#there could be other characters too in this au

[cceana]

Arcane Highschool!AU 2

characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 6.1k words, part 1 here, established relationships except for vi's, Star athlete!vi x band!reader, Childhoodbestfriend!caitlyn, New kid!jinx x Class president!reader, Troublemaker!sevika x Tutor!reader, Artist!ekko x Muse!reader, Bestfriend!jayce, and Enemies to lovers!viktor

A/N - lmaoo.. sorry yall for not posting for like a really long time ;-; studied my azz off last week which was def worth it cuz i did so feaking well on that exam hehe. this was lowk rushed bcuz i rlly wanted to post. hope yall enjoy queens (> 3 <)

— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader

The weeks following that unexpected late-night moment between you two felt different—charged with something new, something unspoken but lingering in the air. It wasn’t just the occasional brush of hands when walking side by side, or the way she’d glance at you across the cafeteria before looking away just a little too fast. It was the warmth in her voice when she teased you, the way she stuck around after practice just to sit beside you while you tuned your instrument.

She never said why she stayed. You never asked.

But you both knew.

It started with one call—past midnight, your phone buzzing against your nightstand.

“I can’t sleep,” she said when you answered, her voice rough with exhaustion.

You could hear the faint sound of cars passing outside, the rustle of her shifting under the covers.

“You’re calling me because you can’t sleep?” you murmured, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded at the thought of her thinking about you this late.

“Yeah,” she admitted. A pause. “Your voice is kinda nice.”

Heat rushed to your face. “Oh.”

“Don’t get a big head about it.”

You smiled, rolling onto your side.

From that night on, the calls became routine. Sometimes she ranted about her coach pushing her too hard. Sometimes you talked about your music, your fingers unconsciously tracing the melodies you’d played that day. Other times, you simply listened to each other breathe, neither willing to hang up first.

one day, she told you about a celebration party her teammates where hosting

She invited you.

“It won’t be the worst thing ever,” she had said, arms crossed as she leaned against your locker. “Just show up for a little bit.”

You’d raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you want me at parties?”

Her lips had twitched, almost like she was fighting back a smirk. “Since I realized you never leave that damn band room. It’s tragic, really.”

So here you were, awkwardly lingering near the kitchen, nursing a half-empty cup of soda while bodies moved and music pulsed around you.

And she? She was in the center of it all—laughing, drinking, surrounded by teammates who treated her like some kind of legend. She belonged here, in the chaos and the noise.

You? Not so much.

You should have left an hour ago, but something held you in place. Maybe it was the way she kept glancing at you between conversations, like she was making sure you were still there. Or maybe it was the warmth in her eyes whenever your gazes met.

Either way, you weren’t leaving just yet.

You had just decided to step outside for some air when you felt a strong hand wrap around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You turned, blinking up at her. She was closer than expected, her usual cocky smirk in place—but there was something else in her expression, something tense.

“Just getting some air,” you replied. “It’s suffocating in here.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Come on.”

Before you could respond, she was leading you out the back door, weaving through the crowd with ease. The cool night air hit you instantly, a sharp contrast to the heat of the party.

You leaned against the railing of the back porch, inhaling deeply. “Finally.”

She chuckled beside you, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Didn’t think you’d actually come tonight.”

You shot her a look. “You asked me to.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring out into the night. Then, in a voice softer than you’d ever heard from her, she said, “Yeah. I did.”

Something about the way she said it sent your heartbeat into a sprint.

You shifted, watching her carefully. “Why?”

She exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Because I wanted you here.”

Your breath caught.

She turned to face you fully now, her expression serious—no teasing smirk, no sarcastic remark to deflect. Just raw honesty.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be around,” she started, voice steady but laced with something vulnerable. “I’m stubborn, I’m hot-headed, and I probably piss you off at least twice a day.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “At least.”

Her lips quirked up slightly before she continued. “But you… you’re different. You challenge me. You don’t put up with my crap, and somehow, you still—” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“I keep catching myself looking for you in a crowd,” she admitted, shifting her weight like she was forcing herself to stay still. “I wait outside your rehearsals, even when I could’ve left. I call you at night because your voice is the only thing that makes me feel like the world isn’t spinning too fast.”

She took a shaky breath.

“I like you.”

The words hung between you, thick with weight, with meaning.

“I don’t just like you, actually,” she corrected, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I—I think I’m falling for you.”

You stared at her, stunned, unable to form words.

Her fingers flexed at her sides, like she was bracing for rejection. “If that’s weird, or if you don’t feel the same, just—”

You stepped forward before she could finish, reaching for her hand.

She froze as your fingers slid between hers, as you squeezed lightly.

“You idiot,” you murmured, your chest aching with something overwhelming. “I’ve been falling for you this whole time.”

Her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t fully considered that possibility.

Then, after a beat, she huffed out a laugh. “God, we’re dumb.”

You grinned. “Yeah. A little bit.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, she looked nervous. “Can I—?”

You didn’t let her finish. Instead, you pulled her down into a kiss.

It wasn’t perfect—she was clumsy, caught off guard, but warm and sure the moment she realized what was happening. One of her hands came up to cup your face, rough and calloused but impossibly gentle.

When you finally pulled away, she was breathless, eyes flickering between yours.

“So,” she murmured, voice lower now. “Does this mean I can start calling you my girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you like it.”

You sighed dramatically, pretending to think. “Unfortunately.”

She grinned, lacing your fingers together. “Good.”

And as she pulled you back inside—back into the noise and the chaos of the party—it didn’t feel overwhelming anymore.

Not when she was right beside you.

Not when she was yours.

— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn

The days that followed felt like something out of a dream. The kind of dream you never wanted to wake up from.

She had been true to her word—she didn’t want to let you go again. Every morning, you’d wake up to a good morning text, and by the afternoon, she’d have already made plans for the two of you, whether it was a quiet café visit, a stroll through the city, or simply lounging in her estate’s massive library, reminiscing about the past between pages of old books.

She had slipped back into your life as if she had never left it.

And yet, there was something new about this—something deeper, sweeter

Like the way she’d always find an excuse to touch you, whether it was resting her head on your shoulder when she was tired, bumping her knee against yours under the table, or absentmindedly playing with your fingers when you sat next to each other.

Or the way she would wait for you. Even when she was drowning in responsibilities, she would insist on having lunch together, texting you just to tell you something random about her day.

Or the way she’d steal your snacks.

Without fail, if you had food, she would somehow find a way to take at least a bite. “Sharing is caring,” she’d say, plucking a fry from your plate before you could react. And if you tried to call her out on it? She’d just smirk, pop whatever she took into her mouth, and say, “You love me, so it doesn’t count as stealing.”

(And you couldn’t even argue. Because she was right.)

Then there were the nights.

Those were your favorite.

She was always busiest during the day, but at night? That was when she really let herself be soft with you.

Like when you’d both curl up on the couch, watching movies that neither of you paid attention to because she was too busy tracing lazy patterns against your arm, or playing with your fingers, or resting her head in your lap with the most peaceful look on her face.

Or the nights when she’d show up at your door unannounced, eyes heavy with exhaustion but still full of warmth as she mumbled, “Just needed to see you.”

You’d let her in without question, and she’d collapse onto your bed with a tired sigh, reaching for you without hesitation. “Come here,” she’d murmur, voice softer than usual, more vulnerable. And when you settled next to her, she’d just hold you, burying her face against your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping her steady.

Or—your personal favorite—the way she looked at you.

Soft. Fond. Like you were the most precious thing she had ever laid eyes on.

One evening, as you sat curled up on the couch in her study, she nudged you with her foot. “Hey.”

You looked up from your book. “Hmm?”

She grinned. “Let’s make cupcakes.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want cupcakes,” she repeated matter-of-factly, already standing up and stretching. “And I want to make them with you.”

You laughed, setting your book aside. “Since when do you bake?”

“I don’t,” she admitted, offering a hand to pull you up. “But I’m a fast learner. Come on.”

You sighed but let her drag you to the kitchen. What followed was absolute chaos.

Flour on the counter, sugar accidentally spilled on the floor, a mess of ingredients neither of you fully measured properly. She kept getting distracted, flicking flour at you, grinning mischievously every time you yelped in protest.

At some point, she wrapped her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder as you mixed the batter. “I think we make a good team.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because I’m doing all the work.”

She hummed, tightening her hold on you slightly. “And you do it so well.”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

She laughed, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before pulling away. “Okay, okay, let’s get these in the oven before I distract you too much.”

Too late, you thought, but you didn’t say it aloud.

Instead, you watched as she carefully placed the tray in the oven, a proud gleam in her eyes despite the fact that neither of you had any idea if the cookies would even taste good.

It didn’t really matter.

Because moments like this—messy, chaotic, ridiculous moments with her—were worth more than any perfect, scripted day.

And when the cupcakes came out horribly burnt, she just laughed, tossed one to you, and said, “Guess we’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader

Loving her was like standing in the eye of a storm—unpredictable, consuming, and just a little dangerous.

But you never wanted to be anywhere else.

She was everything you weren’t. But in the same way that she crashed into your life like a hurricane, she had also settled into it, leaving pieces of herself in all the places she had touched.

And now, she was everywhere.

You didn’t even know when it happened, but somewhere between her dragging you into trouble and worming her way into your perfectly structured life, she had become a permanent fixture.

No, more than that.

She had become yours.

Your mornings were different now.

Instead of waking up to your alarm and immediately drowning in responsibilities, you woke up to her texts.

chaos incarnate: WAKE UP chaos incarnate: pres, you better not be ignoring me chaos incarnate: hello?? chaos incarnate: fine. i’m calling you.

And then, not even a second later, your phone would start ringing.

You groaned, answering it without opening your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“Good morning to you too, babe.”

You sighed, rolling over. “It’s four a.m.”

“Yeah, well, I missed you.”

Your heart stuttered, heat rising to your cheeks.

You hated how easily she did that.

“…We saw each other yesterday.”

“And? That was a whole eight hours ago.”

You groaned again, but this time, you couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your lips.

The entire school knew about you two.

Not because you told anyone, but because she made it impossible not to know.

She’d sling an arm over your shoulder in the halls, leaning in obnoxiously close just to see you flustered.

She’d steal your lunch, even if she had her own, just to make you roll your eyes and huff at her—because, according to her, you looked cute when you were annoyed.

She’d sit in on student council meetings—uninvited—kicking her feet up on the table like she belonged there, just to watch you glare at her.

And if anyone so much as looked at you for too long?

She’d pull you closer, smirking as she draped herself over you and drawled, “Mine.”

You pretended to be exasperated by it all.

You weren’t.

One second, she was smirking at you from across the room, her gaze sharp, teasing, full of something wild you could never quite pin down. The next, she was leaning against your desk, spinning a pen between her fingers as she sighed dramatically about how boring the student council meetings were, just to get a reaction out of you.

And sometimes—when no one else was around—she’d be quiet. Soft. Like a storm that had momentarily calmed, if only for you.

It was confusing. It was frustrating.

But it was also thrilling.

You never knew what she’d do next, but somehow, you always ended up right there with her.

“We’re skipping.”

You blinked up at her from your pile of papers. “What?”

She grinned, already grabbing your wrist, tugging you out of your chair. “I said, we’re skipping. Come on.”

You pulled back instinctively. “I can’t. I have to finish—”

“Boring,” she cut in, rolling her eyes. “You work too much. If you spend one more hour staring at those papers, you’ll turn into one.”

You crossed your arms. “And you get into trouble too much.”

She smirked. “Yeah? And yet, here you are, still standing next to me.”

You sighed, but the fight was already slipping out of you. With her, it always did.

She took advantage of your hesitation, intertwining her fingers with yours, and your heart definitely didn’t just stutter in your chest.

“Come on,” she murmured, giving your hand a squeeze. “Just for a little while?”

And just like that, you were done for.

The two of you ended up on the rooftop, the one place where no one ever checked.

She sat on the ledge, legs swinging slightly, looking up at the sky like she had never seen it before.

For a moment, she was quiet. Contemplative.

Then, without looking at you, she spoke.

“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever stuck around.”

The words were soft, but something about them hit harder than anything she had ever said before.

You swallowed, watching her carefully. “You don’t make it easy.”

She laughed, a little breathless. “No. I don’t.”

Silence settled between you, comfortable in a way you never expected.

Then, before you could think too much about it, you reached out, gently brushing your fingers against hers where they rested on the ledge.

She went completely still.

You hesitated, pulling back slightly, but she caught your hand before you could.

Her grip was tight—like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

“You drive me crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re stubborn, and you worry too much, and you never break the rules.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

She huffed, exasperated, before turning to face you fully.

And then—before you could react—she leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

Your brain short-circuited.

She pulled back, smirking at your stunned expression, but there was something warm in her eyes, something real.

“You’re mine now,” she declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You opened your mouth—probably to protest, maybe to demand an explanation—but she just squeezed your hand again, tilting her head at you.

“…Unless you don’t want to be.”

You swallowed, heartbeat hammering in your chest.

And then, slowly, you laced your fingers through hers properly, squeezing back.

“…I think I do.”

Her smirk softened into something almost gentle.

“Good,” she murmured.

— Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader

You weren’t sure when this became normal.

When tutoring sessions turned into something more—into lingering glances across textbooks, into stolen moments between classes, into a relationship that neither of you ever really talked about, but both of you knew was real.

It had started with her grumbling about the stupid school system, about how she didn’t need to study when she had “better things to do.” But now? Now, she was here—on time, every time, sitting across from you with a scowl like she hadn’t just walked across campus grinning at you like an idiot when she thought no one was looking.

She had changed.

Or maybe she hadn’t, and you were just seeing her differently now.

Either way, she was yours.

And that was enough.

“You’re staring.”

You blinked, realizing that, yes, you were staring, and, yes, she was very much aware of it.

“I’m not,” you lied.

She smirked. “Yeah? Then why haven’t you flipped the page in five minutes?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it.

Damn it.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Didn’t take you for the distracted type, tutor.”

You sighed, closing the book. “Maybe if you actually studied, I wouldn’t have to get distracted.”

She scoffed, leaning back. “I do study.”

You gave her a look.

“Okay, fine,” she huffed. “I study when you make me.”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Instead, she tilted her head, watching you in that way that always made your stomach do something weird.

“Why do you even put up with me?” she asked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because she sounded genuinely curious.

Like she didn’t understand why you were still here.

Like she didn’t realize how easy it was to love her.

You frowned. “Because I want to.”

She stared at you for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression.

Then, suddenly, she reached across the table, grabbing your hand.

It wasn’t gentle.

It never was with her.

But her grip was warm, steady, real.

“…Good,” she muttered, squeezing your fingers once before pulling away. “You’re stuck with me, anyway.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dating her meant learning to navigate her world.

The world of bruised knuckles and reckless grins, of sharp words and sharper instincts, of someone who had spent so long fighting that she didn’t know how to stop.

You didn’t mind.

She never hurt you—not really.

But sometimes, she’d show up to your study sessions with a fresh cut on her cheek, or a bandage wrapped around her hand, or a bruise blooming on her jaw, and every time, you’d sigh, pulling out your first aid kit without saying a word.

She hated it.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

She huffed but didn’t pull away, letting you press a cotton pad to her cheek, wincing when the antiseptic stung.

“Idiot,” you muttered, brushing your thumb over her skin after you were done.

She smirked. “You love me.”

You didn’t argue.

Instead, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the uninjured side of her face.

She tensed for half a second before melting into it, her fingers curling around your wrist, holding you in place like she never wanted you to leave.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “I do.”

There were other parts of her world, too.

Parts that had nothing to do with fights or scraped knuckles.

Like how she always walked you home, no matter how many times you told her she didn’t need to.

Or how she’d steal your pens just to hear you complain about it, only to return them later with a smug grin.

Or how she’d grumble about studying, but when you fell asleep next to her, she’d pull a blanket over you without saying a word.

Or how she’d stay, even when she didn’t have to.

She wasn’t the best with words.

But she didn’t need to be.

Not when she loved you like this.

“Hey,” she called one day, leaning against your locker.

You raised a brow. “What?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she shifted, suddenly looking a little… awkward.

Which was weird, because she was never awkward.

You frowned. “Are you—”

“I got you something,” she blurted out.

You blinked. “You what?”

She huffed, shoving something into your hands.

It was… a necklace. Simple, understated. Something you would actually wear.

You stared at it, then at her.

“…Why?”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Because I wanted to.”

You looked down at it again, running your fingers over the chain.

It was nice.

And it was from her.

Your heart did that weird thing again.

“…Put it on me?” you asked softly, handing it back.

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected that, before scoffing. “You really like making me do things, don’t you?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

She muttered something under her breath but moved behind you, fastening the clasp.

Her fingers brushed against your skin, and you shivered.

“…There,” she murmured.

You turned back to her, letting her see the way you were smiling. “Thank you.”

She shrugged, but her ears were red.

You grinned.

Then, impulsively, you reached up, cupping her face in your hands before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

She froze.

“…You absolute menace,” she muttered after a second, her voice half-choked.

You laughed. “You love me.”

She groaned. “I hate you.”

But the way she grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together as she pulled you down the hall?

That told a very different story.

— Artist!ekko and Muse!reader

The world felt different when he painted you.

Maybe it was the way his eyes softened as they traced your features, the way his lips quirked up ever so slightly in that absentminded, faraway smile. Or maybe it was the way he became so completely immersed in the moment, like nothing else existed except you, him, and the quiet hum of creation between you.

You weren’t sure when it had started—when you had become his muse, when his hands had memorized the slopes and curves of your expression more intimately than you ever could. But at some point, it became normal to sit in his studio, to let him paint you while the sun spilled golden light across the room.

At some point, it became home.

"Stay still," he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

You huffed but obeyed, shifting just slightly to get comfortable. “You know, I’m starting to think you just tell me that so I don’t walk away.”

He smirked without looking up. “Would it work?”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously.”

He chuckled, dipping his brush into a fresh stroke of color. "Then I don’t see the problem."

