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angelltheninth · 1 year

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Hello! I just love your arcane x reader works! Can you do arcane characters x gender neutral! reader who either died or got kidnapped during a mission?

Oh not making Reader dead nope, these characters have suffered enough they don't need a dead lover.

Pairing: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce, Mel x Reader

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, injury, cuddles, nightmares, crying, rescue mission, reunion kisses

A/N: Well um... Jayce might... you know what no, Mel is gonna be fine!

First, know that you won't stay kidnapped for long. If it for some reason is days then be ready to be face to face with a very tired and very pissed off Jinx when she finally manages to track you down.

Who ever kidnapped you most likely won't survive to tell the tail and even if by some miracle they do they sure as hell won't ever look at the color blue the same way ever again. She might be tired as all fuck, on the verge of collapsing even but she won't rest until you're safe and sound in her arms back in her house.

"You're safe and sound now sugar. That must've been scary for ya. Don't worry, they won't hurt you again. Or anyone else for that matter. Oh, no don't look at them like that, ya shouldn't be sorry for them, they don't deserve your compassion."

By the time Vi finds you she's bruised up maybe even more then your kidnappers. She's fought her way through all of them, yelling and cursing every single one of them. She gathers you in her arms and carries you back home.

As much as she wants to be the one taking care of you she's also pretty beat so you take the role of caretaker instead. Her hands are red and covered in cruises from vicious punching, twitching when you kiss them gently. Shit, you got her feeling all mushy, she could cry, no she is crying, she feels very lucky to have you.

"I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you sweet stuff, you're the one who got kidnapped. I know! How is it that I'm more banged up then you? You should have seen those sorry bastards, one actually cried for his mom. Did... did they make you cry? If they did I'm going back and kicking their asses all over again."

Caitlyn, as much as she wants to, doesn't rush in. She has a plan, one that assures that not one of those who wronged you escapes her sights and a fair trail. In which they will be put behind bars for kidnapping and extortion.

She takes care of most of them by herself, a little more rough around the edges then usual but still not missing a shot. She can't afford to. Can't help but cry when she cups your bruised face in her hands. She was scared, so damn scared that this was it. Right now only your kiss will make her feel relieved again.

"Darling, its me, its just me. Please, I know it hurts but... oh gods... please just let me hold you a little. I don't care that they're looking, I need this right now. Don't worry I've got a warm bath and even warmer hugs ready for you once we get back home."

Ekko arrives to rescue you with an entire team of Firelights at his back. He doesn't even bother hiding his face with the mask, he wants them to remember him, the look in his eyes and how it could have been the last thing they ever saw.

There's no way he can tear himself away from you once he's got you safe and sound in his arms. He doesn't leave your side while your injures are being treated or while you sleep. In fact he doesn't even sleep until you wake up and smile at him again the next morning, that's the point where he feels like he's done a good job.

"Firefly how do you feel? You took a bit of a hit to the head but the doctor said you should be okay now. Sorry, I got careless and let my guard down. I saw them coming but I... I wasn't fast enough. Its not okay! I could have gotten you killed. I would lay my life down for the cause, and that does double for laying down my life for you."

There isn't anything or anyone that can move around Zaun without Vander's knowledge. He thought he left his violent days behind him a long time ago, and for the most part he has but there's still that protective spark in him that can activate his violent side easily.

His fists may be covered in blood but his smile and eyes are as soft as ever when he looks at you. Soft kisses are pampered all over your forehead, the tiniest broken hiccup tearing from his mouth as he nuzzles you close to him and carries you back to the Last Drop to look you over.

"I should've taken care of that gang long ago. Then you wouldn't be in this situation darlin'. How do I feel? Not a scratch on me as you can see. You on the other hand... don't worry you still look pretty to me, bruises or not. I can kiss them better if you just stopped your squirming around."

Zaun is Silco's domain. If anyone is stupid enough to try and kidnap you in his own territory they won't stay hidden for long. And once he finds them, well, he's got plenty of uses for scum like that. Painful use.

As for you, you get nothing but his undivided attention until the last bruise on your body fades away. Sure he does need to be in his office and all that but you can be with him, you can get kisses whenever you want even get to cuddle with him on the couch.

