#and then when the gears have started turning and the light turns back on. i am able to write

[aspenmissing]

Trinket anon here! Sorry for the confusion! It’s the arcane character’s s/o that’s leaving the tiny gifts behind.

And as to this: ‘little things that made them think of their partner and ended up just left behind for them when they recalled the item was still in their pocket or bag’. …I meant s/o often picks up/makes their little gifts/trinkets/crafts and mindlessly tucks them away only to remember they even exist later on, then just leaves them behind for the arcane character. Ex. s/o passes a shop with a tiny wind-up monkey in the window and thinks of Jinx, buys it, then shoves it in their bag and forgets all about it until they’re digging around for a pen or something and remembers it and just quietly leaves it behind to be found.

Did I help? 🥹

ᴛʀᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6688 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ/ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɴᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪꜱᴇ, ᴍʏ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ʙʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴜᴘ - ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ/ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Jayce prided himself on his ability to read people. Whether in the Council chambers or on the workshop floor, he considered himself adept at deciphering motives and peeling back the layers of those around him. But Y/N? She was a mystery, like a riddle told in whispers. An enigma wrapped in feathers and scattered trinkets.

The first time she left him a gift, it was so subtle he almost missed it. A small mechanical gear sat on his workbench, its brass edges polished to a gleam. It wasn’t one of his own, nor was it something he’d misplaced. Beneath it, a folded slip of parchment lay, the inked message in her unmistakable hand:

"It reminded me of your hammer. I thought you'd like it."

He stared at it for a long moment, perplexed yet intrigued. A gear? Of all things? He turned it over in his hand, noting the weight of it and the way it glinted in the light. It was oddly thoughtful, and that thoughtfulness warmed something deep inside him. From that day forward, the little gear had a permanent spot beside his tools, a tiny reminder of her unique charm.

And then it began.

The gifts started coming with more frequency—never announced, never explained beyond the simple notes she left with them. A pressed flower, its petals faintly glowing with an otherworldly Zaunite shimmer, encased between two sheets of glass. A silver button with intricate engravings, undoubtedly scavenged from some forgotten corner of the Undercity. A scrap of fabric embroidered with gold thread, torn from what must have been an old banner.

Each trinket was as eclectic as it was endearing.

The notes were always short but brimming with quiet affection.

"Saw this in a market. Thought you'd like it." "It made me think of your smile." "You seem stressed—this might cheer you up."

At first, he didn’t know how to respond. What did one say to a gift like a bird’s feather, black as night, accompanied by a note that simply read,

"Your coat matches this. Thought it would go well with it.”?

But slowly, something in him softened. Each time he found another trinket—on his workbench, slipped into his pocket, or perched on his windowsill—he found himself smiling. The gifts weren’t random, not to her. They were little pieces of her world, little fragments of her mind that she thought he’d appreciate.

Jayce began keeping them all.

=

One evening, after a particularly gruelling day of debates with the Council, he returned home feeling drained. The sun was sinking low, casting its golden light across the skyline, and as he stepped out onto his balcony, he found her there. She was perched on the railing, her figure silhouetted against the orange and pink hues of the horizon. Her hair danced in the breeze, her posture as relaxed as if she belonged to the wind itself.

“You’re quiet today,” he remarked, leaning against the doorway.

She turned to face him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Am I? Maybe I’m plotting my next gift.”

Her teasing tone made him chuckle, and he stepped closer, folding his arms. “You know, you don’t have to keep leaving things for me.”

Her smile faltered, her brows furrowing slightly. “You don’t like them?”

“No, no! I love them,” he said quickly, holding up a hand as if to ward off her doubt. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s not the gifts that matter to me. It’s you.”

Her expression softened, and the mischief returned to her eyes. She tilted her head, the sunlight catching the curve of her cheek. “But the gifts are me, Jayce. They’re little pieces of my thoughts about you. Isn’t that the point?”

His heart stuttered, caught off guard by the simple honesty of her words. “Pieces of you, huh?”

