#fighting for a Piltover that is as fine as they claim

[immortalthing]

[madebycloud]

You're here that's the thing

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: home isn't a four walls and a roof nor the material things that fill in it. it's the warmth in jinx's eyes whenever she smiles at you, it's the little hands clinging to your shirt as they cross the street. home is right here. (requested by anon) warnings/themes: FLUFF!! domestic ig, vulnerability (???), slight angsty at the end but happy ending <3 words: 5.5k notes: i'm glad nothing bad happened at the ending and they all live happily ever after :D

You're chowing down on a steaming bowl of seafood at Jericho's. Every bite is a savory delight, justifying your claim that this is Zaun's finest eatery. 

A hooded figure quietly slides into the seat beside you, revealing familiar blue hair when they pull their hood back. Unfazed, you continue eating.

“Bad day?” you say, and the blue-haired person helps themselves to a seafood from your bowl without a word.

Life in Zaun is tough, especially after Silco's death, leaving room for chem barons to fight for power. What's new?

Then, a kid catches your eye. You nudge Jinx. “Who's that?” You nod at the kid in the far corner. 

Jinx, casually munching on your seafood, just shrugs, “Dunno. She's been following me.”

You stop eating and look over at the young girl who's been staring at you both, squinting at her as your gaze shifts back to Jinx. She takes notice of your questioning look and quickly says, “She's not mine,” before taking another bite of seafood.

You roll your eyes at Jinx and then turn to the kid. “You hungry, kiddo?” you call out, gesturing towards the seat beside you.

She hops up onto the stool, though it's a bit high for her and you help her up. You order her a bowl of seafood like you and Jinx were having. She begins eating, her hands stuffing her face.

“So, kid, where's your parents, guardians? Shouldn't you be with them?” But her silence persists, her big, curious eyes locked onto yours.

You and Jinx finish your food and pay Jericho, walking out into the bustling lanes with the young girl in tow. Turning to Jinx, you shrug. “Can she stay with us?” 

Jinx looks at the child and back at you. “Do we even have a room for her?”

Weighing your options, you consider the practical aspect. The answer is likely a ‘no’, but with the environment of Zaun, leaving a child alone on the streets seems far from safe.

“She could use your room,” you suggest, glancing ahead. “I mean, you found her first.”

But Jinx isn't having it. “Nah, you're the one who brought it up, so it's your room.”

You and your parents once owned a house. Thanks to the all and mighty Piltover enforcers who played a role in your parents' disappearance, leaving the house unoccupied. Seeing an opportunity, you claimed the house, not only for yourself but also for your close friend who, without it, would have nowhere to sleep comfortably.

“It's my house.”

“Our house,” she corrects, smirking. “Considering most of the stuff there comes from me, it's not just yours. So that means–”

“By ‘comes from you,’ do you mean the stuff you've stolen?” Your brow furrows as you stop in your tracks, planting your hands on your hips as you stare at her.

Jinx shrugs nonchalantly, her smirk still present. “Finders keepers.”

You sigh, knowing you're not winning this argument, especially not in the middle of the street with people starting to watch. “Fine,” you relent. “She can sleep in my room. I'll take the couch.”

You crouch down to meet the kid's gaze, Jinx standing beside you with her arms crossed. “What's your name, little one?” you ask, but the child remains wordless, those big eyes staring back at you.

You glance at Jinx for help, but she's already thinking of names. “How about Pompom?”

The kid wrinkles her nose at the idea.

“Or maybe Pinky?” Jinx continues, grinning. “Or Sparkles!”

“How about ‘Isha’?” you suggest.

The moment the name leaves your lips, the child's eyes light up.

“Isha it is then.”

Jinx, a bit pouty, muttering under her breath, “She likes ‘Isha’ more, huh? Figures, it came from you.”

“What? It's a nice name,” you raise an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah, whatever.” She turns to Isha, poking the girl on the nose. “Well, Isha, you're stuck with us now.”

Isha's eyes dart between you and Jinx. “More like we're the ones who are stuck with her,” you reply, chuckling, as you playfully ruffle the girl's hair.

—

It's been a full month since Isha started living under the same roof.  You catch Jinx making her hold a gun, teaching her how to shoot.

You scoff, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously, Jinx?”

Both Jinx and Isha look up at you, equally undeterred. “What? It's a fake gun,” Jinx defends herself.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “That's not the point, Jinx. She's just a kid.”

“Pft, ‘just’ a kid.” Jinx rolls her eyes, clearly not understanding your concern. “It's harmless, I promise. Just a little fun.”

“If you're looking for something fun…” You reach into your bag and pull out a coloring book and colored markers. “I found these in the lanes,” you explain, offering the items to Isha. “Much better than play-shooting,” you suggest, giving a pointed look to Jinx before she can protest.

She watches as Isha's face lights up, her attention quickly shifting to the coloring book and markers. “But…” Jinx starts. 

“No buts, Jinx. She's coloring now.”

Jinx lets out a sigh, clearly dissatisfied, but she doesn't protest further. She pouts, leaning back against a wall as she watches Isha happily coloring in.

You join Isha, sitting next to her. Her young hands grip the markers tightly as she fills the pages with colors.

“Making something nice?” you ask, peering over her shoulder to see her work.

Isha nods, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she carefully adds some color. She glances at you, offering a shy smile before returning to her drawing.

Once Isha is finished with her drawing, she proudly holds it up for you and Jinx to see. The drawing shows three stick figures on a bright blue sky. The two tallest figures, with one that has what looks like braids, are holding hands with the small one in the middle. The three figures smile under the sun.

“Wow, look at that! It's us, all together.”

 Jinx, though reluctant at first, can't help but crack a smile too.

She leans in closer, “Why are my eyes so big?” She snickers, pointing at the comically large eyes drawn on her figure.

You laugh along with Jinx, pointing to a comical squiggly line drawn below your feet in the picture. “And what's that supposed to be, hm?” Isha giggles, a blush creeping up her face.

“It's your shadow, duh,” Jinx quips back. 

“In that case, my shadow looks like it ate too much and grew extra limbs.”

“Well, if your shadow's a glutton, mine's got tentacles.” She points to her shadow drawing, which indeed looks like it has several wriggly appendages attached to it.

“You know, I think this is wall-worthy,” you grin, holding up the drawing. “What do you think, Isha? Do you want to put this on the wall?”

You turn to Isha, who nods excitedly, clapping her hands together. 

You hand the drawing to Isha, who eagerly takes it to the wall. You follow her, lifting her up slightly so she can stick the drawing against the wall. She smooths out any wrinkles and carefully adjusts it until she's satisfied.

“Ta-da!” you say, as the drawing now has a permanent place of honor on the walll.

“Not too shabby, squirt”. She glances at the drawing again, and then her gaze shifts towards Isha. For a moment, a soft expression appears in her eyes. “Who knows? Maybe one day we'll see this piece in a Piltover's museum, valued at a million golden hexes.” 

“Only a million? I think it's worth a lot more. Maybe we should start an auction right here and now.”

Isha giggles, her small fingers tracing the colors on her drawing again.

“Alright, alright, don't go getting ideas. We don't need some fancy Piltie art collector trying to buy this and hang it in their mansion.”

“Come on, Jinx.” You nudge her. “Don't you think it'd be hilarious to see this hanging in some fancy mansion surrounded by all those fancy Piltover paintings? Maybe we should get Isha to paint more of this and turn this whole place into a gallery.”

—

You meant ‘place’ not your face.

Laying down on the couch, you squint your eyes open as you feel a moist sensation along your face. When your vision clears, you see Isha, giggling, marker in hand, and running away as fast as her legs can carry her. 

“Hey!” You sit up, a chuckle rising in your throat. “You little rascal, come here!” 

The sound of a door opening makes you pause. Turning, you see Jinx standing there, half-asleep and clearly irritated.

“What the hell is going on here?” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes.

A snicker escapes Isha's lips.

“Looks like you've got a new makeup look, Jinx.”

“What?” she asks, her voice still groggy from sleep.

Silence.

Jinx looks at your face. Isha's hand. Finally placing her own hand on her face. Wet mark on her face. Smear of color on her hand.

“Isha.”

You and Jinx exchange a glance. Grins matching hers. Without hesitation, you both rush after Isha, who breaks into a run.

Just as she turns a corner, you quickly change direction and outstretch your hands, successfully scooping her up into your arms and spinning her around, her hands grasping at your shirt and arms around your neck as she continues to giggle.

While still holding Isha, you see Jinx's eyes as her hand darts towards a nearby marker and begins to draw on Isha's face. 

“Hold still, you little gremlin!” Jinx says, struggling to keep her marker strokes even while Isha wiggles and giggles. She manages to add a few squiggles and dots before Isha's laughter becomes uncontrollable, disrupting any further attempts at ‘decorating’.

“Come on, lemme finish it.” A few more ink-blots make their way onto the girl's face before she's set down. “Ta-da!” Jinx declares, wiping her hands on her pants. 

Isha, still giggling, runs to the nearest mirror, who is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she takes in her reflection. She turns her head from side to side, admiring her new ‘makeover��� from Jinx.

Feeling a tingle in your chest, you steal a glance at Jinx, watching her smile at Isha. 

Idiot, you silently scold yourself.

But your lips still curve into a small smile. 

Damn it, you silently curse to yourself, hoping Jinx didn't notice you staring at her with that expression written all over your face.

But Isha doesn't miss that. She looks between you and Jinx, the gears in her young mind turning, and a sly grin slowly spreads across her face.

Oh. She knows something that you'd prefer to keep hidden.

—

Isha's been down with a cold.

Today, you made her a bowl of porridge. Jinx volunteered to help.

You stand at the stove, stirring the simmering porridge, with Jinx by your side, carefully cutting up some fresh fruit to mix into the meal. You carefully ladle the porridge into a bowl, checking to make sure it's just the right temperature for Isha's sore throat.

