#Like. She thinks Jinx is dead. She's going to be mourning that for a long time. You don't get over that easily.

[cawsket]

The problem with canon CaitVi isn't that it's 'toxic'. Plenty of the relationships in Arcane are unhealthy and yet remain compelling. Silco and Jinx undoubtedly have an unhealthy parent/child relationship but it's still interesting. JayVik and Timebomb have unhealthy aspects to some degree. (Most relationships in the show are lime this, lbr.)

The problem is that the way CaitVi is unhealthy comes off as either clunky or unintentional. Like, the dirt under your nails line could be interesting as a line halfway through the series to show Vi's codependence and attachment toward Caitlyn to the point where she undervalues herself, but instead it comes at the end, and it feels like the vibe is supposed to be romantic, but instead it comes across as self-demeaning, and as the final conclusion of their relationship... a little unsatisfying.

That, and I ship Vi and Jinx in a very platonic sense; all of season one was the tale of two sisters, and I think Jinx was more important to Vi than Caitlyn ever was, and the fact that she now thinks Jinx is dead... The last scene should be her mourning with Ekko, the only other person who might understand what Jinx meant to her.

You might say this would make her 'bad rep' or something because the lesbian ship doesn't become endgame or whatever, but the thing is: representation isn't necessarily about ships. Vi would still be a lesbian or bisexual if her and Caitlyn broke up forever (and so would Caitlyn). They've already very firmly established that throughout the series.

Keep in mind I'm not anti-CaitVi at all and I still think they could have become endgame, but like... As it is in the show, they haven't really convinced me it's a viable long-term relationship and I can see them easily breaking up at some point after the credits roll, and the most important thing to note is that if that was intentional I don't think it would be as bad, but I don't think it WAS intentional.

Essentially, what this reads to me is the writers attempting to tell a certain type of story in which Vi and Caitlyn getting together is positive for the series, the sweet in the bittersweet ending of Arcane and Vi's arc, and failing to communicate that effectively.

[shitpostingsapphic]

God, and can you imagine just how DISTRAUGHT Vi must have been upon discovering how close Cait came to death? How she might have discovered her in the aftermath? Especially when she'd just lost her sister?

How long might she have spent at the top of the hexgates, lost to her agony, mourning the death of Jinx? How long did it take her to climb down, to realize the battle was over, to find Cait again? When did she find the strength? Was she numb? Was she desperate?

Where did she find Cait? Was she still on the battlefield, nearly bled out? Or did Vi find her later in some sort of infirmary or hospital, barely breathing and covered in blood and bandages? Did she think Cait might have been dead, and had to have been reassured by someone else that she was indeed alive? Would she scream? Would she wail? Would she be unable to distinguish that Cait is indeed alive for herself, having just witnessed the death of her sister and that trauma and fear saturating and tainting her perceptions of this moment?

I'm imagining that Vi has to place her head on Caitlyn's chest so she can hear her heartbeat, feel her chest rise and fall with her breath that stirs the hair at the crown of her head as she looks up at Caitlyn's face, now without an eye. Red blood just barely saturates through the white bandages that wrap around half her head. She holds Cait's hand and doesn't let go, sat just like that for hours.

[honeymuffinpheonix]

My name is Powder Kiramann. I'm named after my aunt, who my Mama says died long ago. She says her mum grew into someone else, but then she had to leave. Leave on an adventure, for forever. It took me a long while to realise Powder Jinx was dead, and not just traveling.

Mama smiled sadly when I asked if her sister was dead. "A cockroach, my sister. Nothing could kill her. There's no body. So I'll hold out hope... but I don't think you'll get to meet her, in afraid, my gunpowder."

I don't think my mum likes my name, that much. I catch her frowning when she thinks I'm not there to notice. Uncle Ekko says mama chose it, as Mum was away when I was born. Something about a "grey." She frowns harder when I shoot well with a pistol, and when I make my glitter and paint contraptions. Uncle and Mamma get a sad look in their eyes, but they still smile when they go off. Nostalgia, or melancholy, my teacher would maybe say. I take after my aunt, apparently. My aunt and my Uncle Mylo- supposedly he was a whiz with a set of lockpicks.

Mum doesn't like those skills as much. Says I'm a member of House Kiramann, and would never need them. I just think picking the safe locks is fun.

Everyone says my aunt is dead. There's murals of her on walls in Zaun, and people with blue hair still leave glitter and paint cans at their base, whilst Piltovians complain about the mess, even now. Uncle Ekko gets a sad look in his eyes when she's mentioned, and Mama goes quiet. Mum doesnt seem to particularly mourn my aunt... but she doesn't seem happy she's dead, either.

That said, I don't think she's dead. For I know something nobody else does: every year, once a year, on my birthday, I wake up to a present. It might be paint, or glitter, or blueprints for glitter bombs or other prank toys, or tools, or rare scrap. One year it was a music player. But every year, without fail, there is a present, wrapped in neon pink and blue, adressed to "Powder Kiramann" from the "Ladies Crownguard." A spray-paint style monkey is stamped next to the official signature.

There's no postage, so I could never trace it; but apparently, the Crownguard's are a family in Demacia... and one of them got married to a blue haired woman, a few years ago. I couldn't be sure that thay was my aunt, and so for a long time, I ignored the thought.

But then, there were rumours of a delegation from Demacia coming to visit.

And I met the woman with blue hair that smelled like bullets and paint.

I met my aunt.

[wingedshadowfan]

‘so long as caitlyn was truly there to help. and if she wasn't, she believed jinx could kill her and, well, vi probably thought in that case she had it coming. by not telling her jinx would be there, she basically sentenced caitlyn to death at the hands of her sister if caitlyn didn't do her part of the plan.’

So you think vi was fine with jinx killing cait if she didn’t prove herself, that she would have it coming? I think you have a good point and it makes me see vi in a different light cause i never saw cait sentencing vi to death no matter what

thank you sm for this question, I'll try my best to explain my thought process!!

i did fear for a while that this interpretation of mine was taking it too far, but i sincerely believe two things:

vi loves caitlyn (and i even argue she knows caitlyn loves her back, despite their fallout) but caitlyn is not family. and family is everything.

vi's family was forged in the dirt, hunger and violence of the undercity over her foundational years spent in adversity and oppression. family is to be lead and protected at all costs (whether it's by vander or by vi, whom he taught this). vi has grown up so much and become who she is only to be able carry the responsibility for her family's safety - remember, she's only so good at keeping her family safe bcuz she's terrified of losing it. this is what made her who she is. it's everything to her.

caitlyn, romantic love, although also in similar conditions, was forged in the first days of vi's freedom, when she was still looking for her family, her true purpose, and is thus something deeply personal to her. it's a luxury and an indulgence bcuz while vi deeply cares for her, she doesn't necessarily lead caitlyn or feel responsibility for her the same way she does for her family. she believes (or thinks it'll be less painful to believe) that, like most good things, this love isn't here to stay ("oil and water"). it's just a thing she can allow herself for a bit before she gets to her family (powder) again. she does grow more attached to caitlyn, and i think she's the closest to seeing caitlyn as smth at the same level of family somwhere between cassandra's death and before their fight - that's where it all crumbles.

vi decidedly doesn't want caitlyn dead but if she had to choose between jinx killing caitlyn and caitlyn harming their family (again, now), she wouldn't think twice.

but then i think abt how vi has chosen jinx at the risk of disastrous consequences before (and she does it again after too), in fact, she's chosen jinx above everything - and an enormous part of why she forgives caitlyn is that caitlyn shows vi she understands and respects this before the jail sex scene. i think choosing jinx, choosing family, is an incredibly foundational part of vi's character that she only started dismantling in that very scene: vi chose caitlyn, yes, but in that vi also chose herself.

this is why i feel like at the edge of the noxian camp, having just reunited w/ caitlyn who she no longer really trusts, and left jinx to keep watch of vander at the commune, she'd trust jinx's judgement abt caitlyn (again, seeing how "stable" jinx was in the tunnels and in the commune now that she's w/out silco's influences and w/ isha instead)

if caitlyn simply betrays vi again and doesn't do anything to help, stays aside or remains neutral when singed and rictus attempt to take vander, that's a fool me twice, and vi would blame herself for it. but if caitlyn actively tries to harm her family (jinx/vander/perhaps even isha) now that vi is so close to finally having it back again, i think it would leave vi no choice but to let caitlyn go for good. she might still mourn her after jinx kills her, but she'd know it's for the best since she might think caitlyn had changed too much from the person vi fell in love with and was beyond saving from her own desire for revenge. i think in that moment vi chose family - and in this i can't help thinking of the look she casts caitlyn when she reunites w/ jinx, vander, and isha in their group hug/nuzzle situation

vi also tells jinx, he's your father too, and invites her in, additionally showing caitlyn how she feels abt jinx despite everything jinx has done and you can see the gears turning in caitlyn's head (perhaps loving someone despite such crimes seems unthinkable to caitlyn, but caitlyn didn't grow up in zaun where ppl have to stick together and do what it takes and fight to survive, where no one gets left behind)

it all screams: this is me, this is my family, they're everything to me and they will always come first for me

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Grayclaw

"Looks like we're gonna have to kill this guy, Jinx Arcane."

"Damn."

Grayclaw is a silver tabby tom with spiral patterned stripes, long fur, sharp claws, broad shoulders, and ears that begin to curl inward at the tips by ASC Book 4. His eyes are ice-blue.

Poor Graypaw. He takes each loss he feels so deeply to heart. He was inconsolable when his Papa was gone, as he and Jayclaw had an incredibly close bond despite how young Graykit was.

When Curlfeather passed, Graypaw took it even more terribly. He was very nearly in denial, trying to hold himself together to be the "rock" for his sisters. He did not do it well.

Splashtail sunk his claws into him. Promised him security in return for support. He was Curlfeather's apprentice, he knew she would want him to watch over her kits. She was such a good, loving mother, wasn't she? Such a shame she's gone, she would have made a perfect leader, good thing she shared all her ideas with me to make me a perfect new candidate. Ah, rest, sweet Curlstar, I shall take care of your children for you...

Graypaw buys it. He supports Splashtail, his new best friend. When Splashtail claims his leadership, Graypaw vouches for him. His mother trusted him, he must clearly be worthy.

Then Frostpaw is "killed". She runs away from the Clans into a strange place with a small party of other cats, Sunbeam, Nightheart, Whistlepaw, and Shadowsight. No one knows this, of course. She is assumed to have died as well. Graypaw snaps. He cannot take another loss, and hangs on to every word Splashtail says. Splashtail is young and born from tumultuous times himself. Starclan has lead them astray in his eyes, and his mentality stems from a long cycle of violence that is as inevitable as an egg spoiling in summer heat. Graypaw swears he will do anything to keep Riverclan safe, and follow Splashstar's every order.

In return, Graypaw is immediately given his warrior name, Grayclaw. In honour of his beloved father, who would be so proud to see him. Splashstar tells Riverclan to yowl loud enough that Jayclaw will hear his name being honored. Funny that he left out any mention of 'Curlstar'.

Grayclaw becomes one of Splashstar's enforcers, quickly climbing the ranks. Grayclaw, Duskfur, Shinetoe, Brackenpelt, Foxnose, Shadenose, Wavesplash, Spikeleaf, and Mallownose all support him. While Mallownose is made deputy, Splashstar creates a second position. Head Enforcer.

Grayclaw is placed in that decorated position. He is in charge of enforcing Splashstar's rules, and making sure cats are compliant with them. He buries his head in the sand when it comes to complaints. The only one he'll listen to is his sister. Mistpaw, denied a warrior name for not singing Splashstar's praises, doesn't complain, but... She does make suggestions. She saw a lot of salmon in the stream, maybe they could do more hunting patrols today rather than making everyone go over battle moves for the 5th time in a row?

Grayclaw grieves his missing sister, presumed dead, he cannot stop thinking about how much of a failure he must be, that the only hope he has left is to keep Mistpaw safe... If she keeps looking upset, Splashstar will get angry...

He forces Mistpaw to bow to Splashstar, calling him Riverclan's true leader, and that the only reason she'd held off was due to her own grief for her mother. Of course Splashstar understands, he's so generous, so wise.

