#because you would think it would be when he is most powerful

[mixingandmelting]

Secretly Admiring You Artistically

Summary: How he's expressing that you're in his mind through art

a/n: based on scenes in the comics as civilians

Dick: Doodles

He’s dying. Actively decaying in real-time. Why he brought back the notepad from his day job as an officer home or why Haley pulled it out from his bag and gave it to you, he has no idea. To make matters worse, he’s crouching on the ground with both hands covering his very-much burning face as you stand in front of him silently, flipping through each page that’s filled with doodles of you rather than work notes he should’ve been taking for the cases he’s working on.

 It isn’t an exaggeration to say his world revolves around you. He’s not ashamed or has any problem expressing how much of a simp he is for you whether it’s to you or everyone both verbally and physically, 24/7. Seriously, he can’t go a day without getting a kiss from you or telling you how much he loves you, no matter the situation. He’s constantly stuck to your side, always smiling from how you showered him with affection back, spoiling him silly to the point he’s thinking he’s the luckiest man in the world. But artistically? He drew a stick figure once during a game of Scribble. Tim was for sure that it was a basketball hanging on a fishing pole. Bruce had told him he can help him get enrolled for art classes. 

“So, did the sarge or corporal see any of this yet?”

“No…,” He manages to wheeze out. He needs the ground to swallow him up right now. He still can’t believe this is how his (poorly and very much terribly drawn) doodles of you are discovered and exposed to you of all people. When he hears the notepad being closed shut, he musters all the strength in his mind and body. “...Can I please have my notepad back now?” He knows the answer. And he knows what’s about to happen next. But maybe today he’ll be lucky he’ll get it back- 

“Nope.” The way you pop the “p” at the end of the word - of course you wouldn’t. He doesn’t even need to look at you to know the type of grin you have on your face.

With that, he gets up and yells your name as he gets up to chase after your running form. Sure, he’s dreading what exactly you might do with the doodles but his heart is filled with adoration and warmth from how he still managed to give you happiness from them. You are the most lovable person in the world to him - he can’t wait to kiss the ever living lights out of you when he gets you.

Jason: Poetry

Oh. Well. This is embarrassing.  He rubs the back of his neck, face completely dyed red. You snuggling your face into the crook of his neck while embracing his biceps is fine. In fact, he loves waking up to see you sleeping peacefully next to him. His heart always swells with affection from how you feel so warm and right in his arms while being reminded how you genuinely enjoyed and appreciate him and his presence.  The problem was the book lying open on the coffee table next to him. The book filled with romantic poems that he placed on his face after deciding to take a power nap which obviously ended up as a snooze session.

He had been reading each poem, using a sticky note and red pen (because he’s not a heathen to ruin such beautiful and sacred text) to mark which parts or lines reminded him of you the most. Each sticky note had arrows drawn with whatever note he’d make about you, placed on the long-edge of the pages. It was obvious you had found out the contents of the book before joining him on the sofa as you had done the same, only your sticky notes were sticking out from the shorter-edge. 

“Jason… What’s wrong?” He quickly turns his head away, covering the lower half of his face. The fact you aren’t even letting go when you usually would makes things worse, especially when he feels the grip on his arm tightening rather than the opposite. He doesn’t need to turn around to see what expression you’re making, feeling you nuzzle into his side.

“...Are you telling Roy or the others about this?” 

“What? Hell no. This is only for you and me- why would I want to share it?”

With that, he topples over you and wraps himself around you like a giant, warm teddy bear. On top of relief, he’s filled with childish glee from getting to share something that’ll only be meant between you and him. It gets a chuckle from him when you laugh at how ticklish he makes you as he snuggles into you, eventually making you two fall asleep in each other’s embrace with smiles on your faces.

Tim: Photography

He’s pacing in circles in his room. Then he’s flopping onto his bed and screaming into his pillow. Pacing in the room. And again, screaming into his pillow. He’s been repeating this exact pattern for ten minutes straight now after finding the photo album on his desk. How Stephanie found out about them or why she showed them to you when you stopped by while he was out, he doesn’t know nor want to know. But he’s pretty sure  that he's doomed. Best case scenario is break up. Worst case scenario is you choosing to never see him again because you found him creepy. 

But, it’s not his fault, okay? He’s really down bad for you. Even when he’s dating you, he keeps finding himself falling for you deeper and deeper to the point he doesn't want to miss a single moment whenever he’s with you. So, every time the two of you went on dates or plainly hung out, he’d take pictures of you. You standing on a hill during a sunset, looking outside with the window down in his car, laughing in front of a bonfire with a marshmallow on a stick in your hands. He can’t imagine life without you. He needs to be with you even if it’s in a photo. 

Finally, he  gets back up and dejectedly drags his feet to the desk. Might as well put the album away before more people find out about it. Or so he thought when he suddenly freezes at the sight of a note sitting on top of it. There’s only a single sentence in your hand writing, making him do what it says. Having memorized the order of the photos in each album, he immediately finds a photo of him laughing while sitting on top of the hood of his car. It sits adjacent to a photo of you doing the same, making it look like the two of you were laughing while looking at each other. Heart skipping a beat with tears threatening to spill, he doesn’t look away when he grabs his phone and dials your number. 

“So? Are we hanging out tonight?” 

“No, we’re doing more than that. We’re going to go all out, my treat.” 

The way you chuckle does so many wonders to him. With that, he rushes to get ready. Even if he can’t give you the whole world now, he plans on making tonight the best night of your life since there’s no other way for him to express how much he loves you when words can’t cover half of them.

Duke: Notes

He’s an idiot. That’s what he mentally screams to himself when he drops the pile of handwritten notes right in front of you. Not once had he ever mentioned that he had collected all the notes you wrote and slid to him including the ones back before the two of you even got together. All of them were written as your way to cheer him on, sliding them to him in every way you possibly can. It’s as if nothing could stop you from passing him a note, whether it’s during class, passing in the hallways, eating lunch, or slipping them in his school bag. There were even times you managed to place them in his textbooks, right where the assigned reading starts.

All those notes you passed to him, he found solace. He feels that he’s being mentally and emotionally supported unconditionally, no matter the circumstances . You don’t know how he cherishes the smiley faces you draw on them or the words you write. Each and every note he treats like they are a piece of you. It led him to keep a few in his pocket, pulling one and reading it to get the extra boost he needs to get through whatever he’s doing even if it’s homework or patrolling the city. 

Now here he was, caught red handed. He’s so nervous and on the verge of a mental breakdown, fearing that you might think he’s strange. Immediately he starts to ramble, spewing every excuse in the book while watching you pick the notes that dropped from his pocket off the ground. 

“They were growing into a pile inside my bag, so I was kind of in the middle of-”

“Do they work?”

He stops and blinks at you. What do you mean they work? There’s a light blush coloring your cheeks, your hands gently straightening each note to stop them from wrinkling and getting damaged further. 

“Are they making you happy?”  Oh. Oh. He pulls you into a strong hug, hoping his actions convey how he feels about you. It’s not the notes that’s making him happy- it’s you and your efforts to make sure he is that makes him the happiest man in the world.

Damian: Sketching

No. Just no. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t muster a single word right now. You were teasing him a minute ago about how he must have sketches of you when he refused to show you his notepad he carries around. Little did you know and much to his horror, you were completely right and that exactly was the reason why he didn’t want to show it to you. In fact, he had been finishing another sketch of you before your so-called attempt to sneak up on him. You being you, you kept probing him into showing his sketches and with him being so flustered, he ended up getting the notepad snatched out of his hand leading to the current situation where both of you are standing with the biggest blush to be seen from mankind. 

It’s not two sketches he’s drawn too. There’s a whole comic strip he drew in there featuring one of his favorite moments he had with you on top of all the other sketches, some being portraits, some being a compilation of various expressions you make on a daily basis. The way he’s constantly stuck about you has gotten to where Jon had gotten smug at guessing what he was thinking of when Jon found him suddenly grinning to himself. That day, the two of them got grounded by their parents once Damian started to threaten Superboy by getting kryptonite out and the other shot lasers out of his eyes as self defense. 

“They’re so beautiful.” Your muttering snaps him back to reality.

Not wasting a second, he grabs his notepad back. Pride damaged and completely panicked by showing a pathetic side to himself to you, he tries to go somewhere, anywhere, away from you. Only to stop when you grab his wrist. 

“Damian, you're absolutely talented.” 

He mentally groans. He hates how you’re sincere and genuine in these moments. You don’t know how much he treasures you because of this - being open, honest, and accepting of his every being. Worse is you not being aware or truly choosing your battles - it’s how you are; it’s part of your nature. Accepting his loss, he sits back down. He refuses to admit how affected he is by the way you smile with excitement when you pick up his sign. Letting his shoulder brush against yours, the two of you go through his drawings with you commenting on each one while he snarks back though it’s softer and filled with fondness.

[okwonyo]

NERVOUS, 或 𓈒𓈒 making them loose it.

SUCC𝑖NCT───────⠀❛ 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄𓈒 ❜

( R𝑒QUESTED ) 𓈒 ⠀𝒾 ⠀⦂ ⠀ 엔하이픈 ୨୧ f ╱ r! 7OO fluff ── non idol au skinship ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠 )

지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀dedicated to @jaexiyu my girlfriend 🎀

( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )

HEESEUNG&princess treatment : the simple action of your hand reaching his cheek, then cupping his jaw in your palm ever gently before, under his hypnotised gaze, running the finger tip of your thumb on the corner of his lips— sends him into a spiral. the tip of his nose gets red and he is unable to say anything, and before he can even do, the raise of your praise stops him in his tracks. warm creeps all over his body when you pat his cheeks lovingly and says, “good boy.”

“oh my god,” he chokes.

JONGSEONG&public display of affection : listen, if there is one thing about your boyfriend is that he loves to touch you. whenever he can, wherever he can. he has a thing for doing it under the public eye— sliding his strong hand on the back of your lower back, to show everyone you are his. when you do it, it is different. you showing him off makes his heart crave you even more. your thumb rubbing his nape, here in front of all your friends, makes a shiver run down all the way to his spine. 

the world already faded away, “it tickles,” he tells you. 

JAEYUN&tucking his hair behind his ear : he has never planned on keeping his long hair for longer than a month. usually, when he finally had the time to book an appointment at the hairdresser, he would cut it again. his hair habits completely changed when you did that for the first time. he admits that his hair was a mess at that time, but he was too busy talking to you to even notice. when your finger tucked a stray harstrand behind his ear, like in the movie, the air inside of his lungs evaporated. he couldn’t even do anything, and you adding ‘keep on going, baby’ didn’t help much.

“o-okay,” he stuttered out.

SUNGHOON&eye contacts : the hottest part about this, he thinks, is that you have no idea of the true power you have on him. he doesn’t think you even realize what is the reason he stutters or stops breathing when you talk. even during the times whereupon you watch him from afar, he stops completely in his tracks— as if you have mind control—you don’t understand. it’s your eyes, he whines all the time to his friends about. your godforsaken eyes boring in his, alluring him like a siren in the ocean, closing his mouth. 

“i—you—we,” he malfunctions, his stomach aches from all the butterflies in it.

SUNOO&pet names : he remembers, there was a time where he would find any sort of petnames given by romantic partners beyond embarrassing. he was never the type to call any one by those and disliked the idea of someone using one on him. he realized later on that it wasn’t disgust but sheer nervousness. because, yes, he admits that he has a weakness that would fall on his knees for you if you dare to call him ‘babe’ one more time. he especially loves when you say it in a whine— when you groan his petnames.

he hides his face in the crook of your neck before giggling, “what?”

JUNGWON&flirting back : as the annoying and teasing boyfriend that he is, making you so flustered that your face burns and that you trip over the words you are trying to get out of your mouth, is his first mission. and he succeeds most of the time, a quick “don’t hesitate to call me if you need a hand taking that off,” while looking down at your dress. but when you retort with an “don’t start something you can’t finish, handsome,” as you slightly quirk your brow— it’s different. 

“bet?” he says after five minutes of silence, but you are already doing something else. 

RIKI&compliments : never in his life he has found praise and compliments embarrassing to get. in the contrary, he loved them a lot. although it is not embarrassing when it comes from you, it’s totally different— and he can’t really pinpoint why. it is just that you have always been something else, you have always known the exact way to make his emo boy act melt in one single word. his heart completely bursts when you cup his face and coo, “isn’t he so cute?”

he holds your wrist, not to get your hands away, however. he chuckles like an highscool girl amd trailing the word, “stop,”

ㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Don't mind me, just revisiting the plot (again) and dying over this line (again). (These screenshots are going to be abysmal, but you'll get the point).

"To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far."

Yeah he's talking about Mythal (earned or not) and Felassan and Lavellan and Varric...but the way it applies to HIM, too, is what absolutely guts me.

Long post ahead...

Solas realizing that Lavellan doesn't care about how others see him or want to use him under the inquisiton, that HIS motivations as he has shared them are enough for her and worth defending against those who would tell him he's something he isn't. Solas, for the first time, being confronted with the realization that one these new elves he does not see himself in will still go to bat for him.

"You came here to help, Solas, I won't let them use that against you."

(Is he duplicitous? Yes. But intent on working against Corypheus? Undoubtedly).

“How would you stop them?”

“However I had to.”

“...thank you.”

Solas grappling with the fact that it wasn't just a one off, that this Dalish woman being faced with "hypotheticals" he's desperately been trying to get her people to entertain is jumping in head first, pushing back and disagreeing with him but never treating him worse for their differences and always admitting when he's helped shape a changing perspective. Solas daring to ask for help and marveling at the fact that he receives it, that the same woman who asked if it might some day be possible to live alongside spirits, who did not immediately shoot down his critique of THE CHANTRY REFUSING TO ACKNOWLEDGE SPIRITS AS LEGITIMATE BEINGS (GAH), who did not laugh at him for saying he preferred their company most days, this woman, is going to drop time and resources during war time preparations to personally help his friend.

And then, when he is too late and has once again failed someone he considers a friend, he disappears within himself, where he has always gone to exact punishment for the weight of the lives he believes he's betrayed. It almost works, too.

Psych. Lavellan doesn't want him to grieve alone, to stare at the place in the Fade where his friend used to be and think of all he should have done differently.

“The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone.”

“It’s been so long since I could trust someone.”

“I know.”

“I’ll work on it. And thank you.”

And still she unbalances him, accepts him, wants more. Solas is sharing a personality that brings him the closest he has ever been to his spirit form, and it is ENOUGH for her. Existing as he has always dreamt of is all takes to earn her loyalty, respect, and eventually love.

But does she stop there? No. She doesn't chafe at this random apostate who speaks with certainty and unapologetically delves into a past he believes worth preserving, even at the cost of questioning her culture as it currently stands.

The very woman he once thought of as a mistake that HE unleashed upon the world is asking to be a part of his, not because of what he can bring to the table, not because she needs a right hand man, and certainly not because she thinks he has some well of power and intelligence critical to winning over enemies she’s willing to join for "supervisory" purposes (cough cough hi Mythal). She bears the weight of choices that can and will lead to death, to pain, and when it wears on her she relies on him, not for solutions but so that at the end of it all she might smile with someone who knows her heart and the good she tried to do amidst a sea of terrible options. She wants to be known, no inch of her unturned, and worse, she thinks she knows him. But how could she? This is no longer who he is, it is merely the remnants of what he destroyed to make a world at Mythal's whim.

“You’re an admirable man. Not many people know who they are the way you do.”

“Thank you. Both for saying that and…for seeing that. Few in this world can see me instead of just seeing a pair of pointed ears”

She. Sees. Him. Every part he slowly is realizing he wants to be known for and even a few he thought he could hide. And then he gives it all up. Because he woke to a new world where spirits and elves and mages were so far removed from the role they played in Arlathan that it can only be yet another mistake he caused and must fix, never mind the fact that the dwarves have forgotten why they fled underground millennia ago in the first place.

The friend who tore him from the world he loved, urged him to take physical form? She is dead, too, never mind the fact that she ignored his urging for a different path, nevermind that he killed and tore and hurt in her name because otherwise what was losing the part of himself he loved for?

"A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose.”

“It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.”

“You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned.”

He may no longer recognize where the Dread Wolf ends and where Solas begins, but if he gives up now and permits himself the chance to remember, the pain he caused himself and others means nothing, because he did it all for Mythal and in his final discussion with her, regardless of what Veilguard tries to convey, she does not release him from his position as her agent.

And maybe that's part of why I'm so angry, because EVEN BEFORE TRESPASSER, the fragment of Mythal that ends up in Morrigan could have freed him, but she does not.

"I am sorry." He whispers.

"The failure was mine," he tells her, voice trembling. "I should pay the price."

Silence.

And do we get that "what we did, we did together" psuedo-fake ass-absolution, the one that, if given enough time and safety to put himself first he may have realised he doesn't truly need to pursue the things he deserves, that make him feel finally like himself again? No the fuck we don't.

"As am I, old friend." She murmurs.

Looking through the lens of Veilguard, this isn't an apology, it's a condemnation. It's Mythal tormenting him one more time, twisting the knife deeper, agreeing that it is Solas alone who has brought them to this point, who deserves to be punished. And then she reminds him what they are to each other, what he is supposed to be to her. What he must become again.

"It isn't abuse if I ask," Cole says in his personal quest.

"Not always true," Solas shoots back.