You watched him work, watched the way his fingers moved with practiced precision, his brow furrowing in deep focus.

It was so like him—to get completely lost in his art, in the way he captured emotions in strokes of paint. You weren’t even sure he realized how much he gave away when he worked. The quiet admiration, the unwavering patience, the unspoken tenderness in the way he committed you to canvas.

The thought made warmth curl in your chest.

He loved you.

Even in the moments when he didn’t say it outright, you felt it.

“…You’re staring,” he noted after a moment, amusement dancing in his tone.

You smirked. "So?"

"So," he mused, dabbing a final stroke onto the canvas before finally looking at you, "stay still."

You scoffed but didn’t argue.

His gaze lingered, studying you like he was committing every detail to memory.

Then, suddenly, he set the brush down, wiping his hands on a cloth before standing up and making his way toward you.

Your brows furrowed. "Are we done?"

He hummed, stopping right in front of you. "Almost."

Before you could question him, he reached out, gently swiping his thumb across your cheek.

You blinked.

“…Did you just wipe paint on me?”

His lips twitched. "Maybe."

Your jaw dropped. "You menace—"

He laughed, grabbing your hands before you could retaliate. "It’s barely anything!"

"You smudged me!"

"You’ll live."

You gasped dramatically. “I can feel it on my face—”

"Would you like me to fix it?"

You squinted at him, suspicious. "How?"

He smiled. "Like this."

And then, before you could react, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, right where the paint had been.

You froze.

Your heart stumbled over itself, warmth blooming beneath your skin.

"...That doesn’t count as fixing it," you mumbled, embarrassed by how breathless you sounded.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his smile soft, fond.

"I disagree."

Loving him meant understanding the way he saw the world.

The way his hands itched to create, to turn fleeting emotions into something tangible.

The way he’d go silent for long stretches, caught up in his own thoughts, before suddenly dragging you into his latest project with that spark of inspiration in his eyes.

The way he loved you—not just with words, but in the way he painted you, over and over again, like he was trying to keep you forever.

And maybe, in his own way, he was.

One night, long after the city had gone quiet, you found yourself back in his studio, curled up on the couch while he worked.

You weren’t posing this time.

You were just there, watching as he sketched in his notebook, his focus unwavering even as the hours slipped by.

“…Do you ever get tired of painting me?” you asked suddenly.

He paused, looking up at you.

Then, without hesitation—"Never."

You stared at him. “You say that like it’s obvious.”

"It is obvious," he said simply, setting his notebook aside as he moved toward you.

You let him sit beside you, watching as he reached for your hand, tracing absentminded patterns along your fingers.

“…There are infinite things in the world to paint,” he murmured, his touch feather-light, reverent. “Landscapes, emotions, stories… But you?” He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. "You are my favorite."

Your breath caught.

You weren’t used to this—to his quiet, devastating sincerity.

He didn’t always say how he felt outright. He spoke in colors, in soft touches, in lingering glances over paint-stained canvases.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, feeling your face grow warm.

He smirked. “And you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

Instead, you tugged him closer, resting your forehead against his.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just existed—wrapped in warmth, in paint-stained fingertips and whispered affections between the silence.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

— Bestfriend!jayce

There were moments where you still couldn’t believe this was real.

That after years of laughter, inside jokes, stolen hoodies, and whispered dreams of the future, you had ended up here—curled up next to him, his arm lazily draped around you, as if this had been inevitable from the very start.

In a way, maybe it was.

Loving him never felt like a sudden thing, never like some grand revelation that struck you out of nowhere. It had crept in slowly, weaving itself between every late-night conversation, every lingering glance, every touch that lasted just a little longer than it needed to.

And now? Now it was second nature.

He was yours.

And you were his.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

You blinked. “What thing?”

He smirked without looking up from his book. “The thing where you stare at me like I put the stars in the sky.”

You scoffed, shoving him playfully. “Get over yourself.”

He chuckled, finally turning his attention toward you. “Not denying it, though.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Maybe I was just zoning out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or judging you.”

“Doubt it.”

You sighed, dramatic. “God, dating you is exhausting.”

“Right?” he teased. “Can’t believe you fell for me.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Can’t believe I did, either.”

His expression softened at that, his teasing smile melting into something fonder.

Then, suddenly, he reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face before letting his fingers trail down, tracing the curve of your jaw.

“…Lucky me,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just sat there, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, your heart stumbling over itself at the way he was looking at you.

Like you were something rare.

Like he had been waiting his whole life for you.

“…You’re such a sap,” you whispered.

His lips twitched. “Only for you.”

The thing about dating your best friend was that nothing really changed.

Not in the way you expected, at least.

There were still late-night fast food runs, still study sessions that turned into existential conversations, still a constant presence at your side whenever you needed him (and even when you didn’t).

But there were differences, too.

Like how he held your hand without hesitation now, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Or how he hugged you longer, pressing his face into your shoulder like he needed to be close to you.

Or how he kissed your forehead absentmindedly whenever you did something that made him proud, as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Or how he whispered, "Love you," so casually, like he had always been saying it.

Like he always would.

“Okay, real talk,” he said one night, sprawled across your bed like he owned it.

You hummed, flipping a page in your book. “Mm?”

“If we weren’t dating, would you still have a crush on me?”

You blinked, giving him an unimpressed look. “What kind of question is that?”

“A valid one.”

You sighed, setting your book down. “We are dating.”

“But if we weren’t,” he pressed, propping himself up on his elbows. “Would you still be into me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of answer are you looking for?”

“The truth.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out what he was really asking.

Then, with a smirk, you shrugged. “Dunno. You’re kinda annoying.”

He gasped. “Rude.”

“But,” you continued, reaching over to poke his cheek, “I’d probably be in love with you anyway.”

He grinned. “Knew it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Hopelessly in love.”

You groaned. “Why do I even like you?”

He laughed, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together.

“…Because we were always meant to end up here.”

Your breath hitched.

The words were simple, said so casually, but they settled deep in your chest, spreading warmth through your entire being.

Because he was right.

Every moment, every choice, every little thing that led to this—it had always been leading you here.

To him.

To this.

To something more than forever.

— Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader

It still surprised you sometimes—how things had changed.

How the cold rivalry that once existed between you had melted into something warm, something constant, something that made your chest tighten in the best way whenever you so much as thought about it.

About him.

Once upon a time, you and him had been at odds with each other, a battle of sharp words and stubborn ideals. He was relentless, fiercely determined, a mind constantly working ten steps ahead. And you—well, you were the opposite. Passionate, chaotic, diving headfirst into the unknown with little concern for anything but discovery.

But now?

Now he was yours.

And God, you loved him.

“Stop working,” you whined, dramatically flopping onto his desk.

He barely spared you a glance, eyes still locked onto the notebook in front of him. “Can’t.”

“You always say that,” you huffed, watching as he furiously jotted down another equation, his pen moving like it had a will of its own.

“Because it’s always true,” he shot back, voice carrying that familiar unwavering certainty.

You rolled your eyes. “Five-minute break.”

“No.”

“Two minutes?”

“No.”

You sighed, tilting your head at him. “What could possibly be so important that you can’t take two minutes to—” You peered at his notes and blinked. “Wait. Is this…” You trailed off, recognizing the layout of a physics equation, the bold scrawl of hypotheses scattered between calculations.

He finally glanced at you, the sharp glint of his focus not dulled in the slightest. “I had a thought earlier and needed to get it down.”

You stared at him. “You had a thought so urgent that you couldn’t even pause for two seconds?”

“Yes.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re crazy”

“And you’re distracting.”

“You love me, though.”

A flicker of something softened his expression. He didn’t answer immediately, just studied you with those impossibly sharp eyes, the ones that always seemed to be unraveling the mysteries of the universe—except, in that moment, they were solely on you.

“Yeah,” he murmured eventually, the intensity of it making your breath catch. “I do.”

It was rare, hearing it outright like that. He wasn’t one for grand proclamations, but when he did speak—when he let himself be honest—it always hit you like a tidal wave.

You swallowed, warmth pooling in your chest. “Then take a break.”

He sighed, exasperated but amused. Then, to your utter delight, he set his pen down.

“Two minutes,” he relented.

You grinned, holding out your arms. “Hug me.”

He stared. “…Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, like he was analyzing the request for its deeper meaning. Then, without another word, he leaned forward and pulled you against him.

You melted instantly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His arms were strong, steady—the kind of embrace that felt unshakable, like he would hold the entire world together if it meant keeping you safe.

“…Better?” he murmured.

You nodded against him. “Much.”

His fingers lingered at your back, just the faintest trace of hesitation before he fully gave in, relaxing into the embrace.

And neither of you let go.

Dating him had been an adjustment.

He wasn’t the kind to wear his emotions on his sleeve. He was driven, always looking forward, always chasing after the next big thing. His brain never stopped, his heart never wavered, his ambition burning like an unstoppable fire.

Which meant he showed affection in his own way.

Like the way he never actually said I love you, but instead muttered things like, don’t forget to eat or stay inside, it’s cold.

Like the way he pretended to be annoyed when you interrupted his work, only to immediately pull you back when you tried to leave.

Like the way he sighed every time you teased him, only to let you lace your fingers with his under desks, his grip never faltering.

And the thing was?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

One evening, you were in the library together, him completely immersed in his research while you doodled aimlessly in your notebook.

The silence was comfortable, the kind that had become second nature between you.

Then, suddenly—

“…You make me reckless.”

You blinked. “Uh. Excuse me?”

He didn’t look up, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “You make me reckless,” he repeated, almost contemplative. “It’s irritating.”

You squinted at him. “Are you… saying you love me?”

He hummed. “Statistically, it would be hard to deny.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. “Oh my God.”

He finally looked up, arching a brow. “What?”

“You just confessed your love for me like it was a scientific fact.”

“…And?”

You let out a laugh, completely endeared. “You’re unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t look annoyed. If anything, there was something fond in the way he regarded you, something soft in the way he reached out, tapping his fingers against your wrist.

“…You already knew,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

Because of course you knew.

You had known for a long time now.

But hearing it—even in his own, methodical way—still sent warmth flooding through your entire being.

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered, reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “I did.”

And if he squeezed your hand just a little tighter?

Well.

You didn’t mention it.

[int-smnt]

40k SANGUINUS PERMANENTLY SCARRED FROM HIS FIGHT WITH HORUS YESSSSSSSS!!! I am frankly obsessed with this concept, been thinking about it for months. May I please ask for some elaboration on how you'd see this go? also maybe perhaps some more 40k Sang doodle requests, being a tattered angel suits him incredibly well. I love him so much and I love the way you draw him 🥺🥺🥺🥺

ARGHHH im glad at least one person seems to be as obsessed with it as I.

As for the elaboration:

SANGUINIUS REBIRTH AU!

To preface this i am not well versed in the books, i dont have the money to afford them, and the entire concept hinges on the rule of cool (which is par for the course i imagine!)

Takes place during the events of "The devastation of Baal"

A canon divergence, in which the hive fleet is capable of breaching the Blood angels' main chapel and reaching Sanguinius' tomb.

It's engulfed in a case of molten gold but I don't think that ever stopped tyranids from having a good snack.

And a good snack they have!

From what I've read about online, tyranids cannot replicate the powers of warp-based entities, so I humored the idea that the consumption of warp tainted flesh might have some jarring side effects on them.

The change is not sudden, only noticable upon the second wave, the tyranids are a formidable foe, for sure have gained some power up from the angel's body, wings and other boosts.

They also begun to cannibalise eachother, courtesy of the red thirst. A flaw in the gene that was impossible to seperate from the useful parts.

Present hive tyrants become compromised too, in spite of their resistance to Daemons, they are seized by a force that runs through the Angel's very DNA.

It compromises the swarm, leading to a swift dispatch. Not before they caused some significant damage.

The reason for Sanguinius' return would be spurred on by the death of a major character: Dante. Another canon divergence, when sanguinius talks to dante as he's dying, he doesnt revive him.

Seeing that the Hive has killed his most prized son using his genes as a template, he takes matters into his own hands, and allows the man to finaly, FINALY rest. However, as much as it pained him, he had to consume his soul to gain the power necessary to influence the materium.

Which is how he managed to manipulate the mutated tyranids into being more vulnerable! Bypassing their immunity to the warp by manipulating the very genetic material they stole from him (and which he could still exert his influence onto).

However, due to some inexplicable reason, perhaps the primarch in him desiring to live once more.

Like a virus, posessing a wayward cell to produce more of its kind, the largest of the 'nids is forced to reconstruct the body of the Angel using its own biomass and the dna template its got. (It was NOT part of his plan, he blames his subconscious.)

Congratulations! Its a sanguinius! I muse to myself, im glad the tyranids dont have the capacity to feel body horror.

What follows suit im not sure, but 3 possibilities:

1) In the aftermath, while surveying the carnage, Guilliman senses the unmistakable aura of his brother, and cuts him out of the bowels of the beast.

2) he is discovered by a team if blood angels sent to recover the body of the fallen, they become highly protective of him and might keep his discovery under wraps in fear misunderstanding (which is understandable, a primarch pops out of a tyranid is highly suspicious)

3) Crawled out on his own. Discovered by a group of nomads while he was aimlessly the Baal desert.

And yea, thats all!

[das-a-kirby-blog]

i tried making a kirby food-themed AU some years ago too & honestly u are executing this concept a whole lot better than i did. one thing i would like to share is Kracko being made out of cotton candy & his spikes are the cones. & also i'm just a bit curious as to how you'd design a few other characters like the poppy bros or bosses from kirby's adventure =-)

aaaaa I love the idea! I miiiight have to tweak this design because I'm not 100% satisfied with it.

regarding your food-themed au, I would love to hear more about it if you're still working on it!

(other bosses under the cut)

with poppy bro and paint roller I got an idea on what to do. kirby's gotta get his cherry bombs from somewhere sooo I did this whole thing backwards and based poppy bro off of kirby's bomb ability.

paint roller is inspired by a gingerbread house and his paint is icing. I think I like this idea so I might not change it.

with other kirby bosses...yeah idk what to do with them. I already got dedede and mk, and with whispy I was thinking he could have candied apples, but that's about as far as that idea goes, lol.

[colorlessjay]

hello! may be a weird request but do you have any fanfic recommendations?

BUCKLE THE FUCK UP

OH DO I HAVE SOME RECS FOR YA'LL

Mind you, 90% are based on personal preference and fics I think about way too often than I should. A lot of them influenced the way I make characters interact

Some of them might not be your taste and that's cool!

First off, Gotta promote the fics that people wrote inspired by my art (I am truly honored)

Time Cast A Spell On You by bethefirstwhoeverdid

Cabin of Feathers by Featherpie (Izupie)

Return To The Past by faeryn

NOW FOR MY COLLECTION

Just any fic written by everandanon

I swear to you, all of their fics are worth a read. They are frustrating (In a good way for me) but the worldbuilding, comedy, dialogue, and character interactions always have me physically getting up and laughing. At one point during Quarentantion, I had to stop reading to rant to my friends about it because it made me feel so much that I went to 3 different friends about it. With Interest actually made my heart physically hurt at certain points. Expectations had me on a roller coaster ride But if you think their fics are a little overwhelming, I recommend reading Casicorn. It's the first ever fic I read from them and it solidified my love for this author. I swear I am on my hands and KNEES waiting for them to finish their newest fic

Where All My Journeys End - (a Twist and Shout alt universe) by Say_It_In_Enochian

Did reading Twist and Shout devastate you? Did it emotionally hurt your heart and make you wish there was something to make the pain lighter? READ THIS FUCKING FIC NOW I got so fucking lucky when I found it immediately after reading T&S and when I tell you the JOURNEY this fic took me? It healed my soul The struggles, the history, the relationships, the LONG fight to get to their happy ending I am FLOORED this doesn't have 1000 Kudos!

The Ed Sheeran Effect by tricia_16

It made me laugh. That's it. It's sweet and funny and really fun and just feels very campy, like it could've been a decent movie I would rewatch on days I just feel like feeling good Am I a sucker for HighSchool/College AU fics? Yes do I fucking care? No

The Best Years of Our Lives, My Ass by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)

I. fucking. love. this. fic The story alone was so interesting but it was the DIALOGUE that hooked me in. I swear I think about this fic in the middle of drawing and go "Damn, good times" like it's a long lost friend

Slide Away by Castielslostwings

It's the TENSION that got me. I can't explain to you how much I just love their hate-pining for each other Read it, love it, in my digital bookshelf

Sleep Without You by turningthepages

Hilarious. The density is so high it could float. I swear to god I've read this fic at least three times and think about it once a week I remember reading it and cackling so much that I woke up my mom

Should've Just Asked by Annie D (scaramouche)

I wish this fic had a follow-up that was just Dean's perspective because I would LOVE to read more of it. The situation is so absurd and I binged it all in one day (I'm a very slow reader)

Pinfall by crowleyo

I'm gonna say it. I'm so actually angry this fic doesn't get enough attention. It is so so SO well-written and heart-wrenching. Am I still a sucker for highschool sweethearts? YES! I OPENLY ADMIT THIS! But COME ON

Of fuming and partaking and so on by zation

This fic and literally any fic from Zation. I absolutely love the way this author writes. It's so funny and self-aware and the dialogue and scenarios always keep me entertained and laughing They have such a large catalog of fics that I'm pretty sure I have at least 15 saved on my phone

Mr. Blue Sky by anyrei, queerwolf79

This fic specifically and literally ANYTHING from these two. I swear, a lot of their fics are certified bangers. Mr. Blue Sky is probably a personal favorite of mine cause I actually teared up

Love Me More by Saiorse_Irvyne

I'm not the biggest fan of A/B/O stuff, but MAN this has me feeling things. When a fic makes me feel strong emotions, I just gotta recommend it

Lock and Key by tricia_16

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it's THAT good

Kind Of A Forever Deal by komodobits

It's FUN. It's FUNNY. It's so fucking campy and cute and the progression of their relationship was just AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It's Always the End of the World Somewhere by Annie D (scaramouche)

I can sit here and recommend Annie D's fics all DAY, but I'm recommending this one specifically because of this: “Get a room, assholes,” someone mutters. “Hey!” Crowley whirls on the offender. “I could set on you on fire!” And that's one of many fantastic quotes

Cinderwings by bendingsignpost

One of the first fics I've ever read from this fandom, and I recommend it to ANYONE regardless of whether they know Destiel or not. The story is so fucking captivating it makes me want to eat my foot it's so GOOD

--------------

Do I have a type when it comes to fanfics? Yes

But I like gravitating towards funny dialogue and silly shenanigans. I thrive off of fun fics that sometimes take themselves seriously, but still pull me back and make me laugh

If a fic can make me feel such a strong emotion that I PHYSICALLY have to get up? Then fuck yeah it's going in my archives

I would recommend some of the darker fics I have, but this is for fun

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Paradigm Shift 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it’s hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You sit against the wall as the important people line the edges of the desk. Swiveling, toying with ballpoint pens, tapping on flat tablet screens. You're the only assistant there and it's made more obvious as you're the only one not invited to sit with the VIPs.