He gives her the name Mistwillow instantly, a beautiful name, and seems to settle down. Grayclaw sees this as having been the correct thing to do. It kept his sister safe and in line, and Splashstar approved.

Then, when the dust seemingly settled during a horrible battle with Windclan, Frostpaw appeared in the moonlight, silver fur shining and curled ears framing the crescent moon. She had a small group with her that was growing quickly, leading a rebellion against Splashstar and his enforcers. Grayclaw at first was enraged, he had mourned her so badly, fought so hard for the peace he had built for Mistwillow and himself, and now she came in trying to tear it all down. He fought like hell at first, going after the River Rebels and doing his best to destroy them.

And then he grew desperate. He begged Frostpaw to join them. They'd be a happy family again. They wouldn't have to be alone anymore. They could just go back to the way things used to be. She just had to give all of this up...

Frostfeather refuses, and The River Rebels make another push back into their home.

Grayclaw can't take it. He can't handle his sister abandoning him again. He needs to be better, to keep what he has left together as it slips through his claws like feathers in a hurricane. He resolves himself of one thing...

He'll always have his sister's memory.

Grayclaw catches his sister, crashing into her after a long chase up onto the highest cliff of Sun-Drown Place, the two rolling over each other, almost off the edge of the cliff.

As thunder cracks deafeningly above them and lightning shines in Frostfeather's star-filled eyes, Grayclaw pins her against soaking wet rock, sharpened claws raised high, dripping from the torrential rain around them... He knows if Frostfeather perishes, the rebellion will too. Splashstar needs him to do this.

He has to do this.

Why can't he do this?

[dayoldbaguette]

re: arcane season 2 finale

Long summary of my viewing experience under the cut:

A summary:

They really dropped the ball on the whole social issues plot and theme, in like, everyone's stories, huh. rip Sevika, I knew the end was near when they gave you that terrible hair cut (fr, zaun needs better barbers on top of everything else). There was no point where it feels like Piltover was forced to reckon with its actions towards Zaun in a major way. There was no uprising, no recognition that maybe we shouldn't have retaliated like this post council chamber explosion. guess the oppression continues as usual (or okay, small incremental changes through sevika on the council I guess but like, narratively this feels deeply unsatisfying). Zaun should've pressured Piltover into giving them independence or smth during the attack. But no. Turns out Piltover can oppress Zaun all they like and only tear down the barricades when they need more meat for the war meat grinder.

wow. they really ruined caitvi huh. yeah. who went 'i'm the dirt under your nails' would be cute and similarly, who said 'oh yeah this sex scene in A JAIL CELL, right after your sister heavily implied she's about to go off herself, with your ex who has not quit oppressing the city you're from or even apologized for all she's said/done' is about true love and not, you know, reeking of desperation that in another show I would assume would be reflective of like, having such incredibly low-self esteem this would be rock bottom. Grow a backbone Vi, your girlfriend thinks you're an animal and has yet to apologize for it.

magic is boring and I feel nothing now. I liked it more when magic was basically a metaphor for technology in unequal societies. Viktor was more interesting then, and this 'humanity is a weakness' conflict is much less interesting than the social issues conflict we had in the first season. I'm not a jayvik shipper, thoroughly ambivalent towards them, I just. Could not manage to care about that plotline at all basically.

Episode 7 is the only good part. they really teleported into a coffee shop AU/everybody* (except Vi) lives fanfic of their own show. can someone write a season 2 that had episode 7's energy. (and I don't mean I want it to be perfect reality I just want that sort of episode, focused on like, 1-2 events with lots of character work back. It's by no means perfect, but I at least feel something positive about it without feeling hollow so)

visuals and artsy montages are cool but they are not an excuse for literally skipping character development. they literally just. did not give any character development to cait between ep 3 and 4 and just hoped we'd be fine with it. what. last episode she hated these people so much she wanted to gas them and become dictator, next episode post time skip she's gotten what, bored?

This is silly but I don't like jinx's hair in the final scenes. i like the multiple dyes, but she went too short in the back. it's giving witness era katy perry a little bit. and her outfit without the hood to make it cool is just not it.

they really did my girl dirty. justice for jinx, give her the redemption she deserves. by this I mean 1) isha felt like a stock character there to flip jinx's switch from happy to suicidal, felt like a cheap manipulative trick and 2) making her die/fake her death is uhhh, dumb. no, I refuse, she deserves the chance to work to make zaun and piltover better, just like she deserves to finally have a good relationship with her sister

Justice for my boy ekko. give him a seat on the council, why does he end the series alone and mourning a girl who prob isn't dead

the ending feels hollow tbh. the social issue aspect of it is secondary to well, the arcane, and ironically arcane to me was never about 'the arcane', but about everything surrounding it. It's not about magic, but the people it affects. without issues that we face irl to ground a story about magic, it becomes hollow. a pretty dream or thought experiment. what part of 'my friend has become jesus and is now convinced he needs to destroy emotions because they make us flawed' is relatable. wish the resolution to the series was you know, something that felt like a puzzle coming together, a resolution that involves all the characters, not literally just a 'I know you're somewhere in there' fight between Jayce and Viktor, one which Ekko is the only one to contribute to, and this by just, chucking his machine at Vik's head. what. what does that mean other than. if you encounter a magical problem throw a magic machine at it. cool. great story. I love investing my time in this. what thrilling character driven storytelling. don't you feel like all of the character development has been leading to this pivotal drive chucking scene??? Aren't you impressed by our wit and clever writing???

honestly, they should've given us less ambessa and mel drama. all felt very disconnected from the rest of the plotlines

we never get time to linger, we never get time for character development, it's like we have a list of beats to hit with no regard for how we get there. 'evolution has a destination' indeed, victor, and the destination is apparently all this season cared about, who cares about the journey and characters on it, right?

ugh. it's 3 am. I want to go to sleep.

[he-is-kinda-spacey]

Arcane hot takes (mainly caitvi), rants and ideas.

Vi would not care all that much about Maddie. +the maddie hate is overdone. It would not surprise me if Vi also slept with someone else during that time, we know she had a gf in jail and slept around, i think she might be a bit upset but in the long run i think she would 1, understand and 2, know that there is more important shit happening. I also wonder if Ambessa had anything to do with Maddie and Cait but im not sure about that. I think Cait just likes short women. Cait is a top, "i think their switches" sure but even when they switch i still think Cait is the dominant one. Vi has barely any dominant bones in her body. I love her but she cannot defeat the lover girl allegations. Vi likes being hit. Now obviously she has alot of trauma with being hit but if you look at the scenes and compare them... i fear its clear. In the scene where she argues with Cait and Cait hits her in the stomach, she falls to the ground and cries, so you would think "ok that hurt her." BUT in episode 6 when Vi follows that guy through the cliffs Cait jumps down and hits her in the exact same way she did after her argument, Vi falls to the ground cuz she was tackled but she doesnt look like it hurt that bad, sure she groans but she rolls it off and doesnt seem to care. And then later when Vi tells her to hit her, Cait hits her so hard that she blacks out for a second, the light from her eyes disapears and she looks shocked and dizzy, but as she turns around, shes smirking. So my take is Vi likes being hit but only when its consensual obviously and only when shes in the right mindset.

Not rly a hot take more just a want but vi and jinx should take silco and vanders jackets. The sizes are like perfect for them, one is shorter but stockier and the other is taller but smaller and lankier. they would be so cute. In the scene where they first find Jinx and they have the big fight and Isha jumps infront of Jinx and points the gun at Vi, I think Jinx wasnt just saying no cuz she wanted to die, i think she just didnt wait Vi to die until she was dead. She wanted Vi to see her dead, she wanted Vi to feel guilt and mourn, she wanted Vi to recognise her sister as she lay on that table. Until ofc the building would have blown up, killing Vi as well. They would have had the perfect poetic end, with Vi forgiving jinx in her last few moments. But Isha ruined it, If isha shot Vi, Jinx would have had to go, she wouldnt be able to just let herself get killed by Cait, she knew she was too quick for her anyway. The only way she would have died is if Vi killed her, and cuz of Isha, that wasnt happening. Continuing on from the last scene, when Vi jumps off the table to stand infront of Jinx and Isha so Cait couldnt shoot them, Jinx saw her sister for the first time in like 8 years. She recognised the girl standing infront of her, doing everything she could to protect an innocent. Jinx knew she wasnt doing it for her obvi, Jinx knows she is not innocent. I really do beleive that is the scene where Jinx made a switch, where she decided to forgive Vi, as much as she could ofc, which in turn led to her supporting her at fights, and bringing her to vander. I think without that scene, if Jinx had survived without Isha, the story would have been so different. she would have continued to envy and hate Vi, she wouldnt have invited her to see vander, they never would have worked together. Basically what im saying is Isha is the glue. With isha being the glue ofc brings worry for the next act, in the trailer Jinx acts a wreck. shes slow, dissociated, depressed and empty. and while i dont entirely beleive isha is dead i beleive she is hurt or gone for the first bit. So that begs the question, how will jinx react? on one hand, she could go mental again, return to the way she was before Isha, hearing things, seeing things, being childish, loud and erratic to distract herself from her trauma. on the other hand, she is to far ahead to go back. This is the more likely outcome to me. She will begin to fall back on Vi, in the trailer we can hear/see her talking to Vi in a civil way, and Caitlin has lost alot of hate for her, they know have one common enemy. They dont like eachother but as we saw in episode 6 they are able to work together and tolerate eachother. i beleive Jinx will lean on Vi as a way to stay up, she might not be helpful but i think she will hang around Vi and Cait like a cat. Mainly wanting to be with Vi, especially after "hes your father too" but Cait is ussually with Vi so its kind of a package deal.

Maddie is working with ambessa or maybe ambessa just told her to hookup with Cait. She’s too pure. Somethings wrong.

none of this has any real reason i just felt like yapping. ill probably add more, i also want to see if any of my stuff is correct.

[mistresscitrusslice]

jinx dying is not at all a resolution to her arc or to the story. even if you ignore league and jinx as a champion, her death would be unsatisfying as a conclusion to the story. her death would solve nothing and as s2 is the final season, they wouldnt have enough tjme to fully explore the impact of her death on the other characters, on society, etc. fundamentally the story is about the two sisters, and i think a much likelier conclusion is some reparation of the bond they shared as children? i'm not entirely sure and it'll definitely be bittersweet, esp looking at their relationship in league, but there is absolutely no way jinx dies

Jinx dying would solve like half the cities’ problems. In fact, keeping her alive would mean keeping alive the conflict between the cities. There seems to be no feasible way to have Jinx live AND tie up a resolution to the show because as long as she lives, she wreaks havoc, thus causing more plot.

Let me be clear, I love Jinx and don’t want to see her dead. I want there to be a way for her to live. It just doesn’t seem like there is one right now.

We SAW ALREADY the sisters almost reconciling and we were shown exactly why that wouldn’t work. With Vi allying herself with the enforcers, they stray even further away from any sort of truce.

Arcane is inherently a tragedy. Main characters have a tendency to die in tragedies. Sorry, Jinx.

The problem is, Arcane isn’t just a tragedy. It’s also an adaptation of League of Fucking Legends. And Jinx isn’t dead in League of Fucking Legends. Sorry again, Jinx. Therein lies the contradiction.

You sound a lot like me back when I was convinced Mel would live. Her dying wouldn’t be satisfying or good for the story, but you know whose story it would be good for? Ambessa’s. I still don’t fully understand why they’re also killing off Jayce and Viktor, especially since the Hexcore is still active and volatile, but I get that there’s so much going on with everyone else’s arcs and plot that they don’t have time for these two stooges’ bullshit. There’s simply no room for a divorce arc amidst the Zaun family drama, as sad as I am that we won’t get to see more of Viktor and Mel.

A lot of things can be implied from the context around it, and a lot of stories conclude with an open or partially open ending. We may leave it off with Jinx’s dead body and a grieving Vi above her, Cait at her side mourning on her behalf but resolute that it had to be done. Whatever the ending, it has to be bittersweet. It’s an ending we’ve all felt so many times before in many different stories. A lot of good can come from leaving the audience to ponder on how the characters carry on after that, how the cities get rebuilt, who ends up in power after all is said and done, how the inventions that came as a result of war changed the world for better or worse…

Arcane is a tale that may actually benefit from exploring less of the result of its resolution. It would open up more avenues for fanfiction and fanart, get more people talking and hypothesizing for other shows Riot and Fortiche may make, generally increase engagement and hype for future projects.