"Are you comfortable over there darling? If you want I can get something better brought here. Shimmer? Well it would be faster but I'm not getting you hooked on this, you're much to precious to me to be some experiment. Your kidnappers on the other hand will serve their purpose."

They will have to eat through a straw for the rest of their lives if they even survive Sevika getting her hands on them. They should be so lucky to only get away with broken bones and nothing else with the way she was making her way through them.

Sevika is very careful when she's handling you, she'd never been so gentle with anyone. It's new, endearing even. You're pretty sure you hear her cursing beside you when she's got her arms wrapped around yours as you fall asleep, followed by a very long kiss on your head and a heavy, relived sigh.

"Sleep sweet thing, no one's gonna hurt you hear me? They can try but I'll kill them all, lucky if that's all I do. The only reason those idiots are still breathing is cause I didn't wanna get their blood all over your pretty face. If I see them again there's gonna be a lot to clean up."

Viktor doesn't think he can let you out of his sight ever again after you're back at his side. He only wishes he could have done more then waited for you to be retuned to him. At least you're safe that's all that should matter.

He should be the one looking after you but he's the one who ends up with nightmares that night. He's already lost sleep, he should be resting but when he thinks about you not being here anymore, it crushes him from the inside. All he wants, all he needs right now is to cuddle up next to you and listen to your heartbeat.

"Sorry I woke you up darling. I'm alright, don't worry. I'm not crying, just had a bit of a bad dream. Go back to sleep please, you need it. I'll be fine, as long as I've got you here by my side there's nothing I cannot handle."

Jayce holds you close to his chest while he carries you to the doctor. He's constantly kissing the back of your hand, his hammer leaning against the bedframe just in case any of the kidnappers got away and wanted to try their luck again.

There aren't many things that can make him scared like the thought of losing you. He tries to be logical most of the time, he feels like that's what he should be, but you make him act on his emotions, you make him want to scream and cry and tell you over and over how much he loves you and how he'll never let anything bad happen to you again.

"Hey, you're awake! Whoa babe, easy, don't try getting up right now, you need to rest, you've been through a lot today. Just say the word and I'll get you whatever you need. You always take care of me so let me be a good boyfriend and spoil you for a change and help you get better okay?"

Mel was almost ready to throw diplomacy out the damn window and turn both Piltover and Zaun on their heads to find you. But that would be going against everything the two of you are trying achieve. That said she doesn't show mercy to your kidnappers either, making sure they get put away for a long time, never seeing the light of day again.

After every meeting with the Council she rushes home to you, her mind stuck on you all day, unable to concentrate properly. This will be an issue for her until you recover but you being safe and getting healed up are... more important to her then impressing the Council.

"I made it home early for you darling, and I brought some more medicine. Would you like it now or after you eat? I see, very well then, just my company for now is it. I must say you've become a bit more spoiled recently. I don't mind one bit, as long as you're alright I'm happy to provide you anything you want."

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fanandfiction · 2 years

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Night at The Bar - Sevika X Reader

I am feeling inspired by the headcanon I wrote the other day to write some more :D Thank you for the response on the last one!? Should there be a part two to this? If you have any Arcane-specific requests feel free to ask!

Sevika X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k words

Summary: You’re the sweet new bartender at the Last Drop, and you’ve seemed to catch the eye of one of the regulars. (This story is set in Act 1 of Arcane).

Tags/Warnings: +18 MDNI/NSFW, Dubious Consent, Groping, kinda Shy!Reader, Inexperienced!Reader, Sex Workers, Alcohol Consumption, Drinking, Catcalling, Kissing, Canon Typical Violence, Pet names, Sevika still has her arm 0.0

The air in the undercity was always dense and thick, and tonight it was no different. Clouds of exhaust and fog surrounded the Last Drop, small streams of murky water lined the streets filling in potholes as they went, making some innocent-looking puddles treacherous. Somehow, the conditions hadn’t deterred people from meandering through the street in various states of soberness and through the doors for a drink or two.

The air inside the bar was just as, if not more, dense than the air outside. On top of that, it was hot, almost suffocating to anyone not used to it. And the bar, an already busy hotspot, had been seeing a lot more business than usual, making the heat ten times worse. The reason- the lovely new bartender Vander hired.