The executives go down their agendas. Boasting mostly about their numbers, others using flowery language to hide their less than stellar results, and some posturing rather than sharing anything of value.

Odinson looks less than interested. His eyes stray now and again to the walls. The glass is covered by the drawn blinds which he seems to forget as his mind arounds. He must have found a new distraction. You got out just in time.

He cracks his neck, "very well. Submit your numbers as usual. I'll be in touch with those I need to be."

He stands and struts to the door as the rest of the table look at each other. They're put off by the suddenness of his dimissal. Ellie was still presenting her budget.

"Billie, a word."

It's your turn to be surprised. As the other suits pack up or lounge and swipe at their phone, only two gazes react to the command. Barnes and Laufeyson turn to watch you stand. This is treacherous.

Barnes tilts his head and Laufeyson squints. Like a wolf and a snake, measuring their prey. Well, you will not be devoured so easily.

You cross the office and follow Odinson out. He doesn't look ahead, rather cranes to focus on something, or someone you can't pick out. He stops short and you hit his back.

"Ah, uh, oh," he spins to face you and plants his hand on the wall, his other pushing back his stands of blond hair. "Am I in your way, darling?"

"Hm? No, you told me--"

"Ah, yes, yes," he chuckles raucously, "be assured, I had good reason," he leans in and looms over you, "my brother, tell me your thoughts."

"Erm, well, it's not been very long," you reply.

"You are a clever girl, Bill, tell me."

"He is good with numbers and I think he's well-placed. He and Barnes could be productive but I think Logistics needs--"

He raises his head and searches the bull pen. He huffs and stands straight, turning on his heel.

"You will keep notes for me on this matter," he demands. "Be off, before he is about one of his moods."

He strides away without your reply. You wouldn't have anything nice to say anyway. That was abrupt and odd. As for his last remark, you're not sure which of your bosses he refers too.

You march back toward the conference room with your laptop under your crossed arms. As you approach, Laufeyson steps into your path, no doubt having observed your conversation. Before you can tell him to move, he winces and steps away from the door as Barnes rescinds his thick finger from his jab in his cohort's ribs.

"For someone so skinny, you make a hell of a wall," Barnes snips.

"I am lean, not--" Laufeyson sighs and shakes his head, turning back to you. "What did my brother want?"

"Yes, what did the big bad want?" Barnes stands shoulder to shoulder with Laufeyson, well almost, he is a bit shorter.

"He asked if I needed anything. Like a desk mat or tranquilizer." You retort.

Barnes snickers and Laufeyson glowers deeper.

"Very witty indeed."

"I'd love to do my full set for you two but I believe you have other meetings in your calendar," you advise.

"You sound like my drill sergeant," Barnes scoffs.

You arch a brow and stare back. You wait. You will. You're not there to do their work for them.

"Have you a mind for coffee, James?" Laufeyson asks.

Barnes growls, "I'll drown you in it if you call me that again but yes, I could use a boost."

They keep their eyes on you. There power plays are boring. Do they really get off on grounding down an assistant sentenced to purgatory? Actually, that make you feel a bit better. That's how little they have going on.

"I'll go--"

"We'll come," Barnes insists. "Could stretch my legs? How about you, Loki? Built like a spider, sitting in those chairs--"

"You shouldn't be so concerned with my physique and perhaps start cutting those mid afternoon muffins, eh?" Laufeyson retorts.

Even when they get along, they dont.

"It would be quicker if I went myself," you say. "You have Rogers--"

"He's a friend. He'll understand," Barnes interjects. "Garcons?"

Laufeyson nods, "perfect."

You blink but don't let your agitation through. You simply nod.

"Alright, I'll need to put my computer away--"

"Eh, you," Laufeyson catches a passing intern by the back of his collar. "Take this to logistics."

He takes your laptop before you can react and hands it to the spindly yellow-haired undergrad. You give an apologetic look as he utters out a 'yes, sir' and hurries away.

"You didn't need to do that," you argue.

"I hope my brother didn't give you the impression that I take orders from you, darling. It is rather the other way around." Laufeyson sniffs.

"He only takes orders in the bedroom," Barnes chuckles.

"That's hardly appropriate," Laufeyson huffs.

"Loosen up. Skip the coffee and take a shot," Barnes raps his knuckles on Laufeyson's sleeve.

They turn and grumble at each other. You don't move until they reach the elevator. You're not stupid. They have to show their dominance. Too bad you don't care who's in charge, you just want to get the job done.

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 13]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the scarf around your neck. It was another day of going to Hongjoong's place to do your gardening duties. Also, it was the first time seeing him after you cried in his arms at his mother's grave.

"Gosh, can you be any more embarrassing?" You asked your reflection with a click of your tongue. With a soft sigh, you went to gather your stuff.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"Coming!" You ran to open the door, thinking it was the chauffeur that was usually sent to pick you.

"Oh! Hongjoong! I was not expecting you." You blinked as he stood at your door.

"I was in the area for a meeting and thought I could come pick you instead. I hope you don't mind, the chauffeur told me what floor you live on." Hongjoong smiled, tucking his phone back into his coat.

"Not at all. I'm about done, please come in. Don't mind the mess." You said, letting him step in.

"Thanks. Take your time." He bowed his head and entered behind you, removing his shoes in the entrance way.

"I have to bring these down, it shouldn't be too heavy." You gestured before running back into your bedroom to get your socks and handphone. Hongjoong looked around the place, contrary to what you said, there was no mess at all. It was a cozy, little apartment, simple but neat.

"That should be everything... Would you like a drink? Sorry I didn't offer you one when you came in." You chuckled, putting your tools together into a tote bag.

"No worries, I'm good. I had a coffee on the way here." He smiled from his seat on your couch.

"We can go now." You said to him.

"Sure, let me help." He took one of the bags that had fertiliser in it, leaving you to carry the light stuff. Your heart warmed at the sight of the Porsche convertible, he must have brought it for you.

"If the things can't fit in the boot, I'll have them on my lap." You told him as he loaded the stuff in.

"We should be fine. It'll be uncomfortable to have things on your lap." Hongjoong said as he arranged the stuff to make space.

"There." He placed the last bag in and closed the boot. After opening the door for you to enter the passenger seat, he closed the door and ran over to the driver's side.

Before moving out of the parking space, Hongjoong put the hood down then started to drive. It wasn't as awkward anymore but you did still feel embarrassed after what happened last time. He saw you cry and you cried all over his probably expensive suit.

"Is it too warm? Shall I put the hood back up?" Hongjoong asked, having noticed the uncomfortable expression on your face.

"No, not at all. You don't have to put the hood back up. I'm enjoying it, don't worry." You shook your head, continuing to look out instead of look in Hongjoong's direction.

"Welcome back, sir."

The intercom voice sounded as Hongjoong pulled up to the gates of the estate before they opened the let you in.

"Although it's such a long walk, the greenery along the driveway makes it such a nice sight." You commented. Hongjoong let out a hum of agreement.

The others must heard of Hongjoong's arrival at the gate because you saw a butler and two maids waiting there for your arrival.

"There are stuff in the back, take it and help her bring it to the back garden." Hongjoong said, coming out of the driver's seat.

"Yes, sir. Right away." They stepped forward to retrieve your items from the boot as Hongjoong opened the door for you. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of what you were supposed to do now. You were still not used to this, you've always done everything yourself without any butlers or maids.

"Right this way, ma'am." One of the maids bowed, leading you into the house. Hongjoong re-entered the car and drove off, presumably to park his car.

"(y/n)! You're here." Mingi grinned.

"Hi, Mingi." You bowed your head, still finding yourself acting formal with the others.

"Have you eaten?" He asked with a tilt of his head, munching on the slice of toast in his hand. You mentally chuckled, imagining all the crumbs he must be dropping onto the ground.

"I have. Thank you." You smiled.

"Good. If you get hungry, ask the chef to make you something, alright? Don't go hungry." He winked and went upstairs.

"Miss, shall we leave the things here?" The butler asked as you stepped out into the backyard.

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you so much for your help." You bowed repeatedly to them. They smiled and bowed back to you before taking their leave. The first thing you did was take your notepad out to check your to-do list for today.

"Good morning, (y/n)." You turned to see Seonghwa standing there, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. He was dressed in a button up white shirt and wide pants, making him look casual but elegant.

"Good morning, Seonghwa. How has your morning been?" You asked with a smile.

"Busy as usual. Have you seen Hongjoong? I heard he went to pick you up after his meeting." He enquired.

"Yeah, he did. He dropped me off out front and I assumed that he was just going to park the car but I guess not?" You giggled as Seonghwa rolled his eyes.

Another thing you learnt was that while Hongjoong kept everyone else in check, Seonghwa kept Hongjoong in check.

"Never mind him then. How has the garden been coming along?" He moved closer to look.

"Hopefully making progress. I managed to move the plants to where they need to be, in the proper soils without having to compete for nutrients. Today, it's laying fertiliser and all that." You explained.

"The plants are in good hands then." He chuckled and you nodded your head. Seonghwa's phone ringing pulled him away, the both of you bowed your heads to each other as he entered the house to answer the call. You let out a sigh of relief, still feeling slightly intimidated by him and his energy.

"Are you scared of Seonghwa hyung?"

"Ah!" You yelped, jumping back and clutching onto your heart, as you came face to face with Jongho. He smiled cheekily at you before straightening up.

"You scared me, Jongho." You let out a sigh as you picked up the trowel that you dropped.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you scared of Seonghwa hyung?" He raised an eyebrow, repeating his question.

"He's a little intimidating... His aura and everything. Like a critique that you want to try and impress...? I don't even know if that makes any sense." You tried your best to explain it to him.

"I get it, Seonghwa hyung has that effect on people." Jongho nodded.

"But you know, we're not that scary. We may seem like we're scary people but we're not." He added.

"I know, I'm slowly learning that." You giggled as you used the trowel to loosen up the packed soil around the plant roots. Jongho watched you take the fertiliser and add it to the soil, using your hands to manually pack it in so it wouldn't be too tight.

Jongho stood there, watching you. He has never met a girl that was willing to get down and have her hands in the dirt. It still amused and amazed him to watch you work.

"Is there anything else you need, Jongho?" You asked, realising he was looming over quietly.

"Nope. Just watching you work, it's rather fascinating and I'm learning something new when I do." He shrugged.

"It's just taking care of the plants. It is concerning that your previous gardeners never did these. But it's not surprising, considering all the mistakes I found." You mumbled the last part.

"You're funny, (y/n)."

"I just don't like that the plants suffer at the hands of someone who is literally paid to take care of them." You sighed.

"I get it, I get it. Don't worry, that guy is gone and we have you now." He smiled.

Although, when Jongho said 'gone', you assumed it meant that the previous gardener was fired. You didn't know that Jongho meant that the guy was no longer alive.

"Ah, Jongho ah. Stop disturbing her and let her work. You should be doing your own work too!" Seonghwa yelled from the glass doors, presumably having finished his phone call. Jongho scoffed, offended that Seonghwa would suggest he was disturbing you. You giggled at their banter, they were really close.

"Well, I'll see you later, (y/n)." Jongho did conceed. You waved as he entered the house to go back to work.

"Alright, what's next?" You stood up, dusting your hands. You went to retrieve the other bag of fertiliser to move to another garden patch. These fertilisers were all personally mixed together by you.

"Grow well." You wished the plant, hoping your custom mix of fertilisers would provide the plants with what they needed.

"Maybe one day, there'll be a compost area here for all the waste." You thought out loud.

"We should, there's enough space." You turned to see Hongjoong standing there with a small smile on his face. He had gotten rid of his jacket and was in a shirt and pants.

"Seonghwa came to look for you earlier. Playing hooky?" You teased.

"Just because I wasn't in my office, he thinks I was out skipping work." Hongjoong rolled his eyes with a scoff.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you would like to have some lunch." Hongjoong said. You straightened up, digging for your phone to check the time. Indeed, it was already a little after noon, you didn't think you spent such a long time doing this.

"Sure, I lost track of time. Didn't know I spent so much time doing just this." You gestured. Hongjoong waited for you before walking back to the house.

"I'll go wash my hands and freshen up." You excused yourself and went to the bathroom to wash your hands and face.

"Ah, (y/n)!" Yunho ran to into you as you were exiting the bathroom. You smiled and waved at him.

"Are all of you working from home today? I seem to be running into most of you and it's only lunch time." You chuckled. Yunho laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I never know where my brothers are." He admitted.

"I guess you all have different schedules that it'll be hard to keep track. Poor Seonghwa." You giggled.

"Nah, I bet hyung secretly likes to nag us. Him and Hongjoong hyung." Yunho joked, the both of you snickering. Hongjoong watched you and Yunho laugh as you headed over.

When did you two get so close?

"Today is a warm day, you should take more breaks in the shade and make sure you drink a lot of water." Yunho smiled kindly. You nodded and bowed your head. Of course, Yunho noticed that Hongjoong had been looking at your interaction the entire time. But he wanted to rile the captain up more.

"This way." Hongjoong said to you. You stepped into the dining room, it was your first time here since you started working in the estate. Or rather, this was the first meal you've had with them.

Usually, you sit in the living room or garden gazebo to eat. Honestly, it was really intimidating.

"Sit wherever you feel comfortable." Hongjoong gestured.

"Really? Looks like there are assigned seats..." You mumbled to yourself. But Hongjoong gently placed a hand on your back to guide you forward, the seat to the right of the head.

"I sit here, you can sit with me." Hongjoong said. The seat felt like it would be the seat that's occupied for sure.

"Come, (y/n). That's Seonghwa hyung's seat." Jongho entered the dining room, pulling you along.

"You lied!" You pointed accusingly at Hongjoong, who blinked.

"Hwa doesn't care, the others are just trying to make him scarier than he actually is." Hongjoong rolled his eyes. But you were not taking the chance, you moved to sit where ever Jongho and Yunho told you to, which was next to Jongho, opposite Yunho.

"Yeosang hyung sits here but he's out for a meeting so you're good." Jongho said as the butler pulled the chair out for you to sit. You quickly bowed to him and sat down.

"Who's scarier than he actually is?" On cue, Seonghwa walked in, typing away on his phone.

"It's nothing." Hongjoong sighed.

"It's only noon and you're already sighing." Seonghwa raised an eyebrow at his best friend before taking his seat, which was the exact seat Hongjoong had offered you earlier.

"See? Told you." Jongho leaned over to whisper to you and you hummed with a soft giggle.

"Just get lunch." Hongjoong said to the butler, rubbing his forehead.

"Nice to see you here, (y/n)." Seonghwa finally noticed you and smiled at you. You returned the smile and nodded your head then the trays of food came in.

"Lunch is served." The maids and butlers said as they placed trays in front of you. Your eyes widened, this was how you imagined royalty was served their meals. The food was good, regular fare, but plated nicely and arranged on an individual tray. You have never been served like this before.

"Is something wrong?" Yunho asked.

"No, not at all." You forced a smile and picked up your chopsticks. Just then, Mingi came into the dining room, letting out a loud yawn as he stretched his arms over his head.

"Mingi. That's rude." Seonghwa scolded. Mingi rubbed his eyes, a clear sign that he had just woken up.

"Oh, (y/n). You're having lunch here today." Mingi acknowledged as he took his seat beside Yunho. You nodded and swallowed your food.

"Did you just nap since breakfast?" Yunho asked his best friend.

"Dude, I told you I didn't sleep last night so I have sleep to catch up on. I keep having issues sleeping." Mingi said, running his fingers through his messy hair as the butler put his tray down.

"You're too used to doing night stuff, that's why your body clock is having issues adjusting." Hongjoong pointed out.

"I should just be on night shift, I'm only doing Yeosang's work because he's busy taking over San's- Mmph!" Mingi's sentence was cut off as he crumpled over, wincing in pain. He turned his head to shoot Yunho a glare.

"Are you okay, Mingi?" You asked worriedly. Mingi met Yunho's eyes, who shifted in your direction.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just hit my toe against the chair leg." Mingi lied as he began to eat. You didn't notice the sigh of relief Seonghwa and Hongjoong let out.

"If that's not enough food for you, you can always ask for seconds, alright? They always make extras for us." Jongho told you.

"This is more than enough for me. I might not even be able to finish this." You chuckled.

"Is the food to your liking?" Hongjoong asked.

"It's very good. Thank you." You smiled as continued to eat. If the food wasn't to your liking, Hongjoong would have asked the cook to make you something entirely differently.

"Seconds." Seonghwa raised his hand and Yunho did the same, the maid coming forward to get their plates for more food.

"Oh gosh, I'm so full. And I should probably get back to work. Thank you for the meal." You stood up and bowed to the boys at the table, hightailing it out of there before anyone could say anything else. The 5 just sat there, blinking, stunned before turning to their captain at the head of the table.

"(y/n), hold on. Is something wrong?" Hongjoong came out from the dining room right before you could go out the glass doors. You paused in your tracks and turned around.

