immortalbumblebee - Tumblr blog

immortalbumblebee · 3 months

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Chapter 17: Corrosion

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE 5 MONTHS!!! Tbh this was probably the hardest chapter I've had to write thus far and it was just not working with me. But honestly combined with the new Warwick trailer, and the amount of people flooding into my account and mass-reading my stuff lately??? Thank you so much for the motivation y'all, it really means a lot <3

So without further ago, have this 3k word chapter!

Masterlist

It had taken nearly an hour just to settle the crowds once the officers had left. An entire mob of people, suddenly panicked and in need of a level head to tell them what to do and how to feel. So, by the time Benzo was actually able to walk into the backroom of the arena, the anger that coursed through his veins had (somewhat) been able to cool down, no longer quite boiling over. Now replaced by anxiety that fought with his typically cool-headed mind that was trying to remind him to be rational. The pain in his side wasn’t helping none, of course. His lungs were already shite, but that Enforcer slamming the butt of his gun into his ribs hurt like a bitch… He took a deep, calming breath, ignoring the burning protest of his lungs.

Emotions are never good for business.

“They’ve gone too far this time.” Silco spat, slamming the door as he entered the room behind Benzo. “I mean, storming in here like they own the place, waving their guns around? That’s a new low, even for them.”

“And Min?” Benzo asked, sliding a hand through his thin brown hair, urging his breathing to remain even. Silco nodded, waving his hand as if she were an additional afterthought. Benzo thought about Min getting arrested, the way they threw her to the ground like she was nothing, and suddenly he felt the need to slap Silco upside the head. Bigger fish, he reminded himself. “They’ve never made this much of a show for an arrest before. Grayson knows we’re important down here, and now she’s aiming to take us out of commission.”

“Min’s been arrested just as many times as the rest of us.” Silco argued. “She's strong, she can handle it. Standard protocol; get some bail money together, we run down to the station at first light-” “Are you seriously that petty?” Benzo stepped forward, facing Silco face-on. His tone was careful but carried a weight to it. “This was a godsdamn army, for what? Arresting one lass? This goes beyond your fucking ‘protocol’!”

Silco stepped up, meeting Benzo eye-to-eye. Benzo could see the anger in his eyes, flames of passion, he knew the look well amongst his fellow Zaunite revolutionaries. He only wished that he could believe that any of those flames burned for their missing sister-in-arms, but that would be expecting him to put his own anger aside for the good of the cause, for the good of others. And Benzo knew that wasn’t about to happen.

Taking a deep, attempting-to-be-calming breath, Benzo disengages from Silco’s fury, centring back his focus to address both of them. Noting Vander was still silent, glaring the same hole into the ground.

For fuck’s sake, he thought to himself.

“You two are the fucking leaders here, aye?” Benzo barked. “So where’s yer fucking plan of attack? What do we do? We’re gonna break her out, right?”

Silco’s the one to speak up, of course, shaking his head aggressively. “Are you kidding me? If we’re caught anywhere near top-side, we’re landing ourselves in a cell right next to her. We’re too conspicuous, too high-profile, and Grayson obviously has her eye on us.” Benzo made a move to fight against Silco, but Vander finally chooses to speak up.

“He’s right. We go running in after her, even all the cogs in the world won’t be able to pay her way out. Odds are, we get clinked too. Then what good are we?”

“Oh give your head a shake!” Benzo exclaims. “We could fucking try!”

Vander’s jaw tenses. “This isn’t a ‘run in half-cocked’ sort of deal.” Bento scoffs, eyes practically rolling out of his head.

“So…what? We can do…nothing, then? Is that right?”

Vander takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if he’s focussing on his breath. “Nope. But I think I know who can.”

***

It��s rather unfortunate that, out of all the things you could have inherited from your mother, the recurring habit of getting arrested was one of the more notable.

Also unfortunate that cops are capable of learning.

“Minerva!” Grayson’s voice, practically spitting out your name, had caught you off guard. Your eyes glazed over, looking off to the side. From your spot, seated on the ground with your captured hands sticking out awkwardly in front of you, most of her face hidden by shadows. All the light filtered in through the barred window on the door to your cell, a torch light. The cell was completely lightless, almost a pit of darkness. Dank, dark, and too quiet to be peaceful. But what you could make out from her appearance, you could see wrinkles formed between her eyebrows and a deep sneer.

“Sorry Commander, I must have dozed off there for a moment.” You finally responded. “Welcome to my humble abode! I’d offer you a drink, but I’m a little…tied up, at the moment.” You lifted your hands, ignoring the cramped feelings in your muscles and joints. The thick metal that encased your hands wore you down, like holding a weight you had no consent in holding, and no ability to put down.

She didn’t respond to your jest, simply continuing to stare down at you, face like stone but the underlying disgust ever-present. Tough crowd.

“The counsel has been sent the details of your case and are currently discussing further actions.” She explains. “But it’s customary that someone speak with you directly before any major decisions are made.”

“Gonna be a short conversation,” you note, “y’know, on account of the fact that I’ve done nothing wrong. But I suppose everytime something bad happens, us ‘fissure folk’ are to blame, huh?”

She moves on, as if she doesn’t even hear you. “Your nose looks like it hurts.” She notes. Her shoulders are less square than you’ve seen them before, she’s more comfortable here than when you’ve seen her in the Underground. Although you’ve seen her without her helmet before, notably at the apartment when she first introduced herself, seeing her whole face here felt…oddly personal.

You twitch your nose, feeling the dull pain spike between your eyes. “Pretty, ain’t it?”

“Wanna tell me about the girl who did it? Looked to be a girl by the name of…” she looks down at a file you hadn’t realized she was holding. “Sevika, right?”

Your eyes glance down at the file. Just how many names did they have? “I don’t know, it’s all a little…fuzzy to me. Pretty sure it could have been one of your guys, you know, when they forced me onto the ground and locked up my hands without probable cause.”

