Jinx: Frankly, I'm Up To Anything That Could Reasonably Be Described As "shenanigans", Though In A Pinch

Jinx: Frankly, I'm up to anything that could reasonably be described as "shenanigans", though in a pinch I'm willing to settle with causing a ruckus.

This is exactly how i imagine lux YES

Girlfriends 💙🤍

getting into the shower: evil evil evil

being in the shower: there is no past and there is no future, there is just the here and now, i am alone but i am not lonely, i am calm and one with the universe, existence is sublime

getting out of the shower: evil evil evil (wet version)

We just thinks shes neat

Jinx is like catnip to Catra kinnies

The crux of the matter is: Vi loves her sister.

She painted her love in blood on the stone walls in Stillwater; red and dark like fresh blood from scraped knees she patched on Powder so many times before, like the blood soaking the blanket they wrapped her sister in her first moments alive, before being laid in Vi's arms. In those days, the bruises on her ribs and her chest, her sides and her jaw, were still in the shape of a P, in the shape of her name as Vi repeated it to herself over and over, take care of Powder, get back to Powder, where is Powder-

It wasn't soon enough, it was eventually but they changed shape, into a baton, a boot, a fist, the blood soaking into the spaces between the stones, where Vi couldn't see anymore. Her chest hardened with it, the name harder and harder to dig out through the stone.

Until. The crack seeing the scribble on Caitlyn's report, the break, the shattering, at Jinx's wide eyes that Vi would always recognise in a face that she did and didn't at once. The quiver in her sister's voice when she asked are you real and how Vi didn't even think because hasn't she thought she's seen a flash of blue in the dark those first months, a voice calling her name in the days spent in isolation? She couldn't have known, not until Jinx ripped into herself on the floor of the cannery, she couldn't but she should have.

The smell of gunpowder is still heavy in the air, but Jinx's sobs stopped. She's eerily quiet, a more terriying feat than her anger, than her tears and her begging and apologies, her face broken up, features contorted into pain, into grief Vi can't see but she can imagine easily.

The ropes tight against her chest and arms dig painfully when Vi tries to breathe in, to calm her racing heartbeat, to hear anything over the roaring thrum of her pulse in her ears. She can smell blood, but she doesn't know where from, whether it's Silco's, mixed with the scent of gunpowder, whether it's her own from the gap between her teeth, the small open wound she feels tender on the back of her head. She thinks it's dried blood, matting her hair, not fresh, but the smell is so strong, metallic and nauseating, and Vi isn't sure.

Or-

Her eyes fall on Caitlyn, on Caitlyn's still form stretched out on the grimy floor and Vi can't look, she doesn't want to. Because when she does, she can't tell whether Caitlyn's chest is rising at all, whether the darkness around her head, the part of the floor hidden in the shadows, is her hair spread out across the concrete or a puddle of blood. The rope cuts into her muscles because Vi can't help the strain, she can't help pushing herself to the edge of the seat, the need to get up, get out, to check whether Caitlyn is breathing, whether she can feel that warm breath against her hand, rising goosebumps on her arms like Caitlyn's closeness does.

Her face is turned away, hidden in the dark, so Vi can't even see her softened features, lines she thought sharp at first but can't call them that in her mind now at all. All of Caitlyn is gentle, too tender to be laid out on the cold filthy floor amongst the iron scent of blood and the heavy smokey fear dripping off the walls, she should have never been here. But she was, because of Vi, because everything comes back to the stone in Vi's chest, to the crack inside it that she will never patch up, that she refuses to patch up.

A scrape of a chair against the floor; Jinx drops on it heavily, only the glimpse of the pink letters painted on the back before she's there, before Vi can't look away. Her sister looks empty, with hollow gaze, drained and exhausted like a child after a tantrum, but the toxic glow of her pink eyes makes the image more insidious, more sinister.

Vi should be shocked, she should be crushed, conflicted. And she is, her mind works so slow, the shock and stupor jammed between the cogs, and the bile on the backs of her teeth is so thick and bitter with fear, with Caitlyn's still chest, with the pulse in her ears making it impossible to hear whether there are any soft, quiet breaths coming from her direction.

But then there is something missing - the conflict.

"Jinx," she says, thick saliva coating the insides of her mouth. Jinx flinches at the name; it doesn't change anything. "It's okay. We can leave. We can."

Her eyebrows scrunch, a line between them that Vi knows means Powder would be holding back tears, the twitch in her cheek that means the same. But then she flinches again, more abrupt and harsher, the turn of her features becoming angrier as she looks to the side at something Vi can't see. "I don't." Her voice is angry, spitting out the words, but when she turns back to Vi there is none of that anger there. Her pink eyes glow with something deep and dark, tendrils of despair. "I can't trust you."

It hurts, the words hurt, but so does Vi's hand, as if it could still burn painfully from the contact with the soft skin of her sister's cheek, the force of the slap making her own palm sting. "No," Vi agrees.

Jinx looks at her with wide tearful eyes, the hurt and the hope hidden in those tears, her lip giving the tiniest tremble. Vi should think she looks like Powder, that she still hurts the same, the same scrunch in her forehead, the same twitch in her cheek. She doesn't look like Powder at all, not with the hollowness and the pink glow.

But she still looks Vi's sister. "I love you. Whatever you do, I love you." She lets her voice shake at the end but makes sure Jinx hears, that she understands.

Jinx doesn't turn her eyes away but Vi can't look into them anymore, she can't see whether they will flicker away again or remain. She shuts her own, tight, until fireworks burst underneath her eyelids, blue like smoke from a flare. She still can't hear any soft breaths through the thunder in her ears. She does hear the grating noise of the chair scraping against the floor as Jinx gets to her feet, the steps that move closer. Her hands and her eyes sting as Vi waits for whatever follows.

The start will always be the same as the end: Vi loves her sister. Somehow, it feels like the worst thing she's ever done.

Do you ever think about how bow and adora are constantly under pressure to be the strong dependable ones, and how after glimmer was taken and the world fell apart they probably only allowed themselves to break down around each other