(noun) ━━ an unpredictable instance, a wandering journey; a whimsical, wild, or unusual idea, desire, or action

The end of your story in Zaun and Piltover together, bittersweet but never forgotten

Ft: 𝕵𝐢𝐧𝖝 𝕷𝐚𝐧𝖊 ━━

━━━In all honesty, it felt like you blinked and suddenly, Isha and Warwick were gone as quickly as you had adjusted to having them around. Jinx was put in a cell in piltover, Jinx had then escaped from her cell in piltover, Jinx had then shown up on a blimp with ekko, neon paint and a buzzcut. The blue haired ‘cupcake’ (that Jinx had often ranted about)‘s ex was apparently a noxian, ‘cupcake’ lost an eye. Warwick was alive, Warwick was apparently feral now, the sisters fought without fighting each other (somehow) and then jinx and Warwick died.

Apparently, anyway.

Turns out jinx hadn’t died, which, looking back now, you shouldn’t have been surprised but hey, it had only been like three hours in her words (twelve) and you had barely started grieving when she suddenly showed up, blood and neon paint from the fight still on her and her signature, slightly manic grin and a statement that turned your world upside down. 

“Let’s fuckin’ leave this burning pile of shit!”

And suddenly you found yourself on an airship leaving Piltover and Zaun behind with nothing but the ragged clothes on your back and your slightly insane, now presumed dead girlfriend that you had both snuck into. Sitting side by side among the crates below deck, trying to stay hidden from any of the other passengers.

Average Tuesday, right?

“…Jinx I swear to Janna this is the last time I leave you alone for a piss break,”

And she laughed, your wild, reckless, morally grey and genius blue haired inventor laughed. Loud and boisterous, like herself, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes, though as much as you hate to admit it, you weren’t that funny.

You blinked and realised this was the first time she had laughed or even smiled since Isha died. 

You blinked again, and now she was crying, completely hysterical, as if this was the first time she was properly letting herself grieve. Grieve for her parents. Grieve for Mylo, Claggor and Vander. Grieve for the loss of her sister for seven years. Grieve for Silco, Grieve for Isha and Warwick. 

Grieve for the weight of what it meant to leave the only place she’d ever known and where her loved ones were. Those alive and dead.

You didn’t offer words, at least, not yet. You knew that she needed this, needed to feel the punishing despair of the tragedy that had happened in her life. As much as it hurt you, you knew she needed it to be able to move on. 

To forgive herself and find some form of peace, whatever that meant for her. Whether it was continuing to build her explosives and cause chaos, or to build forts and have beetle battles.

So you let her cry, you held her and kissed her tears, let her wind her lean arms around you and cling to you like you were all she had left. 

Then, when she exhausted herself out, you brushed her bangs, which she had apparently refused to cut when shaving all her hair off, and traced the pale smatter of freckles over the bridge of her nose, rubbing your thumb down her brow to ease the frown from her face.

You didn’t mind too much for the uncomfortable position you were in, sitting shoved between wooden crates, jinx draped over your lap in a strange position which was the most comfortable she would get, for now. 

This wasn’t the worst you’d ever faced, considering how you’d grown up in Zaun, sleeping wherever the least people were, even if there was no room or shimmer stains.

And you just thought.

Thought about your life in Zaun, your life before jinx had painted it all blue and pink. Thought about how Isha had then added warmer shades to the bright colours of your new life. 

How your brief meeting with Vi had added darker, more saturated tones that smudged and evolved into something softer. 

How quickly the painting had been torn from the canvas of your life, leaving messy stains on everything and gashes filled with hysteria and heartbreak.

How unexpectedly that within just a day of your old painting being destroyed and then shredded, a new one started to form on the remains of the canvas. 

The starting colours are still pink and blue, though not as bright or blinding, with mixes of all the other shades and tones incorporated into them. 

It wouldn’t be the same painting, no, nothing would ever be able to be the exact same, no matter how hard you tried to imitate it. But that was okay. 

Because art would not be art if it was all the same idea repeated until the end of time. If everyone in every form of art tried to replicate their predecessors stroke for stroke, word for word. 

Art was vague, raw, whimsical and wild, sharp edges and blurred lines all at the same time. 

And as you came to that conclusion, you figured that no matter what the new painting became, it wouldn’t be so bad if you had the ever growing style of life that was Jinx and everything she represented, as long as she’d be the one to paint your canvas, mold your clay.

As long as she would be your guide, your home. The beginning of your story and the river that led you to the ocean. 

As long as you could remain by her side, in the vagary that is life.

To my darling moot ━━ @grotesquevi My graduation present to you my dear <33 have so much fun !!