[f1shbonez]

"We have to leave - now." (@vastayan--vigilante)

The world seemed to move at a different speed when you were under fire. There was a rush. A thrill. Everything seemed to slow down. Jinx felt herself react the moment she felt the impact. At the front of the board Ekko became a sudden deadweight, careening them into a death spiral. 

Back five seconds. 

In a blink, they were flying high again, the glint of the watch now nestled in Jinx’s hand. The shot was going to come again and they needed to move out of the way this time. There wasn’t time to think about what had just happened. Did Ekko even know? A sharp tug at Ekko’s sleeve sought to direct his attention as Jinx planted her weight on the board, leaning them away. The shot rang out once more. Ekko dropped again, this time accelerating their fall with the added angle of the board. 

Shit!

It was impossible to try the watch again as they fell. She had to hold on. At this rate they were both going to–

The noise of the impact drowned everything else out. Dazed, Jinx lay in the wreckage of the hoverboard, aching, bruised and bleeding. Only after her mind processed what had just happened did she lurch back to life to where Ekko lay motionless. 

His mask was shattered and far, far too much blood coming from his head. 

Ice cold panic crept in. 

No. This couldn’t happen. Had she messed up with the watch? What if she’d tried something different? Pale hands mapped Ekko in silent horror and disbelief, feeling for any signs of life. 

“No, no no no no nononono…” A mournful sound built at the back of Jinx’s throat. She knew what this looked like. She recognised it. She’d seen it with her parents. With Vander. With Silco. Now Ekko, too. 

Was it too late?

If Ekko was dead, what would the other Firelights do with her? Would they turn on her like Silco’s men? 

…Would they blame her? 

The thought made Jinx want to slip away into the shadows and never return. 

All your fault. All your fault. ALL YOUR FAULT. 

Hollow, tear-filled eyes looked down at Ekko. 

What would Ekko want her to do? 

After a moment of digging, Jinx pulled a flare from the pack, casting a plume of white smoke into the air. The others were going to be close by. Hopefully they’d be closer than Corina’s people. Ekko’s no-gun rule was proving extra stupid when everyone else they were up against had them. If he lived, Jinx resolved to use this to cement her ongoing argument. 

It wasn’t long before the recognisable mask of Scar arrived at the scene. Relief and dread coursed through Jinx’s veins. 

Too late! Too late! Tick tock! It’s too LATE!

"We have to leave - now."

…Had Scar seen Ekko, motionless in the dark? Did he think Ekko was still awake behind the mask? 

“...I was trying to help–” Jinx’s words were thick as she wrung her bloodstained hands. How were they going to leave? It would be better for Scar to just take Ekko and leave her here, Jinx thought. 

“He won't wake up.”

[paolachatters]

about caitvi's pacing, I also agree that people are complaining when there are straight couples for whom this happens much faster...I also think people tend to disregard the fact that cait and vi trauma bonded multiple times and had only each other to rely on

another thing that does not sit right with me is ppl reducing them to a "ship" and saying writers disregarded vi's familial bonds for the sake of said "ship", but complain about Ekko having a sad ending just because he didn't end up with Jinx when he still has the firelights and Vi, and anyone barely mentions how Jayce who also had a beautiful ending with Viktor, had a sad ending regarding his relationship with his mom and Caitlyn who's basically a sister to him

Yeah with the paicing AU Powder and out Universe Ekko (because there was an Ekko there too who had done all the build up for him lets not forget) got one episode that imo didn't really do much for the story itself except for telling you that Vi should be able to have a life of her own, she'll always miss Jinx just like Powder will always miss Vi but she also got to grow and have a life beyond the loss of her sister. That was my personal takeaway from episode 7.

As for the familial bonds it makes me laugh again in reference to episode 7 because EVERYONE is fine with Vi dying and everyone just moving on with their life...as people do. Or taking what a few minutes to have sex with the person she loves before going into war and maybe dying but they are ok with the idea of Ekko and Jinx painting on each other for god knows how long. Like if you're not ok with one at least don't be ok with the other. Vi thought Jinx had just left, that she ran away, but as soon as she finds her she's back to helping. And she is still mourning her in the last scene she's not throwing a party, she's sitting down humming a song THAT REMINDS HER OF HER FAMILY. People just want older sisters dead.

[insult-2-injury]

Taking the Shot

A gift for the lovely @x-amount-verbs- a massive, 6.5K smutty one-shot inspired by her brilliant story, A Helping Hand. (If you're not reading it, I don't know what you're doing). Big thanks to her for allowing me to put her OC, Ivy, into some very compromising positions.

[Silco x f!oc (using helping hand reader/OC)] [6.5K WC] [NSFW MDNI] [gun range setting] [Mirror Sex] [Fingering] [Facefucking] [Praise Kink] [Manhandling] [dom silco] [Lots of teasing] [Dirty talk] [Fluff at the end]

Note: gun target practice, no gun violence, no gunplay

Bang.

The gun recoiled in her hand.

An almost deranged smile stretched from where she’d bitten down on the center of her plump lips, joy rampaging through her chest like a wildfire as she hit her target dead center. An almost painful relief. Such a delicious welcome from the depression, the feelings of uselessness that had tightened their iron grip around her heart like a vise since the accident.

She could still do this.

Could still close her eyes and feel those subtle vibrations in the air, shifting like the plucks of tiny harp strings, carrying her bullet forward and straight into the heart of her victim. Which, in this case, was the top of a soup can, painted crudely in a neon green.

She was in a run down, abandoned textile warehouse on the outskirts of Zaun. The roof had caved in a long time ago. Decrepit place. Standing mirrors, dusty furniture, piles of unused fabrics were scattered haphazardly.

But Jinx had helped fix this movable target practice up, the funny little mastermind. She smiled to herself, thinking about the way the girl had sat there comically with a blowtorch and giant goggles, grinning ear to ear.

She’d hesitated when Jinx had proposed the idea. Had thought maybe this was too big of a step and too quickly. Mostly worried about her own self-doubts. Whether she would cripple when she found out she wasn’t that same talented sharpshooter as before.

But no. No. She was still good. Hadn’t lost a lick of that talent.

She revved up the machine again, transferred the gun to her prosthesis, closed one eye and watched the little targets rise, whir past. Adjusted her grip until she got that feeling.

And making quick work of it, she hit three more consecutively, something devilish about the way her stomach flipped and her lips curled.

“Impressive.”

She choked on a gasp, body stiffening. She would be able to recognize that crooning voice out of a line-up of hundreds. Thousands. How could she not when the sound had utterly consumed her thoughts as of late.

Like a rocket ship seconds before liftoff, her heart rate picked up to a swift patter before she even turned.

How long had he been standing there?

Silco was supposed to be out for the day on shimmer business. No therapy, no planned contact. She’d already mourned over the minor loss, for Janna’s sake. Something oddly indignant had her lips forming a thin line and, clutching the gun with a suddenly damp hand, she spun around finally.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she stuttered, feeling immediately stupid.

Silco’s lithe form leaned against the splintered door frame, hands in his pockets, something she’d come to recognize as dark amusement glittering in his eyes. He must have just returned from a business engagement because he was wearing that damned coat.

His gaze dropped sharply to her prosthesis.

“On the contrary, my dear.” Silco’s eyes flicked back up to hers. “I go wherever I please.”

He shouldn’t be out alone, without protection. No, she disciplined herself, not for the first time. He could take care of himself. She knew that.

“Jinx helped me set this up,” she offered, at a loss for words.

“She is who directed me here,” he said, brow quirking as he peeled from the door frame, beginning a slow saunter toward her. “And curiosity, I suppose.”

Oh, he was wearing gloves, she noticed right away, a blush beginning a heated track across her cheeks. She tried not to let her shameful gaze wander as she fought off every instinct to take a step back for each one of his forwards.

Because this wasn’t his office. This was entirely new territory.

“About?” she asked lightly, turning from his approaching form, lest he spot something in her expression that he shouldn’t.

It was supposed to be a surprise, she thought, that she’d taken to practicing. Well, with her gun, of course. She wanted to pout. She wasn’t a child, she didn’t need to perform tricks for the man.

But she wanted to, didn’t she? Wanted to impress him. Hated that she ached for that praise.

“Your progress, of course.”

She nodded, swallowing down the sudden dryness in her throat as he inspected the area, eyeing the crudely made moving targets, dragging two sinful fingers across the surface of a nearby table until he came to a halt in front of a gold-plated, full-length mirror, contemplating.

There was something… excitable about him tonight, a feverish energy prickling the air around him like a live wire.

Hm.

“Your meeting go well?”

Silco’s head canted just enough for her to see the slow, evil curl of his lips from the shadows.

“More than well.”

His crimson eye sharply tracked the movement of her violent shudder from over his shoulder before he turned on his heels, making his way back.

She couldn’t feign indifference anymore when his boots stopped inches away, looming over her.

Silco’s voice was soft, but the glint in his eye was a knowing one.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

She peered up from under her lashes and shrugged. Elected, instead, to stare intently at the silk tie that cinched his thin neck.

“I was planning on it.”

“Were you?” he asked, studying her a moment before stepping back, arms gesturing wide, flippant. “Demonstrate.”

Demonstrate… again?

She stared, unnerved. It was a pretty simple request, really, and it wasn’t as if it were the first time she’d been asked to perform for him. It was just different somehow,when these strange new boundaries seemed to be evolving, mutating by the second.

“Show me,” he repeated, eyes steady on hers, brooking no room for argument.

She turned to the whirring machine, a single target remaining. Her body felt alight with jitters, tremendously aware of the way his gaze stripped her down to her center, capturing and devouring her uneasiness like a cat with a mouse tucked beneath its paw.

She had 12 rounds. Nose twitching, she released a cleansing breath and took aim.

“Ivy,” he chided, and she grit her teeth.

They weren’t in his office. This wasn’t therapy.

She felt his searing satisfaction as she begrudgingly switched her gun to her prosthesis.

Closing one eye, she lined up her shot, peripheral vision blurring until the only thing down her sight was the moving target.

Her finger tightened on the trigger and-

She practically leapt out of her skin as something brushed across her back lightly, sending her shot firing upward. Whirling, she found Silco on her other side now, feet away, looking entirely unapologetic, fixing his glove.

“So sorry, do try again.”

She stared, unblinking, something irreparably destabilizing in the light touch of his hand, a cold shudder clanking down her spine.

11 rounds.

She could do this. Silco knew it, too, had been watching her for Janna knows how long before announcing his presence.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathed, adjusted her stance.

And shuddered. It never worked. Never. Whenever she had to try. No, she had to feel it. But all she could feel right now was that paralyzing gaze, much too close as it darted across the angles of her profile.

Squinting in concentration, her shot fired out, skimming just outside the little target.

10 rounds.

“Try again,” he commanded harshly from her side.

She bit her lip, took a deep, quaky breath, trying to dispel the odd tremble in her limbs, the slow, crawling heat that was blooming softly in her belly. She raised the gun once more.

And missed.

She’d just done it. He’d seen.

9 rounds.

“You’re rushing. Again.”

Her throat constricted.

Was that excitement in his tone?

Another miss.

8 rounds.

“Again.”

She lowered the gun limply to her side, glaring pointedly ahead.

“I can’t,” she muttered, thoroughly humiliated.

“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that.”

And again, there was something… volatile in the chime of his voice. Like he was playing with her.

He stepped forward, tapping her bicep.

“Up.”

She jolted at the contact and with an almost embarrassing speed, did just as he asked, heating blooming across her cheeks at her unconscious submission.

With a low, approving hum at her side, he altered her grip on the gun, scarcely touching her, the hem of his coat brushing ghostlike across the backs of her knees.

Heart clattering like a tin can, eyes squeezed shut to try and lessen the quivering in her limbs from his proximity alone, she waited for him to release her wrist. But he didn’t, instead dragging his firm grip upward to rest on her elbow.

