#i hope Dark is alive in the season 2

[cordeliafuryshows]

The hollowed head gang + the new guy!

I've had The Dark Lord design since i was writing a fanfic on paper and since the new teaser i drew the new guy and decided to draw the rest of the hollowed heads stickman's. So here they are!

Victim

The Chosen One

The Dark Lord

The Second Coming (+ awaking powers)

The new guy

I might fix Victim design but i really like the other one's

(fun fact: the suit on the new guy i actually just did the same way as some of the Brookhaven RP entitys like Pilot 666 [my profile] and Cartoon Cat)

I'm exited for this Saturday for the AvA season 2 :D

[glasseater-3000]

ykw sometimes its better to just cancel the show

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

part 2

The BAU team arrived at the small town of Crescent Hills, ready to investigate a series of gruesome murders. The victims all shared similar physical characteristics. The team quickly realized that the killer was targeting women who looked exactly like you, the same hair, the same eyes and somehow personality, which had to be the scarriwst part of them all.

As the team discussed their next move, Spencer couldn't help but stare at her. She was the spitting image of the victims, but she seemed unfazed by the situation. In fact, she suggested that she pose as bait in order to catch the killer. She was the agent her mentor made her, because Hotch would have done the same in a heartbeat. Yet as Hotch looked at the young woman standing at his side, standing tall and holding her head high with pride and bravery, wearing a mask of calmness hiding her whirlwind of emotions with quite the efficiency.

Spencer's heart skipped a beat at the thought of his best friend putting herself in danger. His hands shook with dread and anxiety and his mind raced to a million directions as his heart seemed to weight a few tons more than usual. He was so confused. He had always seen her as a friend, but in that moment, he couldn't deny the intense feelings he had for her. Yes he had always cared for her, and wouldn't wish any harm in her way, but at this moment he desperately wished to have been the genius he claimed to be, to find a way out of this, to solve this without any one getting hurt, to keep her safe and alive and well next to him, hoping she felt even a sliver of the intesity of his emotions. He knew he couldn't let her go through with this plan. He had to act quickly, not caring if he embarrassed himself in the process.

"You can't do this, it's too dangerous," Spencer pleaded with her, his eyes shining with unshead tears as he saw her walking in her hotel room, trying to make herself more appealing for the UnSub.

"I can handle myself, Spencer," she replied confidently."Do not worry. I have been trained from the best." She whispered as she lightly hugged him and kissed his cheeks and the storm raging inside of him seemed to calm down for a few short seconds.

But Spencer couldn't shake off the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her. He had been so focused on his work and solving the case that he hadn't even realized his true feelings for her until now. As the team set up a plan, Spencer couldn't help but keep a close eye on her. He couldn't let her out of his sight. But as she put herself in harm's way, Spencer's heart was in his throat

The warehouse was quiet, the ominous shadows twisting around the corners like specters waiting to strike and fear started clawing its way to her heart. Derek Morgan’s voice echoed in her mind; “You’re one of us, kiddo. Trust your instincts.” But in this moment, trust felt like an anchor dragging her deeper into despair.

She was second guessing herself now as well as her abilities. Maybe she had made a mistake. She had volunteered without hesitation, knowing the stakes were high. A string of brutal murders had terrorized several towns, and the Behavioral Analysis Unit needed to understand what made this killer tick. But she had never expected that the very thing she sought to uncover would entrap her instead.

As she stepped deeper into the warehouse, darkness enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. The cold was biting, but the fear coursed through her veins like ice. She had set off the sound of a chilling recording, a mocking lure that had been crafted specifically for the UnSub. The air was alive with tension, every creak of the old metal structure amplifying her dread.

“Just breathe,” she murmured to herself, but her heart raced faster with every passing second. Somehow, despite the adrenaline's flow, she felt an unsettling calm, as if her body was preparing for something inevitable.

She thought of the team back at the BAU. Hotch would be analyzing their data, Emily and Derek keeping their wits about them, and as she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Spencer Reid’s gentle voice. He was always a soothing presence, with his deep well of knowledge and quirky sense of humor.

“Remember when I tried to teach you how to play chess?” he whispered in her mind, a memory flooding back. They had been at a coffee shop breaking down a case when she had confided that she hadn’t learned the game as a child. With a persistent twinkle in his eye, he taught her the basics, patiently explaining the rules as she fumbled through the moves. They laughed when she mistakenly thought pawns could move diagonally anytime.

In this dark warehouse, she recalled how he had once said, “You have to think several moves ahead. In chess, just as in life.” She held onto that wisdom now, fighting to stifle her panic.

The quiet was shattered by footsteps echoing through the maze of crates and rusted metal. She steeled herself, adrenaline rushing through her as the UnSub emerged from the shadows. He was a tall figure, cloaked in darkness, his face obscured by a mask that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She fought the surge of terror that threatened to overwhelm her. How? How had he been expecting her? She was a trained spy for the love of God, before joining the BAU, had she rusted her abilities this quickly? It had only been five years. Five wonderful, free years.

She couldn’t falter. In her mind, she anchored herself to another memory: a sunny afternoon with Reid. They had shared ice cream on a picnic blanket, debating the best flavors like children. He had quipped that pistachio was underappreciated, while she insisted on the classic chocolate chip cookie dough.

“You’re practically a gourmet, aren’t you?” she teased, and his laugh had brightened that day, sunlight dancing in his eyes.

But now, there were no sunny picnics; shadows danced along the walls as the UnSub advanced towards her. She could see glimmers of rage flickering in his eyes, an intensity that struck fear into her heart.

“Let’s see just how strong you are,” he hissed, gripping her arms in a vice-like hold. She gasped as pain shot through her, but even as she winced, she summoned the memory of Reid, who had taught her the importance of mindfulness in the face of fear.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, fueling her resolve with every ounce of anger she could muster.

But he laughed, a cruel sound that sent tremors of dread through her. The sharpness of reality cut through her feelings of safety, and she swallowed hard, desperately piecing together scattered memories, trying to fund the best course of action but it was already to late. She felt sluggish and slow, something was wrong.

She tried to find the good memories, to find courage and strength, such as Reid’s infinite patience, his love for obscure trivia, the whimsical way he could make her smile even in the darkest of moments.

“Your game is over,” the UnSub snarled, his breath hot against her skin.

As he began to carry out his twisted intentions, she closed her eyes tightly, conjuring one last memory, one that radiated warmth in the encroaching darkness. The night Reid had confessed his fears of inadequacy, only to find solace in their bond, his fingers grazing hers in comforting reassurance, his eyes reflecting the kind of understanding that only comes from empathy.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, even as fear clawed at her soul. “No matter what happens, I’m not afraid. I will not give you the satisfaction of the perfect murder, trust me it will be a fight to bring me down.”

"Oh, but you have already lost. I think you must be feeling it be now."

Her heart pounded with the realization that she might not escape. But in those harrowing moments, as she fought against the loop of pain and despair, she anchored herself in the love and camaraderie of her team—every shared laugh, every overcoming of hardship. No matter what happened, they would carry her spirit forward.

In those last flickers of consciousness, she thought of Spencer, his brilliance, his laugh, and the unyielding strength of their bond. She hoped he would forgive her for failing to bring him the answers they so desperately needed, all while holding onto the belief that even the darkest of nights must give way to dawn.

With that thought, she embraced the memories that would never fade, hoping they would echo in the hearts of those she loved, a reminder that even in their darkest hours, they could find light.

Then the darkness came.

The cold grip of fear tightened around Spencer Reid's heart as he stood in the dimly lit acting conference room of the BAU, a small desk office of the local police station. The air was thick with tension and the weight of impending decisions that could alter their fates. He paced the floor anxiously, running a hand through his tousled hair while his mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

“Guys, we can’t go through with this,” he implored, turning to face his team, his voice a tremor of desperation. “The unsub is more unpredictable than we anticipated, and we can’t risk her life. What if—”

“It’s not just about her,” Derek Morgan countered, crossing his arms. “This mission aims to take down a dangerous criminal. We need to act fast before he slips through our fingers again.”

“But what if he targets her, Morgan?” Spencer’s voice escalated, echoing in the room. “I've analyzed his patterns. If she’s involved, she’s at extreme risk. We can’t afford to lose her!”

Emily Prentiss, caught between the mounting urgency and Reid’s grave expression, glanced at the other agents. “We have to trust our instincts, Spencer, but you know we all understand the risk involved. We can deploy a secondary team to protect her—”

“No!” Reid snapped, panic threading his tone. “You don’t understand. I can’t shake this feeling. What if this is a trap? She shouldn’t be there. We need to stop this. We need to call it off.”

The room fell silent as his pleas hung in the air, but time was running out, and the team had a job to do. With reluctant determination, they gathered their gear and left the conference room, unknowingly walking into the lion’s den.

Spencer’s heart raced as he followed them, a whirlwind of dread washing over him. They arrived at the location of the suspected meeting and quickly fanned out, but dread settled deeper in his chest as time ticked away.

Minutes felt like hours, and Reid’s worries morphed into a nightmare. Suddenly, over the comms, a shout broke through the chaos, and panic pierced the stillness. “She’s down! She’s down!”

Spencer’s instinct kicked in, but it felt like running through molasses as he pushed past his teammates. His breath quickened dramatically. He reached the scene, and there she was—Her body lay still against the cold asphalt, pale and lifeless.

Everything around him blurred as the sirens wailed in the distance, blending into an agonizing scream that reverberated in his mind. He dropped to his knees beside her, an overwhelming despair crashing down like a tidal wave. “No, no, no…” he chanted, disbelief coursing through him as the realization sank in.

He placed his hands on her chest, feeling the emptiness where her spirit should have been. “Stay with me. Please,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he started CPR. Each pump felt futile, desperation fueling his actions—A metronome to the rhythm of her fading heartbeat.

“Come on, please! Breathe, breathe!” Spencer’s voice cracked as he pressed harder, not willing to accept the undeniable truth standing stark against reality—a truth that seemed to throng his senses.

Suddenly, strong hands pulled him backward. “Spencer, let the medics handle this,” a voice shouted through the fog of his anguish. It was Morgan, trying to wrestle him back to reality.

“No! I can’t! I won’t let her go!” Reid screamed, thrashing against the hold, fighting against the gravity of grief. But the world around him was collapsing, everything turning hazy, the wail of the sirens growing louder, drowning him in despair.

“Spencer!” Morgan’s voice cut through the fog, but it felt distant, as if coming from underwater. He was pulled away from the scene, from her cold body that lay so still. The agents moved in, the medics began their work, but Reid felt as if a piece of himself was being torn apart, the agonizing reality sinking its teeth deeper into his soul.

He fell to his knees, the weight of his failure crashing into him like a heavy stone, unyielding and unforgiving. Tears streamed down his face as he watched helplessly, the ache in his chest mimicking a gaping wound.

Desperation clawed at him as he realized that no amount of pleading or data could bring her back. And in that moment, the chaos of the world faded away, and all he knew was a profound loss that reverberated through every fiber of his being.

And then the impossible happened. She was still bleeding, covered in deep cuts by a knife that would scar her for life. Yet her chest lifted lightly before falling down.

Once.

Twice.

He was sure he was dreaming of it. His mind playing a trick on him, not being ready to register his life without her existence.

But no.

It was true. She was breathing.

[joaniscruzing]

reuniting with jinx <3

everyone... that was quite the rollercoaster. but, i choose to believe that jinx is alive. i'm not ready to let go of arcane for a good while, and I'll do my best to upload fics more often, especially with the holiday breaks coming up too, so reel in whatever arcane requests you have! i write for vi, caitlyn, and jinx. i do take smut requests for these characters too if you guys would like to request some...

obviously though, jinx wouldn't leave without finding her amazing gf though... right??

summary: jinx surprises you while you're grieving, and you both escape and go elsewhere.

warnings: angst at the beginning, season 2 act 3 spoilers, kissing, emotional, lots and lots of fluff, I PROMISED A HAPPY ENDING AND DELIVERED

you couldn't believe it. your whole body crumbled to the ground as vi told you the devastating news.

"I'll tell you one thing," vi tried to quip, a small smile on her face, "she went out with a bang."

vi explained that she heard an explosion sound when jinx fell down the vent, and how she guessed she had set off one more bomb. you take vi close to you, hugging her tightly.

"she really did love you, you know." vi admitted, "i think she's just had a lot come her way. and i can't say I'm the most innocent in that realm myself."

you left vi to continue staring at the fireplace, about to leave and go to jinx's workshop, hoping to take a few things to remember her by. you see caitlyn looking at the vent diagram, studying it closely. how could she possibly studying the place where your beloved girlfriend died? you knew that caitlyn had grown to not hate jinx anymore, so you decided to just leave it at that.

after leaving the kiramann mansion, you traversed back to zaun, thoughts racing through your head. had you not done enough? loved her enough? given her a reason to live? you wanted to scream as loudly as you could, and let whatever you were feeling out.

you finally made it to where jinx had her things, and you took a deep breath before entering. this was it.

the once lit-up place was darker and worn-out in her eyes. the once neon, bright-colored place seemed to be dark and empty now. like you without jinx. a tear rolled down your face as you picked up small tools and things, even parts of a flower she was making for you out of scraps. you sat on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, trying to make sense in your head of what you should do next.

"did you really think i was gone, hun?" jinx questions, right behind you. your entire body leaps at the sound of her voice. it can't be.

"jinx?" you ask, shooting your head up and turning around.

"did you really think i was gonna die that easily? now stop moping. we have to get on the hot air balloon."

shocked, you hug jinx quickly before shoving one thing you collected in your pocket. you both start running. hand in hand, you make a beeline in order to get on the next hot air balloon.

"you know what i realized? things aren't so great here, so why don't i just go somewhere else to do my thing? but, i knew i couldn't leave without you." jinx explains while running.

"how did you even get out?" is the only thing you manage to say.

"my shimmer, silly! i got the hell out and escaped through the air vents."

"and how did you get back to zaun?"

"simple hacking and tweaking of the hexgates. nothing special."

you both finally make it onto the airship, jinx holding your hand as you get on so you don't fall. she closes the door behind you.

"so. this is it. any last wishes before we leave forever?"

"my biggest one has been granted," you answer before pulling in jinx for a sweet kiss. you had missed her, as you hadn't seen her for a week or two with everything going on. jinx pulls away, explaining that you two had to go.

