#but also is all about how much they change and grow

[narnian-neverlander]

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well… if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje láska, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláček, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděl. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

[mapiforpresident]

No 23 prompt please with jana and reader both playing from u19 together to Barcelona and Falling in love for first time . R is a huge dork . Thanks.

You're such a dork

Jana x reader

~~~

You were sitting at your desk studying when you heard a slight knock on your office door and you turned your head to see your girlfriend stepping through the doorway with a plate of snacks in her hand. Jana gently set the plate down next to your computer before wrapping her arms around you from behind.

"Hola amor, what are you working on?" Jana asked as you turned your head to give her a kiss.

You smiled as Jana wrapped her arms around you, her warmth soothing the stress that had been building throughout your study session. The way she always seemed to show up at just the right moment made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“Hola, mi amor,” you replied softly, turning your head to press another quick kiss to her lips. “I’m just studying for this big history test. I feel like I’m drowning in flash cards.”

Jana chuckled, her fingers gently combing through your hair. “You always say that, but I know you’ll ace it. You’re the biggest dork I know, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling the warmth of her words. “I don’t know about that. I’m pretty sure I’m just making this harder than it has to be. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I’m glad you came by.”

“Of course, I couldn’t leave you alone to study forever,” Jana said, her voice teasing. “And besides, you deserve a little break.”

She picked up the plate of snacks and held it up in front of you, her eyes twinkling with a playful spark. “I brought you some fuel. You can’t keep working without food. That’s rule number one, right?”

You laughed and took a few of the snacks from the plate, grateful for the small gesture of care. “Thanks, babe. You always know how to make things better.”

Jana leaned down, resting her chin on your shoulder as she watched you nibble on the food. “Well, you’ve been working really hard lately. I wanted to make sure you take care of yourself. But also, I think it’s cute when you’re all stressed out, trying to figure things out like a dork.”

You rolled your eyes, though you were secretly thrilled by the way she teased you. “I’m serious! You don’t get it. I’m juggling so much right now, and I just want everything to go well.”

Jana pulled back slightly, her face turning soft with understanding. “I get it. But hey, you don’t need to do everything by yourself, okay? I’m here for you.”

Your heart swelled at the sincerity in her voice. She was calm, steady, and always made you feel like you weren’t alone in anything.

“I know. I guess I just sometimes feel like I need to be perfect,” you admitted, feeling vulnerable for a moment.

Jana smiled, her fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “Amor, you don’t need to be perfect. I fell in love with the biggest dork I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t change a thing. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you turned to face her, your heart beating a little faster. “I love you, Jana. You know that?”

She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I know. I love you too, dork.”

The two of you sat together for a while, sharing the plate of snacks and talking about everything and nothing, the way only you two could. It felt like time slowed down whenever you were with her, the world outside disappearing in a blur. In that moment, there was no test, no pressure, just the two of you.

It hadn’t always been like this, of course. You and Jana had known each other for years, since your U19 days at Barcelona. Back then, you were just two teammates on the same field, awkwardly laughing about misplaced passes or a bad goal attempt. You had bonded over your shared love of the game, your goofy personalities, and the way you both always managed to mess up in the most charming ways.

There had been a time when you hadn’t even realized what was growing between you and Jana. At first, it was just easy friendship and a mutual respect for each other’s skills and personalities. But somewhere along the way, that friendship had evolved into something deeper, something more.

The first time you’d caught yourself thinking about Jana outside of the context of football was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. You had been sitting in the locker room after a particularly grueling training session, distracted by the way Jana’s laugh sounded when she talked about the ridiculous prank she and Bruna had pulled on Pina. You had tried to focus on the game analysis in front of you, but all you could hear was Jana’s voice, light and carefree. Mapi had to elbow you before you realized she had asked you a question.

It hadn’t taken long after that for you to realize what was happening. You were falling for one of your best friends.

And that’s when the nervousness set in. You weren’t the kind of person who made the first move. You were awkward, fumbling over your words, and way too much of a dork to figure out the complicated world of relationships. But Jana had picked up on it, and in a way that only she could, she made the first step.

That night, after an intense match, she had pulled you aside in the locker room, her eyes soft but intense. “Y/N,” she had said, her voice low, “I think I like you.”

Your heart had nearly stopped at those words. You had stammered out something about being confused, but she had simply kissed you, gently, without hesitation. It was everything you’d imagined and more, and suddenly, the awkwardness of it all melted away.

After that, things had shifted. You weren’t just teammates anymore, you were partners, both on and off the field. There was a comfort in being with Jana that you couldn’t explain. She made you feel seen, loved, and appreciated for every quirky, dorky thing you did.

And now, sitting in your room, studying for a test that you didn’t feel prepared for, Jana was right there beside you, proving once again that you didn’t have to be perfect.

“Promise me you’ll take a break after this?” Jana asked, her voice soft but serious.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “I promise.”

Jana kissed you on the forehead, the sweet gesture making your heart swell with affection. “Good, my favorite dork."

You let out a laugh, resting your head on her shoulder. “And you’re my favorite person.”

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Yandere young Justice x villain reader

The night in New York was alive, the streets buzzing with energy, the lights reflecting off the wet pavement below. It was a city that never slept, and you were the one who owned the dark corners where shadows lingered longest.

You leaned against the side of a building, your eyes scanning the skyline as the wind tugged at your coat. It was quiet up here, just the way you liked it. But tonight felt different—electric, as if something was about to shift. You could feel their presence before you saw them.

A new face on the rooftops. A vigilante, but not one you recognized. His movements were confident, almost predatory, and you couldn’t help but watch as he approached.

“You’re not from around here,” you teased, voice smooth as you gave him a knowing smile. “What’s a new face doing in my city?”

The vigilante stopped, looking you up and down with a sharp gaze that made something stir in your chest. “Just exploring,” he replied, his tone low and steady.

You chuckled, leaning forward slightly, eyes sparkling. “Exploring, huh? Well, you picked a good spot. But you’ve gotta be careful up here—this is my territory.”

He smirked. “I don’t get lost.”

You tilted your head, the flirtation in your voice thick. “No, I don’t think you do.”

As the conversation continued, your thoughts drifted, your smile widening at the way this new player had no fear of you. You were used to being the one who held the power in situations like this, but tonight felt different. There was something about him, something dangerous, and you found yourself enjoying it a little too much.

But then, the feeling changed.

You didn’t have to look down to know who was watching. You could feel them—them. Young Justice. They hadn’t left you alone since the fight, and here they were again, hidden in the darkness below, waiting for you to give them a sign that you cared.

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

As the vigilante stepped closer, his presence overwhelming and strangely comforting, you felt the familiar weight of eyes on you. Robin, Artemis, Kid Flash, Superboy, M’gann, and Aqualad. They were all there, standing in the shadows, pretending they didn’t care. You could feel their hearts beating faster, their jealousy, their frustration. It made you smile, just a little.

Down below, Robin’s grip tightened on his batarang, his breath shallow as he watched you laugh, leaning a little closer to this new vigilante. His chest ached, but his expression remained hard, trying not to let you see how badly you hurt him. How could you be so cruel?

Kid Flash’s usual energy was gone, replaced by a tightness in his chest that wouldn’t ease. "Why him? Why not me?" he muttered to himself, fists clenching at his sides.

Superboy stood a little apart, a deep, painful ache settling in his chest as he watched. He’d always been the one who would fight for what he wanted, but you? You had pushed him away the moment he’d tried. Now, seeing you with someone else, it was like a knife twisting in his gut. "It’s always someone else," he murmured bitterly.

M’gann felt the emotions swirling around them all—her heart breaking for the team, but also feeling your coldness, your withdrawal. She felt the distance between you and them, and it hurt more than she could bear.

Aqualad stood silent, his mind sharp as ever, but his heart felt heavy. He had tried so hard to reach you, to bring you back, but now it felt like all his efforts had been wasted. Seeing you so easily slipping away from them, from him—it was like a blow he hadn’t expected.

Back on the rooftop, you glanced down, your eyes meeting the shadows below where the team was waiting. You could feel them there, all of them, watching you. It was suffocating. They were too close.

And yet, you didn’t care. Or at least, you told yourself you didn’t.

You turned back to the vigilante, but your heart wasn’t in the game anymore. The distance between you and them had been growing for a while, but tonight… tonight it felt too far.

The new vigilante moved closer, his voice low as he leaned in, his presence almost overwhelming. "You're not like them," he said, eyes searching yours.

You stepped back, your smile faltering. For a moment, everything felt too much—the city, the game, the memories. You didn’t want to go back to them, but you didn’t want this new player either.

“I’m not like anyone,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. You turned away, retreating into the shadows, leaving him standing alone.

The city felt colder as you disappeared into the night, and for just a moment, you thought you might’ve heard the faintest echo of a heart breaking below.

But you pushed it away. You didn’t have time for that anymore.

(A/n: who do you think is the new vigilante is🤔)

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Arcane had me in such a chokehold I couldn't pick- so just hear me out... through out all of it. LET. ME. COOK.

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

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

Word Count: 4.8k

A/n: Reader is masc cause this was typically just for me to read but i decided to share it with you all so. Enjoy. It has she/her but just let your imagination soar cause i wrote this like two weeks ago and been invested since to go back and change it-

The Piltover sun was unrelenting, casting its harsh light across the cobblestone streets as you strode briskly, hands shoved deep into your pockets. Your family name weighed heavy, like chains wrapped around your shoulders. Born to a small family of tinkerers, You had spent your entire life feeling the gap between their modest contributions to Piltover's progress and the grand inventions that propelled others into fame. The Junior Enforcer Program had been your one shot at proving yourself, but rejection came swiftly, accompanied by sneering remarks about your family’s "lackluster pedigree."  

Today was no different. The square was buzzing with the usual afternoon crowd when a familiar voice rang out, dripping with derision.  

"Hey! Heard you got booted outta the program. Guess they only take people with real talent, huh?"  

It was Garett, the golden boy of the Junior Enforcers. He and his cronies flanked him, their uniforms spotless, badges polished to a mirror sheen. You froze mid-step, your jaw tightening.  

"Ignore them," You muttered to yourself, but your feet betrayed you, stopping as Garett took a few steps closer.  

"What’s wrong? Family tinkering business not enough to get you a recommendation? Or maybe they saw through that temper of yours." His grin was razor-sharp. "Guess being a second-rate scrapper runs in the family."  

The taunts weren’t new, but something about his tone—mocking, pitying—made your blood boil. The crowd had begun to gather, eyes darting between you and Garett like spectators at a boxing match.  

"Watch your mouth," you growled, fists curling.  

"Oh, what? Gonna cry about it? Or maybe punch your way into the program?" Garett took a deliberate step closer, his voice dripping with mock concern.  

You snapped. The punch came faster than anyone could react, your knuckles connecting with his jaw in a sickening crack. Garett staggered back, his smirk replaced by wide-eyed shock.  

"You don’t talk about my family," You hissed, your voice trembling with rage.  

But You weren’t done. Your training—unrefined but raw with potential—kicked in. You swept his legs, sending him crashing to the ground, then landed a sharp blow to his ribs. The crowd gasped, the whispers turning to murmurs of disbelief.  

When Garett’s friends tried to intervene, your stance shifted, your body low and coiled like a spring. One step closer, your glare seemed to say, ‘and you'll regret it’. They hesitated.  

By the time the enforcers arrived to pull you off, Garett was barely conscious, clutching his side and groaning in pain. You, meanwhile, were hauled to your feet, breathing heavily, a black eye forming from a well-placed blow Garett had managed to land. The crowd was silent now, staring at you like you were some kind of wild animal.  

Above the commotion, on a rooftop cloaked in shadow, a pair of bright, manic eyes gleamed. Jinx crouched, her lips curling into a delighted grin as she watched the scene unfold.  

“That one,” she muttered, pointing at you.  

Beside her, one of her goons—an imposing Zaunite named Clagg—shifted uneasily. "Her? She’s a Piltie. What d’you want with her?"  

Jinx turned her gaze on him, her smile widening. "She doesn’t even know what she’s capable of," she said, her voice a sing-song melody laced with chaos. "That strength, that rage... It’s wasted here, wasted on them."  

Clagg scratched the back of his neck, clearly unconvinced. "You sure she’s not just another uptight Piltie brat?"  