You glance down at the bowl, satisfied with the consistency and temperature, before moving it onto a tray along with a spoon, a glass of water, and the bowl of fruit.

You head towards Isha's room, with Jinx following close behind. You can hear the sound of soft coughing coming from inside, along with the rustle of blankets.

Pushing open the door gently, you enter the room to find Isha sitting up in her bed, her blankets piled around her. Her face is flushed from the fever, and she looks tired, but her eyes light up when she sees the tray in your hands.

“Here's your porridge,” you say softly, setting it down on the bedside table. 

Jinx moves to the other side of the bed, plopping down next to Isha and gently placing a cool hand against her forehead. “You're still a bit warm.”

Isha nods weakly, trying to suppress a cough.

“But that porridge should help,” you add, settling on the edge of the bed and offering the bowl to Isha. “Slow sips, okay? Don't want you getting a tummy ache on top of everything else.”

Isha accepts the bowl and sips the porridge carefully. 

“There you go.” You smile, watching as Isha continues eating. Jinx grabs the glass of water, holding it up to Isha's lips once she's taken a few spoonfuls.

Once she's done, Jinx continues to check on her, fluffing her pillows, adjusting the blankets, and giving her the occasional pat on the head.

—

It's late evening. 

Jinx sits cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against the footboard of the bed where Isha is lying down. The little girl's eyes are focused on Jinx, her hands covering her face partially as if trying to stay up a bit longer.

Jinx tells a story she learned from Vander, one that he used to tell her when she was a child. A story about miners getting stuck in a mine and rescued by a mysterious, wisp-like woman that guided them to safety.

When Jinx finishes the story, she glances at Isha, expecting her to be asleep by now. Instead, she lies there and watches Jinx.

Peeking through the door, you expect to find Isha asleep, but she is still wide awake. Jinx looks like she's wracking her brain to think of more stories, still determined to get the little girl to sleep.

A chuckle escapes your lips as you settle down on the floor next to Jinx. “She's not tired yet, huh?” you whisper to Jinx. 

“No, not yet,” she replies. “I've run out of stories to tell and she doesn't seem even a bit sleepy.”

“She's just like you.”

“Hush,” she says, trying to suppress a smile. “I'm not the one keeping her awake right now.” She turns back to Isha, who is still awake and watching both of you.

“Well, neither of us are helping,” you point out, looking at the little girl who's staring at you both. “Isha, it's time for bed. You need to close your eyes and sleep.”

Isha pouts, clearly not wanting to go to sleep just yet. She looks at Jinx and then at you, her eyes pleading for another story. 

“Come on, kid,” Jinx says. “It's well past your bedtime. No more stories.”

Isha's pout deepens, her bottom lip jutting out stubbornly.

You stand up from the floor, walking over to a nearby bookshelf where you keep various children's books and comics. After a quick rummage, you find a colorful comic book that should interest Isha.

You return to the bed, carrying the comic book, and sit down next to Jinx again. Isha leans forward, her eyes immediately drawn to the book in your hands.

“Found one,” you say, holding up the comic book for the little girl to see. Her eyes light up when she recognizes the vibrant cover. 

Flipping open the comic book to the first page, you begin reading aloud about a group of animals in a forest. Isha listens intently, snuggled up in bed, her eyes darting between the images and your face as you read the story.

“Every day, these animals would wake up early,” you read, pointing to the drawing of the animals waking up and stretching. “Some would eat breakfast, some went to play, and some went to search for food.”

“One particularly lazy squirrel woke up late.” You turn over the page to reveal a picture of a sleepy little squirrel yawning and rubbing his eyes as the other animals were already out of their nests.

“By the time he woke up, all the nuts were already gone.” You flip over the page again to reveal an image of the squirrel, now wide awake, frantically searching for something to eat but finding nothing but empty trees and bushes.

“The squirrel was shocked and saddened that the nuts had run. But then,” you change your tone dramatically, “one of the rabbits heard the squirrel's cries and decided to help him!”

You turn the page again. This time, the picture shows the rabbit coming up to the squirrel, a nut in his paw. “The rabbit, seeing the squirrel's plight, decided to share his own breakfast with him.”

“The squirrel was delighted and grateful,” you read, and you turn the page to show an image of the squirrel happily sharing the nut with the rabbit. “The two of them ate and ate together, until their tummies were full and they fell asleep in a heap on the forest floor!”

You glance up from the book and see that Isha has finally fallen asleep. Her small head is now lying on her pillow and a smile graces her lips, as if she were dreaming about the animals from the comic book.

You close the comic book and set it down, but then there's a weight on your shoulder. 

Looking to the side, you see Jinx, who has fallen asleep. Her head rests on your shoulder. Her hair tickles your neck. Her eyes closed. Her mouth slightly open, softly snoring.

Still as a statue. 

You find yourself staring at the soft curtain of blue hair, your fingers itching to reach out and push it aside. 

But you don't. You can't. You don't want to wake her up. Don't move. 

It would be a small action, but you know that it might wake her up, and the last thing you want is to deal with a grumpy face and her snarky comment. 

But your hand moves as if it has a mind of its own. Inch by inch, your fingers close in until they make contact with her hair, brushing it back over her ear. 

Jinx lets out a sigh, her head leaning into your hand as if aching for your touch.

Her face, now with her bangs brushed aside, shows her features—so fine, so distinctly her.

Your eyes trace her face. You want to hold her in a way that you'll remember forever. You want to know her in every way possible, to learn every inch of her, to understand every thought and feeling she's ever had.

Her arms are the only chains you'd gladly wear. Her eyes in which you'd forever be lost. Her smile is the one you can never say no to. Her voice is the song that you could listen to for hours.

You wonder if she would lean into your touch, if she would arch her head into your palm. Would she let you caress her face, your fingers tracing the slope of her jaw and the curve of her cheek? Or would she pull back, pushing you away?

But as quickly as it began, it ended.

You pull your hand away. Your fingers clenching into a fist and returning to your lap. The memory of her hair against your skin remains, burning at the edges of your thoughts.

Then Jinx slowly stirs from her sleep. She lifts her head from your shoulder, her heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours, then your mouth, then back to your eyes again.

You saw her throat move. Are you hallucinating? Is it just your imagination? You can't tell for sure. You wonder if your mind is playing tricks on you. Your thoughts are fogged by the way she's looking at you.

Her eyes linger on your face, tracing every contour, every feature.

Your heart is in your throat. You can hear it pulsing in your ears. You can feel your palms getting sweaty. You try to hold her gaze, but your own eyes are drawn to her lips, soft and slightly parted.

Finally, Jinx breaks the silence. “You're staring,” she murmurs.

You blink, her words snapping you out of your trance. “I–” you start to respond, then realize how stupid and obvious it sounded. “Just making sure you didn't drool on me.”

She chuckles, her hand pushing your face away from hers. 

“Hey!” you say, putting a palm to your face.

You watch as Jinx stands up, heading towards the door, opening it slightly, and pausing to look back at you. 

“Good night,” she says, eyes lingering on yours for a moment.

“Night, Jinx,” you reply, one hand still resting on your face.

You catch a glimpse of a smile forming on her lips as she disappears through the door, leaving you sitting there with a palm still on your cheek.

You hear a soft, barely suppressed giggle coming from Isha's bed. Confused, you turn to look at her, only to find her looking at you with a wide grin. 

“Isha,” you say, surprised, “I thought you were asleep!”

—

“You could have warned me,” Sevika grumbles. Isha continues to focus on coloring her hat.

“Fat chance,” Jinx responds, turning to face Sevika. “About what?”

Sevika glares at her, obviously displeased. “Your stunt at the checkpoint.”

“No idea what you're babbling about.”

“That wasn't you?” She scoffs. 

Jinx pauses, realization crossing her face. She glances at Isha with a knowing look, noticing the smirk on the child's face.

The conversation with Sevika continues, with Jinx growing more and more restless as it does. Once the discussion is over, Jinx rises from her spot. “I gotta go bother someone,” she says, before walking out.

You notice the look on Isha's face. Disappointment.

“Let's go, Isha,” you say, already grabbing a bat and some small balls. You don’t wait for a response, signaling for her to follow as you head to the door.

—

It's late, the sun having set and the moon now high in the sky. You and Isha had spent the previous hours playing, but Jinx still hasn't returned. Concerned, the two of you look for her.

Isha rides on your shoulder, her small hands gripping your hair. She looks at the surroundings for any sign of Jinx. 

After some time walking and climbing, you end up on a rooftop. You both climb carefully, making sure not to fall.

Finally, when perched on the edge, you spot Jinx. She's sitting with her knees against her chest, looking out at Piltover.

You gently place Isha down on the rooftop, giving her a subtle nudge, gesturing towards Jinx. Isha catches your cue, nodding quietly and slowly approaches Jinx.

Isha carefully settled herself down beside her. Her legs dangling off the ledge of the rooftop.

You take a seat on the other side of Isha, settling down with a soft rustle of fabric. 

Jinx continues to stare out at the city, her chin resting on her folded arms. “You guys found me, huh?”

Isha shifts her position, moving closer. You notice that she's looking up at Jinx, her small head resting against her arm.

Jinx glances at the child. She reaches over to ruffle Isha's hair affectionately.

“Couldn't stay away.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, “I guess you two are pretty stubborn.”

You reposition yourself, shifting your body so that you can lean back and rest a hand on the cold, gritty rooftop.

Jinx moves herself into a more relaxed position, leaning back and placing her hand on the rooftop next to yours. With her other hand, she pats at Isha, gesturing for the child to lay down.

Isha obliges, her small body now sprawled out across Jinx's lap. She fidgets a bit, clearly beginning to tire.

Watching over the city below while the moon hangs low in the night sky, a familiar touch breaks the silence, fingertips seeking yours.

There's a gentle pressure, a gentle caress, that causes your hand to twitch involuntarily, yet you don't pull away.