"you know, i've always wanted to drive one of these," jinx admits, steering the ship, "i have since i was very young." you notice a new sense of peace in her eyes as she drives the ship. she doesn't seem so... tortured anymore. in fact, she seems free of any past issues.

her newly cut hair blows in the wind, as you go up behind her and hug her waist, your head resting on her shoulder. no matter what the future held, you knew you were going to be happy. as long as jinx was there, you would be at peace.

"i love you," jinx says softly, taking one hand off the wheel to rest on top of yours.

"i love you too."

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr. Gaiman:

This is not actually a question, but I think this is something I must tell you.

Since season 2, you have seen how people are reacting because they are feelings thing they didn't expect to feel, which made them mad or sad. But I want to thank you for it.

I'm 21 now, and I've being dealing with depresion since 15. When people think about this illness, they might imagine someone who is hugely sad, but that's not my case (there's nothing more personal as this type of mental illnesses, never two alike) In my case, I stopped feeling at all. I don’t feel joy, nor sadness; not anger or hope. I don’t get excited about a book or entertain myself doing things I used to love. It's like being a NPC, like watching someone living my life instead of living it myself.

In 2019 I was in one of my darkest periods, and I found this two innefable beings, and it might sound ridiculous, but they made me feel something. I don`t even know what it was, the only think I knew was that, for the first time in years, I was not watching a serie only to have some noise that might distract me from my thoughts. For the first time, I connected with some characters as I used to do before getting bad. And when I finished it and a second season was announced, once again it might sound ridiculous, but it made me stay alive. There was hope, there was something I really wanted to be alive to watch. And you can't even imagine how powefull that little hope can be when you have lost all of it, I may still be in a dark place, but there's this little light that reminds me that there is a whole world out of it.

So yes, season 2 made me feel thing I was not expecting to fell (as season 1 did), and I can't be more gratefull for it. And I wanted you to know it, cause even if you don't realise about it, you and Terry saved the live of a little teenager who had lost hope, and I'm sure I am not the only one who can relate to this.

So thank you, Mr. Gaiman.

That warmed my heart.

[gwens-love]

Not Haunted anymore

<-Part 2 ~ Part 4->

Summary: Driven by love and desperation, you risk everything to bring Agatha back. But some things are not so easily won, and the line between life and death is fragile.

Warnings: emotional themes, loss and grief (kinda but not really)

Word count: 3.2k

~ghost!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader~

~Rio Vidal x fem!reader~

Please don’t copy/steal or translate this work thanks.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The seasons blurred as you waited, relentless in your hope. Green leaves turned gold and fell, the air crisped with the upcoming winter’s chill, but you stayed rooted in your goal. You wouldn’t let go… not like Rio had.

Today, the autumn sun brushed against your face as you sat outside with a familiar book, its pages worn from the weight of your gaze. You’d read it countless times, but it didn’t matter. This was for Agatha, and you couldn’t allow yourself to give up, not when the ache in your chest grew stronger each day.

Rio’s visits had become rare, just twice a week or so, and even then, her presence was hollow. She barely taught you anymore, simply standing beside you with empty eyes, as if all the fire… the life she might have had… had flickered out. Without her guidance, you had to teach yourself. You fumbled, grinding herbs too forcefully, botching incantations with poor pronunciation. But each mistake only spurred you to keep trying.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Time slipped through your fingers until spring arrived, and with it, a slow, creeping despair. You’d tried every spell, every book, every herb. You’d even sought out real witches, though they’d leave at the mere mention of Agatha’s name. Nothing worked. Each failure sank into the silence of the house, thick and suffocating, leaving you unable to think clearly.

Frustrated, you searched for your headphones, anything to drown out the quiet that had taken root here. And then… a knock at the door.

Your heart leaped. You dashed downstairs, hope clawing its way into your chest. When you swung open the door.

Rio stood there, framed by the soft glow of twilight. You stepped back, swallowing the knot of words lodged in your throat, and gestured for her to come inside.

Rio steps inside, a spark in her eyes that you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity. She looks almost… alive again. It’s startling, seeing that glimmer, that hint of joy tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“What’s got you so happy?” you ask, confusion knitting your brows.

Rio turns to you, her grin widening, a rare, genuine warmth filling the air between you both. “I found something,” she says, her voice barely containing her excitement. “After all this time, I think I found a solution.”

Your heart races, hope swelling in your chest even as doubt pulls at you. “A solution? You mean…?”

She nods, reaching out to take your hand. “Yes. A way to bring Agatha back. I found something powerful… something no one’s tried before.”

A flicker of caution surfaces in your mind, but the desperation you’ve held onto for so long outweighs it. “What do we have to do?”

Rio’s fingers tighten around yours as she leads you to sit beside her. Her eyes shimmer with a strange, almost feverish excitement as she slips a worn, heavy book from her satchel, bound in dark green leather. The cover is cracked from years of wear, the pages yellowed and fragile.

“I found this,” she murmurs, flipping through the brittle pages. “It’s a rare text, almost lost. The rituals in here…they’re powerful, more than anything we’ve tried before.”

You stare at the book, trying to process her words. “Where did you even find something like this?”

Her face shifts, a flicker of something dark passing through her gaze. “It wasn’t easy. Let’s just say I made some… arrangements. But it’ll be worth it. I know this will work.” Her hand shakes slightly as she finds the page, turning it toward you. The cramped text and curling symbols are written in an ancient language, nearly unreadable. In the center is an intricate illustration of symbols, all intertwining to form a complex pattern.

You feel a pang of unease. “Why hasn’t anyone done this before if it’s so powerful?”

Rio hesitates, her voice softening. “Because it demands a lot. Complete focus, and an unwavering intent. If either of us falters…we might not bring her back at all.”

A chill runs through you as you take in her words. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken doubts and fears. But beneath it all, there’s a longing that eclipses everything else. You can’t give up, not after coming this far.

“What do we need to do?” you ask, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Rio’s lips curve into a smile, one tinged with determination. “The ritual has to be performed under the midnight moon. We’ll need specific herbs, a lock of Agatha’s hair, and our most precious memory of her. Each of us has to bring something deeply tied to her… something that binds us.”

She starts gathering the necessary items, and together you arrange everything carefully: candles placed in a circle, bundles of sage and rosemary, and a small, carefully wrapped lock of Agatha’s hair. Rio’s hands are steady as she lights each candle, murmuring under her breath words you can’t quite catch.

Finally, she looks up, her eyes meeting yours in the dim candlelight. “Are you ready?”

The weight of her question settles over you, and you swallow, feeling the gravity of what you’re about to attempt. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you take your places across from each other, kneeling on either side of the circle. The scent of herbs fills the air, mingling with the warmth of candlelight that flickers, casting shadows against the walls. Rio instructs you to close your eyes, to focus on Agatha—her laughter, her voice, the warmth of her embrace. Memories rush through your mind: afternoons spent learning from her, her steady guidance, the spark of her wisdom.

“Now,” Rio says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hold onto that memory, and don’t let go. We need to anchor her spirit.”

You nod, clinging to the image in your mind, willing it to hold strong. Rio’s voice begins to chant, low and melodic, as if each word is stitched with power. The air grows thick, humming with energy, and you feel it settling over you, heavy and electric.

The candle flames flicker and bend, stretching toward the center of the circle as if pulled by an unseen force. Shadows swirl around you, shapes dancing at the edge of your vision. You keep your focus, letting Rio’s voice guide you deeper, pulling you through memories of Agatha until it feels as if she’s right there, just out of reach.

Then, the atmosphere shifts, a chill sweeping over you, sending a shiver down your spine. You feel a presence, delicate and familiar, almost tangible. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your ears as you dare to open your eyes. Rio’s chanting has stopped, her eyes wide, locked on a faint, misty form beginning to coalesce within the circle.

There she is, Agatha, her form fragile and translucent, like moonlight made solid. Her eyes meet yours, filled with something between longing and sorrow. For a moment, everything else falls away. She’s here. You’ve done it.

“Agatha…” you breathe, reaching out instinctively.

But her gaze shifts, and a faint smile graces her lips. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, reaches you. “I’m… here, but not for long.”

Rio stiffens beside you, her face a mixture of triumph and desperation. “No, we can’t lose you again. There has to be more, something else we can do.”

Agatha’s gaze softens as she looks between you and Rio, the faintest hint of pride in her eyes. “You’ve come so far… but some things are not meant to be tampered with.” She steps back, fading slightly, her voice lingering. “Hold onto what we had. Let that be enough.”

And with that, her form shimmers and dissolves into the candlelight, leaving you and Rio in the quiet, empty space once more. The silence is deafening, your heart aching with a finality you hadn’t prepared for.

Rio reaches for your hand, her fingers squeezing yours. “Maybe… maybe this was enough,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with the pain of letting go. The two of you sit there, fingers intertwined, letting the last traces of Agatha’s presence linger in the air, knowing that she’ll always be a part of you etched in memory, bound in love.

As Agatha’s form begins to fade, a surge of panic grips you. This isn’t enough. You refuse to accept the soft, fleeting memory as all you’ll ever have of her. Agatha deserves more, she deserves life, a real, tangible presence beside you once more.

“Wait!” you shout, reaching into the circle, your hand trembling with determination. Rio’s eyes snap to you, filled with confusion and alarm.

“Y/N… what are you doing?” she whispers, her hand tightening on yours, trying to pull you back. But you shake her off, stepping into the center of the circle as your own magic swells around you, a warmth that’s different from Rio’s shadows and quiet whispers. Your power surges forward, bold and unyielding, like spring itself, a magic tied to life, rebirth, and creation.

“I’m not letting her go again,” you say, your voice steady and fierce. “Not when I… I can bring her back. Really back. She won’t be just a memory, just a spirit tethered to the shadows. She’ll be alive.”

Rio’s eyes widen, understanding dawning as she takes in the intensity radiating from you. “No, Y/N, the spell, Agatha warned us. You can’t use magic to bring someone fully back… It’s unstable. She’d be caught between worlds, between life and death.”

But you don’t listen. Your mind races through everything you’ve learned, everything Rio taught you, and you taught yourself, as you push deeper into your power, calling on the energy that runs in your veins. It pulses through you, responding to your desperation and longing.

You focus on Agatha, feeling her presence, fragile and wavering in the circle. Your fingers extend toward her, reaching into the space where her form hovers like mist. Her gaze catches yours, and for a moment, you see fear and a trace of sadness there.

“Agatha,” you murmur, feeling the magic coil and tighten within you, a warm, consuming force. “I’m not letting you go. You deserve to be here, to live again, to touch the earth, to feel the sunlight. I’ll make it happen. I swear it.”

The warmth of magic..? spreads, spilling out of you and filling the circle. You feel it pull, tugging at the edges of reality, bending the boundaries between life and death. Agatha’s form flickers, the mist growing thicker, denser. Slowly, her outline sharpens, her features taking on a warmth and solidity that wasn’t there before.

You push harder, feeling the strain of it, the raw power searing through your veins, demanding everything you have. Agatha’s form steadies, her gaze wide with a mixture of hope and terror as she realizes what you’re doing. She reaches toward you, her hand solid, her fingers brushing yours for the first time in what feels like eternity. The warmth of her touch ignites something within you, giving you strength to go even further.

But something is wrong. A strange, dark edge creeps into the magic, twisting it, contorting it as you push past the natural order. You can feel the boundary between life and death fraying, splintering under the force of your power. Your breath catches, but you refuse to stop, willing Agatha into full life even as you feel the cost beginning to weigh on you.

Finally, with a gasp, Agatha stands before you solid, alive, and breathing. Her chest rises and falls as she takes in her surroundings, her eyes full of wonder and disbelief as she looks at her hands, her body. She’s here. She’s real.

But the strain hits you like a tidal wave, and you stumble, your body weakening as the energy drains from you. Rio is beside you in an instant, catching you, her face pale with fear. “Y/N… What have you done?”

You barely hear her, your gaze locked on Agatha, who’s staring back at you, her eyes filled with a fierce, overwhelming gratitude. She steps closer, reaching for you, her hands warm and real, and the sensation fills you with joy and relief.

But there’s a heaviness in the air, a sense that something is shifting, that the world itself is groaning under the weight of your defiance. You can feel it in the marrow of your bones, like a tether pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Agatha pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you, and you sink into her embrace, feeling the pulse of her heart against your cheek. But as you hold her, you sense the tremor within her, the fragility in the life you’ve given her. She’s here, but she’s bound to you in a way that feels… unnatural, tethered by a force that defies the very fabric of the world.

And deep down, you realize that she is alive, yes, but at a cost. The magic inside her isn’t stable; it’s restless, hungry, feeding off the very essence that holds you together.

Rio’s voice is barely a whisper. “Y/N… what happens now?”

You meet Agatha’s gaze, knowing that the life you’ve given her is bound to your own, and that the two of you are now entangled in a way that defies the natural order. You know that, in time, this magic may demand a price, a sacrifice you’re not yet ready to name. But for now, Agatha’s here, alive and breathing, and that’s all that matters.

“We take it one day at a time,” you murmur, feeling the weight of what you’ve done settle over you. For now, it’s enough.

Agatha’s solid, warm arms are still wrapped around you, her heart beating under your cheek as you cling to her. But then your knees buckle, the ground tilting beneath you as a sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness crashes through your mind. You try to hold on, but your strength drains away, leaving you weak and barely able to stand.

“Y/N!” Rio’s voice is frantic as she catches you, lowering you gently to the floor. She kneels beside you, her face pale and stricken, shock etched into her features.

“You’re a witch…?” Agatha whispers, her hand trembling as she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “How… I had no idea. You never told me.” Her voice is filled with wonder and disbelief, her eyes wide as if seeing you for the first time.

You try to speak, to explain, but the words slip away as exhaustion claims you, your body numb and drained from the sheer power you poured into the spell. A murmur ripples through the room as Rio hovers beside you, concern written in every line of her face.

“She didn’t just use magic,” Rio murmurs, almost to herself. “She wielded the magic of life, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. That’s not just any spell. That’s…”

“A witch of life,” Agatha finishes, her voice soft with awe, as if saying the words aloud makes them true. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Apparently not,” Rio mutters, but her hand clutches yours tightly, grounding you as the room continues to spin.