She nodded, and without breaking eye contact, reached into her pocket. “Speaking of…” She pulled out a small figurine, carved from wood. It was unmistakably his hammer, though crude and slightly lopsided. The runes along its head had been painstakingly etched, their imperfect lines speaking of hours spent crafting it.

“I made this today,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s not perfect, but—”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupted, taking it from her hands with a reverence that surprised even himself. His fingers brushed hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. “Y/N, you don’t know how much these mean to me.”

She laughed, light and airy, a sound like the rustling of wings. “Then you’d better make some room, because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

Jayce didn’t reply with words. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, the little wooden hammer pressing against his palm as he held her close. Her cheek rested against his chest, and he felt her smile against him.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured.

She grinned, her voice teasing. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jayce thought of the collection of trinkets waiting for him inside. They weren’t just gifts—they were a window into her soul, a reflection of the way she saw the world and, more importantly, the way she saw him.

And in that moment, he realised she hadn’t just left him little pieces of herself. She’d taken every piece of his heart in return.

VIKTOR

The hum of machinery filled the lab, punctuated by the occasional clink of metal tools as Viktor worked intently at his station. His cane rested within arm’s reach, leaning against the bench. The faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of parchment and ink. But lately, something else had been weaving its way into his space—small, peculiar trinkets that carried with them a strange, unspoken warmth.

The first one had appeared two weeks ago. It was a small bird figurine, carefully carved from wood, its wings outstretched mid-flight. It sat precariously on the edge of his workbench, as though someone had set it down mid-thought and wandered off. Viktor had frowned at it, confused. The bird was exquisitely detailed, the feathers etched with precision. When Jayce denied any involvement, Viktor set the figurine aside with a shrug, thinking it had been misplaced by one of the other researchers.

But then another item appeared.

This time, it was a tiny gear encased in clear resin, its edges smoothed out as though it had been polished with care. It had been left atop his blueprints, almost as though it were a paperweight. Viktor had tilted his head at the odd little object, his brow furrowed in curiosity. There was something strangely endearing about it. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, and felt a flicker of warmth stir in his chest. The resin caught the light, the gear glinting faintly within. He didn’t discard it. Instead, he placed it neatly alongside the wooden bird.

The pattern continued over the next few days. A pocket-sized notebook bound with worn leather appeared on his chair one morning, the edges of its pages slightly frayed. A shard of coloured glass, smoothed by time, was tucked into the folds of his coat when he went to retrieve it. A bundle of dried flowers, tied with twine, rested on his windowsill, the soft purple hues of lavender standing out against the grey of the lab. Each item seemed to materialise in the most curious places: next to his cane, atop his desk, or even peeking out from the stack of notes on his workbench.

And then there was her. Y/N.

Viktor had always found her charmingly unpredictable. She was a whirlwind of energy and curiosity, breezing through the lab with a kind of reckless grace that left him both amused and exasperated. She had a knack for spotting discarded odds and ends and turning them into something new, her eyes lighting up like a child discovering hidden treasure. She was a magpie in human form, drawn to shiny things and curious scraps, collecting them with the same enthusiasm that Viktor reserved for innovation.

=

Today, Viktor caught her in the act.

She stood near his workbench, holding a small brass key in her hands. The key was tarnished with age, but its intricate etchings hinted at a careful craftsmanship that had long since faded from use. Her eyes sparkled as she turned it over, examining every detail with the rapt attention of someone who saw value in things others might dismiss.

But rather than handing it to Viktor directly, she simply set it down absentmindedly on the corner of his desk and wandered off, her attention drawn to a pile of blueprints scattered across a nearby table.

“Y/N,” Viktor called softly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to catch her attention.

She turned, startled at first, but her face quickly broke into a delighted smile. “Oh, Viktor! You’re back.”

“I never left,” he replied with a quiet chuckle, gesturing to the key. “Another gift?”

Her cheeks flushed a faint pink as she glanced at the key, as though noticing it for the first time. “Oh, that? I found it at the market yesterday. It reminded me of you—don’t ask me why, though. Maybe it’s the craftsmanship. I thought it was... neat.”