He hired you hoping his workload would lessen, yet somehow that backfired on him entirely. There’s a certain softness and warmth that you’ve got that’s rare in the undercity. You would greet every customer with a smile and promise to attend to their needs as soon as possible. Regulars knew they could come rant to you, and you would genuinely listen. And despite the influx of customers, no one was ever waiting too long. Food was served hot and ready, and the drinks were always ice cold. Anyone you served left feeling cared for and loved.

How you survived relatively unscathed by the undercity for so long will remain a mystery. You weren’t without the usual scratches and bruises one was subject to from the undercity. You’re an orphan like most, but let's be honest, if you weren’t an orphan in this economy, your parents might’ve sold you otherwise.

You were a cute kid, so for most of your childhood, people would give you their scraps in return for small services, mostly errands like deliveries or small cleaning services. As you aged, you found a good mom in Babette at the brothel. She never let you be a working girl- she forbade it. Insisting she didn’t want that life for you and that you were too innocent for that kind of work anyway.

So for a while, you would just work the front desk at the brothel, and growing up, that was more than enough. You would rent rooms and pleasure to the men and women of Zuan and Piltover alike. The only issue was you were never in a position to make connections with people, and you never would be if you had stayed there. The customers at the brothel weren’t there to make connections, and if they were, they weren’t with the desk attendant. As you got older and gained more control over your life and a sense of the undercity, you started looking for different jobs. Lo-and-behold now you find yourself working for Vander at the Last Drop. You still live with Babette; with the undercity how it is, there wasn’t anywhere else for you to go. She remains the present mother figure in your life, and you’re on fantastic terms.

Though, as much as you would like it to be, your employment at the Last Drop wasn’t coincidental. You would never know though, that Babette went to Vander as soon as you told her you were looking for a new job. She knew he was looking to hire some help, and he owed her a favor. He didn’t think it’d be so bad- he initially thought maybe she was doing him a favor. You had an outstanding work ethic, and you completed all tasks promptly. How wrong he was.

Vander realized quickly that your soft naivety would be your downfall if he didn’t intervene. Your softness attracted people, and there were hardly any good-intentioned people in the undercity. People would come and share the vaguest sob stories, and you would show them the same compassion every time. You would offer them a warm drink and sometimes even a hug. Vander knew the ones who asked for hugs only ever had ill intentions. They only wanted to feel you up, but he never had the heart to tell you they were creeps. Vander adored the empathy and compassion you offered everyone, and you weren’t completely unaware. So he would intervene when customers held on for too long, or customers got too handsy.

Tonight nothing had happened so far- it was just as busy as the other nights were. Most of the tables were full of people playing cards, making illegal trades, eating- any underground activity you could name someone was probably doing. You were setting drinks you had just made on a tray to take to a table on the floor. Your shift had just started, and you were feeling pretty good.

“I’m gonna take this to table 3,” You shout over all the bar ruckus. Somehow, you were balancing the tray of drinks in the palm of your hand.

“You got it?” Vander asked, nodding towards the large tray of drinks that wobbled haphazardly in your hand.

“Yep!” You give him a reassuring smile that did nothing to reassure him (he wouldn’t tell you that) before going on your way towards the table.

The table was a group of younger-looking men who wore leather and tight black clothes. They had various melee weapons in the form of spiked bats and metal batons, which wasn’t uncommon for most people in the undercity. They were probably a part of the various gangs that made up Zaun.

They got rowdy and erupted in cheers as soon as they noticed you carrying their drinks. That also wasn’t uncommon- the group would likely get louder the more they drank. Plenty of other groups came in every night, drinking together and looking for a good time. You didn’t mind if everyone was having fun- if they were happy, so were you.

“Alrighty, lads! The pretty lady has finally returned with our drinks!” you couldn’t tell who shouted, but you laughed along with them and set down their drinks one by one as they erupted into laughter and cheers.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” You ask after everyone has what they ordered.

Your eyes made rounds through the group but ultimately ended up on the man seated closest to you. He had a round head with a pointed chin, his face was decorated with piercings, and his eyes protruded from his face in a way that made him look wide awake. On his scalp rested a spiked mohawk. The tips were colored hot pink, and the rest of it faded to black.

He gave you a toothy grin, “Are you on the menu?”

The way he was slurring his words, you could tell he was at least a little tipsy. His buddies were as well. The other men start cheering for him like dogs as if he actually said something important.