You blink up at them, struggling to focus, as the last of your strength ebbs away. The world fades around you, but you catch Agatha’s expression, a mixture of astonishment and fierce pride. “You did this,” she says softly. “You brought me back. Y/N… how?”

But before you can answer, your vision blurs, the edges of your sight darkening as unconsciousness pulls you under. The last thing you feel is Agatha’s hand clasped in yours and Rio’s whispered promise: “Rest now, Y/N. We’ll figure this out… together.”

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The darkness closes over you, leaving their shocked faces lingering in your mind, a moment that feels both surreal and unforgettable, knowing you’ve revealed a part of yourself that you didn’t even fully understand.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the weight of blankets and the soft warmth of sunlight spilling through the window. You blink, adjusting to the light, and try to sit up, but a sharp, aching fatigue pulls you back down. Your body feels heavy, as though you’ve been asleep for days.

As you take in the quiet of the room, you hear muffled voices outside the door. A moment later, it opens, and Agatha and Rio slip inside. Agatha’s face lights up with relief, and Rio’s expression shifts from worry to quiet awe.

“Y/N!” Agatha crosses the room, her hands reaching for yours, her touch grounding you as she squeezes your fingers. “Thank goodness, you’re finally awake.”

You blink at her, struggling to make sense of everything. “How long was I… asleep?”

Rio answers, her tone gentle. “A week. We weren’t sure when you’d wake up.” She takes a deep breath, searching your face before adding, “You used a lot of magic, more than we even thought possible.”

Magic. The memory hits you like a wave, pulling you back to that moment when Agatha’s spirit had shifted to flesh and bone. The spell, the power coursing through you, the almost unbearable force of it all. Your pulse quickens as the realization sinks in. “Wait… I’m not a witch. I don’t even know how to cast spells. That shouldn’t be possible.”

Rio and Agatha exchange glances, as if waiting for the right way to explain. Agatha sits down beside you, her fingers still tangled with yours. “Y/N… you are a witch. Or maybe, you became one,” she murmurs, studying your face. “You’re a life witch, it’s close to a green witch, but you can interfere with not only the life of plants, but with animals and apparently humans too.”

You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. “But… I’ve never been able to do anything like that. I wasn’t born a witch.”

“That’s the strange part,” Rio says softly, her expression intense. “The magic, it just… appeared in you when you needed it. Like it was meant to be there all along, waiting for the right moment.” She runs a hand through her hair, disbelief flickering in her eyes. “Y/N, I’ve never seen anything like it. You summoned the magic of life, the rarest, most ancient form of magic there is. Only a few witches in all of history have had that ability.”

A strange, chilling wonder fills you, making you shiver. You stare down at your hands, the memory of that unstoppable power still fresh, almost like a dream. “But I… I don’t know how to control it. I don’t even understand it.”

Agatha’s fingers tighten around yours, grounding you again. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t know everything right now. What matters is that you brought me back. You saved me, Y/N.” She smiles, warmth and gratitude shining in her eyes. “You did the impossible.”

Rio nods, her face softening as she looks at you. “You’ve tapped into something few ever do. It’s overwhelming, I know. But we’ll figure it out together.”

You meet their eyes, still grappling with the reality of it all. The power, the spell, the unexplainable magic that had surged through you. The witch you’d become, without even realizing it. A new part of you, mysterious and powerful, waiting to be understood.

For now, though, you’re not alone. Agatha and Rio are here, guiding you, grounding you. Whatever this magic is, wherever it leads, you’re ready. Together, you’ll uncover its secrets, and maybe, finally, understand the path fate has set before you.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

<3

Taglist: @midnight-lestrange

[rose24207]

Prompt “we should not have split up” with mafia lando?

On your own

Summary: Kidnapped after a fight, you learn the hard way—leaving Lando after a fight was a mistake.

Genre: Mafia, dark

Mafia!Lando x reader

TW: Mafia, guns, kidnapping, shooting, fighting

A/N: I’m alive dw! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt.2

The air was thick with tension, the kind that seeped into your bones and made your skin prickle. The dimly lit warehouse smelled of damp concrete and motor oil, the faint flickering of a faulty overhead light casting eerie shadows across the space. Your wrists ached from the rough rope binding them behind your back, the sharp bite of the restraints cutting into your skin.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You and Lando had fought—again.

You had spent the past year at his side, not just as his lover but as his confidante, his equal in the world he ruled with an iron grip. But Lando had always been overprotective, always acting as if you were fragile, incapable of handling yourself. It had been a minor argument at first—about a meeting, about territory, about how you weren’t a liability. You had told him you could handle yourself, and in the heat of the moment, you made a reckless decision.

You left on your own.

And now you were paying the price.

The man across from you—Matteo Ricci, a rival boss Lando had crossed one too many times—grinned as he crouched in front of you. He was older, seasoned, with deep scars that ran down the side of his cheek, souvenirs from a life spent in violence.

"You should have stayed by Norris' side, cara," Matteo mused, rolling a knife between his fingers. "But I suppose this works just as well. He’ll come for you. He always does. And when he does…" He smirked. "He’ll be walking into a trap."

Your stomach twisted. You knew Lando would come. He wouldn’t stop until he found you, and that was exactly what Matteo was counting on.

The sound of a car screeching to a stop outside sent Matteo’s men scrambling. They pulled out their weapons, fingers tight on the triggers, as heavy boots thundered against the pavement.

Then, silence.

A deadly, suffocating silence.

You knew that silence.

And so did Matteo. His expression faltered for the first time, his hand tightening around the knife. “He’s here.”

The lights above flickered once. Then the warehouse was plunged into darkness.

A gunshot rang out. Then another.

Screams followed, cut off as quickly as they started. Bodies hit the ground with dull thuds, the unmistakable sound of a silencer making it clear that Lando had come prepared.

You swallowed, pulse pounding.

The next thing you knew, a hand was gripping your chin, forcing you to look up.

Lando.

His face was a storm of emotions—anger, relief, fury, love. His normally bright blue eyes were dark, almost black in the dim lighting, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might break his own teeth. Blood stained his knuckles, splattered across the crisp black suit he wore.

“You,” he seethed, his voice dangerously low, “should not have left.”

Before you could answer, his knife was out, slicing through the ropes around your wrists in one swift motion. As soon as you were free, he yanked you up, pressing your body against his. His grip was bruising, his breath hot against your temple.

"You could have died," he growled.

"But I didn't," you whispered.

His fingers dug into your waist. "Because I got here in time. Do you have any idea what I was thinking when I found out you were missing?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Lando—"

"No." He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "We should not have split up."

You exhaled shakily, feeling the weight of those words. He was right. You had been reckless, stubborn. And now?

Now, you understood.

"I'm sorry," you murmured.

His lips crashed against yours—desperate, angry, possessive. His hands gripped you like he was afraid you’d disappear, like he was grounding himself in the taste of you.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged. "You’re never leaving my side again."

It wasn't a request.

And for once, you didn’t argue.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom

[deathbxnny]

Hi I would like to request a part 2 of my previous request for the jinx x fem reader with abandonment issues

"I'm sorry you lost your way home." | Jinx x Reader

(Previous part)

I decided to combine these two, so thank you to the anons and their requests!! I hope you'll like this!<33

(I'm sorry in advance-)

Content: Heavy angst, abandonment issues, heavy spoilers for season 2 act 3, hurt/no comfort, established romantic relationships, death, sfw

Reader was asked to be afab in one of the requests. However, no pronouns are mentioned in the post!

((Not proofread))

The first person to visit you after her disappearance was Vi. The sister you had heard so much about, yet never anything good. But it all melted away at her words.

Your ears were ringing, and for a moment, you wondered if you had perhaps heard her wrong. "... Jinx said that she was going to help someone out before she left with Isha. And... And she swore they'd be back. So don't you lie to me-" You took a deep breath when you stumbled back against the doorway, nearly sliding down the rough wood in terror. Oh, how you wished the ground would open up to swallow you whole.

Vi gave you an unreadable look, her hand hesitantly reaching out to grab you, but she refrained at the last second. You meant the world to Jinx. She had asked her to find you just before... "I'm sorry. But what I'm saying is the truth, I-... They are both dead. There is no doubt about it. I saw it with my own eyes both times and... I can't get the images out of my head." Sweat dripped down your forehead as you only barely heard Vi speak to you.

Life was just becoming good for you... so why did this have to happen?

You both had just recently taken in Isha a while ago and were basically treating her as your child. You saw the way she healed Jinx and made her feel more alive. It meant the world to you to see her that way. And for a while, you perhaps even foolishly believed that things would go well now.

You thought about running away together before, in the darkness of your room, as Isha napped in your arms. You remembered turning to her and whispering, "Let's run away. Let's leave on one of the skyship and go somewhere far away... just the three of us." And you saw it in her gentle gaze, the way she considered it... but it meant nothing in the face of a war she had to fight in.

Looking back on it, you should've maybe seen the signs and listened to the uneasy feeling in your gut when the both of them left for a special mission she refused to tell you about. It was for your own safety she'd say and who were you to intervene or deny her orders? She was always so much more intelligent and stronger than you. You just blindly trusted her. You believed she'd return soon just as she's promised... but she never did.

Neither of them did.

It was radio silence for the longest time. And you hadn't moved an inch from the small apartment Jinx considered to be her second hideout with you and your kid. Not when the war broke out, not when there was a call for arms, not when you peeked out for the barricaded windows at the creepy, white machines that slinked right past your hiding space.

And now you wonder, in the haze of uncertainty and panic, if the balloon you had momentarily seen soar through the sky was her after all. Had the denial misled you into a false sense of foolish security? Did you really, fully believe she'd be back for you? That she'd bring Isha home safely and run away at last? Yes. Yes, you did. You believed it... but received a charred part of one of her bombs in return. A confirmation that it was truly over for the family and future you had built together for the shortest amount of time.

"... leave. Please leave. I can't bare looking at you." You gasped out in-between heaving breaths, unable to stand Vi's presence any longer. Everyone was making you feel sick. What's the point of being a savior if you die? What's the point of seeing a hero if you leave behind what you love the most to suffer in agony?

You had waited so long at this wooden door to your once warm home for their return. For her return. Yet all you were greeted with was the one thing that was left of her. A sister she did still love deep down more than life itself. You, however, could only feel rage.

"Wait. She told me to loom out for you. I can't-" "-I said leave! If it wasn't for you, then we could have left and been happy!" You yelled out, suddenly not caring about hurting anyone's feelings anymore. And god did it hurt. It hurt so much. Because Vi still had a piece of her in her. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough in her and Isha's absence.

Slamming the door into Vi's face and locking it for good measure, you finally fall to your knees and clutch the last, charred thing you had of her to your chest, sobbing. You drowned out Vi's yells and bangs against the door whilst you did so, deciding that if you were in agony, then she didn't deserve any consolation either.

Your worst nightmare had come to fruition, just as the last skyship of the day flew into the sky and left its past behind.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: VI

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: I miss Yoongi. I hope his heart is happy right now

Masterlist, Latibule 2.V

If you tell Yoongi to go to hell, he’d most likely laugh at your face and told you that he had already been there.

He was there.

He lived there. In fact, hell was an old friend of his, one that he spent too much time with. Hell was before you, long before. He just never thought there could be a hell after you.

Each day after your supposedly demise was hell for him– a nightmare that just wouldn’t end. It was something he couldn’t escape. It was as though his world was devoid of any good, of any color and taste, of any happiness. Hell was not a place. No. Hell was a feeling.

It was the weight that pressed down on him every morning, the heaviness in his chest when he opened his eyes to find your side of the bed empty. Hell was the silence that replaced your laughter, the absence of your voice calling his name, the ghost of your touch that never quite left his skin. Hell was the cold, unrelenting thought that you were gone, and that he'd never get to hold you again.

It was exactly what he was feeling as you looked at him with disgust in your eyes. It was the way you looked at him as though you no longer recognized him. It was the way you wanted nothing but to leave him again.

Yet Yoongi knew what heaven was, too. He had known because of you.

You were his heaven. You were his latibule, his safe place, the one person who could calm the storms inside him. When you were with him, he could breathe.

You had been the anchor, the one thing that kept him tethered to a life that wasn’t just pain and darkness. When you ‘died’, he just kept sinking. It was too cold without you. You took the sun with you and every day since then felt like he was drowning. It didn’t matter how much time had passed or how many things had changed in the world around him—nothing mattered when you were gone. You had been everything.

He wanted to tell you that hell wasn’t a place. It was a life without you in it. And for Yoongi, that was the cruelest punishment of all.

So, forgive him if he couldn’t let go. Forgive him for holding on so tightly, because after all the pain, after all the years of suffocating, the thought of losing you again was simply unimaginable.

He wouldn’t let go, not even when you were glaring at him so hard from your position on the hospital bed. All that mattered was that you were here, you were alive, and he wasn’t going to let you slip away again.

And that was how Seokjin found you and Yoongi.

He blinked at the atmosphere in the hospital room. The animosity coming from you was too strong, while Yoongi was just shrugging off your irritation., his hold on your hand not letting up for even a second.

The scene was enough to suffocate him—his eyes flicking between you, still glaring at Yoongi with fire in your eyes, and Yoongi, whose posture was relaxed but whose expression was softer, almost... defeated. It was clear to Seokjin that Yoongi was not going to move an inch, and you, in your hospital bed, weren’t about to give in. The tension in the room was so thick it almost had a physical presence.

“For the record,” Seokjin started, trying to cut through the tension as he checked your dextrose and adjusted the IV drip, his voice light and casual as though he was merely talking about the sunny weather outside. "I’d rather be in a ten-day conference with a bunch of idiots than be here right now. Scratch that. I’d rather be with Jungkook and listen to him go on and on about missing his wife than be here. Honestly."

Silence.

Seokjin sighed as he turned away from the bedside table, jotting something down on his tablet. “I also know a good relationship therapist. I’ll give you her card later, Yoongs.”

Yoongi finally looked up at Seokjin, his eyes tired but steady. “Not in the mood for your jokes, hyung.”

“Are you in the mood to let me go?” You asked dryly, you brain itching to leave the hospital and go back to your own life.

Yoongi smirked, his eyes flicking to yours, a teasing glint softening the sharp edges of his gaze. His fingers tightened around yours just enough to remind you he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. “Not a chance, angel.” His lips curled into a playful smile, and before you could even process what he was doing, he leaned down and kissed the back of your hand, much to your reluctant surprise.

