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If a 6'8 Noxian warlord isn't under my tree tomorrow, is Christmas even worth it

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𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗺𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮’𝘀 𝗚𝘂𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗗𝗼𝗴 𝗪𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗕𝗲 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲:

You don’t serve Ambessa Medarda—you belong to her. A blade sharpened by her hand, a weapon unleashed only when she deems it necessary. And when she calls you back, you come. Not because you want to, but because you must.

“ Her voice cut through the chaos of the battlefield, low and commanding: — Enough.

You froze mid-swing, the blade in your hand slick with blood. Around you, the enemy staggered back, their fear palpable. But it wasn’t them you feared. It was her.

Ambessa stood at the edge of the carnage, the crimson banner of Noxus billowing behind her like a storm. Her gaze locked onto yours, sharp as the sword in her hand.

— Heel. — she said, and you obeyed. Because that’s what a good dog does.

Your loyalty to Ambessa is absolute—but it’s not without its own jagged edges. She saved you from the gutter, pulled you out of the mud and gave you purpose. But she also knows how to keep you in line.

“ — You’d be nothing without me. — she said once, her voice a razor slicing through the air.

You didn’t flinch. — And you’d be dead without me.

The corner of her mouth twitched—approval or amusement, you couldn’t tell. — Careful, — she warned, her tone dripping with danger. — You’re biting the hand that feeds you.

— Maybe the hand should stop teasing. — you shot back, your lips curling into a feral grin.

When she unleashes you, there’s no holding back. You don’t just fight—you decimate. You are her wrath given form, a storm of blood and steel that leaves nothing standing.

“ The first man fell before he even saw you move. The second barely had time to scream. By the time the last one dropped, your hands were slick with blood, the taste of iron thick in the air.

Ambessa watched from a distance, her expression impassive. When it was over, she approached, stepping over bodies as if they were nothing more than broken tools.

— Messy, — she said, her voice calm. — But effective.

You wiped the blade on your sleeve, smirking up at her. — Isn’t that what you wanted?

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The weight of her gaze was enough.

For all your ferocity, there’s no question who holds the leash. She doesn’t need to shout or threaten. A single look from Ambessa, and you fall in line.

“ She leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear. — Do I need to remind you who’s in control?

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t falter. — You could try. — you said, the defiance in your voice a thin veneer over the truth.

Her hand wrapped around your chin, firm but not cruel. She tilted your head, forcing you to meet her gaze. — Good dogs don’t bite. — she murmured, her tone laced with warning.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. — Good dogs protect their masters.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. — And that’s why I keep you.

Your relationship isn’t just about loyalty—it’s about survival. You’d die for her, and she knows it. But deep down, you know she’d do the same for you.

“ — Why do you keep me around? — you asked once, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Ambessa didn’t answer right away. She took a sip of her wine, her gaze distant. Then she turned to you, her expression unreadable.

— Because every blade needs a sheath, — she said finally, her voice soft but firm. — And every storm needs a calm.

It wasn’t the answer you expected, but it was the only one she’d give.

There’s a fire between you, unspoken but ever-present. Every glance, every touch lingers just a little too long, charged with a tension that neither of you will name.

“ Her hand brushed against yours as she handed you the blade, and for a moment, the world stilled.

— Careful, — she said, her voice low and deliberate. — That’s a dangerous weapon.

You met her gaze, your breath hitching. — So are you.

She didn’t reply, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk. The air between you crackled, heavy with something more dangerous than steel.

Ambessa doesn't need to command you often. You know her expectations, and you exceed them without question. But when she does pull your leash, it's always at the exact moment your bloodlust threatens to consume you.

“ The enemy commander fell to their knees, gasping, clawing at the gaping wound you'd left in their chest.

— Kill them. — your instincts roared, muscles tensed and ready to strike again.

— Stop.

Ambessa's voice cut through the red haze like a blade, and your hand froze mid-swing. You turned to her, chest heaving, fury still burning in your veins.

— Not yet, — she said, stepping closer, her gaze locking onto yours. — Let them crawl. Let them beg. We'll show them mercy when it suits us.