Jinx snorted, hopping to her feet and pacing along the edge of the roof with feline grace. "Oh, Claggie. Don’t you get it? She’s perfect. She just doesn’t know it yet."  

"Perfect for what?"  

Jinx twirled her finger beside her temple, her grin widening into something almost predatory. "For making the Undercity known, silly. For showing Piltover we’re more than scraps and fumes. She’s strong, she’s angry, and she wants to make a name for herself."  

"And you think she’ll just... switch sides?"  

Jinx leaned closer to Clagg, her tone suddenly deadly serious. "They’re gonna throw her away, like they always do. All we gotta do is pick her up and show her who she can really be."  

Clagg frowned, glancing back down at you, who was now being dragged off by two enforcers. The crowd had parted, murmuring about the ferocity you’d shown.  

"You sure she won’t turn on us?" he asked.  

Jinx tilted her head, her grin returning. "If she does, it’ll be fun. If she doesn’t... well, imagine the chaos we can cause with someone like her on our side."  

She turned away, her voice drifting like a song on the wind. "Bring her to me. I want her."  

Down below, as you were led away, you caught a glimpse of something on the rooftops—a flash of blue hair and a pair of wild, glinting eyes. Your heart skipped a beat, but you shook it off. 

You didn’t know that your life was about to change forever.  

The holding station wasn’t much—just a cobbled courtyard with heavy iron cells stacked against the walls, open to the unforgiving Piltover sun. You sat slumped against the bars, your arms draped over your knees, still nursing your bruised eye. The static buzz of the enforcer station echoed in the air, but you barely noticed. Your knuckles throbbed, but it was a good kind of pain—the kind that reminded you, you weren’t powerless.  

"Well, well. Look who’s behind bars."  

Your gaze snapped upward. Garett stood on the other side of the bars, his jaw tightly wrapped in bandages, one arm cradling his ribs. His smirk was weaker now, but his words carried the same venom. "Guess that temper finally landed you where you belong, huh?"  

You leaned back, letting out a low chuckle. "Still standing, aren’t I? You’re the one who looks like they got hit by a train."  

His smirk faltered. Your grin grew. "What do you want, Garett? A rematch?"  

"You’re lucky I didn’t press for worse charges," he sneered, stepping closer to the bars. "Your kind doesn’t belong in Piltover. Should’ve left you to rot with the Zaun rats."  

The word hit you like a slap, but you hid it behind a sly grin. "Bold words for someone on the wrong side of these bars," you said sweetly. "But hey, come a little closer. Say that again."  

Garett narrowed his eyes, but pride—and maybe stupidity—drove him forward. You shifted subtly, the muscles in your arms tensing like coiled springs.  

When Garett was close enough, you struck, grabbing his collar and yanking him hard into the bars. His head slammed against the iron with a sickening thud, and he yelped in pain.  

"You little—"  

Before he could finish, a sharp jolt of electricity coursed through your body. Gasping, you collapsed to your knees as the enforcers stepped in, tasers crackling. Garett stumbled back, holding his head, his curses drowned out by the ringing in your ears.  

When the shock subsided, you dragged yourself upright, your vision blurry. You caught movement in your peripheral vision—a figure stepping out from the shade of a nearby fountain.  

Caitlyn Kiramman.  

Her uniform was immaculate, her posture poised, but her curious gaze lingered on you like she was trying to solve a puzzle. She approached slowly, stopping just outside the cell.  

"You don’t hold back, do you?" Caitlyn said, her voice even but laced with faint amusement.  

You shot her a glare. "What do you want? Here to lecture me about ‘proper conduct’ too?"  

"Not exactly." Caitlyn crossed her arms, tilting her head. "You’re... different. Strong, capable, but reckless. That’s why you weren’t accepted into the program, isn’t it?"  

Your fists tightened, but you didn’t respond.  

Caitlyn continued, her voice softening. "You don’t have to waste your potential. I’ve seen people like you—people who think strength alone is enough. But without control, you’re a danger to yourself and everyone around you."  

"And what? You think you can fix me?" You snapped, your voice edged with bitterness.  

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. "That depends. Do you want to be fixed?"  

The question hung in the air, heavier than you expected. For the first time, you were at a loss for words. Caitlyn stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I can get you another chance. The program needs people with your skill. But you need to show me you can handle it."  

Your jaw tightened, your pride clashing with the flicker of something you didn’t want to admit—hope.  

"I don’t need your help," you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.  

Caitlyn studied her for a moment, then stepped back, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Think about it. I’ll be around." She turned and walked away, taking a seat by the fountain, her gaze flicking back to you occasionally.  

From the shadowed alley across the square, Clagg watched, his massive frame blending into the darkness. His brows furrowed as he observed Caitlyn’s interaction with you, the faint tension between them. When the conversation ended, he slipped away, heading back toward the Undercity.  

Jinx was perched on a rickety table in her lair, tinkering with a new gadget, when Clagg arrived. He cleared his throat, and she looked up, her blue hair a wild, tangled halo around her face.  

"Well?" she asked, her voice sing-song but sharp. "Is she ready to join the fun?"  

Clagg hesitated. "Not exactly. They’re holding her until morning. But... there’s a complication."  

Jinx’s eyes narrowed, her hands stilling. "What kind of complication?"  

Clagg scratched his neck, looking uncomfortable. "The Piltie—Kiramman. She talked to them. Seemed like she was trying to... recruit her."  

Jinx’s expression darkened, her grin disappearing. "Recruit her?"  

"Yeah. Something about the Junior Program. She said she needed to ‘control her anger.’"  

For a moment, Jinx was silent. Then she laughed, a sharp, grating sound. "Control her anger? Control it? That’s what makes her amazing!" She hopped off the table, pacing erratically. "That’s what makes her... Why would she want to be some boring, uptight enforcer when she could be so much more?"  

Clagg shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe she doesn’t see it that way. Not yet, anyway."  

Jinx stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing. "She will. Because I’m not letting her waste herself on those Piltover snobs." She spun on her heel, her grin returning, but it didn’t reach her eyes.  

Clagg watched her carefully. "You jealous or somethin’, Jinx?" he asked, half-joking.  

Jinx froze, then shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. "Jealous? Please. I just don’t want her to turn into another boring Piltie pawn." She turned away, her voice quieter but filled with determination. "She belongs with us. She just doesn’t know it yet."  

Clagg nodded slowly, stepping back as Jinx returned to her tinkering, her hands moving with restless energy. But the look in her eyes—sharp, calculating—told him she wasn’t done with you yet.  

Not by a long shot.  

The morning came with a harsh jangle of keys and the scrape of boots on stone. You stirred at the sound, every muscle in your body stiff and aching. The cold floor beneath you offered little comfort.

“Breakfast, rat,” an enforcer barked, tossing a dented metal bowl through the bars of your cell. It clattered to the ground, its contents sloshing dangerously close to the filthy floor.

You dragged yourself up, peering into the bowl. The so-called “meal” looked more like paste than food—a gray, lumpy porridge that smelled faintly sour. Your stomach churned, both from hunger and disgust. You hadn’t eaten in days, too consumed by work before your arrest to even think about food. Now, the gnawing hunger clawed at your insides, but even desperation had its limits.

The enforcer sneered. “What? Too good for Piltover’s finest cuisine?”

You glared at him, your lip curling, but before you could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

“That’s enough.”

Caitlyn Kiramman stepped into view, her commanding presence making the enforcer stiffen. She gave him a pointed look, her voice firm. “Dismissed.”

The enforcer muttered something under his breath but left without further protest. Caitlyn waited until he was gone before turning back to you.

“That doesn’t look particularly appetizing,” she remarked, her eyes flicking to the bowl.

You snorted, pushing the porridge aside with your boot. “You could say that.”

Without a word, Caitlyn stepped away, returning moments later with a small bundle. She crouched by the bars and slid it through—a cloth-wrapped package that smelled… amazing. Your stomach growled audibly as you unwrapped it to reveal fresh bread, cured meat, and cheese.

You didn’t bother with gratitude or manners, tearing into the food like it might disappear if you didn’t finish it quickly. Caitlyn watched you, her expression unreadable, though there was a faint flicker of something in her eyes. Amusement? Concern?

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” she said after a moment, her tone softer now. “It’s not just hunger I see in you. You’re worn down—physically and… otherwise.”

You didn’t respond, focused on the food. It wasn’t until the last bite was gone that you leaned back against the bars, letting out a slow breath. Caitlyn still stood there, studying you.

Her gaze lingered on your arms, and you realized too late that your sleeves had slipped up, revealing the ink etched into your skin. The tattoos were simple, clean lines that twisted and turned across your arms, forming an intricate pattern that, to the untrained eye, might have looked random.

But Caitlyn’s sharp eyes picked up on the subtle symmetry. “Those tattoos…” she began, her voice laced with curiosity. “They’re a map, aren’t they?”

You tugged your sleeves down, your eyes narrowing. “It’s personal.”

For a moment, she looked like she might press further, but instead, she nodded, stepping back. “Fair enough,” she said simply, though her curiosity didn’t wane.

Above the holding station, hidden among the rooftops, Jinx crouched in the shadows of her hooded cloak, her bright blue hair tucked away. Her manic eyes tracked every movement, every word exchanged between you and Caitlyn.

“She’s just sitting there, acting all… proper,” Jinx muttered to herself, her voice dripping with disdain. “Thinking she can just swoop in with her fancy bread and—”

Her head snapped to the side, as if addressing someone who wasn’t there. “Oh, I know what she’s doing. Acting all high and mighty, trying to make her into a little Piltie puppet.”

Clagg shifted uncomfortably behind her, glancing between her and the interaction below. “You sure this is worth it, Jinx? If Kirraman’s sniffing around, it’s gonna be a lot harder to grab her.”

Jinx didn’t seem to hear him, her hands twitching as she began pacing along the rooftop. “Why does she even care? She doesn’t see it—doesn’t see what I see. The fire, the chaos, the… the art.” She giggled, then stopped abruptly, her expression twisting.

“But she will. Oh, she will. When I show her.”

Clagg hesitated, his voice low. “Maybe we should back off. Let her cool down first.”

Jinx spun around, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him close, her manic grin returning. “Back off? Claggie, darling, that’s not how we do things. I said I want her, and I always get what I want.”

Her grip tightened, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Now, bring me Sevika. If Caitlyn wants to play games, we’ll give her something to think about.”

Clagg nodded quickly, retreating as Jinx released him. She turned back to the scene below, her grin fading into something darker.

“She doesn’t need fixing,” Jinx murmured to herself, her voice soft but tinged with something almost… vulnerable. “She’s perfect just the way she is.”

The afternoon light bled through the iron bars, a dim and indifferent reminder of time passing. You sat curled in the corner of your cell, your knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around them. The stone was cold against your skin, but the tension in your body made you oblivious to it. The hum of enforcers’ chatter in the distance felt like white noise, and you closed your eyes, trying to block it all out.

The metallic rattle of keys pulled you back to reality.

You glanced up sharply as Caitlyn appeared, a brown satchel slung over one shoulder. Her polished boots echoed against the stone as she approached, stopping just outside your cell.

“Still sulking, I see,” she said, her tone light but with an edge of observation that made your jaw clench.

You shrugged, lowering your gaze. “What do you want, Kiramman? Here to throw me another pity sandwich?”

She ignored the jab and reached into her bag, pulling out a folded bundle of clothes. “Actually, I thought you might want something clean to wear. You’ve been in those for days.”

The gesture caught you off guard. Your eyes flicked between her and the clothes, suspicion prickling in your chest. “What’s your angle?”

Caitlyn smirked, leaning casually against the bars. “You’re really determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

You scoffed, your sarcasm kicking in as a defense. “Wow, you figured me out. Guess those fancy detective skills weren’t wasted after all.”

She didn’t rise to the bait, her calm demeanor frustratingly unshakable. “I pulled a few strings,” she said simply. “Instead of transferring you to the main detention center, I convinced them to let you out under my supervision.”

Your head snapped up, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. The shock must’ve shown on your face because Caitlyn’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly.

“You… what?” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she replied. “I figured you deserved a second chance. It’s not every day I meet someone who can take down an enforcer and still have enough fight left to make sarcastic remarks from a jail cell.”

Her comment wasn’t just a tease; it was understanding. You felt an unfamiliar heat rise to your face, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt… seen.