“You’ve been leaving these for me, haven’t you?” His voice was soft, curious, without a hint of reproach.

Her expression shifted to one of sheepish amusement, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “I suppose I have. I didn’t really think much about it. Whenever I see something interesting, it just… feels like it belongs with you. I didn’t mean to clutter your space or anything.”

Viktor shook his head, his smile deepening as he leaned on his cane. “You’re not cluttering anything. In fact, I quite like them. They make the lab feel… warmer. Less clinical.”

She blinked, a little surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” he assured her. His golden eyes softened as he studied her, and for a moment, the hum of the lab seemed distant, like a world apart. “You have a gift for seeing beauty in the small things, Y/N. It’s… endearing.”

Her cheeks deepened in colour, and she looked away, trying to mask her embarrassment with a teasing tone. “Endearing, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.” His voice carried a quiet warmth, his gaze steady. “Thank you, Y/N. For all of it.”

She waved a hand dismissively, but her lips curved into a pleased smile that she couldn’t quite hide. “It’s nothing, really. Just a habit of mine. You know how I get.”

“I do,” Viktor replied, his smile lingering as he picked up the brass key, running his thumb over its surface. It felt cool and smooth in his hands, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. “And it’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching, but before she could respond, the sound of Jayce’s voice echoed down the hall, calling for Viktor.

“Duty calls,” Viktor said, setting the key down alongside the rest of her gifts with a quiet reverence. “But don’t stop, Y/N. I quite enjoy your… distractions.”

With that, he gave her a small nod and made his way towards the door, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. Y/N stood there in the soft glow of the lab’s overhead lights, her heart fluttering as her mind raced ahead, already plotting the next trinket she would leave for him.

JAYVIK

Y/N had always been drawn to things that sparked her curiosity. A gleaming bit of metal, intricately carved figurines, or even oddly shaped stones—to her, they all held a certain magic. It was as if the world whispered to her, pointing out treasures that others might overlook. Her fascination with these objects wasn’t just a passing quirk; it was a part of who she was. Naturally, she couldn’t resist sharing her discoveries with Viktor and Jayce. If something reminded her of them, she felt an irresistible urge to leave it for them as a gift, a silent expression of her affection.

The habit began subtly. Viktor had walked into the lab one morning to find a tiny clockwork bird perched delicately on his desk. Its design was crude, but it was charming in its simplicity. When he wound it up, the bird’s wings moved in small, jerky motions, as though it were trying to take flight. Viktor had tilted his head, studying the little contraption with a faint smile of bemusement. The very next day, a shard of dark glass appeared on his desk. It wasn’t just any glass—it caught the light in a way that made it shimmer and glow, reminiscent of the Hexcore’s faintly eerie brilliance. Then came the delicate sketch, hand-drawn by Y/N, depicting him and Jayce engrossed in their work. The attention to detail was staggering, and Viktor found himself quietly marvelling at her talent.

Jayce, on the other hand, was far more vocal about the gifts. One day, he walked into the lab holding a polished stone Y/N had painted with gold flecks, its surface arranged to resemble constellations. “Y/N, you’re spoiling us,” he said with a wide grin, his voice warm with affection.

“I’m not spoiling you,” Y/N replied, her tone teasing yet light-hearted. “I just see things that belong with you two. That’s all.”

It wasn’t about the value of the gifts for her. It was about the thought, the connection. Viktor’s appreciation for intricacy and invention, Jayce’s love for beauty and sentimentality—she found ways to reflect those qualities in every trinket she left. It became her silent language, a way of saying, “I see you. I cherish you.”

=

Over time, they came to expect her little surprises. Viktor began to notice how his heart lifted whenever he found something new on his desk, and Jayce’s exuberant reactions became a fixture in their shared moments. But one gift—one particular project—was different. This wasn’t a found object or a hastily crafted token. It was something she had poured her heart and weeks of effort into. It was a gift for both of them: a small, mechanical music box, powered by Hextech.