“There you are,” he said breezily, “Now, try again.”

The shot rang out.

Went completely stray, wood shattering somewhere in the recesses of the room.

7 rounds.

“It wasn’t but five minutes ago you were hitting every one.”

She let out a stuttering gasp when his arm progressed upward to wrap almost painfully tight around her upper arm.

“I wonder what it is that has Ivy so unsettled.”

Silco was hardly touching her. And she was melting, desperately trying to center herself from the crashing wave of almost nauseating desire that swelled from the single point of contact.

“For one, I can see a few improvements to be had,” he tsked, “One being your stance. Too stiff.” A booted foot wedged between her legs, kicked out her back foot, bringing his heat that much closer to her wobbling form.

Breath lightly caressed the shell of her ear, tone holding a cunning note of underhanded bemusement.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

Because she wanted to impress him.

“Hm?” he prompted after a prolonged silence.

“I wanted to get back into shooting,” she exhaled, “That’s all.”

A rumble of disapproval hummed through his chest.

“Try again,” he commanded.

And she carried out his orders, how could she not? Squeezed the trigger, hardly aiming anymore, the shot once again going wide.

6 rounds.

A hand lightly grazed up her side, paused, almost in permission, and she found herself leaning back on her heels just slightly, searching for the heated planes of his stomach. Finding empty air, his body circumventing hers, always withholding.

His movement resumed as her breathing hitched, his knuckles just barely brushing the outside curve of her breast before traveling back down, fingers bracing almost tenderly around the soft skin just above her hip bone.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?” he asked again, voice lethally quiet.

“I wanted-“

She stopped. It was too much, too humiliating. Because he was just going to mock her, step away and she’d have to go home, suffer the lonely consequences.

But then his nose brushed the curve of her ear, tracing the shell. And one of her knees buckled as she choked out a telling gasp. His palm slid around to her abdomen, splayed there, not so much bracing her up as just resting lightly, taunting.

“What is it? What did you want?”

She grimaced, couldn’t help the way her head drooped in embarrassment. Her voice was small, weak. Just like her subsequent words.

“I wanted you to be proud.”

Silco’s dark chuckle in her ear was practically a purr, sent a flurry of tremors racing down her stiffening spine.

“Did you?” His pinky moved a fraction, brushing just slightly across the top of her waistband. Her knees locked, nails latching onto the wrist of his offending hand. “And do you think I’m proud of you?”

Her lips thinned and she turned her glare away from his line of sight,

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, humiliation scorching like a wildfire across her cheekbones.

“Allow me to rephrase. Do you need more attention?”

All she could manage was a quick, indecipherable jerk of her head.

“Your words,” he commanded.

Another rough swipe of his pinky across her navel and she squeaked, pressing desperately backward, trying to escape the hot shock of desire that accompanied the miniscule motion and only managing to entangle herself further into him.

She let out a string of garbled nothings.

“What was that?” he taunted, nose grazing her temple. “Is it my attention you want?”

The gloved hand gripping her bicep traveled upward slowly, across the gentle curve of her shoulder, up the slope of her neck and into her raven hair, where it expertly massaged her scalp. She vibrated against him like an overheating engine, breathing shallow and head clouding with a heady lust.

“Yes,”she panted, eyes closing at the sensation. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he crooned, exhaling a quiet laugh as she clenched her thighs together, the words traveling lightning quick to the pooling wetness between them. Just as he knew they would.

And she’d just begun to relax into the gentleness, into something almost resembling a lover’s embrace, when his hand fisted roughly in her hair, yanking back until she had to arch her back to accommodate. Her hoarse cry echoed obscenely across the empty warehouse.

Silco’s words were ragged, hissed into her cheekbones, his knife-bladed nose pressed tightly against her hairline from where her head now lay across his shoulder.

“Have you considered, Ivy, the implications of holding my attention?”

Of course she had.

“Y-yes.”

And he tightened his fist further. The unoccupied gloved fingers dipped just beneath the hem of her pants, sitting there unmoving, and she bucked in his grip, eyes blurring with a heady mix of pain and pleasure.

“Make the shot.”

Her jaw slackened when he responded to her hesitation with an agonizing tug, the nails of her flesh hand digging red crescents into his forearm.

No, came a stubborn little voice inside her head.

But Janna, she wanted to hit that moving target for him. And she hated that she did.

“Hit the target, Ivy.”

Perhaps, she thought, a compromise.

With a frustrated cry, she locked her arm, fixed her sights elsewhere, finger pulsing like mad against the gun trigger until she’d unleashed all 6 rounds, the empty chamber clicking furiously several times before she finally relented on it.

Her arm dropped limply to her side.

And what followed was the purest form of silence, with only the weighted sounds of their oxygen intertwining as they both stared at a now busted dress mannequin with six perfect bullet holes in its chest.

See? She was fully capable.

She listened, with a subtle, growing anxiety, to Silco’s increasingly ragged breath fanning across her cheek, his fingers having loosened in her hair.

Had she messed this up?

She turned, painfully slow, afraid of what she might find, of the devastating, smirking outcome. But as the tip of her nose brushed his, she found it was the lack of humor that terrified her the most: a crazed intensity there that nearly consumed the beautiful teal of his right eye.

“Sir?”

He attacked. Hauled her wriggling form backward like she weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you,” he snarled into her ear, “That wasn’t what I asked for at all, was it?”

She clung onto him for dear life.

“Complying just enough to strike innocent.”

She was propped up dazedly in front of the stand-up mirror, feeling very much like the ruined, lead-filled mannequin lying prone behind them.

“But do you want to know what I think?”

A gloved hand wrapped the front of her throat, pressing just enough to make her dizzy, the other traveling up the muscled planes of her abdomen.

“I think you tremble when I’m near,” he spat, emphasizing with a brush of his thumb across the fluttering pulse of her neck, pulling a pathetic whine from her.

It was near impossible to comprehend the mirror’s reflection, Silco’s chin resting on her shoulder, his calculating, frenzied eyes holding hers in a perilous deadlock.

“I want you to see yourself, Ivy, just how desperate you really are.”

As if on a mission to prove his point, she pressed backward dazedly, seeking out his heat through the small gap between their bodies.

She couldn’t be the only one.

She reached behind, trailing up Silco’s thigh.

And cried out in fresh pain as the roaming fingers on her stomach shot upward, locating and twisting her nipple hard through her t-shirt, serrated nose driving into her temple as he harshly reprimanded.

“When did I say you could touch?”

She entrenched her claws hopelessly into the smooth skin of Silco’s forearm, as if he had her dangled over an active volcano. Fingers dipped beneath her waistband, thumb brushing teasing strokes across the sensitive inner junction where thigh met groin. Each narrow pass of his digit left her trembling, just as he’d said, the pulsing between her legs fringing on painful.

She protested. “Why don’t I get to tou-“

Silco squeezed her windpipe, lips quirking villainously in the mirror as he choked the span of two breaths, her back bowing mechanically, backside grinding backward into an impressive erection.

“You’ll get your chance,” he said, “So long as you beg for it.”

Ivy was never one to sulk. She took life’s abuse with a hard glint in her eye, with her jaw clenched firmly against the storm. Therefore, the fact that the man was able to elicit such a quivering pout out of her was alarming to say the least.

Spotting her growing petulance, his thumb swiped once, hard, across her clit. A throaty cry cracked through the air as her knees buckled, head thrown back against his shoulder, resting on the wide lapel of his coat.

Panting, she desperately tried to paddle back to shore through the crashing onslaught of blood rushing through her now ringing ears, hardly catching Silco’s theatrical sigh through the haze.

Silco’s breath tickled the exposed column of her throat as the fingers around her throat dipped into the V of her shirt.

“I’m undecided as to what to do with you, Ivy,” he crooned. “Such a good girl for practicing on your own.”

Something delightful and warm snaked through her chest at the praise.

“But to keep such progress from me?”

“I’m s-sorry,” she rasped, voice tight.

“Oh, I know you are.”

Silco pinched a nipple between two fingers, paired it with another hard swipe across her clit, wrenching another moan from her throat.

“Look at yourself.”

Hesitantly, she cracked her eyes open, peering dazedly at the salacious scene.

Silco hunched, one hand lazily massaging her breasts, the other one down her pants. Her cheeks ruddy, chest heaving with fruitless gasps as she clung to him like a cat on a high branch. And he lay in wait below, arms splayed, a gold and crimson-tinted thorn bush.

“All I need you to do, Ivy, is beg.”

She knew he’d spotted it, that emblematic precipice she stood on. It reflected plain as day in her lust-filled eyes, how he’d won her subservience.

Something victorious and equally vicious quirked his lips into a devilish smirk.

She would beg. She would do it. But she was dragging him down with her.

And he did falter just the slightest when her nose brushed his jagged cheekbone as she turned to ghost her words hotly across the lobe of his ear.

“Please,” her breathlessness entirely genuine, chest heaving against his palm. “I need- I need you to touch me.”

And at the tattered, uneven breath in response, she surrendered, loading the final bullet in the chamber, pressing her damp forehead into the lapel of his coat, sighing into his neck.

“Please, sir. Please, Silco.”

Like a hot stove, she was released suddenly, and there was a long moment where her stomach free fell in anxiety.

Clearing off a nearby table with a ferocious swipe of a single arm, he yanked it in front of her, its legs squealing raucously across the concrete flooring.

With a shocking, cobra-like speed, he had her torso driven into the surface, one hand on her midback, the other going to work on her pants. Dexterously, he unclasped the buttons with a single hand, tearing her pants and underwear down to her ankles in one fell swoop.

Two gloved hands smoothed across the globes of her buttocks, spreading her to the cold air, exposing the wetness she knew full well was glistening on her inner thighs.

She dropped her forehead in a sudden wave of embarrassment and was quickly reprimanded with a tight fist in her hair, his eyes scorching into hers from where they hovered over her head.

“Oh no, you don’t get to look away from this.”

One hand gave her backside a rough thwack and she instantly pushed backward, shamelessly seeking him out.

“Look at you,” he breathed almost reverently.

Silco hardly allowed her the time to feel self-conscious as he released her hair, his now free hand hovering for just a moment in front of her panting mouth before she found herself suddenly invaded, leather fingers pressing inward, exploring the cavern of her mouth, scissoring, shoving slowly across the pad of her tongue until she gagged, eyes watering.

He slipped them out again.

“Bite,” he commanded.

And it took her a few dazed seconds to understand, vision misting. She quickly closed her teeth around the tip of his middle finger, allowing him to tug backward, to free his hand from the glove.

The second it was unencumbered it dove between her legs. Once again, her head thudded onto the table with a vulgar moan, quickly morphing into a whine of despair when his hand disappeared, clapping again at the soft flesh of her backside.

“What did I say?” he reprimanded, and she raised her head obediently.

“Good.”

His fingers danced across the backs of her thigh, kneading softly up to the place he’d just spanked and she bit her lip, hardly caring about the smugness twisting his features, nothing else more important than getting his fingers between her legs again.

“You said you want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Where, exactly?”

Her eyelids fluttered in frustration as Silco’s warm digits danced across her inner thighs, merely outlining her throbbing core.

“Touch m-“ she stuttered, nearly incoherent, “Just touch me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, dear.”

“Put your fingers inside me,” she snapped, and was rewarded with a third, sharp spank. Another painful fist in her hair.

“So shameless, so ill-mannered.”

But she didn’t miss the way his erection dug into her side approvingly.

“Please, sir” she pleaded.

Silco chuckled darkly, hinging forward from the waist, booted feet on either side of one of her quivering legs, lips tracing the shell of her ear.

“Remember this, Ivy,” he said, voice dangerously soft, as he kicked her insole, successfully widening her stance. “I’m not without mercy.”

And two fingers bee-lined to her clit, performing a quick circle around the sensitive bud. A shattered gasp tore from her throat and she only just managed to catch her head from dropping in pure, sanity-shattering bliss.

Silco dipped his fingers carefully between her wet folds, eyes wild and calculated as he drank in her reactions like a fine wine, chin coming to a rest atop her head.

“You are a needy thing,” he murmured quietly, and she shuddered at the feeling of his jaw working, at how docile she remained, pinned beneath him. “Perhaps I should have paid you better attention.”