So he recommits to the friend he gave up his nature for, he refuses to let himself remember that Lavellan learned the full truth of his identity and still begged him not to mourn alone. Even so, he still cannot quite forget.

Var lath vir suledin. Our love will persevere.

I wish it could, vhenan.

And so he pushes onwards, spending almost a decade denying himself his true nature and regretting that he ever gave it a chance to come through because now he KNOWS that this world is different and a little broken, but it's a world he could be a part of because of the woman and the friends that made a place for him. It is a world that doesn't necessarily need to be restored as much as it might need renovation, but that is not the world Mythal demanded of him when she let him kill a remaining piece of her. And any solution but that means the hurt of taking a body, of hurting the titans, of time and time again being called on by one evanuris to fix a problem they all caused, was for nothing.

And a Pride of that magnitude, that sinister an origin, has a long, long way to fall.

And then that same uppity little shit has the audacity to tell him it's not too late, that he can turn back.

He kills again. He kills again. He kills again.

He kills a friend.

He fails to prevent the Evanuris from wreaking havoc a second time, wrenches another innocent into his war, and when they ask him about the woman he calls vhenan, he feels the mask stifling him begin to suffocate. But he never lets it fall, because to surrender now is to place her broken heart atop the pile of regrets he's been holding up like Atlas crumbling beneath the weight of the world itself. Because he still thinks it selfish to want the things that make him feel like himself again, so they need to be taken off the board entirely.

"To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far."

If he gives up now, his entire corporeal life has been a betrayal of many, but worst of all, he will have ruined himself for nothing.

But then she's there. A little older, a little sadder, and still looking at him like she did the night he almost broke and instead carefully removed any suggestion that she had ever belonged to anyone but herself.

"Didn't you hear me?" Her every action screams as she kneels to meet his gaze like he did the day he took her arm (another failure, another sacrifice he cannot let be for nothing).

The tombstone in the fade is his greatest fear, but it is not his fate. Why? She will not let it be. It cannot be his din'anshiral if she is not beside him.

Lavellan may not have understood the depth of exactly WHEN Solas first came somewhere foreign and uncertain to help, but she never once failed to keep her promise. She refuses to let his initial desire to do good be held against him any longer. And when she sees him accept that not-quite-absolution-definitely-more-of-a-power-play from the god that saw what he was capable of and molded him into a weapon, she finds her in to make sure he doesn't walk off alone to mourn again, never again will she lose him to the expectations others have of him. No doubt she wants to find a way to sink the fingers of her good hand into that spectral visage and tear it away like he wishes to do to the veil. But she is not here for Mythal. She is here for her heart, and for the man who has been carrying it since the moment her lips met his in the fade ten years ago.

“No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

She forces him to see that the only remaining betrayal is to lock himself away one more irreversible time. All that's left to lose is the piece of himself he cherishes more than his greatest victories: all that he has to gain comes from making sure the love that was given to him at Skyhold, in the moment where Varric saw all he was capable of and still tried to bring him back home, was not given in vain.

"There is no fate but the love we share." She tells him as soon as Mythal's too-little-too-late platitudes send shudders through his body.

Banal nadas ar lath'ma vhenan.

It will not be so terrible a place, so unforgivable a betrayal if he can finally dare to put himself first. If, unlike that night in Crestwood, he finally gives in not to break, but to make himself whole.

There's a codex entry in Inquisiton about a spirit of wisdom who is summoned by researchers and only after a very pleasant conversation do they realize they made a mistake and never successfully bound the spirit in the first place, that it chose to speak with them of its own accord.

"I am not certain the spirit would have talked so freely had it been shackled at the time," writes the author of the entry.

I keep thinking about this alongside the datamined line of Morrigan saying, "And so, the Dread Wolf is stopped by, of all things love."

But that isn't quite right, is it?

Because in the end, of course the Dread Wolf could only ever freed by, over everything, love.

[chrysthemiss]

His name is Thor, short for Thorium, a malleable metal. Telekinesis is simply a matter of being able to control your thoughts, focus them and think of something else, to form what you're focused on of moving. Malleable to change, and being able to change what you're using your Telekinesis on. (I hope this is okay @aerequets )

While he is a bit weak with his telekinesis, he soon grows far too powerful, and can lift Loid, but doesn't. He soon catches on that if anything were to happen, Yor, his loving owner, would most likely kick him to the curb.

Anya filled his head with that, because Bond had growled about it at one point, and Thor now lived by the rule of keeping his powers hidden unless needed. He hated the rule, of course, rules were dumb. But he respected his family, except Loid.

"I swear, that cat always looks like he wants me dead." Loid mutters, lowering his newspaper.

"Awh, he's just a baby." Yor coos, rubbing her fingers together. "Come here my little Prince."

Thor purrs, hopping up the counter and over to Yor, nuzzling against her hand when it is presented. Bond sits with a thump, head lowering, eyes flicking upwards at Yor. 'Bond though he was Prince.' He whimpers softly, gently pawing at the floor.

"I'm detecting jealousy from you, Bond." Loid flicks his newspaper back up. "How unlike you."

Yor steps away from the counter, kneeling down and patting Bond's head, "You are my king, Bond. You have nothing to worry about." She kisses his head. "Would a walk make you feel better?"

He jumps up, licking her face, barking. "Anya wants to go too!" Anya scurries out of her room, scarf and gloves already on.

"Loid, would you like to join us?" Yor giggles, brushing back Bond's fur as he nuzzles her cheek.

Loid hums, Anya's eager face quickly turning to a deadpan. 'I have to keep up appearances, the neighbors haven't seen us out as a family in weeks..I'll have to bring this up to Handler, and clear a schedule solely for family.' Loid smiles. "I'd love to join you, we could make this a family brunch too."

Yor beams at him, Anya gazing at Loid, 'Papa's such a workaholic.'

Thor mews, gazing at the family with expectant eyes. "Yor, I don't think taking Thor with us is ideal. We don't have a harness for him, nor would he stay with us in this busy city." Loid says, nearing the family, offering his hand to Yor.

She takes his hand, being pulled up, nodding, "Yes, but he might cause a ruckus in our absence. I could hold him til we shop for a harness?"

Loid hums, "I..Suppose so.."

Bond growls softly, his growl turning into a soft whine, the dog dragging himself to the coat rack. The family readies, and then leaves the house, Thor comfortable atop Yor's shoulders.

Loid and Yor go inside the pet shop to quickly measure Thor for a harness, and get him a matching gold leash. Loid is in charge of him, because Bond wanted Yor's attention, and wouldn't follow if Loid was holding his leash. Thor mews, hopping to the curb, swatting at a lizard that quickly scuttles off, hissing. "Mama, do cats eat lizards?" Anya asks, looking to Yor.

"I think so." Yor replies, gently squeezing Anya's hand. "But Thor is domestic, so he really shouldn't be eating them."

Thor perks at her words, ceasing his hisses, walking alongside Bond who cowers. 'Cat scary. Cat wants to hurt Bond.'

Anya gasps softly, releasing Yor's hand and skipping forward. "Mama, cats don't like dogs!"

"That's a common stereotype, Anya." Loid utters. "It's not entirely true. Cats are naturally cruel though, they're the ones who initiate fights the most."

Thor glares back, glancing to Loid's shoes, turning proudly as the knots is undone. Loid steps forward, soon tripping over his own shoelaces, muttering softly as he kneels down to tie his shoes and continue walking.

Bond stills, Anya looking to him, perking. 'Papa's going to fall into mud? But it hasn't rained!' Anya hardens her gaze. "That's all!?"

Sneezing, Bond borfs, tail wagging as Anya caresses his face. She sighs, "It's okay Bond, it's not hurting anyone!" Anya hugs his muzzle. "Mama! Can we go play at the park?"

Yor smiles and nods, "We're nearby, we can go."

After a peaceful walk, they arrive to the park, Bond being unleashed and allowed to hop around with Anya. Thor stares, eyes widening for a second, Bond toppling over nothing. He doesn't allow it to affect him and he jumps right back up, Anya squealing as he chases after her.

"Shall we walk around too, Yor?" Loid smiles.

"Yes, let's!" Yor smiles back. "I heard that Bondman is getting a new show, a spin-off, I believe."

Loid perks, "Oh yes, it'll follow the women he's lead on over his journeys." Loid nods. "It'll start off in chronological order."

Thor narrows his eyes, frowning, "Mrrrp?"

"You seem to know plenty, Loid. Are you sure you're not watching it because you do enjoy it?" Yor grins, gently bumping him.

"No- What an absurd accusation." Loid fumbles, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. "I watch it so Anya knows I value what she does."

"Then I guess, the Manga collection I bought of Bondman can go to her." Yor shrugs.

"You– Bought the collection?" Loid softens. "For me?"

Yor flushes red, "You're my husband. I'm supposed to indulge in your hobbies too.."

Thor gapes, Yor is supposed to be his! He glares at Loid's shoes, the laces raising and tying to the other shoe's laces. At Loid's next step, he falls forward, sprinklers going off nearby. Yor gasps in suprise, raising both hands to cover her mouth. "Loid!!"

He pushes himself up slightly, Thor glaring at his laces, tying them back up and stepping closer to Yor. "I have two left feet today.." Loid sits up, wiping his face. "Forgive me, Yor–"

"No no!" She waves her hands, reaching into her pockets and squatting down. "Loid, are you alright? Here, let me—" She wipes his cheek, gentle with the cloth against his skin.

He thinks about protesting, that he is able to do it himself, but can't find himself saying so. He sighs, leaning towards the cloth, somehow content with how things turned out. "Thank you, Yor.."

Thor rolls his eyes, turning and growling a meow. He should've stuck to bullying Bond.

the forgers get a cat (it has telekinesis)

it probably like, snuck into radioactive waste or something that project apple left behind and came out with telekinesis

not enough to do serious damage but just enough for tomfoolery and shenanigans

yor found the kitty. it immediately loved her. yor is its favorite

bond is terrified of this cat 1/8th his size

bond is sad when anya shows this cat love, but also can't do anything because aforementioned fear

it likes to mess with loid because why not? make his life harder. go kitty

doesnt have a name yet 🤔🤔

[the-darklings]

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think. 

He can’t. 

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds. 

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now. 

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake. 

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway. 

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was. 

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her. 

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were. 

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again. 

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs. 

.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest. 

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack. 

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room. 

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl. 

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.” 

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating. 

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.  

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been. 

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

.

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her. 

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her. 

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality. 

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands. 

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well. 

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely. 

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair. 

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly. 

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing. 

You’re the order to my chaos, hero. 

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it? 

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal. 

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home. 

There’s no sleep that night. 

.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move. 

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose. 

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be. 

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right? 

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her. 

Still her. 

Always her. 

. 

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt. 

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away. 

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat. 

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition. 

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet. 

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled. 

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step. 

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against. 

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving. 

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull. 

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink. 

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath. 

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room. 

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him. 

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her. 

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually. 

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again. 

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him. 

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says. 

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been. 

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement. 

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so. 

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

.

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone. 

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way. 

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them. 

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom. 

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere. 

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche. 

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had. 

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth. 

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness. 

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair. 

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all. 

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away. 

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes. 

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close. 

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread. 

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body. 

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

[soulrox]

DPxDC #20

"Hello, Amity Park I am Lance Thunder. Here live in the Infinite Realms for the coronation of High King Phantom. *whispers* I am the weather man how did I end up here." Lance is inside Phantoms Keep, waiting for the ceremony to begin. This is being broadcast to all of Amity Park, it was set up by Tucker and Technus. Amity Parkers aren't allowed to be present for the ceremony, hence the broadcast. (Sam, Tucker, and Jazz are in attendance) Ghosts from all over the Infinite realms have come for this.

Clockwork: Today is a joyous occasion we crown our new king, Daniel James Fenton, Danny Phantom, Great One, Protector of Amity Park, Ancient of Space, the one who defeated Pariah Dark.

Danny walks down the aisle in human form. Danny is only 16. When he reaches the stairs to his thrown he turns around and transforms into ghost form.

Clockwork goes through the ceremonial speech and oaths with Danny. (I do not have the brain power for speeches or oaths)

CW: I now crown you, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms. The king is dead, Long live the King

All guests in attendance: Long live the King.

Danny: I thank you all for your attendance. I will uphold my oaths and be the protector of the Infinite Realms. (blah blah speech) Now to appoint my court.

CW: Jasmine Fenton, rise and meet your future king.

(I want Jazz to have titles but I can't think of any)

Jazz goes and kneels to Danny.

Danny: Jasmine Fenton *goes through oaths with jazz to be princess*. I now pronounce you Jasmine "Jazz" Fenton-Phantom, my sister, as Princess of the Infinite Realms.

Jazz goes to sit on her thrown.

CW: Danielle Fenton, Halfa, Spirit of Freedom, Mirror Sister, rise and meet your king.

Dani kneels.

Danny: Danielle Fenton *oaths for princess*. I now pronounce you Danielle "Dani" Fenton-Phantom, Halfa, Spirit of Freedom, my mirror sister, as Princess of the Infinite Realms.

Dani goes to her thrown.

CW: Samantha Manson, Keeper of the Green, Protector of Rights, rise and meet your future king.

Sam kneels.

Danny: Samantha Manson *oaths for Duchess* I now pronounce you Samantha "Sam" Manson, Keeper of the Green, Protector of Rights, as Duchess Samantha of the Infinite Realms.

CW: Tucker Foley, reincarnation of Pharoh Duulaman, Future ruler of the Egyptian Zone, rise and meet your future king.

Tucker kneels.

Danny: Tucker Foley *oaths for Duke* I now pronounce you Tucker Foley, reincarnation of Pharoh Duulaman, Future ruler of the Egyptian Zone, as Duke of the Infinite Realms.

Lance Thunder: *whispers, but picked up by the mike*These kids have some big titles. What have they all gone through by themselves?

CW: Jason Todd-Wayne, second Robin, Red Hood, Knight of Lady Gotham, Halfa, rise and meet your king.

Jason kneels. Lady Gotham, where she floats in the crowd has a huge smile on her face.

Danny: Jason Todd-Wayne *Oath for Knight* I now pronounce you Jason Todd-Wayne, Second Robin, Red Hood, Knight of Lady Gotham, Halfa, as my Personal Red Knight, keeper of Soul Shredder. (AKA Dannys' Fright Knight)

Danny: Now that that's all over, let us open the portal so the people of Amity can join us and LETS PARTY LIKE WE'RE DEAD!!!!

What no one realized was this was being broadcast across the world not just Amity, Someone hit a button they weren't supposed to. Magical users would be having a conniption fit cause Pariah Dark got a)let out and b)defeated by this kid, this kid is now king and broadcasting it, he's a halfa.

The JL/JLD would have been trying to locate where they are since the broadcast started. Thinking that this wasn't going to be a good thing for Earth. Probably think because they (accidentally) took over most electronics they are going to declare war or something. When they call Jason up the bats and birds freeze and then start freaking out.

[kabuki-writes]

And All Eyes Were Set On Brutus

chapter: 3 chapter 1 | 2

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: After their visit of the Colosseum, Marcus Acacius worries even more about his beloved daughter. Meanwhile a dangerous rumor finds its way into the Emperor's ears.

warning(s): NSFW | mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Thank you all for your ongoing support and your comments on my previous chapters✨🙇‍♀️! I really enjoy to write this fic as a Geta and Cara stan myself and it honors me that you continue to share your love for these two and this fic. I really hope you like this chapter as well, because this time it gets a little more... spicy.🌶️

word count: 3.6k

Rome was becoming nothing more than a painful cage for General Acacius. From the very first day he had to wear the white armor of victory, he felt like a slave with no other choices than to watch how everything he had known changed for the worse. He despised himself for not being able to protect his own daughter from the eyes of the Emperors, that were now set on her. He should've never taken her with him, he should've sticked with his principles. But then again, what choice did he even have, when he faced an order by the most powerful men in the world.

There was no chance to defy them openly, speaking up now would bring danger to his whole family as they would have to face the consequences of Marcus Acacius' actions. He wasn't so delusional and naive to think that the anger of the Emperors would only befall him alone, no, they weren't like that. So when the day came and a senator stepped forward to the General, he hesitated. Geta and Caracalla were beloved by the people as they gave them victories, bread and games - as long as the plebs had that, no one gave a damn about who sat on top. For them it was all the same, but the senate was different.

After the death of Emperor Commodus, the senate reestablished the Roman Republic, but wasn't able to secure their power. Many cities and regions took their chance to rebel against Rome as most of the generals refused to serve the new order - that included Marcus Acacius as well, who quickly sided with his old friend and brother-in-arms Septimius Severus, the father of the now ruling Emperors Geta and Caracalla. They took their legions and marched on Rome, where Severus took the power from the senate again only one year after the rebirth of the Republic. Acacius did believe in Severus, he did believe in the vision his friend had for Rome as well as his strength and wisdom as Emperor. Nearly two decades he was not disappointed while he served his old friend as a close advisor and his first general.

The senate got reduced to nothing more than a theater stage, with no real power or influence. And Acacius was sure that they would forever hate him for the service he did to Severus. Yet men like Gracchus must've sensed that the general was getting more and more delusional given the current reign of the twins. So the politicians approached him carefully and together they formed an alliance in the shadows. Their plan: Overthrowing the two Emperors and install the Republic again. Acacius stood never on the side of the senate... but nothing was as terrible as Geta's and Caracalla's tyranny. And if that is a way to protect his daughter and his family from them, he happily claimed himself a Roman Republican now.