"No, Hongjoong. Everything is fine." You fiddled with your fingers.

"Was it that awkward and uncomfortable?" He tilted his head. You rubbed the back of your neck.

"It's not any of you... It's just... I'm supposed to be a worker too... Feels inappropriate to be sitting in that fancy dining, getting served like that." You winced.

"Oh, (y/n). There's no need for you to worry about that. You're not a worker-worker... You're my friend, it's different." He chuckled.

"I know, it just takes a while to get used to. I'm not familiar with any of this but don't worry!" You rubbed your arm.

"(y/n), if you're uncomfortable, just tell me. I know it can all be very intimidating. Don't feel forced to do anything." He smiled. The both of you walked out to the back garden together.

"No, I don't feel forced at all. And it's not just that..." You cleared your throat, trying to figure out how to find the words to tell him. Maybe you should just leave it. Telling Hongjoong your feelings might just make things more awkward between the two of you.

"Are you worried about what happened when we went to see my mum?" He asked in a soft voice.

"How... How did you..." Your eyes widened.

"I figured. (y/n), you know I don't care about stuff like that right? I'm not bothered and it doesn't change anything." Hongjoong smirked. You nodded slowly.

"Thanks." You murmured.

"Now come. I think it's finally time for me to give you a proper tour of the place." Hongjoong clapped his hands.

"Don't you have to work? Don't any of you have to work?" You threw your head back with a groan. Hongjoong just laughed and gestured for you to go back into the house for the tour.

"Hang on." You paused and he nodded.

"Take your time." He watched you fiddle with one of the bags you had brought and retrieved what looked like a small white linen bag.

"Mingi! Luckily you're still here. I just remembered that I had this in my bag of gardening stuff. Here you go." You handed the taller the small white bag just as he was leaving the dining room. Both him and Hongjoong looked confused but Mingi lifted the white bag to take a sniff of it.

"It smells good. What is it?" He blinked.

"Dried lavender. I use it as a natural insect repellent for plants but it's very good to help sleep too. Since you said you have trouble sleeping, you can put this by your pillow." You explained.

"Oh, thank you, (y/n). I'll definitely put this by my pillow." Mingi smiled, continuing to sniff the bag.

"I hope it helps." You smiled and he nodded before heading upstairs. You were unaware of the now slightly sulky Hongjoong behind you.

"You didn't have to do that, you know? He's just childishly whining about it." Hongjoong commented. Your eyebrows raised slightly at his words, was Hongjoong jealous?

"I know but I wanted to help since I already have the dried lavender. So I thought why not? It's not 100% effective but it may help just a little so no harm." You shrugged as you followed him up the stairs to see the rest of the house.

"Honestly in our household, almost everyone has trouble sleeping. Not sure if we're just constantly thinking about work or something." He pointed out.

"Oh, really? Well, I don't have anymore on hand now but I'll keep that in mind and bring more the next time I come." You giggled.

~

Series masterlist

[samsxowboyhat]

Redacted Actor AU Headcanons

Lovely’s actor's tears looked so real during the inversion that Vincent’s actor had to keep asking if they were okay.

David and Darlin’s actors are actually siblings.

Asher’s actor originally auditioned for the role of Guy, but the director thought it would be better for Baabe’s actor to play Asher since they were already together.

Ivan’s actor repeatedly had to check on Baby’s actor after a scene because he genuinely thought he had hurt them.

Gavin’s jokes are unscripted due to his actor forgetting his lines, but it never gets re-filmed because it fits Gavin’s character.

Caelum’s actor was in a school play that the director attended and was impressed with him, but due to him being too young to portray Caelum, he was placed in smaller productions until he was old enough to play the role(He instantly bonded with Freelancer and Gavin’s actors).

Vega’s actor actually shared the Vega role with his twin brother after Vega lost his memories, so it could feel like Vega was a different person.

The Shaw pack members are actually childhood friends (David’s actor wouldn’t take his role unless the others could also be placed in the pack roles).

Geordi and Cutie’s actors both attend K-pop concerts together.

Aggro is actually Milo’s actor's cat (his actor was placed in a room with a bunch of cats, and Aggro was most comfortable with him).

The D.A.M.N crew's actors didn’t even know each other at first (they each had a scene with one another, then got the bowling scene together and bonded over time).

Porter’s and Treasure’s actors don’t have any romantic feelings for each other, but they do bond with each other on set.

Quinn’s actor actually had more scenes, but the actor became uncomfortable with Quinn’s character, so most of it got cut.

The inversion was the hardest and most expensive scene to film.

Freelancer’s actor actually had to kiss Huxley’s, Damien’s, and Lasko’s actors before being paired with Gavin’s actor because they looked more comfortable kissing each other.

Darlin’s actor didn’t have romantic feelings for Sam’s actor, simply loving his presence until later in production (nobody ever knew about it except David’s actor).

Lovely’s actor hates slap scenes because they always feel like they hit too hard whenever they see the shock on their co-star's face (they immediately apologize afterward).

The Friendsgiving episode was actually real (the D.A.M.N crew didn’t have time to see their families due to filming for the inversion and the E&E games, so they just spent it together).

At one point during filming, the shifters were actually going to be large dogs, but they didn’t look right on camera, so green screens were used instead.

Sweetie’s actor is never aware of Azmidi’s actors actions due to the director wanting actual fear from them

(I’ve never actually had an answer for this I don’t think but does the caller actually have a name? I’ve seen people on tumblr calling him Azmidi but I’ve also seen others calling him John/gen q)

[luckymousey]

Thoughts about Ace's dream (parts 245-248) (mostly things I liked)

THEY FINALLY UPLOADED ACE’S DREAM BABYYYYYYYYYY

First of all, to be honest, when I first saw the snap in Tumblr I thought: wait, didn’t the Stitch event end already?🤨 and then I realized it was his dream.

Let’s start!

⚠️ English is not my first language, and there are spoilers⚠️

There might be some spelling mistakes

Cater filming everything with his phone through the whole ride, I just love how he’s still himself (Honestly, I feel that not a single student of Heartslabyul would feel dizzy because of the traveling, yk, they’re based off Alice in Wonderland, and Alice fell through a hole, I’m sure they would feel dizzy by others things, not something that’s similar to a roller coaster ride) and then he says: ah, but Grimmy was shouting too loudly and the wind is annoying, I need to put music to hide it 😔

I also love the fact that he takes photos of everything even knowing that the photos aren’t in his real phone (I hope they find a way to recover the photos for Cater)

When Sebek asked if Ace is from Sunset Savanna I was like: wait, weren’t they friends? How could he not know? And then I realized i had been looking at too many fanarts of the first year gang *slaps forehead*

Honestly, I’m impressed by how much knowledge this guys have, when Deuce said that Ace lived near the capital of the Kingdom of Roses, Leona started talking about how it was not possible for them to have an ocean near (maybe I’m too dumb to know things like these, maybe not)

Grim getting disappointed that it was a dream, he really wanted to have holidays the 365 days of the year 😂 (my baby son is so cute)

Cater saying that he knew skateboarding and surfing, I don’t know, I just LOVED that fact, even more, I’ve a headcanon of the TWST actor AU I wrote some time ago that says that both Leona and Cater use their brooms like surfboards while filming because they go surfing together during summer.

I love that we got to know more about Cater

Idia’s comment right after Cater explained why he liked those hobbies, he’s like a narrator inside the book, but instead of talking to the public, he talks to himself

AND RIGHT AFTER THAT HIS OWN BROTHER SNITCHES ON HIM, HAHAHA, I just couldn’t stop myself from laughing when he said Idia also made himself a small boat (the video I saw was in Spanish and it said “barca”, which means boat in English, I’m not sure if the game referred it as a literal boat tho)

And Idia’s wish? Riding a shopping cart through a home goods store? I also wish for that, Idia, a lot of people wish doing that, you’re not alone, my man.

When Idia got scared because Cater reminded him of the time when he kidnapped Riddle and others with a smile, he just started stuttering, so cute (his actions weren’t cute tho)

ACE MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, YES BABYYYYYYYY (I love him so much 😭)

Idk why, but I just love when the characters shout at people, like calling them from afar, and Ace nailed it

It seems like the Lilo and Stitch event doesn’t happen in the original timeline, because everyone was so surprised (even Yuu has the option to make a comment about his shirt or his sunglasses)

Honestly, I never, EVER, thought about the fruit that was on Ace’s shoulder until Grim pointed it out, I swear to you all that I started laughing once I imagined someone having to walk with those and couldn’t stop until I remembered I still had to watch the episode (and now I got another headcanon for the actor AU 😈)

AND NOW RIDDLE APPEARSSSSSS

I loved when he went like: “don’t overdo it, got it, Ace?” And then everyone was like: “YOU ARE ALREADY OVERDOING IT!” I think they thought Ace’s imagination was too powerful

When Cater pointed out that Riddle was showing his bellybutton, it reminded me of that meme of: SHOW US YOUR ANKLE, SHOW US YOUR ANKLE (we’re talking about Riddle here, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got flustered about naked skin)

I realized that Riddle is kind of naive, because he says: “Ace told me this was a formal attire for an island” and he just did as he was told, my poor boy, one day, you’re getting pranked

And then he slowly approaches Cater and whispers (which made him look sooooo cute) him if he looks weird (NO MY BABY, YOU DON’T, 10 OUT OF 10, YOU’RE SLAYING MY QUEEN), HE LOOKED LIKE A BABY ASKING HIS OLDER BROTHER FOR ADVICES

Considering both Silver and Sebek are in the same club as Riddle (in one of Ruggie’s cards, Sebek even got punished by him while doing club activities) their surprise is understandable

One thing I didn’t really like is that we didn’t get to see fake!Trey or fake!Cater wearing new outfits 🥹

I know they all wear makeup, but for someone reason my eyes couldn’t stop looking at their eyes, they are all so fucking gorgeous, ugh

Honestly, does someone here knows if Cater is rich or not? Because they also mention that Cater was the one who rented the private island (I know it’s a dream, but who knows) maybe it’s because of his father’s job?

And Cater immediately getting into his role, he knows what he’s doing, he’s so smart, I love him.

When Ace suggests getting changed because he doesn’t like seeing the school uniform Leona said (I’m not quoting from the game): “we’re BUSY” I felt it was more like: “I want to get over this bullshit and take a nap”

THE WAY ACE WAS SMILING WHEN HE ANNOUNCED THE REASON OF THE CELEBRATION, that is the same smile he has when something good happens to him, but knowing what’s going to happen next, I just couldn’t help it🥲

I also realized how much I like when a lot of characters shout at the same time, it’s nice to hear

The part where Ace denied when Trey said how they would get sad talking about Yuu leaving, I know you’re just a tsundere, accept it, Trappola I’m still not prepared for that part

In the video Idia says: “I could be hit by a extroverted lighting” I’m just loving everyhting Idia says

I got sad when Ortho said there was no point in attacking him, I wanted to see Ace getting bullied (don’t hate on me, it’s just karma doing its job)

I would’ve loved if Jack and Epel were there too

Ace was talking like a salesman: “we got pink shirt here, and then a yellow one, and then a blue one” I just can’t with him 😂

We can’t see what is really happening between the characters (like, two characters could be hugging but we aren’t able to see it because this is not an anime, yet) but I believe Grim took Ace by his hair, pulled it and shouted in his ear to make him clear they were in a dream, YOU’RE DOING GREAT BABY, SHOW HIM WHO THE REAL BOSS IS

Aaaaand, we made it until here, no matter how many times I say it, I’m not prepared to reach that part

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Absolutely fascinating, and I can see exactly what you mean.

From someone describing Cross's personality, including his impulsivity, emotional dysregulation and being spiteful (and approved by Jakei as nailing Cross's character). He's got anxiety, struggles with self-worth and self-esteem yet simultaneously acts so self-absorbed to the point where he has no qualms about being a jerk to literal children.

Take his relationship with XGaster. Cross hates him as much as he wants his approval. Willing to fight against him or alongside him in whatever it takes to get his AU back and to stop the Overwrites (all or nothing). Because for all his dad’s abuse, he’s still his dad, and Cross wants him to be proud of him. (There’s old Jakei pride art where Cross is wearing a rainbow shirt and hugging XGaster, saying “I hate you so much…but I love you” while smiling goofily)

Cross is full of himself, and believes himself to be more powerful and understanding of things than he actually is and feels entitled to his happy ending (tbh fair, considering everything). Or just take that moment of his interaction with Goth for Underverse Studios, where Cross justifies taking and drinking all his chocolate milk because Cross is an "adult" and therefore needs it more than Goth.

This conflates with his anxiety and self-doubt, where he also worries if he’s done enough or if he should’ve done something else but it’s too late, so he buckles down with his decision even if it’s a bad one. If anyone considered themself a “god”, he’d think it nonsense. That everything is run by codes and magic and force of will. So if a deity imagery is used with XGaster then Cross would think it’s up to him to stop that false god

His beef with XMettaton? Full of passive-aggressive interactions between the two especially when Mettaton refused to help Cross when a cow was chewing on his bandana. And it's this moment that gave Cross bovinophobia because he genuinely believed he was about to be beaten.

Then there's all of his unstable relationships with friends and what was once family. XChara causes him so much grief, and when they shared a body he despised the loss of autonomy. But they were also there when he was alone in the Antivoid for who knows how long until Ink came. They’ve become a reluctant companion, but there’s constant friction between the two for both the events that happened with their AU and clashing thoughts on how to handle things, both believing the other to be correct and that the other just messes everything up.

All or nothing with Ink: He believed Ink abandoned him and was never his friend to begin with when Cross had asked Ink to bring his AU back and didn't. All of their history, of how Ink probably kept Cross from going insane from the equivalent of solitary confinement and an emotionally unstable XChara, of how Ink helped Cross develop a passion for art and it's one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he has, all of it is pushed to the side and ignored by what Cross perceived as a slight to him and a manipulative betrayal. How could Ink pretend to be his friend when this whole time, he couldn't bring back XTale, and later on, worked with XGaster to keep his Soul safe and then release it?

All or nothing with Frisk: XFrisk was his best friend, and the betrayal that XFrisk had used Cross and tried to kill him and the others to steal Overwrite from XGaster that kickstarted Underverse in the first place had him throw his locket and rage and hate XFrisk and refuse to accept the name "Cross". A resentment that carried on throughout Underverse and in art of them answering asks, there are brief moments where they're friends again only for Cross to lash out at other moments. And in Underverse the locket is one of Cross's most prized possessions, and he always keeps it on his person. And yet "Cross" is his name, his entire identity, and he lashes out at XPapyrus to the point where he punches him in the face and threatens him with bone attacks until he says his name "Cross".

His brother, who was one of the people Cross wanted revived again more than anything, he's willing to go so far as to enforce his identity by physically attacking XPapyrus who only wanted his brother back.

Aside from his AU back, he wants a sense of normalcy again. He wasn’t always so frustrated or mad all the time, this is a side effect of not only childhood abuse but also trauma from the events of XTale. Not to mention the moments where even as a child, Cross He wants his home back, and more than that, he wants peace and to rest and to be loved (it hurts to distance himself from XPap, but Cross believes it's the only thing he can do now; that he has no other choice) That Cross now and will never be the Sans that XPap knew and loved, and wants to still be accepted by the ones he loves despite having changed so much

All the moments where his body was controlled by others: by XFrisk, XChara, or XGaster, the moments where he's emotionally vulnerable and was manipulated, greatly resemble dissociative episodes, where Cross is so disconnected from his body and even his mind feels out of his control. It's like he's nothing more than a Tool for others to use.

Looking at Cross as a whole, it all aligns much too well with BPD.

ASPD INK WOOOO CLUSTER B REPRESENT!! Nobody can take away Cluster B character headcanons away from me, Cluster B characters I love you

HELL YAAAAAAAA

We love Cluster B in this house

Allow me to actually give you a tiny list of cluster Bs and the characters I associate with them

ASPD: Ink, Nightmare (I’ve been also considering Killer, not yet made a decision tho xhxhxh)

BPD: Nightmare

HPD: Error

NPD: Cross

[lordofmelancholy]

Arcane Silent Frontiers: Isha and Jinx's Relationship

Alright! Time for something new! The (tragic) Relationship between Isha and Jinx in Silent Frontiers

Now for those who read This (if you haven't go read it), you might have notice that I put down one of the inspirations for Isha's character in SF as not only just Ellie from The Last of Us but also Joel as well.

This is because, both Isha and Jinx take the "Joel" role in this AU; which is basically a fancy way of stating that both of them have major attachment issues stemming from trauma and apparent abandonment. Because of this, both Isha and Jinx actually don't get along to each other as quickly as they do in the show. The need to Bond is there, but Isha often finds it hard to gain attachments towards people following immense heartbreak in her life, and is in many ways similar to Jinx in this notion. However what should bring them together, instead makes it hard for them to do so. There's a pull of course that neither can understand, but it's a pull that tends to lead them both at the current time to face first into a wall. They have to break that wall and it's a process. Its literally has to build up. But with every build up, there can be an explosion which with Isha and Jinx happens.

Thus then comes the Isha (ellie) and Jinx (Joel) parallel Remember This Scene, in the first TLOU

Well. . .Jinx and Isha basically go through the same thing Despite the attachment issues, throughout the story of SF, Isha does end up getting close to Jinx much like she does in the show. This however is where it gets complicated for JINX because Jinx's whole thing IS the fear of getting close to someone in a world that tends to take them away too easy.

The only one she's EVER close to is Ekko. He's been her rock since they were kids. But anyone else doesn't get as close easily and it's just how she's been for years.

She's been so stuck in her ways that It honestly scared her how quickly she got attached to Isha she got and as a result her first instinct is to push away.

To not only protect others, but herself.

Jinx's biggest breaker in this whole thing was the fact that Isha once accidentally called her mama by mistake and Jinx's first instinct was to fear the word because she never expected it to make her feel good. It was what started the OG argument (similar to the one Joel and Ellie got into in the first game) and what had caused a small rift to form between the two of them, because Isha tried to get close but Jinx pushed back and thus Isha basically "gave up"

which she was actually starting to NOT DO because of Jinx.