(noun) - An Ancient Greek word, defined as a medicine for sorrow. It is a place, person or thing, which can aid in forgetting your pain and suffering.

Thank you ━ my dearest @grotesquevi who singlehandedly revived my blog and took the time out of her day to create these GORGEOUS graphics <33

It was the little things that helped both you and her to grow and bloom into your relationship

Ft: 𝕵𝐢𝐧𝖝 𝕷𝐚𝐧𝖊 ━━━━━━━

━━━It was the little things Jinx did that let you know she cared more than she often let on.

Like the way she’d leave small doodles on the ceiling of your bedroom or the walls of your shabby apartment, much to the dismay of your landlord, but Jinx had no trouble reminding them that it was her baby who was staying there. 

Your landlord didn’t care much for whatever damage she caused after that.

Everyday you’d notice that there would be a small or large, neon doodle, either of her classic monkey bomb, hearts or your name and hers with stars. Behind the fridge there was a neon blue ‘get in the fridge, ‘cause you’re the yummiest thing in this shithole!’ Or a ‘I’d prefer you with no clothes on but all clothes are the hottest thing ever on you’ scrawled in neon pink on the inside door of your wardrobe.

Above your bed was an ever growing night sky to which she’d add the most random things to, but at the centre of that universe was what seemed to be you and her, holding hands. And when Isha came along, she had added the scrawny rugrat in, hovering above you two with a shoddily drawn space helmet. 

You could tell Jinx cared in the way that when you’d complain absentmindedly about something small, and ultimately menial, like a radiator making wheezing sounds, or how the bathroom door sounds like an asthmatic old man whenever a draft blows; you’d find that within at least a week, the problem would be gone.

She’d never mention it, would outright deny it if you asked if she did it, but would grin like one of her bombs did something she didn’t expect when you pampered her for at least a few hours after noticing the change.

It was in the way she let you undo and braid her hair, the way in which she had complete and utter trust in your care and treatment of her hair. In a soft moment between the two of you, with only the moon and night breeze as witness, she’d confessed that the only people she’d let do her hair were her families (both found and biological), Silco and occasionally Sevika. 

Though you were the first of her romantic partners whom she’d allowed to untangle the knots within her impossibly long hair.

You could tell she loved so, so, so much because she opened up to you. It had taken time, lots of it as well as lots of patience. She had a lot of baggage, that much was obvious from the first few dates. You could tell that it was because she loved so much that she acted in certain ways.

It was obvious in the way she’d pause if she felt that she was a bit ‘too much.’ How she used to give you the cold shoulder when you couldn’t see each other for a while during the early stages of your relationship. In how quickly she’d go silent and get that hazy look in her eyes after the explosiveness of an argument. When she’d shoot up in the middle of the night from her night terrors. She was just scared. Scared that you’d leave her too.

While that didn’t excuse her actions every time, you knew and understood that. You were patient with her, that, and you stayed. You stayed through the ups and downs. The panic attacks and breakdowns, the bouts of anger and frustration. 

It had been hard on you, make no mistake, there were times where it hurt that Jinx didn’t seem to think you’d stay in the beginning, that she doubted your promises so much. It had led to lots of tears and yelling, but just as you’d learned her quirks and triggers, she’d learned that you were genuine.

That when you were angry, it was because you cared, when you were upset it was because you cared. And somewhere along the line, Jinx had realised that it wasn’t fair to you, that you’d been so patient, so loving and soft with her, and that it wasn’t fair that she did not give you the chance to prove yourself, when you had been doing that all along anyway.

And that’s when things between you shifted, for the better. Of course, there were still arguments and panic attacks, but it was far and few between. Jinx opened up more, allowed herself to relax and breathe around you. She stopped walking on eggshells all the time, stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop, no longer consumed with the fear of you walking away.

Jinx’s love was an amalgamation of both chaos and tranquility. She was loud, unashamedly herself, but at the same time she was open, nervous and quiet. 

And at the end of it all, you were the balm to the ache for love and consistency that had been carved into her soul over the years. Your arms were where she returned to after whatever mayhem she caused during the day. You were her beginning and end, the very crux of her existence.

No matter what happened next, she was yours, your name woven into the gossamer threads that had sewed her soul together.  

You were her nepenthe

HOlyyyyyy its been a hot minute since i wrote- hope everyone likes it <333

(adj.) ━ To be created anew or newly invented

credit ━ my dearest @grotesquevi who is the one who designed the lovely border graphics !! (i attempted making a photo riv >.<)

tagging ━━ my darling @gloomycattoo

And from the destruction and ashes of what once was, she rose anew, like a phoenix starting its next cycle

Ft: 𝕵𝐢𝐧𝖝 𝖕. 𝕷𝐚𝐧𝖊 ━━━━━━

━━━━ Jinx was good at building things, probably as good as she was in breaking things.