Thinking drunk-flirty customers were just a part of the job, you were ready to ignore what he said when his hand came down hard against your behind. He squeezed your flesh tightly in the palm of his hand, groping your ass. You shrieked loudly on impact, more startled by the fact that he had his hands on you than anything.

Vander had witnessed this all and was ready to jump the counter and rip the man to shreds when the slamming of the front door halted everyone in the establishment. You, the man with a handful of your ass, his table, everyone- stopped what they were doing to look at who entered.

A tall brutish woman with broad shoulders, someone you recognized as one of Vander’s regulars (meaning: only he was allowed to serve her when she was there), had walked through the door and stood at the entrance. If you recall correctly, her name was Sevika.

You also had faint memories of Sevika frequenting the brothel. She would ignore you and go straight to Babette's office before one of the working girls came and took her back to their rooms. Babette had many friends who did this, so you never thought anything of her visits. Babette did it to cover any activity topsiders might come to question her about concerning customers.

Sevika locked eyes with you immediately. The table you were waiting on was closest to the door. She instantly looked you up and down and noticed that as she did, the man holding you had quickly removed his hand. By then, it was too late. She had put two and two together and recognized that whatever was happening wasn’t consensual.

“Hmph,” she grunted, approaching the table. Her boots made a heavy impact on the floor as she neared, and the sound her boot’s made sent waves and waves of vibrations through you. You squeezed the tray you were holding closer to your body.

“What do you think you're doing?” Sevika snarled slowly, nearly walking through you to get to the man who had just assaulted you.

“B-Boss, I-I-I-I w-was just-“ The poor man looked as if he shit himself. It didn’t help that he was too frightened to speak. His buddies, who were laughing with him a second ago, looked as though they had seen a ghost. They were actively choosing to look anywhere but towards him and Sevika.

“I’ve decided I don’t care what your excuse is,” she spoke, and without hesitation, she took the man's face in her hand and lifted him from his seat. His chair fell back, and his drink spilled. The man began thrashing like a fish in her hold.

He started pleading, begging her to let go, that he was sorry, but she didn’t listen. Sevika squeezed her hand, breaking something and halting his resistance before she threw his body out the door.

The only sign the man was still alive afterward was the meek string of whimpers he allowed to release shortly after.

You couldn’t help but wince. While you were grateful someone came to help you, part of you really hoped that man wasn’t going to die. Little did you know, had Sevika chosen to ignore that man, Vander likely would have killed him.

“The regular, sweetheart,” Sevika grunted, again walking through you to get past you, nearly knocking you on your ass as she went. “And make sure you bring it to the booth yourself.”

You look from her to Vander, who watched this all unfold, completely flabbergasted, as she disappears into her usual booth. Something about her voice made you want to do everything she asked, but you knew there had to be a reason only Vander or Babette ever worked with her. It was only fair to want to seek out permission before moving forward.

To your surprise, Vander began making her drink with an unreadable, solemn look on his face.

A somber “Just try not to say too much- anything happens, I’m right here, ” and a pitiful smile was all he had to offer you before you were again on your way. This time, the tray you carried stood adorned with two glasses, one empty and one with a large ice cube and some water. A dainty bowl of orange slices and an ornate bottle of distilled spirits sat with a drink sieve and a stirring spoon.

“G-Good Evening,” You don’t remember it being so hard to speak before.

“Hmph,” She was shuffling a deck of playing cards back and forth between her large hands. She doesn’t look up from the playing cards at all. You decide just to set the glass and bottle in front of her on the table. Your hands tremble the entire time you’re doing this.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” you try to put a smile on your face without looking scared or forced but suspect you fail miserably.

When she finally looks up from the cards, her eyes rake slowly up your body in a way that’s almost predatorial. You feel as though she’s going to eat you alive. A shiver runs down your spine. She then looks at the glasses and back at you almost expectantly- you’re shaken by this immediately. Did you forget something? Was this not what Vander did when giving her her beverages? It wasn’t this tension brewing between the two of you that was the reason as to why you weren’t allowed around her, right? Was it like this with everyone she encountered?

“Are you not going to come and pour me a glass,” she pats the leather seat next to her like a cat owner does when calling their cat to them. Except this was slower and more seductive, a clear trap, even to you.