Your grip tightened on your weapon, your jaw clenched, but you didn't move. You didn't need chains to be bound to her will-her words alone were iron.

You are more than her protector-you are her shadow, ever-present and unrelenting. Where she goes, you follow, your presence a silent promise of violence.

“ The nobles whispered as she entered the hall, their eyes flickering to you as you trailed behind her like a ghost.

— Is that really necessary? — one of them sneered, gesturing toward you. — This is a banquet, not a battlefield.

Ambessa smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. — A good general knows that every room is a battlefield.— she said smoothly.

Her hand brushed against yours as she passed, the briefest touch grounding you. You didn't speak-you didn't need to. Your silence was louder than any threat.

Your relationship is a constant push and pull, a power struggle where the stakes are as high as the tension between you.

“ — You think you could lead without me? — you challenged, your voice low and laced with defiance.

Ambessa's eyes narrowed, her presence filling the room like a storm. — Careful. — she warned, her tone a blade at your throat.

— Or what? — you pressed, stepping closer, your pulse pounding.

Her hand shot out, gripping your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. — Or you'll find out what happens to dogs who forget their place. — she said, her voice calm but seething with authority.

You didn't pull away. You couldn't. The power in her eyes held you captive, and for all your bravado, you knew she'd already won.

Every scar on your body is a testament to your loyalty to the battles you fought for her, the blood you spilled in her name. But some wounds cut deeper than flesh.

“ — You shouldn't have taken that blow. — she said, her voice hard as she stitched the wound in your side.

— I couldn't let them touch you. — you replied, your tone matter-of-fact.

Her hands stilled for a moment, and you thought you saw something flicker in her eyes-anger, or perhaps something softer.

— Fool. — she muttered, resuming her work. But her touch was gentler than before, her fingers lingering just a little longer on your skin.

For all the battles you've fought, the fiercest one is the unspoken tension between you. Every glance, every word is a spark, threatening to ignite the storm that rages beneath the surface.

“ — You're reckless. — she said, stepping closer, her voice a low growl.

— And you're controlling. — you shot back, your breath hitching as she invaded your space.

Her eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. The air crackled with tension, heavy and electric.

— If I didn't control you, — she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear, — you'd burn the world down.

— Maybe the world deserves it. — you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

ㅤㅤㅤ

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Luo binghe commission 🫶🏻

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bloom

yes I am also grieving

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Somewhere, the sky is blue

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ╰──➢  ✧;── table of contents ──; ✧ ╭       ⁞ ❏. Media ⟶ .·. Arcane Season 2 ┊       ⁞ ❏.Warnings  ⟶ .·. Spoilers, Character Death ┊       ⁞ ❏.Notes ⟶ .·. So I had in mind to write something about the last chapter of act 2, but I've been very busy. I feel like this is too much half-assed and I'm a bit disappointed my creativity has been drowned these years because I'm focusing on art. I love writing, I'm just very hesitant, unsure and have a hard time putting things into words. ┊     ⁞ ❏.Summary ⟶ .·. In the undercity, where the sky is never clear, some colors burn too brightly to fade.

What kind of courage does it take for someone so small to jump into danger's harm? To look at death in the eye and think 'You can take me, but not them. Not them.'

How do you decide someone's life is worth more than yours?

There's laughter somewhere, there's dancing and giggling and bright colorful paint all over the place. There's blue in her hands and red eyes grinning at her. A surprisingly gentle pair of hands combing her hair, a reluctant guardian lingering in the corners, a place to go back to.

But there's also violence, outside. Just right out the door amidst polluted air, cold glares and souls filled with powerlessness and resentment.

They deserve to know too, that there's more to it than gloomy streets and aching bellies if you find a reason to look forward to another day. To keep moving on.

The feeling was something warm, like the sunlight Piltover took for granted. And there was blue and pink hues so beautiful that could overwhelm you. It was warm and then it was fierce and burning, because whatever you are given can be taken. Whatever you protect can be harmed.

Isha had never been afraid of broken things. She touched everything like it was alive—like it was worth saving. Jinx had taught her how to use a wrench, how to make bombs, how to turn a room into an explosion of pigments and chaos. How to create and how to pull apart. Isha soaked it all in, her quiet smiles and huffs doing what no words could.