He spread the growing slick, wanting her to feel how wet she was for him.

“Alleviated you sooner.”

Silco relented to her whining pleas, pushing two fingers slowly inside her, hooking them in a way that had her jaw dropping in euphoria, a low, satisfied groan puncturing the air, her nails digging into the wood from where her arms framed her head.

“You are under my supervision after all.”

He soon pumped with a third finger, refraining from speech, forcing her to listen to the sounds of her arousal, of just how drenched he’d made her.

Silco’s gloved hand released her hair, forging a lazy trail down the center of her back.  The gentleness sent shivers of pleasure through her already quaking form as he stroked across each vertebra until he reached her tailbone.

Bending, arm encircling her hips, leather-covered fingers located her aching bud, and she jerked forward, grinding against the unmoving digits.

He withheld any compassion, instead watching with a predatory head cock as she struggled against him in a desperate bid for friction.

“I suspect this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself writhing against my glove, is it?”

And her stomach dropped, frenzied, lust-filled eyes connecting with his own in the mirror. It should’ve been shameful, the recognition, and it was certainly there, that twinge of embarrassment. But more than anything, it was a freeing acknowledgment of the tension that had been building over the course of a week and a half.

And she felt oddly fine with him knowing exactly what he did to her.

Her chin squeaked against the surface of the table as she jerked her head back and forth, finally tilting it to the side so she could speak.

“No. It’s not.”

Silco’s expression dripped in a villainous self-satisfaction and he finally moved, dragged another tight circle around her swollen bud, paired it with a particularly deadly hook of his fingers within her, sending her hands clawing forward.

“And would you ever have told me?”

He began a steady rhythm, working her, each pass of the ridged seam of his glove across her clit coinciding with a desperate moan.

Silco repeated the question, she shook her head fervently, unable to speak.

“It seems to me you’ve been awfully withholding,” he crooned, breath fanning across the small of her back, eyes fixed to hers in the reflection. “First your little set-up here, now admitting you’ve been fucking yourself with my glove.”

The sound of the spat curse from his lips had her clenching hard around his fingers, a familiar heat stoking in her lower belly, coiling insidiously slow.

“Perhaps I should stop.”

“No, no, no.”

Voice so tight it was practically a screech, her fingers scrabbled for purchase as the heat continued to build, as the tidal wave quickly approached.

“Hm?”

Any semblance of control she’d had was far gone. All she knew for certain was that he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop. Not when she was this close. So, snatching the string of a single, coherent balloon floating by, she babbled the only word she could come up with, muttered it like a prayer.

“Please, please, please, please.”

“Are you going to cum, Ivy?” he purred into the dampening skin of her lower back.

“Please,” she nearly sobbed, stomach tightening like a pulled back rubber band.

“Then, cum.”

The climax smashed into her devastatingly hard, her back bowing violently as that band snapped.

Mouth opened in a silent cry, brows knitted in ecstasy, she determinedly held his evil, gloating gaze until she couldn’t any longer, that tidal wave of pleasure finally crashing through. The weight of it dragged her forehead to thud against the table as she released a strangled moan, stars bursting across her vision.

He drew it out forever. Fingers hooking in time with each violent, perfect convulsion, thumb still circling her clit slowly.

He eased her gently through, not stopping until she was a shuddering, boneless heap on the table, twitching from the overstimulation.

Hair stuck sweaty to her forehead as she pressed it to the cool wood, breath coming out in short puffs, the post bliss of release tingling across her skin. And she thought, if she could, she’d fall asleep right there.

But a light brush of soft lips to her tailbone brought her dazed thoughts back to the man behind. Who still very much had his long fingers pressed inside her.

She raised her bleary gaze to his.

With a slow deliberateness, he pulled his fingers out of her, and she twitched violently as she was hit with an aftershock, clenching around him, the resulting squelch obscene in the otherwise quiet room. At her low groan, the hard outline of his cock twitched against her outer thigh.

For a man so chatty just thirty seconds ago, he was unnervingly quiet now.

She propped herself up with shaking arms, eyed her prosthesis, tried to force away that surge of familiar, venomous self-doubt.

She crawled up onto the table, ignoring, as best she could, his sizzling gaze as it flicked across the side of her face. Swinging her legs up, she tugged her pants the rest of the way off and pulled her boots off one by one, socks to follow, discarding them on the floor with a dull thud. She took a deep, cleansing breath, despising that he could see her fumbling hesitation, the way her eyes kept darting to her hand.

The wetness weeping from her cunt reminded her of what he’d done, how he’d touched her. That he’d wanted to touch her.

 She scooted to a kneeling position before him, butt resting on her heels, knees spread slightly, looking down uncertainly.

A gloved hand tipped her chin up, held it there while three curious fingers came to rest at her lips, waiting, and she darted her tongue out, catching the bitter taste of herself. Sucking his fingers greedily into her mouth, she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Good girl,” he whispered, thumb brushing with uncharacteristic tenderness across a small scar near the crease of her lips before he pulled away.

Fabric rustled as he bent, and two hands were skimming up her hips, stopping at the hem of her t-shirt. She jerkily raised her arms for him to draw it up and over her head.

Until she was entirely bare to him.

Silco swatted at her when she instinctively attempted to cover herself.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

She frowned, blinked curiously at his phrasing.

“Be still. Hands atop your thighs,” came the reprimand again as she curled inward. “Let me look at you.”

She could feel his eyes as they slid across her naked form, felt that golden ribbon of arousal curl between her legs once again as he cupped two hands beneath her breasts, thumbs rolling slow, tantalizing circles over her pebbled nipples as she squirmed and whined.

“It’s hard to be the only one without clothes,” she rasped finally.

“Oh,” he paused his ministrations to taunt, “That must be so difficult.”

Only fair to allow her a remedy.

The table creaked beneath as she redistributed her weight, reaching toward that intimidating erection in his pants. And he struck, quick as lightning, seizing both wrists, yanking her toward him, her knees sliding forward until they were flush against his upper thighs, chest thrusting upward in order to lean decidedly away from his face, suddenly so close.

“What did I say about touching, Ivy?”

It was a long moment before his words from minutes ago emerged through the thick fog of lust clouding her mind.

“That I’d get my chance,” she said, “So long as I begged.”

Silco rearranged her wrists into one long-fingered hand, snatching her jaw in the harsh, punishing grip of his other.

“Yet I haven’t heard so much as a please.”

An honest attempt was cut off with a hiss as her teeth scored into her cheeks.

“What’s that?” he murmured, half-lidded eyes dropping to her wet mouth. “If this is what you want, you’re scarcely trying.”

If he let go of her, she would fall. In more ways than one. She was lost. Lost in the familiar, smoky scent of him. Disappearing in the orange swirl of that obsidian eye. And she hardly thought she’d make it out.

“Can I touch you, please?”

His gaze drank her in from up close, eyes darting, and she beat him to it, knew exactly what he was opening his mouth to ask. Where?

“Your cock. I want to touch your cock, sir” she said, words strained from her awkward positioning.

Silco’s teal eye twitched.

“May-may I?” she stammered again in the silence.

A look of genuine, dare she say fond amusement crossed his features before he balanced her, pulled forward until her hands twisted into the stiff fabric of his coat, until their lips were inches away.

“Off the table. On your knees.”

He gave her hardly a body’s worth of space to do so, but the approval ignited a fire under her skin, and she eagerly wedged herself between him and the table, slid down his front until she knelt on the floor below him.

With a flourish, he shoved the table out of the way, giving him full view of her backside in the mirror.

Her flesh hand reached forward tentatively to meet one of the buttons of his pants, eyes falling to the strained fabric at the front.

“Both hands, Ivy,” he said, her name stretched into a soft, breathless exhale as she brushed across his clothed cock, moving to undo his buttons with remarkable speed, despite her quivering form.

She reached for the other side and found her wrist in his stern grip once more.

“I said, both hands.”

In a sudden bout of frustration and shame, her forehead pressed forward against his hip flexor, nose nuzzling inward, his skin twitching as she warmed the fabric there with her hot breath.

How shameful. Couldn’t she be allowed to forget about her disfigurement, her defect, just for a moment in time?

Fingers tangled gently in her hair and her eyes rolled to peer up at him, her core pulsing wildly at the feral edge he tried to contain within that impassive expression, crooked teeth visible through his slightly parted lips.

She’d use her prosthesis. She’d do anything if he continued to look at her like that.

I’m doing this for you.

Her pleading expression urged him to understand as she struggled with the final two buttons, her captured wrist released to her once finished with an uttered praise from Silco.   

She ran her hand along the hard bulge, feeling it twitch against her palm.

Appeasing him finally, she tugged at his waistband, releasing him, eyes widening a fraction at the generous length.

She took him into palm, prosthesis planting against his hip, thumb swiping teasingly against the sensitive skin around his cock. A tattered breath was released above her and she looked up again, hungrily devouring his reactions.

Her lips were so close. She could taste him if she wanted, was sure he wouldn’t mind. Maybe flick out her tongue a bit.

She met his gaze questioningly, pumping her hand slowly up and down his shaft, swiping her thumb across the head, gathering the beads of precum there, adoring the way his tongue pressed against his teeth in response.

“Do you want to take me in your mouth? Is that it?” he asked, words holding a serrated edge.

She nodded, biting the plush of her bottom lip.

“What are you waiting for?”

Nothing anymore. She darted her tongue across the tip, groaning softly when his hand tightened painfully in her hair, and even more when she wrapped her lips fully around the weeping head, tongue swirling lightly.

Taking deep, calming breaths through her nose, she eased him slowly into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth, and he expelled a ragged, drawn-out groan in tandem with her own as the sound of his pleasure shot straight between her legs.

“You’ve wanted this since the very beginning, haven’t you?” he grit out, and her eyes shot to his. “Pleasured yourself to my fingers between your legs, to your lips wrapped around my cock like this.”

She moaned out an affirmative yes around him and he hissed.

“Dirty girl.”

As she found her rhythm, his straying hands found their way to her face, pushing the sweat dampened hair back, clearing his line of sight, calloused thumbs dragging frenzied patterns into her temples as he began to take control, fucking steadily into her.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice strained.

The praise warmed like fine liquor in her chest, his groaning satisfaction pushing her to take more of him with each thrust, to please him. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he hit the back of her throat, as she struggled to breathe, relaxing her jaw, eyes rolling upward as his pleasure intensified her own.

Her hand released her grip on the base of his cock, snaking its way between her legs instead.

“Look at you,” he panted, thumb swiping gently at her tears, “Working yourself so good for me.”

She keened around his cock as she worked her clit furiously, provoking a ragged growl out of Silco that was positively sinful.

“Let me see you.”

She lifted her wild gaze to his, cunt clenching around nothing at the equally untamed glint in his eye.

Let him see you.

She spread her knees wider, and her thighs burned as she pushed her body slightly upward, arching her back so he could see the outline of her fingers pumping, palm grinding as his gaze honed on the mirror’s reflection.

And all the while he uttered crooning, breathless praises to her, petting her hair as he increased pace, eyes darting between her and the mirror as if she would disappear any second.

Pleasure ripped through her and she cried out, throat widening just that last amount to push her fully forward, both hands flying out to grab his legs in support as her nose smashed into his abdomen, fully encasing him inside her humming throat.

With a shattered groan, he followed suit, his release spilling down her throat, fist tightening so excruciatingly in her hair she would have squealed if she could, eyes rolling back as pain and pleasure formed an exquisite concoction.

 She rode out the cresting waves of her orgasm with her hands wrapped tightly around the backs of his thighs until she was a twitching mess beneath him.

The blackness that had begun to take hold at the edges of her vision had her smacking his fingers on her head with increasing desperation, and he finally released her, gasping for air.

She slumped forward against him.

She breathed him in, wanted it to freeze itself, this strange moment in time: her forehead pressed reverently against his thigh, his fingers rubbing gentle, absentminded circles into her temples. She didn’t know when she’d grabbed the wrist of his left hand with her prosthesis, but it gripped there all the same.

“Clothes on.”

The tone of his voice was cryptic. Quiet.