You blinked, looking down at the floor before mumbling, “Thanks.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Did I just hear you say something nice?”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. It was fleeting, but Caitlyn caught it, and something flickered in her expression. It wasn’t obvious—just the faintest spark of warmth—but it disappeared before you could question it.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said lightly, sliding the bundle of clothes through the bars. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. You can shower at my quarters.”

You hesitated, but the thought of a hot shower and clean clothes was too tempting to resist. Rising to your feet, you grabbed the clothes, your curiosity about Caitlyn growing with each interaction.

The walk to her place was surprisingly quiet at first, the buzz of Piltover’s streets filling the silence. Caitlyn walked beside you, her steps measured and her presence steady. Eventually, she broke the silence.

“So,” she began, glancing at you. “Recklessness seems to be a theme with you. Always been like that?”

You shrugged, adjusting the bundle of clothes under your arm. “Guess you could say that. I’ve always been… protective. Didn’t like seeing people get pushed around, so I did something about it. Got me into trouble more times than I can count.”

Caitlyn nodded, her expression thoughtful. “You don’t strike me as the ‘follower’ type.”

A dry laugh escaped you. “Not really my style. I don’t do well with rules. Never have.”

Her curiosity deepened. “Where did you grow up? Before Piltover, I mean.”

You hesitated, the question stirring something uncomfortable in your chest. “I don’t really remember,” you admitted. “Had an accident when I was a kid—eight or nine, maybe. Lost a lot of memories. My parents said we had to move here, and… well, that’s about it.”

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press further. “That must’ve been hard.”

“Yeah,” you said simply, your gaze fixed ahead.

The conversation quieted, but the air between you felt less tense now, a tentative connection forming.

The sun dipped low, casting Piltover in hues of amber and gold as the streets grew busier. The walk to Caitlyn’s quarters was quiet for the most part, the city’s hum filling the space between you. You clutched the fresh clothes she’d given you, your mind racing with questions about why she’d gone out of her way for you. The warmth of gratitude mingled awkwardly with the stubborn edge of your independence, and you kept your thoughts to yourself.

Caitlyn finally broke the silence, her voice steady but probing. “So, do you plan to keep punching enforcers, or was that a one-time thing?”

You smirked despite yourself. “Depends on how annoying they are.”

Her laughter, soft but genuine, caught you off guard. You glanced at her, unsure if she was mocking you, but her expression was amused rather than judgmental.

The conversation lulled again, and you turned your attention back to the crowd ahead. That’s when you felt it—a strange pull, like a string tightening in your chest.

Your eyes scanned the bustling square, and there she was.

A figure cloaked in shadows, her hood low but not enough to hide the faint glow of blue strands peeking out. Her posture was loose, almost lazy, but her eyes… her eyes burned with a wild, electric intensity. They locked onto you, and for a moment, everything else faded.

Your heart twisted in a way you couldn’t explain. Something about her felt dangerous, chaotic, and yet… you couldn’t look away. You were trapped, rooted to the spot by the sheer force of her gaze.

“Are you alright?”

Caitlyn’s voice broke the spell. You blinked, tearing your eyes away to look at her. She’d stopped walking and was now watching you with a raised brow.

“What?” you asked, your voice slightly hoarse.

“I asked if you were planning to clean up your act,” Caitlyn said, tilting her head. “Or should I prepare for another arrest in the near future?”

You huffed a laugh, trying to shake the lingering unease from your chest. “Not really my style to plan ahead.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked into a small smile. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

As the conversation ended, you instinctively glanced back toward the spot where the hooded figure had been. But she was gone.

The space she’d occupied now seemed impossibly empty, as if she’d been a mirage. The strange tightness in your chest lingered, though, a reminder that what you’d seen was very real.

Caitlyn resumed walking, unaware of the moment you’d just experienced. You followed her, your thoughts muddled. Whoever she was, that look… it wasn’t something you’d soon forget.

      Caitlyn’s quarters were surprisingly modest for someone with her family name. The space was neat, furnished with clean lines and muted tones, though it lacked the lived-in warmth of a true home. You stepped inside cautiously, taking in the surroundings as Caitlyn moved toward a small desk, gathering some scattered papers.

“You don’t get a lot of company, do you?” you teased, running your fingers along the edge of a shelf lined with books and trinkets.

She glanced over her shoulder with an arched brow. “What makes you say that?”

You smirked, gesturing vaguely to the room. “It’s… a little too perfect. Like you’ve been trying to convince yourself you’re comfortable living alone.”

Caitlyn’s lips twitched into a faint smile as she continued tidying up. “Some of us prefer a bit of order in our lives. Not everyone thrives in chaos.”

You chuckled softly, continuing to wander. “Order’s overrated.”

Eventually, she stopped and turned to you. “Shower’s this way,” she said, leading you down a short hallway. She opened a door, revealing a clean bathroom stocked with neatly arranged towels and toiletries.

She gestured toward the counter. “Towels are here, soap’s in the shower. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to phrase what you wanted to say. “Hey, uh…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks. For everything. You didn’t have to go out of your way for me.”

Caitlyn leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “I’m starting to think gratitude doesn’t come naturally to you.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, well… I mean it. But about this whole program thing…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t think it’s for me. I don’t… fit into neat little boxes. I never have. And I don’t want to disappoint you. Or your name. You’ve got a reputation to uphold, and I’d just ruin it.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the same person who had defended you earlier. “You’re selling yourself short,” she said. “You don’t have to be perfect to make a difference. Everything you’ve done… maybe it wasn’t by the book, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”

Her words caught you off guard, a flicker of doubt stirring in your chest. You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’ll think about it.”

As she spoke, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it off without thinking. Caitlyn froze mid-sentence.

Her eyes widened, fixating on the tattoos that adorned your skin—a network of minimalist lines and shapes that seemed to map your body. You glanced over your shoulder, catching her staring.

“See something you like, Kiramman?” you teased, a sly grin tugging at your lips.

She stammered, her usual poise momentarily shattered. “I-I wasn’t— I just—”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you stepped into the bathroom. “Relax, Commander. I’ll be out in a bit.”

The shower was a welcome relief, washing away days of grime and tension. You lingered longer than you probably should have, letting the heat soothe your aching muscles. When you finally emerged, dressed in the fresh clothes Caitlyn had given you, the scent of something… burning hit your nose.

You walked into the kitchen to find Caitlyn in a state of controlled chaos. She was at the stove, fumbling with a pan that was clearly getting the better of her. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as she muttered under her breath, poking at something that might have once been food.

“Need a hand?” you asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

She jumped slightly, spinning to face you. “I was trying to make something for you. But it’s… not going as planned.”

You smirked, stepping forward to take the pan from her. “Let me handle this before you burn the place down.”

With practiced ease, you salvaged what you could and whipped up a simple but hearty meal. Caitlyn watched from the side, her arms crossed but her expression amused.

“Didn’t expect you to be good at cooking,” she remarked as you set two plates on the small dining table.

“People like me have to learn how to take care of ourselves,” you replied, sitting down across from her.

The meal was quiet at first, but Caitlyn eventually broke the silence. “You’ve been in a lot of fights, haven’t you?”

“More than I can count,” you admitted.

“Do you ever think about how you could’ve avoided them?” she asked, her tone curious rather than judgmental.

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. “That’s just who I am. I see someone getting pushed around, I step in. It doesn’t matter if it’s smart or not.”

Caitlyn studied you for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. Then you decided to turn the tables.

“What about you?” you asked, smirking. “What’s your love life like? Got a boyfriend waiting somewhere?”

She stammered, clearly caught off guard. “I—no, I don’t—”

You raised an eyebrow. “No boyfriend, huh? Girlfriend, then?”

Her face turned slightly pink, and she fumbled for a response. Before she could come up with one, you grinned. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

The tension broke, and both of you ended up laughing harder than you had in a long time.

Later, as you stood at the door ready to leave, there was a strange tension in the air. Caitlyn handed you your belongings, her expression unreadable.

“Thanks for… everything,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

She nodded, watching you closely. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

You stepped out into the cool night air, the streets of Piltover feeling oddly oppressive now that you were alone. Something gnawed at the edge of your awareness, a sense of being watched.

A voice called your name from the shadows, low and gravelly. You spun around, your posture instinctively defensive.

A tall woman emerged from the darkness, her metallic arm glinting faintly under the streetlights. “You’ve caught someone’s eye,” she said, her voice laced with menace.

Your heart raced as you tried to place her, but before you could respond, another voice echoed through the alley—high-pitched, teasing, and almost sing-song.

“Aw, Sevika, don’t scare her too much.”

Your head snapped to the source of the voice, but all you saw was the faint outline of a figure perched above, her laughter bouncing off the walls.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice sharp.

Sevika didn’t answer. She lunged forward, her cybernetic arm moving faster than you anticipated. You tried to dodge, but the impact was overwhelming, the world spinning into darkness as you hit the ground.

The last thing you heard before everything faded was the faint sound of laughter echoing in your ears.

___________

well… i personally like the next part (like i said i wrote this a little while ago like 2 weeks ago- it’s everywhere and 80k words-)

Apologies if there is any mistakes😔

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.45

Summary: Wednesday has no idea where you ran off to after your little argument. What she finds is nothing short of horrific.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, delusions, fairly graphic violence, murder, consequences of dismemberment Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

It had been an entire night since you had left the apartment, and Wednesday still hadn’t heard from you.

Not that she was entirely surprised considering you had forgotten your phone on the kitchen counter. But you had always come back. There were nights you had vanished for hours, but you always came back. She couldn’t recall a night you had left the apartment and not come back, or at least warned her of your prolonged disappearance.

The nature of your disappearance was also a concerning factor. Wednesday was never really one to put the blame onto someone else, nor to deny her own fault when necessary. In all fairness, your reaction to discovering her visions wasn’t entirely uncalled for, aside from one simple fact.

She had genuinely believed you were aware of her ability.

You were correct; after so long, how had you not known? Yet everyone else had known of her visions. They hadn’t necessarily confronted her about it, but they had known. Was it truly so wrong for her to have assumed you had known as well? Would it have been so far-fetched for her to believe you had known of her visions and simply hadn’t felt the need to bring it up?

No, she didn’t fault you for your reaction, but she couldn’t ignore the hurt you had caused. It was no comparison to your own, considering you were under the impression everyone had lied to you. But she didn’t find it enjoyable to be accused of such a thing when it had never been her intention. She had never wanted to lie to you, not even from the beginning. There was no chance she ever would have told you, of course, but it didn’t change the fact.

And now you were, for all intents and purposes, missing.

Wednesday tried to be patient once morning came around. An entire night of silence was unusual, but she supposed you had had an argument. While she certainly hadn’t used the time to reflect and grow angry (instead moping around and feeling sorry for herself, which was a foreign feeling), you most likely had. It was forgiven, of course, and all you needed to do was come back home so you could both move on.

When midday rolled around, her patience was waning. What could you be doing that would have you gone for so long? Surely there was nothing more important than coming back home, correct? So why were you still absent? She knew she had upset you, she was well aware, but that didn’t mean you needed to run away like a petulant child.

As the sun started to set, and the main room of the apartment dimmed with the light, Wednesday fell victim to the worry she had shoved down after your vanishing act. You were nearing 24 hours of being gone; something entirely unheard of. Preposterous even. And you had proven time and time again that you were capable of keeping yourself alive (by questionable means on occasion), but she wouldn’t deny the reality of the world.

Something was out to get you.

It had been very much in character for Wednesday to hide things from the friend group in the past. Since you had come around, any and all secrets had been laid bare and, as disgusting as the truth was, she had been open with everyone. But it never occurred to her to inform someone that you were still gone, or that you had even left at all. Eugene was still in hospital, Enid was mostly recovered but still terrified, and Ash was most likely being fussed over by Bianca for having shot something. How could she burden them with something that in all actuality was an overactive imagination.

Oh no. She was openly considerate. How very well dare you.

Consideration for her friends aside (she could hear your teasing now; “Friends? I knew you liked them”), she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she wait for you? After the current amount of waiting, the thought of continuing that course left her feeling empty and hopeless. Her brain ran through countless options, none of which helped her current predicament.

Not that any plans would have mattered too much considering she was still missing a vital piece of information.