Jinx ends up of course beating herself up over it later on down the line because she realizes how stupid she's actually been about all this. Realizing that Ekko was right, that everyone was right and even Isha was right about a lot of stuff. But her stupidity this time caused her to go and "Jinx" it cause it's obvious that Isha is distancing herself from JINX now and it's not the other way around

When what happens with Isha happens (basically what caused the events of the fic: Alone in this Platinum Field which can be found there in the link), Jinx is distraught over it because not only could she possibly loose Isha, but she'll also loose Isha at a point in time where there's a big chance that Isha hates her.

But the issue is, is even now Isha doesn't hate Jinx. And that's the sad part. Made even more sad with the fact that She never did, nor does she think she ever could

It's just that Isha's hurt

She's hurt because in the process of pushing her away, Jinx had also said things that just got Isha the wrong way

Because as we all know when Jinx is scared, Jinx can't shut up for shit and has to put her foot in her mouth.

Jinx never really leaves her side shortly after what happened. The issue with the field was something she couldn't avoid, it sucked but she couldn't. But after that she never strays too far. She's always close by. Always within reach. But while part of it is her just being observant, there's also another reason as to why.

She keeps trying to apologize

Every once in a while, sometimes in the dead of night, while everyone is asleep or at least trying to sleep. You could often hear whispers. Hushed sounds. And it's Jinx trying to talk to her. Trying to apologize. Shes trying to apologize because the thought that Isha is going to die with the thought of Jinx not caring in her head absolutely terrifies Jinx to no end now.

So every once in a while you'd hear a hushed apology. "'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it".

And sometimes when Isha's awake, at least long enough to actually hear those words somewhat, it would often seem like she would jump at the opportunity to accept it. To put it all behind them and forget about it all. But then she would get a look in her eye, as if she was remembering what exactly got said to her.

Playing it all back in her head.

and then Jinx would notice the sullen look. As if even now Isha couldn't bring herself even to forget. Or to forgive

But Jinx keeps trying to apologize.

And that's the sad part really in all this.

But what somehow makes it even worse. If that was even possible to begin with. Is the fact, that that's not the only thing Jinx tries to do. What she always seems to try despite it never working in the end.

She thinks the others don't hear her when she say's it. But they do. They always do. And it breaks their hearts to hear how desperate she sounds when she asks Isha to call her Mama once more.

Because they know the odds are slim now that she ever will. Not after everything.

But Jinx need's to hear her say it. She wants Isha to say it. Mouth it. Sign it. Garble Anything. Now more then anything

She doesn't care how Isha says it because at least if she does. At least if this is does turn out to be the end, Jinx can at least know and hold on to the warm feeling that Isha calling her Mama made her. Can hold on to that warmth at least for a while, just a little. Just long enough to help her cope with the fact that she may never get to hear it again if this truly is the end.

She hopes its not.

God she hopes its not

Because she still needs to make up for what she did.

So she's keep trying. As long as it takes. However long both her and Isha have left.

She knows she sounds selfish. Wanting Isha to say it now when there's a chance this might all be it. To say it now after pushing her away the way that she did. She knows it sounds selfish. Sounds cruel

She knows it probably is in some way. But its not. Really its not She's not being selfish nor is she trying to be cruel. Not really anyways. She just finally has come to accept something. Just a little too late. Just a little too much at the wrong time

But

"Just once. That's all. Call me mama again. Please just say it. Just once, that's all. You can say it. I wont be mad I promise…I won't just…-"

"Please?"

____

(Also as a added bonus in pain. Imagine Isha referring to Ekko as Papa by mistake when they make it back to the compound. They get her all fixed up for the time being and her being slightly drugged up for the pain, accidentally refers to Ekko as papa when he shows up to see them. Imagine being worried that she "did it again" and that she's going to be rejected by Ekko just like she was by Jinx. Imagine her being terrified of the potential rejection. Jinx did it, what's really stopping Ekko from doing it as well)

[itsfheang]

IRON & EMBER - Chapter 2

[ CH. 1 ][ PLAYLIST ] [ AO3 Link ]

RATING : Mature (Eventually) TAGS : Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage!Viktor / Knight!Jayce / 7k words / Part 2 of ??

CHAPTER DESCRIPTION : Jayce fills Viktor in on the people they knew in their reality, and what they are up to in this one. They go on a shopping trip to get some clothes made for Viktor by local seamstress, Gwen, then tour the city before a realization hits Viktor like a ton of bricks. 

AUTHOR NOTES : While I do know a good deal of League of Legends lore, I do not claim to be an expert and for the sake of the story I am taking some creative liberties with characters that were not present in arcane. (additional author note at the end)

CHARACTERS : Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), Gwen (League of Legends), Mentions of other Arcane cast.

CHAPTER 2

Viktor awoke to the soft glow of morning filtering through the window. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sits up and finds Jayce’s blanket carefully draped over him. A small note on the nightstand catches his eye.

Scribbled in an all too familiar script, Gone to check in with the captain, back soon. Help yourself to anything you want. - J

A small smile tugs at Viktor’s lips as he sets the note aside. Rising to his feet, he stretches slightly before heading out to Jayce’s kitchen. His fingers absently trail along the wooden countertops as he checks the cupboards, finding the expected—plates, cups, and utensils. Opening another cabinet, he finds an assortment of neatly labeled jars filled with tea leaves. His lips quirk in approval as he continues to rummage for the rest of what he needs.

The fire in the hearth has begun to die down, but he spots a small stack of spare logs nearby. Kneeling, he carefully arranges a couple into the embers, prodding the fire back to life. Satisfied with his work, he sets the kettle on the hook above the flames, waiting for the water to boil.

As he waits, Viktor takes the opportunity to examine Jayce’s home in the daylight. It is a cozy abode, humbly decorated yet inviting. Plush rugs soften the wooden floors, and an array of plants are tucked into corners and along the windowsills. It seemed this world’s Jayce had an appreciation for greenery, and his Jayce had come to love it as well. 

Curiosity nudges him to explore further. He wanders down the hallway, noting the layout. Besides the guest room he had occupied, there is a spacious storage closet and a modest washroom. Another door leads to a double set of stairs, likely to an attic and basement. The last door is Jayce’s bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, tempted, but ultimately decides against intruding without permission.

A sudden whistle from the kettle draws him back to the kitchen. He swiftly moves to remove it from the fire, carefully pouring the steaming water over the infuser of tea leaves. The fragrant aroma fills the air as he retrieves the book he had been reading the night before. Wrapping Jayce’s blanket around his shoulders once more, he settles into the couch with his cup of tea, immersing himself in the pages while waiting for Jayce to return.

Viktor has lost track of time and how many cups of tea he's downed by the time he hears the door open and looks up to see Jayce enter. A boyish grin spreads across Jayce's face as he takes in the sight of Viktor, seemingly more relaxed today than he was the night prior.

"Ah, good, you're up! I got stuff for breakfast, and the Captain gave me the week to help you get...uh...readjusted, as I worded it to him."

"You didn’t need to do that, Jayce. Isn't that your income?" Viktor asks, frowning slightly.

Jayce waves away his concern. "Don't even worry about that. I could take a lot more time off than a week and be fine. Plus, you're more important right now." 

Viktor softens at his words, not used to being considered important, but not disliking the idea if it’s Jayce who thinks he is.

He heads to the kitchen with the sack of goods he purchased on his way home. Viktor watches as Jayce pulls out fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, fruits, and fresh-baked bread, immediately setting to work preparing breakfast. He moves with an easy familiarity, appearing as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in the lab.

"Did you learn to cook here?" Viktor asks curiously, watching him work.

"No," Jayce chuckles. "It may surprise you to know that my mother taught me to cook when I was young. If you ever left the lab, maybe I could have cooked for you now and again," he adds teasingly as he effortlessly prepares the meal.

Viktor continues watching, a smile crossing his face. Seeing this more domestic side of Jayce gives him butterflies. He snaps out of it as Jayce slides a delicious-looking plate of food in front of him.

"Th-thank you," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Hopefully, Jayce hadn’t caught him staring.

They fall back into casual conversation.

"So," Jayce asks, "I'm sure you have a ton of questions. Where do you want to start?"

Viktor wasn’t prepared. Jayce was right—he had so many questions. Start simple. Start simple, he tells himself, calming his sudden nerves.

"Well, you told me about what happened to you. What about those we knew? Mel, Heimerdinger..." He hesitates, remembering the terror he saw in her eyes as she turned to dust before him. "Sky?"

Jayce looks at him with regret. "I’m so sorry about Sky, V. We should have listened to Heimerdinger. But you’ll be pleased to know she is alive here, and doing quite well. She’s an alchemist at the Academy—one of their top healers, in fact."

Viktor’s eyes light up. At least in this world, he hopes she will lead the full and amazing life she deserves. "That does bring me some comfort."

"Most of the people we knew are here in some form. Cait is Knight General—basically in charge of the whole garrison. Vi is a fellow knight too. Powder never became Jinx. She and Vi are quite close. Powder and Ekko are exceedingly bright students at the Academy, from what I could dig up of their records." Jayce chuckles. "Though even in this world, she still has a knack for blowing things up. If anyone is going to push this Piltover forward, it will be those two. Zaun and Piltover have a much better relationship here, it’s not perfect, but those from Zaun have far more opportunities to do great things."

Viktor always knew Jinx—er, Powder—had the potential to do so much more. "And Mel? Heimerdinger?" he asks, wondering why Jayce hadn’t mentioned them first.

Jayce leans back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mel… well, she’s here too, but she’s not exactly the same as we remember. Since magic is not as prominent here, she never was touched by the arcane. And Heimerdinger—he’s still at the Academy, of course. The old yordle’s a legend in every world, I suppose.” He chuckles, though there’s something contemplative in his expression.

Viktor watches him closely. “What else do you mean by Mel is not the same?”

Jayce sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “She comes from a different background here. She’s still powerful, still influential, but since she never became an empath her mother had a much easier time molding her, she’s part of Piltover’s council but she is not the same woman we knew.”

“There is still a council in this world?” Viktor asks in surprise.

Jayce nods, leaning back in his chair. “Same council we knew long ago. Heimer, Mel, Salo, Cassandra... the gang’s all here, still running things.” A wry smirk tugs at his lips. “No Jinx to ruin their parade.”

Viktor considers the implications of this. The council had once wielded unchecked power, their decisions shaping the rise and fall of industries, lives. Their influence had been both a guiding force and a dangerous weapon. Would it be different in this world?

“Thankfully,” Jayce continues, “without things like airships and Hextech to capitalize on, they’re far less ruthless than the versions we knew.” He pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Well… besides Mel. She wants to turn Piltover into Noxus 2.0.”

Viktor raises a brow. “That does not sound pleasing.”

Jayce lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah. She's as ambitious as ever. The only difference is that now she supports Noxus' ambitions instead of Piltover’s.”

Viktor hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the rim of his cup. “And the rest of the council?”

Rubbing his jaw. “The dynamic hasn’t changed much. Heimerdinger still tries to be the moral compass, but he’s outnumbered. Cassandra plays politics, Salo and Torman are still opportunists. Shoola and Iridius are generally level headed if not overly cautious” He exhales slowly.

Viktor watches him closely. “And you? Where do you stand in all of this?”

He watches as Jayce rolls his shoulders, forcing an easy grin. “I keep my head down and do my job as a knight. No desire for a role on the council again.”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “That does not sound like the Jayce I knew.”

Jayce lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah, well… things changed. Priorities changed.” He reaches across the table, his fingers resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. “My focus became finding you. Piltover could burn if it meant I’d find my way to you again.”

Viktor feels warmth creeping up his neck again at Jayce’s touch and the confession. It’s not the first time since waking that Jayce has made it clear Viktor is his priority, and yet, Viktor finds he may never quite adjust to hearing it. He swallows, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Well, now that you found me, what is the priority now?”

Jayce hums in thought, his thumb absently brushing against Viktor’s arm. He still hasn’t moved his hand. Viktor pretends not to notice how much he likes the gentle gesture. “Well, we do need to stop at my tailor, and I’d like to give you a proper tour. But I guess, most importantly, making sure you’re okay.”

Viktor is caught off guard. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m alive. I’m okay, aren’t I?”

Jayce gives him a pointed look, one brow raised in skepticism. “Viktor. You thought you were dead. You woke up in a world that is almost your own but isn’t. The only person here who really knows you is the man who—" Jayce hesitates, but only briefly, "—who tried to kill you. And then thought he died with you after you turned into an arcane primal force that nearly tore the world apart.” He exhales slowly. “I’d say that’s a lot to cope with.”

Viktor looks down at his mug, unable to argue with any of that. His fingers tighten around the ceramic as he studies his own hands—the faint, shifting hues of purple and gold still lingering beneath his skin. Everything had changed so suddenly, so drastically. But what unsettled him most was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the thing that had been gnawing at him from the moment he woke.

The arcane had not abandoned him.

It was weaker, fainter, but not gone. And it felt different—more untamed, unshaped by human hands. Something primal and raw.

He lifts his gaze back to Jayce, taking in the concern knitted between his brows. The trust in his eyes. The quiet devotion Viktor still wasn’t sure he deserved. Jayce had never needed a hammer to break him down—he was doing it now, brick by brick, just by being here.

“I—” Viktor hesitates, but then he feels the faintest squeeze on his arm, calming him.

“I still feel it,” he finally admits. “The arcane. It’s weaker, but… different. Not like what we created with the Hexcore. This feels…” He searches for the right word, rolling it over in his mind before settling on, “…ancient.”

Jayce's fingers twitch slightly against Viktor’s arm before he finally pulls his hand away, running it through his hair instead. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment as if holding back whatever immediate thought crossed his mind.

“Ancient?” he repeats, voice measured but laced with concern. His brows knit together as he leans back slightly, studying Viktor like he’s trying to see beneath his skin, past the surface, to whatever it is Viktor feels. “How do you mean?”

Viktor flexes his fingers, “It is not the same as before. Not the refined energy we channeled into the Hex gemstones, nor the volatile force of the Hexcore.” He hesitates, weighing his words carefully. “This feels…as though it has been waiting.”

Jayce’s frown deepens. “Waiting for what?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I do not know.”

For a long moment, Jayce says nothing. He just watches Viktor, his fingers drumming absently against the table. Viktor knows that look—it’s the same one Jayce always got when working through a problem, when he was connecting dots that others hadn’t yet seen.

Then Jayce shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Does it hurt?”

The question catches Viktor off guard. His first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the lie can take shape. It does not hurt in the way the Hexcore once had—it is not a clawing, consuming force, not a hunger gnawing at his insides. But there is something else, something just beneath the surface.

“It… pulls,” he admits slowly. “Like a current in the ocean, always there, waiting for me to follow.”

Jayce looks troubled by that. His fingers drum once more against the wooden table before he abruptly pushes himself up from his chair. He paces a short path across the kitchen, running a hand over his jaw.

“That’s—” he stops, lets out a short breath, then turns back to Viktor. “That’s a lot. A lot for you, a lot for me to process.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Hell, V, you’ve been awake for barely a day and we’re already talking about ancient, primal magic?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Would you prefer we discuss the weather instead?”

Jayce huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I just—” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this means for you. Or what it means for Piltover.”

Viktor watches him closely. “You are afraid.”

Jayce sighs. “Not of you,” he says, firm and immediate. “Never of you.”

He leans forward again, bracing his hands on the table, close enough that Viktor can see the worry etched in his features. “But I am afraid of what they’ll do if they find out.”

Viktor doesn’t need to ask who he means. The Council. The same people who in their world had feared magic, feared the idea of Hextech, who tried to control it the moment they understood its power. If they learned that Viktor was connected to something older, something raw and untamed…

“They will want to study it,” Viktor murmurs.

Jayce nods grimly. “Or worse.”

The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing between them.

Then, softer, Jayce adds, “I’m glad I took the week off. It’s no longer just to help you adjust, Viktor. I need time to figure out how to keep you safe.”

Viktor looks at him, truly looks at him. Jayce, who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, who had lost nearly everything in his search for answers. And yet, his first instinct was still to protect.

The warmth from earlier creeps back into Viktor’s chest, unsettling in its own way. He looks away, back down at his hands. “I see.”

Jayce studies him for a moment longer, then claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Right. Well, heavy conversations during breakfast can’t be good for digestion. Eat up. We have a city to explore, and you need new clothes before people start thinking I kidnapped you.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The conversation isn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, he allows the shift, lets the tension ease.

There would be time to unravel the implications of his connection to the arcane and what he was possibly capable of. For now, he would let Jayce distract him. Just for a little while.

They finish their meal in content quiet. It turns out Jayce is actually a fantastic cook, and Viktor finds himself looking forward to more of his meals. He had never placed much thought into food before—so often, it had been an afterthought, something consumed in hurried bites between long hours in the lab. But here, with Jayce, it feels different. Something to savor.

When they finish, Viktor insists on helping clean up, despite Jayce’s protests that he’s a guest. They move easily around each other in the kitchen, Jayce washing the dishes while Viktor dries them, stacking them neatly back into the cupboards. It’s a simple, domestic routine, but Viktor finds a quiet satisfaction in it, it’s something tangible amidst the overwhelming strangeness of his new reality.

Afterward, Jayce sets about trying to find Viktor something more suitable to wear. The process is… less than smooth.

Jayce tosses him a sweater first, thick and warm, but the moment Viktor pulls it over his head, it nearly swallows him whole. The sleeves hang well past his hands, and the hem drapes nearly to his knees. He flaps his arms, the extra fabric flopping comically.

Jayce snorts, leaning against his dresser. “Okay, that might be a little big.”

“A little?” Viktor deadpans, staring at his own sleeve-covered hands. “Jayce, I look like a child wearing his father’s clothing.”

Jayce hums in thought. “You know, it’s kind of cute.”

Viktor pulls the sweater off with an exasperated sigh and throws it at Jayce’s face. “Find something else before I freeze to death.”