That day for a moment, everything slowed.

Isha glanced back at Jinx, her face streaked with soot. Her eyes were bright, somehow they were always a little bit too bright. There was a trace of tears. She smiled—brave, warm and heartbreakingly young—and raised her hand in a mock gun, her thumb cocked like a trigger.

'Pow.'

It was barely a whisper, but Jinx could swear she had heard it amidst the muffled noises of a battlefield, of her world crumbling.

Three blue orbs loaded into a familiar gun.

“No,” she choked out, stumbling forward. “Don’t— ISHA!”

It was loud, unbearably loud. Someone held her back from going after the child that had become her light in the darkness for the last months.

The explosion ripped through the air. Jinx fell back, her ears ringing, her vision blurred by the afterimage of Isha’s silhouette. When the smoke cleared, Vander was still. ...

Turned into ashes blown away by the wind, scattered like it was never there, a little bird opened its wings and peeped “It’s alright for things to be this way...” A cub cried, “but must it be?” ...

Did your hands have slight shake to them? Was your heart beating wildly, making it difficult to breathe?

Did you feel that buzzing behind your eyes? Was your throat tight and your lips trembling when you smiled?

Would you do it all over again, just to see that blinding blue one last time? I give you six months, you give me a lifetime. Somewhere, the sky is blue. The water is clean and you can see the ground underneath. The rocks don't hurt your feet, only dig quite some. There's a place, and there's a family. And we call it home. --- Stop searching Give me a hug Just quietly forget I'm fine the way I am

---

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(Just needed to get this off my chest)

I love reading, I love stories. I do more than just sweep my eyes over some words.

I drown in them.

It makes me wonder if that's how love is truly like. Painful, like trying to breathe through mouthfulls of water and choking. Beautiful, like staring into the blue of the water with blurry eyes and a sense of depth unlike any. Befitting of an outsider.

As a reader I'm no more than that, a spectator. An observer. An outsider.

It's strange though because as long as I read,

I belong.

I feel the warmth of the sun and the half-assed grins and the sore muscles, hear the scowls and the laughs.

I grieve, too.

Being a reader is beautiful and yet so, so painful. I want to slip into the story and if any divine being were to ask me 'would you give your life for them to suffer just a bit less?' I would undoubtly say 'Yes, yes. Take even my toe nails if you must. Just wipe their tears for me. I beg of you."

It's so hard to exist when I look away and blink- no, I'm not there. I'm scooped in my bed past midnight with dampened cheeks, tired eyes and the realization that I'm just me, and it's just here.

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Reflection

Hey!! It's been such a long time here, I haven't had time nor the bravery to write in months. But lately I feel like i'm too choked up, in a way were reading and drawing aren't enough to help me. so I think I might return to writing. Here's a small piece I made!

I didn’t realize when, but it was at some point through midnight where I found myself unable to stop clicking the ‘next chapter’ button.

The words flowed and swirled in front of my eyes as I read and read as if nothing else held significance.

I stared at the protagonist’s suffering, how even the person who was meant to love him dearly by the end of the story, was clearly the cause of much greater anguish. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps oblivion would have been a kinder fate.

Questions gnawed at me: Why must you suffer so much?

I wondered chapters later, was it worth it? Is torture the requirement for happiness and the key to receiving unconditional love?

My grip on the mouse tightened, fingers stiffening as I descended further into the narrative's depths. Yet, in that moment, I realized I was neither the protagonist nor myself.

Retreating slowly, I became aware of the icy chill gripping my right hand, mirroring the frost of emotions that enveloped me. Why does he smile when he’s hurting? Why does he not resent the world for it?

In the silence of the dark house, the echo of one thought lingered.

And at that moment, I just wished I could be more like him.

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Checkout for commissions ~;w;~

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returning back to life

I finally can draw properly!! Though i forgot completely how to do it and I don't have my brush settings, anyways I'll have to work hard.