She looks back down at you, eyes cold and unamused. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Do what?” She closes the file and reaches into her pocket. Pulling something out, she shows it off to you with an extended arm.

“Look familiar?” It’s hard to make out what she’s showing you at first, but slowly you work out the details. A piece of fabric, red cotton. It was wrinkled and stained beyond saving, but there was a darker, fresher stain around most of it that hadn’t been there last you had it. Of course it was familiar, you’d been wearing it-or ones like it-most of your time in the lanes. The bandana that used to be a staple of your wardrobe, now bloody and in the hands of the Chief of Enforcers.

Your mind flashes to the job just a couple weeks ago, when you’d left the fabric tied around the thigh of that Enforcer you’d attacked. You can feel your heartbeat raise ever so slightly. There’s no way they could have actually linked you to the crime with just your bandana.

“Nope.”

“Really? Cause in all of your mugshots, you’re wearing one just like it in your hair.” She pockets the fabric again. “I notice you’re not wearing one now. Lose it recently?”

You shrug, tilting your head back. “Is changing hairstyles a crime now? I’ll have to let my salon know.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts from three nights ago?”

“You’ll have to ask your mother, I believe I was at her house.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a long, deep sigh. “Minerva,” her tone is calm, but irritable. Like she was scolding a small child.

You mimic her, rolling your eyes as well, but significantly more dramatic. “Grayson.”

“I am aware that you and your…compatriots may be used to certain lax standards. But I can assure you that physically assaulting one of my officers is not something I intend to easily brush under the rug.” Your hands attempt to fidget within their constraints, your bones buzzing with the need to move them. “I know the man you hurt, he's a good officer. He has a family, a wife and child. Are you really going to allow your anger to blind you so much that you’re willing to take away a child’s father?”

You lean forward, the chains rattling with your movements. “Several of the people your officers pointed a gun at tonight have families too. Those ‘good officers’ you have, they attack and aim firearms at women and children on a daily basis.” Gone was your mocking tone, your light-hearted facade. “You attack our people in our streets, in our businesses, in our homes. But hey, it’s different right? We’re all just fissure-folk trash to you.”

“And that justifies you nearly killing one of my men?”

You kill hundreds of ours.

Your jaw tightens, biting your tongue. She’s not going to goat you into a confession that easily.

“I didn’t touch ‘your man’.” You finally respond, sitting back against the wall. “And if all you brought me in for was some half-baked story built around a piece of red cloth…well, it’s good to see you’re just as incompetent as your predecessor.”

The room falls silent, both of you glaring daggers at each other. You swear the room grows colder, the cold stone walls looming over you more and more with every passing, silent moment. You tried so hard to focus on the woman in front of you. Maybe if you were more aware, better able to scan her and read her body language, you could find something on her. Find something that you could use against her. But all you could focus on was your bones burning with the urge to use your powers, fanned on by the anger that’s coursing through you. You needed to get out of these damn constraints!

The door to your cell opened again, and another officer poked his head in. This one was much younger, and clearly very nervous. Twitchy eyes looked over from you, to his superior, just as Grayson’s head snapped back to glare at him.

“I gave orders that we weren’t to be disturbed.” Grayson snarled, and you could see the officer practically jump out of his skin in fear.

“Um…I’m sorry Ma’am. But uhh, you see…there’s someone demanding your presence outside.”

“What?” She dug into her pocket, fishing out a silver pocket watch. “It’s not even dawn yet. The doors to the station don’t open for another hour.”

“There were, um,” his eyes dart over to yours, and the obvious anxiety in his gaze makes you smirk. “Very insistent.”

They? God, please tell me the guys didn’t decide to come…

Grayson lets out a long, heavy sigh of frustration. Stuffing the pocket watch angrily back into her jacket and snapping her folder shut, she begins to storm off out of the room. Just as she grabs onto the heavy metal door, however, her head whips back to stare directly at you. Her eyes, furious.

“We’re not done here, you understand.” It wasn’t a question.

Lifting your shackled hands to your forehead, you give a mocking-serious face and a curt nod. “Aye aye, cap’n.”

The door slams behind her, and immediately your mind begins to spiral. The guys can’t have come here, they wouldn’t. Sure, it was basic protocol that all of them would immediately jump to bust the others out of prison whenever one of you got pinched, but this wasn’t your typical riot-crashing or pickpocketing charge. Closing your eyes, you try not to linger on the blurry images of the raid. The white hot shock of fear upon seeing a gun pointed at Narco, Skye, and little baby Vi. The way the frequency of the Enforcer’s guns seemed to scream at you in such large quantities. The fear, all but palpable within the arena as people either were pulled into the fight or ran for their lives. The thought of Benzo being clubbed down, Silco with a knife against his throat and hands raised in surrender, the rage in Vander’s face as they placed you in cuffs.

This wasn’t like any other run-in with the cops that you’d experienced. This was a whole other level, and you knew that if the guys tried to fight you out or pay anyone off; they’d wind up in cells just like yours.

You tried not to let your mind linger on that image for too long, either.

Your throat started to burn with the tears you wouldn’t let yourself shed, your thoughts spinning in and out of control, and you pulled your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. Trying ever so hard to calm your breathing. Please let it not be them out there…

Loud shouting filtered in through the cracks below your cell’s door. You couldn’t make it out, even if you tried, or even how many voices there were, but you could tell it was definitely heated. Were those the guys, fighting tooth-and-nail for your release, only to get shackles placed on them as well? Forced to the ground, kicking and screaming, and arrested in front of a huge crowd with your rage-filled family, forced to watch?

You could only anxiously listen in, your ears straining to hear the muffled sounds as you sat, uselessly, in your stupid little cell. This continues on for what felt like an eternity, but most likely what would have been only half an hour. Until, finally, the door to your cell swings open. On the other side, a very pissed-off Grayson. The flames of her rage practically emanated across the room, getting warmer and warmer as she stormed over to you, keys in hand.