Coming from one of his nightly visits at senator Gracchus' home, Acacius noticed that there was someone still sitting in the inner garden of his Roman city residence. He took off his cloak and approached you slowly as you watched the turtles in the small pond between the plants and flowers, while the water of a small fountain rippled in the silence. "Your mother told me, that you were sitting here the whole day", he said with a low tone, careful not to scare you with his sudden appearence, before he took a seat right next to you on the stone bench. When he watched your face, he saw all the thoughts that were probably going through your head after the situation in the Collosseum yesterday. For a long moment, the two of you simply sat in silence, while one of the turtles walked along a mosaic before it fell into the water.

"I am not a child anymore, i don't want you or mother to protect me any longer", you suddenly whispered, before your head turned to your father. In your eyes he saw how you struggled to maintain your neutrality as you faced the danger that may come over you, if you'd accept this new attention further. "And yet i don't know how to deal with... them? I suppose i cannot refuse any of this?" Your question carried a sense of pain, because you already knew the answer and it was equally as hard for your father to shake his head in response.

"I thought so...", you mumbled and leaned forward give one of the turtles a leaf of salad you had snached from the dinner table earlier. Acacius had seen many battles and many terrible things, but nothing was harder than to see you like this. And nothing was harder than to feel helpless. All he could do was laying his hand softly and reassuring on your shoulder.

„You’re my daughter, y/n. And you’re right, even if I want it to, I can not protect you anymore… all I can promise you, that it is going to be alright."

He searched for a way to fix all of this, even though he couldn't tell you how. It was better this way as it would only drag you deeper into the dead end that your own father had already set up. The mere thought about it made his heart grow even more painful.

"Do you regret it sometimes?", you suddenly asked, looking at the vibrant clear water of the pond. "What do you mean?"

"That you marched with Emperor Severus back then?"

This question wasn't easy to answer, it was written on Acacius face, as he turned his face to the turtles and sighed.

"I did believe in Severus... i still do. Under him, Rome was able to secure itself and become strong again. What comes after that now - only time will tell. But what i know is that i have to leave in a few weeks with my troups again. An order of the Emperors."

It wasn't a particular surprising news, but nonetheless your fingers digged themselves into the fabric of your toga-like blue dress, while you still hept your head high. Despair was no useful emotion and not a good thought right now. You needed to stay calm, stick to yourself and find a way on how to deal with all of the things that were happening. As you'd said you were no child anymore - you will find a way out if this, even without your father.

You didn't say a word in response, however you closed your arms around him as the fear that with him being gone it could get even worse, lingered on your mind. Little did you know that the world you had known was already on the brink of falling apart.

_____________________________________________

The smell of incence, wine, sweet perfume and sweat filled the rooms of Emperor Caracalla's chambers, while naked bodies moved themselves to the rythm of a small group of musicians. The melodies of their instruments mixed themselves with the moans of the men and women in ecstacy, the worshippers of Bacchus - god of wine, euphoria and madness. Drinking and making love was the way they prayed nearly every night as Caracalla found in it a way to escape the reality that almost drove him crazy. Here in his chambers, the only Emperor that mattered was him, the only word that was heard was his own. At least one small realm for himself, while he had to share the rest of the world with his twin brother.

But it was different this time, when he stared at the scenery with a mind clouded in intoxication. His breaths went ragged, while he sat on a bed decorated with velvet cushions, a young man kneeled between his legs and sent him to elysium with his tongue, while he was surrounded by beautiful slaves, women with golden chains, that decorated their naked breasts and hips. And yet even in a scenery like this, where he usually found a way to calm his restless mind, he was still thinking about her. Not only her, sadly - that goddamn General was another thought. The hero of Rome was no pleasant figure for him anymore, he was nothing more than a Brutus, but Caracalla was not the one to end up like Julius Caesar.

The mere thought of killing this treacherous son of a whore hit Caracalla's brain and made him cum into the mouth of the slave that had his dick deep in his throat. This peak of his pleasure would've helped him to relax if not one of the praetorian guards stepped in and walked with his black and lilac amror through the voyeristic scenery like it was a halluzination in front of the Emperor's eyes. Without a second thought, Caracalla simply pushed the young slave, who was still sitting at his feet, to the side and stood up. His hand quickly grabbed the white toga that layed on the floor which he threw over his own naked, pale body. "Why do you disturb me!?", he hissed, as if he wasn't already expecting him.

The soldier ignored the music, the slaves that layed on the ground and fucked each other, just as he ignored the half-naked Emperor right in front of him, who still wore his golden laurel crown and his jewelries. "Emperor Geta waits for you."

For a moment, the young man with the gingerblonde hair stared at his guard, before he nodded quickly, as if it got him out of a daydream. "Yes, yes i will come to him, i am right there, tell him that. And get that slave Marcellus here," he answered, hand waving him away before his tone shifted and he screamed at his 'guests'. "Get out, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!" The music stopped immediately and all eyes were set on Caracalla, while the first slaves already got to their feet again. „NOW,“ he repeated in a louder and added in a hissing tone „…or I will claim your tongue with a dagger!“

Caracalla was impossible to read fully, just as he was impulsive. It would’ve not been the first time one participant of this nightly debaucheries had lost his tongue or another part of his body.

_____________________________________________

Emperor Geta waited in his embroidered night robe, which was half open, exposing his bare and pale chest. Sitting on a cushioned wooden chair, he stared with tired eyes out the window of the balcony, the darkness of Rome in front of him. Just as his brother he had someone in his chambers, but instead of a whole horde of slaves he had chosen one good whore with hairs that reminded him of you. It was just a dull replacement, he knew that, yet it was enough for a good fuck before he would’ve went to sleep.

If there was not his twin brother, who‘d call for him in the middle of the goddamn night. By the gods he hated to be disturbed like that, especially after countless of times his brother got him here only to share uninteresting - sometimes even paranoid - gossip with him, which Caracalla had heard from the mouth of one of his slaves.

When the curtains of the attached room opened and Geta saw his brother entering with his wild hair and only with a toga over his bare body, his nose twitched in anger. „Don‘t tell me you disturbed my sleep and called for my immediate coming while you were fucking whores at your damn orgy!? When you’re telling me that your problem is, that you can’t sleep now, I will cross you myself!“ Yes, it wasn’t the first time Caracalla had called him for such nonesense. And usually Geta had a lot of patience with him, given his psychological condition, but not tonight.

Caracalla stopped in an instant and looked at his brother with big eyes as if he tries to convince him that he wasn’t guilty of anything. „Yes, but- I had a reason for that!“ he insisted, which only fueled Geta's anger. „Lucinius, bring us the slave!“ Caracalla quickly said and the Praetorian guard who just had informed him about his brother came in with a skinny, yet tall young man. He was a slave but given the clothes he wore, it was clear that he had a higher rank within the household he was serving in.

„Who is that, one of your toy boys?“ Geta asked, eying the stranger he‘d never seen before. But Caracalla shook his head and stepped forth to place his hand on the shoulder of that slave.

„No! He is a slave from the household of senator Gracchus,“ he explained and couldn’t hide an almost devilish smile as this said slave was here for one reason alone - to tell them everything. „Marcellus, tell him,“ he ordered and whispered into his ear. „I promised you your freedom and a good amount of gold, to return to your family. You want to see your daughter again, right? So don’t disappoint me now.“ With those words he stepped back for a moment, giving the slave a moment to breath as he seemingly tried to find the right words. He was nervous, the way his fingers twitched and his eyes were glued to the marble ground under his feet.

"I... i am a servant in the household of senator Gracchus for nearly a decade now", Marcellus began and forced himself to look up into the testing eyes of Geta, who was growing more impatient with each second passing. "The General... General Acacius as well as a couple of other senators visit my master regularly in the middle of the night and they always retreat into a secret room in the cellar of his villa."

With an amused whistle Geta interrupted him. "Why should we care for the sexual escapades of a group of old men?", he hissed, but Caracalla threw in with a darkened shimmer in his eyes. "Wait for it, you will be furious, trust me! Continue."

Marcellus needed a second to calm himself down and stop to shake as he formed his next words. "When i brought them wine once, they stopped with their conversation as long as i stayed in the room, but when i was in the corridor, they spoke again. They didn't know that i was still there, so i just listened and- it was clear that they questioned you, my Emperors. They questioned your leadership and the general - i wouldn't dare to speak out loud such a blasphemy against your rule, if it was not what i've heard with my own ears."

Geta's face darkened with every new information Marcellus was telling him and slowly he realized why his brother was so eager to get him here. The laugh of his twin filled the room, which turned hysterical. "Tell him, Marcellus!"

"General Acacius and the senators Gracchus, Livinidus, Galba and Erebus plan to overthrow you with the legions that are under Acacius' command," he said and had to force every word out of his mouth, afraid of the anger that cooked like a vulcano in Geta. His hands formed fists and he bit his tongue. All this time, Acacius - the hero - was a traitor, a Brutus. And now he connected the dots, thinking about every time this General wined about going off to war. This maggot.

"And this is true!?", he asked in a loud, demanding tone. "If that is a lie, we will punish you in the most terrible ways you could imagine and feed you to the lions in the Colosseum!" Marcellus eyes were filled with tears of fear, yet he shook his head heavily.

"No, please! I speak the truth, i swear it! I swear it in front of Jupiter himself, please, you must believe me! I came to Emperor Caracalla, who promised me my freedom if i tell it here again. It is no lie!"

"Kill him", Geta ordered in a cold tone and before Marcellus could even scream, it was the blade of the Praetorial Guard that cut his head off from behind, making it fall to the ground like a ball of bones and meat, followed by his body. Under the resounding laugh of Caracalla, Geta ordered the Guard to leave them so that he could speak to his brother in private.

"You just read my mind, dear brother! I wouldn't have let him go either", Caracalla sang. "We should kill them all, that bastard Acacius and his old senate sluts! Let's cut off their heads and spike them on the Palatin for all to see!"

But Geta was already two steps ahead when he closed the distance between him and his twin. Yes, he was furious, it took him all restraints to not give in the urge of ordering their murder. "No," he said, which drew a questioning look on his brothers face.

"What no?! Those are traitors, TRAITORS! You've heard the same things i did!?"

"I did, but the senators are no danger. These old men talk about the republic which is nothing more than dust and ashes! A faded dream and without any backing, they just continue to shit themselves in the senate. When our father took Rome, the people cheered to him, because they didn't want a Republic but a strong Emperor to guide them, remember? The head of the snake is Acacius! He must die, and he will die, but not yet!", Geta started and turned to the balcony, leaving his brother for a moment as he stood in the darkness with his his white toga. "We need his legion, and we will make him our fucking dog, who has no chance to ever decline any order of us, if we have his beloved daughter. If he doesn't do as we say, then she will die."

But he will, Geta knew that. Nothing seemed to be more precious in Acacius' life than his family and especially his dear daughter. And this whole situation had a bonus for Geta, because when he turned to face Caracalla again, he announced. "I will force him with an order to marry his daughter to me!"

Caracalla froze in place, his eyes staring at his brother as if he just had a bad dream. "What?", he simply asked again, while his brother's anger turned into anticipation. "With a marriage we bind her to our reign and therefore we will bind the General. Acacius delivers us his own daughter and his own head on a silver tablet with his treacherous nonsense!"

Geta wanted to place his hands on his twin's shoulders, but Caracalla slapped them out of his way. "I don't accept this! NO! I DON'T ACCEPT THIS!", he screamed at him, which really irritated his twin. "Why can't I be the One to marry her!?"

There it was. For the first time, the twins revealed in front of each other that they longed for the same girl. And that made it complicated. Nonetheless Geta was still confused, why his brother reacted like that, so he reminded him of what Caracalla said all those years.

"You never wanted to marry? How many times did you told our father before he died? Every time he said to us, that we would need to find ourselves someone to take as a wife, you refused. You were too busy indulging in your late night activities and Bacchus rituals."

He stepped forward with an intense glaze in his eyes. This way of being instructive, while Caracalla was still his twin and technically even older than him, made his brother's mouth twitch in response to his next words. "May i remind you about the fact that i am the one of us dealing with most of the political responsibilities, because you always wanted to stick to your fun."

Those words were indeed true, as Caracalla hated those senate discussions, which lead to nothing and were only for show - an illusion for both the plebs and the upper-classes. Geta continued, but not without making clear that he saw himself worthier of you being his wife, bound in front of the gods. "All of that is fine, brother. I've always protected you from the boring senators and hypocrites of the Roman elite, while you collected the most beautiful slaves and enjoyed yourself. You have no duties, as long as i take them off your shoulders and finally shut up all the people, finally demanding a royal marriage after all those years. And given all of that, i do think i deserve to marry before you to present Rome an Empress."

Caracalla stared at him, straight into the eyes of his twin Geta and his fingers twitched. If he would just have a dagger now? But he had none right here and given the fact that his brother was always taller and stronger with his statue, it wouldn't make sense to start a fight. In fact he couldn't even argue against him, as it was true, he was never an Emperor that bothered himself with any political nonesense. Yet he couldn't shake off the urge to kill Geta for this. Again, he took a thing from him he wanted to own for himself - only for himself. Even though his twin showed his goodwill, as he always did. His hands layed itself on Caracalla's cheeks and he gave him a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry, dear brother. I am not above sharing her divine presence with you. But she will always be my wife," he whispered, followed by a smile on his lips.

With those words he simply turned and left the room, leaving Caracalla, who was still wearing his white toga over his naked body, as well as the body of Marcellus alone in the dark. His mind got corrupted with so many thoughts in this very moment, but the most prominentely thought was anger. So he screamed hysterically and grabbed the table that stood at the side to throw it down, taking the vase on top and hurled it straight through the room, followed by the head of that damn slave. He hated Geta. He hated him so much and still they had shared the whomb of their mother, which made them share the same blood.

How long would he be able to hold the urge to murder his own brother - especially now as Geta claimed you?

_____________________________________________

Tags:

quuinyoung koshkahhh mmkkzz analves pandora-journey ange-olras tellynojelly targwh0re h3k3t onelemonoat whitenoise808 spooky-cupid dev1lbella onelemonoat hawraa-alzubaidi omg-hellgirl the-holy-pigeon

[rokkit-story-time]

"I..." I glanced down and took a step back. "...I'd rather not talk about it..."

The big man leaned in, a curious look on his face. "Oh~? Something secret~? What, does it have some big weakness... or maybe it's something you're ashamed of?" I tried to keep any reaction off my face, but he noticed my half-wince and pushed forward. "That's it, huh!? You shouldn't worry, man! There's at least two people here who have some sacrificial ritual to keep theirs going! So just tell-"

A hand landed on his shoulder suddenly. "Drop it." The girl in leather he mentioned before gave me a sympathetic look.

The man didn't move. "Why!? I just want to know what we're working with!"

Her look became a glare as she turned to him. "Because this is loop 37, and I'm getting tired of trying to explain everything to you. This questioning goes *badly*, for everyone present. Stop."

The man blinked, then looked back to me for a long moment while I failed to meet his eyes. Finally he nodded, and when she released his shoulder he took a step away from me. "I'll go see if the magic types have had an idea yet..."

As she watched him leave, I spoke up quietly, just for her ears. "...so. I've been set off 36 times then?"

She looked back at me with a gentle smile and nodded. "Yeah, but don't worry. We'll figure something out that doesn't involve... *That* happening."

I shook my head before whispering, "I don't know if you will... Through those other loops, you've probably figured out what my power does. But, did you ever learn where it comes from...?"

The girl's smile faded, replaced with a wary, worried look. "No. I was more focused on dealing with the others and... Well, left you over here in the corner." She gave me a sheepish smile, but the worry stayed in her eyes.

"A shame that doesn't work, but I'm not surprised... Something always sets me off, in every situation. No matter how much I wish it never happened." I hunched in on myself. "A room full of immortals, trapped and unsure of how we got here? I *know* why I'm part of it..."

Her voice dropped even further, and she took a step closer to minimize the chance she was overheard. "...because you're the only person who can kill most of us." I nodded, the tiniest of motions. "But why? Who would want a bunch of unrelated immortals from across the world dead? And why did you mention where you...?" She trailed off, horrified realization dawning in her eyes.

I nodded again. "Because I don't think Death takes kindly to all of you."

"So, what immortality do you have?" "What?" "Well everybody in this room has a type of immortality, I got hyper regeneration, the guy over the is a lich, the girl in leather can save and reload, and I am not bothered enough to keep talking so what is your immortality?"

[vampyrevolution]

Saying Mel falls into the "Disposable Black Girlfriend trope" just because of jayvik completely disregards the writing of her character and how her relationship with Jayce is an echo of her problems with her mother and city.

Now I'm not saying the dbg trope is not a GENUINE problem in media, because it is, but usually this trope consists of a black woman with lousy writing who's tossed away for two (usually white and gay but that is a totally different long story that deals with a long history of racism and erasure of black women in queer spaces for the sake of gay men) characters who get with each other.