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For Family we are

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ╰──➢  ✧;── table of contents ──; ✧

╭      

⁞ ❏.Pairing ⟶ .·. None

┊    

  ⁞ ❏.Warnings  ⟶ .·. None

┊      

⁞ ❏.Notes ⟶ .·. Well, I'm back after a long long time. Trying to fix and share some of the stuff I got in my docs.

┊    

⁞ ❏.Summary ⟶ .·. A little drabble of Hawke taking a moment to appreciate his unconventional group of friends.

Hawke loved his friends. The thought crossed his mind as he watched them fool at the wooden table with badly hidden fondness, the Hanged Man seemingly calm yet cheerful as everytime they would hang out. They were an odd group however you looked at them; a shady dwarf merchant, a bloodmage elf, an ex slave elf who absolutely despised bloodmages, a healer human mage who had once been a Grey Warden, a female pirate who was as good with her knives as she was when finding bed partners, the goddamn Captain of the Guard, and Hawke (who did not require and introduction since he was trouble enough for almost everyone to know him somehow). Still, despite all their differences they became a family. Yes, Fenris would still make a couple of comments when it came to Merril’s practice of magic, Isabela would make snarky comments on the captain’s stiff behavior when it came to dubious works and stuff, and yes! Aveline herself could be a bit of a pain in the ass with her motherly proper behavior. But Fenris comments were no longer always filled with hatred and contempt, Aveline was just trying to look out for them all and would sometimes share drinks with Isabela, and for the Maker everyone could see how the bunch of them were willing to fight for each other despite it all. He watched as Varric barked a laugh at some comment the pirate had said, Merril chuckled while Aveline slowly shook her head at the same time as Anders face-palmed, yet she hid a smile from the corner of her lips, didn't miss the way Fenris' lips twitched in amusement either. If anyone would have heard his thoughts, they would probably either mock him for being so suddenly emotional or wonder if he was alright and not possessed by some demon. But he wasn’t ashamed of it, although they didn’t need to express it out loud he would be proud to just shout it for everyone to hear. They were a precious family and he would do anything to protect and defend them. Varric lightly elbowed his side and raised an eyebrow at his silent yet smiling appearance. Hawke shook his head in an almost unnoticeable way and his eyes twinkled even more. The dwarf shrugged it off, knowing his best friend could be a bit mysterious sometimes and if there was anything dangerous to be worried of, they all would eventually know one way or the other.

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I swear I haven't stopped writing but i have so many unfinished drafts I don't even know where to start *tears*

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Heyo, in case y'all interest my commissions are open :) both digital art and translations.

I've made a carrd for each!

Art commissions - Translation commissions

Also a small sheet I've done for the art ones ->

I've realized they might be seen as cheap but tbh even if my art seems decent (and I'm not very good at judging that), I've got a lot of issues with hands and small things that sometimes they don't look good enough. That's why the prices aren't too high.

[bigblackbbnny]

some tabs have been open on my phone for literally 2 years they r like brothers to me

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To be a Dixon

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ╰──➢  ✧;── table of contents ──; ✧ ╭       ⁞ ❏.Characters ⟶ .·. Daryl Dixon, Merle Dixon (mentioned), Will Dixon (mentioned), Daryl and Merle's mom (also only mentioned). ┊       ⁞ ❏.Warnings  ⟶ .·. Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst, mentions of Violence. ┊       ⁞ ❏.Notes ⟶ .·. So, basically I started watching The Walking Dead for the first time around a month ago, maybe a bit more, and finished at season 10 because i'm going to wait for season 11 to come to Netflix I guess. I loved it, and i've been stuck with the usual Art Block so it's kinda refreshing to be able to write about one of my favorite characters (and being able to write at all in the first place). Also published in AO3~ ┊     ⁞ ❏.Summary ⟶ .·. Daryl thinks about stuff, sad stuff. He doesn't cry though, Dixons don't cry. He's a tough boy.

Daryl lays down on the grass with a plop, he knows he'll go back home slightly wet and covered in dirt and he hopes his Pa will not be there to see it (a nagging thought at the back of his head whispers he shouldn’t give a damn). The wind makes his clothes flutter gently and the greenery around him seems to engulf his small figure, hidden from anyone or anything that could be searching for him. He knows nobody is looking for him though, at least not with good intentions.