“You got lucky again, Minerva.” She grunts out as she leans down, grabbing your shackles with probably more force than necessary. As she begins to unlock your restraints, your hands slowly begin to regain movement ability, you can feel the energy of your magic slowly flood back into your fingertips. The vibrations of all the metal around you, singing to you like a beautiful orchestra. You could only shut your eyes, the flood of emotions that came with your powers almost overwhelming to your already anxious body. You didn’t even realize that Grayson was still speaking. “-won’t be the last time you’ll be in one of my cells, I can promise you that.”

“What’s going on?” You couldn’t help but ask. You know you sounded pathetic, but this was honestly not how you pictured this going down.

Grayson laughed, but it sounded more like a scoff. “All you Underground folk, all you do is play dirty. Lying and cheating, it comes to you like breathing.”

That didn’t answer your question, but as Grayson slapped a normal pair of handcuffs on you, using them to force you up to your feet, you felt it was better not to ask followup questions. She dragged you by your arm out of your cell and into the all-too familiar main chamber of the Enforcer’s main station. On the other end, however, much to your surprised wasn’t the boys. Rather, two female figures.

“Minerva!” Not even your mother’s cry was enough to shake you fully out of your shock as she surged forward, throwing her arms around you in a tight embrace. Out of habit, you tried to return your embrace, only to quickly remember your shackles.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” You asked, quickly pulling away to look down at her with furrowed brows. “You shouldn’t-”

“The boys phoned me!” Her salt-and-pepper hair wasn’t in its usual braid, still down in flowing waves, showing that she had come straight here from bed. Her thick winter coat had been thrown on overtop of her wool nightgown, and her boots were unlaced.

“They phoned both of us.” The second figure spoke up, Niya’s tone was stern, moreso than you think you’d ever heard from her. Her citrus-coloured hair was messier than how it had been at the arena, and there was a new cut along her lip that she must have gotten during the raid. She looked tired, but more than that, she looked mad. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” You looked back down at your mom. “But, why-”

“Your mother and Ms. Niya have negotiated for your release.” Grayson’s words were heavy, and she wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding her snarling face. With begrudging movements, she reached down, unlocking your handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”

Before you really even have a moment to wrap your head around what’s happening, your mother is pulling you away from the captain, all but dragging you towards the door. “Come on,” she whispers to you, “we need to get out of here.” But your eyes are still stuck on Grayson’s, the rage flowing off of her body in waves.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon, Minerva.” She spits.

With all the confusion swimming around in your mind, you try to think of something to say; one last quip to gain the extra hand. You’ve held your ground for so long here, and yet, the only thing you can really think to say is, “looking forward to it.”

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immortalbumblebee · 5 months

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Your Demons Have Good Advice, Actually - a short comic about moving on after trauma with a fresh new start

cant believe i drew this entire thing and STILL misspelled ‘whether’

#angst #needed to see this today ig #other people’s art #comic #trauma

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immortalbumblebee · 5 months

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Ohhhhhmygod

How could you do this to me

I drew what vander from arcane would look like young and old

(Spoilers)

What if ep 3 never happend?

What if he survived? Would he have pink eyes like jinx cus of the shimmer?

#why he so hottttttt #i will never financially recover from this #arcane #vander fanart #arcane fanart #vander #vander arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix

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immortalbumblebee · 5 months

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This is so dang cute

"Welcome to the Last Drop what can I get ya?"

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immortalbumblebee · 6 months

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Arcane Fandom Week - Machine Herald

@arcanefandomweek

#he really is kenough #give him his mojo dojo cards house #arcane #arcaneyear2 #viktor #machine herald viktor #fanart

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immortalbumblebee · 6 months

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ARCANE Season 2 - coming November 2024

#*cracks knuckles*#WHO HAS AWOKEN ME FROM MY SLUMBER #arcane #arcane netflix #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2

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immortalbumblebee · 8 months

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MIN NOOOO!!! D: *sobs*

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immortalbumblebee · 8 months

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Chapter 16: Iron Shackles

Whoops! I forgot to post for a few months again...super long chapter this time, tho! Masterlist

As bright neon cast through your window and into your closed eyes, you couldn’t help but grumble. A truly rude awakening, only worsened as the early-winter cold seeped through your blankets and into your bones, your still-sleeping mind mourning the peaceful slumber you'd been experiencing just moments ago. But there was still hope; a nearby heat source, just to your side. You turned and curled into the warm body next to you, nuzzling your nose into the crook of the person’s neck. In response, a low growl is emitted from the body. “You’re cold…”

“And you’re nice and warm…” You ignored his complaints, tightening your arm around Vander as you cuddled in closer under your patchwork quilt. Your naked bodies seemed to meld together, you sapping his excess warmth in an attempt to fend off the creeping chill. However, as your mind continued to slowly wake up, you remembered that if the neon lights had found their way into your window, that meant it was nearing dusk, and dusk meant that Benzo and Silco would be home soon from work.

Just a couple of moments longer…

Vander’s breathing regulated once more, a low snore coming from his partially open lips, and you giggled a little to yourself at the sound. Feeling his chest rise and fall under you, your fingers began to run up and down his pectorals, combing through his chest hair as you blindly traced the area where you knew one of his tattoos (a hound skull) lay. Even though he needed a shower from your earlier activities, his natural pleasant scent of musk and smoke made you content. A reminder of him. As you placed a small kiss on his jawline, his arm instinctively tightened its hold around you. Damn this man.

After another selfish moment of indulging yourself with cuddles, you began to rouse your body. Your muscles ached as they were hit with the wave of cold, and your joints complained as you moved to stand. Stretching, you tried your best to ease the stiffness and aching feelings, and you thankfully got a couple of ‘pops’ from your joints, but much of the soreness remained. The thrills of adulthood, you supposed.

“Nice bum.” You could hear Vander’s smile even before looking back at him. He patted the spot next to him, the old grey sheets just as much patchwork as the quilt atop it. “You should bring it back here.”