Jayce laughs as he peels the sweater off his head, tossing it aside before digging into the dresser again. He pulls out another shirt—this one a simple button-up. Viktor slides it on, relieved that at least the fit isn’t as disastrous. The sleeves are still too long, but rolling them up to his elbows fixes that well enough.

Jayce, ever the menace, nods in approval. “Okay, now you just look like you walked out of one of those novels you read.”

Viktor huffs, adjusting the cuffs. “Better than an orphaned waif, I suppose.”

Jayce grins. “I don’t know, the ‘tragic, windswept genius’ look works for you.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with you.”

Viktor ignores that comment entirely and sets about wrapping the excess fabric into a sash Jayce provides, at least making the fit more manageable. 

Jayce steps back, crossing his arms as he surveys the finished look. “Not bad. You could almost pass as a respectable citizen.”

Viktor raises a skeptical brow. “Almost?”

Jayce smirks. “I mean, you still look like you’re about to deliver some ominous monologue about the dangers of unchecked ambition.”

Viktor places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How dare you. My monologues are never ominous.”

Jayce just gives him a look.

Viktor sighs, finishing the last of his adjustments. “Are we done?”

“Just need shoes.” Jayce kneels, digging around until he finds something suitable. He holds up a pair of boots first, then eyes Viktor’s slim frame and shakes his head before swapping them out for a pair of slip-ons. “Try these.”

Viktor steps into them, relieved to find they fit well enough. Jayce stays crouched, resting his arms on his knees as he studies him again, something softer in his expression now.

“You look good,” he says, quieter this time.

Viktor feels warmth creep up his neck, suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing. He clears his throat, brushing his hands over his sleeves. “Yes, well, considering the alternatives, I will take what I can get.”

Jayce grins but doesn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”

As they step out of the house, Viktor glances once more at the cozy space Jayce calls home. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere in this world. And yet, somehow, he does.

Maybe it isn’t the place at all. Maybe it’s the person in it.

The streets of Piltover bustle with morning activity as Jayce and Viktor make their way through the city. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar—buildings in the same places but constructed differently, people dressed in styles reminiscent of what Viktor remembers but with subtle, unfamiliar details. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint metallic tang of worked steel from the smithy down the street.

Jayce walks beside him with an easy confidence, offering a reassuring presence as Viktor navigates this strange-yet-familiar world. He catches a few people offering them polite nods or greetings, some even calling Jayce by name. It seems, much like before, Jayce is well-known here.

“You’re quite the local celebrity,” Viktor muses as they weave through the crowd.

Jayce chuckles. “Not really. I just do a lot of work around town. Engineering, repairs, that sort of thing. Helps getting to know people.”

“Mm. And here I thought you were simply charming your way through life.”

Jayce shoots him a grin. “That too.”

They arrive at the tailor’s shop, a quaint yet refined boutique tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary. The sign above the door reads Hallowed & Co. Fine Tailoring. The moment they step inside, the scent of linen, wool, and polished wood surrounds them. Bolts of rich fabric line the walls, neatly organized by color and material, and mannequins display expertly crafted coats and waistcoats.

A young woman emerges from behind a curtain, adjusting the lace cuffs of her blouse. She’s dressed in layers of ruffled fabric, her ensemble meticulously coordinated in deep blues and blacks, accented with delicate silver embroidery. Her long azure-blue hair is tied back with black ribbons, and when she sees them, her face lights up with a delighted smile.

“Jayce Talis! You’re in need of my services again?” she teases, resting a hand on her hip. “Did you already manage to get grease on the last outfit you ordered?”

Jayce lets out a good-natured laugh. “Not this time, Gwen. It’s actually Viktor who needs your help. We need to get him a full wardrobe.”

Gwen’s sharp eyes flick to Viktor, scanning him with an appraising gaze before clasping her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderful canvas to work with!” she exclaims. “And you’ve got the perfect frame for something refined. Tell me, Viktor, do you have a preference, or shall I simply dress you as I see fit?”

Viktor, mildly taken aback by her enthusiasm, clears his throat. “I prefer a structured, practical style? I think? I don’t really know fashion all that well.” 

Gwen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. We will figure out what works for you together.” She gestures toward a fitting area. “Come, let’s get your measurements.”

Jayce claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Have fun with that. I’ll be over here looking at fabrics.”

Viktor shoots him a flat look but steps forward as Gwen retrieves her measuring tape. She works quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in a little leather book while occasionally humming to herself.

“You carry yourself like a man who prefers deep, understated tones,” she muses, glancing up at him. “Charcoal, navy, emerald, perhaps a rich aubergine?”

Viktor nods in approval. “I favor subtlety.”

Jayce, from across the shop, holds up a bright ruby fabric. “What about this? You’d look good in red.”

Viktor eyes it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too bold.”

Jayce snorts, muttering, “Still allergic to standing out, huh?”

Gwen grins. “A more classic palette it is.” She turns, sifting through a collection of swatches before pulling a few options. “This midnight blue with silver threading would make for a stunning waistcoat. Or, if you want something a little warmer, this forest green wool is both stylish and practical.”

Viktor considers them before selecting the navy. “This.”

Gwen nods approvingly. “Excellent choice.”

Jayce, meanwhile, has found his way to the sleepwear selection. He picks up a luxurious-looking robe, deep maroon with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and holds it up. “What about this? You could look regal while sipping your evening tea.”

Viktor barely spares it a glance. “I am not a prince, Jayce.”

Jayce smirks. “You could be.”

Gwen giggles.

Viktor huffs, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his expression.

They move on to selecting casual wear—linen shirts with subtle detailing, lighter vests for layering, and well-fitted trousers that wouldn’t restrict movement. Gwen sketches quickly, making notes of embroidery details and fabric textures.

Finally, they reach the topic of shoes. Viktor selects a few pairs of finely crafted leather boots—one set for everyday wear, another more formal, and a simple pair for lounging at home.

By the time they are finished, Jayce is leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I suppose not,” Viktor concedes. 

Jayce glances at Gwen, who is finalizing the order. “How long will the work take?”

“Given the urgency, I can have the essentials ready within three days. The more intricate pieces may take a week. But given your current predicament,” she gestures to his current attire. I have some premade outfits that should fit you better that I can send you with now if you’d like.”

Jayce nods. “Perfect. Just send the bill to me.”

Viktor frowns. “Jayce—”

“No arguments,” Jayce interrupts, giving Viktor a steady look. “Consider it a gift. You deserve to be comfortable here.”

Viktor exhales deeply, a mix of resignation and gratitude mingling in his chest. He realizes, with a sinking certainty, that he has no way to pay for the clothing himself. Instead, he watches as Jayce leans in to speak with Gwen, who is busily finalizing the details of the order.

Gwen nods curtly and disappears into the back of the shop. Minutes later, she reemerges carrying two carefully folded outfits. The stack is neat and precise—an ensemble that hints at Viktor’s refined taste—with a pair of leather boots. Gwen’s eyes sparkle with pride as she holds out the neatly stacked bundle. 

“There’s a changing room over there if you’d like to try them on, I can make any minor adjustments you might need.” She gestures to a door to their left. “These should hold you over until I can have the basics made to fit you perfectly,” she announces, her tone warm and confident.

Viktor runs his fingers lightly over the fabric as he accepts the clothing, feeling the texture promise both comfort and a touch of elegance he hadn’t appreciated before. The gesture, so unburdened by transaction or obligation, speaks volumes about Jayce’s care—and perhaps about the new life Viktor is slowly beginning to accept.

Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, his own smile softening. “You’ll look sharp, V. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”

Viktor manages a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the gift—and of Jayce’s unwavering support. 

Viktor thanks Gwen with a nod and slips into the changing room, the door closing softly behind him. In the quiet space, he unfolds the neatly stacked bundle on a small table and examines the garments with a measured eye. One outfit, in particular, catches his attention. He runs his fingers over the fabric: a deep, elegant navy blue corset-style vest that promises a structured, dignified silhouette; beneath it, a deep maroon button-up shirt exudes warmth and subtle flair; paired with high waisted black trousers, the ensemble speaks of understated sophistication.

The maroon shirt slips on effortlessly, and as he pulls the trousers up, he is pleasantly surprised—they fit him perfectly without a need for adjustments. He carefully dons the vest, noticing immediately how it hugs his frame in all the right places. In the mirror, the reflection that meets him is both striking and refined—a man reborn in style, his features set with determination and a hint of vulnerability.

After a few moments of quiet self-reflection, Viktor steps out of the changing room. In the soft light of the boutique, he stands before Gwen and Jayce, who are waiting expectantly. Gwen offers an excited smile and a satisfied nod, her eyes gleaming with professional pride.

But it is Jayce's reaction that stops Viktor in his tracks. Jayce, usually so composed and confident, appears utterly entranced. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Viktor in the elegant attire. A blush tints Jayce’s cheeks, and he fumbles for a moment as if caught off guard by a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still, and Viktor senses an unfamiliar vulnerability in Jayce—a quiet bashfulness that softens the hard edges of his usual demeanor.

“You… you look remarkable,” Jayce stammers, his voice lower and more hesitant than usual. He avoids Viktor’s gaze for a moment before managing a small, sincere smile. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…elegant.”

Viktor arches an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he studies Jayce’s reaction. “Thank you,” Viktor replies quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and a touch of irony. “I suppose change isn’t so bad after all.”

Jayce’s bashful smile lingers as he steps closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s shoulder in an all too familiar manner. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’m rather… excited…about the idea of change.”

Gwen breaks their momentary trance with a polite cough, drawing both Viktor and Jayce back to the present. Jayce flushes, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at Gwen with genuine gratitude. “Thank you again, Gwen.” He gathers the other outfit for Viktor, handing it over for her to wrap up.

Gwen smiles warmly as she safely packs the second outfit for Jayce. “Of course, Jayce. It was my pleasure.”

After saying farewell, Jayce and Viktor step back out onto the street. Jayce once again offers Viktor his arm. The gesture, while becoming as natural as breathing, causes Jayce to make a mental note to construct a new cane for Viktor—one that will perfectly match his new look. “Guess now I’m the one making you look bad,” he teases, his tone light as he grins.

Viktor raises an eyebrow in playful reproach. “I don’t think that could ever be possible,” he blurts before he realizes what he was saying, catching himself and looking away. Dressed in a form-fitted tunic and slacks, complemented by a dashing overcoat, the idea of Jayce making anyone look bad was unthinkable. 

Together, they meander through town at a leisurely pace. Jayce points out various places and sights—a bustling market square, a quiet garden tucked between cobbled streets, even a fountain whose waters catch the afternoon light just right.

Viktor can’t help but smile as he watches Jayce in this world. Here, in these streets filled with simple pleasures and genuine conversation, Jayce seems so undeniably happy—a stark contrast to the relentless urgency they once both carried. For a long time, they had been consumed by their efforts to harness magic, to reshape the world according to their ideals, and in the process, they’d clearly forgotten how magical the world already was.

They finally reach a beautiful park in the heart of the city—a lush oasis where a wide river meanders through the city, its gentle current sparkling under the afternoon sun. As they step onto the manicured lawns, Viktor’s eyes light up with a distant, bittersweet recognition. The park’s winding paths and the river’s steady flow remind him of his childhood: of afternoons spent near the water testing his mechanical boats, marveling at how the current danced around his creations.

For a moment, Viktor is lost in the reverie of those bygone days. Then, in a flash of sudden clarity, his eyes widen and he blurts out, “Rio!”

Jayce, startled by the unexpected outburst, jumps aside as Viktor whirls to face him. “Jayce, in the year that you were here, was there any trace of shimmer?”

Jayce furrows his brow in confusion. “Shimmer? N-no…actually, no. Shimmer never seems to have been invented here. Why?”

Viktor grins widely, a wild light in his eyes. Without thinking, he nearly leaps forward, throwing his arms around Jayce in a tight, exuberant embrace. “We need to go to Zaun. I need to find her—” He catches himself mid-hug, quickly disentangling his arms as he realizes the precariousness of his position.

Jayce, still visibly confused and now trying to steady his racing heart, “Zaun? I mean, that’s no problem, but who exactly are we looking for?”

Viktor’s grin grows even more determined as he steps back, his eyes shining with a child-like excitement and urgency. “Rio. A man named Singed used her in his creation of shimmer. If shimmer was never invented here, then she might still be alive, somewhere down in Zaun. I have to find her.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the gentle murmur of the river and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The weight of Viktor’s realization hangs between them, charged with memories and possibilities. Jayce studies Viktor’s fervent expression, caught between confusion and adoration. The sight of Viktor so expressively happy makes him feel as though his knees might buckle beneath him. He doesn’t know who—or what—Rio is, but if she can make Viktor this happy, then he would turn the entire city upside down to find her for him.

Jayce clears his throat softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Viktor… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” His eyes search Viktor’s face for any sign of doubt, finding none—only the unyielding determination of a man set on a course he must follow.

Viktor nods, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water. “Absolutely. Rio isn’t just a piece of my past. She’s a part of me, she brought me joy as a child but Singed used her. Distorted her. Turned a creature of beauty into something twisted for his own gains.” His voice trembles with a mix of hope and anger as his memories of his time with Singed flooded his mind.

Jayce steps closer, his arm instinctively slipping around Viktor’s shoulder as they turn their attention back to the river before them. “Then we’ll find her,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, Viktor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears—an amalgamation of relief, gratitude, and a rekindled sense of purpose. He glances at Jayce, the unspoken feelings for him with every heartbeat. “Thank you, Jayce. I—I know this isn’t going to be easy, she’s a rare creature. But Singed had built his lab around her habitat, so it’s a place to start. I need to see her happy and free.”

Jayce’s smile is soft but resolute. “Tonight, we rest and gather what we need. Tomorrow we will start searching.” His words, though simple, resound with a sincere commitment that touches Viktor deeply.

As the river continues its quiet song and the park’s natural beauty wraps around them like a soothing embrace, Viktor and Jayce stand side by side. A journey into the depths of Zaun, into memories long buried. Shimmer had been the start of what had torn them apart and now, perhaps, finding Rio could be the start to bringing them fully back together.

In that moment, with the afternoon sun gilding the water and casting long shadows among the trees, Viktor glances down at his stained hands. He still feels the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what he is capable of, but with Jayce at his side again it doesn’t feel so all consuming. 

They continue their tour, Viktor buoyed by the newfound hope that Rio could be out there somewhere. His spirits are noticeably higher as the afternoon wanes. With the sun beginning its slow descent, Jayce suggests they head back to his home—but not before a detour to a quaint restaurant with a lovely outdoor patio.

The restaurant exudes a relaxed charm: warm, glowing lanterns, ivy creeping along the stone walls, and smaller lanterns casting a gentle glow over the tables. Seated under a pergola draped in flowering vines, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable conversation as they wait for dinner to arrive.

After a few moments of quiet conversation and the soft clink of cutlery in the background, Jayce turns to Viktor with genuine curiosity. “So, tell me more about Rio,” he says, his tone both inquisitive and supportive.

Viktor’s eyes light up as he begins to explain. “Rio is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—she’s a rare mutation of a Waverider.” He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Waveriders are normally found around in the Guardian Sea, near Bilgewater. But somehow, Rio ended up in caves in the upper levels of Zaun, where the water from Piltover flows through.”

Jayce nods, listening intently as Viktor continues. “What makes her extraordinary is her regenerative abilities. She can heal herself at an astonishing rate. Singed saw that potential and exploited it in his relentless efforts to defy death. In his desperate bid to create something that would stave off death—he harnessed her regenerative power. That, in turn, gave birth to shimmer, and Rio’s unfortunate downfall.”

Jayce’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Viktor’s words. “So, shimmer…it’s tied to her, to this mutation?” he asks softly.

Viktor nods. “Exactly, and if shimmer never took hold here, that means Rio might still be out there, untouched by the ambitions of those who would misuse her gift.”

As their meals arrive, the rich aromas of freshly prepared food mingled with the evening air. Their conversation resumed as they broke into their second bottle of wine, the mellow notes of red filling the space between each sip. Between bites of their meals, Viktor leans forward, his eyes alight with determined speculation.

“Tracking her down,” he begins, “won’t be easy. Despite her large size, Rio’s a herbivore. I’m thinking if we can get the right fruits and vegetables—something irresistible—we might lure her out of hiding.” He gestures animatedly, nearly toppling his glass in his excitement.

Jayce nods thoughtfully, his gaze flickering between Viktor and his half-full glass. “So we’d set up a sort of… bait?” he asks. “Some kind of feeding station?”

“Exactly,” Viktor replies, warming to the idea. “It won’t be foolproof, but it might just work, if she managed to find her way into those caves in this world too, that is.”

As their conversation drifts between plans and theories, their laughter mingles with the soft murmur of the restaurant. Eventually, as the meal winds down, Jayce signals the waiter and settles the bill, thanking him with a courteous nod. Viktor, a bit more flushed from the wine than before, stands abruptly—and wobbles.

Jayce is quick to react, steadying Viktor with a firm hand on his lower back while chuckling. “Easy there, V. Don’t want you falling over.”

They leave the restaurant, both men it turns out are a bit unsteady on their feet, and they find themselves laughing at each other's missteps. When they finally reach Jayce’s home, the evening’s fatigue mingles with their lingering mirth. Jayce fumbles for the oil lamps, his fingers clumsy in the dim light, while Viktor struggles to haul fresh logs into the fireplace. After a few humorous stumbles and gentle teasing, Viktor manages to coax the fire back to life and finally collapses onto the couch with a contented sigh. A few moments later, Jayce joins him, stretching and releasing a long, weary sigh.

Now, with the sun nearly set and most of the illumination coming from the flickering oil lamps and the steady glow of the hearth, a chill begins to seep into the room. Even with the fire burning, Viktor shivers slightly. Jayce notices immediately, sliding his arm around Viktor and pulling him closer.

