping of his heart. His knuckles have gone white around the handle of the knife and he presses on, as though for an excuse to hold Jaskier tighter. His voice comes out hushed. “You called her.”

Jaskier tries to swallow. “Let me see you,” he whispers, quivering. “I need to see your eyes.”

Suddenly like the blast of lightning, the knife is gone.

Radovid’s arm is no longer holding him in place and Jaskier gasps again, sharply, but ever so silent as though afraid to scare away what’s still left unspoken. His body sags exhausted, like the crumpled paper of a failed song heaving its last breaths. The tears have not yet dried up, only limp tired down his skin. He doesn’t run.

Instead, he turns to Radovid.

“When did you call her?” The prince is trembling lightly, and staring into his eyes and oh, he sees now, the pain and the cruelty and the fear and the love, the love. He sees it all. Radovid shakes his head. “Was it before we…”

Silence.

There is something flowing down his throat, and Jaskier wipes it away to see the tips of his fingers turning red. The smallest tickle of blood. He only lets out a breath as an answer and gazes at the man before him and sees, and is seen in return. This is all he had asked for, after all, isn’t it?

The corners of Radovid’s lips are trembling in a terrible smile as he speaks again. “Well, at least now we’re even.”

“Even!” Jaskier huffs, but it resembles more the remnants of a resigned sob. His face spasms, crumbles along with his voice, which he only recognizes after he feels his tongue moving, so gutted that it sounds. “How could we ever be-”

“Thank you.” A hand on his own stained one. Radovid’s voice is low and deeper than before, the same as it was when he was whispering Jaskier’s name on his skin. Honest. “For seeing the best in me." The knife slips to the ground. "But you failed to see the rest of it.”

There is an ache in his chest, and Jaskier looks at their hands, then back at him, into his eyes, and slowly, something softens inside him as though to let his heart mold in the shape of his pain. There is no use for a mask now, anyway.

“The rest of it,” he mutters, an admission, mostly to himself. He hears his own despair laughing at him in mockery, ignoring how it grows against itself. A smile, then. Broken. “And what did you fail to see?"

Radovid stares at him for a moment. Deflates.

Then he raises his hand on Jaskier’s cheek and shuffles closer, so achingly close that he steals the breath from his lips, just like Jaskier did before, and the air between them can only echo the wails that silently bury themselves in each other's lungs. Jaskier holds back a whimper, wanting, waiting. Even now.

But it’s only a ghost.

Only the faintest of caresses, lips barely touching, before Radovid meets his eyes again and his stare is suddenly unyielding. "That you will always go back to them."

And Jaskier, almost apologetically but not quite anymore, smiles faintly.

Radovid’s lips hover over the smile as though in need to cherish their slightest betraying line. But need has only brought them so far. He averts his look, suddenly unable to meet Jaskier’s eyes, and stands up abruptly, almost on the run.

The space his presence leaves behind weeps empty and the cold memory of his touch feels nothing like the coldness of the blade, not at all.

In a momentary panic, Jaskier grasps his hand, and makes him still.

And there, kneeling at last, holding the hand of a man who would be a stranger tomorrow, who would be, by destiny, a king, he looks up and Radovid looks down, and his eyes have become so extraordinarily clear they make for a polished armor and shield.

Jaskier knew. But as he speaks, his voice weighs on his tongue like a dead song. "You will regret this one day." And even though he doubts, now more than ever, he adds, "I know you will."

Mostly because he can't help it. This wretched hope.

Softly, helpless, Radovid laughs, and it's just like that first night, in the bittersweet confession of the song. "Good. That means I will remember you still."

Only for one last moment.

Then his gaze becomes stern, and Jaskier forces himself to let go of his hand and thinks, he didn’t have enough time to learn how to do that.

The next moment, he is alone.

The tears have now dried up and pull mercilessly at his skin along with the smudged black kohl. Somewhere, in a corner, a lute laments for a last stroke of amateur fingers to sing a melody gone rusty. The moonlight is fading.

Jaskier closes his eyes, swallows. The tears, the sobs. The guilt. Truth is, there is not enough time to grieve. There is nothing he could have done.

Only, he stands up and grabs his lute and walks outside the shed, among the paths of dead soldiers and burned words, and the air howls bleak and hopeless through the hollow gap in his chest.

But there is not enough time to grieve.

He has to get Geralt his swords.

#oooh radskier part2 you want to betray each other so badly #anyway hiiii. i also have a playlist on the ao3 note :)#this isn't my best but the drama is there #the witcher #radskier #jaskier #radovid #s3 spoilers #the witcher spoilers #angst #chrysa writes #fic recs

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