He wanted to say that he would rather clip your wings. That way, you wouldn’t be able to fly away from him like the angel that you were.

“Drama,” Seokjin singsonged. It would have been impressive how effortlessly his voice flowed, how rich it sounded despite the absurdity of the moment. It would have been, had you not been absolutely annoyed at him. “I’m allergic to that, by the way. Jimin, on the other hand, would thrive in this. I will call him as soon as I finish this.”

Before Yoongi could even respond, Seokjin turned his full attention to you. “I have the results, as well as your records from your previous doctor. I am sure you're already well-aware of your diagnosis. I’m not going into details—"

“Do go into the details,” Yoongi insisted, almost impatient, as he wanted to know all about what happened and who he had to go after for turning you into this. They took something from you and he firmly believed that he should take something from theirs, too.

"I don’t want to," Seokjin said with a simplicity that dripped with smugness, his voice cool and collected in a way that only he could pull off. His gaze shifted to Yoongi, and he pouted exaggeratedly, lips curling into the perfect picture of a petulant child—a brat, through and through. "Time is gold, and you know I’m scheduled every day from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. to look for my runaway sunshine. It’s already 9:23 in the morning, and my sunshine won’t find itself, now, will it?"

“Hyung, it is important that I find-”

 “So, going back before we were rudely interrupted,” he cut him off, completely turning his body to you with a smile on his face. “Operation or no operation? Blind or no blind?”

You blinked owlishly at his approach. The way he phrased it made it feel almost… casual. As though your fate were just another routine decision, like choosing a drink at a café. There was no warmth in his tone, no hesitation. Just… options. And a lack of them at the same time.

The stakes were far higher than Seokjin seemed to realize, but then again, maybe that was exactly how he managed to remain so calm. He had mastered detachment.

“What are the chances of success?” you asked, finally finding your voice. The question tumbled out before you could stop it, and you immediately regretted how small it sounded in the weight of the room. Despite your acceptance with your situation, there was still a part of you that clung to hope that you could live normally again and without the weight of the impending disability. There was a part of you that was praying so hard that you’d get to witness your son grow up.

Seokjin didn’t flinch. In fact, he didn’t even seem to think twice before answering. He spoke almost like he was offering you a simple piece of advice.

“Forty-sixty,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a casual coolness that didn’t match the gravity of his words. “But since I’m the doctor… fifty-fifty.”

Suddenly, it hit Yoongi. It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t one moment, but a sudden avalanche of all the things he hadn’t seen—the things he should have noticed, the things he was too blind to acknowledge, and yet, here they were, all crashing back to him with the force of a thousand waves.

How you had always moved through the dark like it was second nature to you, as though you had already prepared for it. How you never stumbled, never hesitated, even when the room’s lights were out, your steps confident and sure, like you already knew the path in the pitch blackness.

Then there were the nights. Every night, without fail, you would step outside and look at the stars, your gaze soft and wistful, as if you were committing each constellation to memory, as though you feared you might never see them again.

And those mornings. The mornings when you would wake up, your eyes still heavy with sleep, but you would always look at him with such tenderness, a kind of reverence in your gaze that he had never fully understood. Sometimes, when you thought he was asleep, you’d trace the angles of his face with your fingertips, gently memorizing the curve of his jaw, the shape of his nose, the lines of his brow—as if you feared forgetting them, as though you were trying to make sure every detail was etched into your memory forever.

But it wasn’t until that dreadful day that everything crashed down around him.

The day when you failed to see the car coming, when you didn’t even flinch as it came dangerously close, and he had to shout your name to pull you back in time. That moment, when his heart had stopped, and he had felt something break inside of him, but he hadn’t understood why. He thought it was just a close call. He thought you were distracted.

But now, in the quiet aftermath of Seokjin’s words, it all made sense. Your condition was worse than he anticipated.

The decision itself was no brainer to you. You knew what you would choose. There was no assurance that you would see again, and you had long accepted your fate. It just became more difficult now that you had a son. You thought that you would rather lose your sight slowly than lose it all at once. That way, you reasoned, you could still bask in his innocent face and commit his form to memory than to never see him again.

You were about to respond, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to say, but before you could open your mouth, Yoongi stood up suddenly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. His face shifted from quiet tension to outright frustration, morphing into an expression of disbelief, as if this whole conversation was beneath him.

"Why are we even discussing this?" Yoongi said, his voice rising with impatience. "My Angel will go under the operation—"

You cut him off immediately, spinning to face him with a glare sharp enough to cut through his words.

“Who says I will?” You shot him an incredulous look, appalled by his audacity. You turned to him with an incredulous look. The audacity of this man who fooled you to decide for you! “You don’t have a say in this.”

Yoongi froze, his expression falling into an unreadable mask for a moment before a humorless chuckle left his lips. He didn't like this, not one bit. In fact, he seemed almost offended by your defiance. He barely spared you a glance before turning to Seokjin, his entire posture brimming with the kind of authority he rarely let slip.

“I’ll pay double the cost, hyung,” he said with the kind of conviction that usually made people back down. “Whatever the cost is, I’ll double it. No, I’ll triple it, hyung. She will be well.”

 “Does my decision not matter?!”

Seokjin, thankfully, didn’t let the moment drag on too long. With an exaggerated grimace, he turned to Yoongi, his voice dripping with mock disgust.

“Ew,” Seokjin said, his tone like he’d just stepped in something unpleasant. He glanced Yoongi up and down, as if inspecting him, before tapping away at his tablet with exaggerated speed. "You should know that money does nothing for me." He paused, just long enough to let that sink in, then flashed the tablet at you like it was some kind of trophy.

"Look!" he said with a wide, almost smug grin. "And that’s just my money in one of the many, many, many accounts I have. My and sunshine’s future children can live off of my wealth for several generations." He flicked his eyes over to Yoongi, his expression gleeful, as if he’d just won an argument that wasn’t even his to win.

“And besides!” Seokjin continued, not missing a beat. “I cannot operate on someone in my hospital without consent! That is malpractice!”

Yoongi’s eyes flared with incredulity. "That is where you draw the line?!" His voice rose again, this time laced with disbelief, frustration, and something else, something darker. "Malpractice? You—"

“Well, I have to draw the line somewhere!” Seokjin said, his voice light and teasing, though the words held a strange weight, the corners of his lips curling into a playful smirk. “If I don’t, I’ll be just like the Joker—only with a more handsome, perfect, and immaculate face. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He winked for emphasis, clearly pleased with his own self-deprecating humor. But as ridiculous as his words sounded, there was a sharp truth to them. Heavens knew what might happen if Seokjin ever truly lost the tiny bit of humanity and morality he still clung to. That would be a terrifying thought.

But Yoongi wasn’t laughing.

He was standing in the middle of the room, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight with frustration. His eyes were a storm of emotion, and as much as he tried to suppress it, there was a flicker of desperation burning beneath the surface.

Seokjin seemed to sense it, his tone turning a bit more serious as he let the joke fall away. “But hyung—” Yoongi began, stepping forward, his voice cracking with a rare vulnerability. “You don’t understand, I need her to be—”

“Only family members can decide for a medical procedure on behalf,” Seokjin interrupted him with an almost bored finality, his tone sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “Are you her husband? No? Then no. She has to decide for herself.”

Seokjin turned to him, and this time his eyes didn’t have the usual glint they had on them. This time, it was cold and serious. It was as though there was a switch in his hyung, one that he could freely turn on and off. “Trust me on this, Yoongi.”

He looked down at his watch with a frown. “You made me late. It’s already 10:01! I am definitely going to charge this in your bill!” He ranted on, his long legs moved with purpose, and for a moment, Yoongi almost forgot how ridiculous Seokjin could be when he was trying to make a point.

But just as Seokjin reached the door, he stopped and turned on his heel, his gaze shifting to you.

“And you,” Seokjin pointed directly at you with an overly dramatic flourish, “you have a week to decide. A week, understand? You have to decide, or I will,” he raised his brows at you, hinting another thing that you should disclose to his brother. Your eyes widened at what he was insinuating and you knew your time was running out. You were starting to wonder what his play was that he was actively keeping quiet regarding the other thing that he found out – the secret that you never wanted Yoongi to know. “For the meantime, I’ll discharge you. Don’t get too comfortable here. The two of you are ruining the vibes in my immaculate hospital with your angst that’s definitely worse than Nicholas Spark’s drama novels!”

Yoongi, still standing stiffly in the middle of the room, opened his mouth, probably to protest or to demand more information, but Seokjin wasn’t finished. No, the grand finale was just beginning.

He turned, his finger now wagging at Yoongi with comical intensity. "And you!" Seokjin’s voice rose again, sharper now. "Unless you can become her husband in a week, the decision is just hers to make! Got it? Are you sure you understand? You do? You don’t? Okay, bye!"

“This is kidnapping,” you noted as he lead you inside his penthouse. To be honest, you were terrified of entering another unfamiliar territory. You got so used to your old place and knowing where everything was, knowing which direction to step to avoid uneven floorings, and of knowing all the edges and corners your place had that it became your comfort zone. You were independent there, so opposite to who you were reduced to right now in his space. When your sight worsened further, Hoseok suddenly stopped moving places so often. He decided that it had been long enough and that the family he took for his own was safe and forgotten by him. He decided to show you the soft side of his heart when he noticed how bad you were starting to struggle.

He didn’t know that that was going to become his downfall.

And now, you were back to square one.

“You can call it what you want, and I’ll call it what I want. This is called taking my Angel home,” he replied, his voice deep. He surmised from his drive home that it didn’t matter what you were feeling right now nor the hatred that you kept deep in your heart for him. You loved him once, you sure as hell could do it again.

He’d make you.

He was sure he could because the opposite of that happening was unimaginable to him.

“I’m not your property. I’m not your angel,” you seethed as you attempted to pull your hand away from his. Everything had gone by way too fast that it left you reeling. Your past and present collided, and you feared that you could no longer keep up. At the end of the day, you just wanted to see your son. You wanted, no. You needed to see him longer, to be able to use your sense of sight for far longer before you were subjected to a life of darkness without ever seeing his face again.

Yoongi’s mouth curled into a small, unreadable smile as he gently guided you toward the sofa. His touch never wavered. He was careful, but in a way that only made the underlying control more apparent. When he finally settled you down, he didn’t back off. No, he planted himself right in front of you, on the coffee table, his knee brushing against your thigh, forcing you into his orbit, where you could no longer escape.

"Why is that, angel?" he asked, his voice low, each word dripping with something that could have been sympathy, if it wasn’t for the edge in his tone. You knew that tone well enough. It wasn’t about soothing you. It wasn’t about offering comfort. It was about breaking you down, piece by piece, until he had enough of your cracks exposed to know how to fix what was broken between you two.

The smile on his lips widened slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were cold, searching, calculating, and you hated how easily you could feel the weight of his gaze as it settled on you. He wasn’t asking a question, not really.

“Because you claimed that I want you gone? That it was me who wanted you dead?” His voice was calm, too calm, but you could hear the quiet fury behind it. His words were deliberate, every one of them cutting through the air like a knife, honing in on your weak points with pinpoint accuracy.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into the fabric of your jeans, trying to hold onto the shred of control you still had. His proximity made it harder to breathe, harder to think, but you refused to let him see you falter. You wouldn’t let him think that you were weaker than you’d been before. You wouldn’t.

“You’re asking me that now?” you spat, the words hot with defiance, but your voice wavered slightly, betraying you. “After everything that’s happened? After you… you did what you did?”

Yoongi tilted his head, an almost imperceptible shift in his posture that made it clear he wasn’t even close to finished with you. He had no intention of letting you get away with anything. Without warning, his hands gripped yours—gentle, but unyielding. You tried to pull away, but his hold was steady, calculated, as he brought your trembling hands to his lips. The warmth of his mouth pressed softly against your skin, and each kiss felt like a slow burn, searing through the thin walls of your resistance as he whispered. “And what exactly did I do the night of the accident? Didn’t I do my absolute best to save you? Didn’t I almost die, too?” You were shaking your head even before he finished speaking. All the thoughts in your mind were chaotic. The constant statements of Hoseok that Yoongi lied, that he was Agustd and that he wanted you dead were clashing with what Yoongi was saying.

Your breath caught in your throat, a wave of panic hitting you like a slap to the face. He was wrong. He had to be. His words were poison, they twisted things, warped them into something unrecognizable. The chaos in your mind roared louder, drowning out his voice, but still, the cracks in your resolve grew wider with every second he spoke.

“No?” His voice dropped even lower, and you could hear the challenge in it, the subtle shift of control. “Angel, just because you didn’t know that I was crazy looking for you doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, an erratic beat that only matched the mess of thoughts colliding inside your mind. “If you really looked for me, then why didn’t you find me?!” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Your voice trembled with all the pain, the months of waiting, the helplessness that had turned into something darker, something bitter.

You wanted to scream that you waited. You wanted to say that for months, there was a part of you that clung to hope that he’d find you and your son, that he would explain and that everything would be back to the way they were. You wanted to say you waited and waited until hope morphed into an ugly hatred. You waited until the love turned into suspicions and manipulations. You waited until love had to fade in the background.

But your voice faltered. The words caught in your throat.

“Who looked for me?” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own disbelief. “Was it Suga? Was it Yoongi? Or was it Agustd?”

Yoongi’s expression darkened, and for a moment, his eyes flashed with something close to anger—an emotion so raw, so real, that it stopped you in your tracks. But then, just as quickly, his face softened, and he reached for you again, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand.

“Me, my angel,” he replied softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that made your chest ache. “Your Suga. I looked for you. I searched for you.”

The silence that followed hung heavy, thick with the unspoken truths you were both refusing to face. Yoongi exhaled a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of everything pressing down on him was almost too much to bear.

“I already told you that I don’t want you gone,” he said, his voice edged with frustration now, the calmness cracking. “Whoever has been feeding you those lies is the one manipulating you. Not me. I already told you the truth.”

You flinched at his words, the sting of them cutting through your confusion like a blade. He was still trying to make you believe him, trying to make you accept his version of reality. And the worst part was, part of you—part of you—wanted to.