When Powder had destroyed the life she’d had in the Lanes, Jinx was what rose from the ashes and embers, baptised in the fire and destruction that had brought her previously peaceful life to its untimely demise. 

Jinx was built with all the pieces that had caused Powder to fracture, embracing the sharp edges and chaos as part of her new identity, perhaps to punish herself by clinging to the mistakes that had tore her family from her.

And now Jinx was gone. Presumed dead by Piltover and Zaun. A chance for a fresh start.

So it was time to craft a new identity, but this time, she’d keep the forename ‘Jinx’ the malicious nickname that she’d claimed and moulded with her own bloodstained hands until it was something she could claim as completely her own. 

‘Powder’ would be added in the middle, to honour the name she was brought into the world with, a tribute to her families, both biological and found. 

‘Lane’ would be the final addition to the trio, to remind her of her roots, the Lanes in Zaun where she had sprouted and flourished. 

Also because last names in Zaun were usually where the zaunite in question had grown up, since true last names had long since been lost to time when piltover lost interest in keeping a register or every zaunite who was born, survived and reproduced. In the end they had been reduced to the name of the district they resided in. A barcode, if you will.

She also wanted to have the same last name as you, sure, she could have come up with some extravagant last name to spite the hierarchy that had deprived her of a real one…

But the idea of sharing a last name with you…

The idea of people thinking that it was because you were both bound to each other, through life, death and endless possibilities. 

Well, you both were definitely destined to always be each other’s, she was sure of that much. And she supposed that the idea caused a warmth to settle in the deep fissures and crevices of her fractured heart.

And so she’d mould this version of herself around the one thing that helped her move forward, the reason she had the courage to keep going after leaving Zaun. You, the love of her life.

Somehow, through all the destruction and despair she’d experienced during her life, no matter what, you always seemed to be a constant. Since the day she had met you, during your teens, up until now. 

Despite the tragedy that clung to her like a second skin, you seemed to be the exception. 

If the tragedies in Jinx's life were personified as a storm that was doing its best to decimate the wooden boat, her life, which refused to sink into the deep and be forgotten, then you were the North Star, her beacon in the dark, guiding her to safety and home. 

Even if you were physically apart from each other, she knew you were always with her, just as the stars were always in the sky even when they are overshadowed by the sun’s blazing light, she’d always make her way back to you. 

Your love knew no bounds, and in the early stages of your relationship, it shocked her to her core, she knew what you could gain from being the object of her affections. Yet as she further observed your behaviours and as your romance blossomed, she learned that you just loved her for her, that it had nothing to do with Silco, her notoriety or anything else. Nothing could further cement this thought than when she had faked her ‘death’ and asked you to leave behind everything you ever knew for a new start. A new start with her, of all people.

She feels your love. Feels how it seeps into the rough, jagged cracks and crevices of her heart and fills them until the deformities are no longer ugly, but something she proudly wishes to show off. She feels your love permeate through her skin, combining with the very blood (and shimmer) that pumps through her veins to keep her body alive.There is nothing more that Jinx would want than to drown in your love, to be surrounded by it until it consumes her very being so that she would know nothing apart from your love.

If it were possible, she’d gladly meld her consciousness to yours, to be completely tethered to you, to be one with you. Feel you around her, inside her, to be inside you. 

Jinx wants nothing more than to melt into your body, for her consciousness and soul to pass through your skin and fuse to your heart and brain so she could feel you, all of you. 

The way your heart pumps your blood around your body and to your brain. Janna if jinx could live inside your brain and become one being with you she would. 

But as much as she craved those things, she would definitely miss being able to touch you, to feel the shape of you against her, to trace your unique features and kiss the body that could only be yours. To kiss every part of you that made you, you.

Jinx wasn’t sure how she’d ever survive being robbed of the chance to feel you against her, to not be able to touch you, see you, smell you or hear you. To not be able to worship you would be a sin that she would never be able to let herself repent for. 

And so, the new version of herself, ‘Jinx Powder Lane’ would hold all the things that she loved most and keep them together while she moulded the new identity around your love for her.

She promised herself that this one, this creation, would be the best thing she’d ever make and it would only know love. Your love, specifically.

The core of this new version of her would be you.