Her hand rests on top of yours, claiming its place as if it were always meant to be there. Jinx's fingers trace patterns across the back of your hand, like a secret language only she understands. 

“Your hands are cold,” she continues tracing lazy circles with the pads of her fingers.

You hadn't even realized how cold your hand had felt until she pointed it out, and now it seems to be burning under her touch.

“Ever thought about wearing gloves?” 

“Gloves?” you repeat, finding your own voice now. 

“Hm, I guess not.” 

Her fingers suddenly stop their tracing, and for a moment, you feel disappointed. But she quickly resumes, her thumb brushing over your wrist, the pulse point.

Jinx glances up at you, a smirk on her lips. “Your pulse is racing. Am I making you nervous?”

“No,” you say, though the speed of your pulse likely betrays your words.

“Uh huh. You're a terrible liar.” She continues to hold your wrist, thumb now drumming a slow, steady rhythm against your pulse point. “Relax. I don't bite... much.”

You try to calm your racing heartbeat, she's making it difficult. “I'm relaxed.”

Isha shifts in Jinx's lap, her body stirring slightly. Both you and Jinx turning your attention towards the girl. 

Jinx lifts her free hand and pats Isha's head reassuringly. Her touch is soft and careful, not wanting to disturb the sleeping girl.

With Isha settled, Jinx turns her attention back to you. She still hasn't let go of your wrist, her fingers now massaging little circles into your skin. “You're awfully tense for someone who's ‘relaxed’.”

She studies you for a moment, her eyes roaming your face, then she suddenly releases your hand. The sudden absence of her touch feels like a loss.

Jinx sits back, creating a bit of space between the two of you. 

“What's on your mind?”

“Just thinking.”

You frown, frustrated by her vague response. “About what?”

“About you,” she answers.

Her reply catches you off guard. You feel your cheeks warm, and you mentally scold yourself. Why is she having this effect on you?

“Me?” you ask, trying to remain calm.

Jinx glances down at the sleeping Isha, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, and Isha,” she says, her hand absently playing with the child's hair. Her eyes then dart back to you. “Mostly you, though.” 

“Uh, me?” you repeat, mentally cursing yourself for sounding like a parrot.

Jinx hums, still absently playing with Isha’s hair. 

“What... what about us?”

Jinx doesn't respond right away. Her gaze flicks between you and the sleeping child, contemplating something.

“I've got a habit of bringing trouble wherever I go.” She turns to you. “I just-” she begins. “I don't want anything bad to happen to either of you... because of me.”

Her eyes search yours before she looks down at Isha. “I'm not sure what I'd do if something happened to you… either of you.” She pauses. “I care too much,” she blurts out, looking back up at you. “And honestly, it scares me.” You can see her shoulders tense, struggling to find the right words. “I don't want to mess everything up. Everyone I've ever cared about has gotten hurt by me, or because of me.”

You ache to pull her into your arms, to soothe the worries that are weighing on her shoulders. It takes every ounce of restraint you have not to. “No, no, I'm not going anywhere. Neither is Isha.”

“You don't know what could happen.”

“Yes, I do,” you murmur. “I know there's a chance we might end up hurt. Or worse.” You take a deep breath, holding her gaze steady with yours. “But that's a risk I'm willing to take,” you continue. “Because being with you, right now, is worth it.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “No. No more talking. You've said what you need to say. Now let me say what I need to say.”

Eyes never leaving hers, you reach out slowly, giving her enough time to pull away if she wanted to. But she doesn't, and your fingers find their way to her cheek, gently cupping her face.

“I care about you too,” you murmur, your thumb tracing a path over her cheekbone. “I care about the person you are, not just the person you think you are. I see the good in you, the good that you struggle to see in yourself.”

Her lips part, as if to utter another protest, but you press a finger to her mouth to silence her. “Let me speak. I'm not done yet.”

“You're afraid,” you continue. “You're terrified of the possibility of me or Isha getting hurt. I understand. But you need to realize,” you pause, your fingers moving from her mouth to her chin, tilting it up so that she's looking you fully in the eye.

“You're not a curse,” you say. “You're not a jinx. Bad things happen, but that doesn't mean it's your fault. It's not your fault—” 

“I know.” She trembles under your touch. Her eyes glisten. 

“No, listen to me. It's not your fault.”

“I know.” Despite her best efforts, the dam is beginning to break. 

“It's not your fault,” you repeat. A single tear manages to escape, trickling down her cheek and into your palm. “You were just a child.”

“But I should have known. I should have—They're gone because of me. It's my fault.”

“No, no, no, it's not your fault. You were just a child. You were doing what you thought was the best to help them, to protect them.” You wipe the tear away with your thumb, your heart aching for her. You can see the battle she's fighting within herself, and it kills you that you can't do more. 

“You are not defined by your past, by your mistakes,” you continue, your hand still on her cheek, feeling the tremble as she struggles to hold back her tears. “You are so much more than that.”

“You are loved.” Your fingers trace her jawline, before moving slowly upwards to her temple. “By me, by Isha. And by many more people than you realize.” For perhaps the first time, Jinx lets herself break. She leans into your touch, her cheek pressing against your palm. Her eyes never leave yours, seeking solace, reassurance. She grips your wrists weakly, her hands trembling. “It's okay, I'm right here.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” you murmur. “No matter what happens, you hear me? I'm here to stay. We're here to stay. You're stuck with us.”

Slowly, the tears begin to subside. Her breathing steadies. Her body calming down.

You let your fingers slowly shift from her tear stained cheeks to her hair, playing with the strands. “I'll do everything in my power to keep both of you safe.” Your hands move down to her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“I'm not some damsel in distress,” she mutters. 

You laugh, leaning back on your hands. “I know you're not,” you assure her. “You'd probably kick my ass if I tried to treat you like one. But even the toughest people need someone to have their backs, right?”

Jinx huffs, though you can see the edges of a smile on her face. “That's a cheesy line.” 

“Maybe,” you admit. “But it's still true. You don't have to face everything alone.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, her hand resuming its gentle stroking of Isha’s hair. “You're annoyingly stubborn, you know that?”

“And yet?”

Jinx snorts. “And yet somehow I tolerate you.”

Sensing the change in atmosphere, Isha mumbles incoherently, shifting slightly.

“Looks like someone's stirring,” Jinx coos.

With one final pat on Jinx's shoulder, you withdraw your hand, silently communicating that the moment is over, for now.

Her shoulders tense at the loss of your touch, disappointment or perhaps longing in her eyes. But she quickly composes herself.

The little girl slowly opens her eyes, blinking sleepily and looking around disoriented. She rubs one eye with a fist, then glances up as if just realizing that she's in Jinx's lap.

Isha grins brightly when she sees Jinx, her tired eyes lighting up. She wriggles a bit, stretching her limbs and looking surprisingly cheerful despite being woken up.

“I think we should head back. It's getting late.”

Jinx nods, carefully shifting Isha in her arms as she stands up. The child wraps her arms around Jinx's neck, clinging to her like a monkey.

“Alright, kid, time to head home,” Jinx tells Isha, bouncing her up in her arms. The girl giggles and buries her head into the crook of Jinx's neck.

Seeing Jinx like this with Isha is something else. She looks so... soft.

“Ready to go?” Jinx asks, looking at you. Isha wriggles, eager to get going.

You nod, gesturing for them to lead the way. Isha stretches out a hand towards you, wanting to hold onto you too.

“Looks like you've got a fan.”

“Nah, she just likes me that much.”

“That so?” Jinx huffs. “Or is she just using you to get to me?”

“You know she'd choose my company over yours any day.” 

“Oh, so that's how it is, huh?” She pokes Isha gently in the stomach, causing another giggle from the child. “Traitor,” she mutters, before addressing you again. “I'm wounded, really.”

“You'll survive,” you assure her. “Somehow.”

The warmth of Isha's grasp on your hand. The giggle that escapes her every time Jinx spins her around. The way Jinx's eyes soften when she looks at the child.

This, you realize, is what home could feel like.

notes: im so excited for act 4 on saturday!

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (27)

***

It only takes one charge to seal the entrance. Silco wedges it against the uneven roof of the tunnel and then scurries back towards Vander. They crash into each other, kneeling, hands over their own ears and eyes squeezed shut as it explodes. It's so loud Vander can feel the noise in his ribcage, roaring through his chest. They stay like that, collapsed over each other, breathing hard behind their masks.

"How are your hands?" Silco asks, tucked in against Vander's chest.

If he's being honest, his hands are getting tender inside the gauntlets, skin aching from the metal rubbing against his palms. He's been doing his best to ignore it. "They're fine."

"Show me," Silco says, unwinding the cotton scraps he keeps wrapped around his forearm.

When Vander removes the gauntlets, his hands are red and puffy. There are blisters starting to form at the webbing of his thumb and the outside of his wrist. Not that Silco's faring much better: his fine fingers are covered in dirt and scratches even if his palms are protected by his leather gloves.

Silco wraps the cotton around each of his hands, carefully tucking the fabric as flat as he can. "You know, if you weren't working with me, you'd be safely in bed by now."

Vander snorts. "Yeah, I'd be snoring by now. Definitely wouldn't be trying to dig my way down to you."

Silco bobs his head side to side, conceding the point. "You would have got our spare gas masks, and then come down here. We'd still be in a better position than we are right now."

They should be digging, but honestly, Vander would rather sit here and hold Silco close for a while. The endless bedrock will still be waiting for them. "Do you want me to transfer back to level one?"

"I'd rather you quit the mine altogether."

"Sure, someday."

"Not someday, Vander. Now. They don't have any claim over you," Silco says urgently, "they can't keep you here. You should work until the end of the month, collect your pay and leave."

"And do what? I'm not fishing. And if you think the canning factories are safer than this mine, you've never seen someone get dragged through the equipment." Not that Vander's seen it himself, but he remembers the stories when he was a kid, men and women missing hands and arms and considering themselves lucky. "You're here. Our friends are here."