This is not that and I need to explain why. Jayce and Mel UNDOUBTEDLY loved each other at SOME point, but their relationship did not have solid ground hence them breaking up. Mel wanted to be with Jayce because it symbolized rebellion, a unique way of looking at life and helping people. It symbolized something she was willing to risk everything for to see it prosper because this was the city she was building for her family in Noxus, to show her family she WAS the wolf and could handle be a leader, and a peaceful one at that. But to Jayce, she symbolized high society, a seat at the very table that tried to get rid of him, a part of the power he thought he deserved and a place where he knew he could MAKE A DIFFERENCE FOR THE PEOPLE.

The two of them loved the idea of one another, but never independently, the other. To say Mel is the disposable black girlfriend is to also ignore everything she went through in the season finale and everything that she's becoming, especially with the information that Noxus (where Mel is and will most likely be a lead character again) will be another series location. Mel is a complex lead whose story revolves around her at home life and familial relationship. Yes she's used as a mirror to parallel Viktor but that literally doesn't mean she's disposable, breaking up just means two characters were not meant to be and they recognized that.

Also in what world would Jayce be able to consciously even want to get back with Mel knowing she had magic and he was on a mini solo-war against the arcane? Where he thinks she's been able to control her magic this whole time and would constantly wonder why she didn't save Viktor because if she had, none of this would be happening?

That man does not wanna be with her 😭 he has literally always thought about Viktor.

And Mel has always thought about her family

They've both always seen each other as a way out their problems and a gateway/mirror to the ones they love. You could even say they're two sides of the same coin.

Also, Mel, Ekko and JayVik literally saved everyone in the end so idk how you could think this when Mel literally helped save the whole world as an imperative character to the plot.

[artbyblastweave]

To be honest, while I know that you've discussed a Worm/Marvel "crossover" before, considering how unusually different both Ultimate Universes are from mainline Marvel, how would a crossover with Worm go for those?

(Side note: I'm mainly asking for the potential thought experiment of: what if Cauldron met the Maker and all of the immense bullshit that would result from that.)

I don't think I'm totally capable of answering the back half of this ask because I haven't read The Maker comprehensively- Aside from his pre-heel turn stint in Ultimate FF, It's basically only Secret Wars, a couple of the times Ewing used him, and the current New Ultimate Universe.

So what I find interesting about this prospect is that Worm and Ultimate Marvel are very aesthetically compatible, right, you aren't going to drop one character into the other's setting and have them constantly going "what the fuck is going on" the way you would if we subbed in 616 Marvel at it's most four-color. But the worldbuilding and themes are actually very divergent in ways that are interesting to look at. Namely-

Worm is a grim, grim setting, but it's also attempting to replicate the status quo at Marvel and DC where, despite occasional attempts at government sanction or integration, there's fundamentally a weirdly high cultural tolerance for independent vigilantism as long as the person doing it is wearing a costume. Their version of Registration- The Protectorate- is a very carrot heavy initiative, when we see Kid Win making the recruitment pitch to Chariot it's all about the support you get, the funding, the backup, the PR help. Individual street level heroes get nailed to the wall or hung out to dry all the time, but collectively, they're granted a lot of discretion in that they're allowed to exist at all. And the fundamental reason for this is that the government is scared of them. They might be able to smack down individual upstarts who try to go full warlord or revolutionary, but they don't control the overall distribution of powers and there are so many of these assholes, three-quarters of whom go career criminal due to some combination of trauma, material want, neuroticism or ideology. So any set of norms that gets as many of these people as possible to behave in a slightly-less-antisocial manner is something that they're going to roll with. Worm is a world held hostage by the typical superhero paradigm, buckling under its weight. Crucial to this dynamic is that powers aren't a man-made phenomenon, and they're barely a man-influenced phenomenon via Cauldron.

But with the Ultimate Universe, a major pillar of the deconstruction and the worldbuilding is that superheroes would not be allowed to operate in the typical wild west paradigm. There's a much stronger divide between sanctioned heroes (The Ultimates, The Fantastic Four), grey-zone heroes like the X-Men, and then the out-and-out outlaw street level heroes like Daredevil and Spider-Man. A major plot point is that Nick Fury and his spooks very predictably figure out who Spider-Man is almost immediately; he's only able to continue operating as a street-level hero in the usual manner due to Fury's implicit sanction, because Fury is trying to groom him to eventually join The Ultimates. Moreover, a lot of the rest of the street-level capes (as depicted in Millar's Ultimates) are cast as genuinely incompetent puds, only not cracked down on because there's no real reason to. (Note that I have a seething hatred for this particular beat in practice because it deprived us of an Ultimate Luke Cage worth having, but I get what Millar was gesturing at with it.) All of this, likewise, is downstream of the fact that powers are almost totally a man-made phenomenon, with almost all superhumans being downstream of Military-Industrial Complex attempts at reproducing Captain America; it's not an out-of-control supernatural phenomena that they're trying to get in on, It's a government-made phenomenon that leaks like a sieve and eventually spirals out of control. The Ultimate Universe is fundamentally about Hubris in a way that Worm isn't.

Both settings converge on a state of societal collapse due to the advent of superpowers; Ultimate Marvel was gesturing at an impending superhuman-driven World-War Three for a while before things spiraled into the comparably destructive nonsense of Ultimatum, The Maker, The (partial?) balkanization of the U.S. and the rest of the crisis cavalcade that led into the 2015 Secret Wars and the total destruction of that universe. Worm suffered the much more tightly-directed Apocalyptic Bad Time with which we're all familiar.

As for a crossover premise, I'd have to say that post-gm Taylor getting marooned on 1610 and winding up in the orbit of 1610 Peter Parker specifically- as opposed to the MCU or 616 versions, with whom I've seen this done- is an underexamined hook. Ultimate Spidey represents a deft integration of Peter's best and worst personality traits. The early-run ditko-style dickishness is recontextualized as an anger about the state of the world, the crazy-making sense that bullies and dictators appear to have free run of the world and nobody but him is doing anything about it. Which, given the state of The Ultimate Universe, falls in the middle ground between typical teenaged myopia and a sober assessment of what he's up against.

Remind you of anyone?

[cobaltperun]

Eternal Flame (7) - Natural

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: For her it’s a passion, for you it’s an accident. And as she continues shining brighter and brighter with each role you are left mesmerized, drawn to her flame and cherishing every time she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

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Word Count: 10.9k

-Natural, a beating heart of stone, you gotta be so cold, to make it in this world-

Nights were always the most difficult part of the day for you. The all-consuming darkness surrounding you, the way to silence engulfed the world, the way it felt like the time just came to a halt, the way that illusion played with your senses and reminded you of that night. It kept your mind running a hundred miles per hour, spread thin in every direction all at the same time and with your thoughts scattered all over the place.

The vicious circle seemed like it would never end.

And worse than anything, all of this fighting just allowed those feelings to further consume you. The guilt, the remorse, the knowledge that you were hurting everyone who still loved you and that you would hurt them again because you just found it impossible to stop. You couldn’t stop, you didn’t know how to when every time you were reminded of your parents in any way you had that urge to just go and fight.

The survivor’s guilt, your therapist said before you stormed out of her office at seventeen, never to go back there again. Now you could admit she was right, but back then you were a mess. Now you could recognize that you sought out this pain for more than one reason, but that one of those reasons was as simple as you surviving without a single scratch. They were in so much pain and you couldn’t do anything, so some broken part of you figured out this would even things out a bit.

No one proved you wrong.

No one could prove you wrong when no one knew what thoughts ran through your mind at times like these.

The car rides to the fights were always silent, and they gave you a moment to think, something you despised doing before them, and each time these same thoughts plagued your mind. That you failed them, that you let them die, that you should have been with them, that you should have done more.

Davis was silent, as he usually was, his job was simple. Help organize these fights, help bring in people that would pay to watch and bet on the fighters, and most importantly he recruited a good number of the fighters mostly from his gyms. He had no intention of providing you with anything. Not with the reassurance that you weren't doing the wrong thing or the words that might push you away from the fighting.

He didn't care.

You were another one of the fighters bringing in the money, and that’s all he cared about.

The bag on the backseat called out to you but you just leaned your head back and looked outside. You just looked, not really focusing on anything, vacantly staring at the passing buildings, at the people walking by as Davis stopped at the traffic light. Deep down you wondered how you would have felt if your positions were switched. If Hugh or Barbara were the ones fighting or doing something self-destructive, and you knew how you would have felt. You would have done everything in your power to stop them but knowing that didn't stop you from doing this.

You found it funny how often knowing how you would react if someone did something to you didn’t stop you from doing that same thing. And it wasn’t just you, many people were like that. Like your dad who cheated but was then furious when your mom did the same thing to him. Maybe if their marriage ended right then and there they would still be alive. So many what ifs…

Finally, you reached back and grabbed the bag on the backseat. The sound of the zipper being pulled open sounded more like an explosion going off right next to you in your mind, but you ignored it, and pulled out a mask. It was a usual boxing helmet only equipped with a cover for the face to keep your identity hidden and each and every fighter received one. Yours was light grey and you could almost see to hint of your reflection on the material of the face mask glaring back at you and you glanced down at the sharp painted teeth where the mouth was supposed to be.

The mask was the shield. A way to make sure once the fight was over it would stay in the ring. Fighters didn’t know each other by names, only by codenames, Orca, Lone Wolf, Mad Dog, Mammoth. It assured that even if you came across someone you fought against you wouldn’t know it was them. It ensured that, if any fighter wanted to quit, all they had to do was never put the mask on. As the miles passed by you just stopped thinking and when Davis arrived at the building the fights would be held in you put the mask on, everything else was already ready. A binding would hide your breasts, and the baggy clothes would further hide your body. Not a single person would be able to figure out that you weren't a man, and with how you fought you figured they wouldn't even question it.

“Your fight is the second one, get ready,” Davis told you as you unbuckled the seat belt and opened the doors. “And just so you know, Orca is going to retire tonight, if you want to stay and watch.”

You nodded, not replying in any way as you went to the locker room to put the gloves and the boots on.

You would stay back to watch. Though that wasn’t really a habit you had. Still, Orca was fighting his last fight, and you’d stay for that. Orca was the only current fighter that was part of these fights before you joined, and from what he’s told you, he’s been fighting here for thirteen years now. It was telling how quickly people gave up on fighting here, finding this to be too painful to be worth the money. Right now, Orca was the oldest member at thirteen years, followed by you with four years, and then Mammoth with a bit over a year, other fighters barely lasted half a year.

Why did he keep fighting for so long? You never asked, you never would. That’s how this all worked.

~X~

There were days when work was nothing but hell, and whoever figured out a night shift was a necessary part of the economy, was the enemy to all of humankind and especially an enemy to her. Barbara just got back from working in a pet store her parents owned. Seriously? Her own parents had her working a night shift. To build character, she supposed, or so they told her, frankly her character was already built, there was no changing it.

Oh well, at least the animals were adorable.

Was she whining when she had a fairly chill life? Yeah, she was.

Somewhere along the line she figured whining about little things helped her release the stress she had. If someone seriously asked her, then no, she wouldn’t be complaining, but she was complaining either to you or when she was just by herself, and in her mind, there was no harm in that.

At least she could reach your apartment fairly quick from her workplace and then she could bother you and annoy you and get you to make her a very late dinner that she would eat so eagerly it would look like she was having her last meal. That thought brought a smile to her face.

And like usual she just barged into your apartment. No knocking, no announcing herself, well, at least she didn’t slam them open, she just opened the doors and close them behind her, because her name was Barbara not barbaric. “Babe, I'm home!” she announced only to be met with an empty apartment, and the sinking feeling that something was seriously wrong found its home in her heart.

“Y/N!” She called out your name, but there was no answer. She dared to believe you would come back any moment now, that you left to go for a walk or a late night run or went to get some last minute shopping done. She pulled out her phone to call you but just as she was about to do it she saw your phone on the table and she knew.

“God, please, not again,” she crumbled onto the sofa and covered her eyes as tears began falling down her cheeks. The only time you ever left your place without your phone was when you were going to the fights.

Perhaps for the very first time she felt what you were probably feeling. She’s been on her own in your apartment before, but each and every time there was an explanation for it. You were filming, you were out buying groceries, you were working at the gym. You would come back safe and sound and that was all she needed to know. All those times your apartment felt warm and welcoming, because she knew everything was fine. Yet, here she was, for the first time feeling just how cold and lifeless it really was. Barren, just functional, lacking pretty much any personal detail, there weren't even the photos of you and your family hanging on the walls. There was nothing. It was freezing cold, and you must have felt that cold deep within you, all the way down to your bones, in every single moment you were all alone, knowing no one would come any time soon.

Barbara never knew that feeling, she lived with her parents, and if she was tired of living there she could come here and be with you, and if you weren’t available she could go and visit one of her siblings. She was never on her own.

You were.

All those moments when there was no one with you in any way, no one to text or talk to, or be with, all of that loneliness and isolation, despite everything she was doing as your friend, you must have felt like you are slowly going insane. That must have been how you felt because this place all of a sudden just felt suffocating, because deep down she knew that right now, right in this very moment, you were in a fight. Barbara didn't know why you kept fighting, though her mind went in hundreds of different directions, each one worse than the previous, and the fact that she didn't know why you were still fighting haunted her. It haunted her because as much as you loved her and as much as she loved you, you didn't feel free enough to just tell her why you couldn't stop.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she apologized though no one could hear her.

~X~

The release.

That's what this was.

The release and pure madness.

You let the fist slam into your side, knocking the air from your lungs and you knew you’d be feeling that punch for days. And yet behind the mask you smirked, countering with a punch just as ferocious, aimed right at the opponents liver and he coughed, gasping for air as he took a few steps back and hunched forward. The fight has been going on for over ten minutes now, and he was reaching his limits, his legs were shaking as you went forward and hit him with a simple one-two combo, your punches landing on his chest as he tried to put his guard up. Just as he raised his hands you went and landed an uppercut on his guts, making him drop to his knees.

The crowd around you cheered and you knew the practice in this ring. You weren’t supposed to stop, you were supposed to keep hitting him while he was down, to do as much damage and end the fight, giving all these people the violence they came to see. In the worst case scenario you should have just gotten him in a hold and made him give up, but you did neither of those things. You backed away, keeping the fight going, giving him the chance to either give up on his own or keep fighting. Any smart fighter would have ended it right there, you didn’t though.

You wouldn’t attack while someone was down, and it wasn’t just some honor keeping you from doing that. You wanted the fight to last, you wanted to get as exhausted as you possibly could, and if that meant more pain and potentially being defeated, then that was fine by you as well.

This was a sickness, a disease infiltrating every part of your life and you almost relished in it. He got up, and you couldn’t see his eyes, you couldn’t gauge his will to keep fighting. The same went for him, but you guessed an image of a fighter just standing there, guard down, after knocking you down to the ground must have been intimidating, as he took a step back.

As sick as it was this was what you needed. The guilt before the fight and the guilt you would feel after the fight didn’t matter right now. In this moment you felt none of that guilt. The pain you felt was no longer something abstract, it had the source you could point at, it had the cause, it was physical and no longer driven and caused by emotions. You were in control, you knew exactly how much you could take, and you could stop it at any moment.

You were in control.

You knew exactly what you were doing. Every time the pain became too much to handle, when the weight of loss and all the emotions surrounding that tragedy became too much, the only thing you could do to temporarily fix it was to trade that pain for this one. All you could hope for was that this pain would numb every other pain.

And it worked. Damn it all, it worked every single time, without fail.

So, why stop when it works?

You dodged a flurry of punches, almost dancing around your opponent, your hits never losing power and landing at precise spots. He wouldn’t last much longer.

It was working this time as well. The pain was numbed, and that heavy feeling was pushed to the back of your mind, at least for a bit. Once more you traded blows with the masked man in front of you. You would feel guilty over this the moment the fight ended. You would feel the immense guilt over their deaths, you would feel like the worst piece of shit you could possibly ever be. You would feel like you are betraying everything, all the memories of your parents you still had, all the people who loved you and yourself. You will feel all of that and yet, sooner rather than later, you will still come back to do all of this all over again.

The next blow you evaded and instead just slammed your fist into your opponent’s guts or sink him down on his knees and then he said it, the one word that would end the battle.

“Stop,” he gasped, invoking one of the two ways the battle could end in these events. One was what he just did, saying stop. The other was losing consciousness. You turned around, away from him, and raised your fist toward the cheering crowd, once more you have given them a fairly good show.

“Mad Dog wins again!” the referee yelled the moment the fight was over, the cheers and booing of the crowd faded away, much like you expected it would, and guilt took you over.

~X~

The pain made your every step difficult as you dragged your body up the stairs. The fight took its toll on you, and you knew you'd be in pain for several days at the very least. At least it was late, already two in the morning, so you didn't have to worry about your neighbors hearing you.

You pulled your key out of your pocket and pushed it into the keyhole, only to realize the doors were unlocked. "Barbara," you whispered, cursing your luck. This was the last thing she needed, seeing you like this. You've always done your best to keep her away for the first couple of days, and this time you failed. You failed miserably.

You came in as quietly as you possibly could and luckily saw her sleeping on the sofa. Curled up, clearly too tired of waiting, and even in the dim light you could see her cheeks were still wet.

Crying.

You made your best friend cry.

'Fucking asshole,' you cursed yourself. This was your fault. This was the effect of your actions. You pulled a blanket over her, thankful that she didn't wake up, and then you went to turn the heat up, Barbara always hated cold.