But the pain, the years of waiting, the broken trust, the sense of abandonment—it was too much. You had to protect yourself, even if it meant shutting him out. Even if it meant believing the lies, the twisted stories you had heard from others. They had to be true. Didn’t they?

“But you’re not ready to hear that, are you?” Yoongi’s voice broke through your thoughts, colder now, sharper. “You’d rather believe the lies that that person is telling you.”

“Think, angel,” he said, his voice low but forceful, each word coming out with such purpose that it shook you to your core. “You know my past. You know how my parents were. You know I would never do to someone I love what they did to me, more so I would never do that to you.” He leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear as he continued, his voice a soft, almost desperate whisper. “So why do you think that I would do anything to hurt you? Why would I want the only person I have ever loved so fucking sincerely and dearly that it physically hurt?”

You felt the weight of his words pressing down on you, the intensity in his voice pushing you to the brink of something you couldn’t yet grasp. The emotions, the memories, they were swirling in your mind, fighting for dominance. You could feel his pain, his truth, but you couldn’t let yourself go there—not yet. Not when everything was so raw, so broken. Not when he had been the one to break you in ways that couldn’t be easily fixed.

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice barely above a whisper, but it was a sharp, desperate plea. “Just stop, Yoongi. I can’t do this with you anymore.”

His eyes darkened, not with anger, but with something else—something deeper, something you couldn’t read, but it made your chest tighten. He wasn’t letting you escape. Not this time.

“No.” His voice was firm, unyielding, and it made your breath catch in your throat. “You will hear this, angel. You need to hear this once and for all. I would never hurt you. You have my whole heart. You have my soul.” He was so close now, his presence overwhelming, and the words spilled out of him like a confession. “The only thing I did wrong was failing to protect the only person I have and will ever love.”

His gaze locked onto yours, raw and unfiltered, as though he was trying to pour every ounce of himself into you. You wanted to turn away, to block him out, but your body felt like it was frozen in place, unable to move under the weight of his words.

“I am Agustd,” he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated through your bones, “but to you, I am your Suga. I breathe and live for you.”

You shook your head, trying to push the conflicting emotions away, but they only pressed harder against you. You didn’t know what to believe anymore. His words twisted around your heart, like hands pulling at your insides, but the damage—the damage—had already been done. The things he had left unsaid, the lies, the betrayal, you couldn’t just let that go.

Jung Hoseok’s warnings echoed in your mind, "Yoongi's a liar. Agustd is a monster. He's the one who wanted you dead." The words were like knives, cutting through the fragile web of trust that you had left for him.

“Jung Hoseok was a master manipulator,” Yoongi continued, his voice steady, even as he leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing against yours. “If he’s the one feeding you lies—and I bet he was—then you need to hear this. His skills could rival that of Taehyung’s. I don’t blame you, even someone trained to resist would find it difficult to not believe in his well-crafted lies.”

You flinched at the mention of Hoseok’s name, the anger in your chest flaring, but Yoongi wasn’t finished. His words were no longer pleading; they were final, like he had made up his mind, and there was no turning back.

“Now that everything is said and done, you will never leave my side again.” His tone was possessive, unyielding, and something dark flickered in his eyes—like a promise, or a threat. “You will be better. I will give you my fucking eye if I have to.” His hands tightened around your wrists, almost painfully, as if to remind you that you were his. “I will find the ones who did this to you, and I will take their eyes for you.”

The words made your stomach churn. The anger, the rawness in his voice—it was like a wild thing, untamed and dangerous. But beneath it, you could hear the desperation, the hunger to make things right in his own twisted way. He was fixing things in his mind, as if it was so simple. As if all of it could be erased with promises and force.

Kim Namjoon POV

“A marriage license? All of a sudden?”

Yoongi’s tone came through the receiver, flat and unbothered. “Don’t act like you can’t procure a legal marriage license if you wanted, Joonie. You do have judges on your payroll,” he said, almost lazily, as though this wasn’t the kind of thing that should set off alarm bells. As if asking for a favor that would change the entire course of someone’s life was a casual thing.

Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut in frustration. He knew that tone. Yoongi was done. He was already over the conversation before it even started, and now Namjoon was being roped into cleaning up his mess. "You owe me one, hyung," Namjoon sighed, already thinking of which legal connections he could call in. Who did he know who could bypass the usual bureaucracy of marriage licenses, and who could expedite the paperwork without it being flagged?

Yoongi chuckled on the other end of the line, a sound that made Namjoon’s jaw clench. “I thought helping you make him disappear was payment enough for several favors?” he teased. There it was—the casual reminder of the past favor Namjoon had done for him. That particular favor had been a little more… permanent than he had bargained for.

Ah, yes. His little love’s ex-boyfriend, also known as the sperm donor of who he now considered as his own child. “I’ll have it delivered tomorrow.”

Namjoon sighed as he removed his glasses. His back was turned to his surprise guest as he took in the twinkling city lights from his office window. It was past midnight and yet, he was still as busy as ever because of family matters. It was too bad, though, because he was planning to come home early to the family he took for his own.

“Why are my brothers stressing me out?” Namjoon murmured to himself, sitting back in his chair, his fingers massaging his temples. He didn’t even realize how much tension had been building until he felt the muscles in his neck protest against the pressure.

Jung Hoseok chuckled softly, his form entirely at ease, as though he hadn’t disappeared for years and the world hadn’t been turned upside down in his absence. His posture was relaxed, leaning back slightly in the chair, with a sense of calm that only he could exude. Despite everything—the years, the distance, the mess he’d left behind—he carried himself with the same unbothered grace.

“What did he want, Joonie?” Hoseok asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, the kind of question that usually came with a hint of mischief or curiosity. His eyes, warm and inviting, locked onto Namjoon’s, as if he were trying to brush off the tension hanging in the air.

Namjoon, however, was not in the mood for any of Hoseok's usual lightheartedness. He tossed his glasses onto the desk with a frustrated sigh, his shoulders tight with the stress of being dragged into yet another one of Yoongi’s messes. He had tried to be patient, tried to play the role of the level-headed one, but his temper was running out.

“You know, just normal things like a fucking marriage license,” Namjoon snapped, his voice edged with frustration. “I swear, you all ask for the easiest things from me. Who do you think I am? You think I studied my ass off for years to become a lawyer for you all to ask me to bend the laws for you, and for fuck’s sake, I can no longer ignore this—whose child is that?!”

His finger shot out, pointing sharply at the bundle cradled against Hoseok’s chest.

The baby slept soundly, wrapped snugly in a soft, cream-colored blanket, oblivious to the storm swirling around the adults in the room. Hoseok’s hand gently brushed the child’s head, as if to reassure Namjoon that everything was just fine, as though nothing about this situation was worth stressing over.

“Language, Joonie,” Hoseok chided, his voice a low, soothing murmur, as if Namjoon’s outburst was the least important part of the situation. “Yoongi’s son is sleeping.”

Latibule 2.VII

[fairy-writes]

I feel my Arcane obsession starting to come back and the prompt "Tell me, my Dear, can a heart still be broken even when it stopped beating?" screamed Viktor at me 🥰 can I request that? Thank you very much!!

TO DIE OF A BROKEN HEART

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: “Tell me, my love, can a heart still be broken even when it stops beating?”

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends (2021)

Pairing(s): Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 0.5k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Angst, Post-Season 2, Established Relationships, Major Character Death

Notes: (I changed the quote a teensy tiny bit, but I like “love” more than “dear”)

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF THE SHOW

(something short because my brain is slowly rotting away)

__________________________________________________________________________

The cemetery was desolate. Your bouquet of flowers was just as sad as the solitary headstones, but you pressed on. Your shoes crunch the gravel underfoot as you make your way toward the back of the graveyard. 

Piltover hadn’t been as noisy as it used to be since the war. In fact, it was drowning in silence.

It shouldn’t have been like this. Viktor should’ve lived a long and prosperous life with you. That was why you agreed to help fund Hextech along with Mel Medarda. To help the people, but more importantly, to help your lover. 

So… Why? Why, why, why?! 

Why had Jinx blasted the Council to smithereens?! 

Why had Viktor been there?! 

Why hadn’t he been resting like you told him to?!

And that didn’t even include what happened to the Hexcore. While you were grateful Jayce had attempted to save Viktor’s life, that sense of gratefulness quickly diminished when Viktor changed.

You get to the gravesite, and the flowers in your hand crinkle in the wrapping around the stems as you stare down at the stones before you. 

Jayce Talis

“Our future is bright.”

Viktor—

A lump unexpectedly grows in your throat, and you barely stop yourself from dropping the bouquet of flowers. So, instead, you sink to your knees and place the blooms just before Viktor’s grave. Of course, there hadn’t been a body left to bury, so part of you had held out hope. But as time went on, your hopeful flame started to diminish to embers. Until those embers went out, and you finally accepted that Viktor might really, truly be gone.

Suddenly, you’re torn from your despair by a hand on your shoulder. 

Turning, you see Mel dressed in her pristine mage robes with a bouquet of camellias clutched tightly in her hands. She offers you a sad sort of smile, and you gesture for her to kneel beside you. 

“I hope it’s alright that Jayce was buried next to Viktor. I didn’t know where else to have him buried with both his parents still alive, and the Talis household doesn’t have a burial plot yet.” You mumbled, and Mel’s smile saddened even more. 

“I’m sure he would’ve appreciated being buried next to Viktor. Someone has to keep him in line in the afterlife.” She says, and you blurt out a watery laugh. 

“Right.” Is all you manage. 

Mel stays for a while, most likely keeping an eye on you. Because out of everyone, you had taken the presumed death of the Hextech founders the hardest. Jayce was something akin to a brother to you. Viktor was… So much more. 

You two had just begun to talk about marriage before all this happened. 

But, eventually, Mel is called back to her airship to head back to Noxus and leaves you alone. However, something in her eyes made you think she might just visit again soon. 

But then you are alone, flowers slowly wilting along with your heart. 

“Tell me, my love, can a heart still be broken even when it stops beating?” You whisper to the silence, and a tear streaks your cheek when you don’t get an answer because, of course, you wouldn’t. 

So you closed your eyes…

And let darkness swallow you whole.

[bwat5-blog]

Vi's Grief: An Honest Accounting

**Spoiler Warning for all of Arcane**

The reason I am giving my two cents on this when so many others have done such an excellent job already (check out the one I re-blogged, title is "all because of one woman" i believe), is because of a slew of conversation I have seen recently, making it out like Vi was just having a sad puppy phase waiting on Caitlyn, and that the moment Caitlyn snapped her fingers Vi came padding back for treats and pets.

In fact, what we are witnessing here is to me one of the saddest points of the story. In which a woman so characterized by her tenacity, her hope, her love and her spirit, just has nothing left. So to that end, I am going to be discussing the collective grief that brought Vi so low, and hope to relay the emotional weight and depth this moment should be given. (Even if the pacing of season 2 DID NOT).

Disclaimer: Anyone following me knows Vi is my favorite character and that I have written about her quite a bit. To that end, there be some things in this I just briefly touch on, that I probably got more detailed with in other posts. As always, thank you to anyone who takes the time to read and/or respond. Discourse and appreciation of stories and characters with heart and depth are how keep them alive. Below are a quick list of points I have explored in other posts regarding Vi's character that are relevant to this discussion but not needing full on analyses here.

Vi DID NOT make Jinx

Vi WAS NOT a bad sister

Vi IS NOT the Jinx

Powder:

The genesis of the grief and guilt Vi will struggle with for the rest of the story. In a moment of unimaginable pain, an at most 16 year old Vi lashes out at Powder who has seemingly caused the deaths of their family. She hits her, grabs her roughly around the face and calls her a Jinx before stalking away into the alleyway to cry. She almost instantly stops, looking at her sisters blood on her hands with horror, and stands to go back before Marcus materializes out of the shadows, stealing her away and throwing her in Stillwater for seven years.

I have discussed this tragedy in several posts and with heavy detail, so I will give you the overview here:

Every scrap of evidence before Vi lashes out suggests a loving, supportive, and protective relationship between she and her sister

While older than Powder, as I said per the writers Vi is 14-16 old during this time (I guess they never decided) which is extremely young

Vi tried not to involve Powder in this at all because she wasn't ready, and rightfully so. We have seen Vander's lessons regarding responsibility to those who look up to you settling in Vi's mind over the first three episodes. She knows there is a good chance they may not come back from rescuing Vander, and tries to keep Powder safe.

When Vi lashes out she has seen her entire family die violently, has narrowly survived a fight for her life against multiple adult thugs, and is wounded and afraid

There is no situation where a rational adult would blame Vi for what happened. But, grief isn't rational. One of the last lessons Vander imparted before his passing becomes a part of her so strong it will impact her forever in ways good and bad alike. "when people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish".

Vi loses everything, and everyone. Thrown in frightening, dark, violent prison without cause for seven years. Her whole world shrinks to the darkness in that cell and all she can think about, all she can focus on and hope for, is to someday make it right to the sister who looked up to her.

Jinx:

Seven years locked away from the world and when Vi gets her chance, she takes it. Lets quickly run down their reunion:

Vi immediately embraces Jinx and apologizes for everything that happened.

Jinx asks if Vi is real, clearly concerning but Vi doesn't bat an eye and just comforts her sister

When Jinx tearfully admits she has changed (the tone clearly indicating in a bad way as Vi understands) Vi does not judge or question, affirming that Jinx did what she had to in order to survive

After seeing Caitlyn and the paranoia and fear planted by Sevika and Silco in Jinx takes ahold of her, Vi continues to try and embrace her sister even pushing Jinx's machine gun out from under her chin

Fights back to back with Jinx against the firelights. We only see first real sign of fear/concern over Jinx's behavior when she realize how manic/gleeful Jinx is in combat, but Vi is taken by the firelights before it can be addressed

Vi immediately tries to take responsibility, accepts her, comforts her, and tries to protect her. They are separated and taken to the firelights hideout where she is reunited with Ekko. Ekko tells her unequivocally that Powder is gone. There is only Jinx, and that she works for Silco because she wants to. Now of course that is not entirely correct either. Jinx is an extremely complex character dealing with a multitude of factors to her decisions. What it really comes down to is this, when Ekko assures Vi she cannot change Jinx, Vi replies "I know my sister, I can reach her.. I have to try"

The Bridge:

After everything she has seen, and everything she has been through and been told Vi turns around from Caitlyn and Ekko, her every intention of going back into the Undercity for her sister alone. She only turns around after the combined betrayal by Marcus, and detonation of the firelights by Jinx almost kill Ekko and Caitlyn. Vi then is witness to her little sister breaking down and almost murdering them both, surrounded by the bodies from Jinx's bombs.