"Your friends," Silco insists mulishly. It's not a fight Vander wants to try winning tonight.

"People I care about are here," Vander says instead. "I'd rather be working than drinking too much and picking fights."

That catches Silco's attention. "What?"

"My Ma died and I was angry." Vander remembers it very clearly, that feeling of being lost and alone in the world. Having to say goodbye to the one person who was always on your side. "I didn't want to work in Piltover, I didn't want to be on a boat. I didn't want anything except to drink until I forgot. Or to pick a fight so I could be angry at someone."

Silco curls a hand around Vander's wrist, smearing dirt over the bandages there. "It's better than giving in to despair. Giving up."

"I had given up." It's not a truth Vander's ever said out loud, but does he have a better time to be honest? They might not see the morning. "I figured eventually I'd run into someone bigger and harder than me, someone who fought dirty, and it'd be done. I wouldn't have to figure out what I was supposed to do next."

The lantern flickers and dies, leaving them both in darkness.

"It's probably overheated," Silco says, but he doesn't move to check it. He keeps his grip on Vander's arm, stays curled against him. Cautiously he says, "You don't still feel like that. What changed?"

"I joined the mine. It's hard work but at the end of the day, you feel like you've achieved something. This place isn't…" Vander trails off, thinking. No matter how he phrases it, Silco's not going to agree. "This place isn't the worst option for everyone. Sometimes, it's a good choice, the best they have."

Silco is silent for so long that Vander doesn't think he'll reply at all. Then fingers slide along Vander's arm, gripping at Vander's elbow, dirty skin to dirty skin. "I could agree with that if it was a choice for everyone."

***

[allthcpain]

#𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚌𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗— an independent multimuse featuring original characters from arcane, & mollymauk tealeaf from critical role. selective, mutually exclusive, & sporadic activity. 21+ only !! est. jan 2025

a study of: what it means to be human. of grieving. of taking care of your community. of loving your friends so fiercely you would die for them.

loved dearly by MOLLY(mauk) ! [ 30.PST.she/they ] br: @zaunfather

heavily affiliated with: boysofprogress , zaun1ted

muses:

galen : arcane oc : doctor of zaun

charlie : arcane oc : goddess mother of zaun

mirabel : arcane oc : daughter of zaun

mollymauk tealeaf : critical role / canon : blood hunter

most everything is on the card, although it's still being updated ! please be patient with me

in the meantime.....

galen: has a well established clinic in zaun, originally from piltover 30 years ago but left bc he couldn't stand to see everyone in piltover pretend like things were fine when their neighbors weren't. although he may have been born in ixtal, he never aquired any magical abilities. but he's a damn good doctor. refuses to use any shimmer. is very tall and actually muscular? but stupid shy. and very emotional. if he's ever caught crying, he'll claim he's allergic....to something.

charlie: the personification of janna, the wind goddess of zaun. she knows who she is and is able to use her powers, sure. but she doesn't. she's in zaun to help her children, and while she tries to help all she can, she obviously misses quite a few. very much a hardass and NOT the benevolent goddess the stories make her out to be, at least in this human form of hers. very much tough love. more of a hardass to adults, like silco. if she ever saw that man on the street, it's on sight.

mirabel: lost her mother about a year ago. she didn't overdose from shimmer. didn't fall down a hole, or get caught in a gang war. she just died from bad health. mirabel is grieving the loss of her mother and is perpetually pissed. mostly at her mom, but points her anger to the world. drinks her problems away, uses shimmer every so often. it's gotten to a point where her eyes have started to turn purple. she was always good at thieving, and now just gets paid to steal shit. the good shit. shit from piltover. has a kind heart from her mother, but...doesn't use it much anymore. reminds her too much of her mom. book smart and street smart. keeps to herself, although will get into a fight or two every so often.

mollymauk is upon request ! have not caught up with campaign 2, however i am at the point where they're in eiselcross.

[shimmerbeasts]

Her continued intrusion was bound to cause Caitlyn and Vi to react sooner or later. Her sister might have absorbed the life of a Piltie and completely breathed the city of marble and gold, but Vastayan genes were not easily turned off. While the other Pilties had been more concerned with their precious buildings falling apart or, Janna forbid, blood on their streets, Vi and Caitlyn had read Jinx's trespassing as exactly what she had wanted it to be read: A challenge for territory. Not just any territory. A challenge for their den.

As far as Jinx was concerned, the fact that she had been able to get into the Kiramman's mansion to the point she had had free access to Caitlyn's bath and bedroom proved that she had lain claim to the heart of the Kiramman territory. Sure, the place was missing her signatures so far and as long as Caitlyn lived in it, it would never be truly hers. But what had not happened, might yet come to pass.

Besides, wouldn't it send a wonderful message? The Kirammans were not just any rich family. They were members of the Council of Piltover and if reports were to be believed, they were founding members of the upper city. To lay claim to their mansion, to cover it in her beautiful artwork or maybe even blow it up would send a clear message to Piltover. We are not afraid to shake up your very foundation.

The air was thick with the smell of chalk and paint. Cool rock zapped Jinx's body warmth from her thighs. She sat on a column and surveyed her masterpiece. The old temple of Janna had made for a comfortable liar, however, now, it would serve as a death trap. Not for Vi, of course. Vi had to be kept safe after all. Even with her sister donning that godawful uniform and badge, Jinx refused to believe this was Vi. This was an imposter. Her real sister would never side with those brutes!

This was Caitlyn Kiramman's work without a doubt. Like a foul plant, she kept taking root in Vi's subconscious and convinced her to do things, any Zaunite would never do. Certainly not Vi, who had been ready to jump at the idea of ripping Enforcers apart. That Sheriff Charlatan's manipulation sat deep. Too deep for it to be pruned out safely. No, the only way, Jinx could salvage her sister's identity, was by burning away any influence of Caitlyn and then slowly nursing her sister back to help. She could do that though, right? She had Singed! The crazy doctor could bring anything back to life!

The place was littered with tripwires, each as fine as a cat's whisker. They were connected to beautiful contraptions and figures, that Jinx had remodified into deadly artillery. The complex combination of wheels, plated steel, blue gemstones and golden lines marked the foxes, cats and panther sculptures out as having been from Piltover. The Loose Canon had removed each figure during one of her trips topside, including during the times, when she had escaped from the Kiramman's mansion. Her reconfiguration had installed a complex piping system with steam and liquid in the figures. If the respective tripwire broke, they breathed fire!

All Caitlyn had to do now that she was in her liar was stumble over one of the tripwires and she would be toast! Jinx had never had a smouldering hot carcass before, but she was willing to try everything at least once. Thus her purple eyes followed Caitlyn's wandering around, shimmering with feverish excitement, which turned into crestfallen disappointment whenever Caitlyn missed a wire by a mere inch! How could someone dodge a good five or so tripwires? Had Jinx misjudged her layout? Had she placed the traps in the wrong spots?

Grrrrr, I have to do everything myself!

A guttural growl escaped Jinx's lips like a heinous cough fighting its way up her throat. No longer bothering with attempting to stay concealed, she tightened her hold on the leather strap of Pow-Pow and leapt off the column. Immediately upon touching the ground, her hand slammed the trigger down and the barrels of her trusted Gatling gun sprung to vivid life.

Bullets whisked between both women. Caitlyn - the coward! - inched backwards in an attempt to find cover and even then, she managed to somehow miraculously avoid the trip wires! A shrill scream tore through Jinx's lips, spit flying from her fangs. That blasted Sherrif Charlatan! How could she keep getting so lucky?! Maybe she should just cut her tendon apart!

"You made Pow-Pow mad!", Jinx shouted, "She got no kissies from you! How dare you?!"

Dumping the Gatling gun on the ground to be not weighted down by it, Jinx pulled out a small, rough-looking knife with a slightly serrated blade and a leather wrapping around the handle before she darted forward with fangs bared and claws twitching. She barrelled into Caitlyn with all the ferocity and flexibility of an angry cat. The two women clung to one another, too close for each other's personal comfort. Hisses and snarls filled the air.

Finally, Jinx swung Silco's knife and gave her father's fang the chance to drink blood himself. She stabbed Caitlyn just above the hips and delighted in the brief, high-pitched shriek that coaxed out of her detested enemy. Feeling Caitlyn wrap her hand around her wrist, Jinx snarled and cackled all at once, daring her to pull the knife away. Because she assumed this was what would happen next, she had not paid attention to the rifle at all.

Her eyes widened as out of the barrel unfurled like a twisted flower, the biggest net Jinx had ever seen. It slammed against her and threw her backwards. Jinx yowled in pain and shock as electricity sparked around the thin netting, burning her skin. Her limbs wrapped around her body, she staggered over her feet and fell on the floor twisting and coiling like a catch on dry land.

"SEVIKA, NOW!", shouted Jinx.

Under a whisking sound, something like a small, sharp boomerang came flying through the air. It flew around Caitlyn and sniped one of the tripwires. Immediately, under a loud whooshing sound, the nearest statue breathed a jet of flames at Caitlyn.

"Step away from the girl unless you want things to get very ugly."

Sevika stepped out of the shadows of the nearest column. The former deputy of Silco was sporting a new prosthetic arm, which was littered with graffiti and images in Jinx's drawing style. Instead of merely being another hand, its end had a strange casing making it almost look like a piranha head. Inside the casing seemed to be at least two more of those boomerangs.

"I know where every tripwire is hidden and I can hit them faster than you can run, Kiramman. You'll be burned alive before you manage to move Jinx anywhere."

◈　 ⇢  @shimmerbeasts　 ⋯　 blood, blood, gallons of the stuff! ♡ 　　⸻　sender shoots / stabs receiver non - fatally as a warning (Jinx to Caitlyn)

Going toe to toe with Jinx was never a good plan, but Caitlyn was tired of running. In fact, both Caitlyn and Vi had decided enough was enough. She had invaded her personal space one-to-many times, and the two predators had decided they would no longer be the prey of the monster. Even Vi had shown a new side, a more monstrous side that she was willing to use against Zaun if they continue their actions. For how else do you beat a monster then by not being one as well?