You looked at her, silently apologizing. You wished you could tell her this wouldn't happen again, but you had no idea how to stop. You tried, fuck you tried so hard, several times, both for her and Hugh, but you never skipped more than one fight unless you weren’t in Denver in the first place.

You went to the bathroom to tend to the bruises, but the physical pain seemed dull compared to how you felt right now. The water washed away the sweat and blood off your body, and yet you still felt dirty, you still felt unworthy of Barbara's tears. How many people did you lose over these fights?

As you leaned back against the wall and the water washed your body your mind was struck by memories. The sound of tires screeching, horn blaring and the glass shattering. And the screams, the shouting, the painful cries still haunting you. The sight of it all, the truck that drove through a restaurant, glass and wood everywhere, and blood on the bumper. You closed your eyes, but the image remained, only to be replaced by the one haunting you even more, your parents comatose, with no hopes of surviving, of waking up and yet you tried. You tried and tried, yet all the money in the world wouldn't help you, but you kept trying and it didn't matter, you still had to pull the plug. You had to let them go.

You lost them and still stuck in the past you were now losing everyone else.

You bit back a groan of pain as you applied a cooling balm to your bruises and then put clean clothes on. You just stood there in the bathroom slightly hunched over in front of the mirror and you saw your reflection. You face was clean from any injury, yet your body was exhausted and despite the clothes you could point exactly where the bruises were forming. The doors opened and you glanced to your left to see Barbara standing there, you thought she would just criticize you, give you a well-deserved scolding, yet she just flung her arms around you and pulled you in for a hug.

“You're such an asshole,” she was crying once more and you couldn't agree more, you really were an asshole.

“I know, I'm sorry,” you whispered hugging her back, because despite the hug, despite everything you still felt cold. You still felt something was missing.

~X~

Rain drizzled from the sky, giving the neighborhood a beautiful, yet somber, look as Barbara walked through the streets. While she liked rain, she always hated cold. She grew up in a big family as the youngest child pampered by everyone, after all she was ten years younger than her older brother, the second youngest child in the family. When Barbara thought of her childhood, she thought of the protection her older siblings gave her, or the love of her parents, or how she always got all the attention she wanted. For her that was the normal childhood experience. Having a loving family and friends she could always play with. Having a warm home to come to every single day.

So, Barbara despised cold, she hated feeling lonely, she didn't want to ever be alone, and she had enough of letting you feel that way. Clearly you weren't going to stop on your own, so she stood there, her umbrella hanging from her hand, closed as the rain fell on her, dampening her blonde hair. “Come on, you can do this,” she whispered to herself, hyping herself up as she walked through the front door of the gym.

“We’re closed, come back later,” the man that said that was easy to recognize, this was the guy that pulled you into all of this mess, he was the one responsible for your fighting. This was Davis.

“I need to talk to you,” she still approached him, a bit unsteady on her feet, but doing her best to appear calm and confident.

He looked up from his table and seemed to study her for a moment before taking his glasses off. “Listen lady, we are closed. Come back when we open.”

His tone was intimidating, and Barbara could tell that he was strong, and it scared her nearly enough to back away and come back later, but she couldn't do it. “I know you organize underground fights,” that absolutely got his attention, and he stood up, walking around the table as Barbara stood there, swallowing hard because she wasn't sure what would happen next.

“Do you, now?” he seemed intrigued for a moment as he tossed the glasses onto the table without care if they would break or not. “And what do you want? What's it to you?”

He was seeing through her, she knew that, he could tell she was frightened. “Let my friend quit,” because surely, he had something keeping you coming back. You kept coming back again and again even after you no longer needed that money, four thousand for a win wasn’t worth the pain, and she honestly feared that there was some kind of blackmail going on.

“Let your friend quit? I don't know what you think lady, but I'm not forcing anyone into anything and I don't know which friend you're talking about,” he stopped right in front of her and looked down into her eyes she wasn't sure how she didn't step back from him.

“Y/N,” Barbara looked up, glaring at him as she spoke your name, and his eyes widened. Good, so he knew just from your first name who she was talking about. “How do you keep her coming back? If she owes you anything give me some time and I'll pay it back, just stop making her fight,” she demanded, ready to do anything as long as it would help you stop fighting.

Yet Davis just laughed, making her step back in surprise. This was the last reaction she expected. “This is rich!” he clutched his stomach, hunching over because of how hard he was laughing. “No one is making her come to those fights she does it herself.”

“That's not true,” Barbara shook her head. That couldn't be true, that wasn't what you were doing. Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you intentionally go and do something that would only end up with you being hurt and you hurting other people if there wasn't some debt or blackmail involved?

He looked more amused than anything as he went and sat back down on his table at his table, and he pointed toward the chair in front of it. “Go ahead and sit,” he offered and reluctantly Barbara did sit down. “I can tell you don't really trust me so I won't offer any drinks,” it was that obvious, wasn't it? He must have noticed her panic and fear right from the start. Sometime she forgot how bad she was at hiding those.

“I can't trust you,” she shook her head, still in denial. “You must be lying, Y/N wouldn't-“ she tried to reason with herself more than anything.

“Well, she does. Look I don't ask questions, I just recruit fighters. You need to ask your friend why she keeps coming back. I have never borrowed her money, I don't hold a debt over her head, I have nothing to blackmail her with,” he sounded like he was just stating facts, like it was nothing to him that the people he recruited to fight all went back home bruised and hurting. “Hell, if anyone could blackmail anyone, it would be her because I am the one letting a woman fight all of those guys. And damn, she does it amazingly well!” he laughed. He actually laughed, as if he found it funny. “She keeps kicking their asses! Either way, the truth is she keeps coming back on her own.”

It didn’t make sense, none of it made sense. Why would you do this? That question kept repeating itself in her mind.

“Can you forbid her from coming? Do something? She keeps coming back home all bruised up and I can't watch it anymore? Please, if it’s money you want I’ll pay as much as you want,” she pleaded hoping to bring out some sympathy in him make him reconsider what all of this meant. How it affected you and everyone around you. And if sympathy wouldn’t work, money surely would, right?

Davis studied her and for a moment Barbara thought that she could reach some agreement with him. “Look,” but that one word change, the impression entirely, because no one started the sentence with ‘look’ and ended it the way she wanted it to end. “I could be the asshole and ask for your money, promise to try and actually forbid her from coming to fights I organize,” maybe this time things would be different, maybe the sentence would end in her favor. “It wouldn’t accomplish anything, she knows how this works. If she tried, she could find this kind of club anywhere in the world. I can tell her not to come back here and she'll just find another place,” all of her hopes vanished in an instant. “I can tell you this much, she isn't doing this for the money. She's fighting for the sake of fighting and why she does that I don't know, I don’t care, but if you're looking for a villain in this story it's whatever made her fight in the first place. Not me, and not her, your friend,” he paused and looked her dead in the eyes. “Something broke inside of her and she keeps coming back like she deserves all of the pain she gets in that ring.”

His words echoed in Barbara’s mind as he stood up and began picking up his things. “You can sit there for a few minutes and then you should leave. I'm closing this place soon.”

And he left her like that, not even giving her a moment to collect her thoughts on everything he said and respond.

What was there to say? He didn't know the story, but she did, he just gave her the exact words she needed. Something broke inside of you and she knew exactly what and exactly when. She just couldn't repair it, and she doubted that anyone could.

~X~

You lay on your bed with all the lights off, with no sounds or light anywhere around you, your windows closed, the door locked. It was like you just isolated the entire apartment from the rest of the world, not even the sound of rain penetrated through the thick walls. You just lay there, unconscious of the time passing as your body ached.

All you could think of were Barbara’s tears as she pleaded for you to stop fighting. How long would it be until she gives up on you as well. Until her family talks her into cutting contact. The moment they found out you fought they turned away from you, fearing you would drag Barbara into something much worse, that you would get violent with their daughter around. You would never let something like that happen, you fought, sure, but you would never resort to violence outside of an arranged fight unless you had to in order to keep someone safe. Yet, you didn’t blame them, Barbara was their daughter, it was natural for them to worry.

Your phone rang and you reluctantly pulled it out of your pocket and despite everything a smile reached your face when you saw it was Jenna.

“Lottery ticket validation, how may I help you?” you joked as you answered the phone and immediately you were rewarded by a soft sound of Jenna laughing.

“Oh my God, I finally reached you! You see, I had this ticket from like a month ago and I was wondering if you could check if it was still valid?” and she played right into the joke without skipping a beat.

“A month you say? Well, ma'am it really isn't our policy to validate tickets that are that out of date, but you sound like a beautiful woman, so sure. Give me your numbers and I'll see what I can do,” you were talking nonsense, but it felt so good to hear her voice.

“I sound like a beautiful woman? I sound like a kid!” she did sound a bit younger than she was, but whatever.

“Because you are a kid,” you chuckled. “Who else would play along with this joke?” your could tell she missed this too, even though you talked nearly every day. Still you haven't talked in three days so maybe she did have time to start missing this.

“Right,” you just knew she was rolling her eyes. “You're coming tomorrow, right?” she got to the point, and you could hear the excitement in her tone, but your smile fell from your lips. You wanted so desperately to see her, to hug her and spend time with her but the bruises from last night were still painful and you doubted it would get better by tomorrow.

But you would push through the pain because seeing her was more important than pretty much anything right now. Besides, you had the promise to keep, and you would be damned if you broke it. “Of course, Jen. I'll be there at around ten in the morning,” you told her, and you could imagine the grin on her face

“Great! I'll let you sleep now, rest well because I have plenty of things planned for tomorrow!” Jenna told you and you were tempted to ask her how well she slept. She was right though, you had to rest, so you would have to leave that for tomorrow.

“Sleep well, Jen,” you told her. “I'll see you tomorrow,” and with the simple ‘bye’ she hung up and you managed to pull yourself out of the stupor you were in just enough to turn the lights on and start getting ready for bed.

~X~

Jenna put her phone down on the night stand next to her bed, the smile on her face capable of illuminating the entire room.

“Someone looks happy,” Aliyah's teasing voice came from the bed above her, and Jenna rolled her eyes. “That was your crush wasn't it? That girl you worked with on Scream?” Jenna hated how right Aliyah was, but she wouldn't admit it. This satisfied tone of Aliyah’s voice was already a torture on its own and her younger sister did not need a confidence boost in that way.

“It was Y/N, but she is not my crush,” She wasn’t in denial, she really, well technically, wasn't lying. You really weren't her crush, you were more than a crush, she was pretty much in love and occasionally daydreaming about reuniting with you. She missed you, she missed eating breakfast with you, missed having you around at all times, missed snuggling up to you during the night as the two of you shared her bed. Her family was never going to find that part out, no matter what happened between the two of you.

“Really?” Aliyah leaned over her bed and smirked down at Jenna. “So how come you invited her over? You didn't do it with Maddie or with your other co-stars, I don't think you ever brought anyone from work here,” she pointed out that's one little annoying fact.

It really was true, she never brought anyone from work home, aside from her agent and Enrique, and some other people when they spent a while on her team, but her co-stars were never invited directly to her home. Sure her parents and some of her siblings would sometimes meet the people she filmed with, especially in her Disney days, but other than that this was definitely a first. She could still feel the blood rushing to her face making her blush so damn hard when she finally plucked up the courage to tell her parents you were coming over. In fact, the first one she told that was Enrique, and he teased the hell out of her, much like Aliyah was doing right now.

“She's just, I don't know, I feel deeper connection with her,” she tried to justify it, to explain why you were different without actually saying the words and admitting that she did in fact like you as more than a friend.

Aliyah studied her for a brief moment and for that brief period of time Jenna foolishly believed she would be left alone, that she could just turn around and try to fall asleep even though she was still very much struggling with her insomnia. It's gotten a lot worse since the two of you parted ways and she knew she would lay there awake for at least a few more hours. “You know you are going to confuse the hell out of that girl, don't you?” Aliyah suddenly said and Jenna nearly missed it.

“I'm sorry, what?” she didn't get what her sister was implying with that. She really wasn't aware of how she could possibly confuse you.

“Your book, dumbass,” and then it clicked, every single time she spoke of being in love with someone she didn't even leave it ambiguous, she wrote it as being in love with a guy, being with a guy. Back then that was actually more or less true, while she was writing her book she was still figuring everything out.

Granted, a lot of the final figuring shit out came with acknowledging how you made her feel, how much she wanted to be close to you and kiss you and feel your touch.

“Shit,” Jenna cursed under her breath. Aliyah laughed and only then did Jenna realize what she just implied.

“See? You like her!” there was nothing she could do to convince Aliyah she didn't. Deep down she thought that maybe she shouldn't, because it suddenly felt wrong to deny just how strong her feelings for you were.

“Fine, but you're wrong,” Jenna felt the blush engulfing her entire face as Aliyah raised an eyebrow, confused by the admission and what was in her mind probably a denial at the same time. “I don't have a crush on her, I actually think I’m in love,” she admitted and the grin on Aliyah’s face told her the confession was worth it. Her younger sister was completely fine with this.

Aliyah remained silent for a couple of minutes and Jenna thought she fell asleep, and then she went and said it. “Tell me if you need the room for yourself, okay?”

“Aliyah!” Jenna threw her pillow at the bottom of Aliyah’s bed, only for her sister to laugh and if she wasn’t already warm and comfortable Jenna would have seriously considered climbing up to Aliyah’s bed and smacking her. She did not need those thoughts making it even harder to fall asleep.

~X~

Several states away you actually dropped your phone on the floor. The pain in your body being almost too much to bear as you scrambled to open the bottle of painkillers. You downed two pills at once and swallowed them without even a drop of water before dropping the barely closed battle of pills next to you on the bed. You had to see Jenna tomorrow and yet you were still in so much pain, still so bruised and exhausted.

Jenna couldn't know. She couldn't notice anything, you wouldn't let her. If there was one thing you would absolutely make sure happened, it would be Jenna being spared from all of this. From your trauma, from your unhealthy habits, the fights and everything that came along with them, including the bruises and the pain. She was too gentle for all of this.

And you did not deserve it, yet you craved that gentleness and love radiating from her, and every time the guilt almost wrecked you for that need you just told yourself that you would stay far enough. That you would keep that distance and wouldn't cross the line and get involved with her more than you already were.

Come hell or high water Jenna would never know two things, that you were involved in the fights and how you felt about her.

~X~

It was relatively early when you came to Coachella Valley. You still felt some pain from the fight but you could hide it fairly well. No one could tell you were in pain by looking at how you walked or moved, as long as you didn’t do any physically demanding things, you would be fine. Jenna was perceptive though, so you wouldn't put it past her to figure out something was wrong. Luckily she was also about as far from pushy as one could get so while she might get suspicious she wouldn't push you into telling her what actually happened.

You managed to find a coffee shop Jenna told you about. And quite easily actually, you just walked up to a local and asked for directions and here you were. If everything was right, and you followed the directions correctly, you would just turn the corner and see the coffee shop. And you just stopped right there on the street. You would see Jenna very soon, maybe immediately after turning the corner.

There was a nasty voice inside of your head saying this wasn't fair to her, that if she knew what you did, she wouldn't want to have anything to do with you. That you were letting her put time and effort into a friendship that could very easily fall apart and turn into dust the moment the truth came out.

Yet you selfishly wished to see her, you wished to hold her and if it would be the very last time then so be it. You desperately clung to her, to this new bond you created with her, and you desperately hoped it wouldn't fade away. While simultaneously promising to yourself that if she at any point decided, for any reason, to cut contact with you that you would not blame her for one single second. With that in mind you turned the corner ready to face her.

The plan for today was simple, you and Jenna would meet up, hang out, maybe go for a walk so she could show you the place she grew up in, and then you’d go with her to her parents’ house for lunch. And depending on how things went and how much time you had left you would watch Logan with her.

You saw her waiting near the entrance, wearing a nice blue sweater and jeans, her hair was a bit wavy and of course she had her headphones around her neck. “Jen!” you called out to her and her face immediately lit up when she saw you. That same voice that was telling you you did not deserve this kind of reaction from her was getting more quiet by the second, silenced by how good it felt to see her once more. She met you in the middle of the street and immediately jumped into your arms, hugging you tightly and it felt so good to hold her again, even if your muscles protested when you lifted her up for a moment. You lowered her back to the ground and felt her tightening her hold on you as she got on her toes and kissed your cheek and that voice was silenced completely, at least for now.

You made wrong life choices, but you still deserved something good, right? Surely you haven't fallen that far down that you didn't deserve to be happy for one day without feeling guilty.

“It’s so good to see you, again,” she muttered, neither of you in a rush to end the hug just yet.

“You can say that again,” your voice came out in a shaky whisper, betraying your anxiety, but it could be written off as you just being overcome with happiness at seeing her again. Eventually though you had to let her go, you did have to keep in mind that someone might recognize Jenna if you stayed on the street for too long and so the two of you separated.

“Come on,” she still took your hand as you walked into the coffee shop and ordered your drinks.

Jenna picked out a secluded corner of the coffee shop so the two of you could talk in peace. You pulled a chair out for Jenna and bowed a bit, motioning toward it with a goofy grin on your face. Jenna rolled her eyes, used to some of your antics. She still sat down and let you push her chair closer to the table before sitting down. “How do you like Coachella so far?” she asked as she leaned forward a bit, her focus was solely on you, and you felt the intensity of her gaze.