The design was intricate, each gear carefully calibrated to work in harmony. The melody it played was one she’d composed herself, a soft, lilting tune that captured the essence of their bond. It was warm and comforting, like the evenings they spent together, filled with laughter and quiet camaraderie.

She hid the music box in her workshop, determined to keep it a secret until it was perfect. But, as it turned out, her secret wasn’t as well-guarded as she believed. One evening, Jayce had been searching for a misplaced tool when he stumbled upon the half-finished music box. Its exposed gears and partially assembled casing caught his eye, and he immediately realised what it was. “Viktor,” he called softly, beckoning him over.

Viktor limped over, his cane tapping against the floor. When he saw the music box, a knowing look passed between them. They didn’t say much; they didn’t need to. They both understood how much Y/N enjoyed surprising them, and they agreed, wordlessly, to keep her secret.

Over the following weeks, they watched her out of the corners of their eyes, noticing the subtle hints of excitement she tried to suppress. It was endearing, how much effort she put into her project, and they couldn’t wait to see the final result.

=

The day finally came when Y/N decided the music box was ready. She waited until they were both in the lab, engrossed in their work. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she placed the music box on the table between them and stepped back.

Jayce looked up first, his eyes widening in mock surprise. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up carefully, as though it were made of glass.

“Just something I made,” Y/N said, trying to sound casual, though her excitement shone in her eyes.

Viktor examined the intricate craftsmanship with a keen eye. He wound the small crank, and the soft melody filled the room. His gaze softened as the tune played, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. “You composed this yourself?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Jayce repeated, his grin spreading wide. “Y/N, this is incredible. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s perfect,” Viktor added, his tone sincere, his golden eyes meeting hers. “Thank you.”

Relief and joy flooded through her, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She had no idea they’d already seen the music box, no idea they’d been waiting for this moment just as eagerly as she had.

As the melody played on, Jayce reached out to pull her into a one-armed hug, his warmth enveloping her. Viktor, more reserved but no less affectionate, gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a silent gesture of gratitude.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of their affection and the soft, lilting notes of her creation, Y/N felt a profound sense of belonging. The trinkets, the music box, the countless hours spent together—they all wove a tapestry of connection that bound them together. And for Y/N, that was the greatest treasure of all.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter now, the usual rowdy buzz of conversation replaced by a mellow hum, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the worn wooden floors. Vander leaned over the bar, wiping down a glass with a rag, his thoughts momentarily lost in the usual routine of the night. His mind wandered to the trouble the kids had caused earlier in the day. Vi had nearly gotten herself into a scrap, Mylo had been making his usual sarcastic remarks, and Powder had been running around, her energy boundless. Claggor was the only one who seemed to keep a level head, but that was no surprise.

As Vander absentmindedly cleaned, his eyes fell on something out of place on the bar. It was a small bundle of glossy, iridescent feathers—strangely beautiful, like something you might find in a market stall or tucked away in the corners of the undercity. He raised an eyebrow, his rough fingers lightly brushing the soft feathers, a slow smile creeping across his face.

He knew exactly where it came from.

Y/N.

She had that way about her. Always leaving little gifts—trinkets, oddities, things that carried meaning, even if only to her. The thought crossed Vander’s mind that Y/N was like a crow or a magpie, collecting things that stood out, things that reminded her of people or places. Every gift, every trinket she left behind seemed like a piece of her heart, given freely without asking for anything in return.

This wasn’t the first time she had left him something. Over the past few weeks, little gifts had started to appear—small things that made her presence known. Some were objects she had found, like this bundle of feathers, and others were things she had crafted herself, with care and precision. Each one felt like a message, a silent connection between them.

=

A few days ago, she had left a worn-out leather coin pouch for him, filled with bits of metal and coins. The moment he picked it up, it had reminded him of the time they’d shared a quiet drink together in the bar’s back corner, chatting about the state of Zaun and life in general. It had been a simple gesture, but it had carried the weight of something much deeper. Vander couldn’t help but smile every time he reached into the pouch, each coin a small token of her thoughtfulness.