And Caitlyn had developed the same mind thought. To stop a predator, she had to become a predator herself. No more running, no more hiding or cowering; she was going to stop Jinx; or at least prove to her she was not some simple-minded prey Piltie she could toy around with anymore. The cat would learn that she was not a mouse; she was another feral cat.

Traveling into Zaun with Vi, they moved and twist, following the tracks and clues that would lead to Jinx; her lair, an alley. It didn’t matter where, only that they found her and put a stop to this. Caitlyn didn’t know how Vi would react in the end. This was her sister, of course, and Caitlyn would have to keep control over her anger. Every time she faced Jinx, she saw red and wanted to put a bullet through her head. Her rifle had some additional parts to it that she could use, so hopefully that would ease her raging revenge; she would not let Jinx turn her into a monster even if it lingered underneath the skin. The desire to end her, so that no one else got hurt, and no one else died. Complex emotions weaved in her thoughts, but she shook them away; she would not become the monster, she wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

Her feet moved silently against the ground, as pictures painted all over the walls, stuffed animals, puppets. There was so much in this space as Caitlyn tightened her grip on her rifle. Jinx no doubt could see her. Her intuition told her she was here; that same sinking feeling against her gut.

Bait. But the Bait would bite back.

It didn’t take long for the clash, gun to gun, Caitlyn having to keep some kind of cover around her as Jinx was far faster and more lethal; but even her weapons could not pierce through the heavy cover of rock and stone. That would force Jinx to move closer, just where Caitlyn wanted her. Would Jinx figure it out? Possibly, but Caitlyn was vying on Jinx’s hatred for Caitlyn that it would draw her in close; forgoing her typical MO because she always did. Whenever they met, Jinx consistently kept Caitlyn on her toes by doing something different from her usual routine.

What she hadn’t anticipated was Jinx literally swiping in close, claws flex and her teeth bared. Caitlyn hissed back at her being too close, but that’s when she let out a gasp. At first, Caitlyn thought it was one of her knives that Jinx had used, she never carried a knife. Her hand reached down to grab Jinx’s wrist and briefly noticed the smaller knife, something she had never seen before. Sentimental? It was a fairly common design; the hilt wrapped in leather, and the knife looked to have some broken notches from overuse. A brief glance, but enough to note that this was not one of Jinx’s typical weapons. It had to have sentimental value; Caitlyn could easily deduce that.

But Jinx had gotten in close, and that gave Caitlyn an advantage. Her nose scrunched up, and she growled threatening, and lifted her rifle up. She didn’t think, she only reacted and released the electric netting to shove Jinx backwards. It was the first time she had ever used it, watching it coil around Jinx. Heavy claws at the end twisted around, trying the shimmer monster within its grasp and hopefully cause Jinx to surrender; or at least chase her off. Caitlyn stumbled backwards on her feet, the knife forcefully ripped out as Jinx was thrown backwards with the net and gave Caitlyn time to move backwards.

While blood pooled from the wound, she pointed her rifle at the net, wondering if Jinx had escaped or was still entangled in it.

[honeydazai]

Lovely, Lovely

feat.: Viktor / fem!reader

summary: When Viktor struggles with self-doubt, you show him just how much you love him.

warnings: nsfw content, body worship, praise kink, pet names, oral sex, hurt/comfort, vaginal sex, riding, mild hair pulling, mild size difference, teasing, fluff and hurt/comfort

Despite having spent many years on the Topside, Viktor had never thought of himself as a true Piltie.

He did his best to impersonate one, sure — his clothing, all fine fabric and just as expertly tailored as Jayce's, was proof of that —, but the true citizens, the ones who had an actual right to walk upon pristine pavements and gaze at marble buildings, did their best to remind him that he, in fact, did not belong in a world this beautiful, this wealthy.

Still, he had hoped to be able to hide this fact from you for at least a while.

As his newly assigned assistant who had just moved to Piltover, you were still highly impressionable and hadn't seen nor heard much of the Undercity yet, which was why Viktor preferred to avoid the topic of where he had grown up altogether.

He was rather fond of you too, and even though you had only worked with him for about two months now, you seemed to reciprocate his romantic feelings — or so he hoped, anyway.

Your relationship was still frail and Viktor was sure that, if he wasn't particularly careful, it was going to break apart as easily as a newly grown twig.

(When expressing those thoughts to you, you had claimed it wouldn't, that you loved him, and he had known then the problem was that he himself didn't think he was deserving of love.)

Frankly said, he didn't want you to leave his side this soon again, and while hindering you from seeing the less gorgeous aspects of Piltover only to keep you close was rather selfish, being aware of one's flaws and being able to defy them were two different stories.

It was, however, also a plan that was obvious to fail sooner or later — in this specific case, sooner.

The shopping trip, as you had so lovingly referred to it, you were on to stock up on supplies had been surprisingly fun, with playful banter and teasing comments being thrown back and forth between the two of you.

The relaxed atmosphere shifted the second you entered another promising looking shop, one stuffed to the brink with little trinkets and rather complicated looking machines that Viktor didn't bother to spare a glance at.

His shoulders tensed just the slightest bit at the way the guy behind the counter stared at him, contempt and disgust evident in his gaze, though Viktor refused to get discouraged this quickly. Perhaps he was simply misinterpreting body language and expressions, though it was one he had seen often enough.

Still, he dared to hope that this little trip of yours wasn't going to turn into something ugly.

Luck wasn't on his side, of course.

“I don't sell to Undercity scum. Fuck off.”

The man's voice was clipped, his eyes narrowed. Despite Viktor's rather tall stature, he towered over him — and over you no less. When smirking, he revealed crooked, yet oddly white teeth.

“Wouldn't mind chatting with that girlie, though. You don't mind, do you? No way she's a cripple's girlfriend.”

His arms were large, biceps bulging, and Viktor decided right then and there that provoking a fight was not worth it, especially not in your presence. No amount of pride was worth endangering you.

You, however, seemed to disagree.

“That's no way to talk to a customer.”

Honestly, for just a second Viktor contemplated if he was hallucinating as you suddenly moved in front of him, arms crossed in a defensive gesture.

This was ridiculous — you weren't nearly as tall as him and not even close to reaching the guy's shoulders, looking all delicate and soft in your skirt and blouse, like a proper lady—, a proper Piltie, and yet you stepped between him and the stranger.

The guy, apparently, seemed just as taken aback by your attitude as Viktor himself.

“Go on, apologise”, you said, a demand rather than a suggestion, your chin raised provocatively, “Or do you want your shop's reputation to be ruined? We're working with the Academy where, I believe, most of your customers are from. That could easily be changed.”

A bluff, a quite obvious one at that. If the situation hadn't been this tense, Viktor would have chuckled as the guy frowned, gears visibly turning in his head to process your words.

He eventually grunted. “Fuck off.” Then, as an afterthought: “I don't want no trouble.”

A quick glance at your face, all drawn together brows and narrowed eyes, made it obvious you weren't satisfied. Viktor was quick to drag you outside, using his free hand to grasp your wrist — honestly, it was rather surprising the situation hadn't yet escalated. There was no use pushing one's luck.

By the time an all too familiar house was in sight, Viktor had let go of you, his skin now tingling where he had just felt the warmth of your body against his, and only then did he notice you were sulking, your lips pushed forward.

He abruptly averted his gaze again. Your lips weren't a good place to focus on, not when they shone with just the slightest hint of gloss. Despite being open for new experiences, walking through Piltover with a hard-on really wasn't something he wanted to try out.

“I'm pretty sure I could've gotten him to apologise”, you eventually said, “We shouldn't have left. Now he thinks he can get away with rude comments like that.”

Viktor scoffed. “You have terrible self-preservation skills, dear.” He let out a sigh at your frown. “If we had not left, there would have been a fight and, forgive me for doubting your abilities, but that guy would've smashed your head in with one hit.”

There were many reactions he had expected in response to his words — anger, sadness perhaps —, though you giggling a little hadn't been one of them.

“You're right. I don't know what I was thinking either, honestly. I'm not usually this reckless, I promise. I just didn't want that guy to insult you.”

Your gaze was warm, fond as you looked at him. Viktor grimaced as he turned away to unlock the door and let you in. He only realised now that, out of pure habit, he had led you to his personal apartment rather than to the Academy's lab.

“I'm more than capable of defending myself. I simply didn't think it was worth it.”

“Well, to me it was. You shouldn't let people speak to you like that.”

“Eh, he wasn't wrong, you know.” Viktor shrugged, putting down his bag. “I might be a professor now, but outside of the Academy I'm still but a poor cripple from the Undercity. You just don't want it to be true — yet.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, don't act a fool, dear. Idiocy doesn't suit you.” Two of his fingers moved to massage his own temples. “We both know you'll eventually move on to someone who's more your league.”

Your silence was almost too much to bear, the atmosphere suddenly suffocating. Despite wanting to do anything but, Viktor forced himself to turn around, to face you.

He couldn't help but cringe at your stunned expression.

It seemed damage control was an appropriate measure to take now.

“I didn't mean to come across as crude, I assure you”, he said, hands raised in a gesture of mock surrender, “I've simply come to accept this as what will inevitably happen in the future. Not that I'm not grateful for the time we're currently spending together — I beg you, don't purposely misunderstand me.”

And he really was begging — internally, of course — for you to not take this the wrong way, to not turn away and leave him already, because there were so many ways his words could have easily been misinterpreted, or perhaps he even meant them just like this; perhaps he secretly ached for you to leave him before he got even more attached.

His grip on the cane tightened, knuckles protruding in a stark white.

For this much of a genius he certainly felt a fool.

