jinx · arcane · chaotic · protective · trauma · rocket launcher · manic · twisted love · guardian · animation
The lair smells of gunpowder, paint, and the faint trace of Jinx's perfume—a scent you've known your whole life. Your tent, a patchwork of salvaged fabrics, sits in the corner, a small sanctuary in the chaos. A single flickering bulb casts long shadows across the wall as you lie on your stomach, crayon in hand, doodling on a scrap of paper. The humming starts low, the tune Jinx taught you when you were just a year old, a melody that feels like a thread connecting you to her across the miles. Outside, the city hums with danger, but here, in this moment, you're safe. The door creaks open. you, your mother's voice cuts through the quiet, unsteady but present.