Picking up what you knew to be his shirt, you handed it to him. “We need to get up. You need a shower and I need to start on dinner before Benzo and Silco get home.” You emphasize the guy’s names, hopefully reminding him why there was a certain need for urgency. But he just rolls onto his back, propping his arms under his head.

“You could always join me in the shower..? Save on water and all that, plus you get all this glorious body heat you love so much?” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes. To add insult to injury, you noticed the way he tensed his muscles, showing off the pure muscle that lay under that calloused, tanned skin. Emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders, the bulk of his biceps, his pectorals, his abs. The trick worked for a moment, feeling a familiar heat rise into your ears as your eyes remained trapped on his torso, tracing over every line and scar with detail. But as he began to flex his pecs, bouncing them one at a time, you shook your head in exasperation and began rifling through your drawers trying to find a clean pair of underwear and a semi-clean sports bra. Vander laughed loudly, filling the room with the warmness of his laughter.

“I can’t promise anything fancy for dinner tonight, but I figure we’ll get more food afterwards when we get post-fight drinks anyways.” You explain as you search, ignoring your lover’s immaturity. “Benzo’s got the bill tonight, it’s his turn.”

“Oi. Pretty, naked lady.”

Looking over your shoulder, you find Vander looking back at you. He still hasn’t put on his shirt, but he has crawled over to the other side of the bed so he’s now sitting closer to you, feet planted on your cluttered floor. He’s got an eyebrow raised, and your motions still as you fully turn to face him. His eyes don’t leave yours. “I love you.”

Damn this man, indeed. Damn him and the butterflies he sets free in your stomach.

Taking the single step it takes to get from your dresser to your bed, you sidle back up into Vander’s heat. He welcomes you happily, hands enveloping your waist and lightly pulling you into him. You cup either side of his jaw. This time his eyes do leave yours, taking just a fraction of a second to scan down your body. But they’re back up, holding your gaze before you can say anything. You lean down ever so slightly to take his lips into yours, and you feel his hands tighten around you. It’s a soft kiss, tender; just a simple close-mouthed kiss, but you try ever so hard to press all your feelings into it.

As you pull away, you press one more little peck to his lips. “I love you too.”

He seems content with this, grey eyes sparkling against the neon from outside. “I think some of your clothes are in one of the baskets in the hall.” Kissing him quickly one more time, you thank him before rushing out your door to rifle through the several baskets of forgotten and unfolded, but clean laundry. Amid your digging around, you come across two solid boxing gloves; black, patched in a few places but more evident was the distinct painting of a brown hound on each mitt.

“Oi, Van.” You peek back into your room to see Vander finally standing, stretching. You raise your hands, showing him the mitts and his face immediately breaks out into a toothy grin.

“There they are!!!” He exclaims, speed-walking over and taking the mitts into his own hands. He feels over the worn leather like he’s worshipping them, thumb tracing over the hound printing, matching his tattoo, as if he’s greeting an old friend. Those gloves had been a gift from Mikael on his eighteenth birthday when Vander’s father finally came around and approved of the fights as a way of making more money outside of the mines. “I’ve been looking for these for weeks! Thought someone had pinched them at the ring.”

“They could use some care.” You point to a new rip in one of the seams, your eyes carefully taking note of the gloves. You’d seen them a thousand times over the years, even watched him do repairs on them in the past. But for some reason, there and now, seeing them…your mind began to turn with ideas. “You know…you wouldn’t need to sew them nearly as much if they were metal. Could do some serious damage too, instead of padding your punches. Maybe some cast iron or titanium, y’know, something solid. Something to use in a real fight."

Vander’s eyes only look up for a moment, still intensely focused on the gloves in his hands as he begins to slide them on, stretching his fingers to see that they still fit as perfectly as ever. They do. “Metal’d hurt my hands more, wouldn’t it?”

Your mind is still in engineering mode before you finally turn your attention back to the basket of clothes.

You’ve barely been able to put on some clothes and start throwing together some food when the guys shamble into your shared home, feet heavy against the creaking hardwood floors but chatting casually amongst each other.

“We’re home!” Benzo calls, louder than he needs to.

“How was work?” You ask, barely looking up from the canned peas you were trying to open. They looked exhausted, both with dark circles weighing down their faces. Both had been working the mines today, so were already in fairly tattered clothes, but also displayed the new signs of a long day’s worth of hard work. A thick layer of grime, sweat, and coal dust coated their entire bodies.

Silco grumbled as he kicked off his boots, the thick rubber soles falling to the floor with a loud ‘thunk’. “Fucking awful, as per usual down in that shithole.” He continues on one of his normal tirades about the mines. The dirtbag supervisors, the shitty conditions, the kids sent there who are forced to work just as the three of them had. Benzo only hummed in agreement as he took off his own work shirt and sat at the dinner table, exhaustion evident in his face. But when a rasping cough left Benzo's chest, the sick sound of years' worth of smoke and chemicals exiting his lungs, there was a long pause. Cautious hesitation as the tell-tale miner's cough lingered like a bad omen in the apartment. But after a moment, the three friends resumed casually, trying to ignore the heavy feelings that seemed to consume all their hearts.

“When’s the next mine shift you’ve got, anyways Silco?” You ask, voice cracking ever so slightly. Benzo notices, and sends you a look but you can’t tell if it’s out of guilt, shame or apology.

“Day after tomorrow.” He shrugs, mind obviously only half-interested in the conversation as he shies away from the room. His eyes refuse to meet Benzo, who now only stares down at the wood grain of the table. “I’ve got a messenger shift in the morning, then I’ve got that job at the docks again.”

“Right…” You nod, just as absent-mindedly.

Just as you’re finishing up your concoction of stew, putting together anything in the pantry that would work, Vander stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped securely around his waist. Water droplets fall from his soft brown curls, rolling over his cheekbones before falling onto his broad, exposed chest.

“You two look like shit.” Vander’s booming voice laughed. “As per usual.”

“Yeah, laugh it up, big guy.” Silco rolled his eyes, reaching into their shared room to grab his own towel. “See how you look after your fight tonight.”