For a moment, Viktor tenses at the unexpected embrace, but then the warmth—both physical and emotional—slowly relaxes him. They settle into a comfortable silence together, watching as the sun sinks lower through the bay window. Outside, lamplighters begin their nightly rounds, and one by one, the street’s oil lamps flicker to life.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Viktor was simply feeling brave, but as he leaned into Jayce he took a chance at resting his head softly on his shoulder. He allowed himself to dream. He wished this quiet, tender moment could be his life every day, even if he knew there was still so much to unravel. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the comfort of the present.

AUTHOR NOTE: I took a few creative liberties with Rio. In the show Singed claims to have “cultivated” her mutation, but in League Lore, Pixiemanders are a naturally occurring mutation of the Waverider species, so in this, Rio is a naturally mutated Pixiemander. I also interpreted the fact she was dying as something caused by Singed’s experiments, so no experiments, no dying Rio. I want a happy ending for our girl mkay? <3

[noneatnonedotcom]

i'm sick and bored!

so here's another celestial dojo jaune build but this time I gave myself 1000 character points to work with and one free random roll. there will be no further rolls on the celestial dojo all improvements will come from in universe abilities. AU the grimm do not exist, instead it is the darkness in the hearts of men that hunters must strive against, the world of remnant is a post great war world where the color revolution and faunas wars happened at the same time leading to the utter collapse of civilization. five kingdoms remain,

Vale: the last monarchy, a place where knighthood and chivalry still finds a home. the king is elected from one of the noble families every ten years, knights are trained warriors who preside over a single settlement, while new colonies are popping up banditry and harsh weather or bad harvests can and will wipe them out leading to only a few knightly houses remaining. still any who wish may take on huntsmen training and take up the noble calling of a knight after graduation.

Atlas: the industrial powerhouse of the world, it is a city state with mandatory military service for all people, it is in a constant guerrilla war with menagery. it's tech is quite literally a century ahead of everwhere else though. minstral: the land of mercenaries. the entire state is essentially made up of mercenary companies who fight against or for cartels sometimes at the same time. minstral itself is a neutral territory where discussions of business can happen without risk of death for the negotiators. as a result the city effectively controls the continent but has very little power. vaccuo: vale's southern neighbor is in an interregnum lacking a royal to sit on the throne constant wars between the nomadic tribes of the desert and the Shieks over water keep them from uniting as no one has the spare men to expand their influence. menagerie: recognized as a kingdom in it's own right the island nation does have to deal with terrible PR as pirates and the White fang a faunas supremacy group are pretty much all they're known for now. making international trade and alliance all but impossible. now the royal belladonas seek to remove the white fang and pirates seeing them as a relic of the past. this of course is not going down well. you'd think in a world with no grimm things would be safer but no, with aura still a thing all it takes is some random jerk with a strong semblance and everyone's trying to take over the world. bandits are common outside the city walls and only other aura users can stop them. in this world of bloody evolution can the flower of chivalry bloom? or has the world fallen too far?

jaune's traits:

Breathing Style (400 CP) "The bread and butter of a demon slayer, the breathing techniques. You may choose any breathing style you like for any level or you can create your own on the same level as described, they don’t need to be for swords either, and note that all the higher levels can be reached by training. Post-jump you don’t need to breathe in order to use them if you do not require air to survive.

Hashira: The highest position of a demon slayer, usually gained by killing at least 50 demons or killing one of the 12 moons as a kinoe(the highest normal rank of demon slayers). You have reached the pinnacle of what a normal human is capable of with your breathing style, able to easily cut through scores of demons easily and take out the lower ranked moons without much effort. Your body is much stronger than the previous option, so much so you could be faster than the eye could see, and you may have even developed techniques of your own that no one else knows, but the most notable change is in your stamina, being able to go through extremely harsh training for weeks or even months straight. " Hanma (300 cp) "A lineage genetically predisposed to excel in all matters of violence, growing stronger with each battle. The quintessential Hanma bears the title of “World’s Strongest Lifeform”. Monstrous beasts, modern armies, and even natural disasters kneel before his physical might.

Those of the Hanma blood tend to develop demonic imagery throughout their body, such as the skull, back muscles, and even the brain.

For 300cp, you are a true heir to the Hanma name. So long as you continue to challenge yourself, you may catch up to masters with decades of experience in a few years, and the Ogre’s power may very well be within reach."

Steel Trap Clarity (300 cp) "It's a sad fact, but traitors and spies are lurking everywhere. Their hands forced by blackmail, willingly becoming a double agent from bribery or falling to good old fashioned brain washing. Not you though, absolutely not. Upon purchase, you become excessively resistant to traditional forms of corruption, mystical forms of brainwashing and everything in between. Something with mind-boggling power may still be able to put you under its control. Most of the threats to your morals or sanity in this world are just out of luck. Additionally, you will always be able to keep a clear idea of your personal principles, meaning you won't stray off of your path on accident."

(Free roll) Blessed by the Sun God (600cp) You did not awaken with the Demon Slayer Mark, you were born with it. Ever since you were young you have been stronger than most, and you only grew stronger over time. Because the mark is so deeply engraved into your body, it has undergone a change from the normal version, making you even stronger than it would make others along with a great increase in talent. Your Transparent World has gotten to the point where you can see individual blood vessels and sickness in people while also slowing the world down even more along with your thought processing being even faster. Most importantly, your Red Blade is much more potent, not only causing wounds to heal at a snail's pace for those with extremely fast regeneration and taking even more energy, but the wounds will continue to burn long after they have been healed, which will always leave nasty scars. Finally, those you train with will slowly be able to awaken their own marks, though only the first version.

how would you write this version of jaune? here's my idea down below

jaune's family in this universe have an instinctive grasp of violence, one they bury under the laws of chivalry to be able to function in this world. while most simply use aura the arcs developed this bodies first only unlocking the aura of their children after they've mastered the breathing forms. the increase in strength and speed is about what you would get from unlocking your aura and their natural physicality makes them stronger than most low level huntsmen anyways. jaune was unique born with the sign of the rainbow on his back he's always gotten combat and an instinctive grasp of how the human body works. but as a result has been isolated from the common sense of this world, lacking any idea of what aura is or how it works. not knowing what a huntsman is in relation to a knight. (knights are assigned a territory to watch over huntsmen travel around) and not knowing about modern tech and who the players are in the world. (doesn't know about weiss or pyrrha) people tend to view him as a blunt instrument. in reality his mind is far sharper than any would give him credit for. he's just a purpose built item, a sword among axes and hammers. he asked to be sent to beacon not to learn to fight but to actually learn to be human outside the shadow of his family. but can he hold back the instinctive call for violence that runs through his veins?

how would you write this world? how would you write this version of jaune ignoring my idea for it just above. also any thoughts on how things like the silver eyes would adapt to having to handle human enemies? my thought was it visualizes aura helping the silver eyed warriors not only empathetically predict their enemies abilities and next attacks but also what their semblance is. as well as giving a strong boost to their aura when feeling strong positive emotions.

@howlingday @weatherman667 @heliosthegriffin just something i'm doing while i'm too sick to actually do anything. lemme know what you would do

[bananaactivity]

Personally, as someone who loves character design ( Like regular human character design is my forte but I can bust a monster or furry design out if I lock in) all the same hair is annoying when I'm trying to distinguish them like… you can distinguish Adam, Chase, Oliver, and Kaz in live-action cause they all have different heights, and ages and wear semi-different clothes. But when you draw them you realize… they all have the same flipping hairstyle at their most interesting points. And sometimes they wear the same kinda clothes and next thing you know it all feels so repetitive to draw.

Like wtf

Are we being dead ass rn wtf is this. ( ADAM THAT WIDOWS PEAK IS NOT SAVING YOUUU)

That coupled with the fact that they all wear extremely similar clothes and it's like in an unrealistic cartoon design class ts would be fucked. All of them have worn plaid shirts so it's not a Chase or Oli thing, all of them have worn Raglan tees so it's not a Kaz or Adam thing. Like their personalities are doing all the work and those are similar too. Funny stupid man and Smart bitchless man.

There are minute differences that a locked in fan could point out, but on a surface level, they're much too close. This is especially true for art and fanfics which already kinda fuck up the character's actual personalities for headcanons or misinterpretations or whatever but it's a stupid silly decade-old show, who gives a shit what the fans create. They literally destroyed three good shows over one measly boost in views. Now look at them the whole channel is basically gone nowadays.

I haven't done the same amount of work as I have for Kickin' It, but I'm working on it. The hair has already been fixed. I think.

Oli gets curls and a mullet, Kaz keeps his hair but make it more pointy, Adam gets a more swoopy slick thing and Chase gets a more exaggerated and messy pointy thing.

I don’t really have the same issues with Kai and Jack or Rudy and Ty from Kickin it cause my AU has them being mirrors of each other. Like Ty and Rudy are mirrors for each other and then as a whole they’re mirrors for the younger duo. it’s kinda the same thing as Adam/Chase and Douglas/ Donald, that whole breaking the cycle thing.

It works in my AU cause I can’t stand to write sad shit. I’m more of a goofy goober. Anyway enough yapping from me that was just my two cents

idk if this is an unpopular opinion but i miss their silly 2010’s swoopy hair :(

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You put Steve’s bag on the couch. It’s a backup he keeps in his trunk since he spilled coffee on himself during the merger meeting. It was your idea and you’re happy you suggested, though you never expected any of this.

Just like you didn’t expect him to ever see your apartment. Especially not today. You quickly swipe up the used mug from the table and take it into the kitchen. You call through the open doorway as you rinse it out.

“Make yourself at home, sir,” you set the cup on the counter and cut the flow of the tap. “I’ll find you a blanket and a pillow.” You dry your hands then flit back into the front room. “I’m sorry, I can only offer up the couch--”

He’s stood before the bookcase in the corner, squeezed into the narrow space. The couch is against one wall, opposite is a shorter shelf with the television and a few bunny figurines below. You’re overly conscious of the cutesy decor as he stands out of place among the pink checkered rug and fluff couch throws.

That reminds you.

On cue, Mitzy emerges, yowling for her evening meal. It’s not quite time yet but she’s an opportunist at heart. The tortoiseshell curls around your ankles and you bend to pick her up. She’s a comfort amid the intrusion of your space. You may have invited him here but it isn’t entirely by choice.

“Cozy,” remarks as he turns to you. “Oh, hi, kitty.”

He nears and Mitzy tries to crawl around your neck. She’s not a fan of strangers. You catch her before she can claw you too much and set her down. She scurries off.

“Oh, sorry,” he frowns.

“It’s not you. She’s fussy. She comes out for food and that’s about it.” You shrug.

“Ah, right,” he sniffs. “I like the bunnies.”

“Um, yeah, those... I just thought they’re cute,” you bounce nervously, “I’ll go get that blanket.”

“Sure,” he rubs his neck and look aways bashfully. “I’m sorry I’m falling apart like this, Rosie.”

“Mr. Rogers, it’s okay. We all have moments.” You assure him. If only he knew how many you had.

“You are so nice. Too nice,” he hangs his head and turns away. His shoulders slant as if he’s trying to make himself small. He’s too big for that.

You leave him and go down to find your single spare quilt and pillow. The blanket you made at a crafting class with Missie and the pillow, you think Dizzie left it here. You’re not entirely sure. 

Thinking of the girls, you wish you could ask them for a bit of advice right then. Elfie would know what to do. Billie would tell you to send your boss to a hotel, you know it. She’s probably right. Izzie would surely know what to do.

You come back as Steve stands by the window. The outline of his figure almost startles you. You’ve never had a man in your space. Not this one. You had one long-term relationship and when he decided he liked the girls on Instagram better, he booted you to the curb. Young and stupid. Still got a bit of both of those.

“Are you hungry?” You ask. “I could make some pasta or something.” You put the blanket and pillow on the couch. “Or, I could leave you alone.”

He’s quiet as he stares out at the brick wall across from your apartment. “I’m not very hungry, sweetheart.” He sniffs and reaches to wipe his face. “Do you mind if I shower?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, go ahead. I’ll get a towel.”

You grab a fresh towel and leave it in the bathroom. You busy yourself with dinner before Steve finally takes the invitation. You're a bit relieved to have a bit of time to yourself. You feel like you're still at work.

You're just about done the alfredo by the time he reappears. He's only in a pair of gym shorts, a bit bashful as he keeps the towel around his neck. You peek up and quickly go back to grating parmesan.

"Smells good. I feel fresher," he sighs.

"Mmhm," you squeak.

"Sorry, I only had gym shorts to sleep in. Gonna save the suit for tomorrow."

"That's fine. Did you want a plate?" You offer and turn away.

You never really thought about Steve like that. Never wondered about the man behind the title or the tie. He's just your boss. Still, the vision of his thickly muscled arms and stomach cloys in your head.

You plate him up linguine with sauce and sprinkle over the parmesan. It's a simple meal for a simple budget. He thanks you and sits at the small round table you don't often use without company.

Your phone vibes. You're thankful for the distraction. It's a meme in the group chat. You can't wait for the night out.

You sit with Steve to eat. You try not to look at him.

"So, who were you texting? Not to be nosy."

"Oh, it's... my friends. We're going out this week. Haven't seen them in a while."

"Sounds fun," he tries to smile. You feel bad for him.

"Maybe Bucky will be free," you suggest. "Probably a good time to catch up."

"Yeah, if he wasn't so busy at work. New partner, I guess. They don't get along."

"No? That's too bad. He always nice to me," you twirl the thick noodles around your fork.

"You like him?" Steve asks.

"Well, he's friendly. Can't say that about everyone."

"Right," he nods and takes a bite. He lowers his lashes and wiggles his nose.

"And he's your friend so... he must be as nice as you."

He swallows and looks at you with a sigh, "you're too good to me, Rosie. I'm such a mess and--" he pauses, "and you're a great cook. This is delicious."

"Oh thanks. It's pretty easy to make," you assure him.

"Yeah? Maybe you can show me. I'll have to learn since..." he leans forward suddenly and catches his head in his hands. He shoulders heave and he sobs. "I'm sorry, Rosie. I'm just going through it-- It keeps sneaking up on me."

Your heart wrenches. You feel so bad. You're not sure what to do but then you think of your friends. What would you do if they were heartbroken?

You stand and gently touch his shoulder, "it's gonna take some time."

He sniffles then suddenly, he opens his arms and snags you in and embrace. He buries his face in your stomach and weeps. You stand, frozen, and look down at his golden hair. You cautiously bring your hand up to caress his head.

"It's okay, sir, shhhh," you coax him gently. Maybe if he cries it out, he'll get some good sleep.

[marisiss]

Part 1/2 (or more, who knows)

Remember about that ask from your thoughts of time rifts, @ashfluffys ? I FINALLY MANAGED TO DO IT!!! Introducing a new AU "Era of the Ice Queen"!

And just for it, i made comic from beginning of Ice Era, here we go!

(I hope i wrote it understandable for it to read-)

So, as i developed Hat Kid and Mu are only alive creatures on the planet and no more, everyone else turned into ice statues (EXCEPT SNATCHER, he just disappeared)

So, if you move much earlier, then after going to Vanessa's manor and reaching the attic, Hat Kid almost already took the timepiece, but Vanessa abruptly came to the attic and in a panic, Hat Kid, before she could take it, runs straight down through the window.

Vanessa wondered why she needed this shiny thing. Looking at this shiny hourglass, Vanessa was able to see something in it, and she saw in this hourglass her past, when she was not cursed. And she thought that this was a chance to bring everything back, but suddenly changed her mind, because her prince betrayed her and it makes sense to return to where your lover betrayed you.

And so, she thought, why does she need the past when there is a present? When you can change the present and become a real queen in the end, rule the WHOLE planet! Therefore, she EVENTUALLY left her house and followed Hat Kid. The whole pursuit of Hat Kid went ALMOST unnoticed, because Vanessa quite cleverly stole the timepieces from under her nose, but sometimes they collided and Hat Kid tried to get her hourglass back, but each time unsuccessfully.

That's how, having collected enough timepieces, she, like Mu, changed the whole planet in her own way, now becoming a truly serious and powerful opponent and queen.

There should also be a storybook about what Mu has been doing all this time, but that will be in a completely different post.

So, what about DESIGNS?

I only did Vanessa designs, other of Hat kid and Mu will be later, so here

I didn't decided which design i like more, but i got interested about HARD MODE of boss battle with her... Snowgrave wish (NO WAY, DELTARUNE REFERENCES?????).

She literally beast here, There are no human traits, only instincts of destruction and protection of one's greatness, but even here she will lose.

I even draw one scene of boss battle, cuz why not?

GO HAT KID, BEAT HER ASS UP!!!

In this battle, she became overpowered too much, even more than Mu in canon ending. No matter how Hat Kid tried to hit her, weaken her, Vanessa didn't get tired at all, but only fought much harder. And Hat Kid, on the contrary, weakened more and more due to the terrible cold, she practically did not feel her limbs, until in the end she fell in front of Vanessa, and instead of killing her, she made her a henchman in the ranks as a guard and because Hat Kid, despite Outwardly, she is quite brave and strong. Therefore, why not make her your slave, or rather a guard, while Mu watched in horror and ran away, almost crying, Realizing that this is the end, there is no longer any hope of salvation if that were the case, hehe.