The kids, too, had their share of trinkets. Y/N always left them little gifts as well, sometimes something she’d found in the city, sometimes something she’d made. For Vi, it had been a small, hand-carved charm of a hawk, a symbol of strength, something Y/N thought would suit her. For Claggor, it was a smooth rock with a perfectly round hole in it—a sign of patience, a trait the boy showed more of than he let on. Mylo had received a small metal ring that Y/N had fashioned herself, a reminder to hold his tongue on occasion, something she teasingly told him every time she handed it over. And Powder... Powder had received a plush rabbit, sewn together from scraps of fabric Y/N had found in the alleyways. The doll was ragged but loved, always with Powder wherever she went, a symbol of the bond they shared.

Vander chuckled softly to himself as he continued to run his fingers over the feathers, the quiet familiarity of Y/N’s gifts making him feel oddly at ease. It wasn’t just about the objects themselves, it was what they represented—the thoughtfulness, the care. Each trinket had its own story, each one meant to remind the recipient of something important. It was clear to him now that Y/N had an eye for the significant details, the small things that most people would overlook.

Suddenly, the door to the bar creaked open, and Y/N stepped inside. Her presence was unmistakable, always with that quiet energy that seemed to fill a room the moment she entered. Her eyes sparkled, and her lips curled into a mischievous grin as she spotted Vander.

“You’ve found it, then,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

Vander looked up from the feathers, smiling. “You always know how to leave me something to remember you by.”

Y/N stepped forward, her hands tucked behind her back, and she held out a small, worn wooden box. It was plain, nothing too fancy, but when Vander opened it, he found something that took him by surprise—a delicate brass key, its surface polished with age, the teeth worn down from years of use. Vander’s fingers ran over it, and for a moment, he just stared at it in silence.

“Don’t ask me where I found it,” Y/N said with a playful glint in her eyes, “but I thought it might remind you of something.” Her smile softened slightly, and she leaned against the bar, watching him closely.

Vander’s brow furrowed slightly, his thoughts spinning as he examined the key. It was beautiful, in its own way, but the mystery of it only deepened as he thought about it. The key could open anything—perhaps an old lock somewhere, or maybe just a memory of a place long forgotten. Either way, it was something that felt tied to the past, and somehow, that felt appropriate. He reached over and placed the key carefully on the counter, beside the feathers.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, the sincerity of his words carrying weight. “You have a way of making things feel... meaningful.”

Y/N shrugged, the playful gleam never quite leaving her eyes. “It’s just a trinket, Vander,” she replied lightly. “But sometimes, that’s all you need. A little reminder.”

Vander couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Well, I’ll certainly be reminded of you every time I look at it.”

Y/N’s smile widened, and she ruffled his hair playfully before turning to head toward the stairs. “Glad to hear it. You know where to find me if you need more reminders,” she called over her shoulder with a wink.

Vander watched her go, a soft chuckle escaping him. He had no idea where she found all these things, but one thing was for certain—Y/N had a way of leaving little pieces of herself everywhere she went. And somehow, those little reminders of her presence had become something more than just trinkets; they had become small treasures, each one a story, a connection that tied her to him and to the kids in a way words never could.

As he picked up the key and the feathers, Vander realised that Y/N, with her quiet, unpredictable way of showing affection, had become a constant in his life. The trinkets she left behind weren’t just objects—they were pieces of her, scattered throughout his world, making it just a little bit brighter.

SILCO

Silco sat in his dimly lit office, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of papers on his desk. His fingers traced the edges of a pile of small, intricate trinkets scattered across the polished surface — a delicate shard of glass, an ornate key with a faint gleam of gold, a worn leather bracelet. At first, he had thought them to be a mere coincidence, random items left behind by careless hands. But as the days went by and the trinkets grew in number, he began to realise they were far from random. They were gifts, or more accurately, offerings.

And they all came from the same person.