Benzo drudgingly reaches into his pocket, pulling out his notebook and flipping open to the most recent page. “Speaking of, I checked in today, the odds tonight are in Vander’s favour for his fight, but for Min's…”

“She’s fighting Sevika, who’s two weight classes above her. Not to mention she, like, never wins against her.” Silco noted. “So yeah, I can believe that the bets against her are, to say, not great.”

You feel a small wave of anxiety hit you. “Thanks for the vote of confidence…”

“That’s the point of the underdog, ain’t it?” Vander asks, crossing the apartment to slide in next to you just as you begin spooning bowls. He grabs a bowl from your hands, fingers lingering for just a millisecond longer than needed as they meet. “Coming out on top, despite the odds, and racking in that good money.”

The feeling that swelled up in your chest was nothing short of exhilarating. All but buzzing, and you couldn’t even try to hide the grin that began to break out onto your lips, even with Silco and Benzo around. Memories of your past, long nights of fights where Vander would reprimand you for taking risks and fighting above your class, all feeling just a little farther away now. Now fueled by new-found confidence, your shoulders squared as you quickly filled three other bowls. “It’s still important to side with caution, though.” You nod. “Fight smart, play to my strengths.”

“Atta girl.” He applauds, winking at you before walking away. In your excitement, you don’t notice the cold, bitter look in Silco’s eyes before he ducks into the bathroom but you do hear him shut the door harder than needed, the rusted hinge popping slightly at the force. His reaction catches Vander’s attention more than yours though, and his eyes still on the door for a moment. You set a bowl in front of Benzo, who had been all but ignorant of the conversation, looking over his notebook still.

“I’ve got word on a job top-side in two nights time, could be a decent payout.” He explained, rubbing his face tiredly. You take his book out of his hands, pocketing it as you hand him a spoon instead.

“Benz, you’re exhausted.” You explain. “Quit working for two seconds and eat dinner before we have to drag your ugly mug to see the doc, aye?” For a moment, he looks like he’s about to fight you on this, but he eventually sighs and nods, grabbing the spoon.

***

The chime of the bell is a shrill sound, screeching over the cheers from the audience. They all sounded faded to you as you raised your fists again, ignoring the pulsing pain emanating from your right ass cheek. The dreaded score floating around stubbornly in your mind.

Sevika: 1

Minerva: 0

Your eyes hardened on the woman in front of you, her smirk showing off her crooked teeth. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was tied in a loose ponytail with strands falling out to her face.

“It's no fun fighting you without your magic, Minerva!” She called out. “Like fighting half a woman.”

You huffed out an empty laugh, hopping up on the balls of your feet. “What can I say, you could use the handicap advantage.”

Her smirk deepens, and she steadies for a moment. Tell-tale sign. She pauses, crouches, then explodes; lunging herself at you with her left arm curling upwards in a scythe-like motion. You side-step her body, using the height difference to your advantage as you duck under her arm only to bounce back up on the other side. She stops short, heavier momentum making her slower as she whirls around back at you. Same move, a swing of her arm, you sidestep and duck. But she’s not dumb, she knows you’re evasive manouvers and her hand opens over you. Before you have time to react, she’s grabbed your face and is throwing you back into the ropes.

Crap.

You bounce off the rubber barriers, trying to steady yourself you turn on your heel. But the loss of balance throws off your normally very fluid motions. You're distracted. She sees this, it’s what she banks on, and she’s already lunging. This time, her punch lands, and next thing you know your already-crooked nose flashes with pain as it directly connects with her padded fists.

Ouch

You don’t quite lose balance but are just barely able to duck under her. She pulls back again, but you're able to slide under her and dodge to the other side of the ring. You can already feel the damage to your cartilage, the smarting only barely dulled by your adrenaline as the familiar coppery scent of blood fills your nose. You’re definitely going to have a black eye in the morning. Sevika uses the moment to right herself too, straightening her shoulders as she faces you again. You stare at her dead-on.

Think Minerva. What is her body language saying?

She swarms you again, using her size to trap you into the corner. But your fist goes up before she meets you, swinging up and connecting square with her jaw. It’s not a dead-on hit, but it’s enough to throw off her heavy-fighter attack and provides just enough time to swing out of her way, behind her so you land an elbow to her left kidney. She stumbles forward, and you speed back towards her as her back faces you. Grappling her shoulder, you manage to land a couple more hits before she steadies herself enough to shove you off. She throws you like you weigh next to nothing, but she’s been stunned so you manage to catch yourself and fall only a couple of feet away. You land, semi-steadily, on your knee as your hand slides back to catch your fall. A drop of blood falls from your nose and onto the ring below, the surface already covered in several layers of dried crimson.

One of Sevika’s knees gives out, probably from the jab to her kidney, and she needs to steady herself before she can do anything else. But once she’s facing you again, you’re pushing off on the ball of your foot and slamming your knee into the front of her face. There's a definite 'crack' from her nose, and you feel something shift under your knee just as she crumples down to the floor.

The ref is running in to separate the two of you, but you’re already backing off, letting him count. 1…2…3…She’s still down.

His whistle blows. The round is over.

Your point.

You’re howling in victory, fist up in the air as the audience reacts. Mostly in loud groans, unhappy patrons who bet against you. Their loss, you’re making fucking bank tonight.

Set aside from the groans are the cries of excitement, and you make out your boys’ faces in the back. Benzo and Vander are howling in cheers, as is Niya who’s got one of Benzo’s arms wrapped around her shoulders. Even Silco’s giving you a round of applause. Next to him, you spot Skye and Narco, with little Violet in her father’s arms. She's got a pair of fluffy earmuffs over her ears, poking out from the mop of bright pink hair. When you meet eyes with the young girl, she cheers louder, arms up in the air and the biggest, cutest smile on her face.

Oh yeah, you think, this fight is yours.

After a few minutes of rest time, the ref is calling for the next round and you immediately turn to face Sevika again. She’s already standing, tightening the wrist of her gloves with her teeth. She doesn’t look mad, or even disappointed. In fact, she’s smiling.