The Dinner Party:

Vi spent seven years in that terrible place, all with the dream of finding Powder and making things right between them. We have seen Vi stabbed, beaten, hunted and shot at all in pursuit of this dream. Jinx herself has at this point almost killed Vi herself. And even still, "when people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish".. All Vi can see is that she failed her little sister. From the sad and tender moment with Caitlyn in Cait's bedroom, to the fact that Vi goes after Sevika and Silco alone to put an end to it, she is carrying so much grief and sorrow over what's occurred. And its all made manifest at Jinx's dinner party.

This is a very intense scene and we could come at it from a lot of angles. To my view these are what matter:

Jinx has abducted Vi, Caitlyn and Silco

Jinx is finally acknowledging all of Silco's crimes against their family, but wants Vi to kill Caitlyn in exchange for "getting powder back"

Vi will not sacrifice Caitlyn but tries to keep Jinx and Caitlyn from hurting each other. Leading to Caitlyn having a shot at Jinx and not taking it before being knocked out

Vi and Silco "battle" over Jinx's soul leading to her breaking down but ultimately saving Vi's life over Silco. She then attacks the Piltover council, killing Caitlyn's mother

Interlude:

What follows is the aftermath of Jinx's attack and the eventual attack by Chem Barron on the memorial. The sister Vi fought so hard to get home to, has killed Caitlyn's mother. And worse yet, Vi convinced Caitlyn to stay her hand before it happened. Vi has tried so hard to protect the people she loves, tried to keep them safe. And while learning she cannot save everyone, and that the weight of the world is not hers alone are two of Vi's most character defining lessons. She isn't there yet.

The Ventilation Chamber:

"My sister is gone.. there's only Jinx now".

People have said Vi gave up on her sister too quickly, that she never really loved her, and that nothing justified donning the uniform and coming after Jinx in this way. As we have just been over it I won't list it all in-depth, but in short, Vi has been violently forced to recognize that Powder has become a violent, unstable, unpredictable murderer. And Vi still blames herself for this transformation that left only Jinx behind. So she does what she always tried to do, even if its the worst possible thing someone could ask of her. She puts on the uniform that has symbolized her parents death, her peoples oppression, and seven years of terror and abuse. So she can take responsibility and end the threat to the entire land that her sister has become. And it ends with her little sister ready to die.. happy believing it will be Vi's hands that end her.

Caitlyn:

Vi and Caitlyn are one of the driving forces of the story. Their love story has mattered so much to many people for many reasons, myself included. For this discussion, we are focusing on the moments that demonstrate their meaning to each other, and what is lost when it all goes wrong. Eventually I am doing a deep-dive on their story and going point by point, but this will focus more on the big picture.

Meeting:

After seven years of isolation and pain at the hands of enforcers. Vi is greeted by Caitlyn wanting information. They play their roles, Vi the cocky inmate, Caitlyn the uptight officer, until Vi reveals she has been beaten up. Caitlyn's response is a stoic thing. She does not march to the desk demanding justice. She does not get all teary eyed and beg Vi's forgiveness for her organizations corruption. She crosses the red line. She decides not to walk away. Later in their discussion, Vi accuses all enforcers of being "Asshole criminals in fancy uniforms". Caitlyn does not bluster. She does not fight. She does not curse Vi as some undercity thug and leave. She just listens. It's the sort of thing you would normally consider insignificant. But we see it from Caitlyn again later when she is talking with Ekko. Even if she doesn't believe it yet, Caitlyn listens. And Vi hasn't had that in a very long time. All concluding in Caitlyn Kiramman, scion of one of the great houses, freeing Vi from prison. The vulnerability in Vi's face when the door opens, and the shock on Caitlyn's face in response is beautiful.

Caitlyn Saves Vi:

Caitlyn's rescue of Vi from Sevika is when Vi's walls start to slowly come down. It's not an instant process. Even after being stabbed Vi is still making jokes, trying to do it all herself. But as the events play out we see the true beginnings of their connection. Caitlyn barely knows Vi. But she immediately engages Sevika to save her, and even trades her prized weapon to save Vi's life. The incredibly soft and tender physical contact between is so telling. And Vi for all of her tough, harsh exterior has been denied anything like this her entire life. Caitlyn has freed Vi, saved her life, and is likely the first real affection Vi has had in her life since before Vander was killed.

Vi Chooses Caitlyn:

We discussed this incident earlier pertaining to Vi/Jinx. So all we need to say here is that for the first time since being freed, we see Vi prioritize something.. or someone.. over getting back to her sister. The concern and relief in her face clear to find Caitlyn alive.

Caitlyn's Abduction/The Dinner Party:

We discussed this event in detail earlier. But some things we have to remember when discussing Vi's relationship with Caitlyn are as follows:

Caitlyn was abducted from her own home

Jinx offers Vi "Powder" back if she will kill Caitlyn

Caitlyn repeatedly tries to tell Vi Jinx is too far gone, but doesn't take the shot at Vi's urging

Caitlyn is violently knocked out by Jinx

Caitlyn has to watch as Jinx murders her mother

This woman that Vi has clearly come to care for, perhaps even love by now (hard to say it a shorter tv show), has now been terrorized and almost killed by Jinx repeatedly. And now so has her mother.

The Strike Team:

In the aftermath of Jinx's attack, all is thrown into chaos and confusion. Retaliation by Piltover upon the undercity is not a question. Its happening. Caitlyn is trying to manage her grief, while Vi is trying to be there for her and manage her grief/guilt over Jinx's part in it all. Caitlyn offers her the badge in order for them to be together to try and bring Jinx to justice, but Vi refuses. The enforcers are the symbol of too much pain from Vi's past. It takes the attack on the memorial for Vi to relent, knowing the only way she keep Caitlyn safe and have any control over what happens with her sister, is to join the strike team and wage war in the streets of her birth.

I have discussed the strike team and the morality of their actions in other documents so here I just want to talk about what this means between Caitlyn and Vi. Vi knows Caitlyn was going. And this was the only way to stay by the woman she loves. But i think at least on some level, even though they are hunting chem barons, and even though the use of the grey is not NEARLY what the fandom has made out of it, Vi is wearing an enforcer uniform, in Zaun's streets, doing violence. I don't know how that couldn't weigh on her. Even if logically she knows she is doing the right thing, it has to feel like a betrayal of where she came from. Caitlyn knows this as well but with each passing day is relenting more and more to her rage before Vi's eyes

The Kiss:

"Everyone in my life changed promise me you won't change"

We all knew it was far too late for Caitlyn to keep that promise. And as I have said in another post, it wasn't really a fair thing for Vi to ask. But does that make Caitlyn a liar and Vi selfish? No.. Caitlyn sees the woman she loves laying bare her fear and her vulnerability, in a way she knows Vi only trusts her enough to show. A way she knows Vi is only showing because Vi loves her.

And for her part, to ask someone who has lost a loved one not to change is impossible. That loss leaves a whole, and you can't be who you were before that hole was carved from you. But Vi has watched the woman she loves sliding further and further down this dark road unable to do anything but try and be there for and keep her safe. Vi's entire world was violently ripped away before she was imprisoned. And now the events of the last few weeks have taken her sister as well. Caitlyn is all that she has and she is afraid.

Heartbreak:

The fight in the chamber comes. It is fearsome, and terrifying, and heart breaking. But when it quiets, Caitlyn has Jinx in her sights. The woman who murdered her mother, who abducted her, who has caused Vi so much pain she is RIGHT. THERE. And Vi stops her.

There has been much debate on what happened. Perhaps in that moment, Caitlyn didn't care if she hit isha. Or, she truly believed she would not and was willing to risk it. Neither are the Caitlyn we know. So Vi stops her. Trying to get her to see the child in danger through Caitlyn's rage and pain.

This whole sequence turned my stomach. It feels like a violation as its supposed to. Once separated after the explosions, Caitlyn and Vi argue, and Caitlyn breaks her promise. She tells Vi she is no different than Jinx. Jinx who killed her mother. Who terrorized her. Who killed those enforcers and became Silco's daughter. And when Vi tries to stop her leaving. Caitlyn hits her in the stomach with her rifle. Leaving her all alone and in pain, crying on the ground.

Conclusion:

Well once again this ran longer than I meant it to. I for sure repeated some things some of you have seen from me already, and I'm sure there was a more concise way to do this. But much like Vi's breakdown over Vander's body at the end, or Caitlyn's becoming the commander, this is an extremely dark, bleak moment that the breakneck pace of season 2 flashes by. And a lot of people really seem to underestimate what she is going through. Up to this point, Vi had defined herself by her loyalty and strength. Her willingness to stand for those she loves no matter the cost to herself. She only knows how to live for those she loves, and believes that is all she is worth. Now, in a very short period of time, the hope of reuniting with her sister has been violently, savagely destroyed. The Last Drop is forever changed. Vander, Milo and Claggor are dead. And the woman she loves, the woman she began to believe loved her (we know Caitlyn does but her darkness is for another post), has left her as broken and alone its like she never rescued her from that prison at all.

[greengoblinswifey]

Dark Paradise—JJ Maybank x Pogue!Reader

summary— in a foreign land far from home, you’re forced to say goodbye to your love. as grief consumes you, you cling to the hope that your souls will find each other again, no matter the distance, no matter the life.

warnings— season 4 part 2 spoilers, death, angst.

a/n— still not over JJ’s death, won’t ever be.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The world around you felt suffocating. The distant sound of the strange land and faint sobs from the others faded into nothingness. All you could hear was your own ragged breathing, choked sobs breaking through as you cradled JJ's lifeless body in your arms.

“JJ, no,” you whispered, voice trembling as your fingers brushed against his face. His skin, once warm and full of life, was cold under your touch. His golden hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead in messy strands that you once loved to push back with teasing affection. “Please, wake up. You always wake up.”

But he didn’t.

You leaned over him, your tears falling onto his face like raindrops. His chest, which had always risen and fallen so rhythmically, stayed still. You couldn’t stop your hands from shaking as you pressed them to his heart. Nothing.

“No, no, no. JJ, you don’t get to do this,” you said, voice cracking, desperation clawing at your throat. You shook him lightly, as though you could jolt him back to life. “You don’t get to leave me. You promised me, JJ. You promised we'd always make it back home.”

But there was no home without him.

The memories came flooding back, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. His wild laughter as he leaned against his bike, the wind whipping through his hair as he drove you both down the Cut. The way his lips would curl into a cocky grin whenever he caught you staring at him for too long. The way he always had your back, no matter what chaos surrounded you.

And his hands — oh, God, his hands. They had always been there to catch you, to hold you steady when the world felt too heavy. Now, those same hands lay limp and lifeless.

You curled into him, your forehead pressing against his. “You always said you’d wipe my tears, JJ,”’you whispered. “So why aren’t you here now? Why aren’t you wiping them away?”

Your mind played cruel tricks, replaying all the times you’d fought together, laughed together, survived together. All the times you made it back safely to the Cut, bruised and battered but alive. This time was different. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. He wasn’t coming back.

Sarah’s muffled sobs reached your ears, and you vaguely felt John B’s hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you away. “We have to go,” he said softly, his voice thick with grief.

"I’m not leaving him!" you screamed, your voice echoing into the endless dark of the night.

“You’re going to have to,” John B said, tears streaming down his face as he pulled harder. “He’s gone.” His own voice was laced with disbelief.

The words cut through you like a knife. He’s gone.

“No!” you screamed, your voice raw. “He’s not gone! He’s just—just hurt. He’ll be okay. He always is!”

But even as you said the words, you knew they weren’t true. He wasn’t coming back. You pressed your forehead against his one last time, your tears soaking his hair.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I love you, JJ. And I don’t know how to do this without you.”

You sobbed harder, clutching onto JJ as though holding him tighter could somehow pull him back to you. But deep down, you knew. No amount of crying, no amount of screaming, would bring him back. He wasn’t going to open those bright blue eyes and crack some stupid joke to lighten the mood. He wasn’t going to smirk and tell you to stop crying because, “Tears don’t look good on you, baby.”

It was over.

JJ had been your paradise, your home, your light in the dark. And now, he was gone.

Forever.

You wanted to believe you’d see him again, that somehow, somewhere, he’d still be waiting for you with that crooked smile and those bright blue eyes. But for now, all you had was the ache in your chest and the memories that refused to fade.

JJ Maybank was gone.

And so was a piece of you.

The grave was small, shallow, hastily dug in the foreign soil. A makeshift wooden cross stood at the head of it, his name carved into the wood by John B’s trembling hands. The cross looked crude, unfinished, like it didn’t belong to someone as full of life as JJ.

You stood frozen, your feet anchored in the sand as if any step closer would make this all too real. The wind kicked up grains of sand around you, stinging your cheeks, but you didn’t care. Your gaze was fixed on the dirt they were about to pile over his body, the final separation between you and him.

The others stood nearby, their faces tear-streaked and hollow. John B was clinging to Sarah, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Pope had his arm around Cleo and Kiara had tears streaming down her face, her hand covering her mouth to stifle the sobs.

“JJ always said he wasn’t afraid of anything,” Pope said, his voice hoarse and cracking as he tried to find the words. “He was fearless. And I guess, in a way, he still is. Wherever he is now, I know he’s—I know he’s free.”

Kie stepped forward, her voice trembling as she said, “You were our brother, JJ. Our family. And I promise we’ll keep fighting for you, no matter what. You’d hate it if we gave up now.”

You couldn’t move. The lump in your throat was too big, the weight in your chest unbearable. How could they talk about him in past tense like this? How could they just accept it?

Your knees buckled, and you fell to the ground in front of his grave, your fingers digging into the dirt as if you could pull him back up, as if he were just a little too far beneath the surface.

“This isn’t real,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This can’t be real. JJ, you, you’re supposed to be here. With me. With us.”

Your hands trembled as you pressed your palms to the ground, trying to feel something, anything. “You said we’d always make it back, remember? You promised!”

But the sand beneath your hands was silent.