His eyes look at the sky, there's not many stars over there so near the city, but if he pays enough attention he can almost recognize the soft glint of a couple more hiding around. The wind whispers against his skin again, the ground cradles his body. It's rough but the grass makes it bearable, like a light cushion.

He silently wonders if that's how being in his mother's arms felt like. Or maybe his father's. He shudders at the last thought.

It's not like he wouldn't like a loving father, he does. He looks at other kids that come from decent looking houses, at their cheerful and caring parents, he watches them hug, bump into each other playfully, being taught by them, riding their father's shoulders and seeming like the lords of the town.

He doesn't envy them, he's not jealous, Daryl tells himself as he looks away. He doesn't need one.

Maybe he does, but it's too late for one.

Will Dixon is a son of a bitch and would never be a proper parent, forever tainted his hopes of a caring parental figure.

His bruised cheek burns as a reminder.

Daryl's left hand brushes against some wild flower, he feels the delicate petals under his fingers. He caresses it carefully trying not to thug at them too much.

His thoughts drift to his older brother, would Merle be okay? Daryl closed his eyes for a second with a snarl. Of course that tough dickhead would be okay. He probably went to get arrested again, or just straight to find someone to beat up -or get beaten up- as if he was doing so with their Pa. Merle was always the strongest of the two, probably because he was the oldest too. He would always scowl at him saying he should 'toughen up' while brushing blood off his face after taking their old man's beating in his stead. Nowadays Merle wasn't home as much as when he was younger, so he couldn't save his ass all the time.

Daryl wouldn't say he missed him but he appreciated the effort he'd done taking care of him, nasty harmless words and scowls included. Nobody else ever did as much as him. Well, Mrs. Gretchen down the street did give him a bandaid once after some guy pushed him and called him a boot-licker for helping the old lady pick up some apples that fell from her broken plastic bag. She even helped him clean the small bleeding wound on his knee and would sometimes give him an apple when he walked by her house.

Merle heard of it, told him he was 'too much of a damn softie'. He paid no attention to his words. He was right though. He didn't feel it was okay to bully nice ladies, and if some kid's balloon got stuck in a tree he might have the thought of helping them reach for it.

He wouldn't, not everyone was nice and welcoming of help. Most were not.

His glassy eyes blinked a couple of times. The petals felt so good against the calloused skin of his fingers, rough from years of survival and still not enough to prevent the string of his crossbow from cutting when he wasn't being careful. He had no idea what the name of the wild flower was, barely being able to notice it had a yellow-ish color.

The texture reminded him of some baby blanket he used to have, now but a tattered rag discarded in the wild of their garden after some of his father's rage bursts. He liked that one, probably one of the last remnants of his mother. She wasn't a good mother, well, she didn't care about them enough to be a mother at all. Probably beaten out of her, too busy filling her lungs with smoke and drowning in alcohol to look at them twice from the corner of her eyes. But maybe she had cared for a couple of minutes. Maybe when he was still a newborn baby she might have held him within the soft baby blanket. He didn't know for sure. He never asked Merle and honestly he didn't want to know the truth at all.

A sigh left his lips.

Sometimes he could remember things, small moments of peace at their house when she was still alive. There were scarce days where they could act like a family, a normal one. Although it all went to hell after she died. He wondered if Merle ever had good times with them when he hadn't been born yet. Sometimes, he would even wonder if it was his fault they were all so broken. Or perhaps it had always been like that, and it would always have been no matter if he was there or not. Dixon blood and stuff.

Will never stopped blaming Merle about what happened, never cared about beating them over any excuse he could find. And even if there was no excuse. Daryl would have to run away days long sometimes, hunt his own food, camp in the woods if he was lucky enough to grab his equipment before rushing out, or sleep in trees if he was not. More often than not.

Daryl looked at people with cozy houses and warm families from afar, people who could sleep with a feeling of safety and weren't bathed in bruises and scars.

He frowned at them, the weaklings. He didn't envy them. He didn't need it, he growled to himself.

(He did, secretly.)