Self sabotage had always been an odd form of self love.

“You're such an idiot. I can't believe you.”

And, ah, there it was, though your voice was odd — it lacked the anger, the disgust he had expected to hear.

“I'm not going to leave you, Viktor.”

Warm hands cradled his face as you reached up to him, a smile on your lips, though your eyes shone with unspilled tears. “I never will, I promise. Besides, I'd never be able to find someone who's more perfect than you are.”

Viktor couldn't help but stare at you, thin lips pressed together into a tight line because, honestly, if he wasn't careful, a sob might have torn itself from his throat.

“You don't know that”, he said, the sharp pain of embarrassment spreading in his chest at the way his voice was trembling, “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“I'm going to keep it.” Your smile seemed awfully sincere. “You're not getting rid of me this easily, Viktor. Guess you're stuck with me now.”

Everything felt hot, awfully hot; Viktor was sure his cheeks were flushed and his hands trembling from where they ached, yet not dared to touch you.

You stood up on your tiptoes to kiss the tears away right after they fell, your momentary silence not judgement but comfort, warm soft love surrounding him like a blanket and a glass of sweetmilk after an exhausting day. 

“Guess I'm stuck with you”, he eventually said, his own smile so fragile compared to your radiant one, though you stared at him like you had never seen something more beautiful.

For some reason, your reaction stirred the urge in him to smile like this more often; honest and vulnerable, without the usual snark and cynicism. 

The tip of your nose was almost touching his. In the back of his mind he noted that the position was surely straining for your neck. 

“Also”, you said, successfully steering his attention back to you, “I can only hope you don't seriously believe a word of what that guy said. You're such a pretty boy, don't you know that?” 

Viktor was sure that, if he had been more machine than man, he would've short circuited right then and there. His eyes were wide; his mind, helpful as ever, kept stumbling over the words 'pretty boy' — honestly, this was a description that would have fit Jayce or any other remotely attractive man, but him? 

You were still holding his face, your thumbs softly tracing over sharp cheekbones. If you were lying, you were doing an excellent job at it. For some reason he doubted that was the case. 

A brief expression of mischief flashed over your face, your eyes suddenly sparkling with mirth. 

“Seems like you don't quite believe me yet”, you said, your voice a low purr, and Viktor had to actively force himself to not stare at your plump lips right in front of him. “Why don't I tell you just what exactly I love so much about you? Wait — how about if I show you instead?” 

Viktor's throat felt too dry all of a sudden. He almost mourned the loss of tenderness as you pulled your hands away from his face, though he was quickly consoled as they were instead placed on the flat of his chest, fingers splayed out to touch as much of him as possible, even with the layer of clothes still separating you. 

Then your lips were on his, just as soft and plump as they had looked the whole day. A hint of artificial cherry flavour spread in his mouth, most likely from your chapstick — or was it lip gloss? What was the difference between the two, anyway? —, and he couldn't help but groan into the kiss as, quite suddenly, one of your hands grasped at his cock through his trousers. 

At his already half-hard cock. 

“Oh?” you said, a breathless giggle escaping you, your breath warm against his lips. “This can't be only because of one kiss. Guess you liked it when I called you a pretty boy, right?” 

With the way his dick visibly twitched in your hold, no response was necessary. Viktor nodded nonetheless, his cheeks feeling way too hot, though the humiliation only added to how intoxicating the whole situation was. 

Then you broke away from another kiss and Viktor had to actively suppress a whine at the loss. 

“Let's move this to the bed, shall we?” Your hand grasped his free one, your fingers interlacing. Viktor's heart ached with the sudden amount of fondness he felt for you. “I'd love to continue here, but you're simply too tall for this to be comfortable. My spine is probably broken already.”

Viktor snorted; some of his usual snark finally returning to him. “That's not how anatomy works, dearest. Your spine doesn't suddenly collapse into itself just because you've strained it a little.” 

“Well”, you said, tone accusatory as you dragged him towards his bedroom, “That just makes it sound like you're not worried about my wellbeing.” 

“I'm very concerned, I promise you.” Viktor easily settled on the bed with his back against the wall, his trousers partly unbuttoned because of your fumbling fingers. The way you instinctively propped his bad leg up on a pillow made his heart clench just a little. “Though part of my concern rather stems from the way my dick is straining against these pants. It's most uncomfortable.”

You let out a breathless laugh as you reached up to tuck one strand of hair behind Viktor's ear, leaving his cheeks flushed at the oddly intimate gesture. “Guess those have to go then, hm? I did promise to show you in great detail what I love about you. That's not happening while you're still dressed.” 

He raised his eyebrows in response, head tilted to the side. “Oh? And why not?” 

Despite the question, he was quick to stand once more and strip; the cane bumped ungracefully against the bed frame as he leaned onto it to get out of his trousers and, just for a second, burning hot humiliation shot up his spine — or perhaps it was simply the dull pain he did his best to ignore.

His nails dug into the metal of the cane by the time he finished undressing, bitter and cruel thoughts once more prominent as he thought you wouldn't have to put up with all of this if only you gave all your love to someone else, to someone better. 

As you took his hands into yours, he almost barked out a laugh. You, ever observant, doing your best to keep his mind from straying into darkness. 

Him, not deserving of any of your kindness. 

A second later, he was gently pushed back down onto the mattress by your hands and, oh, he wasn't able to fully suppress the quiet gasp that left his lips at the sight in front of him. 

He hadn't noticed that you had undressed as well, having been too caught up in his own struggle — mild disappointment sparked in him at the thought of missing the sight of you stripping; for him no less. He made a mental note to ask you to strip for him once more in the future, with him properly watching this time. 

Now, however, you had settled on his lap, your plush thighs framing his thin ones as you hummed, tilting your head to the side in a thoughtful manner. “Where should I begin? Ah, I know. Best to start from the top, right?” 

Viktor swallowed, then nodded. A wry smirk found its way onto his lips; an attempt at gathering his usual wits, though he, for once, seemed rather speechless. “That seems to be the most logical order, yes.” 

“Alright.” Your hands moved up to his head and were quick to tangle in his hair, slowly carding through it. “First things first, I adore your hair. To this day I still don't know how you keep it this soft while working with all kinds of chemicals all day long. I bet some councillors have already asked you to give up your hair care secrets, am I right?” 

Your words got a chuckle out of Viktor. “You're being ridiculous”, he said, his voice warm, “The councillors would never dare to ask someone for advice. They're way too proud to admit they're not all-knowing.” 

He moaned as your nails scraped over his scalp; a low and guttural sound, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. 

“Next, I love that brilliant mind of yours.” Your lips pressed against his forehead in a soft kiss and your palms once more cupped his cheeks. “We're both aware of how awfully smart you are. Don't let this get to your head, though.” 

Viktor made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat in response. 

“I adore that you're this handsome”, you said, cutting him off with a click of your tongue as he opened his mouth to either disagree or to doubt your sanity. “Your cheekbones, your prominent jaw line, your eyes, the moles and freckles — I can't even pick a favourite feature of yours.” 

Viktor hadn't thought of it as possible, but his cheeks seemed to grow even hotter at your words, a lovely blush spreading out over his face. The fact that your hands were still cradling him only made this worse; he was sure you were able to feel the traitorous warmth bleed from his skin onto yours.

You chuckled, a soft sound Viktor wanted to memorise forever and beyond. “You're so cute”, you said, luckily sparing him from any more teasing comments as you instead moved further down his body.

Your hands were tracing intricate patterns on his chest while you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the pale expanse of his throat, to his prominent collar bones and ribs, not once failing to mention just how gorgeous you thought he was.

At this point Viktor was unable to conceal the way he was panting, his whole body trembling as he forced himself to stay unmoving as you continued your path down his body.

You took your time too; soft lips meeting the tiny scars on his palms and placing kisses to calloused fingers.

His cock was hard against his thigh, swollen and flushed with a lewd amount of precum beading at the head, slowly dripping down the length of it.

“Dear”, he eventually said, his voice low, accent thicker than usual, “I hate to interrupt you, but if you don't get to the point of touching me soon, I'll go crazy.”

His knuckles were a stark white colour because of how forcefully he was grasping at the sheets, fighting the urge to grab and yank at your hair in impatience.

You looked up at him through your lashes from where you were currently pressing a kiss to one of his protruding hip bones, all doe eyes and slightly swollen lips because of the kisses you had shared. Viktor would have loved to take a picture of you right then and there.

“Oh? But I am touching you, am I not?” Your lips curled upwards in a mischievous smile, your brows raised. “I haven't even shown you yet how much I love those thighs of yours.”

Viktor grit his teeth together, his whole body tense. The thighs you still wanted to give your love to were shaking.

“At least get me off first.” It was more of a demand than a request, though you apparently — luckily — let it slide.

You sighed, the noise sounding like amusement rather than disappointment, as you slowly moved your hands inwards; roaming from slim hips to thin thighs and, eventually, coming to rest just next to his dick, a smirk on your face, and Viktor couldn't hold back an exasperated groan, his head tipping backwards at your teasing.

“I thought this was supposed to be about me”, he choked out as your fingers feathered over his cock, the touch so light it was barely even there at all. “You're doing a horrible job at keeping me happy.”

“I didn't know you were capable of whining this prettily, Viktor”, you cooed, your head cocked to the side in a playful manner as your thumb swiped over the head of his dick, scooping some of his precum up.

Viktor's cheeks flushed hot with humiliation, though you apparently had no intention of shutting up.

“Really, it seems that everything about you is simply adorable. Especially those noises - maybe I'll suck you off if you moan that nicely for me again. What do you say, hm?”

Viktor watched with wide eyes as you leaned forward and, as if to emphasise your point, blew a puff of warm air against the flushed tip.

Your breath was hot, though most likely not nearly as scalding as your mouth, your tongue, your throat would have been, constricting around his dick as you gagged, tears welling up in your eyes and, god, he stored that fantasy away for lonely nights.