She mentally rattled off the list of locations you could have frequented. The floor was worn in the place you normally paced, and Wednesday was doing her best to leave her own wear and tear. Pacing always seemed to help you think, so perhaps it actually worked. Her boots were loud against the wooden floor; so very different from the haunting silence of your own steps.

The longer she paced, the more frustrated she became. Nothing was coming to light and she didn’t know what else to do. The pacing was useless. Sitting and waiting was worse than a waste of time. A roil of emotion bubbled up in her stomach as she stormed off and grabbed your phone-

-the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile.

The image flew from her mind as quickly as it appeared, but it was all she needed. Without warning or hesitation, Wednesday all but ran out of the apartment (just as she had the night before). It had never occurred to her to tell anyone; to let anyone know that she was leaving. Or that you had disappeared after the woods fiasco the previous night. Or even that she had been so inadequate that she had forgotten to tell you such an important aspect of her life.

It was a decently lengthy trip to get down to DC. Thanks to you, however, Wednesday was incredibly well versed in using the bus to get to her destination. A talent that she was surprisingly proud of. If anyone had told young Wednesday Addams that she would be proficient in using public transportation, she never would have believed them.

It was as if she had simply blinked and ended up in front of the door to your parents’ house. The startlingly white wood was a sharp contrast to the overly large and intricate brass knockers hung high in the middle. In another time, she would have possibly taken the time to admire the decoration. After all, the craftsmanship of the piece was worthy of the Addams family name (almost).

The metal was cool against her palm as she swung the heavy knocker against the solid doors. The sounds they created resonated both inside the house and outside, leaving an increasingly satisfying hum through the air. Behind the door, underneath the deep bass of the knockers, footsteps slowly stomped their way closer. The door opened, and the blinding light grew from the now-open doorway.

Wednesday felt her heart stutter.

“Hey, Willa,” you said in a raspy voice.

A stunning array of blood trailed across your face. Strands of hair were loose, hanging limp and heavy with the dried sticky mess. The Addams ring faded into the thick coating on your hands, ending around the middle of your forearms. She couldn’t remember the exact clothes you had been wearing when you had left, but this? It was nothing more than a mangled, somehow both stiff and wet mess of cloth.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you said. Your smile was a stark contrast to the blood splattered across your skin. A few splashes dotted your teeth.

“I-” the words caught in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say. She settled on, “You vanished.” The words clawed their way past the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry, mi amore,” you answered, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Blood smeared across the startling white wood. “I forgot my phone.”

She nodded. Your body was lax; exponentially more than… well, than almost the entire time she had known of your very existence. Wet and sticky hands were tucked carelessly into pockets. If your eyes had been any more hooded, she would have assumed you were asleep where you stood. Each and every laugh line on your face was gone.

Your eyes didn’t glow.

“I came to bring you home,” Wednesday said softly. Always soft; only for you.

The corner of your mouth ticked upward. “Stay for dinner,” you said as you reached out for her hand. Your fingers were slick. “We can go home after.”

Inside the house was silent; Wednesday didn’t need to step foot past the entryway to notice. Your parents were rather selective in their words and actions, but it was nonsensical that they would be so incredibly quiet. The abnormal fact of your presence should have exacerbated the reaction, not enforced it. You remained in the doorway.

“Please?” You asked in a voice so soft, Wednesday wasn’t sure the word had come from your mouth. And how could she possibly say no?

She took your hand; it was cold, and she felt dirty. You squeezed once, and the ring you placed on her finger lightly pressed into her skin. Behind her, your leg stretched backwards, pushing the door closed with an eerie click of the lock. The only thing she could hear was the rumble of the aircon hidden in the elevated ceilings.

Wednesday felt a light tug on her hand, and she veered sideways until she was all but leaning into you. Seemingly on instinct, your wing moved to cover her. Motes of dust sifted down and fell on her nose. She did her best not to sneeze.

“I need a little help with dinner,” you said, “but then we can eat.”

You pulled her past what she assumed was the dining room. Her eyes were drawn to a small patch of discoloured wood outlining the doorway. A barely noticeable spot, but when caught in just the right light, it was obvious. As if someone had grabbed a paint brush, dipped it in the colour closest to the doorway but not quite exactly, wrung most of the paint out, and dragged the brush across the fine grain of the wood.

You didn’t let her dwell on it.

She didn’t believe she had ever been to the kitchen in your parents’ house, which wasn’t saying much considering she had hardly been to your parents’ house. It looked vintage (not the real vintage, simply a cheap imitation), but was, unsurprisingly, as blindingly white as the rest of the house. Each and every appliance, from the things brought out of the drawers to the range hood over the stove, was an obnoxiously shiny silver. It was as if it had never been used, aside from the dishes currently cooking.

“Give me just a minute,” you said, leaning down and placing a sticky kiss on her cheek before walking over to the pan on the stove.

She wondered if her skin now sported a dark red lip stain.

“They’re behaving tonight,” you said. You didn’t turn around, and Wednesday slowly moved from where you had left her.

She walked toward the island in the middle of the room; a stunning marble that was surprisingly the only good thing in the entirety of the house. It was a mess; littered with cutting boards and various remnants of whatever ingredients you had been using. On the corner closest to her, she noticed a few drops of red that appeared to have been hastily cleaned.

“Obviously dad and I aren’t good,” you continued to talk, “but he didn’t call the cops on me, so.” A shrug. “That’s a win.”

You continued to stir, and Wednesday continued to move so slowly you would never notice. Or you shouldn’t have. On her third step closer to the fridge, you turned your head. Your gaze alone was enough to nail her to the spot, cementing her bones together until she was stiff; far too reminiscent of death itself.

“Can you grab the salad?” You asked with a polite smile. “I’m almost done.”

Say something, Wednesday thought. Even a single word is better than this silence. But she couldn’t. No word, no noise, not even a breath left her mouth. You didn’t seem to notice. You turned back to the stove and kept stirring, and talking, and Wednesday didn’t hear a word of it. She simply continued to the fridge.

Her own hand covered the bloody print on the handle as she pulled it open. It was cold and dry, she had no fear of it sticking to the palms of her hands. Not like what had remained on your own skin. Inside the fridge was entirely unremarkable. The salad - which looked rather delicious, she would admit - was front and center on the middle shelf. The glass bowl was cold as she grabbed it, and the door shut with a satisfying hiss before she placed the bowl on the island.

“It’s just nice to be together again, you know?” You said, and Wednesday remembered she hadn’t heard a single word you had said. “Like a family.”

Wednesday’s finger tapped on the glass. “What of Momma and Pop?” She asked. Your stirring slowed. “What of the ones who raised you?”

The stirring came to a horrifying stop. Her eyes were glued to the back of your head, then your cheek, then your eyes. Those eyes which she would know so deeply within her soul, she could pick them out in all of heaven or hell. Eyes that had been dull and unassuming to the occasional passerby, but that had sent a chill down her spine. Eyes that were glowing once again like they should have been.

“Of course they’re family,” you said in a tone much more like yourself. A tone Wednesday had fallen for. “They’ve always been my family.” Your eerily cheery faux disposition had all but vanished as you looked at her. She saw you.

And just like that, you blinked and the glow faded back into a dull imitation of yourself. You didn’t smile, not exactly, but the worry that had momentarily etched itself into your forehead had been erased. You looked calm. Far too calm for the amount of blood covering your skin.

“We should go see them later,” you said. Your shoulders lifted dramatically before falling with a silent exhale. “I think this is done.” You glanced at her over your shoulder briefly. “Give me one sec and we’ll go to the dining room.”

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

Dread crept through her veins. She had told you the night before that her visions weren’t fact; that was true. There had been numerous times she had been outright wrong in her visions. After all, one of those visions had seen you remaining little more than an acquaintance. It had been horrifically, wonderfully wrong.

But some of them were accurate.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said. You were already holding the sides in separate dishes, one in each hand. “And don’t forget the salad.”

You walked before her without looking back to ensure she was following. That was wrong. Nonetheless, Wednesday grabbed the faintly condensation-covered bowl and followed your eerily silent footsteps. Her eyes remained glued to your feet; they were bare.

“Our first family dinner,” you said softly as you disappeared into the dining room. “This is gonna be great.”

Wednesday turned the corner.

Instinct should have relaxed her grip on the glass, allowing it to slip through her fingers to crash to the floor. Her pulse skyrocketed. A single bead of sweat tickled her neck as it rolled down her skin. The glass warmed under her touch, but it didn’t drop.

“You can set the salad by mom,” you said with a soft smile.

That was the last place she wanted to set the bowl. The sight itself was worse than her vision could have ever created. You stepped in a puddle on the way to the other side of the table, leaving sticky footprints in your wake. Horror crept up her throat when you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the gaunt, hollowed-out cheek of your mother. It hadn’t been long since Wednesday had seen your mother last; warm, professionally animated, cautiously talkative.

Alive.

Wednesday was a cold person. It was how she had been born and how she lived. If she had to put it into words, she would say it was an Addams family gift. The ability to face the weather head-on without the slightest fear of having to wear something other than the usual Addams gothic fashion. She was very well aware of the fact that the rest of the population was nowhere near as blessed as they were.

Your mother looked as cold as an Addams.

“I remember your last words to her were,” Wednesday exhaled shakily as she struggled to turn away, “unkind.”

“Well yeah,” you said with a nervous laugh, “they were.” You readjusted your jaw. “But we actually talked it over, so.” A simple shrug and smile. “We’re good now.”

The smell reached her senses when she was close enough to set the glass on the table with a subtle *clink*. Not quite nauseating, but well on its way. Cold, dark, empty eyes stared at her. That horror clawed its way higher again. Her stomach twisted into knots as realisation dawned on what they looked like. Or who they looked like.

“You can sit by mom,” you said with a far-too-cheery disposition. “You haven’t really met dad yet so I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Your father was… arguably in worse shape than your mother. Or, she supposed she should say: she’d rather face your mother if given the chance. His new fleshy wings were a grotesque imitation of yours. As if they could hear her, your wings twitched before you situated yourself in the seat directly opposite her.

Wednesday lowered herself into the chair. It was sticky.

“Where’s Mabel?” Wednesday asked. The kind-faced maid had been on her mind from the moment she had entered the dining room. Accompanied by inhumane levels of dread.

“I sent her home,” you said with a shrug. “She should get to see her son too.” Your eyes glowed for a second; one blink and it was gone. She almost missed it.

Something creaked. You didn’t move, but Wednesday’s eyes flew to the side. She could still see your mother (and attempted to keep the nausea at bay at the sight), but she was drawn to the picture frame at the end of the table. A picture of Nicky, young and happy with a smile that was an exact copy of yours. His picture frame, at the very head of the table, was all she needed to see to know your mental state.

You sighed, and slowly she turned to look at you once again. There was a serenity on your face as you looked around the table, stopping on every person before settling on her. There, surrounded by the unsettling corpses of your birth family, you looked at peace. The faintest glow was behind your dull eyes and almost, just almost, you were what Wednesday would consider happy.

The realisation crashed upon her like a burning house.

“Would you like some wine?” You asked, pulling Wednesday back from the cliff of her thoughts. “Dad got some of the good bottles from the cellar.”

The blood on your hands had long since dried. Each movement as you reached across the table to grab an unopened bottle (a good vintage indeed) resulted in the dried mess flaking off piece by piece. The smallest piece lodged itself into the ring on your finger.

Wednesday shook her head in the negative.

“Expensive wine is kind of gross,” you said as you finished pouring the liquid into your father’s glass and set it back on the table. “I guess I never developed the taste for it.”

You kept talking. To your father, your mother, Nicky’s picture. Pausing for appropriate amounts of time before continuing the conversation. That little worry line between your brows that was so prominent on weekends or evenings after not talking with your family was erased as if it had never been there in the first place. Looking at you alone, she could see the vision.

“Wednesday?”

She blinked once. You were looking at her with the slightest tilt of your head and the dullest eyes she had ever seen. They stared into her soul, searching for something she couldn’t comprehend. The usual abrupt flow of warmth she got from looking at you was terrifyingly absent.

The nausea grew with the smell wafting in her direction. 

“Nicky asked you a question,” you said.

She had heard no question. Of course she hadn’t, it was simply a picture in a frame. His hospital gown was almost entirely out of frame, but if you knew what to look for it was obvious. His eyes were closed; they hadn’t been open in a decade. You were looking at the frame as if he was sitting in that very chair, enjoying the meal that you had painstakingly made and yet hadn’t even bothered to touch.