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Jodie Comer said I will give the mentally ill lesbians everything they want

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Nightmares

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ╰──➢  ✧;── table of contents ──; ✧ ╭       ⁞ ❏.Pairing ⟶ .·. Non-Specified ┊

⁞ ❏.Characters  ⟶ .·. Silco | Reader ┊      ⁞ ❏.Warnings  ⟶ .·. Nightmares ┊       ⁞ ❏.Notes ⟶ .·. I don't tend to have nightmares but I had one this morning and since I don't have anyone to comfort me and i've been reading too much Arcane content lately I unconsciously imagined Jinx staying besides me until I was able to recover from the thrill. Then later thought of writing this short thing www ┊     ⁞ ❏.Summary ⟶ .·. You fall asleep at Silco's office and have a nightmare, fortunately he won't leave you alone to deal with it.

It was one of those days Silco had to stay overnight doing paperwork and you decided to accompany him. Jinx had left to do some mischief, he listened as you spoke about your day and what she and you had done.

Anyone would think he wasn't pay attention as he seemed very focused on working but he was, you knew by the way the corner of his lips raised lightly in amusement from time to time and even bothered to make a sound of understandment sometimes in case you thought he was ignoring you, which he didn't really need to bother with but he enjoyed making you know he appreciated your presence.

Eventually, the weight of the day overcame you, falling asleep in a position only you -and maybe jinx- would find comfortable at Silco's office's couch.

--------

It's not the first time Silco has seen you during a nightmare, you're not like Jinx who screams and wails in desperation nor like him, who with the years got used enough to not be too loud yet couldn't help but wake up startled everytime with an audible gasp and later a shot of anger and frustration.

You're more calm, he knows you probably had to force yourself into that fake armony so as to not be punished. There had never been someone by your side to comfort you after all, only to get bothered by your crying. He notices the little twitches, the almost inaudible whining, you told him once you were able to take control of your mind but it always took a lot of effort to do so. You were probably scared, yet did your best to keep fighting back. After a while, he gets up from his desk and silently sits besides you. There's still some papers in one of his hands while the other starts to gently caress your hair. You seem startled by the touch at first but quickly the tension flows away from you. He always felt a bit amazed at how your brain worked so fast and hard to even recognize it's surroundings while still being unconscious.

Inside of the nightmare you close your eyes and start trying to wake up. You try making your breath even and move at least your hands, it's scary to be there and you just want to keep peacefully sleeping but you knew even if in many occasions you were able to change a dream, you wouldn't be able to do so once it was tainted by a nightmare.

Then, you hear a low humming. You don't recognize the tune, you can't think too far away from the situation if you want to keep away the terrifying face of the reflections inside of the dream. But you know who is the owner of the voice, barely.

Out of that world, your fingers twitch once again.

You try erasing the nightmare and force yourself to focus on his humming, you visualize him close until you are finally able to feel reality around you. Giving a tentative breath, you try to know if it is real. Then after no danger haunts your life, you open your eyes a bit.

Silco allows you to change your position to a more comfortable one, it takes some time since everything feels numb and the adrenaline still runs through your blood. He cleans patiently the pysiological tears that come out from your dazed eyes, you closed them a couple of times due to the stinging coming from them. There's also the uncomfortable sweat all over you as if you had run miles instead of just laying down.

He doesn't speak but you know his work was left aside.

[bigblackbbnny]

No use crying over spilled milk

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ╰──➢  ✧;── table of contents ──; ✧ ╭       ⁞ ❏.Pairing ⟶ .·. None ┊       ⁞ ❏.Warnings  ⟶ .·. Panic attacks, self-harm, self-loathing ┊       ⁞ ❏.Notes ⟶ .·. I suppose I have some sort of traumas with breaking things or messing up by accident so, yeah. I just kinda relate a bit to Jinx. And also yesterday I didn't know I had to turn off the oven so some lemons got burnt and my mother just kinda blamed it all on me and kept pestering me about it for hours. I have quite the history on being clumsy when younger so my grandfather would always be very (verbally) abusive when I commited mistakes. Although she tries to comfort me sometimes, she also does the same now. So, yeah. It kinda keeps lingering on me. ┊ ⁞ ❏.Characters ⟶ .·. Young Jinx | Silco ┊     ⁞ ❏.Summary ⟶ .·. Jinx knows it shouldn't be something to worry about, she's always breaking things and blowing up here and there... on purpose. But still she can't help the incoming breakdown.