That's it for now! More information and the relationships to the characters will be in the next part! I hope, you like it👉👈

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 44

Chapter 44 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie doesn’t believe in signs, he is just working on saving people hit by the tsunami. However, a natural disaster forcing you back towards your family is as close to a sign as you can get.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: injury, minor character death mention

~~~

Chapter 44: Looking for a Sign

A tsunami. Eddie honestly isn’t sure why he didn’t expect that when he came into work today with the craziness that is LA, but then again, no one expects a natural disaster a year after the last one. If he has to guess, the only person that expected this is his mom, who expects LA to be the most dangerous place on earth every day of the week.

Eddie is so glad they managed to mollify her with a promise of a few weeks stay in El Paso by Chris over the break, because he doesn’t think he would have survived this last period if she’d been berating him every second.

He’s only just finding his footing again, becoming more confident. He’s not out, far from it, but he’s gotten comfortable thinking of himself as gay.

Work has helped – as has Bosko of course, but work is different – because it’s the same. Neither he nor Buck mentioned their troubles at home, well, Eddie’s troubles, so the others don’t ask questions or send him worried looks. They just treat him like Eddie, like he’s still the same. He needs that.

Right now, though, work is not like usual. A natural disaster is always an all hands on deck situation and this is no different.

It’s unreal to look over the carnage and Eddie is starting to be real glad they live on the other side of town. Chris was a little bummed out in the car on Friday when he brought him home, because they were going to stay in this weekend. Then Eddie felt slightly bad, almost traded his shift to be free today too, but now he’s only relieved that the two of them are far away from here.

They’re in the boats and all they’re passing are dead bodies to tag, which is always unpleasant work. However, the living ones they’re going to encounter are bound to be worse. Disasters like these always leave gruesome wounds.

Indeed, the first call they answer is pretty bad with soon to be official step-father and son stuck together by a pole through the both of them. They get the son out, but the husband to be is a harder call.

Tensions are high as Bobby dives into the water while the rest of them work to keep Chuck alive as a second surge hits the boat and water starts to come in. Underwater CPR is not an experience Eddie would like to relive.

However, they get him alive into transport, which is more than Eddie thought they’d get when they first came upon the scene. Hen and Chim go with him, so it’s out of his hands, because he follows Bobby to the pier to serve as back up.

The back up in question, is necessary at a Ferris wheel with a bunch of people stuck on it without enough transport and hands to get them away, before it comes down.

“Hey, we could use a hand up here,” a very familiar voice suddenly calls down.

Eddie’s head snaps up and he exclaims: “Bosko?”

Indeed, it is Bosko, who looks surprised for a second. She’s completely soaked and not in natural disaster gear, but she grins down at Eddie. “Diaz, hey! You’re late.”

“Oh fuck off,” he calls back, scanning for injuries. She looks okay and she’s not completely devastated or whatever. However, she is definitely putting on a professional front and Eddie can’t spot any more firefighter blue anywhere.

“You know her?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah, that’s Bosko. She works at the 136, she was my partner while I was there,” Eddie says, already getting ready to climb out of the boat and onto the Ferris wheel. “We work well together, should I go help her?” he asks, though he’s not really asking for permission.

“Alright,” Bobby gives it anyway, “grab an extra harness, rope, pulleys, figure eight plates. I’ll coordinate evac and transport some down here.”

“Sounds like a plan, Cap,” Eddie grins, before doing what he was already going to do and climbing up to where Bosko is.

When he gets there, the man in the cart with Bosko seems to be okay, albeit terrified out of his mind, and the Ferris wheel is shaking. Trying to lighten the air a little, he comments: “That’s not part of the ride,” asking for more information at the same time.

“No, the spokes are coming off the hub. This thing’s been trashed,” Bosko says, focusing on the patient and not looking at Eddie. Her face is scratched up.

“What about you?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she answers curtly, before nodding at the man. “And neither is he.”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until the water is gone,” the man insists.

“Sir, if you don’t come with us, this whole thing will be gone,” Bosko says rather harshly.

Eddie has never seen her mad like that and the weird reality that he’s going to have to be the calm one between them settles in. He also turns to the man and says: “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m gonna get you down safely. I’m just gonna put this harness around you, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” the man nods, still terrified.

“Alright,” Eddie nods, going to help the man while questioning Bosko. “You guys were on the pier when it hit? Where is everyone?”

“Robin’s out sick today and Daisy was man behind. The others… we got separated to all spin cycle. I haven’t seen any of them. Station’s probably hit too,” she replies, mouth pursed as if angry, though Eddie can see it’s just her brave face.

“We’ll run into them at some point,” Eddie assures her. “Cap will let you join our rescue team, we can search for them while we help others.”

The line on her face turns into a small smile and she thanks him, before the two of them lower the terrified man down. With him safely down, they turn to the next cart. Bosko now manages to joke more, saying: “You didn’t want to go climbing with me tomorrow, let’s see how you do now, huh.”

“I didn’t turn you down because I can’t climb. I was half thinking to surprise Chris then, since he was kind of down yesterday, but that clearly isn’t going to happen,” he says, nodding at the carnage around them. “Besides, you’re friends with way too many of your exes, it’s weird.”

“It’s lesbian culture,” she corrects.

“Still weird,” Eddie complains, before showing her that he can climb just fine.

Their next patient is more what you expect when you hear natural disaster. The man’s a possible spinal and if they don’t get a hail Mary, he has a small chance or recovery, if not survival. It isn’t looking great for Max.

However, just because it’s not looking great, doesn’t mean they’re going to give up on him. So, they all work together to get a headboard and neck brace up there, so they can stabilize his neck, while they keep the two occupants distracted by asking what they’d been doing at the pier. Your divorce papers getting interrupted by a tsunami is certainly a story to tell.

It seems the guy was looking for a sign, a sign to try and save their marriage. Buck believes in signs like this. Eddie wonders if he’d see being on this call as a sign, then wonders if he should see it as a sign too.

He shakes off the thought, he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t believe in signs and he’s not going to start now. It can work out between him and Buck, they can still be friends, maybe even stay married. This doesn’t need to be the end, Eddie just has to figure out how to make it right between them. With slight amusement he makes a mental note not to take Buck to the pier when he finally figures it out.

Still, despite not believing in signs, he is relieved when the chopper comes and Max moves his fingers.

It’s just because he’s glad the guy has a better chance to live, he tells himself, trying to ignore the bit of devastation he feels in his chest when Max signs the divorce papers anyway. He called them a beautiful disaster.

Eddie can’t help but apply it to himself. His years with Buck have been the best of his life by far, but, as they said when explaining why they didn’t divorce, things just kept happening. Maybe they are a disaster too?

He likes to think he’s wrong about that, but the thought haunts him as they watch the chopper take Max away.

They lower the woman down, then he and Bosko start to get ready for their climb down. Before they start, they hear Bobby call out: “Incoming! Debris!”

Both their heads snap out towards the water, indeed seeing a slew of debris coming their way, carried by the receding tide. Eddie looks at Bosko and quirks a brow: “Okay, so maybe you climb better, but how’s your diving?”

“What? You suddenly an artistic diver?” Bosko retorts with amusement, as she also stops getting ready to climb down.

“Nah,” he laughs, before jumping.

Bosko is right behind him, the two of them getting pulled onto the ship by Bobby before the debris hits. Behind them, the Ferris wheel that they were just on collapses and Eddie tries to take that as a sign that whatever happened on there doesn’t matter.

When they get back, the receded water means that they can now wade through the water on foot, which is good news, since the trucks are still stuck on the other side of town, unable to get through to them, and boats are in short supply.

“Hen and Chimney are readying some turnout backpacks until we’re mobile again,” Bobby explains to the both of them, seamlessly incorporating Bosko into their team like Eddie predicted. Then he stops and turns to her. “Bosko, your crew from your house are all alive and accounted for, except for Captain Cooper. He’s still MIA. I’m sorry.”

Eddie knows how much Ronnie means to her and he can see it in her eyes that the relief immediately gets overshadowed by grief. MIA in a situation like this is never good. Still, Bosko tries to swallow down the pain, masking with professionalism. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’m gonna stick around and look for him.”

However, Bobby is annoyingly perceptive sometimes, so he doesn’t agree to that immediately, instead asking: “Why are you holding yourself like that?”

“It’s nothing, bruised rib,” Bosko says, playing it off, but Eddie knows her better than that. He’s seen her get punched in the face and react the exact same way.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, stepping closer.

“I said it’s nothing,” Bosko insists with a foul look send his way.

He sticks his chin out challengingly. She called him out on his bullshit, he’s allowed, if not required, to return the favor. “Then there’s no harm in letting me take a look at it. The sooner you let me, the sooner you can go look for Ronnie. Unless it’s more than a bruised rib?”

“You’re an asshole,” she hisses.

“So, I’m right and it is more than a bruised rib.”

“I liked you better when your head was still so stuck in your own ass that didn’t even know you were a dick, you know that, Diaz?”

“Hey, no need to get aggressive,” Bobby steps between the perceived start of their fight.

“It’s alright, Cap,” Eddie assures him, as Bobby sends him a weird look. It’s not necessarily the kind of friendship the 118 has with each other and he knows it. He just sends a smile back, before turning to Bosko and says: “I had to be honest with you, now it’s your turn.”

She looks away for a second with her jaw squared stubbornly. For a moment, Eddie thinks she isn’t going to answer, then she grits out: “Fine, it’s broken. But I’m fine. I can go on.”

“You sure?” Eddie pulls a disbelieving face. “Must be hurting like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, breathing isn't super fun,” Bosko says annoyed. “But I’m fine. You know I can take a punch.” “Well, it’s not up to him,” Bobby interrupts them again. “It’s up to me and I’m calling it. You’re out the field. USAR Command is setting up the VA hospital on Sawtelle.” He turns to Eddie. “I want you to stick with her just in case her desire to track down her Captain causes her to lose her way. I’m going to-”

“This is bullshit,” Bosko cuts him off. “You’re not my Captain. My Captain is out there somewhere and I’m not abandoning him to this disaster.”

Eddie winces at that. He knows Bobby isn’t too strict when it comes to decorum, but if she goes on like that, he’s going to have to discipline her. He’s been through that once, would not recommend it in the slightest.

However, before he can say something to soften her words for Bobby, they hear screaming coming from down the street. It’s people calling out for help.

Their little crew is the only ones in the vicinity, so Bobby lets out the big breath he’d just taken and holds up a finger to Bosko. “You’re coming with us on this, only because I don’t trust you enough to let you go by yourself and I might need Eddie’s extra set of hands. You’re going to stand there, help with the light stuff maybe, then you’re going directly to the VA hospital. Am I clear?”

He is most definitely not clear and Bosko would totally argue if there weren’t people screaming for help, but for now she just grits: “Crystal, sir.”

“Good,” Bobby nods after one intense look in her eyes, then he turns on his heel and marches to the people calling out, Bosko and Eddie right behind him.

While they walk behind him, Eddie hisses: “What the hell was that? Do you want to get suspended for insubordination?”

“Of course not, but he can’t stop me,” Bosko frowns back. “You know Ronnie is my friend, you wouldn’t let your friends be alone out here, would you?”

Eddie makes a complicated face, because he knows she’s right, but he also knows Bobby is right. It isn’t that easy. “You’re hurt,” he ends up saying. “Ronnie wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself to look for him.”

“Good thing he’s not here to say that then, so I guess we won’t know for sure, and I say he’d want me to look for him,” Bosko retorts. “What if it were Buck out there?”

“That’s a low blow,” Eddie says, not able to deny it, but still not liking it, sending a glance over to Bobby to make sure he hasn’t heard.

“But it’s true,” Bosko says. “Where is he today? He okay?”

“He’s home with Chris. Lazy day in probably and far away from all this,” Eddie says.

“Did you call them to tell them you’re okay?” Bosko asks and that’s a good point. He hasn’t spoken to Buck yet, not really, but a natural disaster is a good reason to break the habit. It could even be a first step towards coming home. Maybe this is his sign.

“I’ll call when I’m bringing you to the VA hospital.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you take me there,” Bosko mutters darkly.

Before Eddie can reply to that, they’ve made their way to a group of people. They’re all standing next to a fire engine or helping people down from it. Upon closer inspection, Eddie realizes it’s the fire engine of the 136. These people must have sheltered on it while the water raged around them.

Once they’re close enough, Bobby calls out: “LAFD, we’re here to help. What’s the problem? Is anyone hurt or stuck?”

“Plenty of people are hurt, but no one serious,” a woman says. “We need you to help us find this man. He saved us all. Pulled us up onto this truck when we drifted by, but he got swept away. He could be hurt.”

“Eddie here can check all of you over,” Bobby tells her gently. “What’s your name?”

“Marissa,” she answers.

“Well, Marissa, we can’t make any promises about finding your rescuer, but if you give us a description, we’ll make sure to keep an eye out for him,” Bobby says

“He’s tall, very tall, and white,” Marissa says. “Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.”

“No, you’re saying it all wrong,” another woman says. “He’s a redhead.”

“No, he’s not,” Marissa insists. “He pulled me out early, I had a good look at him.”

“Well, then you’re blind,” a man is now interjecting himself into the conversation as well. “He is definitely Hispanic.”

Marissa pulls a face. “He’s so not Hispanic.”

“Yes, he is,” the man insists.

The other woman is now picking his side as well, saying: “Yeah, you don’t have to be dark skinned to be Hispanic. You should check your stereotypes.” She turns to Bobby and says: “He’s Hispanic, his kid called him papi. He’s a tall, light skinned, redhead.”

“His hair is more a dirty blond, brownish color,” someone else says.

“No, his hair clashed with his shirt, which was red, so he’s a redhead,” the other woman says as if it is fact.

The three firefighters watch them squabbling about the rescuer’s appearance for a few seconds with confused blinks. It’s truly fascinating how normal people can act even in the face of horrifying events. They see it every day, people who are stabbed and bleeding out, but talking about the weather or complaining that the neck brace is itchy while they might be paralyzed.

Bobby, however, doesn’t have time for it, silencing the crowd as he raises his voice: “Can anyone here give us one description? Or a name? You mentioned a kid, do you still have the kid?”

“I don’t know,” the woman who first mentioned the kid says. “He fell off the truck. It’s why he dove off it again. Didn’t hesitate for a second. It was when the tide receded.” She calls out. “Did anyone see his kid?”

“Yeah, we got him here,” a voice from the back of the crowd calls back. “He managed to grab onto a windowsill a street down.”

“Bring him here,” Bobby calls back.

Eddie is focusing on wrapping the man’s hand, since he still has a job to do. They can’t look for every person, but it’s good to have descriptions of people who are out here so they can get an overview of the total victim count. Maybe give some family out there some closure.

However, he looks up when he hears a sharp intake from Bobby. That’s never a good sound and it seems even worse when he sees Bobby. He’s become white and looks sickened at what is coming towards them through the parting crowd.

He looks to what Bobby might be seeing that is horrifying him this much. It’s a short woman carrying a kid, looking to be between seven or nine. Probably eight. The kid is wearing a yellow striped shirt and brown pants, on his head is a mop full of curls and a strap to hold his glasses in place…

Horror overtakes him too as the kid starts to look more and more familiar. Thoughtlessly he abandons the man’s wound as he gets up from his squat, ignoring the “Hey!” the man lets out.

He feels like he can’t breathe as the woman softly says: “He’s looking for his papi,” before she turns the kid towards them, indeed revealing a face Eddie would usually love to see, but not in these circumstances. Never in these circumstances.

“Christopher?”

Indeed it’s Chris, who blinks more water out of his eyes, before his eyes focus on Eddie. The moment he recognizes him, his face crumbles and he cries out: “Daddy!”

People all but jump out of his way as he rushes towards the woman, realization dawning on their faces of what that must mean for the relationship between him and their rescuer. Eddie’s mind isn’t even there yet, too focused on Chris.

Eddie snatches Chris out of the woman’s arms, hugging him close to his chest as he chokes: “Oh my god, Chris.”

“Daddy,” Chris cries, clutching Eddie as tightly as he can, sobbing into his shoulder much like he’d done in the hospital, now already about four months ago.

He runs his fingers all over Chris’s body, feeling for injuries, relieved when he doesn’t find any broken ribs or other broken bones. He forces Chris’s face away from his shoulder, cupping his cheek as he feels his skull and checks his pupils. “What were you doing out here, mijo?”

“We were going to the pier to celebrate my good grade. I was sad because you weren’t going to be here and papi wanted to cheer me up,” Chris sniffles. “Then the water was gone.”

Suddenly his brain comes back online from where it had dropped off this plane of existence in the face of worrying about Chris. About his son. The description Marissa gave them of their rescuer comes back to him…

‘He’s tall, very tall, and white. Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.’

Buck.

Oh god, Buck.

Eddie maneuvers Chris onto his hip with practiced ease, numb hands fumbling for his phone as he unlocks it and goes to his gallery. Without Buck there, he takes even less photos than he normally would, so his recent pictures all still have Buck in them.

He clicks one blindly and turns the screen back to the other woman – he still hasn’t heard her name and he doesn’t care much either – as he desperately asks: “Is this- Is this him? Is this the man that pulled you out?”

“Y- Yeah, yeah, that’s him,” she stammers, slightly overwhelmed by his intensity.

No.

Just no.

A minute ago, Buck was far from this and at home. He was safe. Now he’s somewhere out here in this hellhole, probably alone, maybe even injured and definitely not back to full strength yet, no matter how far he’s come with his PT.

Buck was out here to cheer Chris up, because Eddie hasn’t been home. If he’d only gone home, then they would be there now. Safe. Now, he has a scared Chris in his arms and Buck is missing. He is missing. And Eddie might never get to see him again.

It’s suddenly a lot harder to breathe and his whole world falls apart around him. He is supposed to find a way to come home. He’s supposed to come home to Buck, he can’t be out here. He can’t be injured or worse. He hoped this disaster was a sign to come home, not a sign that he’s losing it all before he can even try to fix it.

Eddie has to find him. He has to find him right now. Bosko’s hypothetical from earlier is reality and Eddie knows now better than before that she was right. He will do anything to make sure Buck is okay. That he is found.

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he spins around to the source. It’s Bobby, giving him a concerned and sympathetic look, his own heartbreak and fear mirrored on the Captain’s face.

“It’s Buck,” he finally manages. “Buck is out there.”

“And we’ll find him,” Bobby assures him. “But you’re too close to this now, Eddie. We both know that. You’re compromised. Take Bosko to the VA hospital and help out there. You can’t be out on the field anymore either.”

~~

A/N:

TSUNAMI ARC! TSUNAMI ARC! I am so fucking thrilled to be here, I’ve been wanting to write an AU of that arc for so long now, so I’m gonna go hog wild! (Also place your bets now people, is Eddie gonna listen to Bobby)