“What was the question?” She asked. It wasn’t the first time she had talked with a corpse. Or perhaps it was a ghost? A spirit, maybe?

You smiled the way you normally did. “He asked if you’re enjoying your first family dinner.”

Oh. Of course he had asked that, how preposterous for her to have believed any differently. She should have known what your dead, ghostly brother had asked her. Your eyes stayed on her, and your body gave nothing away. Not even the smallest indication that anything was amiss.

She wished she had gotten to talk with your mother before… her demise.

“It’s-” Wednesday looked at your parents’ mutilated corpses and the delicately plated meals in front of them “-acceptable.”

You nodded and took a sip of wine - from the glass in front of your father - before looking back at the picture. Wednesday could only imagine what was going on in your head at that moment. Perhaps all the trauma had finally broken you. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you had been saying you had heard things, seen things, that you yourself felt like you were going insane.

“Told you,” you mumbled.

Your fork pushed things around on the plate in front of you, but not once did you eat it. The black polish on your nails, which Wednesday had graciously (eagerly) painted, was chipped around the tips. From the elbow down, your arms looked like they would be better suited to some sort of demon.

Or perhaps an Addams.

As you continued to talk to no one but yourself, Wednesday tapped her foot. Every time she picked it up, she could hear the sticky sound it created before she placed it back down gently. You didn’t turn to inquire about her actions. Why didn’t you inquire?

“Oh shit,” you said, pulling Wednesday once again out of her thoughts. “Nicky’s right.” Your eyes rolled. “I forgot Casey and Devan.”

“I’ll get them,” Wednesday said immediately. So quickly, in fact, that she didn’t initially recognise the outburst as her own.

You looked at her with nearly-glowing eyes. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” you said.

“I insist,” she continued, standing up from her chair.

If she inhaled the rising stench one more time, she truly felt she would lose her nerve. Who would have thought? She didn’t easily forget the autopsy date you had set up for her back in Nevermore; one of the most romantic things you could have ever done. This, however… something about this wasn’t right.

You stood up far slower than she had. Patient, deliberate movements. You expertly maneuvered away from the fleshy monstrosity beside you. Nothing else dripped onto your clothes, and if it hadn’t already been stained, she would have been amazed by the impeccably white shirt that she hadn’t remembered you wearing. Each step was precise until you were standing in front of her.

Your eyes were glowing.

“I can get them,” you said softly. “I want you to have a nice night.”

She should have flinched when your dried, itchy, blood covered hand rested on her face. More flakes came off as your thumb rubbed lightly against her cheek. It wasn’t preposterous to assume you had been either witness or perpetrator to the scene she was standing in the middle of. Fear would (and should) have been the most prominent emotion pounding inside her chest.

It wasn’t. All she felt was the warmth of your palm. The spreading warmth in her chest as your eyes roamed her face the way they had back in Nevermore. You were both back in the Addams mausoleum, dancing around your feelings until, for the first (and certainly not the last) time, she felt your lips upon hers. Your wings, ever dusty and protective, wrapped around you until you were both alone in the little cocoon she had come to love.

“You look beautiful tonight,” you said.

Wednesday exhaled harshly through her nose when you leaned down and she finally felt your kiss. Your lips were chapped as usual, and you tasted metallic. She should have been hesitant. But with your wings around her, blocking out the rest of the world, she put it to the back of her mind. Your nails lightly scratched against her cheek, grounding her in the most Addams form of love. She-

-a sharp prick in her abdomen was quickly followed by an inferno.

Her breath caught in her throat. Hands instinctively went to the source of the pain. They were met with a small handle. Your hand never left her cheek. Your wings didn’t part. She looked up and saw the dullness in your eyes once again.

“Stay here,” you said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get Casey and Devan and be right back.”

You leaned in for another kiss that she couldn’t focus on.

“I love you,” you said before finally pulling back away. Your wings parted, and the blinding lights did nothing to distract her from the pain.

Wednesday staggered backwards. She reached out for a chair and felt the back, but when she attempted to sit, it moved. The floor rushed up to meet her, and she let herself fall to her back in the sticky puddle of blood that she was now contributing to.

Her hands gripped the knife handle tighter as the front door clicked shut behind you.

[project-sekai-facts]

Maybe I'm a hater but I feel like expecting clpl to make Mizuki say "Ena I'm transgender I was a boy but now I'm a girl" was a little too much hope for a rhythm game but I did think they'd be more... Subtle, I guess. Like they wouldn't use the words boy or girl or transgender but maybe something like "oh, I wasn't always like this Ena... I wasn't always "cute" (a girl)" but well. What did we expect.

I do think clpl still has the capacity to redeem themselves a little by finally changing Mizuki's boku to either watashi (in hiragana perhaps?) or atashi, if they really wanna make it "feminine". However, I suspect they won't do that, either.

In conclusion, let's throw rocks at clpl <3 I was also wondering, how are the japanese fans reacting to the event?

yeah i kinda didn't think they'd ever say trans outright, but maybe like, a vague description of sorts. and i think the whole idea of "it's a gacha game they would never be that explicit" is kinda void here as well since, they absolutely can, and other games/franchises absolutely do. prsk is much more mainstream than the stuff that is more explicit though, which probably plays a role.

their one source of redemption is probably gonna be hiichan/minoringo dropping something during the talk show or mizuki's ? in bio getting changed, but as for anything in the text it's not exactly looking great. kanade and mafuyu know now, and an and rui already knew, so we've already ticked off most of her closest relationships before her next event. i mean idk really what they're gonna do for mizuki now since she's a year younger than the other n25 characters who are all having arcs about growing up and thinking about uni/jobs, so maybe they will have mizuki6 being about her coming out to people like airi/shizuku/akito/toya etc. i dunno. there's still room to. try and fix things.

as for how jp fans are responding i'm not really sure since i haven't been hanging around the prsk fandom much for the past month, but i've seen a couple tweets about people being dissatisfied about the fact there's no clear resolution to what her secret is. which, yeah it's kinda wack to spend 4 years reminding the audience about mizuki's secret that is one day going to be revealed only to fade to black when the time comes lol. not sure what the most common response is though.

also yes we should throw rocks at clpl. in fact let's do pipebomb #5

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

three gems & a baby

there’s this line that pearl says in three gems and a baby, a flashback that takes place less than a year after rose’s death.

greg: i never glowed when i was a kid.

pearl: we never… were kids.

this line may not seem like it would have more meaning. it’s sad on it’s own, and at the time that this episode is released, rose’s past as pink diamond also hasn’t been revealed yet.

eventually, everyone discovers pearl knew her "a few thousand years" before her colony. steven then returns to homeworld, where pink’s old room has childish coloured drawings of the other diamonds with hostile expressions. we hear white's remarks about pink & see the dark room she’d be locked in.

in change your mind, white scolds who she thinks is pink for "acting like a child." yet, pink was very much a child in a mental way, in a gem way. she was naive, playful, childish. her beliefs also conflicted with the beliefs that her abusers had. she cared for all life, including those deemed inferior, & she was recognized by the pebbles as the one gem who would say thank you. she was still learning a lot about everything, including her skills & passions & powers. the environment she knew since the beginning of her life lacked affection and care. the abuse prevented her from safely exploring & expressing who she was… and that’s besides the fact that gems in general were literally never able to be kids.

those were rose’s early years. the life she knew from the moment she first opened her eyes.

once they start their new lives on earth, rose is naturally fascinated by humans. she’s particularly in awe of the “power” growing up, & inventing who you are. having a childhood.

as a gem, this side of rose would likely be quite perplexing to pearl. rose’s death is sudden and she struggles to grasp why rose chose to have a child at the cost of her life. there are many reasons behind it (some that she refuses to even think about) but she comes to terms with one of the reasons in this episode.

we never were kids.

on earth, pearl + rose have seen colouring books & playgrounds. kids get to act like kids when they mentally are. they grow up and invent who they are on earth, which happens to be rose’s first safe environment that she could only call home long after the trauma she faced on homeworld.

in the early months, pearl alternates between many stages of grief. she knew that rose wouldn’t survive the pregnancy, confirmed by her memory in a single pale rose. sometimes pearl is in denial or she’s angry or bargaining (we see so many stages in this episode alone) but sadness appears to be her main feeling. it’s likely that pearl’s often reflecting on rose’s life. was she happy? how did she feel during this century? did she get enough love? did she have enough good memories?

of course, pearl saying “we never were kids” could very easily be about herself. since the beginning of her life, she was deeply traumatized by homeworld, too.

but pearl tends to put others first. she always prioritized the person she loved, she thought about rose before considering herself. this would be exacerbated by the recent death of rose, too.

aside from that, pearl's love for rose is deeply empathetic, involving caring for & sympathizing with aspects of rose she feels ashamed of.

“she wanted this so much. i just... don't... understand... why! everything should grow, and everything should change, and isn't it so great how it comes so naturally to humans? well, it's not natural for us!”

pearl says this line earlier in the episode, but after she says “we never were kids,” something shifts. the episode ends with everyone, including pearl, looking at steven with hopeful expressions.

she loves rose. she loves her so, so much & she’s struggling to come to terms with the fact that she will never see her again. over the next few thousands of years, she must be so afraid of forgetting the sound of her voice, her laughter.

she barely knows or understands steven, yet she already feels a natural protectiveness toward him. her feelings are complicated, but one thing is clear now: she wants to fulfill rose’s wish. after protecting & caring for rose & wanting to repair the damage caused by her abusers, she now holds that child and knows she’ll be close to him, keep him safe, ensure he never feels as rose did in her early years. he will have the childhood that rose never had, and she’ll be part of it. she wants to be. even if she’s not perfect and even if she doesn’t know much about humans yet.

“pearl is smart, and she always wants to protect me from danger!” — steven, steven the sword fighter

“all that matters is that steven is happy.” — pearl, gem glow

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

simple math

cw. fem!reader, childhood friend au, pre-relationship, dawn island era (ace is a brat)

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

synopsis. the math is simple: ace is cool, so you like him.

notes. oh the beauty of growing up on dawn island, running around mt. corvo. i love you, post-war asl brothers flashback arc. i'll have to rewatch you. again

"Hey, you," Ace's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "What's your deal?"

When you turn to look at him, his characteristic frown is plastered across his face, glaring all the while. It's a strange circle of events, being here in this moment.

Just the other day, what would have been typical of your coming to Mt. Corvo was Ace ignoring you and Luffy for the better part of the day. That spliced with him Tarzan swinging across the trees to avoid you both following him to wherever it was he went all the time. If you really got lucky and it was too late to head back into town, you'd help yourself to staying over at Dadan's much to the bandit's dismay.

"Damn brats keep multiplying by the day," she'd growl, going back and forth between pulling her flame-colored hair and smoking another cigarette. "Go home! We're bandits, not a daycare!"

Still, the bandit and her clan were too nice to kick you out. So you'd remain the rest of night, talking and talking and talking until Ace would snap in irritation for you to shut up. After a few days, you'd actually go home for a few days to tell your grandfather of your most recent attempts at getting Luffy to befriend his angry companion.

Rinse, wash and repeat.

This is all new, however.

Luffy is snoring, belly round with fish and a dope smile on his face and Ace is there. So is another kid ー Sabo, Ace's best friend ー who decided the other day he'd be living at Dadan's from now on. Dadan relented and now all four of you are outside by a lake, no more chasing although a dash of mortal peril still remains considering how Luffy almost got eaten by a crocodile. Again.

Something changed the day you got up the mountain too late to join Luffy in his nth attempt in chasing Ace down. By the time he finally got back, he was battered and bruised. That was consistent. What wasn't consistent, however, were Ace and Sabo's accompaniment also looking as if they'd all come back from a great battle. According to Luffy, there had been.

Now the four of you were all together, a new standard. Grandpa's not gonna believe this! You can't help giggling, wondering how the old man will react. Ace's frown only deepens and you remember you still haven't said anything to answer his question. "Sorry," you say quickly, scratching the back of your head. "I was thinking about my grandpa. What do you mean?"

"It means what I said," Ace squints at you with suspicion. "What's with you? Him I get because he told me," Ace kicks a foot at Luffy's, the younger boy's sleep completely undisturbed. That kid could sleep through anything, you're absolutely positive. "Plus he lives here. I don't get you, though."

You blink, owlishly, not quite understanding what the boy wanted from you. "What don't you get?"