“Verdict to be decided, but so far so good,” you told her as you damn near mirrored her posture, you definitely leaned closer to her.

“I’ll have to show you all the good places,” she made it clear that this wouldn’t be the only time she expected to have you visit her. And you were willing to bet she wanted you to spend more than half a day with her as well. Maybe book a hotel room and stay a few days, that would probably work.

Maybe you could actually do that. “I’ll be counting on you. So, any new projects?” you knew she couldn’t talk much about them, just clarify if she would be busy.

For some reason she was blushing and maybe it was due to the project she would do in the near future. “Yes, actually. I have a movie in New Zealand next year, probably around February, and some voice acting as well,” she didn’t say much, she couldn’t, but she did give you a bit of a timeline. Enough to know where she would be. “You?”

“Well, there is that psychological thriller in Italy. That's confirmed and if everything goes as planned that should be in January,” Jenna hummed when you said that, clearly supportive of the idea. You were much more relaxed about things you talked about. You certainly knew when to shut up, but this was Jenna, and you trusted her. Well, regardless of that, there really wasn’t anything about the plot revealed in what you said.

“I can’t wait to see you in that role,” she told you, genuinely happy for you. “It’s based on a book, right? Who is the author?”

“Donato Carrisi, wrote a bunch of books, including The House of Voices that the movie will be based on, though very loosely,” you told her and abruptly stopped talking as you noticed the girl working in the coffee shop bringing you your drinks.

You and Jenna thanked the girl, and you quickly paid before Jenna could even get the chance.

“Come on,” she rolled her eyes as she put away her wallet. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Some other time,” you winked at her and chuckled when she immediately looked down, she was so fun and easy to tease at times like these.

She cleared her throat. “Is there anything else you are looking into?”

You hesitated for a moment, but then figured, what the hell. “Hugh wants to do a movie together, and this script is kind of hitting close to home. I think that's intentional on his part, I auditioned for it, but we’ll see how it goes,” you might have said too much, not about the movie or the role, but about how close to home it hit

And, of course, Jenna picked up on it. “Close to home how?” she asked, she could see the slight hesitation and it probably worried her.

“Just,” you paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Mirrors my own relationship with Hugh quite a bit,” yeah, that will do. It wasn't a lie, it really did mirror that particular bond you had. “It's kind of complicated,” and then your eyes widened because it didn't sound right, in fact it sounded really wrong. “It's not like that!” you quickly sat up straight and raised your hand before Jenna could overthink things.

She looked startled by your sudden reaction, but she just tilted her head to the side, silently urging you to explain yourself.

Fuck, you should have paid more attention to what you were saying. “Look, whatever you're thinking, it's not a bad thing. It's just personal,” she relaxed at that and you could feel yourself calming down as well. “Hugh was there for me during a tough period of my life, and he's still a huge support for me, and the movie kind of has that kind of similar relationship between our characters. It just feels personal,” you tried to explain to the best of your ability without actually talking about what happened.

You just weren’t ready for that conversation, and this wasn’t the place for it either.

You could see a relief washing over Jenna when you said that and she sank back into her seat, as if all of the tension within her just fading away with those words. “OK, I was getting worried there for a second,” Jenna chuckled a bit, but you could tell it was still an uneasy chuckle, so you stood up and went to hug her from behind.

She immediately relaxed into the hug, and you found yourself cursing the chair for putting a barrier between you. “I'm OK, Jen, I'm fine,” you assured her, resting your chin on her shoulder and she turned slightly to look you in the eyes.

“Yeah?” she whispered, and you nodded not trusting your voice to say the words she wanted to hear.

Jenna hugged you back one of her hands reaching up around your neck while the other she placed on top of your hand. Neither of you noticed a phone pointed towards the two of you before you separated, and you went back to your seat.

“So, tell me about this place?” you suggested, and it got Jenna talking. Before you knew it, you were walking all around the place, seeing all the best spots as Jenna led you anywhere she thought you’d like. Which of course eventually led you to a park similar to the one you ended up hanging out in when you first met up to get to know each other better.

“Now this is kinda nostalgic,” you laughed as the two of you sat on a bench, and just looked at the sky. Well this time it wasn't the night sky and you couldn't see the stars, but the cloudy sky above you was fairly nice to look at as well. It looked a bit depressing, but at least it wasn’t raining.

“Yeah, I remember how much my mom panicked when I spent so much time with you the first time around,” Jenna blurted out and blushed as she remembered that night.

You just hummed and leaned your head back. “That actually sounds nice, embarrassing, but nice,” you said earning the light elbow to your side which nearly made you hunch over because she hit the bruise right in the center. You somehow managed to hide your pain by making the wince sound like fake. You were an actress, after all.

“Yeah sure, that hurt so much! Do you see any muscles on my arms?” Jenna teased and actually went and flexed her biceps, and well, she wasn’t joking.

The two of you laughed and then Jenna just leaned her head on your shoulder. “I really-“ she began but your phone suddenly rang and she paused waiting for you to pick it up.

You didn’t really feel like picking up, you were content like this. “It's fine, what were you about to say?” you encouraged her to keep talking, but she just pointed at your pocket silently telling you to pick up your phone. “Fine, fine,” you pulled your phone out and saw it was Barbara calling you.

You didn’t notice Jenna frowning a bit when she saw Barbara’s name on the screen.

“Yes? What is it?” you faked being annoyed though the smile on your face gave you away.

“Asshole says what?” oh, she was playing that game. You guessed you could humor her this once. You actually deserved it for everything.

“What?” you rolled your eyes.

Barbara’s laugh sounded hollow, and you made a mental note to talk to her and see what was wrong. “Ah, just forget about that. Where are you?” she asked and for a moment that guilt came back. Since the fight Barbara's been extra worried about you, even more so than usual, and you knew she probably just forgot that you were meeting up with Jenna today.

“I'm with Jenna in Coachella,” you told her and moved your phone away from your ear before pointing at the speaker and raising an eyebrow. Jenna nodded, giving you the permission to put Barbara on the speaker.

“She's with me, I'm Jenna, by the way,” Jenna confirmed, and you both heard a sigh of relief from the other side. And then you heard Barbara snickering. She was worried about you, which didn’t mean she could not tease you.

“Well now, that's-“ you knew where this was going and you had to stop it. You would not survive Barbara’s teasing right now.

“I am busy! Talk to you later! Bye! Do not call me again, I'll call you back!” you hastily hung up before she could reply, and Jenna just stared at you in utter disbelief. “Remember what Enrique did to you when we last met?” she nodded, blushing at the memory of all the times you and Enrique made her blush. “Barbara is much, much worse, trust me this was for the best,” the amount of teasing Barbara could dish out when she wanted was horrifying.

Jenna looked a bit disappointed. “I actually wanted to see that, it would be fun to see you flustered,” yeah, you figured that would be fair after all the teasing she endured. She’d likely get to see it, eventually, but not today. “Barbara is your best friend, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, she is actually kind of like a sister to me. Barbara's family is a bit smaller than yours, but all of her siblings are a decade or more older than her, so she spent most of her time playing with me and not them,” you explained, thinking back to your childhood. It was almost a perfect match, you being an only child and Barbara’s siblings being that much older.

“And she's the one that was in your apartment when you came back from filming Scream?” Jenna asked a bit cautiously and you weren't sure why. The audio message was fairly clear. At least you believed it was.

“Yeah, she is that menace. The trespasser,” you replied, snickering as you remembered just how many times Barbara barged into your place. “I swear they were meant to name her barbaric, but someone mixed up the letters,” you noticed Jenna mood dropping and turned to see a frown on her face. You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “What's wrong?” you asked gently.

“It's nothing, forget about it,” she dismissed it and even took it a step further and forced a smile. It didn’t suit her. In your mind Jenna should never have to force a smile.

“Please, let me fix what I did,” you leaned in closer and placed your hand on hers. “I said or did something to upset you.”

Jenna looked down and just pulled out her phone and the messages with you, and she scrolled up for a while which only made you more worried, until she reached the familiar photo you sent her and the audio message. Surprisingly she hit play.

“And this is the nuisance I found at home. Can you believe my luck? I wouldn't be surprised if she actually spent the two months at my apartment because that's just the way she is,” you cringed at the sound of your voice but then you looked at the message and saw it still had a long way to go until the end and your jaw dropped.

“Lies! All lies! Y/N loves having me around,” Barbara's voice came next, and that wasn’t how things were supposed to be! You could have sword you sent the message right after you finished talking. But there was no denying it, the message continued.

“You do know having someone around also means being there with them, and not in another state while you crash as their apartment, right?” and that wasn't the end yet and you cursed yourself for not paying attention back when you sent it. Still nothing either of you said was something worth getting worried about, especially for Jenna

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say babe,” oh… There it was.

“Fuck my life. God, that actually- this is the worst,” you buried your face in your hands and groaned out of frustration. “That's just a stupid inside joke. It doesn't mean anything, I swear it's just a stupid habit we picked up because I hated being called like that, and Barbara was being an annoying shit, and then it turned into an inside joke,” you tried to explain, fumbling slightly and overexplaining yourself, while at the same time missing Jenna smiling even brighter with every word of explanation you were giving her. And then it hit you.

Why were you explain yourself like Jenna was your girlfriend?

“You know we are just friends, right? You don't need to explain yourself to me,” Jenna pointed out and you desperately wanted the ground to open up underneath you and swallow you because that was right. You and Jenna were just friends!

And that meant…

You sat up straight an looked at her in disbelief, and she just burst out laughing. She got you good, the actress. “Unbelievable,” you shook your head, now more amused than anything that you fell for Jenna’s trick.

“Still, your best friend is beautiful, maybe I should get you to give me her number or something,” she did not just ask that of you.

And you did not suddenly feel jealous. Not in the slightest.

“Tough luck Ortega, Barbara is so straight you could use her as a spirit level,” you spoke dryly sending Jenna into another burst of laughter. “In fact, she is so straight she is like a black hole of straightness. She sucks straightness out of other people and becomes even straighter. It's a known fact and her constant struggle in love life stems from that. One day, when you meet her, she will confirm this story, there were so many examples of this,” it was funny the first several times, now it was just sad.

“Oh my God, you are such a goofball,” Jenna slapped your knee, and she looked at you, gasping for air as tears filled her eye from how hard she’s been laughing. “I really missed you,” she said and you pulled her in for an one-armed hug.

“I missed you too, more than you can imagine,” you told her.

~X~

One of the most nerve-wracking things about being a parent of a celebrity was just how many different people that child would meet and interact with. Sure, some of them were great and amazing, lovable people, but Natalie also got to know plenty of people who were the exact opposite. She was well-aware of just how many people weren’t actually on Jenna’s side, or even neutral. And she knew there was no way she knew everything, she knew Jenna was hiding things. From something as difficult to hide as her struggles with insomnia, to who knows what. Natalie didn’t dare to imagine. Jenna had grown to be very careful about who she let in, and this has never happened before. She has never invited a co-star to her home to meet all of them.

And now it was even raining. It wasn't that bad, but she knew Jenna didn't bring an umbrella along, so she just hoped the two of you stopped by somewhere and decided to wait it out.

So, understandably, she was nervous, fidgeting with the sleeves of her blouse. She met you briefly back when you and Jenna had the chemistry test and you seemed like a good kid, and from what Jenna told her, you were incredibly supportive throughout the filming of Scream.

“Jenna will be fine mom, you should have seen her this morning. She was panicking and going through her closet like crazy,” Aliyah, assured her but those words only brought even more worry to Natalie’s mind.

It was clear by now that Jenna didn't see you as a friend. That what her daughter felt were romantic feelings, and that scared her even more. Her baby had just turned eighteen mere months ago. And she knew how some people still were, she was worried that relationship with a woman would cause problems for Jenna.

And then a sound she didn't expect to hear echoed through the house. Jenna and someone else, clearly you, laughing. The laughter was unrestrained and free from the usual forced sounds Jenna made. Natalie got up, exchanging surprised glance with her husband just as Jenna and you walked into the living room with Jenna holding your hand as both of you still laughed. You were only wearing T-shirt, which wasn’t appropriate for this time of the year. A simple, plain dark green T-shirt that was now wet from the rain wouldn’t be enough to shield you from the cold, but one glance at Jenna explained everything. Jenna had a black and red jacket on, and it definitely wasn't her jacket. It was too big for Jenna, easily engulfing her smaller frame, so it was clearly your jacket.

“OK, that was unexpected,” you laughed and then as if being out of the rain bursts some bubble the two of you were in, you completely froze and looked around like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uh, hi,” you greeted them kind of awkwardly and Jenna lightly elbowed you on the side. “Right, sorry that was awkward,” you apologized, smiling at them. “It's nice meeting you all, I'm Y/N L/N,” you greeted them properly this time and it finally made her family get over the initial surprise and the first impression of you.

“I'm just going to drag her to my room and let her borrow one of dad's shirt,” Jenna grinned and took your hand, pulling you up the stairs before any of them could react properly.

“Jenna likes her,” Markus commented, and Aliyah snorted at that.

“You guys have no idea,” her youngest daughter said and the worst part about it was that Natalie believed her. After all, she was the one sharing bedroom with Jenna when Jenna came home, so if anyone would know, it would be Aliyah.

~X~

Jenna pulled you along to her bedroom, well her childhood bedroom to be precise, not realizing the disaster that was about to happen. All the excitement and emotions she was feeling right now made her forget the mess she left behind when she left this morning, so she opened the doors and froze, causing you to bump slightly into her. The room was a mess, it looked like a tornado went through it, her bed was covered by different articles of clothing different shirts and tops and skirts and jeans and everything else and her chair wasn't doing any better. The pile on top of it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Her entire closet was messily arranged all over every surface she could have used.

You could not be allowed to see this, but then she realized you were right behind her and curse you, you were much taller than her. So, there was no going back right now, she hung her head in shame and pulled you in. “It's not like this all the time, I swear. I was just nervous this morning,” she tried to save face and she was telling the truth! Just last night the room was perfectly clean, but this amount of mess really wasn’t making her look good. “Fuck, what are you going to think about me now?” she buried her face in her hands in frustration and shame and then felt your hands around her waist pulling her back into you.

“You're good, it's kind of endearing actually,” you whispered in her ear. “Just breathe,” she barely even recognized the early signs of a panic attack though this definitely would have caused one. Yet you caught on to them immediately and she felt herself calming down bit by bit. “I'm flattered,” you admitted as she leaned her head back on your shoulder. She’s been missing this ever since you both went home. This feeling when you were close to her, holding her, she took a deep breath, calming down.

“I swear, you are too calm sometimes,” she put her hands over your hands and leaned back, looking up so she could look you in the eyes. There it was, that gentle, loving look, and she could almost see herself getting up to her toes and kissing you. She restrained that urge and reluctantly pulled away from you to take off the jacket you gave her, you really were a lifesaver, as this sweater would be a pain in the ass to dry. She cleared out some space on her chair and hung the jacket over it. You insisted on giving her your jacket even though it probably would have been more fair if she was the one who had to change clothes now. As it was, she was perfectly dry since your jacket had the hood on it and you were wet from the rain. “You need anything else aside from shirt?” Jenna asked and you looked yourself over.

“No, it's all good just a shirt and then I'll go and dry my hair if you don't mind,” your hair wasn't all that wet it was mostly just damp from the rain so there was some luck. At least you wouldn’t get sick and she wouldn’t have to kick herself for not paying more attention to the weather forecast last night.

“Right, I could have just taken you to the bathroom right away, but no you had to see this mess,” she lamented and went to her parents room to grab her dad's shirt and a towel for you.

“Hush you, I just made the worst first impression in the history of first impressions,” she could tell you believed that, but you actually did the opposite. Their first impression of you was her laughing, their first impression of you was you in a T-shirt with Jenna wearing your jacket. That wasn't a bad first impression, that was anything but that in one simple moment you proved to her family that Jenna could be comfortable with you, and that you put her needs above your own. So what if you went and greeted them a bit awkwardly?

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. They are going to love you,” she told you as she handed you the shirt and the towel and pointed at the bathroom “Now I’ll go and clean up my room a bit and you can bring the shirt to my room,” she had a mischievous smile on her face as she poked you. “And I'm keeping it, just so you know. Both the shirt and the jacket, so you have an excuse to come over again,” she winked at you, and you just shook your head.

“Like I need an excuse to come and visit you,” the smile on your face told her everything and before her emotions could get the better of her and she acted on certain urges she occasionally had throughout the day, she pushed you into the bathroom and rushed back to her room to start folding all of the clothes she left lying around.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @freakshow2501 @osnapitzmel1 @belatrixdragon @ijustlovemaths

@niqmandu @justspance @mirage018

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part

A/N: Guess who did some brief research and found out that underground street fight clubs aren’t always illegal? 🤣🤣 That’s right! Me! Anyway, to be perfectly honest, I planned on posting two chapters at once tonight, but then I figured that was ridiculous, so here, a slightly longer chapter for you all. (Chapter 8 was supposed to be Jenna and Reader hanging out, so original chapter 7 would have felt a lot angstier without that half)

[crimsoncandy04]

The cucking scara is so hot, I'd like to see more😍😍😍

Wanderer had been at this stupid game of his for hours now and while his former self had suffered great humiliation from it, you felt like you were the one who actually got the short end of the stick.

Fucked, teased, overstimulated, used, etc. Wanderer had basically turned you into just another tool to punish Scaramouche for his sins.