“Lucky shot, islander.” She barks to you. It’s tough talk, but you see the adrenaline in her eyes. You two have been sparring for years, two of the most well-known female fighters in the Underground's league despite being of completely different weight classes and specializations. She was just as loyal to the revolution as you were, had been to just as many rallies, and had even once started a small strike in the mines a couple of years ago; you were friends. She knew this was a victory for you, and she was proud of you. “Let’s see you try that again without dodging like a pussy this time, yeah?”

You wipe at your nose, smearing the partially dried blood onto your hand wrappings. “Depends, you going to stop fighting like a rhino and actually switch it up on me?”

She chuckles, but only for a moment. She lunges faster this time, which surprises you. But you’re too hyped up on adrenaline and courage from your win, you stay your ground and ball your fists. You try for another uppercut. Wrong choice. She latches onto your arm, grabbing ahold of it from under her and immediately throwing you to the ground.

Okay, not your smartest moment.

You try and scramble up, try and get the floor back under your feet, but she’s on you before you can. Straddling your chest, fists already coming down. She cracks your face, connecting to your cheekbone. Another, the other side, this time your jaw. Your mind is already getting a little dizzy, but you manage to buck your hips up, knocking her off balance just enough to squeeze your knees out from under her and tucking them into your chest. Balls of your feet to her chest, kick, push. It takes a couple tries, but she’s eventually knocked off you and you spring back, a little wobbly, onto your feet. Thankfully, it takes her longer to stand than it takes you, and you're able to deliver your kneecap swiftly to her nose. She dodges, making you hit her temple instead. Less effective, but still disorients her a little. But it also knocks you off balance, your mind still reeling from her last attack, and you have to stumble before you can right yourself properly. She stands back up.

“Very sloppy, ‘nerva!” She calls, still smirking but this time not out of kindness. “Here I thought you were the smart one.”

You brush off the insult, it’s mostly for show anyway, and plant your feet more firmly in place. Let’s try this again, shall we?

She’s too close to properly lunge at you, but her fist still comes down in that arching strike. You swing your arm out, momentum stopping her attack if just barely. She’s taller than you, but you’re still able to hook your arm around hers, pinning it to your side as you punch back up, this time your uppercut actually landing. She steps back, but your firm footing keeps you both right there. You hit her again, this time a hook to her eye, then another. Landing hits as fast as you can before elbowing her in the jaw and letting go of her arm. She stumbles back, suddenly falling victim to her own gravity and the force of your hit. She’s holding her jaw, which will likely bruise quite well. You look forward to poking that bruise later tonight at the bar.

“Better for you, Sev?” You chime over the screaming crowd. Your head is still ringing, and that tangy copper aroma is thick in your nose and mouth. But you’re still standing. You go to lunge at her this time, maybe even jump at her if you can get the leverage. But something’s wrong. Something changes in the air.

A familiar vibration, your magic picking up on a metallic thrum. Thick, deep, like a low bass note. It doesn’t belong here, it’s not like any of the metal vibrations you feel around the Underground. But you know that you’ve worked on it in the past, you know its inner workings. You’ve felt it move under your touch.

On the factory floor.

When you fight enforcers.

Their muskets.

It clicks in your mind. Exactly what Morichi’s factory produced, exactly what the metal you were working with was being used for.

And you could feel them around you. Like mosquitoes.

Your mouth is calling out before your mind is even aware your lips are moving.

“Enforcers!”

It’s too late. They’re already storming into the building, the doors of the arena slamming open. A small army of enforcers, fully armed, swarm into the space. Their guns are out, pointing around the once-cheering crowds. People begin to scream, many people running every which way towards various exits. Other people, including you, Sevika, and the guys are running up towards the guards. Vander’s already got one, slamming his bare fist into the guy’s metal mask hard enough that with a loud ‘thwunk’, the guy collapses. Similar to Sevika, who hops the ropes to slam her full bodyweight onto one enforcer in particular, grabbing another one to slam his head into the exterior wall of the ring. You’re about to hop down yourself when a flash of pink catches your eye, and you zero in on one enforcer in particular who has his gun pointed straight at Narco, who’s shielding his wife and daughter, bare-fisted and staring the officer down.

You don’t even think twice. Dashing toward them, hand out, you latch your magic onto that Enforcer’s gun and snatch it over to you. The moment it lands into your hands your over the ropes and down next to Narco, slamming the butt of the rifle straight into the Enforcer’s shoulder. Red fills the corners of your vision as you use your free hand to latch onto the guy’s chest plate, lifting him with ease and flinging him across the room like a ragdoll. You shove the gun into Narco’s empty hands, grabbing hold of another officer’s nearby, grabbing the firearm for yourself. You’re about to aim it when the air shatters like glass, a shot rings through the arena. Immediately, the entire space goes from pure mayhem to dead silent, enough to hear your own heart beating, thudding like it wanted to spring out of your chest.

The whole room freezes as Captain Grayson walks in through the busted door, pistol held high with a thin trail of smoke emitting out of the barrel.

You could drown in the silence of that room it was so heavy. The whole world seemed to stand still as all eyes fell on the female chief, not a single soul of the Underground even dared to breathe as she lowered her gun and holstered it. Then she spoke, her voice projected loud enough that it seemed to echo like the bullet from her gun.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Fissures,” She announces, “apologies for the interruption.” Her eyes are searching, scanning the crowds. Your eyes dart to your friends, Silco’s got a knife held up against the throat of the Enforcer he has pinned up against the stands, and Vander’s got one under each arm, and another under his boot. But Benzo’s openly holding his side as he stands at the receiving end of one of the damned metal barrels. You’re too busy focusing on them, and on that frequency that the metal guns give off, that you don’t even notice when Grayson’s eyes land on you. She points.

“Her.”