Her body sagged and she allowed herself one final moment to mourn what may well never transpire again.

Then, swallowing dryly, did as she was told, not looking at him as she dragged her clothes back on, wondering what the hell happened now.

Grabbing her abandoned boot from in front of the mirror, she paused, eyes on her prosthesis as another wave of venomous self-doubt washed over her, brought a swell of angry tears to her eyes. At how utterly broken she was.

Tearing her gaze away, she laced her boots, standing up straight only to find Silco beside her.

Turning slow, she faced him fully, uncertainty wrinkling her brow as she dared to look upon his face, fearing something smug. Finding only a searching softness.

Ironing out the space between her brows with one thumb, he took her prosthesis in the other, eyes darting across her features as he raised it, cupping it gently across the scarred side of his face.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

<3

I think, with this being my first smut piece, I may have gotten a little carried away, but there you have it folks, 6.5K words of my filthy, rotten brain.

Again, I highly encourage everyone to check out @x-amount-verbs A Helping Hand, although I know most of us are obsessed with it already :) I have heart eyes for her OC and for the complex way she writes Silco. And on top of that, she's also just a lovely person.

AO3 Link if you want to toss me a kudos or a comment. It makes my entire day :)

I don't have much under my belt yet, but am starting a master list and am always looking for requests if anyone wants to send em' my way. Or just send me any and all of your unhinged thoughts, this fandom is hilarious.

Much love! <3

[ravenkinnie]

How do you think Jinx would react if she sees Powder on Ekko's mural? Would she feel glad that it technically subscribes to the idea that 'Powder is dead' like she wanted him to believe? Or will she feel distressed by it bcs it shows that Ekko is too busy grieving over the loss of Powder to accept Jinx? Do you think Jinx may also feel guilt as there are also some Firelights she killed painted on that mural?

I think it's 50/50 like both ekko and vi mourn the person that is still alive lmao yeah jinx splinters herself between powder and jinx but jinx is a person they don't accept and don't see as the same as the one they knew before. powder being dead to ekko means the same as with vi, in her mind, in silcos teachings, she needs to let go off the person who's no longer alive and bury her the way ekko and vi did because jinx is incompatible with having them around. but ofc, there is no powder vs jinx, there is just jinx, a person who still holds emotions and memories of her childhood friend, a person who is the last remnant of that family she knew then and the person she was then and also someone who was dear to her for a long time so yk, I imagine she grieves the people who are still alive too, despite them being right there

hdbdbdbhd I don't think jinx feels guilt about hurting or killing people because jinx is largely incapable of conceptualizing other people as real beings and not tools or pawns beyond, like, the very few she does it with (her caretaker figures ofc ie vi and silco, and to a lesser extent ekko). like she knows, on some level, what she's become and why vi wouldn't accept it and she even seems horrified by her impulsiveness or violence at times but I think jinx is so caught up in her inner world that it leaves little to no space for real guilt

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 4.4

"I don't feel any different," you answered Zhongli's questions as you examined your reflection in the mirror.  They had explained everything there is to know about the situation now.  My eyes...  Your fingertips touched the glass in which they stared back at you.  "Will my eyes return to normal?"

"As far as I recall my last encounter with this incident, no.  They will remain true to the eyes of their savior."

"But if Childe's joining us..."

"Just say you have contacts," Aether shrugged.

"Contacts?" You and Zhongli jinxed yourselves.

"Is...that not a thing in this world?" Your confused expressions gave him the answer he needed.  "They're basically...well...colored objects that you can put on your eyes.  They can be used to replace glasses or to change eye color."

"U-uh, okay..."

"Just say you got them from a merchant travelling from Fontaine.  They gave me a kamera device, so I'm sure these could fall under their expertise, right?"

"Perhaps," said Zhongli.

"I'm not sure I can do this."

"It's really not that big of a deal!" Paimon comforted.  "We can answer for you if he asks in front of us!"

"No, not that," you sighed.  "I'm not sure if I can pretend we're on good terms after Granny died.  I mean, he took the house from her and kept it all a secret from me."

"You won't have to," Xiao's voice came from the far wall.  "As long as you're the only one visibly suspicious, we can still make this work."

The team packed their essentials and left Quince Village.  Xiao said he had something to attend to, so no one waited for him.  That was until you passed by the cemetery on the way out of the village.

He was there, standing at your Granny's grave, with a bundle of silk flowers and glaze lilies in his hand.  You stopped alone in your tracks while the others continued to walk along the path, unaware of the rare sight of Xiao mourning a mortal soul.  His expression revealed nothing that was going through his mind as he placed the bouquet against the stone.

It was kind of...unsettling, actually.  The beautiful scenery coupled with a beautiful young man wearing a solemn frown as he stared at the rock in front of him; the rain clouds passing overhead having yet to release a single tear; the fresh flowers placed next to your wilted ones. A simple reminder that death was inevitable and that his death too, would also one day come to pass.  It was eerie, yet the sight filled your chest with a warm fuzziness.  He was paying his respects to a mortal that had no relation to him, but he did it for you.

You walked away before he had the chance to sense your presence.

............................

"Adeptus Xiao! And...you, Traveler?"  Ver Goldet's panic transformed into a slight confusion before she shook her head to refocus on the matter at hand.  She glanced around to make sure they were alone on the balcony of Wangshu Inn.  "I have some urgent news to discuss with you, Xiao."

"Say it."

Goldet glanced questioningly at you and Zhongli before continuing.  "T-there was a harbinger here."

"Childe?"  Aether shifted.

"No, no."  She shook her head frantically.  "Well, yes, but no.  Childe and another harbinger were here.  A woman."

"Signora?"  The traveler tensed, as did Paimon.

"What is she doing in Liyue?  I thought she still had business with Mondstat?"  The mascot shared a nervous glance with Aether.

"I think so," Goldet nodded at Aether.  "I didn't know what to do.  It's unusual that there would be two harbingers in the same area, especially out in the open like this.  I think a storm is coming."

Xiao and Zhongli exchanged worried looks before the adeptus spoke.  "I will look into it."

"Thank you, Xiao.  Let me prepare some almond tofu as a token of appreciation."

The yaksha noticeably perked up hearing this, and you choked back a laugh.  So adorable!  That thought had unknowingly reached Xiao, bringing a dusting of pink to the tips of his ears.  You were too busy gushing over him to notice.

Once Ver Goldet left for the kitchen, you asked the question that was on everyone's minds.  "Now what?"

"We stick to the plan," answered Xiao, though there was a subtle hint of concern in his voice.

"And you're sure you're not allowed to interfere?" You addressed Zhongli with furrowed brows.

"I formed a contract.  I cannot break it."

...................................

The adventure team was camping just east of Luhua Pool.  You were at the bank of the pool, gathering water in a bucket so that the group could use it to cook lunch.  It wouldn't be long before the team reached Liyue Harbor and rendezvous with Childe.  A shiver crawled down your spine every time you thought about it.

Can I really keep my temper in check when we team up with him again?  No...But then again, we usually butt heads every day.  Maybe he'd see it as normal?  You took the opportunity to scoop water in your hands and take a sip.  Mm, such a crisp feeling.  You gathered more, this time gazing into the water's reflection.

"What the f--!"  You scrambled to your feet and your sword was now in your hands.  "W-what the hell, Tartaglia?!"  Adrenaline fueled your thumping heart.

"Ahahaha! Sorry, sorry!" He chuckled loud enough to scare the nearby cranes away.  "And here I thought I'd have to travel further to catch up with you all.  It's been what, a week? It feels so long ago.  So, comrade, where is everyone?"

You readjusted your grip on your weapon and kept it pointed at him.  Your breath was uneven to the point of slight hyperventilation.  They're a hundred yards away from here.  Should I tell him?  Your eyes flicked behind the harbinger.

"Ah," he noticed your glance and peered over his shoulder.  "Well, did you need help with that bucket?"

"Stay back," you ordered through clenched teeth.  Your hands were shaking now.

"There's no need to point that at me," Childe's smile faded rather quickly.  He reached towards you--

"I said STAY BACK!"  Your shout was enough to scare the fish away.  

Childe raised his hands in surrender.  "What's gotten into you? Did something happen?"  He examined you carefully.  "And what happened to your eyes?"

"Hey!" Paimon and Aether waved at the top of the hill and interrupted the tension in the air.  "We were on our way to get you!"

The harbinger dropped his hands and turned around.  "Greetings! You should've seen the look on her face! I just about scared her half to death," he returned his gaze to you and his voice trailed off at the last sentence as if he were making a fool out of you for being so paranoid.  "Now then, I should take that for you."  He picked the bucket up and began walking towards Aether, his lips forming a frown once Zhongli and Xiao came into view.

You collapsed to your knees once the adrenaline left your body and your sword fell out of your hands.  One of them made their way up to your chest and clenched the fabric that covered it in an effort to calm your heartbeat.  He was here, and sooner than expected.  He could have struck you down if Aether and Paimon hadn't shown up then.

"Are you okay?"  Xiao appeared before you.

"Uh-huh," you inhaled shakily.  Your fear overshadowed your anger towards the harbinger.  Why you had gotten so terrified, you weren't sure.  "He came out of nowhere."

"He's dead if he lays a finger on you," Xiao muttered aloud.  He held his hand out, and you took it.

Late afternoon, early evening.  You were growing increasingly agitated at Childe's insistence of a fight.  "I'm not in the mood, Childe," you growled.

"Oh come now, ojou-chan! It's clear you want to fight me nooow," he cooed.  "I'll just keep annoying you until you decide to entertain me! And besides, I think you secretly want to take out your pent-up rage on me, no?"

You glared daggers at him.  "Oh?  And what do you think I'm angry for?"  You stomped towards him until you were looking directly up at him.

"Dunno," he shrugged with a smug smirk.  "Care to indulge me?"

"Fine."  You yanked your sword out of the tree stump you had stabbed it into.  "Come at me."

"Uh...should we stop them?"  Paimon twiddled with her fingers as she watched you resume a fighting stance.

"I-I don't know," Aether scratched the back of his head and looked to the adepti for a solution.  They just watched you in silence.

"I thought you'd never ask, ojou-chan," he licked his lower lip and rushed at you.  You ducked before his hydro blade could hit your head and slashed your sword at his torso.  Childe dodged and countered.  His weapon collided with yours above your head.  "Would you care to tell me why you suddenly hold a grudge against me?"

"Tch.  I'll pass."  You pushed his blade back and used the momentum to lunge at him.  He shoved you to the ground and pointed his blade at you.

"You've gotten sloppier," his lips curled into a sneer.  "Looks like we still have work to do on your swordsmanship."

"I'm just getting started."  You rose to your feet and readied your sword.

"Do not let anger consume you, comrade.  It will seal your defeat.  Instead, hone it as a weapon," he advised you as the two of you clashed for the second round.

"I don't need your advice!"

He twirled his weapon and gracefully disarmed you.  Your sword clattered to the ground a few feet away.  "It's clear you do.  I've mastered every weapon known to man.  If you think you can scrape by and conquer your foes without learning from me, you're wrong."

If it's his goal to get to me, then why train me?  You plucked your sword off the ground and stared at its hilt in your palm.  You caught the Xiao's reflection on the steel blade, and a strange light obscured your vision.  

Images upon images upon images.  Bloody battles.  The clashing of metal.  The hollow screams of daemons past.  The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of battle.  The overwhelming sense of dread.  An icy shock burst through your bones, and you suddenly felt wide awake and hyperaware of your surroundings.

"Again."  Childe resumed his fighting stance and thrust his weapon towards you.

The light blocking your sight faded and you instinctually sliced your blade through the air.  You parried his blow without so much as looking at him.  How did I do that?  You faced him and realized he was just as surprised as you were.

"Good," a spark lit his eyes up now.  He thrust his weapon at you again, this time at your head.  And again, at your side.  And once more at your legs.

You parried every attack, and with unmatched agility too.  Then it was your turn.  You turned the tables and began attacking him, less recklessly than you usually fought.  He eyed you carefully, dodging and parrying your sword, but did not strike back even when you were wide open.  Thinking and analyzing.

I never taught her these moves, he grit his teeth and sent an annoyed glance toward the yaksha.  How did he manage to improve her skills so suddenly?  He may have done endurance training with her, but I never once saw them practice combat.  He taught her this past week, didn't he?