And even now that you were sure an entire day had gone by, Wanderer was still nowhere close to finished it would seem.

Both you and Scaramouche had had your arms bound behind your backs in the most uncomfortable way as Wanderer kept a fist in either of your hair and held both of you in place on your knees.

You licked the base of his cock and trailed your tongue slowly up his shaft as Scaramouche swirled against Wanderer's soft pink tip with his. You'd tease at his balls while Scaramouche would take him ever so slightly between his lips and suck now and then too.

This has gone on for a while now. With both of you being forced to worship Wanderer's cock as if it were the most pristine phallus in existence and after everything else before this, you were now tired and a little angry.

Why did Wanderer have to drag you into this shit show?

Because he had once liked you a little when he himself was originally Scaramouche?

Apparently it meant nothing now if he was just going to keep abusing you like this to piss off his other self.

Suddenly Wanderer's sharp gaze met yours. A flicker of sympathy briefly crossed his eyes as he saw your exhausted and unhappy expression before he pushed it away and gave you a rather smug look.

"I always knew you'd look so beautiful like this Y/N. Face a wreck, kneeling before me." His fingers in your hair loosened a little as he pulled you to your feet suddenly and slid his arm down to your lower back. He urged you closer to him and before you could process what was happening, Wanderer had forced his lips against yours.

"You piece of shi-" Scaramouche briefly tried to protest before Wanderer shoved his entire length down his throat. Silencing him before he could say more.

Wanderer then began to move his hips a little as he fucked into Scara's mouth while kissing you.

His tongue teased your bottom lip, softly asking for permission to enter before gently pushing in and meeting yours in a passionate manner.

This was the nicest he had been to you since you were brought here by him. You didn't know why he was trying to suddenly get all lovey dovey with you but you didn't want it.

Wanderer could tell.

And he was NOT happy about it.

But it had been his fault after all. Hadn't it? He had been about to confront his former identity before suddenly getting this idea and summoning you there but did he ever stop and think about how this may have effected you?

Not really.

He had to change his focus.

Instead of punishing Scaramouche he would work on pleasuring you next.

That other useless version of him could wait for now.

Channeling the power of anemo Wanderer was able to send Scaramouche tumbling backwards in an instant with his cock slipping from his mouth with a wet popping sound as he hit the ground.

Next Wanderer used his vision to create small "rings " of a sort that whirled around Scaramouche's wrists and ankles at a speed that made them appear completely still as they held him in place on the floor.

Once Scaramouche was safely restrained Wanderer then began to lavish attention on you.

He continued to support your back as his other hand came up tangle itself in your hair again as he held you close.

You could feel his hardness against your exposed pussy that remained unclothed and still dripping from earlier torments as Wanderer slowly continued to make out with you there for a few minutes before sending you tumbling on your back too.

You landed with a small thud next to Scaramouche and tried for a second to sit up but Wanderer had speed that surpassed human beings and in the blink of an eye he was on you.

"Shh, relax Y/N. I want you to enjoy this part a little." He purred as he pulled your knees further apart and positioned himself between them.

Wanderer kisses you again. Moving down then as he left a small trail from your neck to your chest. Stopping as he got to your breasts and grasping one in the palm of his hand. He took the other in his mouth, gently sucking on the sensitive flesh of your nipple and causing you to cry out a little as his teeth nibbled softly in between careful licks.

"They're so sensitive Y/N. And big too. Almost like they were made for this. Made for me~" Wanderer teased as he continued to play with you. Scaramouche grunted a little beside you as he tried to avert his gaze but his excruciating erection underneath his clothes gave away his true desires.

Wanderer was being uncharacteristically nice and it bothered you.

What was he planning?

You could feel his cock at your entrance then.

You felt your body tense up.

Not again.

Wanderer just smirked at you.

"You should have known that I was going to do this Y/N."

He slid his cock into your tight cunt easily. You gasped softly.

"Don't act so surprised. You know you're the most important thing to me."

Wanderer begins to thrust into you. He starts slow until he finds your sweet spot. Then he begins to move a little faster. Hitting your g spot with reckless abandon as his words fell upon your ears like a forbidden truth.

"So in having you like this... maybe I'll finally be able to reach the deepest depths of my being..."

You moan loudly as Wanderer holds you close and continues to pound into you as Scaramouche looks on longingly from beside you. He looks like he's absolutely seething as a wet spot forms upon the fabric of his shorts. Yet Wanderer shows no mercy as he continues to fuck into your pussy while Scaramouche lays next to you both bitter and aroused.

"and finally get a message through to myself"

Wanderer held you in a tight embrace as he slammed into you. Keeping his eyes on Scaramouche who seemed to finally realize that it was pointless to protest at this point and silently waited for Wanderer to finish with you.

You would be fucked for most of the night. Your belly swollen ever so slightly after Wanderer finally gets bored from how much he would ejaculate into your womb as he forced Scaramouche to listen to it all unable to have you himself.

It was a twisted revenge.

A lustful act of self hatred that you were now the key in.

How long Wanderer would want to keep it going?

You were unsure.

Perhaps as long as it took him to finally forgive himself for everything he had destroyed in his existence.

[lairofsentinel]

Mourning with the Crows

Warning: I apologise in advance for my bitterness that sometimes spills into the text like the Blight when it comes to the murder of the Lore and tone that Veilguard has done to the DA world.

I've not seen this quest on YouTube or anywhere, so probably it's the only "extra" content you can have for Lucanis, and curiously is the only time where we can ASK HIM about something personal [his opinion on a topic that is not boring coffee or killing].

As it is obvious, it can only be triggered when you let Treviso be blighted.

Before this event, you have to do 3 quests that are the same one copy-pasted three times: go find X, they have became darkspwan, so you have to kill them. This is the fate of 3 crows we interacted with a bit more if you save Treviso: Heir, the crow-trainer [I laugh so much with this character, she can't be less crow at all, what they did to the lore?]; Fletcher, the faction vendor; and Chance Candide, an Orlesian Crow [yes, Orlesian... I'm dying, what's this?!] who gives you some quests about an affair between a Venatori and a Crow if you saved Treviso [and he is totally fine with a Crow abandoning the Crows for love... I'm mourning with the Crows too, for the Crows, for the whole lore]

Anyway, we go to the memorial that has an imposing statue of a Crow, as usual a nice touch of Antivan dramatics, probably the only thing they preserved about the lore.

Teia and Viago are there, and we see them remember the three Crows that we had to kill because they were too far blighted.

No matter what option you pick, Lucanis appears out of the blue with a very sceptical tone:

We are informed [implicitly] here that Lucanis certainly had no friends, just few acquaintances among the crows and local merchants and, of course, cafe workers. Still he wanted to return to that level of familiarity once he recovered his life from the Ossuary, despite the irreversible changes in him.

And here, only here, for FIRST TIME in the whole game, you can ask him something personal, something that makes him a bit more than just coffee jokes and assassin stuff: Do you believe in anything? The most ambitious, brutal question [for dav parameters, of course] we have in this game which has denied us not only the social conflicts of Thedas [and Tevinter in particular!] but also the religious ones. Of course, his answer is as bland as the game in general on these topics: He basically is an atheist, that due to an excess of pain and suffering, "wants to believe" that there is something else hearing people's cries. It's a strange argument to make, since suffering may reinforce the atheist vision of characters, but maybe this small bit of hope he wants to grab was inspired by his own situation in the Ossuary: maybe he found in Rook's action the answers to his pleas for the nightmare of the Ossuary to stop. And maybe he is hoping that after all this pain on Treviso, somehow, some power can help them to heal the city, as his pain was stopped with the presence of Rook in his life. Wishful thinking, Neve would say.

Still, the whole tone of this scene gives a constant atheist vibe to him: he knows there is too much suffering in the world for a big power not to act and help, so maybe, the natural conclusion is that there is no such power at all.

At the end of the scene we have the option to toast for 3 different concepts, each of them "attached" to each of the Crows in the screen: The memory of the dead, to Viago; The future, to Teia, and Vengeance, of course, to Lucanis.

[silcoitus]

Hello! I think I'm doing this right but if not, I'm so sorry:

What do you think Silco would do if he found out, years later/during Act 2, that a fling he had when he was alot younger and dumber, resulted in him having a Son/Gender neutral child living in Piltover?

(how this is discovered can be completely up to you)

Would the angst of them being a Piltovian(?) citizen permanently leave their relationship undefined or would he push away his hatred of Piltover and try and meet them?

Better yet, how would Jinx react to this?

Just a bit of potential angst to spice things up I guess haha.

Thank you!

Thank you for this amazing prompt, anon! It's one of my favorite ones I've ever received! Why does writing angst soothe me? It doesn't make sense.

Summer's Ghost

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco, original female character, original child character, angst, depression, reference to character death, character study

Word count: 2.7k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

Silco receives a curious letter from a Piltie boy claiming to be his son. Spurred by lingering bitterness and unresolved anger, Silco visits Topside for answers and to finally speak his mind to the woman who left him so many years ago.

Dear Mr. Silco,

I'm not exactly sure how even to begin this letter, so I’ll start with the part that is most relevant to you:

I am your son.

I know, I didn't believe it at first either. But if you keep reading, I can tell you how that happened.

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover. She was the top of her class and an artist. My grandparents tell me that, in her university days, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home to live in the Undercity. Over the course of a summer there, she met a man. And fell in love.

You probably know more about how the rest of this story goes than me.

After that summer, my mom had a change of heart. She returned home with a new bundle in tow: me. And while she never told me, I assume she left the Undercity in order to raise me here.

But you probably don’t care about all that. You just want to know why I’m writing to you. 

Well, first off: I'm not asking for money. My mom (and grandparents) provided for me and I have a comfortable life here in Piltover. 

I don't want anything from you. Not really. I wrote because… well… My mother died recently. It's actually how I found out about you. My birth was a closely guarded secret and it was only when I was cleaning her stuff out after her death that I learned. She had a box of things from her time with you: a diary, some photographs, a bracelet. I thought you might want them.

I don’t know what your relationship with my mother was like or how it ended, but this seemed like something she would want me to do. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. 

I've attached her obituary. It has her final resting place. If you want to collect the box, I've left it on her grave. If you haven’t taken it by next week, I’ll assume you want nothing to do with it. And that’s okay, too.

Sincerely,

M.

P.S I also included a photo for proof. You can hold onto it. I already made myself a copy.

When finally Silco lifts his eyes from the letter, it's with slightly parted lips and inward curling eyebrows. Visions of memories long ago flick across his mind’s eye unbidden, released like water from a dam. 

Setting the letter down, he retrieves the other effects in the pneumatic tube. Fingers tremble as they pull out a small photograph. It's worn around the edges and the ink has faded significantly, but the image is unmistakable: it's him in his early twenties, standing next to the woman who left him.

He remembers that summer clearly, the memories vivid and the feelings so strong it could power a Hexgate. He remembers the late nights talking, the sound of her laugh, the way she was always sketching in her notebook. He remembers the first time they kissed, followed quickly by the first time they made love.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line, something bitter bubbling within him. 

He remembers his desperation when he ran through the Lanes, searching for her. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep for days, worried something had happened. That someone had taken her. Or worse. He remembers crying so hard that he could feel it in his teeth, his cheekbones feeling as if someone was pressing their thumbs to them with the aim of crushing them. He remembers drinking.

And drinking.

And drinking.

Drinking to cope.

Drinking to forget.

Drinking to wash down the bitter taste of the knowledge that he had let someone get so close to him so quickly, only for them to rip his heart out and slash it to pieces. And to add insult to injury—

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover.

He stares at that word again.

Piltover

Hand shaking violently, he picks up the pneumatic tube and hurls it across the room. It breaks on impact as it hits the office door, glass shards flying through the air.

Of course.

Who else could chew him up and spit him out? Who else but a Piltie? His home—his life—nothing more than a tourist attraction to her, a vacation away from her cushy, privileged life. 

How could he have been so blind?

How could he have been so stupid?

He can feel his heart rate rising, chest heaving as his breathing grows unsteady. Good eye fluttering closed, he puts one hand out, signaling himself to stop.

Slow down.

Breathe.

He takes one long inhale through his nose, holding it for a moment before blowing it out his mouth through pursed lips. When he opens his eyes, his jaw is set, decision made.

He snatches the letter, photo, and newspaper clipping off the desk, shoves them into his coat pocket, and walks out the door.

As far as final resting places go, this certainly is one of the more luxurious ones. Even in death, Topsiders can’t help but preen and self-aggrandize, if not with their bodies, their tombs. Each gravestone seems to be attempting to outdo the next, growing larger and more gaudy in size as Silco walks down the rows of graves. Subconsciously, his nostrils flare and his mouth twitches into a snarl.

When he finds her name among the dead, he’s surprised to see not a tombstone but rather a park bench. Constructed out of blue pearl granite and polished to a brilliant shine, her name, date of birth, and date of death are carved into the back. The soil around the bench looks freshly turned over and the carved letters barely have any dust or dirt accumulated in them. Studying the dates, it would seem M did not lie; she had died two weeks ago. 

And there—sitting on one end of the bench, waiting for him—is the box.

His chin lifts as his mismatched eyes scan his surroundings, looking over his shoulder, his ears alert and listening for any signs of other visitors. Certain no one is nearby or within eavesdropping distance, he turns his attention back to the bench.

He could just take the box and go. There’s no need for him to linger here. But as he stands staring at her name—carved with such finality into that unmoving stone—he can’t bring himself to leave.

And yet, it’s odd, addressing a bench. On his way over, he had envisioned himself spitting on a tombstone with great satisfaction. But now, as he’s faced with something as welcoming as a bench in a beautifully maintained cemetery, he feels stuck. Any anger that had been boiling in his abdomen before has simmered down, upended by the unexpected appearance of his former lover’s grave.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves the photograph. After propping it up on the bench, he addresses the woman who lies six feet underground. 

“You…” He can’t even bring himself to say her name, both hands balled into fists in his coat pockets. “You’ve been here this entire time.”

Both eyes roll as he realizes the error of his statement.

“Not here, but in Piltover.” He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, good eye squeezed shut. “I searched for you for weeks. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I thought someone had taken you. I thought you had—”

Died.

Well.

It’s accurate now, isn’t it?

“Typical Topsider,” he spits out, one hand gesturing as if throwing something away, like the way she had thrown him away, “You come to my home, promising a bright and brilliant future, but all you do is leave destruction in your wake.”

He steps back, pulls his head back, and spits onto the freshly dug soil.

“Disgusting,” he snarls. “And to think, I had lov—”

He pauses, unable to finish the word.

He was young. He was ignorant. That was not love he felt for her. Nor adoration. That was infatuation; merely a young man’s naive idea of what love was.

What that was—it was Not Love.

Silco pulls his fingers through his hair, collecting himself.

“Why?” His hand curls into a fist again. His tone is bitter, full of anger, growing in volume. “I don’t care why you left; I know exactly why you left.” 

As he continues to speak, his concerns about being overheard are overcome by the thundering emotions swelling inside him, churning and bubbling after years of dormancy. “You didn’t want your son to grow up to be a street urchin like his sumprat father. No… all I want to know is…”

His next words are bellowed out, the sound coming from deep within his lungs, each word punctuated with a pregnant pause, as if he means to put his entire body into every syllable.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

There’s a flurry of wings as nearby birds take flight, spooked by the sudden noise. 

Silco’s good eye flutters closed again and he takes long, deep breaths, recentering himself. His hand comes up, forefinger pressing to his sternum. There’s a desperation to his voice now, a yearning. Mourning something he didn’t even know he had until a few hours ago.

“I had a right to know.” He opens his good eye, staring at the photograph. Staring at her. “He is my son. He is my blood. How could you have kept him from me for so many years?”

He gathers himself, eyes casting to the ground. 

He had so much more he wanted to say. Years of anguish, torment. But now that he’s here, he’s forgotten them all.

He feels empty.

Finally, he slumps down on the bench, next to the box. It remains untouched beside him. He sits with his shoulders sagging forward, both elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as his head hangs low. 

It’s quiet in the cemetery.

He turns his face toward the photograph, addressing the woman in it with a whisper of a voice. “All I wanted was for you to be okay. For you to live a good life.”  He lifts his head toward the great, open sky of the City of Progress, free from smoke and fissure gasses and ash. “And I suppose I got what I wanted.”

He hangs his head once more, speaking to the ground at his feet.

“You just did it without me.”

A stiff breeze blows through, tugging at his coat. He makes no move to bundle himself up further, letting the chill air surround him, seeping into his bones.

He sits.

And remembers.

After a few moments, he hears movement. Ears prickling and head whipping up, he spots a boy walking between some nearby tombstones. He looks to be a teenager, fifteen—maybe sixteen—years of age. The boy pauses at one of the graves, looking at it silently, his hands shoved into his pockets. After a moment, his eyes lift and meet Silco’s.

Silco meets his gaze, unblinking. The boy doesn’t seem at all fazed by Silco’s corrupted eye, giving him a small, polite nod. Silco nods in return before tearing his eyes away.

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes pause on the small wooden box on the bench. 

Mahogany. Expertly crafted. Like the bench, it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Unbidden, Silco’s throat bobs as he reaches for the box and gingerly places it on his lap.

After taking a deep breath, he lifts the lid.