"Why you were chasing me all the time!" Ace snaps, looking much like Dadan with how he clutches his hair. "You don't shut up most of the time, but now you do?!"

Sabo sighs at the freckled boy's reaction, the brim of his top hat covering his eyes for a moment. "Ace," he sighs once more. Rowdy as the blond could be, he's easily the calmer of the two and is constantly donned in your favorite color. You like Sabo, you decide for the millionth time in the past few days.

"Don't you have a reason?!" the wavy-haired boy stares you in equal parts disbelief and distrust.

You cock your head, blinking curiously, "does there have to be?" You find the bony remains of the fish you'd eaten more interesting, continuing your efforts in collecting them. You are a simple child, it doesn't take much for you to be impressed or for someone to make you like them. You figured that's how it was for everybody until you met Ace. Apparently you were wrong.

You like Demarius, Stacey, Pierre and Lisa Lisa so you play with them even if all Demarius wants to play is marines.

You like the sea so you always jump in the water without a second's thought.

You like collecting bones, empty snail shells and whatever else you can get your hands on so you take them home.

It's never been your best subject but the math has always been simple. 'Live freely and happily', that's what your grandfather always told you to do. It's why he didn't mind what you did all day as long as you checked in once in a while. Not that it was necessary because he somehow always seemed to know what you were up to anyway.

As for Ace… you look the boy over with his warm, freckled skin and wild hair. You decide, for the nth time, that you like him. Even if he thinks you talk too much, Ace is probably ー no, no, definitely ー the coolest kid you know. "I like you, you're cool," you say at last and it's nothing for the rest of your words to flow like a river to the ocean. Excitedly, you look at Sabo paying Ace's look of surprise no mind, "you should have seen him before, Sabo," you drop your haul, trying your best to mime someone swinging through the trees. Considering he's known Ace a good five years longer than you, he likely has but you still go through with the motion. "He was like phyoo!"

With a laugh, Sabo nods. "I was the one who taught him that, for the record," he tells you smugly. "I told him about this story I read about a human raised by gorillas and Ace said he wanted to try it. I'm pretty good too."

Puffing your chest, you are happy to tell Sabo you know the story well. "I knew he was being like Tarzan!" You weren't nearly as good at the movement, considering your natural clumsiness. Ace somehow makes it look easy, though. "I'm not that good yet, but it's fine I'm good with-"

"You're such a weirdo," Ace pipes up suddenly and you look over at him. It isn't much of a difference but his brow isn't as furrowed and his shoulders aren't as tense. Maybe one day you'll be friends the way he is with Sabo, you hope so at least.

You wear the title with pride, "heck yeah I'm a weirdo!"

Sabo snickers and Ace pushes him half-heartedly. "Yeah, yeah," the de facto leader of this newly founded quartet grouched on.

[myechoecho]

When the Phone Rings, ep4

Well I guess I was wrong about Sa Eon knowing she can speak. I didn't have any strong feeling about that anyway. He was definitely shocked when he heard her cry and when he saw the police video of her speaking. I don't know what he thinks about that yet, but as for Hee Joo her trauma is deep set. She can only speak when she's alone or with her dad. It was pure rage and betrayal with the kidnapper and honestly she was more talking to herself. The panic attack is bad enough to get her to speak. The phone has been the buffer she needed to actually talk to Sa Eon. The phone has allowed them to be brutally honest with one another.

Sa Eon immediately took care of her father, whom he didn't even know about, moved him to a better nursing home and personally got him settled. Showed her father respect and care, put socks on him and told him that he will personally protect the two of them even though her father is unlikely to understand.

We get to see a flashback of when they met as children. Their mothers were both awful to them in different ways and the two of them were outcasts. I will say that I thought the line "when did you grow up so much" was flat out weird since they are only 2-3 years apart in age.

I loved the interview. I've seen some comments about how Sa Eon is toxic etc but Hee Joo is also kinda a freak. Girl has been obsessively studying his press conferences to the to the point she's not only memorized them all but can actively predict what consonants he will say based on the sounds his tongue makes hits the roof of his mouth (what in the bionic hearing is that??!!). Now Sa Eon knows she's not oblivious to him and thinks this obsession is hot and will obsess on it himself.

I adore the speech he had her interpret that specifically coded for them. That speech laid him bare and I also love how everything else falls away and it's only them. So far that has only happened when they are speaking as 406 and Sa Eon. The other people in the room must have been baffled.

Hee Joo finally gets the opportunity to tell him that he should learn sign language so they can communicate properly. I still don't know why he hasn't but the promo shows that he will learn.

Another thing I was wrong about was Hee Joo being on the other end of the text messages arranging the bride swap. I am now thoroughly confused about the sister. Hee Joo only has the one sister, unless I've completely missed something. Her mother said the Chairman's bio daughter was deaf. I even went back and checked. Sa Eon's father would have definitely thought that being deaf was a flaw so I don't know why he'd want her over the "flawed" Hee Joo. Is In A more nefarious than I thought? I am SO curious about her and how she ties into all of this.

I love how Sa Eon protected Hee Joo from the thrown glass and then put her behind him while his father raged. He kept firm hold of her hand in the elevator, while telling her not to pay them any attention. The comment that "they are the type of people who can easily replace their children" gave me pause though. It makes me wonder if Sa Eon had a sibling who did something and he was forced to be the replacement, similar to Hee Joo.

This show is so good it has two reveals at the end. First we get Hee Joo telling Sa Eon her deepest insecurities. Sa Eon staunchly defends her. He may not know her well, but he does know her. "She's not just supplementary pagers, she's a brand new language" made squeal. Sa Eon finds her on the roof on the phone. We get a flashback and find out that Hee Joo yelled at the police to get them to stop. They told this to Sa Eon, and he gets the video of it. It will take him some time to process it, but I am guessing he knows her mother has something to do with it.

Judging from the promo, Hee Joo will still be mute. But that will start to change. Are they on their way to becoming a power couple that will take down their parents and the kidnappers? Please yes.

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 01: christmas with rhiannon lewis

— summary: your first christmas with rhiannon hcs.

— warnings: mostly just fluff. established relationship. gn!reader. some nsfw below the cut. fem!reader for the nsfw hcs. mdni. based on a request from 🦔 anon.

— a/n: it‘s december 1st, you know what that means….

rhiannon, who used to hate christmas.

growing up, christmas was more of a reminder of what rhiannon didn’t have than a celebration. her dad obviously tried his best, but the lack of warmth from anyone else in her life left her feeling even more lonely than usually. she hated the way other kids would brag about their perfect holidays, their picture-perfect family moments that felt so far out of reach to her. her kill lists, around that time of the year, mostly consisted of everyone who’s even remotely excited for christmas: the people who work at the supermarket and start putting up christmas decor mid-october. the tourists who come for the holidays and make going out a living hell. the coworkers who care enough to organize a mini christmas party that i will have to attend to…

rhiannon, who still hates christmas when you come into her life.

she might even openly scoff at your initial attempts to bring up christmas plans to her. “it’s all a load of crap, isn’t it? people pretending to be nice for a few weeks when they’re awful the rest of the year”. “not much of a christmas person?” you ask in return. your joyful tone is irritating her already. she’s been avoiding the holiday whenever possible; no decorations, no presents, not even festive movies. but that was all before you.

rhiannon, who actually changes her mind because of you.

the first time she reluctantly agrees to celebrate christmas with you, rhiannon is wary to say the least. she’s convinced it’ll either be over-the-top, fake, or just another day of her feeling like an outsider in someone else’s happiness. by then, you’ve obviously figured out why rhiannon hates christmas so much and you’re determined to change her mind. you’re careful with your plans, though, wanting to make her feel comfortable rather than overwhelmed. whether it’s a quiet evening for just the two of you or inviting her to your family’s celebration, you make it clear that she’s not a guest: she’s part of everything.

decorating the whole house with rhiannon.

when you show up with a large stack of boxes on her doorstep in late november, rhiannon tries to talk you out of the idea the second she spots tinsel poking out of one of them. “it’s not even december yet” she cries as you carry them down the hall. you just hush her and set them down. “it’s almost december”. regardless of her first reluctance, she’s surprisingly easy to convince, thanks to your enthusiasm. within minutes, she’s tangled in christmas lights, grumbling about how “this better not end up on your instagram.” turns out that rhiannon takes decorating surprisingly seriously, adjusting ornaments until they’re “just right” and pretending she doesn’t care when she actually loves the process. you catch her smiling as she hangs a particularly sparkly ornament, feeling like a kid all over again. in the end, the whole house looks more festive and lively than she has ever seen. (which lowkey heals her inner child <33)

also: getting rhiannon an advent calendar!!

you surprise her with an advent calendar on the last day of november. at first, rhiannon doesn’t get the point of it. “what’s the big deal? it’s just chocolate” by day 3, she’s fully invested, and you catch her sneaking ahead to open more than one door at a time. if the calendar has little trinkets or personalized notes, she gets flustered but cherishes each one. by the time she realizes you’ve put so much thought into it, she’s hooked and already begs you for another one next year!

christmas shopping with rhiannon.

well she’s obviously the type who will roll her eyes at the sight of overly commercialized christmas displays, muttering something under her breath about how “it’s just a cash grab” or how “no one actually needs a twelve-foot inflatable santa” and, sure, she’s got a point but she does enjoy getting presents for you!! rhiannon genuinely wants to make christmas special for you, even if she doesn’t say it outright. present shopping, though? now that’s a whole ordeal. it’s been ages since she’s shopped for someone she truly cared about, and the pressure is on. she overthinks every little decision. if you go shopping together, she drags you to every possible store to “just look” but you know she’s subtly trying to figure out what stuff you like the most so she can surprise you later. as you browse the aisles, you notice the way her eyes flicker to everything you touch or linger on a little too long. when she finally picks one out for you and hands it to you later, you obviously end up loving it! that’s only when her worried expression turns into the softest, most genuine smile. “see? told you i’m good at this!”

speaking of going out together: christmas markets with rhiannon!

rhiannon grumbles the entire way to the market, hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets as she complains about how crowded it’s going to be. “do we really have to do this? it’s just overpriced junk and pushy people,” she mutters, though she doesn’t stop walking beside you. still, you’re determined to give her the whole couple’s christmas experience. rhiannon does change her mind, kind of, when you reach your destination; surrounded by twinkling fairy lights and the warm smell of roasted chestnuts, her eyes betray her. she keeps up her indifferent act at first, sticking close to your side and offering sarcastic commentary about the stalls. but then she spots a table filled with handmade ornaments or vintage trinkets (or maybe sylvanian families…) and suddenly she’s not so aloof anymore. when you finally stop for hot chocolate, rhiannon insists she’s only getting one because it’s freezing, not because she actually wants it. but the way she lights up when they hand her a cup piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles says otherwise.

baking christmas cookies with rhiannon.

you obviously have to convince rhiannon to bake cookies with you, and though she claims she’s “not a baker,” she quickly gets competitive about who can decorate their cookies better. tink would probably constantly get in the way, trying to steal a bite, and rhiannon has to put her back down to the floor time and time again. also: from the moment you start, rhiannon makes it clear that she’s not taking this as seriously. she insists on tasting the dough (“quality control,” she claims with a wink as she dips her finger into the bowl) and keeps sneaking bites until you swat at her hand. she might even flick flour at you if you ever try to scold her for it. when the cookies finally go into the oven, the chaos settles. you sit on the counter, letting your legs dangle as the warm scent of cinnamon and sugar fills the air. rhiannon leans against the counter between your knees, her hands lightly resting on your thighs as you talk and laugh. suddenly, and with no warning, she leans up and kisses you, her lips warm and sweet from the dough she’s been sneaking. “now, what was that for?” you ask, a little breathless and smiling against her mouth. rhiannon shrugs. “my reward for all my hard work, obviously”

rhiannon who’s terrible at wrapping presents.