And when dusk turned to dawn, the novitious ‘Jinx’ took her first breath.

this took way to long to be posted man >:[ hope you all enjoy !!

moya !! certified yapper and professional daydreamer !! for now jinx and maybe powder but hopefully other characters soon. i love @grotesquevi so much she's literally the best and she made these AWESOME GRAPHICS for me i love her go show her some love her fics are great !! <33

☆ - nepenthe

☆ - vagary

☆ - novitious

☆ - nothing yet !

ft: Dazai Osamu and those moments where nothing seems real

If there are times when you don't feel real, where even though you’re there and seeing and touching things you don’t feel like you are, Dazai Osamu will know. 

As soon as he realises it, he’ll probably watch you quietly for a bit, trying to scour his brain, taking note of all your mannerisms and actions to see if you’re comfortable with touch or if you would want him to cheer you up. 

Sometimes, Dazai may know whether you’d want him to crack a joke or act silly to bring you out of your haze, his eyes softening upon seeing the weak smile you give him that accompanies the faint chuckle.

Other times, Dazai may slowly move to stand or sit beside you, watching your reaction to see if you’ll shift just a bit closer or try to initiate touch in some way.

Dazai also knows that it may just be an option to stand near you silently, to join you in that silent haze. He might not always say it, but if Dazai can’t bring you out of your mind, he’d want to join you in it. So you won’t be alone in your absence of feeling. 

He gets it. He does. 

How could he not? For all his joking around and silliness, people around him may forget that Dazai is a very melancholic individual. That beyond his teasing jokes and theatrics, he does indeed, wish to die. 

He is cruel, despite the fact that he’s trying and has come so far from where he was as the ‘Demon Prodigy’. He is somewhat of a genius despite his efforts to seem carefree and having dramatic episodes in hopes of garnering a better reaction from people instead of seeing them react to the monster he thought he was.

It’s not really surprising to think that Dazai often has his moments when he doesn’t feel real, in fact. It probably happened a lot during the two years he was underground. He had to keep to himself and definitely had a lot of time to just think. 

And of course, the human mind is probably the most terrible gift of all, no?

So Dazai gets it if you don’t want to speak or touch in any sort of way. When it comes to those moments, he’ll ask very softly and silently or not at all, just asking with his eyes:

“If you’re not real right now, then neither am I,”

Because if you weren’t real, Dazai probably wouldn’t be as inclined to stay here a little longer, maybe it’s not a reason for him to live, but he certainly wouldn’t mind staying on this unbearable planet a little longer if it meant he had to bear it with you.

Dazai probably treasures being able to see your skin. It’s a fucking honour to him.

Especially because most of his own skin is covered in bandages, so being able to see and touch your skin is such a privilege. 

To Dazai skin on skin contact has a more intimate feeling than normal. It means stripping yourself bare, showing vulnerability and tearing down the layers between one another. 

It’s so fucking special to him, especially because he’s scarred, both literally and metaphorically. 

Being in the Port Mafia from 15 years old is a fucking lot. It’s probably tainted his world view more than he lets on because of how violent and horrific that kind of lifestyle was. Especially since he tortured people during interrogations. 

If Dazai’s learned anything from his years in the Port Mafia as the ‘Demon Prodigy’, it’s that vulnerability is a weakness. One that can be exploited if seen. A weakness that he has exploited numerous times over the course of his time as an executive. Dazai knows more than most people how dangerous weakness and vulnerability can be.

For that reason, the thought of you and him stripping for each other is so special, it’s the ultimate sign of trust for Dazai because he is metaphorically and literally peeling off his layers and baring himself for you and you alone.

Often Dazai may just ask for the contact, even if it’s not sexual. Just the thought of knowing that if he asked you’d bare yourself for him to see and allow him to touch you. You trust him that much, the concept is fucking incredible to Dazai.

Sometimes during the night he will ask you quietly, almost inaudibly if you both can take off your shirts just to feel each other’s skin against each other. Just to feel close to you, he doesn’t have to be fucking you and it’s not always sexual. 

It’s just his way of showing you how much he trusts you, being able to strip his layers off, including his bandages and allow you to see him under the many layers that he has so carefully added to hide himself from the world.

We all know that Dazai probably doesn’t fall asleep very easily, hell he’s probably awake for most of the night with all the thoughts whizzing through his pretty head the top one. 

Although you do worry for him and often express your concerns, your precious Dazai simply brushes it off with a goofy little grin and some not so witty remark, assuring you that he was perfectly fine as long as he got to hold you and help you get your rest.

What Dazai doesn’t tell you is how often his thoughts drift to you during the night, and how those thoughts only get more and more sinful as time ticks by.

At first it’d just be him daydreaming with a gentle smile on his face about your smile or quirks as he held you tightly against him, umber eyes glancing down to trace your sleeping features ever so lovingly. How you never failed to make his stomach flutter with all the little things that make you, you. How he always felt so special to have your eyes on him.