Y/N.

Her habits were curious, almost like a magpie, drawn to shiny things. But unlike a typical bird, she didn’t just hoard them. No, Y/N had a strange need to leave them behind, like a secret trail that only he was meant to follow. Each trinket, each piece of jewellery, came with its own story. She didn’t simply take these objects; she earned them, weaving chaos and intrigue into every acquisition.

Silco's eyes narrowed as he studied the latest gift, a small but intricately crafted brooch, its fine silver feathers shaped into the wings of a raven. It had been left on top of the stack of trinkets hours earlier, a symbol of something deeper than mere theft. He recognised the craftsmanship. This piece had been taken from the front of a merchant’s shop in the marketplace. But what intrigued him was not the brooch itself — it was the way Y/N had obtained it. A quiet brawl had erupted between some rowdy patrons in the merchant’s shop earlier that day, a well-placed distraction, and then... the brooch was hers.

The thought of her, pulling the strings behind these little antics, made Silco grin despite himself. She had a way of getting what she wanted, no matter the means. And he had to admit, it was entertaining. Y/N was a force of nature, a storm in human form, capable of weaving chaos with a skill that he couldn’t ignore.

He glanced back at the pile of trinkets. Each one spoke to the mischief she carried with her. There was something alluring about that.

His thoughts drifted to the most recent encounter.

=

She had appeared in his office one evening, that same mischievous grin on her face, a small but glimmering bracelet dangling from her fingers. She had placed it gently in front of him. The bracelet had once adorned the wrist of a wealthy, well-connected trader earlier that day. Silco had watched her from across the room, as she caused a minor uproar in the tavern. The distraction had been perfectly timed.

“Don’t tell me you went through the trouble of setting up that little… distraction for this?” he had asked, his eyes flicking between her and the shiny object in his hand.

"Me?" Y/N had replied with feigned innocence. "I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The distraction was… an unfortunate accident." Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and Silco could almost hear the laughter hiding behind her words.

"Do you ever get tired of causing trouble?" Silco had asked, his voice smooth, yet tinged with curiosity.

She had leaned in, brushing his hand with hers as she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, “Why get tired of something that brings excitement, Silco? You should try it sometime.”

Her words lingered in the air, a challenge, a lure that piqued his interest even further. There was something intoxicating about her — the way she embraced chaos, the way she toyed with it like a fine art. She was a captivating nuisance, and he found himself not minding it at all.

=

As the days passed, more trinkets appeared on his desk. A delicate pocket watch, cracked and worn from use, was the latest addition — a guard’s prized possession that had gone missing just the previous night. Silco couldn't help but smile as he turned the watch over in his hands. The lengths Y/N must have gone to acquire it were amusing.

“I think I’m starting to grow rather fond of these gifts of yours,” he said aloud, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he looked up at her.

Y/N entered the room, her lips curling into a playful grin. “Oh, I knew you’d come around eventually,” she teased. “Do you think you’ll ever get bored of me?”

Silco met her gaze, his tone smooth but deliberate. “No,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “In fact, I think I may just be getting used to this trouble of yours.”

She slid closer, her fingers tracing the edge of the desk where the trinkets lay, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Good,” she murmured, her voice low and enticing. “Because I plan on leaving you many more.”

And with that, as Y/N flashed him one of her trademark devious smiles, Silco knew she would — and he would happily indulge her, even if it meant tolerating the chaos that accompanied it.

But Y/N’s pursuit of the perfect trinket didn’t always go according to plan.

=

It had been one of those rainy, miserable nights in the city, the streets slick and dark, the flickering lamps casting long shadows. Y/N had spotted it in the window of a high-end merchant’s shop: a silver chalice, intricately crafted, the kind of item Silco would appreciate. Regal, expensive, and rare. A fitting tribute to him, she thought.

But acquiring such a treasure was no easy task. The merchant’s shop was heavily guarded, and it had taken Y/N days of watching, waiting, and carefully scheming. She knew she’d have to be quick.