and when i say terrible i mean it! she might know how to work her way around knives but give her a roll of tape and wrapping paper, and suddenly she’s out of her depth. the tape ends up everywhere but where it’s supposed to go and the wrapping paper is a mess: there’s tape stuck to her fingers, uneven cuts of paper barely covering the gift, and an entire corner left exposed. at least her effort is endearing. also rhiannon who lowkey gets so unnecessarily angry at the wrapping paper and/or the tape (probably both, let’s be real). when the tape decides to stick to itself instead of where it’s supposed to go, rhiannon snaps, tossing the mangled roll onto the table with a growl. “stupid piece of- why does anyone even do this?!”you have to turn away so she won’t see you giggling…it’s simply too endearing to watch someone so capable be so thoroughly defeated by something as mundane as wrapping paper. when she starts yelling at the paper itself, calling it “cheap” (amongst other words starting with c) and accusing it of conspiring against her, you can’t hold it in anymore. you turn away, this time, biting your lip to keep from laughing out loud, but rhiannon catches you anyway. “oh, you think this is funny, huh?” she snaps, crossing her arms. when you finally face her, your giggles spilling out, she can’t help but crack a smile. “maybe i should just leave the gift unwrapped,” she grumbles, handing you the mess in defeat. “here. you do it. i’ll just…supervise” and supervise she does: leaning over your shoulder, her chin resting on top of your head, as you salvage her disaster. every so often, she’ll mumble something about how ridiculous the whole tradition is and how she’ll dig up the grave of whoever invented it to kill them all over again.

rhiannon’s reaction to being genuinely spoiled for the first time though <33

she doesn’t expect you to get her anything: she’s not used to people going out of their way for her. at first, she hesitates, eyes scanning the gifts with a look of disbelief, like they’re some kind of elaborate joke. rhiannon crosses her arms, giving you an almost embarrassed smile. “you didn’t have to do all that for me,” she mutters, her voice low and uncertain. she looks almost as though she expects the presents to vanish if she reaches for them, like she isn’t allowed to accept something so genuine. her expression softens more and more as she opens each gift. whether it’s something practical, sentimental, or simply ridiculous, she’ll treasure it all the same because it came from you! (also; getting her a new set of knives??)

bringing rhiannon to your family’s annual christmas celebration!!

she’s stiff at first, unsure how to fit in and overwhelmed with the idea of not knowing what to do and how to act. but when she sees how warmly they welcome her, it’s clear that she’s not used to this kind of genuine affection. she might even retreat to another room for a moment to collect herself, embarrassed at how emotional she feels. when you find her there, hiding in your childhood bedroom, you’re so worried at first. “we can go” you offer, already reaching for your coat. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know this would be too much for you”. “no” rhiannon assures, gently shaking her head. “no, it’s not. it’s just- everyone’s so nice. i always thought it was just…for other people. not me” you reassure her that this isn’t a one-time thing: this is her new normal now. rhiannon belongs here, with you, and you’ll make every christmas just as special for her!! <3

rhiannon and all the small, sweet moments leading up to christmas.

on cold nights, she’ll always insist you take her coat or scarf to keep warm. people are not the only dangers rhiannon will keep you safe from. other nights, after a long day, the two of you sit together, gluing glitter onto homemade ornaments for the tree. rhiannon’s ornaments end up a little…wonky (some are lopsided, others are more glitter than wood) but they’re hers, and that’s all that matters. you also notice that she, despite her insistence that she “hates christmas music,” begins to hum along with the songs playing on the radio as you decorate the tree. she tries to cover it up too but you definitely caught that line of “last christmas” slipping from her lips. you also surprise her by getting some stupid santa hat for tink. at first, she rolls her eyes and calls it stupid, but the sight of her little dog in festive gear has her quietly giggling.

— some nsfw below. mdni.

surprising rhiannon with a christmassy lingerie set.

as cliche as she might find it at first, her mouth does water at the sight of you when you call her into the bedroom, where she finds you in a lacy, red lingerie set. it clings to your body just right and the thin fabric leaves little to her imagination. “merry christmas. you grin at her. “i thought you might like this. a little something for the occasion…” you’ve got one hand propped up on your hip, the other beckoning her over. god, she doesn’t have to be told twice; instantly tumbling towards the bed to join you. that night, rhiannon is all over you, taking her sweet time to take each lacy item off as she runs her hands all over your body. “it’s like unwrapping a present” she grins sheepishly as she kisses down your stomach, fingers teasingly brushing underneath the lacy hemline and pressing against your clit before dragging the panties down with her teeth.

rhiannon who uses christmas as an opportunity to gift you new things to try out.

maybe it’s her first time trying out strap-on sex. she’d be so shy to bring it up, blushing furiously while her hand is fumbling with the bag in which she keeps her purchase. “we don’t have to” she mumbles nervously. “i just thought it could be- eh- fun”. you roll your eyes affectionately, taking the bag from her to finally see what she’s keeping inside. your jaw drops a little bit when you pull out the dildo, a bottle of lube and a harness. “look-” rhiannon says quickly “we can just pretend this never happened if you don’t like it, okay?” but you do like it. so much, in fact, that you have to put it on her immediately and the two of you spend christmas eve in bed together, trying out various new positions: you suck rhiannon off for the very first time, and she finally gets what all the hype was about when she sees you on your knees before her, running her fingers through your hair as you choke on the strap. then, she asks you to ride her. and this time, she actually has both hands free to do whatever while she can watch you bounce, which rhiannon makes good use of: she roams your whole body, eagerly groping your breasts, holding your hips and rubbing your clit. by the end of the night, you’re shaking all over and fall asleep in her arms.

post celebration sex with rhiannon.

when you fall into bed together after a long, but great day of festivities, you’re both way too full of pent-up energy to go to sleep. instead, you use the other as an outlet for said energy: you go from cuddling lovingly, to slowly grinding against each other underneath the thick blankets, warming up in the freezing cold room. slowly kissing down her body or having her sit on your face, giggling quietly when your old bed won’t stop squeaking with every single move, in spite of your attempts to be quiet. literally worshipping every inch of her skin your mouth can reach, showing her just how grateful you are that she came along and that she’s here with you now.

food play with rhiannon guys…

it’s another one of those times when she uses christmas as an excuse to get something new: she buys an insane amount of those chocolates, knowing that she will enjoy it and that, if you’re not down for it, she’ll probably eat it either way. you, however, are very much down for it, as it turns out. it’s an odd sensation, at first, when rhiannon begins to pour the melted chocolate down your belly. it makes you shiver a little bit and she puts a hand on your waist steadily. “everything okay?” she asks, always careful with trying new stuff. “mhm” you whisper, arching your back up. rhiannon takes it as a sign and carefully puts her mouth on you. she’s kissing down the entire expanse of your stomach, licking off the sweetness as she goes. it’s a new feeling, to say the least, but not one you dislike. rhiannon hums happily, broad tongue pressing against your skin. maybe she puts it on your chest next, swirling her tongue around your nipples to get everything off of your skin, not even realizing that -at this point- you need more than just her mouth on your torso, and that you’re bucking your hips because it feels so good yet not enough.

— masterlist

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 97 (Cherished Friendships)

Conrad tried to make breakfast for his hosts while a familiar light rain drizzled outside, but Neal rushed into the kitchen to stop him. "It's an old stove. Real finnicky," he insisted. "Maybe you should let someone else do that. Heather, maybe."

"It's no trouble. I had a stove like this growing up," said Conrad, but Neal shook his head.

"It's not a good idea."

Daisy shook her head with a gentle chuckle. "Don't let him scare you. He's just trying to scam a meal out of his daughter now that she's as good as any gourmet chef."

They all knew it was more than that, but they went along with the excuse because it was easier that way. "It's not like I'm making anyone ambrosia," Heather said. There was nothing special about her scrambled eggs and bacon, but she took over at the stove while Conrad hung out with sleepy Lavender, instead.

The early morning rains let up and the sun came out, so Heather and Conrad next headed to Old New Henford, where Everett, Spencer, and their children had settled well into the mild winter season - at least it was more seasonal than their last home in Oasis Springs.

"Greyson, say hello to your godmother, Heather."

"Hi, Heather," he said cheerily. "Hey! You have glasses, too!"

"I told you she did." Spencer looked apologetically at her old friend. "He just got glasses recently and was feeling insecure, so I was trying to tell him all the awesome people I know who rock glasses."

"Your glasses look really good, Greyson. The bright red is so cool!" Heather wasn't lying to him about his glasses, though she played up the excitement to help Spencer convince him to embrace this change in his appearance. "I've had glasses for pretty much as long as I can remember, and I love wearing them. If I looked as cool as you, I'd love them even more!"

Seven-year-old Greyson smiled up at Heather. "You look pretty cool," he said, before running off to play on the monkey bars in their backyard.

Heather watched firsthand the bond between Spencer and her sons. Especially four-year-old Jett, who was Heather's biological child, but was treated the same as his siblings. He followed Spencer everywhere and loved making everyone laugh. "I seriously don't know why you doubt yourself, Spence," Heather gushed. "You're an incredible mom."

They also met Everett and Spencer's third little miracle - a daughter they named Violet. She was about six months younger than Lavender, with big blue eyes like her mother.

"I hope you don't mind that their names are so similar," said Spencer. "I've just always loved the name and I thought maybe the girls might grow up to be friends as close as we are. If that happens, their names are a perfect set!"

Heather smiled at the thought. "I think Violet's name is perfect, and I'd love for her and Lavender to have as many adventures together as we have!"

"I'm still planning to take you to Selvadorada with me next time, if you can get away."

Heather nodded. "And I'm still planning to get away, as long as business stays as manageable as its been lately!"

Everett's father Bob stopped by to say hello, and Heather thought to ask him about Agnes and Agatha. "How does it feel seeing clones of your dead mothers walk around town?"

He laughed. "It was hard to get used to, but now it comforts me whenever I see them. They're together forever, just like they wanted to be."

They left for San Myshuno after leaving the Pancakes' after lunch, picking up Ash from the Landgraabs' penthouse before stopping in to visit with Heather's old friend, Dylan Richards, and her family. Pearl was a year and a half older than Ash, but their mothers were happy to see them get along.

"You can do my math homework?"

Ash shrugged. "It's not that hard. Just numbers."

"I don't like numbers," Pearl complained. "I prefer dancing, but every time I want to practice, Darrell gets in the way!" Pearl's toddler brother perked up from the sofa at the mention of his name. "Be glad you have sisters. Little brothers are so annoying!"

Pearl's father, Gavin, chuckled. "He just wants to spend time with his big sister, sweetheart. He loves you!"

"Why can't he love me and be less annoying?" she moaned.

Gavin took Darrell into the hall to help him use up some of his energy, and by now, Lavender was struggling. It had been days since she'd been in her own crib and felt the familiar surroundings of their home in Brindleton Bay. Though she'd been her wiggly, happy self for most of the weekend, she was fading fast.

Heather had hoped to stop in to see Holly and Kris' daughter, Betta, who was only a few weeks younger than Lavender, but Heather and Conrad knew it was time to head home.

(Look at that face. She would not stand being passed around for cuddles in one more stranger's arms this day!)

They knew they'd see Heather's youngest niece during the Winterfest holidays, but they still had a few weeks of work left until the festive season. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Did I give Heather and Everett's children all colour names? Yes I did. Am I plotting something? Maybe. Will we know what that is for years? No. 😂 Did plotting encourage me to give Violet a better outfit than the default medieval cc dress and bucket hat she aged up in? Also no.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I just think the show would have been better if they skipped the romance entirely. Why making the two main characters have romance? Show that a boy and a girl who's great friends don't need to end up together. If people still shipped them, it wouldn't be as big of a deal. Shipping is for fun after all.

And imagine them knowing eachother's identities from the start. No more will they won't they. Plus I could see Marinette helping Adrien with kagami. Like making the right outfit or even give advice on how to act. And ofcourse teasing him. Same with Adrien helping Marinette with Luka. But being more gentle and saying to just go for it. Go with the feeling. And still teasing.

(plus if the creators could, change the love interests. Yes I ship lukadrien and marigami)

I'm just saying. Then being great friends would be a lot better than what we actually got.

I personally love the concept of the love square and I'm a sucker for a cute romance, so I want it to be in the show. That being said, I still think you have a point. A romance plot is not a great fit for a formula show because good healthy romance* is all about letting the relationship develop and grow while formula shows are all about nothing ever changing.

That's a fundamental mismatch and there's really no way to work past it unless you do something like the Kim Possible route where the characters are just friends with no romantic undertones until things suddenly shift during a tie-in movie. Subtle romantic tension is also a thing, but a poor fit for Miraculous given its intended age group and the fact that subtle growing tension is usually used in formula shows that have somewhat formulaic plots, but allow for more serialized character development. For an example of that, think of basically any mainstream mystery series where every episode solves a crime while also developing the characters.