''Oh sh-''

Crash.

The girl got on her knees trying to put back into place the remanents of a broken plate, it was nothing special, just a random gift Silco had given to her not long after she found herself under his care. It was merely a white plate with some funny drawings around and under it a monkey drawn as she would often do. It was accompanied by some other things very well design so as no one would use them besides her, only for her.

''No no no nononono...'' she kept muttering, her voice getting a higher pitch every time. ''No no, it's okay, it'll be fine. It's just- It's just an object, it's not that bad-''

'You fucked up, he's gonna get really angry' a voice said at the back of her head, Jinx felt her eyes prickle with tears. ''No, no- he wouldn't it was an accident I can just put it back with glue and-'' a mocking laughter made her flinch as she tried putting every little piece back as if it was a puzzle, her fingers got little cuts on them dying the floor with a few drops. She paid no mind. 'You're always breaking everything, how can you be so much stupid?' ''...I can make it so someone else grabs it and it will appear as if they broke it- I did it a lot of times, right? This is just-''

There were more than one voice, each had a different tone and she didn't want to try to recognice them. She just wanted time to go back before she commited the stupid mistake of thinking the thing would be just fine at the border of the table, how could she had been so dumb?! It was obvious it would fall! It was so obvious yet everytime she would always...

''Shut up! It's fine, it's fine, he won't mind. I break a lot of things daily, I almost blew up a factory, he won't... he wouldn't-'' her tears kept falling down filled with frustration at herself and anxiety.

'You broke it, it's such an important thing but you still were so careless. He will be sooo dissapointed.'

Her hands turned into fists around her blue hair, she scratched and hit herself in desperation, whines coming from her throat. He would hate her, she didn't mean to- she cared about it, she really did, it was a gift from him after all. But she broke it, she... she was being a jinx again.

''Jinx- Jinx! What happened?'' there was a voice, this once not from inside she noticed, but still felt so far away. She was drowning in tears and blood, she was drowning but the voice still tried to reach for her. ''Breathe, Jinx, Breathe with me. I'm here, it's okay.'' the blue haired girl realized it was her caretaker and tried to imitate him, when he asked if he could take her hands with a softer tone Jinx slowly nodded, still some hiccups escaped from her.

His cold hands brushed hers as he calmly helped Jinx relax them, some shards still were buried inside. Silco took them out with precise movements, she was still trembling and muttering under her breath.

After a couple of minutes of reassurance, Jinx's voice had a bit more strenght.

''I'm sorry, i'm sorry I broke it...'' she said, not daring to look into his mismatched eyes. He analyzed her to make sure he wouldn't trigger her again, and softly spoke.

''Is it because of the plate?'' he had noticed the scraps around her but held no mocking tone, a slight relief allowed her to let her eyes wander around. ''What happened, dear?''

''I... I was just washing dishes and put it too close to the border of the table- I thought it would be fine! I didn't expect something to push it after I placed it wrong! I- please don't hate me, I didn't mean to break it, I know i'm always messing things up but-'' he interrupted her with a brush of his left hand on her bangs. He cupped her face with his other hand and made her look at him, she still had tears running through her cheeks although not as bad as before.

''I could never hate you, Jinx. Especially not because of something like this.'' Silco stroked her cheek as she sniffed. ''It is only an object, it can be replaced.''

She stammered, still anxious ''But, but you got it for me... and I...'' his lips pressed onto her forehead in an attempt to calm her down yet again.

''If it really bothers you, we can glue it together so you can keep it in a safe place and I will get you another, functionable one.'' A tiny smile appeard on his lips, she sniffed once more. The voice had stopped talking long ago. Jinx hugged him. Silco patted her back with care.

''It was only an accident, a mistake if you must, things happen. No need to fret over it, I will never hate you because of it.''