That stormy night, when the streets emptied and the merchant left the shop for an appointment, Y/N slipped inside. She moved with the grace of a shadow, her breath coming in soft puffs as she crept toward the back of the room, where the chalice sat gleaming on a pedestal under the soft glow of a lantern.

But just as she reached for it, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the shop. The merchant had returned early. Panic surged through her veins. Her heart raced as she grabbed the chalice, but in her haste, her foot snagged on the edge of a rug, sending her crashing into a nearby shelf. The noise was deafening in the stillness of the shop.

The guard appeared at the doorway, eyes wide with shock, just in time to see Y/N clutching the chalice as though her life depended on it. A desperate struggle ensued, punches were thrown, and in the chaos, Y/N managed to break free. But not without a cost.

The corner of a wooden shelf slammed into her side, sending a sharp spike of pain through her body. She staggered but kept running, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she darted through the streets, the chalice still clutched tightly to her chest, its cold surface pressing against her skin.

=

By the time she reached The Last Drop the pain was nearly unbearable. Blood soaked through her shirt where the shelf had struck, and her side was bruised and swollen. But she had succeeded. The chalice was hers.

Silco was in his office, as always, when she stumbled in. She tried to hide the grimace of pain behind a playful grin, but the blood on her shirt gave her away.

“Y/N,” Silco’s voice was low, almost dangerous. He stepped forward, his gaze sharp as he inspected the bruise already forming along her ribs. “What happened?”

She winced but forced a grin, raising the chalice with a flourish. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said, though the pain was evident in her voice. “I thought this might remind you of your… finer tastes.”

Silco’s expression softened for just a moment as he looked from the chalice to her battered form. He took the item from her hand, placing it gently on the desk before pulling her closer to inspect her injury. His fingers brushed lightly over her side, and Y/N winced.

“You’re getting reckless,” he muttered, a hint of concern lacing his voice, though his tone remained steady. “But… I can’t say I’m displeased with the results.”

Y/N chuckled softly despite the pain. “You should know by now, Silco… trouble’s just part of the package.”

As he continued to study her, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his expression. Something that wasn’t just annoyance, or amusement, or even concern. Something deeper. Something that, much like Y/N herself, he couldn't quite place but found himself unwilling to ignore.

"Next time," Silco said, his voice quieter, almost possessive, "maybe try a less dangerous approach."

Y/N smirked, the same playful glint in her eyes. "Oh, I’ll think about it," she teased, but neither of them truly believed she would.

And as Silco continued to inspect her wound, Y/N knew that the games would only escalate from here — and that Silco, despite his annoyance, would be more than willing to play along.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N was always a bit of an enigma to the children of Zaun. She wasn’t like the others—never quite fitting into the world of pulsing technology that surged through the streets of Piltover or the gritty underbelly of Zaun. Her ways were different, more primal, almost magical. She was a collector, always with an eye out for anything that could catch her attention: trinkets, shiny bits of metal, feathers, and oddities. They were her treasures, and each one seemed to have a story behind it.

Over time, she began to leave small surprises for Jinx. They weren’t extravagant, nor were they meant to impress. It was more like a quiet, personal gesture, a language only Jinx could read. At first, it was subtle. Jinx would find a small, brightly coloured ribbon tied neatly to her bunk, or a peculiar little mechanical trinket—gears and bits that didn’t quite match but somehow worked in a way that made sense to Jinx. There’d be times when a smooth, weathered stone, the kind that shimmered like it had been kissed by the sun, would appear on her desk. Or a small pendant, hand-carved by Y/N, a reminder of something unique—something just for Jinx.

=

One evening, Jinx found a silver locket on her pillow, the edges rough, as though someone had tried to smooth them down but hadn’t quite succeeded. Inside, tucked carefully, was a curled black feather. It was glossy, dark as the wings of a crow, and something about it felt right, as though it had always belonged there. Jinx’s fingers lingered over it, and for a long moment, she wondered what had driven Y/N to leave this behind. It felt oddly intimate, yet without any pressure. There were no expectations, just a simple act of kindness.