John B knelt beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We have to let him go,” he said softly, his own voice raw with grief.

You shook your head violently, tears streaming down your face. “No! I’m not letting him go. I can’t.”

The others watched as your sobs filled the air, a sound so broken it made Cleo turn away, unable to bear it.

As the first handful of dirt hit the grave, something inside you shattered. You collapsed to the ground, your cheek pressing against the warm sand as you screamed his name, screamed until your voice gave out.

“Every time I close my eyes, it’s like a dark paradise.” The song’s lyrics echoed in your head, mocking you with their cruel truth. JJ was your paradise, your light in all the chaos, and now, without him, everything was dark.

The desert wind carried your cries, blending them with the grief of your friends as they said goodbye to the boy who had kept them laughing, kept them fighting, kept them alive.

The grave stood lonely and out of place in the arid Moroccan desert, so far from the marshy shores of the Cut that had shaped him, nurtured him, and kept him tethered to his home. This wasn’t Poguelandia. This wasn’t the dock where he used to sit for hours, feet dangling off the edge, or the familiar roads he sped down with reckless abandon on that beat-up bike. It wasn’t even near his house, if you could call it that, where the broken windows and peeling paint still held memories of the boy who made the most of nothing.

He didn’t belong here, buried in foreign soil so far away.

“How will your soul find me, J?” you whispered, voice trembling as your knees sank into the sand beside his grave. “How am I supposed to leave you here?”

The wind carried your words into the vast expanse, your grief disappearing into the endless sky. The thought crushed you, his body trapped in this foreign land, while you would have to carry his memory back without him. You hated it. Hated that you couldn’t take him home.

Tears blurred your vision as you traced his name on the makeshift wooden cross. It didn’t seem fair, not for JJ. Not for someone who burned so brightly, who carried you all through your darkest moments. The boy who swore he’d never leave.

“I’ll find you, you know,” you said, your voice cracking. “Even if it’s not in this life, I’ll find you. You and me, we’re tethered. We always will be. No matter how far you are, I’ll wait for you.”

But the thought of waiting, of the long journey his soul would have to take to find yours again, made you sob even harder. The journey would be so long, so cruel. He deserved to rest somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. Somewhere he could always find his way home.

You pressed your hands into the warm sand, the heat burning into your skin. “I’m sorry I have to leave you here,” you choked out. “I hate it. I hate that you’re not buried on Poguelandia, where you belong. I hate that you’re not near the water, near your house, near us.”

The others stood quietly behind you, their grief palpable but unable to match the hollow ache inside your chest. No one knew JJ like you did. No one had seen him in those quiet moments when it was just the two of you, when he wiped your tears away and whispered that you’d always have him.

Now, your tears fell freely, soaking into the sand, and there was no one to wipe them away.

Your fingers dug into the dirt, desperate for something to hold onto. You didn’t want to leave him behind, but you had no choice. Morocco would keep him now, this strange and foreign land that didn’t know the sound of his laugh or the way his smile lit up a room.

“Promise me,” you whispered to the grave, the words catching in your throat. “Promise me you’ll find me J, even if it takes forever.”

The makeshift cross stood still in the desert wind, offering no answer.

You stayed on the ground for what felt like hours, forehead pressed against the sand, as if you could anchor yourself to him one last time. Somewhere in your heart, you knew you’d see him again. Whether it was in this life or the next, you and JJ were bound together, tethered by something even death couldn’t sever.

But as the others gently pulled you away, their hands guiding you back, you realized the weight of leaving him here would stay with you forever. JJ wasn’t just gone. He was gone from you.

And as you walked away from his grave, the distant hum of the wind in your ears, you whispered one last time:

“I’ll find you. No matter what.”

[weclassygirl]

scheme

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

warnings: some blood (fake wound)

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: he's finally here! might take a moment before i update (i need to rewatch season 2 for him), but the next chapter.... ugh i can't wait to post it. enjoy! (previous part -> deception)

He doesn’t, for weeks he doesn’t reach out, does not even give you a sign he’s alive. You wish you could rip him to shreds once you see him again even if his very essence would slip through your fingers.

Celebrimbor notices you’ve become distracted, your work becomes sloppy, where once was attention to details and strive for perfection now lay curses under your breath when another piece of work is ruined. 

He comes to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Rest.” 

You turn to face him, the hammer still in your hand as well as the chisel. “I have to finish—“ he places your tools down, you don’t protest.

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone and your mind is not where it’s supposed to be.” you sigh, he’s right even he does not know the true reason. You take off your apron and put it on the stool before leaving the forge. 

You wander to the gardens and around Eregion trying to clear your head. You try to see past the trees, behind the horizon, maybe he’s out there. Wishful thinking. 

You’ve heard of the attacks on the Southlands, men fighting against orcs and the destruction it placed over the land. They call it under a different name now. Out of the corner of your eye you see horses, a rider clad in armor and a man. A messenger, probably. Eregion always had news to answer and these days it seemed more than ever. 

You come back to the forge after a while despite Celebrimbor’s refusal. You needed to occupy your mind, the blade you’ve been working on was nearly finished. You’ve been mixing metals to try and combine them into a nearly ethereal glow, mithril was far out of your reach. You’ve helped with the construction of the tower, not like the might of the Dwarves but your work has been appreciated. 

Elrond came before spring to help Celebrimbor and he secured it when Prince Durin sent his for forces to Eregion. The secrecy has been languid, you knew what Celebrimbor was hiding, he knew of mithril, knew that the very light of the Elves was fading, yours included. You felt it, more than the others, you considered Sauron’s offer to bound yourself to him completely but called yourself a fool for such thought. This is not the time you spoke of, you know it, see it as behind a mist, the future of Eregion and all Middle-Earth. Glimpses that always end with fire and blood.

A guard comes into the forge and calls out your name. Your head whips around as you look at him. 

“Your assistance is needed in the healer's quarters.” he informs you. 

“What of the Warden?” you ask, surely the master of healers would accommodate to the unexpected guests who arrived through the gate, should one of them be injured.

“Busy with other matters.”

You sigh but put away your tools once again. “Very well.” you say and follow the guard. 

You didn’t mind healing others but sometimes the injured or ill irritated you to the point your started to regret you were acknowledged as a healer in the first place. People came to you with the smallest cut or barely a cold, a proper herb and warm water would do most of the work.

When you arrive in the healer’s quarters your feet feel stuck to the ground at the sight of the person in front of you. 

“Galadriel?” you couldn’t believe it. “I thought you left for Valinor.” 

She’s clad in armor, her face dirty and sweaty from the journey. If she stayed in Middle-Earth you hoped she only heard the good things you’ve done while in Eregion, you do not wish to have her as an enemy.

“Fate decided I stay here.” she responds. She looks you up and down, the scars visible from your days under Morgoth, however no black fingertips. The darkness hasn’t consumed you or so she thinks. “I’ve heard of your progress here.” 

You feign flattery. “Yes, I owe it to Lord Celebrimbor.” 

“It’s impressive how much you swayed from darkness, not many can.” 

You chuckle slightly, oh if she only knew. 

“Yes, well, my punishment here proved to bear fruits.” you respond and you remind yourself why you’re here. You look her over. “Are you injured? I’ve been summoned as a healer rather than a smith.” 

“My friend is, if you could tend to him.” she starts walking down the hall and when you enter the room you see him, his face so familiar to his but you don’t want to make false assumptions. 

She tells him who he is and you turn to her with a question on your face. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his?” you come closer to the man on the table and lift up the bloodied piece of clothing, he grunts as the dried blood tears away with the fabric. When you look to Galadriel her eyes tell you everything you need to know. Her task in Middle-Earth was not yet complete. 

You inspect the wound and Halbrand watches you carefully, you dare not to speak. Is it him? After all this time? Should you voice your thoughts? The questions plague your mind. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” she says as Elrond comes closer, you’ve conversed with him while he remained in Eregion and helped Celebrimbor in securing the work force to assemble the Great Forge. He’s been travelling constantly between Eregion and Khazad-dûm, the High King deceived him of his purpose here at first but the alliance between Dwarves and Elves grew. 

When they are out of your sight you look to Halbrand. An interesting name he has chosen, so many meanings, every single one fitting his image. Admirable, shadowed, exalted. You nearly laugh under your breath.

“Is my state that amusing to you?” he asks and the corner of your lips rises. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” you’re still unsure if you can speak freely in front of him, he may just be a face that he saw once, that felt suitable for him to wear when appearing in your visions. You tear the fabric that laid on his wound, you discard it and grab a cloth with warm water. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance, six days ago.” he responds and grunts as the cloth makes contact with the wound. You wonder if he truly sustained the hit or it was another illusion. You were certain the red blood was.

“Is it truly like they say? Turned to dust and ashes?” you ask, curious as ever.

“The Southlands?” you nod. He watches as you tend to him, grabbing a bit of Elvish herbs, athelas and mixing them in a mortar. The paste thickens with each turn and you put it aside to grab other herbs needed. After a while, he gives you the answer. “Yes.”

You grab an herb and bring it up to his mouth. “Chew on it.” you tell him.

“What is it?” he eyes it warily before taking it. 

“It will replace the taste of iron from the blood in your mouth.” you don’t answer his question directly but he listens. As you smear the paste you mixed up he smiles under his nose, the sight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Most people would be in pain and yet you react as if it’s a common cold.”

You’ve seen people wither in anguish from a single touch of Elvish medicine before it took its desired effect, it’s strange for a common man to not react to it. Perhaps he wants to show that he’s stronger than many. You go to the table to gather a clean dressing when you hear his response, so silent but makes you freeze in your steps. “Now I’m the first to give myself to you at my deathbed.” 

Was it him or your persistent shadow speaking? Could you distinguish the two now? The voice so familiar but not muffled like many times you’ve heard it, this was real, raw.

You turn to him but his sight is already set upon you. Any evidence of pain gone from his face as you step closer to the bed with a bandage in your hands. You search his face for any sign of falsehood and he awaits your reaction. You smack the piece of cloth you were holding onto him when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. You lock eyes but yours slip down to his lips, he notices and smirks. It feels as if he’s drawing down to him, if he did you could just…

“Violence goes against what you should stand for.” he taunts and lets you go. You glare at him, you told yourself you would rip him to shreds the next time you see him. 

“I should let you bleed out.” you retort, he looks down and gathers some of the red blood from the wound.

“So it’s a convincing illusion, I take it?” he smears it on his fingers and it turns pitch black. You huff in annoyance. 

“You’re insufferable.” you clean your hands in the basin, leftover herbs floating in the water as you dry your hands. You hear him shift on the bed.

“Are you not glad?” he begins to get up and stalk closer to you. 

When you turn he’s met with your brows raised and laugh on your lips. “Glad? I believed you to be dead.” you deadpan.

“Did you mourn?” he asks.

“Would you care?” you bite back.

It takes a moment before he responds, his voice soft. “Yes.” he stands right in front of you and takes your hand. The illusion you cast is perfect, leaving not a speck of dark that would have peeked from it. He inspects it, so much power that could come from them. “Don’t hide it.”

Your anger starts to disappear as he holds your hand. You never thought that you would see the day where he’s in the same room as you, in the flesh and not a black mass. “Defeats the point if I don’t.” you look up at him with question. “Why Eregion?”

“You’ve gained his trust, I intend to use it.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “Everlasting peace over all Middle Earth.”

You pull away from his touch. 

“Under your rule.”

His answer comes quickly with no hesitation as if his mind is already set upon it.

“And yours.” you’re confused. He bound you to him, not completely but alas, you did not expect that answer. He looks to the entrance, listening if anyone comes by before looking down at you. ”Our paths are already intertwined, tangled whether you wish to cut them. I do not intend to let your talents go to waste after I’m done.”

His words compel you, a malicious intent behind them and yet you fall for them like the stars from the sky. 

“A power over flesh?”

He nods. “I owe it to you, this idea, this scheme.” 

You don’t have the time to respond when you hear someone walking down the halls, as the master of the healers enters, you step away from Halbrand or rather Sauron to you. 

“Your Majesty, you should be resting.” he says as he sees him standing next to you, the blood on his fingers red.

“I needed to test my strength.” he lies swiftly and goes back to the bed. The Warden nods at you and tells you that he will take over. You bid Halbrand goodbye and glance at him one last time before leaving. 

Not a day passes when you hear him talking with Celebrimbor. The workshop was quiet in the morning and you needed to gather your notes. The High King ordered every Elf to be moved to Lindon, one last gathering before your time passes.

You did not expect for Sauron to take actions so quickly but it does not surprise you. 

“Might there not be some alloy to amplify the qualities of your ore?” he asks Celebrimbor as he hands him the piece of mithril.

“Well, that is… an intriguing suggestion.” you remark as you enter. You nod in greeting towards both of them and walk closer. Halbrand takes his eyes off of you. 

“Call it… a gift.” Celebrimbor inspect the mithril in his hand before you stride to your work bench. Notes scattered, splashes of ink spilled on the table. 

“You should be packing for Lindon.” he tells you and you gather whatever you can, some of the ink making it’s way onto your hand. 

“I needed to grab my notes, shame to let them go to waste.”

Would any Men take them after you have passed to the Undying Lands? Would they appreciate them?

“You’re leaving?” Halbrand asks you, surprise in his voice. 

You look between the two men. “High King’s orders, as much as I would like to stay. I have no choice but to obey.”

It pains you to say it, a witch following orders of a King, but the ruse must hold. Celebrimbor’s mind seems to be at work, Halbrand’s words resonating with him. It is then he remembers that you may not know who he is. 

“This is Lord Halbrand, King of—”

“The Southlands, yes we’ve met.” you interrupt. “Galadriel sent for a healer at hand and I was the only one available at the time.” you look to Halbrand. “You should be resting.”

“No use if I’m bedridden when your people need aid.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You wish to help?”

“If you allow me.” he directs these words to Celebrimbor and he smiles as he looks between you two.

“I believe we can work something out.” 

The three of you part your ways when he caughts up with you. The halls are empty, occasional guard posted but nothing more, the vines flow down the vast architecture surrounding you.

“I never realized you’ve made quite a name for yourself here.” he expressed as he started walking next to you. You nod occasionally at the guards as you pass through, some other smiths you work with. 