"Not bad," Childe praised as he leapt back.  "You've been holding out on me, haven't you, ojou-chan?"  He took note of the predator-like look in your eyes, much like that damned yaksha's.

You swallowed your surprise and glanced at your sword.  These movements weren't my own.  They were Xiao's.  You sent a subtle glance his way, and noticed that Zhongli had a small smile on his face.  Xiao's expression was as unreadable as ever, but he was no longer crossing his arms.

"You shouldn't take your eyes off your opponent," the Harbinger swung his lance at you. You spun yourself downward and swept his legs from beneath him.  "Ngh!"  He landed on his butt and dropped his weapon.

"Who said I wasn't paying attention?"

Coming up next:  A harbinger’s interrogation, the hunt for teeth, and Dragonspine.

[wizardingworld-imagines]

Hold On - Bill Weasley

Pairing - Bill Weasley x fem!Reader

Requested? - Yes! by a wonderful anon :)

Word Count - 1.5k

Warnings - Battle of Hogwarts, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, A lot of angst. 

Author’s Note - Thank you for requesting! I’m sorry it took so long but here it is, I hope you enjoy!

The uproar of battle, the chaos surrounding the world in which they thought they had known. Y/N and Bill had never seen anything like this before. The place that they called home many years before, a place that was always there for anyone who needed it, fragmented and broken down, turned to simple ruins of theirs, and everyone who had ever walked in those halls, past. 

Their school years were some of the best days of their lives. By the time they got to seventh year, they were named Head Boy and Head Girl. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone. They were the most deserving of their newly found positions. Prior to this, they were friends, but this is what solidified their friendship. Despite the thoughts of everyone else on their so called ‘perfect romance’, the head boy and head girl, it simply was not the case. Their friendship had danced along the lines of a romantic relationship, stolen glances under the late evening moon, embraces that lingered for far longer than they should have.

Back to the battlefield now, and the pairing were reunited. It wasn’t under the best of circumstances, they had barely seen each other since Hogwarts, preoccupied with their careers and individual lives. But here they were, reunited, as by some cruel trick of fate. Fighting for the place they once tenderly clung to, where they had spent some of their best and worst moments in. 

Before either of them could prevent anything, Y/N was struck by flipendo, the knockback jinx, and she was blown away from Bill and against a wall of the castle. She pushed her hand to the back of her head, which had taken the blunt force of the blow she suffered. Removing her hand, a dark crimson smothered upon it, she called out for Bill. He, so caught up in the battle, hadn’t noticed Y/N’s disappearance, but the panicked screams of his name brought him to realisation. He looked around frantically, until he noticed her slumped against a wall, bleeding heavily from her injuries. Without a second thought, he raced across the courtyard, throwing himself to his knees beside her. 

Y/N’s words were stumbling, she was incoherent from the shock. He prompted her to speak nice and slowly so he could understand, but to no avail. He thought she had asked if she was dying, but he wasn’t sure. He hoped she wasn’t, but nothing was clear to him. His eyes started welling, tears verging on the edge of his eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. 

‘Just hold my hand, you’ll be alright’ he started, not really believing his own words. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, you’re safe and i’m here’ Tears were rolling down his cheeks, he had already lost a brother today, he couldn’t lose a best friend too. 

Pulling her head to his chest, he whispered in her ear ‘I wish I could have protected you. Please don’t go anywhere, I need you. Please Y/N, keep your eyes open.’ His tears fell into her hair mixing with the blood pouring out of her wound. 

‘Bill?’ she stammered, looking up at those beautiful eyes that she adored. He could only nod, wanting to hear whatever she had to say, fearing it would be her last words. ‘You know I love you, right?’ She asked, staring at him. 

‘Of course I do, you’re my best friend’ He replied, a solemn smile rising on his features. 

‘No, I love, love you. I think i’ve loved you since seventh year but I was too scared to say anything. If these are my final moments then I wanted to tell you. You deserve to know’ She started to trail off, her words failing her. Her head fell back, and she started to close her eyes. 

‘No! Y/N you can’t leave me. Please come back, I need you. Please hold on for me.’ He cried, his voice hoarse and rough, pain visible in his words. ‘I love you too, please just hold on, a little while longer, that’s all I ask’

Y/N had heard what he said, but it was too late. Her hand had gone limp in his, and he knew that was it. Letting her hand go, he laid her on the ground. She looked peaceful, almost as if she was sleeping. But he knew otherwise. She was gone, she wasn’t coming back. He pressed a kiss into her hairline, lingering for a moment. Afterwards, he stood up, took one last look at Y/N and walked back onto the battlefield. 