From there Dazai would focus deeply on the way your body looked, having every small detail ingrained in his memory. He made it a nightly routine to close his eyes and picture you in his mind, despite you being right next to him, to make sure he never ever forgot even a single detail about you.

The warmth in his chest growing and growing as his thoughts were consumed with you. Then at some point during the night, the warmth in his chest would start spreading, moving down south.

He’d know what was happening, in fact it was one of his favourite parts of the night. It’d start with him slowly recalling all the times you’d ever let him see you bare, the warmth and intimacy that he would feel when you allowed him every time. From there it would progress to Dazai recalling how you felt.

The tender look in your eyes filled with love, the shape that your pretty lips would take after you’d both start, how your lips traced over his jawline and neck, your fingers slowly tugging at his bandages as he let you pull them off him. 

The feeling of your skin against his, eventually becoming damp with sweat and cum. The feel of your pretty lips around him as you stared at him through your glossy eyes. How well your tight insides seemed to take him. The feeling of your warm walls constricting and squeezing him as he worked you open. The look on your face as he pumped in and out of your tight hole.

-and suddenly Dazai thinks too much with both of his heads and he has a little problem that he solves by either fisting himself or slowly heading to the shower.

Sometimes, if he was lucky, you’d be roused by the movements he made and would be there to help him, a solution which he definitely favoured above all.

But honestly, your Dazai is perfectly okay with not sleeping much, as long as he gets to relive your screams and whimpers as he fucks you. Whether it’s in his head or echoing around the walls of the room.

ft: Dazai Osamu

You think Dazai knows you better than you know yourself (he probably does). Having every feature of your body and face engraved into the grooves of his brain. 

His lips have mapped every inch of your skin numerous times before as have his hands, both on the inside and out. Dazai knows your body inside and out, with his eyes, hands, tongue and—

You get the idea. Your beloved knows. Always.

He always seems to know what you’re about to think or do before you actually do it. Perhaps it’s due to his ability to read people, or the knowledge he’s gained during his years in the port mafia. Either way, he knows you.

So when you woke up and just didn’t have the energy for anything he knew, immediately. 

Maybe Dazai knows from the way you breathe slightly heavier or how your eyes droop once you’ve opened them. Perhaps it’s because he can see that the eyes he wishes to drown in aren’t as bright as they normally are. 

Whatever it may be, he knows. And he’s ready to do anything for you. 

You don’t have to talk to him, he doesn’t have to talk to you, it’s like he can sense it in the very air around you or how you stare blankly at his pretty features. 

Dazai also always seems to know what to do as well. 

He’ll know whether he should pull you closer to him and kiss the crown of his head. 

He’ll know if he should hum to his suicide song as he gently helps you out of bed and helps you with washing your face and brushing your teeth.

He’ll know to help you dress yourself if you’re really not up for it and to walk you to the kitchen of your apartment, bobbing his head as he makes a warm cup of coffee or tea and to pour a bowl of cereal for you.

He’ll remind you to take any medication that you need, even if it’s too much effort getting it yourself, he’ll do it for you because you’re his beloved.

He’ll understand if you can’t bring yourself to eat or drink, maybe he’ll try to coax you into having a little bit so you’ve had something but he’ll be ever so gentle about it.

He’ll understand if you don’t think you can face the day and if all you want to do is hide at home away from the world.

Dazai understands. Of course he does, he’s felt low himself sometimes, and for most of it he was alone. So he knows how overwhelming and just shit it all feels, he knows that sometimes you just don’t have the energy to do things or you can’t. 

He’s been there. 

Whether it was during his time in the port mafia, after Oda’s death or during the four years where he had supposedly ‘disappeared’. Hell, he still has low days even while working at the agency.

But things are different now, because he has you.

Just like he knows what to do for you, you seem to know what to do for him.

And Dazai would do absolutely anything for the person who helped make this damned world just a little more bearable.

So if you’re feeling particularly low, he will call in sick for both of you and just hold you in his arms until the moon rises again, no talking necessary if needed.

He will help you wash the grime and filth off your body if you haven’t been able to do so yourself.

He will do it. Everything. Because it’s you.

And he loves you. So much.

So even though you’re feeling low, you will always be Dazai’s beloved, because you are the only you out there.

You’re special.

And Dazai loves to make sure that you know it.

It's okay to feel low, life is fucking difficult. But you're the only you so you're so special, no one else will ever be you. You just need to put one step in front of the other.

It's okay to hide, the sun, stars and moon hide from us for 12 hours a day.

Sometimes we just need to take a little break to just breathe and be. To just exist.

You can do this !!