“I-I have other tables that need t-tending. I-It would be rather rude of me to leave them abruptly,” You try to decline politely, on the technicality that it was, in parts, a self-serve drink. You couldn’t explain why but something felt dangerous about crawling into the booth with Sevika. Something was screaming at you that it wouldn’t be a good idea.

“You don’t want to?” her deep voice was so enticing. You watched her dark lips as they moved. Sevika, in reality, wasn’t really doing that much to convince you, and already there was a spell over you. “I see you sit and chat with people all the time. Did I do something wrong? Is there something wrong with-“

“No! Nononononono, there’s nothing wrong with you,” you quickly interrupt, refusing to let her finish the sentence.

In the grand scheme of things, you were so easy for Sevika to trap. You froze halfway through, realizing what you were doing, but by that point, it was too late. You were in the booth with her. Her hand grasped your wrist, giving you an idea of how much bigger she was than you as she pulled you in to sit next to her. Your little heart was about to beat right out of your chest any minute. You weren’t sure why. You'd never been in a situation like this before.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem pouring me a glass, should you?” She whispered. Her face was now less than an inch away from yours. She was towering over you by at least another head. An almost sadistic smirk that told you she was aware of everything she was currently doing to you found its way to her face.

You swallow hard, unable to find a viable excuse, you mumble, “No, not at all.”

“Good, good” she looks down at you through half-closed lids, keeping that same smirk she gestures with her head towards the glass, urging you to pour her a drink.

Realizing you hadn’t breathed at all within the last minute, you didn’t need her to tell you twice. You quietly inhaled as you sat up, savoring the sweet oxygen that filled your lungs as you reached for the bottle of spirits.

Your hands were terribly shaky, and you were keenly aware she was monitoring you as you poured. This pour could hardly be called “clean,” several drops of the spirit spilled as you brought the neck of the bottle to the edge of the empty cup. You filled a third of the glass with the liquor before precariously setting the beautiful bottle back down with a harsh ‘thud.’

You then reach for the sieve and the cup with water. The metal clangs unceremoniously against the cup as you pour water into the other glass filling it another third of the way. The liquor becomes a milky white as you pour in the water. Finally, you set the sieve down and use the stirring spoon carefully to drop the remaining ice cube into the glass. You then stir the drink once, twice, and then three times before deeming your work done.

“Give it here,” her voice was deep and thick like honey, and you were drowning in every bit of it.

“O-Okay.” you do as she says, pulling the glass towards the two of you, scared to use your shaky hands to lift it.

When she takes it, she purposefully brushes her hand against yours, and your heart flutters- you think maybe it has begun palpitating.

“The oranges,” she motions with her left hand, and you lean over to pull them closer. There was no way for you to do this without leaning a little into her lap.

The overwhelming sense of danger was still very present, yet something else you couldn’t name was beginning to smother that feeling. A particular warmth had settled in the pit of your stomach, and you couldn’t help but want to explore it a little more.

“Hmm, good girl,” She hums. Your brain nearly melts, unused to the form of praise you were getting.

You could safely confirm: she definitely didn’t treat Vander like this. The way she was behaving put you back in the brothel- except instead of being behind the protective glass of the front desk, you were in the place of one of the girls that would bring her back to their rooms.

Sevika would walk with the girls, one of her beautifully muscular arms wrapped tightly around their waist as they went together. The girls would giggle obnoxiously, and Sevika would have a playful smirk on her lips as she trailed kisses up and down their necks.

You quickly got lost in imagining yourself dressed in one of the beautiful but skimpy outfits the girls would wear, dragging Sevika back to your room, that same playful smirk decorating her face as she ghosted kissed all along the sweet spots on your neck.

You could suddenly vividly remember the screams of pleasure the thin walls at the brothel did little to conceal. It would go on for hours and hours, and in the days following, the girls would walk around with a wobbly pep to their step and brag to the others about how good she had fucked them.

You were so enamored by the fantasy playing out in your head that you failed to notice she brought the glass, drenched in condensation to her lips.

“Ahh,” she swallowed, bringing you back to reality, as she set her drink on the table.

You watched with doe eyes as one of her thick hands moved to pick up an orange slice and bring it to her mouth. You felt so dizzy, and she was literally just enjoying her drink.