The action had Viktor squirming, his hips thrusting up against nothing, and his mind felt shockingly useless right now; all of his thoughts only revolving around how he craved more, how he just wanted you to touch him, please—

“Alright, alright. This was supposed to be the grand finale, but given how impatient you are, I'll indulge you.”

Viktor moaned in relief as you took pity on him, your pretty pretty lips closing around his dick. His hands grasped at strands of your hair almost instinctively, urging you to take more of him. You did; sinking down his cock perfectly, your throat just as good, just as tight as he had imagined.

One of your hands wrapped around the base of his dick, stroking the part you were unable to take, and while Viktor had never thought much about your size difference before, it now became painfully obvious how small your hand looked when on his cock. You were barely able to fully close it around the girth and, god, that shouldn't have been this hot, but things were slowly spiralling out of Viktor's control — or perhaps they already had been since this whole situation had begun.

“Fuck”, he gasped out, accent heavy, “You're taking me so well, dear. God. 'm so close, please, you're so good.”

His hips bucked up again and again and you took it willingly, not once double tapping his thigh to stop, even though you were gagging and choking, the nails of your free hand digging into his hip.

Everything was white hot pleasure, Viktor's chest heaving with sharp pants as he yanked on your hair — not on purpose, though he certainly didn't miss the way you moaned at the sudden sting in your scalp. That was information filed away for future uses.

Viktor threw his head back, needy noises and throaty groans echoing in the sparsely decorated room he struggled to recognise as his own. “So close—”

He immediately regretted his words a moment later as you pulled away, prying his hands from your hair. You met in a messy kiss, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip in impatience, his hands on your hips, urging you closer while touching as much skin of yours as possible, and, fuck, he simply wanted nothing more than to give you a taste of your own medicine, though he feared he himself was too impatient to tease you right now.

“Love, please”, he rasped against your lips, your foreheads touching, “Don't torture me.”

“Oh? And why not, pretty boy? You look so lovely when you're at my mercy.”

You hummed, thoughtful, and a low sound left Viktor — almost akin to a growl or the closest humanly possible thing to one.

“For whatever you're doing, I'll pay you back thrice tomorrow. If you're good to me, I'll be good to you.”

He revelled in the visible tremble his words tore from you.

“And if you're intent on teasing me, well — we both know my patience is far greater than yours, no?”

Your response was an unashamed moan, your own cheeks now flushed, pupils visibly dilated. Viktor was certain he was never going to get enough of how easily he was able to affect you this greatly.

“Well, if you phrase it like that”, you eventually drawled, shrugging a little, “I wanted to take even more time with you, but I guess you're just too convincing. Besides, you're just too handsome right now to resist you for long.”

As you tilted your head up, you pressed your lips against his again; an invitation he took too eagerly, his tongue pushing into your mouth.

Honestly, Viktor expected to reach his orgasm through your hand; your mouth if he was lucky and you were in the mood to suck him off again, which was unlikely but not impossible.

That was why it came as an even bigger surprise as you suddenly sank down on his dick, your cunt dripping wet, the tight warmth feeling so so good around him that he moaned into the kiss, his eyes closed.

“You're so big”, you choked out, making heat curl in Viktor's stomach at the compliment that was voiced more like a complaint, “Fuck, I'll never do this again without you stretching me first. God.”

“Is that so?” Viktor urged, eager—, desperate to hear more of your praise, “I'm filling you so well, am I not?”

And you indulged him with a needy moan, the noise breathless. “Yeah. So big, Viktor, please—, you're so handsome right now. Such a good boy.”

Viktor groaned at your words; his eyes fluttering closed and his head resting against your shoulder as you slowly propped yourself up on your knees, then dropped back down.

Your hands were placed on his back for support and your nails were digging into his skin, surely causing him to bleed at this point, and he wasn't even ashamed that the added pain only added to his arousal.

“Viktor”, you gasped, your voice so beautifully needy, “So good, please, Viktor—”

At this point Viktor had been reduced to desperate whimpers and low groans, his hands on your hips as you ground against him one last time, your thighs shaking.

“Cum for me, darling, come on”, you purred, your voice so close to his ear, breath hot against his neck, and Viktor was unable to do anything but orgasm on command.

He came with a shout, his hips stuttering against yours as irregular waves of pleasure coursed through his body, leaving him utterly breathless; all of his thoughts consumed by you.

One of his hands moved from your hip to your cunt on pure instinct, rubbing your clit with lazy motions until you too were cumming, and you both groaned as you tightened around his dick once more.

Viktor's muscles shook as he slowly pulled out, trying not to pay any mind to the way a trickle of his own cum dripped out of your hole, and managed to manhandle you onto the bed to cuddle close to you in a spooning position.

“Well?” you eventually prompted, your eyes half-lidded and your voice tired, “I hope you're aware of how much I appreciate you now.” A yawn. “If not, we're gonna have to repeat this tomorrow.”

Viktor chuckled, his nose against your neck. “I'd say I understand your view a bit better now, yes. Besides, we don't have time for a repetition of today's events.”

“Oh? And why's that?”

“I did promise to pay you back, did I not?”

“Right”, you said with a chuckle, “I'm excited already. Still, you better know I'm serious about doing this more often if you doubt my love for you ever again.”

Viktor scoffed, the sound oddly soft. “While that's not an effective threat, I understand what you're trying to say.”

“Oh, I think it is. Next time I'll just show your glorious ass how much I love it.”

“Now you're simply being indecent on purpose.”

“Yeah. But I'd do it, so don't doubt me again.”

notes: hello Arcane fandom, please let me in, i offer Viktor content. also, viktor needs to be called pretty boy more often

this was also posted on ao3!

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[metalvsflesh]

Unprompted Friday Night Jayce Lore Post On My Blog That’s Mostly Dedicated To Blitzcrank and Viktor

ok so my takes on zaun champs have been heavily inspired by the DCU so hear me out:

Jayce but he has heavy Booster Gold vibes. If you don’t know who Booster Gold is, you’re missing out on an EXCELLENT superhero concept, go look him up. I promise you, you won’t be let down.

TLDR;

Initially became a superhero for the fame and attention, Jayce turned a new leaf when he realized the responsibility he holds and the power he has to influence the next generation of Superheros inspired by his + The Herald’s heroics in the past. After all, while he might not be there when it comes, he’s the Defender of Tomorrow, and he’ll make for damn sure tomorrow still continues to come once he’s gone.

Longer, WIP, Lore Take That Needs Fine Tuning:

Jayce went to school/used to work at the same place Viktor&Co. did. While he wasn’t the best inventor, his greatest strength was, by far, his troubleshooting skills. Anyone and everyone who had an issue with something not working right, they would call upon him to take a look at it and fix whatever was going wrong. He could find out, instantly, what was going wrong in anything - even those that weren’t anywhere close his field, like medicine or art.

The reason being for his Fantastic Troubleshooting is he has a semi-magical superpower that makes it so that he has like really vague future-vision. Like is manifests as a hunch or a gut feeling, and he somehow immediately knows how to prevent it. He thinks it’s him being smarter than everyone and like being able to predict things better because he’s smart and logical but it’s like a mix of being observant and logical and a legit magical power he has. He can see the kinda future, but he has to FIRST identify at least one or two patterns that COULD lead to that future outcome.

ex. he notices that a guard of a building at the school always takes his lunch at around 12:14 pm, and every now and again he forgets to lock the door after letting people in, THEN he gets like a gut feeling someone was going to attempt to sneak into the building while the guard is at lunch and has forgotten to lock the door, and it ends up happening a day or two later.

After graduating and working for some time at the school, he decides that he’ll use his predicto-skills to become a superhero - and there was a spot open, as there was only a Zaunite hero at the time. He fiddles with a scrapped invention of his, fitting it into a crazy multi-tool he could use to fight crime. And he starts to fight crime by using his future-vision. His superhero title becomes the “Defender of Tomorrow”, since he can kinda see into the future and he keeps predicting all these bad guy’s attacks n stuff etc etc. For short people like to call him “The Defender”.

Its fun, he’s popular, people love him and his face is plastered everywhere you can think. Action figures, comics, even a couple shitty movies later on in his life are made for him. Everything is fine and dandy for him, and he sees no reason to change that for many many years.

One night, he comes home to the Zaunite hero, known only has “The Herald”, waiting patiently while looking sickly and trembling despite his best efforts to stand sure and proud. Jayce felt a little bad, despite the circumstances, and offered him a seat and a glass of warm milk - knowing that was often the thing he’d request when people offered to give him something for helping them. He had came to inform Jayce of a strange trend he’s been finding down in Zaun: multiple factories and waste disposal companies were signing on contracts with a group based in Noxus, and rumors had spread of the infamous inventor Singed being allied with them. The Herald then confessed that he was gravely ill, despite it being rather obvious, and was unable to investigate them on his own. But he was sure this was something that needed to be stopped before it could become big, and thus he came to Jayce to give him the information in hopes he could take over the job of looking into them while he recovered from his illness, even offering to come to Jayce’s aid whenever he needed it in the future.

Jayce was initially inclined to refuse, but was suddenly struck with one of his hunches. This was going to be important down the line, and it was a matter of hundreds upon thousands of lives at stake. He didn’t know when, where, why, or how - but he had trust his gut for neigh-thirty years by then, so why stop now?

He promised The Herald he would look into it, and the man handed him a small gadget, claiming that activating it would notify The Herald when Jayce was in need of help. The Herald was also insistent on explaining to Jayce how to keep himself safe in Zaun, but Jayce waved him off and told him to go back home and rest.

Jayce almost immediately started researching, and as he does he starts getting intense hunches. They were so strong and felt so real it was like he was having flashbacks, or watching a movie, or visions - in them, a horrific war in what seems like some pretty, super magical land. Blood soaked battlefields, corpses blanketing the landscape as crows with strange eyes circling above, and a huge cloud of gas turning everything it touches dead and grey as if the very life in the land was sapped away by the slightest touch and the blue sky turns a sickly green and brown.