The first thing he sees is a bracelet. Black in color and made of thin strips of leather with small circular charms along the strings, it’s plain and modest. The surface of the leather looks almost brittle, worn around its edges from frequent use.

Underneath, there’s a stack of photos. Lifting them, he recognizes the first as one he had taken. The late woman stands laughing beside The Last Drop’s jukebox, Felicia grinning widely next to her. Vander can be seen in the corner, caught mid-sentence as he speaks with whom Silco can only assume is Benzo. Setting down that photo, Silco’s eyebrows lift when he sees the next one.

He doesn’t remember this photo being taken at all, which is curious given the fact he’s the one and only subject of the photo. Silco—sporting long hair tied back in a low bun—sits at the bar, pouring over his notebook. His right arm is wrapped in strips of off-white fabric and in his hand is a pencil, which hovers over the page, posed to write. 

Silco remembers this night.

It was the night Felicia told him and Vander she was pregnant with Violet. It was the night everything changed.

Funny, how the night he learns of one pregnancy happens to also be the night his lover leaves him because of hers.

He hums, continuing to study the photograph.

He had forgotten what he looked like at that age, so used to seeing his marred reflection in the mirror. So used to covering half of his face with foundation just to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Silco’s about to look through the rest of the box when he sees movement out of his periphery. Quickly, he shuts the box and looks up to see the boy from before, standing in front of him.

“Sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Silco replies simply. His good eyebrow lifts in silent question.

“Is it okay if…” The boy gestures to the empty spot on the bench. 

Silco stands, hand offering the seat, the box neatly tucked under his arm.

“Oh, you didn’t have to leave,” the boy says, scooting over to leave some room. “I just wanted to sit for a little bit.”

Silco eyes him for a moment, then, against his better judgement, sits back down. The mahogany box feels heavy in his lap. The boy’s eyes look at it briefly before looking out into the rest of the cemetery.

The pair sit in silence, the only sound the rustle of the leaves as the wind rushes through the nearby trees. Silco’s hand covers the box, fingers idly smoothing over the carving of a rose on the lid.

He doesn’t know why he does it, compelled by a nagging curiosity, but Silco breaks the silence.

“Do you have family here?”

The boy nods. “My grandpa.”

Silco hums.

Silence falls between them again.

“Do you?” the boy asks, eyes lifting to meet Silco’s.

Silco’s lips press together, the tip of his chipped tooth catching the inside of his mouth a little.

“In a sense.”

The boy sighs. “At least it’s a pretty nice view.”

Silco follows his gaze.

“It is.”

“Well, except for that.” 

The boy points to a large tombstone made of porcelain with gold accents all along its edges. Every inch of it seems to be covered in some sort of design, painted in blue. But the patterns come across as less elegant and more like visual noise; the eye given nowhere to rest, the senses overwhelmed by all the complicated shapes and textures.

Laughing, the boy makes a retching noise. “It’s so ugly.”

Silco’s lips pull into a smirk, head tilting.

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Yup.”

The boy abruptly gets to his feet, seemingly satisfied. Turning to Silco, he puts his hand out in offering.

“I’m Marlow, by the way.”

“Marlow.” Silco takes his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy nods, seemingly out of words. After offering a small smile, he turns on his heel, heading for the gates.

Silco continues to sit on the bench, thumb rubbing absentmindedly on the box’s carvings. After a moment, his eyes widen and he reaches into his coat pocket for the letter, eyes darting down to the bottom.

M.

He looks up to find the boy has disappeared. He lets a short chuckle out of his nose as he shakes his head, rising to his feet.

After one final look at his ex-lover’s grave, he starts his trek back home.

He has a feeling this won’t be the last time he visits this cemetery.

And it won’t be the last he’s seen of that boy.

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[magicisrealandsoismyally]

Okay, thought we were being like, chill, but I guess that's a kindness only afforded to people you consider to be women, so I'm gonna break this down piece by piece here, a lot to address.

"purposely obtuse or intellectually dishonest"

right off the bat the fact I disagree with you means I'm being intentionally wrong and evil. There's no room for me to be misguided, or making mistakes, or being uninformed, I'm either playing stupid or lying. Got it.

I "either hate AFABs, or don't take harm against them seriously". Once again, another false dichotomy. I take harm against women incredibly seriously, I just don't think the biggest threat to women is trans women. I think we have the same enemies, conservative men in power. I said you were fueled by fear because I was trying to be nice. It's not just fear. It's anger. Misdirected anger. You, and many others, have decided the easiest thing to do is hate.

Yeah. It is in fact transphobic to demand sex segregated spaces given that a true biological sex isn't fucking real. That's why it's "Assigned male at birth" or "Assigned female at birth". I've been assigned a lot of things throughout my life. So have you. Are you going to tell me those assignments were always accurate? I mean hell, with the amount of cis people out there, their accuracy rate is definitely above 50%. Still not accurate tho.

Transphobia is both the people trying to murder us, and the people, who don't want us in spaces that are away from the people trying to murder us. You are aware that the same cis men wanna kill us both right? You've arbitrarily drawn a line in the sand because you are grossly misunderstanding how trans people work. The number one piece of advice I see on this site from transfems, is how to avoid being SAed. By cis men, by cis women, by trans men. It's so common, that it makes me question if I even want to be in spaces with y'all. You wanna talk about fear? I'm fucking terrified. All the time. The instant I come out to the world, I get to spend the rest of my life, knowing that at any moment, someone says anything negative about me? and my life is over. Because people like you, will believe them. Because the scary transfem must be the person oppressing you. Because its easy, to villainize the minority. And it's easy to decide he's a monster. And all the while, she loses everything just for being an easy target.

You wanna talk physical safety? 83% of genderqueer victims of fatal violence are trans women. People love to kill us.

AMAB privilege is not real. I was not socialized male. I think you have a perspective on how the patriarchy functions that hasn't seen the other side of the fence, so let me go ahead and elaborate on that. Being a Man, is something you can fail out of in the patriarchy. It's a club that is nigh impossible to enter, but really fucking easy to fail out. Under the patriarchy, I am not a man. I failed out of that shit at the age of 8 when I said I didn't like sports. When I did anything "girlie" at all. When I cried. I was a crybaby (according to my family) and a faggot (according to the other kids at school). And from that moment, I was a target. Always have been. I wasn't socialized male, I was socialized as a failed man. Most trans girls are treated that way from a young age. I did not benefit from the patriarchy I was shoved around. I have gotten into an absurd amount of fights that I never started because some fucking asshole decided to beat the shit out of the fag. I spent like a week on tumblr before hearing other shared experiences about this kinda thing. Literally not hard to talk to trans women about this stuff if you, yk, try.

"We don’t need to check genitals I would have no problem with the manliest most masculine most passing trans man in an afab space because no matter what hormones or surgery are involved they cannot rape and impregnate me with their penis the same way an AMAB person could."

How do you know he's trans. How. Tell me right now how you tell the difference between a cis man and a trans man with bottom surgery. Do that without being transphobic, please. Find a way. I'm looking for something hilarious to read today, it's been a long one. Because if you don't have a way, your entire transmisogynistic utopia falls apart here. You can't tell if someone is trans. It's about identity. You cannot tell if someone has a penis. No matter what you do. You cannot tell someone's assigned gender at birth.

And how wonderful, you mentioned prisons, just read about this one. Did you know when transfems are imprisoned they get placed with the most violent cellmates? It's a tactic to reduce prison violence. Give the most violent people their own live in target. They get called prison wives. It's called V-Coding. So yeah, prisons are messed up. For both of us. If only we could talk about that and unite to fix that oh wait that's literally the whole point of having transfems in feminist spaces, crazy how that works.

"Also trans AMAB people commit sex crimes at an even higher rate than cis AMAB people"

WHERE IS THE FUCKING SOURCE. I am tired of TMEs and their constant stream of libel demonizing trans women. All of your nonsense statistics is so fucking stupid. Where are you getting these numbers? The sex offenders list? The one that as recently in the 80s included anyone who crossdressed or hit on a person of the same gender even if they were reciprocating? I literally have heard cis lesbians complain about that shit on this site, you're not even being a feminist by citing sex crimes, you're being a cop. Fucking being trans counted as being a sex criminal for most of American history. Drag queens, trans women, and crossdressers get accused of sex crimes all the fucking time, you have no critical thinking god fucking damn.

"which again did not START segregated they became that way because AMAB people could t be trusted not to rape/assault AFAB ones"

Yeah no lmao, (this next paragraph is going to be USAmerican centric because yk, that's what I learned about growing up) they kicked literally all queer people out when women got the right to vote, both lesbians and bi-women had to fight their way back into these spaces in the decades prior. I feel like we forgot about the Ellen Show or smth? Like feminists did not fucking go to bat for her after she came out. Groups will turn on their supporters the instant they decide they don't need them. Mainstream Feminism turned on people of color and queer people who put their own movements on hold to support the women's right to vote so fucking fast. It's American history too, all I had to do to learn this was have a pulse in my US history class.

Also “capitalism is real because it impacts me in a negative way but all other forms of oppression where I might be considered the privileged one in the dynamic is just hysterical people distracting from capitalism”

Girl, reading comprehension, try it out for size. I did not say these systems of oppression are not real. I'm saying demonization and fear of minorities (like, yk, trans women) is a tool of the existing power systems to make you hate us and not your actual enemy, the people in power (like, yk, rich people who are usually cis white conservative men). You keep bringing up how awful existing systems like prisons are but you just, do not analyze who fucking set those systems up. Private prisons are owned by the rich, not by the trans woman you're yelling at who is 4 bad days away from giving up and killing herself.

If trans AMAB people don’t want to be housed with cis ones, they can do the legwork and create those spaces for themselves like AFAB people did they do NOT have the right to commandeer our movement and literally erase our rights and protections because not allowing AMAB people into these vulnerable spaces might give them the big sad.

Okay so first you tell me feminist spaces weren't originally segregated by sex, and now you tell me it's an AFAB only movement? Because I know for a fact trans people have always been at bat for feminism. American white women said the same shit to women of color between 1920-1965. Cause the instant we become expendable, y'all throw us aside.

commandeer our movement

Really? Do you genuinely think trans women could ever outnumber cis women? What cartoon candyville are you from where there are more trans women than cis women? How the fuck are we going to commandeer the movement? We're like, 0.3% of the population at most. What are you talking about.

YEAH MY GUY IM FORCED TO LIVE LIKE A FUCKING PREY ANIMAL!!!

Okay so for starters, transwomen are also in constant fear. We have literally been hunted, this is just, like, a historical thing. Second, I'm not a guy. Don't call me that. You cannot honestly tell me you're not transphobic and then proceed to use exclusively masc terms to refer to me. That's just wild. Playing along with the tranny does not make you not a trans ally. You're still a transphobe just cause you're fine with trans men.

Some fear is completely rational

Yeah. We're both completely justified in our fear. I do not build my politics off my fear. You do. That's the difference. No matter how terrified I am of TMEs, I still fight for y'all. Always have, always will.

Gender is literally fake and varies from culture to culture. Sex based oppression is real and fucks over the lives of AFAB people worldwide.

Ohh, damn, so close, you'll get it next time I'm sure. See the trick is BOTH OF SEX AND GENDER ARE FAKE. Genderqueer people just admit that it's about self expression. You literally just described how fallible sex assignment is by talking about intersex people, it's like, hella cultural. Sex based oppression is real. So is Gender based oppression. Because people are shitty about fake shit, all the time, we're on tumblr, the "death threats over shipping" website.

You cannot tell me you think you're not transphobic and then claim gender oppression isn't real. I feel bad for any trans people who have the misfortune to interact with you. I hope one day you realize you fought on the wrong side of history. And if not? I hope they speak of you in the same breath as the grown adults trying to stop Ruby Bridges from attending school, in the same breath as the cops at Stonewall. You have an excellent day. I probably won't, but what's new. I'm sorry you're so afraid. I'm sorry you fell for it when they told you who to be afraid of. I'm sorry I couldn't do more. If anyone wants sources on this stuff, i'll add links to posts getting into it, a lot of it's screenshots and i'm not about to make this any longer than it is. There's more ofc, but I can only cite what links I have on hand, y'all can do your own research, read like, any transfem blog while they still exist. https://www.tumblr.com/honeylemony/767694258735136768?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/marxism-transgenderism/767536279224270848/okay-ive-said-before-that-part-of-why https://www.tumblr.com/girldogmystic/766813723287502848/i-wanna-get-more-specific-with-this-according-to

"OP is a terf" is a thought-terminating cliche meant to keep you from questioning the status quo and keep you afraid of being labeled a heretic should you come to your own conclusions about anything.

[solxamber]

Helloo, I absolutely love you writing! Your understanding of the twst characters’ personalities is phenomenal 😭❤️

May I request both Ace and Malleus crushing on reader simultaneously, and both are aware that the other likes reader (reader is oblivious hehe). Ace gets super insecure since he isn’t powerful nor of royal status and believes there’s no way he can compete against him, meanwhile Malleus gets super jealous since Ace has been friends with reader ever since and is the most close with him.

Ace x Reader x Malleus (Love Triangle)

a/n: the giggle i let out when i saw this!! such a fun concept and thank you so much 🫶🫶

It started with a normal day: you laughing at one of Ace's jokes, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you. The storm in question was Ace and Malleus glaring daggers at each other over your oblivious head.

Ace was slouched in his chair, shooting side-eyes at the imposing figure standing too close to your desk. Why does he have to hover like that? he thought bitterly. Malleus, for his part, was casting pointed glances at Ace’s casual posture, as if silently saying, Is this the best you can do?

Neither could deny the truth. They were both hopelessly, tragically in love with you. And they both knew it.

Ace prided himself on being the guy you could count on for a laugh. But today, he was on a mission: show you how amazing he was.

“So, anyway,” he said loudly during your study session in the library, “I totally aced—get it?—my magic exam. Got full marks.” He leaned back smugly, hoping you’d be impressed.

Malleus, who had been quietly sitting nearby (because of course he was), looked up. “Impressive, Ace Trappola. But I suppose it pales in comparison to wielding centuries-old magic and commanding legions of loyal subjects.”

Ace choked on his own smugness. “Yeah, well, I bet you don’t even know how to mix a potion without turning it into swamp goo, huh?”

“Actually, I mastered potion-making at a young age. I created an elixir capable of reviving withered flora.”

“Cool, cool. Can you tell me how any of that helps the prefect with our history homework?” Ace shot back, leaning closer to you.

Malleus frowned. “History is one of my strongest subjects.”

“Oh my Seven—” Ace groaned and threw his hands up. “We get it. You’re ancient!”

You looked between them, confused. “Are you two okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Malleus said smoothly.

“Great! I was just explaining history to Deuce,” Ace lied shamelessly.

Lunch was another battlefield. Ace had secured a seat next to you and was recounting a funny story involving Grim, a mop, and a very angry caterpillar monster.

“…and then Grim screamed so loud, I think half the campus heard him! Right, Prefect?” Ace said, nudging you.

Before you could respond, the shadow of a tall figure fell over the table.

“Malleus,” Ace said with a forced grin. “Didn’t see you there. Like, at all.”

“I thought I would join you,” Malleus said, sitting directly across from you, his gaze unwavering. “Do you require assistance with your meal? Perhaps I could conjure something more fitting for your taste.”

“Okay, that’s just cheating,” Ace muttered under his breath.

“Conjuring food is a skill that requires great control,” Malleus said casually. “It’s a shame some rely solely on mediocre cafeteria fare.”

“Oh, so now the chicken nuggets aren’t good enough for you?” Ace snapped.

“They lack refinement,” Malleus said.

“Yeah? Well, you lack… I dunno, vibes!” Ace countered.

You blinked. “Ace, are you okay? You’re yelling about chicken nuggets.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good,” Ace mumbled, shoving a nugget in his mouth to shut himself up.

The tension boiled over during a school festival. There was a dance competition, and both Ace and Malleus signed up for one reason: to win your attention.

Ace went first, pulling off a routine filled with flashy moves that he definitely stole from a popular video. The crowd cheered, and you clapped the loudest.

“Not bad, right?” Ace said, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Bet I’m the first guy you’ve seen dance like that.”

Before you could respond, Malleus stepped onto the stage.

“I shall now perform a traditional dance of my homeland,” he announced.

It was graceful, mesmerizing, and undeniably magical—literally. The lights dimmed, and green flames swirled around him as he moved with perfect precision. The crowd was silent, utterly captivated.

Ace stood next to you, slack-jawed. “I… I can’t compete with that.”

You turned to him with a smile. “I thought your dance was amazing too.”

Ace lit up like a firework. “Y-Yeah? You mean that?”

Malleus, mid-spin, glanced at you both. His expression darkened.

Eventually, the competition escalated to new heights of absurdity. Ace baked you cookies, only to find out Malleus had hand-carved you a jewelry box. Malleus enchanted roses to bloom eternally, and Ace countered by organizing a surprise karaoke night with all your favorite songs.

But when you tripped and both of them scrambled to catch you, the ridiculousness reached its peak.

“You caught their hand,” Malleus said, an edge to his voice.

“And you caught their other hand!” Ace snapped.

You, still mid-air, sighed. “Can someone just catch me completely next time?”

Despite their antics, one thing was clear: they both adored you. And while their rivalry was exasperating, it was also… kind of sweet.

Well, for you, anyway. For them? Not so much.

Masterlist