The wet noise that departs from her mouth as she chews into the orange made you want her mouth elsewhere. Your mind was reeling, you’d go crazy if this went on any longer, but it didn’t look like anyone was going to come to your rescue anytime soon. A brief glance at Vander showed he was currently preoccupied with customers because of the earlier display. Everyone wanted to be served by him to avoid getting in Sevika’s way.

“Vander did well by hiring you,” Her sultry voice brings your attention back to her. Not that she had ever really lost it. Sevika had discarded the orange peel and took the glass in her hand again.

“You pour a good drink, sweetheart,” she affirms.

She brings the glass to her lips, sipping more of the liquid. Except Sevika doesn’t swallow when she sets the glass down this time. Instead, she uses her left hand to pick up another orange slice and cups your face in her right. Everything was moving in slow motion for you. You could hear your heart beating loudly in your ears, you worried she might be able to hear it.

She’s now towering over you, and her face starts closing in on yours. You now had a pretty clear picture of what was happening, but that didn’t stop you from gasping when her lips met yours. It offered Sevika the perfect opportunity to spill the cool liquid into your mouth. The liquid had an intense earthy, licorice flavor. Without a second thought, you swallowed and savored the bitter drink as it burned your throat on the way down.

Before you knew it, her lips left yours, and the sweet flesh of the orange was on your lips. You took it graciously, allowing the juice to soothe the burning in your throat, all while she still held your face in her hand.

“Mmh,” Your eyes flutter, and you moan into the fruit as she feeds it to you.

You don’t get it as clean as she got hers, but she had other plans for it anyways. Without breaking eye contact, she looks at you through her own lashes as she takes the remaining orange into her mouth.

“How was that?” She asked, setting down the clean peel.

“G-Good,” You nervously swallow, barely managing to sputter out words. “It was good.”

The smirk she had turned into a shit-eating grin. Whether it be the liquor or because she had just kissed you, a dopey smile showed on your face to mirror hers.

“I’m glad,” Her thumb came to wipe excess juice from the side of your lip. “Quality control is good once in a while, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm,” You’re eager to agree with whatever she says.

She laughs at you. Your cheeks feel hot, and your stomach fills with butterflies even though you’re pretty sure she’s making fun of you.

“Look at that,” You can’t, you’re too busy looking at her to care about whatever that is. She is looking past you and towards the bar. “Your boss is checkin’ in on you? Huh? How sweet.”

She cleared her throat and nudged your side, which woke you up a little, at least enough to look up and over at the bar with her. Vander was indeed looking on with a hard unreadable look on his face. Suddenly, you were very aware of what was going on and that not only was this not an appropriate place to be doing, well, whatever this is, you were also at work. This was not the time for drinking or making out with customers.

“I-I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“No, wait.”

You try to pull away from her, and when she doesn’t let go, all noise in the bar ceases. Vander had loudly dropped the kitchen towel that naturally rested on his shoulder onto the bar counter, halting all movement in the bar. A blatant warning, if you'd ever seen one.

Sevika only paid him a glance before looking back to you. Her other hand reached behind her quickly. She pulled out a coin purse.

“Are you gonna leave without a tip? Hmm?”

She let go of your face to open the purse, and you let out a deep breath.

“Oh no!? You really don’t have to,” You try to say, but she has none of it. Sevika takes one of your smaller hands into hers and drops several gold coins into your hand.

Closing her hand around yours, she says, “I insist.”

You can’t say no to her.

“Now, get back to work,” She chuckles, looking past you again and towards Vander. “Before your boss comes around here and starts a fight.”

You don't need her to tell you twice- You’re out of there in a heartbeat. Your shaky legs had barely found safely behind the bar when the men who played cards with Sevika had already begun squawking her table. You tried to lean against the counter for support, but Vander quickly ushered you through the doors that led to his family’s living quarters.

“Are you okay? What did she do to ya? Goddamnit, I knew I shouldn’t have sent you over there.” His large hands found your shoulders as soon as you passed the threshold of what appeared to be an empty common area for his kids. He examined you for any physical harm or any severe distress.