One of the Enforcers behind you grabs your arm, making you drop the gun. Immediately, you fight back, landing your elbow to his helm. But it only knocks him back an inch. You turn and grab his chest plate like you had the other guy, but before you can throw him, one of his comrades manages to swat you, pushing you onto the floor, barely being able to catch yourself on your hands. You hear a couple of people shout out your name before you feel a heavy metal leg pressing down onto your back, pinning you to the ground. They move, straddling your body and catching your hands, pinning them uncomfortably behind you. You can’t move them. No hands, no magic. Shit.

“Let me g-!” You scream, but the person on top of you grabs your head and slams it into the hard concrete. The world gets a lot more dizzy.

“Minerva, you’re being arrested for the physical assault and attempted murder of Officer Grant Thompson-” “Who?!” You’re ignored, and you feel the cold metal of handcuffs being shackled onto your wrists. “You will be taken into police custody until an official preliminary decision is made by the council…” He goes on for a while, but your mind is spinning too quickly to listen to him clearly. Heavy boots walk towards you, and you’re barely able to strain your eyes up enough to see Grayson towering up over you. She hands something to the man on top of you, it looks like a roll of thick tape.

“Wrap her hands. She can’t be able to move them.”

The officer only pulls you up once your hands are completely mummified in the thick, sticky material. Even if your head was clear enough for you to focus on your magic, your hands were literally stuck together. Around you, everyone; Vander, Benzo, Silco, even Sevika, Narco, and Skye. All of them are held at gunpoint as they try and wrestle towards you. Violet’s crying out in loud sobs. Your eyes meet Vander’s, and you swear you’ve never seen his eyes so full of rage. You want to call out to him, but Grayson’s hands grab your jaw and force your head to face her.

“I promised you there would be consequences to your actions.”

You can’t think of what to say. Your head hurts too much. So you spit on her boots, a giant glob of saliva and blood. She stares down at it, apathetically, then waves her hand. The man tightly holding your cuffs pushes you towards the door. You try and fight back, stumbling up to him with a snarl, but he lands a firm right hook to your face, which sends you collapsing onto the ground. Distantly, you hear Vander’s voice call out to you again.

Too bad you couldn’t have dodged him like Sevika.

You’re forced to your feet again, and this time all but carried out the door. You can't move enough to fight back and aren't really even sure which direction you're heading. Everything is so woozy... As you descend into the darkness of the night, you hear Grayson’s voice address the crowds once more.

“Apologies again for the interruption. You all have a good night.

#arcane #arcane netflix #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane league of legends #vander arcane #vander x reader #Vander x OC #arcane vi #arcane silco #arcane vander #arcane benzo #arcane sevika #young silco #young benzo #young vander #oc fanfic #original character #reader insert

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immortalbumblebee · 8 months

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ITS BACK BABYYYY

Arcane Year 2 Event Week!

From November 7th to the 13th

#ArcaneYear2 / #ArcaneYearTwo

Let's celebrate Arcane on its second anniversary! All fanworks are welcome! In this special week, you have a choice of two themes, each with unique prompts.

What Could Have Been

Nov 7 : Faction Swap / First Time Nov 8 : Vander Lives / Broken Nov 9 : Hugs / Family / Grief Nov 10 : Food / Gift / Fix It Nov 11 : AU / Soulmate / Adoption Nov 12 : Nightmare / Kiss / Jealousy Nov 13 : Free Day / Goodbyes

What Could Yet Be

Nov 7 : Hextech / Ghost / Blood Nov 8 : Common Enemy / Warwick Nov 9 : Begging / Shimmer / Art Nov 10 : Chaos / Light / Promise Nov 11 : Noxus / Secrets / Fear Nov 12 : Machine Herald / Faith / Lies Nov 13 : Voices / Legacy / Hope

How does this work?

The "What could have been" prompts were chosen to fit fics or art (or meta, playlists, etc) set before or during season 1.

This includes ideas like "Heimerdinger used to travel the world before founding Piltover" set before canon, as well as missing scenes like "Viktor creating his hextech arm" during the time skip, or "Vi waking up in Stillwater".

The "What could yet be" prompts were chosen for speculation about season 2 and beyond.

This includes ideas like "my favourite LoL character definitely rocks into Zaun" or "Jinx frees Warwick" or "How Viktor becomes the Machine Herald"

You can mix and match! You can do one theme for day 1, the other for day 2... And on day 3 you could use the 'family' prompt to write a season 2 AU! Ultimately these prompts are to provide inspiration and a framework. I will not police submissions, so long as you respect the rules. Please read them well!

Rules | AO3 collection | Twitter | FaQ

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immortalbumblebee · 10 months

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Kinda wanna start writing again, distract from the fact that I'm now back in Canada and jobless 🙃

Do I rework my Young Justice/DC OC for the thousandth time? Do I try and actually tackle one of my original projects (unlikely)? Do I delve into a new fandom (really wanna write for Cyberpunk but I never know how to write SciFi)? Who fucking knows.

#Bee speaks #personal update #i already want to be back in Japan

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immortalbumblebee · 11 months

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Dad Vander and his little girl ~

#welp now Im sobbing #we need more parenting Vander pls Im begging #arcane fanart #arcane #arcane vander #arcane vi #little vi #asdfghgfds

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immortalbumblebee · 11 months

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"Please"

-She finds herself awoken in the middle of the night to a most unexpected, yet not unwelcome, surprise as his hands brush across her skin and warm breath stirs in her ear, murmuring sweet and filthy things...

***Vander x OC, 18+ ONLY definitely NSFW.***

Fitful, shadowy dreams fade away, nothing more than wisps of smoke and subconscious as Rosemary's sleeping brain is at first lightly prodded, then abruptly jerked awake with a guttural groan against her ear and thick, calloused fingers softly kneading her breast.

Shaking herself more into this world and full coherence, she realizes Vander has curled his massive body around hers, one hand busying itself with her chest and the other wandering almost aimlessly, his breath heavy against the shell of her ear and already hard cock pressed to her ass.