When out of their sight you speak. “It was demanded.” you stop in your tracks, both of you now standing on the parapet connecting two buildings. “Would you let an Elven Witch roam around your kingdom so freely? Her darkness poisoning the very air you’re breathing?” your voice low should anyone listen to your conversation. He studies you closely, eyes softening in his low-man form.

“You, yes. Another I might consider throwing over the walls.” he remembers why he joined you. He has an occasion to properly talk to you, no visions to hold him back now. He goes back to his first statement. “People talk.”

You look down at the few Elves roaming in the courtyard, Fëanor’s statue illuminated by the soft light of the morning. “And what have they said of me?”

He leans against the balustrade. “An Elf once cast out by her people, called Morgoth’s servant despite doing it to survive and when fled chained once again by her own kind. Fulfilled her punishment here in Eregion and started to move away from darkness within her, became a trusted Elven smith and a healer where her work only blossomed.” he looks down to the ring on your finger, worn out by time however you never corrected it, the broken stone still held. He says it like reading a passage from a book, you don’t turn to look at him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

“They trust you so easily.” you’re almost jealous and he knows. 

“They have not come to know me like they did you.” he reassures you. Once they do they will cower in fear.

You turn to face him, you sense the scheme within him. “You plan to use mithril. For what kind of weapon?”

“Not a weapon, it shouldn’t be too obvious. Something far more precious.” he looks down at you and smiles. “You’ll see, I believe it will be to your liking.”

“You think that Celebrimbor will let you into his workshop, a low-man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I suppose I left a good impression.”

“Ah, of course.” you shake your head and smile under your nose.

The silence weighs between the two of you, some guards pass you by and the morning sky shines mercilessly. You start walking away from the parapet and into the streets, the small crowds surround you as you go by the merchant stalls, tall towers and small courts. 

“It’s refreshing. Seeing you here, feeling your presence, it’s… stronger.”

“Few hundred years had made their mark.” you respond and stop by a fountain, the water hums in your ears. 

“So did I.”

You look up at him and try not to roll your eyes. You admit he gave you tremendous help but the years you’ve spent in Eregion fell upon your shoulders. You knew you had to endure your stay a little longer, for his sake and yours. 

“Thank you.” you find yourself whispering. He knows you well enough to give you a small nod in exchange.

“Do not think that I will release you of the practice over your craft.”

You smile, this is what you needed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

next part -> bewitched

[aristaspark]

Another JWCT season 2 Kenlynn analysis because I'm obsessed and I don't know if the writers are geniuses, or if I'm getting worked up over a whole lot of nothing 😂.

So, bear with me.

Kenji's arc in season 2 is clear from the first episode: he's throwing himself at danger because of the losses he's suffered. He's broken.

But in all that sadness, he has one last glimmer of hope: Bumpy's egg.

He's the one the most attached to it, even more so than Ben. After all these losses, it's the first sign of something good happening in his life. It's the contrary of death, a birth, "someone" new he can love.

During the entire season he's the most concerned with the egg, obsessed with getting it back, almost dying for it (more on that later).

Now flashfoward to episode 8: he discovers that Brooklynn is alive.

When he finds out, he's confused, hurt, mad, shook to his core (but props to the animators, for a split second...you can see that he is just... so happy).

"She's alive?"

But the hurt and feeling of betrayal is too hard for him to grasp, so he pushes all his feelings away. He knows it's not the time.

And what does he do in order to push away his feelings about Brooklynn?

He focuses on the egg, as we established the only thing in his life which isn't tarnished or hurtful. And he desperately needs it right now, now that his whole world is crumbling down even more. This shift in his priorities is shown when he says this:

"The eggs... Brooklynn took Bumpy's egg..."

At this point, Kenji's motivations are still unclear, but this line suggests that his main goal, the thing the most important to him at this moment is the same as it was at the beggining of the season, aka getting Bumpy's egg back... not getting to Brooklynn.

So when he goes berserk, driving like a madman, running as if his life depended on it to get to Brooklynn, of course we have the feeling that he wants to see her, but he's also running to achieve his objective, which has always been to take care of Bumpy's egg, and it just so happens that Brooklynn is the one obstacle to his goal.

We can see he's desperate, but it's left to interpretation as to exactly why.

Until he finally catches up to Brooklynn.

It's Brooklynn's hand he grabbs, not the case. The thing he wanted the most is in his direct reach, yet he grabbs her hand. In this moment, he completely forgets about the egg, not even sparing it a glance, not mentionning it even once.

"Brooklynn..."

All that matters to him is that the girl he loves is there, in front of him, which he thought would never happen again.

We finally have the confirmation that the reason he was so eager to run to that airport wasn't to get the egg back, but to see her. And not to get mad at her, no, just to... get her back.

And then, Brooklynn leaves.

She leaves them, but she leaves him. It's him she looks at the last, his grasp she frees herself from, him who utters her name afterward.

They're still at the center of the scene, and the scene is a direct call back to the break-up scene (also... their colors are matching, it's like not even a little subtle, which tells me there's a reason Brooklynn wore a dark blue shirt the entire season...which is SO NOT her color).

Notice how even there, it's Ben who remembers to ask Brooklynn to give them the egg.

"Wait! Bumpy's egg... it's in that case..."

It's SO FAR from being something Kenji can focus on right now, now that Brooklynn is in front of him.

We then find out that before boarding the plane, Brooklynn has given Kenji the egg. Not Ben (who was the one who asked for it), not Darius, but Kenji.

...And Kenji looks the most heart-broken he has ever looked.

He has just gotten his hands on what he thought he wanted the most, his ultimate goal this season, the very thing he threw himself into fire for, into an ocean beaten by the storm... and yet he's not even looking at it, his eyes instead watching the plane take off with Brooklynn inside.

He's gotten what he thought he wanted, but at what price?

It's not to diminish his link to Bumpy's egg. As I've shown, he risked his life countless times for it. But it just goes to show just how much Brooklynn matters to him. In that last scene, it's made clear that the thing he wanted the most, was for her to come back to them, to him. But she didn't, and gave him the egg to make up for it, as some sort of consolation price.

But it's not, and it will never be.

[surelysilly]

i love your King Of Hell Danny (superphantom) au and i would greatly (very much) appreciate it if you could talk more about it (King Of Hell Danny) i love his (danny) smug cat energy (smug) in all of your drawing for it (hell is under New Management)

i hope you're ready for this some rambling but ask and you shall receive!!! yes i waited to post this for superphantom week i gotta shill for my own event, y'know :9

So. You want to know more about King of Hell Danny, is it?

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

Well. Well. He's certainly Danny. Or more specifically I've decided as of recent, Dark Danny. I'm waffling on whether he's Dan Dark Danny or just... Phantom sans Plasimus. The latter feels less likely as i try to flesh him out, but you never know with these guys... he does prefer to look like his 14 yr old self though.

But whatever version he is of himself... it's post-TUE, and he hates himself more than anyone is allowed to know.

Not sure exactly how he ended up in the SPNverse (portal probably!), but he'd definitely prefer going back to his own world/dimension in a heavily buried sense of self-flagellation and unreliable narrator-ness.

Everyone is waiting for him there, not here, wherever he is exactly. This implies anyone is left alive, but he never said that. People (Crowley, etc.) just assume so.

and he's the worst lil jerk you could ever meet, at a first, second, and third, glance, anyway.

Smug cat, indeed. He does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants, and taking over Hell felt right. (isn't that where he'd go? he thinks, after learning Hell is actually real.)

he's overpowered for sure, but it also comes from a misconception for what he is. Not a demon, not human, a secret Third Thing: weird ghost.

i like to think most regular ghost counter measures work on him, but no one thinks to try them because that ain't no ghost??? He plays the part really well though, pretending to be a demon (and gets mislabelled a crossroads demon for his red eyes) -- it doesn't bother him to kill people, but he doesn't go out of his way to do it anymore.

KOH!Danny having it out for the Winchesters is a very thoughtless and fun thing, and it would piss him off when they try to summon Crowley, but in all actuality, he'd probably end up begrudgingly working with them or something.

And ultimately betray them.

I also think his goal would be to fuse with Lucifer when he's freed from the Cage. That should give him enough power to bust a hole back to his OG dimension, right?

maybe. Who knows.

You can certainly find him at DIY skateparks across the globe. He's an asshole to anyone and everyone, but god have mercy on anyone looking to cause trouble while he's trying to have a good time (he feels guilty about it, though, having fun -- it's a circle of shame/guilt/fuck it we ball mentality, here for a good time not a long time).

he can 'see' Castiel's wings and if in his presense, will pluck at them because he's annoying like that.

Crowley became his lap dog though, regardless of intial beheadings because... Hell generates a lot of paperwork the way Crowley was running it, and KOH!Danny don't got the time for all of that.

eventually I'm sure someone will figure him out, ghost weaknesses and all, but it's not 1:1 SPNverse ghost: no bones to burn, no records of him being alive ever, etc., but he's definitely solid enough.

i could see a later quest like what the Winchesters did to find Crowley's remains, but they'd spiral down a hole of "where hell did this creature even come from???" and the Men of Letters/Angels/anyone wouldn't know jack about what he even is exactly.

i'm so rusty on SPN though... but those are my cobbled together ideas. I'd place him mid-ish seasons Supernatural (because ive only really seen s4 thru s8...) but i think the 'hijinks' of later seasons could be fun with the seriousness of early, early seasons sprinked in!

[samcats]

Mike and Wills friendship vs everybody elses

I’m sick of people acting like Mike and Wills friendship is platonic when 1. One literally had a crush on the other and 2. None of the other friendships are treated the same way Mike and Will are throughout the seasons so let’s go over them!

(This is gonna be a long one!)

Season 2 & 1

First off, in season 1, the show focuses on how Will going missing effects Mike the most out of all his friends. Mike is the only one to notice Will isn’t at school the day he goes missing. Mike is the one to come up with the idea to go out looking for him. Mike only keeps El around when he realizes she can help find Will. Mike is the only one that’s focused on after they find Will’s “dead” body. Mike is the only one out of the party members that holds proper hope that Will may still be alive.

In season 2 he was the only one that went outside of the arcade to check where Will had gone. He was the only one that noticed Will was being extra quiet that day at school. He panicked when he couldn’t find Will, “Will what’s wrong? I couldn’t find you, are you hurt? I’m gonna get you home, okay? I’m gonna get you home”, He purposely volunteered himself to go check on Will and then proceed to stay with Will in the hospital for days afterwards. He was the only one out of his friends that stayed with Will in the shed when he was possessed.

Edit: also wanted to point out how in the crazy together scene when Will told Mike about the mindflayer he said “just please don’t tell the others okay? They wouldn’t understand.” Implying that Will trusts Mike the most and that he thinks only Mike would understand what he’s going through.

& Will only yelled Mike’s name when he was having an episode before the crazy together scene happened. He didn’t yell Lucas’s name or Dustin’s or even Jonathan or his mums, his first instinct was to call Mike for help. Both of these things furthermore prove my point that their friendship is different from the others and they’re much closer

Again, the show focuses on Will and Mikes friendship the most this season. Not their friendships with Lucas or Dustin or anybody else, just with eachother. None of the other friendships in the show have done anything like this. Hell none of the friendships in the show ever GET as much attention and focus as Mike and Will do throughout the seasons. They are treated so differently. Still don’t believe me?

Season 3

One of the most iconic Byler scenes is the rain fight scene. Now I'm not really gonna talk about how obviously romantic this scene is by itself. But how it contrasts Will and Lucas's apology scene. The contrast between these two scenes is such a huge piece of evidence to me and I'm surpsired I don't see it around more

(Thank you to this video for saving me while I was trying to find the scenes https://youtu.be/u-rLx10eROw?si=vdGoQNtnXU103iZt )

Here’s the two scenes mixed together for reference:

Byler’s fight

In the Byler scene, it has buildup. Will getting mad and then bursting out of the room, Mike follows him while Lucas stays behind. Once they get outside, the lighting is dark and blue. The music playing in the background is somber. The way both characters talk and act makes you know that this is a serious scene. The aftermaths of Will going to his house and crying as he destroys castle Byers. And Mike and Lucas biking out to find him in the rain. You could make the argument that Lucas being there makes this scene bad proof, but it focusing more on Mike then Lucas tells you otherwise.

Lucas’s apology

It’s super rushed, you barely even notice it. It’s super random and isn’t focused on at all, it just starts with Lucas saying he’s sorry and Will saying it doesn’t matter and it’s pretty much over. The lighting is bright, our minds are more focused on trying to get ready to trap Billy then the actual conversation they’re having. Neither Lucas or Will react to it afterwards. You could literally skip this scene and you wouldn’t miss anything.

So why have such a useless scene in the middle of nowhere?

The Byler rain fight is such an important scene to show how Mike and Wills friendship has gone downhill, to show the change between children and teenagers, and also to hint at Will's sexuality. The Lucas and Will scene is just so useless and random and could've been left out, but the way it contrasts the Byler fight scene makes me think that its only purpose was to show the difference between Mike and Wills friendship together vs anybody else's, and nothing else. Because why else have it there? If Mike and Wills scene wasn't meant to have a deeper meaning, then why make it as dramatic as it was? Why build it up the way they did?? If it was platonic the scene would've been more similar to the Lucas scene and/or toned down a LOT.

It's undeniable that the Duffers where trying to show us something with these two scenes

Season 4

You can tell there’s clearly tension between Mike and Will when they reunite in the airport, which is very odd. Mike and Will are best friends, and again, Mike wouldn’t act this way with any of his other friends. He didn’t even act this way with El

Mike then later admits that he was being an asshole to Will, and we get that beautiful “friends. Best friends.” Scene.

Now, I want you to rewatch that scene and pretend that Will is Max or Lucas or Dustin or Erica or Steve or Jonathan or anybody Mike is friends with. But you can’t. It just feels too wrong and too romantic, doesn’t it? It seems weird as well, because we know full well Mike wouldn’t say something like that to any of his other friends. He’s never had a conversation like that with any of his other friends, either. This is because they’re just that. Friends. So why should it be any different for Will and Mike?

This is the same for any scene with Mike and Will. Season 4 or not

And if you seriously cannot notice the difference between Mike and Wills friendship vs anybody else’s, you need to do a rewatch

Anyways, there’s probably more stuff I could add but I’m gonna leave it at that for now. If you have anything to add leave it in the comments! Thank you for reading