‘This is for you, Y/N’ and he threw himself into the chaos once more, not caring what happened to him, he was lost without her. 

~~~~~

Bill walked into the great hall with his surviving friends and family surrounding him. Laid across the floor were the bodies of many familiar faces, Tonks, Lupin, Fred. They had all fought bravely and would be remembered for their deeds in the years to come. But that didn’t stop the pain that everyone in the room felt, the atmosphere of mourning engulfing them all. 

They spent much of the afternoon mourning, and celebrating, the lost lives of the Battle of Hogwarts. This day would be momentous in the Wizarding World, and with the survivors, those who were lost would be remembered and commemorated. 

Y/N was on Bill’s mind. The memories of being at Hogwarts with her raced back. It was bittersweet. He always had those memories, they were his forever, he just didn’t have his beloved anymore. How had neither of them confessed their love for one another before this? The rumours and teasing were true, they really did like each other. But that was irrelevant now. She was gone, he could never be with her. She was well and truly lost to him. 

A thought played upon his mind. He hadn’t actually seen Y/N in the hall with the other dead. 

‘Don’t be stupid’, he thought to himself. ‘You watched her die, she can’t be alive’ His brain screamed at him various logical reasons that she can’t be alive, but his heart won. He believed she was alive. Even if it was illogical, he wanted to believe, like he intuitively knew, she was alive. 

When he stumbled upon Madame Pomfrey he had his answer. ‘Excuse me, I don’t know if you’ve seen a woman with Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes? I left her outside after she was injured quite badly, a head wound’ He said, watching Pomfrey’s features for her reaction. 

‘Ah, Miss Y/L/N? I can take you to her right now. I must warn you though, you might not like what you see.’ His heart sank. Any hope he had of Y/N being alive fluttered away with those words. He followed Pomfrey down the corridors, his head hanging low and the tears returning. They reached the infirmary doors and Madame Pomfrey pushed them open, beckoning Bill to follow her, taking him to Y/N’s bedside. 

Looking down at her, he saw Y/N’s head bandaged up, her eyes closed. He breaks out into tears, crying once again, the image of her crumpled form against the wall in his mind. She looked even more peaceful here, comfortable even. 

‘Now, there are a few things I must say. Miss Y/L/N is in a coma, she’s one of the lucky ones. We don’t know when she’ll wake up or if she’ll remember anything, but she’s alive so that’s a start’ 

‘Wait, I’m sorry. Did you say she’s alive?’ Bill asked, startled. 

‘Yes, Mr Weasley, I did. She’s alive.’ She confirmed everything for him. Y/N was alive! His Y/N, she was alive. As soon as he couldn’t see her in the hall, he knew. He just knew she wasn’t dead. Maybe it was some kind of lover's intuition, knowing that his partner was ok. 

‘I’ll leave you to sit with her, let me know if you need anything’ Pomfrey continues, walking towards another patient who needed tending to. 

Bill sat next to Y/N in silence, not knowing what to say. He just took her hand, holding it in his, tracing patterns. Every so often he would look over at her face, placing gentle kisses. It was almost as if it was an act of encouragement to get her to wake up. He knew it would take time, that it wouldn’t be instant, but at least she was alive. And that gave him hope for the future.

[retvenkos]

i just read your tags are you anti-snape?

(so i just saw that my tags were cut off halfway through my rant, so if you want me to finish that, just send in an ask and i will write out my whole thoughts)

okay, so anti-snape is a strong word, with a lot of different connotations to it, and while i wouldn’t brand myself as anti-snape because of all of the strong feelings attached, i would say that i don’t think that snape deserves all of the recognition that he deserves.

why?

what i firstly want to say is that snape is emotional abuser. my case in point here is neville, who had parents that were literally tortured to insanity, proving that his worst fear is snape - his teacher. how many times was snape unusually cruel to neville and harry? how many times did he humiliate hermione - an already bullied, muggle-born student (and possible poc)? snape is established to be cruel, and when you look at his actions, it is clear he is emotionally abusive to his students.

why did i start with this? because i relate with neville - i know what it is like to have your worst fear be an abuser that you face every day. so, therefore, i am biased against snape, and a lot of my dislike for him comes from the fact that no matter how you dice it, this man was in a position of power, abusing those students that looked up to him. 

he especially hated harry, who was an abused kid himself (and there is some kind of narrative in there, an abused kid growing up to hate and alienate an abused kid. i’m not going to get into that. but just think about that for a second and tell me you don’t want to at least dislike snape.). 

and perhaps you want to argue that snape couldn’t know that harry was abused over at privet drive. fair, okay. not everything about a kid can be seen on their face, right? but, one could argue that if snape took the time to look at harry and see him as a kid for a second, he could see hints of it. i have family members who are teachers, and they say that they can never be 100% sure, but they can at least have a good idea of who is abused at home, just based off of the way they interact with other people - especially adults. OR, if you don’t like that idea, you can think of it like this: the teachers at hogwarts are probably close to each other, right? mcgonagall knew (at least to some degree) what the dursleys were like - furthermore, she is close with harry and perceptive. she would have known that harry was abused, and if you don’t think that she wouldn’t have at least mentioned it to snape, i would disagree and say you don’t know mcgonagall. also! dumbledore! there is literally so many opportunities for snape to figure out that harry was abused at home. he just didn’t care.

so, snape is an emotionally abusive man in a position of power, picking on literal children as an outlet for his misplaced anger. this is the set-up for snape, and had he never had an in-depth redemption arc, we would literally all dislike snape.

and i feel like, then, the only reason that we have this snape/anti-snape discourse is dependent on whether or not you think his redemption arc is reason enough to excuse his actions.

and so here we talk about his childhood. which is definitely important and gives good insight, but should not be the only reason as to why he is seen as a good character. childhoods are formative and important, but they are not all encompassing. let’s not forget that snape is a grown man when the story starts. he is 31 years old when we are introduced to his character.

snape had a terrible childhood. he was neglected. he was abused (or so it was implied). he was friendless. he was lonely. he was poorly socialized. he was in a hogwarts house that seemed against him, almost, so he had to work to carve his place out and prove his worth. he wanted to stay at hogwarts all year, if he could.

(sound familiar? harry? neville? you two are here?)

but, school is not always great. at school, there are bullies that are terrible to him - it goes beyond teasing sometimes, snape getting hexed and jinxed and publically humiliated. he has one friend - lily, but sometimes he wonders if she really understands or if she really cares. no one has ever cared for him before, so why should she? he falls in love with her, but she does not reciprocate his feelings. instead, she falls for his tormentor - the person who has made his one safe place terrible, the person who treats him like he’s nothing.

now that is a compelling background. when he falls in with the wrong crowd, we can see why. he is desperate for some kind of belonging, some kind of importance. 

(is that... draco?)

he gets more violent as time goes on. those spells he created? levicorpus? sectumsempra? he’s going down a dark path and he wants to cause pain. he becomes a death eater, and while we don’t get a lot of detail what happens here, he rises in the ranks, which means he had to have done terrible things. at this point, he is clearly a bad person. and maybe he feels remorse during this time, but it’s clearly not enough to push his conscience out of where it is. he is still on voldemort's side.

what changes him? the power of love, of course. because even in this terrible time, he still loves lily - right? but is it love? or is it more like obsession? jk would tell us it’s love, but i would disagree. 

at the beginning, yes. snape loved lily. but after so much has transpired? things changed. snape is no longer as pure as he once was. he changed. any maybe he didn’t notice it, sure. but wasn’t he different, after everything?

if he loved lily, he would have cared about (even minorly) the things she cared for. yes, he could still hate james with a burning passion, yes he could let that ruin his and lily’s relationship,,, but could he become the very thing she feared and abhorred? could he become a death eater, literally killing people she loved? people just like her? could he have gone to her house, stepped over her dead husband, ignored her crying child to mourn her dead body?

this feels more like obsession. if you love someone, you care about them - their wellbeing, their peace of mind. love means you need to have an awareness for who your loved one loves, and you can accept them for the fact that they love someone else. snape shows he doesn’t. he only cares for her.

here we are, now, at this point is snape's story, and the natural progression in his redemption arc is for him to actively try to amend his terrible actions.

and... he does? kind of?

he becomes a double agent which is perfect. he vows to protect harry, which he does, physically... but he has a clear disregard for protecting harry emotionally, which one could argue is most important in harry’s story.

to defeat voldemort, harry has to come to terms with the idea that love is his strongest weapon against the dark lord, right? so snape being horrible to harry is not only bad because emotional abuse is real, but it’s also part of why harry is so angry and bitter in the sixth book, the exact opposite of what he needs to be if he wants to defeat voldemort.

also, snape preaches “control your emotions” but snape... is emotionally unstable and takes out all of his anger on children half his age? idk. that just bothers me.

so i feel like snape kind of half-asses his way through his redemption arc. he has chosen a different side, yes, but he doesn’t make a lot of intrinsic changes. he’s still angry. he’s still bitter. he’s still emotionally manipulative and abusive. 

so really, the question is: is a redemption arc dependent on a change of heart? or is a change of action good enough?

if you haven’t already picked up on how i feel about this issue, i don’t think a change of action is enough.

redemption is the act of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil (thanks, google). it’s absolution for your crimes. i feel like redemption is an intrinsic transformation, and jk preaches that love can do such an act. i’ve already covered that i don’t think snape loved lily, at the point of his big character changing moment. he was obsessed. it was more a change of action, than of heart.

BUT, that doesn’t mean that i don’t think he couldn’t have been redeemed. toward the close of his story, i kind of saw him as going through another arc as a character - i saw him start to care for harry more as harry rather than the child of the woman i’m obsessed with. i think, here,  he’s starting to show that love that jk insists he has. 

i think that if he had more time, he could have had a more full, more satisfying redemption arc. and that’s the tragedy of his character, right? we could always sort of trust him, but we could never fully trust him until the end. he was never really quite redeemed, it was cut short.

so, basically, i grapple with the fact that jk is adamant that snape is the good guy, he’s the redeemable character, when... he’s kind of only halfway there. AND, this is coupled with the fact that i believe draco was halfway there to a complete redemption arc, and jk is equally as adamant against draco getting a redemption arc.

jk has said that she thinks that the people who want draco to be redeemed are just girls obsessed with the bad boy having a heart of gold (which is fair, to some extent), but... isn’t she the exact same with snape? isn’t she equally obsessed that her readers know snape as being the emotionally scarred, bad boy with a heart of gold? food for thought.

also, where i draw a clear distinction between the crimes of draco and the crimes of snape is that draco is a teenager alongside the teenagers he bullies and emotionally abuses (draco, too, is an abuser! if you want an analysis on him, hmu.) draco is a 15 year old abusing other 15 year olds. this is terrible, and it can’t be excused. i agree. BUT, snape is a 31 year old man abusing 11 year olds. he is also their teacher. there is a clear power imbalance coupled with the fact that snape is an adult, who is supposed to be wiser and smarter.

so... long post, forgive me. i could go off about the crimes of jk rowling's depiction of slytherins forever and never be fully satisfied. i’m sure that in a weeks time i will have more i want to add onto this post. but for now, these are my thoughts on snape’s redemption arc, and my answer to whether or not i am anti-snape.

i am sure that after reading this, there are some of you who will think that i am anti-snape. that’s fine. you can have your own opinion, but if you are going to say that, know why.

no opinion is good if you can’t explain why.

[you-are-my-neverland]

so. it’s finally time to talk about [my] nano.

i’ve kept my nano project pretty under wraps so far, mostly because it’s been out of my hands. i wasn’t actually planning on doing a for real for real nano; instead, i thought i would dedicate some time to my fanfic (spoiler alert, but i haven’t yet) or work on finishing up revising fairbone (spoiler alert: i did revise one chapter, but i still have like half of it left to go and a nov 30 deadline...rip). if that didn’t work, i thought i would pick a wip i started over the summer or one i had half developed (let’s just say the ideas note i have really boomed over the summer and like...yeah). in conclusion, there were many wips ready for me to work on them, including ash heart, which i really want to write but haven’t figured out how to.

instead i started a new wip.

well, it’s not necessarily new, persay. it’s an idea i’ve had stewing since like late september/early october and planned out a good portion of. however, deciding to start it was a last minute decision - and by last decision, i mean that on october 31st i finished developing the barebones of character development and basic plot lol and then gave it a go. it’s honestly been going crazy well. as of today (november 9th), i just hit 21.2k words. i’m hopeful about this year, while also not wanting to jinx stuff, but like...wow. but writing is has made me realize that, wow, this book is going to be crazy long probably...like i’m 21k words in and we’re still like in the exposition idk what’s going on. but hey, i finished planning out the rest of the basic plot for it today!!!

right. onto the wip details.

honestly, the only reason i haven’t introduced this wip is because a) i want actual stuff done on it and like a proven commitment, because i feel like too often i introduce wips i don’t actually go anywhere with and i hate it, b) i don’t have a set title and c) i actually have no idea how to summarize this.

the novel i’m working on right now is the first of a projected trilogy. i say projected because i have a vague idea that it belongs to a trilogy, but like not a lot of plot except some vaguely connected ideas that should happen in the future. in it, i used a lot of characters from these violent ends, which i tried to write for camp april 2020, but like just their basic barebones; i changed a lot to fit the story, of course. 

not to sound nerdy, but it is like....harry potter inspired, but ONLY in the magical boarding school sense. of course, right now all i have is magical boarding school shenanigans, which i don’t really like because i feel like it unfairly sets the book up as like fun magical stuff when it’s really about murder & politics & student activism (+ a lot of other things ending in -ism). the whole activism part came from watching the trial of the chicago 7 and i was like, bingo, this is what this story needs. 

kay but ANYWAYS. onto the story. like i said, i can’t really summarize it, but there are lots of themes of classism, feminism, the affect on youth and youth’s effect, manipulative adults, revolution, terrorism, sibling dynamics and found family vibes, like all that stuff...packaged into a magical boarding school off the coast of maine setting...recipe for disaster!

mainly i’ve been writing in ophelia’s pov, because she’s my main girl and she’s problematic, but also she’s trying her best and just having a little difficulty fitting in. some other main characters are her twin brother, sebastian, and two other boys, asriel and vincent, who have an initially animistic relationship with ophelia (& kind of each other?) but it’s like enemies to friends (to lovers?).

anyways. here are some carefully curated excerpts below the cut:

i. vincent and asriel meet on a train (ch. 1)

The boy pursed his lips together. “It’s unusual,” he said, finally. “That’s all.” But he was looking at Vincent as if he was noticing him, which meant he was lying, or at least withholding the truth about something. He added, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Do you mean geographically?” Vincent replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m from New York.”

A small glimmer of a smile appeared on the boy’s lips, though it vanished as quickly as it had come. “From the Magical World,” he clarified. 

“What gives it away?” Vincent asked sarcastically, waving a hand across his body. “My impeccable taste?”

“Among other things,” the boy said.

ii. sebastian and ophelia discuss grief on a ferry (ch.2 )

“You and mom talked?” Ophelia asked, surprised. She hadn’t exactly been keeping track of them, but she was sure she and Sebastian had spent much of the day together, as they were wont to do.

Sebastian looked at the floor. “Yeah,” he answered, hoarsely. “At least she wants to talk about Des. Dad doesn’t, and neither do you.”

Ophelia sighed, wondering why, today of all days, her sister was haunting them. Maybe it was because there should have been three people heading to Rijevduct, instead of two. Maybe Mother Magic was reminded of the loss of one of her own. 

“I’ve let her go,” she said. “You should too. We have too much of our lives ahead of us to mourn Desdemona forever.”

“I don’t mourn,” Sebastian said, words uncharacteristically sharp. “But I do grieve.”

“Isn’t that basically the same thing,” Ophelia mumbled, closing her eyes and feeling the press of a headache behind them. 

“Sorrow,” Sebastian said, the word a soft shudder. “And sad endings.”

“What?” 

“That’s what makes a good tragedy,” Sebastian answered. “I read it in a book.”

iii. headmistress alexeyev gives a speech (ch. 2)

“Eight years ago, seventy two students were slaughtered here. Some died on the very spot where you now stand today.” Ophelia glanced down at the floor, seeing the motion repeated instinctively around her as well. She looked over at Sebastian, who had closed his eyes instead, a pale flush meeting the faint color in his cheeks. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, tennis shoes scraping against stone as he toed them against the floor, as if he was shaking something only visible to him off.

“It was a tragedy,” Headmistress Alexeyev continued. “I say this because it is the truth. It was a tragedy, and not one that should never have happened.” She inhaled; Ophelia saw her chest rise, shoulders with it, in a sharp motion before she exhaled, body rearranging itself into poise once more. “I speak of this to tell you to assure you that Rijevduct is safe. I know there have been continuous doubts over the security of this school since that day eight years ago. I cannot, of course, guarantee that you will not come to any harm here. I cannot tell you that Rijevduct is the safe haven you were taught it was growing up; events have already proved that it is, in fact, not as impenetrable as one might think.”

Ophelia frowned, confused as to the line of reasoning. She had thought the whole point of the year of transition was to make sure that Rijevduct was infinitely more safer than it had been—and they had all been under the assumption that Rijevduct was virtually impenetrable until the massacre, which had led to the heightened security measures they saw today.

“I can, however, promise you that I, and everyone here today, will do anything in their power to keep you safe,” the Headmistress said. Next to Ophelia, Briar bowed her head, lowering her eyes and swallowing, the action almost a convulsion of her throat and mouth. Ophelia brushed her hand, lightly, in question, and the other girl just shook her head, looking away purposefully, so that Ophelia lost sight of her face and her sad eyes.

“These next three years will be far from easy. Gone are the sheltered lives where your parents could kiss your injuries goodbye, or sing you to sleep at night. Rijevduct is far from the cold, real world, but it is close enough when it comes to not asking you what you want first. This is an adjustment period. This is learning how to survive—and I will tell you this; surviving means many different things to many different people. You will have to decide on your own what this will mean for you, and how you will apply what you are taught here to your futures. Be wise. Be proud. Be humble. Cry. Laugh. Live. As your Headmistress, I, along with your professors, will be here throughout your time.” She raised her glass, “To the worthy,” and then drank, turning and walking back to her seat, which she lowered herself into gracefully.

iv. sebastian pov! (ch. 3)

There was a dead girl in Sebastian’s first period Magical Theory class. She was sitting diagonal from him, on the Glass side of the classroom, in an empty chair, staring straight ahead at the chalkboard. Sebastian tried not to look at her too obviously, his eyes straying from the open book in front of him to her cautiously, beneath the sleeve of his sweater.

She was sitting blankly in the chair, scraping her shoes against the ground, though they could not leave any scuff marks. Though she was the same faded shades most girls were, Sebastian could make out her pleated pale blue plaid skirt, which brushed around her knees, and the stained white blouse that might have once been spotless, but had been marred forever by the circumstances surrounding her death—objectively, that was to say, with blood. Her dark brown hair fell into loose curls around her shoulders, little silver studs glinting dimly, unable to catch the light. Her knee high socks now pooled around her calves and ankles, revealing a rotting bandaid on one of her knees. One of her tennis shoes was peeling at the toes, looking as if it had been ripped apart. 

Her fingernails had all been pulled off. Sebastian was good at analyzing ghosts by this point; he recognized the bloody flesh and bone of the nail bed. There was also blood matted across her head, trickling down her temple, with bruises covering her body; they peeked out from beneath the collar of her shirt, blackened across her cheekbones with a sunken quality in particular to one of her cheeks, as if the bone had begun to cave.

Subjectively, she was far from one of the worst that Sebastian had seen.