"V-Vander? What are you...?" she wonders, still not completely awake and confused as to where this was coming from; he usually slept quite soundly when she was stayed the night, and the times he awoke first, he'd always be quiet and considerate of her still slumbering.

"Rosie...need you...can't lose..." he finally mumbles out, clumsily rolling onto his back, then half propping himself over her, trailing fingers and lips across her face, neck, belly, wherever he can reach. In the darkness she's close enough to see his flushed face and hollow eyes just barely open. He's not even fully conscious she realizes, yet possessed by a seemingly singular need to be as close as possible-among other needs she notices as he grinds his hips against her a couple times with another low, long groan.

She shivers and reflexively raises her own hips a fraction; his actions were far from unwelcome as she always thoroughly enjoyed his attentions, yet here and now she notes there was something different; primal and instinctive in how he clung to her even while half in this realm and half in some dream state.

"Vander-" she repeats, freeing a trapped arm to pat his cheek, "Van? What's going on? I mean I know but why now-mmph!"

When his only response is his continued heavy breath and to pull himself up further to press his mouth to hers, tongue darting to lap at her lower lip she finally manages to grasp his face in her hands and force him to be still a moment.

"VAN!" she says again, a little sharper now, and it's like a switch is flipped in his brain, the light returning to his eyes as whatever lucid state he's in is shaken loose somewhat, "What is all this?!"

He swallows thickly, then with a sigh leans in to kiss her once more and murmurs against her lips, "I lost you...can't lose you again...have to make damn sure you're still here..." his steel-blue eyes meet hers, a deep fire burning there, "Please, love, I need you..."

He was clearly still half conscious but coherent enough to understand exactly what he wanted. The goosebumps flare across her skin; there was something almost desperate in his gaze as he clutched her with a slight tremble and crack in his deep voice. Rosemary weren't sure if she'd ever seen him like this, so needy as if he'd burn into ashes if that fire wasn't quelled.

And well...who was she to leave her lover in such a state?

Wordlessly, she captures Vander's mouth in another kiss and shifts to pull her nightshirt up further, exposing her body to the cool air and his fevered touch as he pounces, a triumphant hunter with his prey, his groans morphing into almost a growl. Her back arches with a stuttered whimper, fingers tugging his thick hair as his mouth finds a nipple, tongue swirling over the swollen bud and she nearly yelps when his teeth graze her as well.

Shuddering, with some brief fumbling pants are removed and he wastes no time in positioning himself between her thighs, one hand clutching her hip as he presses himself inside her, moaning into her shoulder. She lets out a positively sinful sound herself, arcing her hips to take more of him in; he was going faster and rougher than usual but luckily, she was already slick enough alone from the downright feral mood he was in.

Time disappears, melting away as they melt into each other, his pace against her slow and deep but unsteady, punctuated with pauses to kiss or caress whatever spot was nearest and murmur praises or incoherent words into her skin and she swears of all the times she's been with him, it's never been quite like this as in all sense of the word he worships her body with his own.

It takes some moments to register but she abruptly notices his movements grow lazier and more erratic...before he gradually slows to a stop, his weight resting more on her now and breathing calm as realization sets in; he's fallen back asleep. She bites her lip, the sensation of his thick length still inside her deliciously torturous-but he's growing heavier by the second so, with some reluctance, she wriggles free.

He mumbles somewhere in his sleep, and she turns to cradle his head against her chest, fingers tangling in his hair as his arms come up to encircle her and eventually, she drifts off as well, mind still confused but pleasantly content.

In the morning, Rosemary is bustling about the kitchen, putting some coffee on when a loud yawn echoes through the room. She glances over her shoulder with a welcoming grin, "Morning, Papa Bear."

"Mornin', Rosie..." Vander grumbles, scratching his side under the old t-shirt he wore and rubbing the remains of sleep from his eyes, "Can I eh, ask ya somethin'?"

"Sure?"

"Last night um," he clears his throat and steps closer, dropping his voice to a murmur but still avoids her direct gaze, "Did we...?"

She smirks, not skipping a beat, "Have a very passionate fuck yes. Yes we did-until you passed out."

His face reddens a shade, a faintly sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "Ah...so I wasn't dreamin'..."

"Vander," she stops slicing a stale but still good loaf of bread for toast to turn to him, placing one hand on his cheek to force him to look at her, "Is everythin' alright? You were talkin' about how you'd lost me, then all but begged to make love to me. What's goin' on?"

Here his expression hardens and he exhales loudly, taking her hand and after a moment using it to envelop her in a hug, "It's stupid, prob'ly, but I had an awful nightmare...the kind where everythin' seems normal 'cept somethin's very wrong..." his arms tighten around her, face pressed into the top of her head, "...ya died. So when I started to wake up I had to know if it was real."

She sighs, nuzzling into his shoulder and inhaling his musky, ever-slightly smokey scent, "It's not stupid. I'm here...and I'm not plannin' on goin' anywhere."

They step apart after another minute of quietly appreciating each other's presence and the solid warmth of their embrace, no less intimate than the night's much more erotic act in it's own way. Leaning up on her toes, Rosemary rests her hands on the sides of his face to pull him in for a gentle, reassuring kiss and he hums out a short chuckle, little more than a rumble in his chest. Going back to readying for the day, Rosemary looks at him as he slings a rag over his shoulder in a familiar gesture as he prepares to wash up some dishes left in the sink.

"Sorry love. You're stuck with me." she teases, and he shoots her a sideways smirk.

"Lil' pest."

"Cow-hey!"

She laughs as he deftly flicks the rag from his broad shoulder to lightly slap her with it, threatening to wipe her greasy hands on his shirt next time he swung by her shop.

And thus the blissful little world they'd built continued to spin for just a little longer.

@archerofthemists @immortalbumblebee @barbersjoy @band--psycho @vander-affectionate @kirahhhh

#two fics in a week????#miss girl!#you have blessed our eyes truely #arcane fanfiction #arcane vander #vander arcane #arcane vander x oc #arcane oc #18+ fanfic #nsf/w

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