The next day, she approached Y/N, the locket in hand.

“Why’d you leave this for me?” Jinx asked, holding it up between them. Her voice was cautious, though her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Y/N looked at the locket for a moment, her smile soft and knowing. “Because I thought it would mean something to you.” She paused, her tone gentle. “Things like that have a way of making us feel seen, don’t they?”

Jinx’s lips twitched, unsure how to respond. “I don’t need to be seen,” she muttered, twirling the locket between her fingers.

Y/N’s eyes softened, the warmth in her gaze never leaving. “Maybe not, but I think you deserve it. You deserve to be known for more than just your explosions and wild ideas.”

Jinx scowled but there was no real malice in it, just confusion. “You’re weird.”

Y/N chuckled. “I get that a lot.”

It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was something. Y/N didn’t need to push Jinx or force her into anything. She simply understood. She laughed at Jinx’s antics, but never in a way that made her feel small. It was a different kind of laughter—tender, warm, not mocking, like the soft hum of a lullaby in the middle of chaos. Y/N always seemed to balance Jinx in a way that no one else could, offering her things that spoke to the very heart of Jinx’s peculiar soul. Some were just odd little objects, while others were handwritten notes, jotted down on scraps of paper, full of praise and encouragement.

“Some of us have a knack for turning trash into treasure,” one note read, written in a crooked, playful script. It was the sort of note that didn’t need to be perfect to be meaningful, much like Y/N herself. Rough around the edges but with a heart full of understanding.

=

One day, as Y/N wandered through Zaun, her attention was caught by a tiny shop nestled between two buildings. In the window, behind the grime of the glass, was a small wind-up monkey. It was a trinket of the sort that would likely be dismissed by most, a toy that appeared clumsy and outdated. But to Y/N, it was perfect. She could almost see Jinx’s delighted expression when she would find it. She could imagine the way Jinx would wind it up and watch it move, its tiny mechanical arms clanging away. Without a second thought, Y/N stepped inside and bought the monkey, shoving it deep into her bag as she continued on her way.

Weeks later, as Y/N searched through her bag for a pen, she stumbled across the forgotten wind-up monkey. She smiled softly to herself. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was something. So, without any ceremony, she slipped it into her coat pocket and, later that evening, quietly left it behind for Jinx to discover.

The next morning, Jinx walked into the cluttered room she called her own and stopped dead when she spotted it. The little monkey sat on her desk, its key gleaming under the light. She stared at it for a moment before reaching down to wind it up. The tiny mechanical arms began to move in jerky, rhythmic motions, a sound almost too faint to hear but comforting all the same. It was like a heartbeat—a constant, reassuring rhythm.

Jinx couldn't help herself. She chuckled, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips. For the first time in ages, she felt… cared for.

Later that day, she sought out Y/N, holding the wind-up monkey in her hands. “Hey, uh… I found this. From you, right?”

Y/N’s smile widened when she saw the little toy in Jinx’s hands. “I thought you might like it.”

Jinx blinked, her fingers gently turning the key on the monkey. “It’s not much, but... thanks.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze soft with understanding. “It’s never about how much something costs, Jinx. It’s the thought behind it that matters.”

Jinx huffed, her fingers turning the key on the little monkey as it awkwardly danced in her hands. "You’re still weird, you know that? But... I guess it’s grown on me."

Y/N chuckled warmly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

It wasn’t just about the gifts, the trinkets, or the oddities that Y/N left behind. It was the understanding that Jinx wasn’t broken or beyond saving—she was simply lost, a puzzle missing a few pieces, and Y/N was quietly trying to help her find them.

As time went on, Jinx started to grow accustomed to finding these little surprises left in unexpected places. And in turn, she began leaving her own small tokens for Y/N to discover—bits of scraps, hastily drawn pictures, and jotted notes. They weren’t much, but they were everything to them. They were Jinx’s way of saying thank you, a silent gesture that showed, despite everything, someone saw her. And for once, that was enough.