It's become pretty clear to me that the Kim Possible path is probably the only way that the love square could have worked in canon. Let them be close friends with a meaningful bond until it's time to let things shift and make dating the new status quo. Of course, that's much less dramatic than canon, but of course it is! Formula shows tend to be characterized by minimal drama because every episode stands alone, making overarching plots nearly impossible and you need solid overarching plots for drama to work.

*While it's not my preference, there's nothing wrong with enjoying unhealthy romance in fiction. However, I will die on the hill that unhealthy romance has no place in shows aimed at young children and that's what Miraculous is, so even thought my general stance is ship and let ship, that doesn't really apply here.

[wilcze-kudly]

One thing I'm realising about a good chunk of the avatar fandom is that they need to be hand held through every development in the entire franchise. Like I've had my suspicions for a while but the reactions to the new Mai comic really cement it for me.

There's this odd aversion to understanding that characters will grow and change. And even if the building blocks for a character's growth are set up earlier, so many people seme unable to extrapolate that potential + time = change.

I think part of the reason to this is that the most prominent character growth arc in the franchise is Zuko's. And it's a very well crafted storyline, but it is also very much spoonfed to us. Not just by us getting to go into Zuko's pov but even having Iroh helpfully narrate and explain what the fuck is going on in Zuko's world at the moment.

And I think this is why a lot of the fandom expects changes to the characters to be these explicitly shown, overtly prominent, dramatic affairs, perferably narrated by a conveniently placed old man. But Zuko's arc was quintessential to a deeper plot, and it had the drama and structure one would expect of a solid storyline. But this won't ring true for all characaters.

Taking Mai's character growth from the apathetic teenage girl who is resentful to the more established young woman who possesses more agency and seemingly has developed more radical views for example.

I've made a long ass post on this, so I won't bore you with the details, but the crux of Mai's character is that she was restricted and handled for most if not all of her life for multiple different reasons.

But at the end of the show, most of those reasons are removed. And this would, as you can imagine, trigger a change in the charcter.

But Mai's change wouldn't be like Zuko's, wouldn't involve wandering a foreign land, running a teashop and having allergic reactions to good decisions. Mai's arc would be her going about a normal life in that flowershop, learning to see the world from a different perspective and looking back at events and systems from her childhood and going "huh. That was fucked up."

And with the comic book format being much more streamlined, this just wouldn't cut it as a compelling plot, because it would basically be a less dramatic version of Zuko's deprogramming. But it doesn't have to. Because we have all the puzzle pieces. Hell, even the comic preview spells it out for us with this obvious metaphor.

I'm just surprised how many people seem to have such an averison to not having every plot point spelled out witg big bold letters. How many people won't go through the simple process of engaging with a piece of media rather than just consuming it.

And I don't mean to grandstand or act like I'm better than the fandom for doing something as simple as not reacting negatively to a slight shift in the fictional status quo.

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (3)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Just keep letting me cook ok?

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

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

Word Count: 4.4k

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

_________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn,” Jinx muttered, her brows lifting.

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

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

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

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

Sevika frowned. “Her who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s not like the others.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

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

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

Vi’s brows knit together. “Her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caitlyn glanced up, frowning. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi frowned. “Taken where?”

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The voices in her head returned, louder this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

But luck wasn’t on your side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caitlyn.

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

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

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

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

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

They froze at her tone.

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

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

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

The tension in the air was palpable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s the truth,” you shot back.

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

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

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

_______________

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

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Chordata - Reptilia

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Reptilia is a class of tetrapods that includes Rhynchocephalia (an order that dates back to the Middle Triassic, but is today only represented by one species: the Tuatara), Squamata (lizards and snakes), Testudines (turtles), and Archosauria (crocodilians and birds).

Reptiles have four limbs (two of which evolved into wings in birds and some of which were lost in snakes and some lizards). Most species lay eggs, though some squamates give live birth. Reptile eggs are surrounded by membranes for protection and transport, which adapt them to reproduction on dry land. Rhynchocephalians, squamates, and turtles have a three-chambered heart, while archosaurs have a four-chambered heart. Non-avian reptiles all exhibit some form of cold-bloodedness, and have limited physiological means of keeping a constant body temperature, often relying on external sources of heat. Many reptiles have lungs that are ventilated almost exclusively by the axial musculature: the same musculature that is used during locomotion. Because of this, most squamates are forced to hold their breath while running. Crocodilians, birds, monitor lizards, and iguanas have a muscular diaphragm that is analogous to the mammalian diaphragm, freeing space for the lungs to expand. How turtles and tortoises breathe has been the subject of much study, with varied results indicating they have found a variety of solutions to this problem. Reptilian skin is covered in a horny epidermis, making it watertight and enabling reptiles to live on dry land, in contrast to amphibians. This skin can be protected by scales, scutes, or feathers (which are modified scales). Reptiles shed their skin through a process called ecdysis which occurs continuously throughout their lifetime. Meanwhile birds moult their feathers, usually once or twice a year and not all at once. Reptiles usually have excellent vision, allowing them to detect shapes and motions at long distances. Birds, crocodiles and turtles have three types of photoreceptor, which give them sharp color vision and enables them to see ultraviolet light. Rhynchocephalians and many squamates also have a photosensory organ on the top of their heads called the parietal eye, which cannot form images, but is sensitive to changes in light and dark and can detect movement. Some snakes have extra sets of sensory organs in the form of heat-sensitive pits. Most reptiles possess a nictitating membrane, a translucent third eyelid which is drawn over the eye from the inner corner. In crocodilians, it protects the eyeball surface while allowing for vision underwater. However, many squamates lack eyelids, which are instead replaced by a transparent scale. This is called the brille, and it protects the eyes from dust and dirt. Living reptiles range in size from the Jaragua Dwarf Gecko (Sphaerodactylus ariasae) which can grow up to 17 mm (0.7 in) to the Saltwater Crocodile (Crocodylus porosus) which can reach over 6 m (19.7 ft) in length and weigh over 1,000 kg (2,200 lb).

The earliest known proto-reptiles originated from the Carboniferous period, with the earliest known eureptile ("true reptile") being Hylonomus from the Late Carboniferous. As stated above, Rhynchocephalians first appeared in the Middle Triassic. Megachirella, a stem-squamate, lived in the Middle Triassic as well, though more modern squamates, like Cryptovaranoides, are not seen until the Late Triassic. Turtles are not seen until the Late Jurassic, though stem-group turtles are found from the Middle Jurassic. Pseudosuchians date back to the Early Triassic and dinosaurs to the Late Triassic. However, crocodilians (the last remaining group of pseudosuchians) and birds (the last remaining group of dinosaurs) are both more recent, originating in the Cretaceous.

Propaganda under the cut:

For centuries, reptiles and amphibians were treated as the same class of animals, with the words even used interchangeably. It wasn’t until the beginning of the 19th century that it was understood that reptiles and amphibians were very different groups of animal. However, reptiles and amphibians are still studied under the same branch: Herpetology.

Since herbivorous reptiles do not have chewing teeth like mammals, many species swallow rocks and pebbles (called gastroliths or “gizzard stones” in birds) to aid in digestion: The rocks are washed around in the stomach, helping to grind up plant matter. Saltwater Crocodiles also use gastroliths as ballast, stabilizing them in the water or helping them to dive.

Some reptiles are capable of reproducing via parthenogenesis, in which the embryo develops directly from an egg without need for fertilization. The New Mexico Whiptail (Aspidoscelis neomexicanus) is most famous for this, being an all-female species. Other all-female or almost all-female species include the Mourning Gecko (Lepidodactylus lugubris), Indo-pacific Gecko (Hemidactylus garnotii), some other Whiptails (Cnemidophorus), Caucasian Rock Lizards (Darevskia), and the Brahminy Blindsnake (Indotyphlops braminus). While not the primary means of reproduction, parthenogenesis has also been observed occurring in Komodo Dragons (Varanus komodoensis), Argus Monitors (Varanus panoptes), boas, pythons, filesnakes, gartersnakes, pit vipers, Domestic Turkeys (Meleagris gallopavo domesticus), Domestic Chickens (Gallus domesticus), Domestic Pigeons (Columba livia domestica), a California Condor (Gymnogyps californianus), and one American Crocodile (Crocodylus acutus). This most often happens in human care when the reptile does not have access to a male, but it has been observed occurring in the wild as well.

While most birds are well-known for being caring parents, some non-avian reptiles also parent their young. Crocodilians make large nests for their eggs, guard the nests, and then carry the babies in their mouths to the water once they hatch. Male Gharials (Gavialis gangeticus) will guard the nests of communal hatching sites, even taking interest in the juveniles and carrying them around on their back. Pythons incubate their eggs by coiling around them, “shivering” to generate heat. Many rattlesnakes, which give live birth, will stay with their young until their first shed.

Meanwhile, Megapodes are a family of birds that build large mounds to incubate their eggs and then leave them, taking the sea turtle approach. Their chicks eventually dig themselves out of the mounds and are able to run, pursue prey and, in some species, fly on the day they hatch. The Maleo (Macrocephalon maleo) is a megapode which buries its eggs in volcanic soil or sandy beaches, allowing the sun or geothermal energy to incubate its eggs.

Some birds, particularly corvids and parrots, are intelligent to the level of young humans, being able to use tools, solve puzzles, do math, plan for the future, and make decisions as a group.

There’s like a million other things I could say here, but I’d hopefully like to save some for if this class makes it to the next round!

[arvandus]

Ok more thoughts on Dabi’s ending…

Like I’m not even mad about him dying, honestly. I get that his story has always been one riddled in tragedy. I love tragic characters so tragic endings sorta come with the package (still crying over the ending for Loki season 2).

I appreciate, from a literary standpoint, the impact of dying by one’s own rage. Of letting that hurt and anger literally consume you until there’s practically nothing left of you. I see that that is what they were going for with him, and that part is FINE. Sad as fuck, but not shocking, not surprising.

The issue I have with it is the context and overall messaging. The fact that Dabi dies but Endeavor doesn’t; I’m not even saying that Enji needed to die, and he does get permanently injured and has to give up hero work. BUT the fact that Enji, the abuser and the source of so many people’s pain, not only lives but gets to still have the support of at least some of his family (Natsuo, I love you baby!) leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I think it’s because I’ve never found Enji’s redemption very convincing. I’m not saying this in a “he’s evil and has no soul” sort of way, but it’s more in the fact that his actions have always been rooted in cowardice and ego. The fact that Enji gives up being a hero because he got injured in battle rather than giving up being a hero willingly because it was the very thing that made him so toxic and awful to begin with… meh. Not to mention he still had his son face off with his other son instead of confronting him directly. He still dilly dallied and never went searching for Touya after their initial conflict and reveal even though Shouto wanted to. That’s what I mean when I say Enji’s redemption was half-assed. He was too much of a coward and too focused on being a hero to the masses instead of being a father to his children and that never changed for him. So did he realize what he did in the past was wrong? Yes. Did he feel bad about it? Sure. Did he take the appropriate steps to right past wrongs? No. No he fucking didn’t. Too little, too late.

But it’s not just about Enji. It’s also the hopelessness that’s communicated by Shouto failing to save his brother and never have soba with him in the end. And it’s a message of hopelessness that’s communicated with Toga and Shigaraki’s deaths as well. I don’t know if they we’re going for a “loss of innocence/you can’t save everyone” sort of vibe as a part of the student characters growing up into adults, but it still just made it all feel sort of… pointless in the end. And that pointlessness was emphasized even more by how unmoved they all seemed to be in the aftermath/ending of the story. Not really much mourning, not really much regret. Add to that that the overall status quo seems to be maintained, and really it feels as if nothing has changed; nothing has gotten better (even though supposedly it has??).

I dunno. Take what I say with a grain of salt cuz I haven’t read the ending and I’ve gotten the info from tumblr screenshots. But I’m tired and don’t have it in me to pick it back up again. If the characters are going to die, that’s fine, but make it meaningful, make it worth it, make it cataclysmic in the ushering in of a better world. Give me systems of support within the society to help people in need, people with dangerous quirks. Give me a dismantling of the popularity aspect of heroism, because a system built on the monetization and entertainment cannot also be a moral system. Show me how you’re addressing the toxicity of hero worship, how you’re dismantling the pedestals so that quirkless children aren’t bullied and heroes aren’t driven to madness in the fight to the top.

If you can’t give me those things, then what’s the point. It’s just more of the same. Your story gave us nothing.