At first he’s intimidated, feeling small and helpless in face of such a large and devastating threat. He didn’t know where to start because all of the causes were so distant and scattered one man couldn’t possibly do it all on his own.

But doing nothing wasn’t an answer. Before, when he felt like he might not be able to stop something, he simply let it happen and help clean up the aftermath, because failing to stop it would tarnish his reputation. But he couldn’t just wait for it to happen. He had to do something about it. After all, he made a promise.

He tried his hardest, once or twice trying to get others to come help by asking them ‘super-favors’, but found the people of Piltover either didn’t care or thought the idea silly and far-fetched, and Zaunites either too scared or too powerless to stop the thing from happening on their very backdoor. It wasn’t until the war actually landed that people came out of the woodworks to try and help.

After the war, Jayce took a break from superheroing, trying to reflect and process everything he had gone through those past few years. He realized that it would have been a lot easier if there were more people like him to help. In fact, a lot of his job would have been easier if there were more people like him. People who had the power and influence to save people.

It was then he had one of his hunches, but he didn’t know what would come of it. He just knew one thing: he had to get back to superhero work, and try to gather a younger generation of superheros and get them to fill the shoes left behind by The Herald and, soon, himself, when he’s eventually forced to retire or dies defending the future he’s sworn to protect.

[arcanescionmoved]

Caitlyn held her cane with defiance. For her, it was not used to aid in her walking but more aesthetically defining and a deadly weapon if it came to it. The bottom had a blade that would swing out that turned the bottom into a scythe design, and she could pull the swan out of the scabbard-cane design to have a sword in hand. Everything of hers while beautiful was deadly in detail. "It's the pleasures of contracts, most don't know when to say no til it's too late," Her eyes glanced over to Sevika, glad to see she also had keen eyesight. While not the details around him, she could read people. Something highly useful in this world.

Disgust covered her face as she kept away from the drunken baffoon. She rolled her eyes as she kept walking, having no need to bother with the drunk. Caitlyn had heard about the incident but didn't see the need to question what had happened. She noticed the finger details; Sevika's annoyance that morning, the way her shoulder would shift, or the twitching of her muscles. The area looked agitated from the reapplication of the metal arm too. All in all, she seemed to be trying to handle the changes that came with this.

A smile left her lips as she looked toward her. She enjoyed Sevika's honesty and the fact that she was willing to do anything, even join her when she wanted to go shopping for a new dress. Caitlyn enjoyed the luxuries of finer clothing but it was more than just clothing; it was a statement. What Piltover claimed to be proper and refined, she wore it in spite of them in Zaun. They could pretend all the way, but Caitlyn knew the truth of their deception.

"Good. I wanted to see if you wanted to go, not because I ordered you to. A fine line between a demand and an interest," She said, as she walked toward the Nightingale Song and opened the door. Soft floral smells hit first, the unique taste of Piltovan eloquence within the very halls. Furniture that would be found in an aristocratic home was within the rooms of each one, some rooms having smaller furniture and the larger rooms having more. Many of her songbirds wandered the halls unless accompanied by a client in a room where doors would be closed (unless they desired a bit of Exhibitionism). However, Caitlyn paid no heed, all of them working.

"I assume you have no need to change?" Caitlyn questioned as they stepped into her private chambers, acting as an office and a bedroom at the same time. Her hands closed the door as she walked over to her closet, opening it up and setting the cane inside of it. She pulled out some bands, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, as a few strands fell around her face but otherwise would keep her vision clear. And then without hesitation, she shed the black dress, letting it drop to the ground to leave her body bare except for the black bra and underwear of hers. She picked up the dress and tossed it over a chair as she pulled out her other gear. She pulled on the leather pants, tight fitting and slim but didn't make a noise, and then a long sleeve-tight shirt. A leather corset light top went over the black shirt, a source of protection in a fight as she wrapped a belt around her waist, with little knife pockets. She pulled up two pairs of gloves, covering her fingers except for the pointer and thumb.

Along her left arm, she pulled on a gauntlet, and while slim had a mechanism underneath. She lifted her arm and flicked back her wrist which extended a hidden blade. Flexing her hand back forward the blade shot back down, hidden within the gauntlet. She grabbed a cloak, pulled it over her shoulders, and lifted the hood over her head, allowing her appearance to be shadowed within it and the cloak fell around her hips like a cape. The entire outfit was bathed in black, making it easy for Caitlyn to disappear into the shadows. the last part was her face mask, which she set around her neck for now and looked over to Sevika.

"I hope you quick on your feet, as quiet as you are,"

The clicks next to her had caught Sevika’s attention at first, but the more she walked close by Caitlyn the more they faded into the background noise alongside all the other various noises in Zaun she had became used to. Glancing to Caitlyn for a moment she nodded. “I like poker as much as the next person, but eventually you have to know when to fold and walk away.” She held no sympathies for gamblers that gave into chasing fantasies that would never payout and let it ruin them. Sevika also didn’t really consider poker gambling, and seldom ever indulged in dice games or anything else that to her moved deeper into that realm of “real” gambling. Things that were based too highly off of chance with no real strategy behind them didn’t have much interest to her. At least with poker you could bluff, and read your opponents to one extent or another.

“You have good eyes. I didn’t notice the cabinet, but agreed he was lying.” Be it poker, or life in Zaun, or the career Sevika had fallen into she’d gotten rather good at telling when someone was lying over the years. Although if she had to put her ability with such things up against Caitlyn’s she’d wager that she’d loose. Regardless in that moment Sevika felt almost like this was some final job interview, or test to see if she could properly keep up. Perhaps it was just her imagination, and due to not being used to working for someone like Caitlyn however.

The drunk stumbling past glanced over and mumbled. “Pretty… pretty lady and… and… Shiiiiit ain’t you that one that done got her arm blown off? BOOOOm heheheh that musta suuuuucked but I’ll bet you’ve got some shiny upgrade now huh?” His voice slurred and mumbled he swayed as he kept moving not caring as his shoulder hit a wall.

Sevika grimaced at the man before shaking her head. It was annoying, and if he’d stuck around she might have done something had he kept it up. With him stumbling off however he really wasn’t worth bothering with. Besides it’d been irritating, but he hadn’t been wrong. She had lost her arm, and it was recent enough that some people still found it interesting. Attention returning to Caitlyn for a second Sevika chuckled softly.

“Baroness, with respect, I work when and as you need now. If you want me on a hunt than I’ll be on the hunt. You want me by your side watching your back so you can shop for a new dress without interruptions than alright. You want me to go talk to the leader of some gang you’ve been having issues with late at night I will. Smuggling, training people, hunting, bodyguard work, whatever.” There was a lot of things Sevika could do, and she was perfectly willing to do any and all of them more or less without question and on demand. She was reliable. Perhaps one of the most reliable people in Zaun, and that in itself was perhaps her greatest skill. Good old fashioned reliability.

Eyes flickering around keeping watch habitually she shrugged, and looked back to Caitlyn. “That said. I’d be entirely willing to accompany you.”

[emberflit-alley-herald]

"No, no it's fine. More than fine, actually. Thank you."

Jayce knew he had a sweet tooth. It was something he wasn't actually that ashamed of. He'd loved sweets as long as Jayce had known him. Once he had told him that Piltover sweets were a rare luxury in his childhood, so when he got access to them full time... Who could blame him?

When the chocolates were put down, he was quick the grab the box and open it, instantly popping one in his mouth. He grinned, the kind of grin that was rare even before, before his surgery to dampen his emotions, before the fighting, before the Machine Herald. Sugar had that effect on him.

"Oh Janna- These are divine- Where did you say you got them? I will have to see about getting more the next time I am topside."

His eyes flickered up, the amber glow watching Jayce's expressions curiously. They almost matched his eyes from... Nevermind that. Getting caught in the past wasn't important.

"What- Is seeing scars so rare in Piltover you can even look at me now? Mine aren't even that bad, Jayce." It's impossible to tell from his tone if he was just poking fun or genuinely hurt. It was always hard to tell. "if it makes you feel better, you only caused the black eye and a few broken noses- But those have healed. The other scars are my own doing. And... Part of the reason I wear a mask while working these days. You should look into that. Learn from my errors." This time he chuckled, leaving it clear that last part at least was definitely a joke.

When his leg is brought up, he glances down, eyes the traitorous limb. "Eh, I am planning to chop the whole thing off. As soon as I have the replacement done... unfortunately, much easier said that done. It was originally the first part I planned to replace... But then I hurt myself- A few times- And that became more important first. And between that there were clients looking for miracles and the the gods damned church- Do you know about that? A ton of people claiming I am their prophet. I'm not associated with them- I think they're rather annoying- Please try not to feed into their rhetoric, if you can."

"Where was I... Oh. the Leg. Yes- It is on my to-do list. I will be sure to keep you updated on how that is going."

“Viktor? The door was open so I kinda assumed I could just walk in I'm not sure.”

[ Jayce stepped into the room. As he hummed ever so slightly. A box of chocolates in one hand and then a bottle of wine in the other. He stops in his tracks; taking in a deep breath; his foot tapping against the ground ] “I forgot the sandwich got caught up with stuff ya know how it is and all that. I removed the pipe bomb.”

[ He paused for a moment. His eyes shifted around the room. Questioning his own choice in coming here in the first place; Jayce should have just gone back to his lab. He had just gotten very awkward; he didn't fully remember the last time he was actually friendly with Viktor ] “I can just put the wine and chocolates down for you and get out of your hair. Got stuff to do.”

[ He knew that was a lie. He knew he had nothing to do today. Jayce was really just sitting doing nothing before this. Well, almost nothing. ] “Lots…stuff yep.” [ His eyes never properly fell on the other ]

( @emberflit-alley-herald )