“I-I’m okay, she just asked me to pour her the d-drink that’s all,” You stutter, conveniently leaving out the fact that she kissed you. If Vander hadn’t seen what happened, for right now, you didn’t want to worry him by telling him what happened. Even if he knew you were lying, he wouldn’t push you to expose what happened if you didn’t want to.

He sighed. Oh, he definitely knew you were lying. “Alright.”

“Do you think you can work for the rest of your shift?” He asked. “You don’t have to go have to either of those tables tonight if you don’t want to.” He gave you a look that told you he understood if you didn’t want to go back to work tonight after all that had happened.

“I think I can,” You offer him your usual sweet smile. It’s contagious, and soon, he's smiling as well.

“Okay, hun, take your time coming back to work. We got plenty of customers waiting for you to come back,” He chuckled, letting you have a few minutes alone before you returned to your shift.

#sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevika x you #vander #vander arcane #arcane #spicy #league of legends #arcane netflix #imagine #league of legends x reader #arcane x reader #arcane headcanon #wlw #lesbian

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tallymonster · 4 months

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Memories of Us chapter 10

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

AO3

Okay first things first. Partial writing credit goes to @micropoe10 because she helped me write a good chunk of this. I owe you so hard bestie.

As always thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for allowing me to use their art as inspiration and for reblogging this. I literally would not continue this if I hadn't gotten the attention from them I did. So thank you thank you thank you ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

One last thing before I post the story. This has been the most fun I have had on Tumblr. All of the support and love I have gotten from my friends on the Astarion Brainrot discord has been so encouraging. I owe you guys more than I could ever express.

ALRIGHTY THEN. WITHOUT FURTHER ADO.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel (if you wanna be included let me know ❤️❤️)

chapter 10. I caught fire

The day went on slowly. Octavia stared at the clock on the wall, the anxious feeling gnawed at her. Earlier, she had briefly seen Astarion at the end of the office corridors. He gave the same empty stare he has for the last few weeks.

She stood in front of her office door, glancing down at the handle. She should go say something, it's been long enough. Octavia turns to walk towards him, but as she looks over, he's already gone.

As she walked into the office, Gale was sitting on his desk going through a few things he was researching on his own. He tears his eyes away for a moment and slides a small red piece of paper towards her.

Another note.

“You know at some point, you'll have to admit you fucked up, Octavia. This is all becoming a little childish isn't it?” Gale chided.

He put down his pen and sighed. “You're not the only one suffering here, it's so ridiculously obvious that you're both miserable. In the years I've known him, I have never once seen him be so quiet around anyone else. You, my friend, are a first in many instances.” he chuckles at the end of his scolding.

“You two are so dumb sometimes, it makes for fine entertainment.” He smirks and continues to write.

Octavia scowls a bit, “I’m glad my misery is so interesting to you, Gale. Do you and your mother gossip about us during your brunches?”

Gale immediately stares up at Octavia, “Okay, I apparently hit a nerve…I’m sorry. Really, I am. You know I'm only telling you this because I care about you both? I hate that you're not speaking. Not only because it's unprofessional for me to be your note lackey, but because the others have started to notice. So I suggest you read whatever is on this note, and go fix it. For all our sake.” He shuts his notebook and walks up to the office door.

“I’m going for a walk, I hope you can figure out how to amend this.” He steps out, leaving Octavia to sit in her own anguish. She fiddles around with the folded piece of paper before deciding to get it done and over with.

She unfolds the little more and her whole soul escapes her body. The note sent with Gale only said "Office. Now." Well that's it, he's firing her, or demoting her, or even worse, nothing at all.

Octavia made the long walk over to Astarion's office. She stands in front of the door, hesitant to knock.

The whole argument replays in her head like it has for the last few weeks, she should've knocked on the damn door. But no, like a petulant child she was only thinking petty thoughts.

As she lifts her hand to knock, she hears some banging on the other side. She presses her ear to the door and listens quietly. Nothing. Was he even in there or was he testing her?

It doesn't matter in hindsight, he's got his reasons for whatever he called her here for. She softly knocks on the door, the sounds behind the door stopping immediately. "Astarion? I got your note."

On the other side of the door, Astarion quickly picks up the papers he's thrown everywhere. Thank the gods he still used that arcane magic Gale taught him while they’d sort through maps and scrolls during their adventures. Within seconds his thrashed space is as impeccable as before. He composes himself and takes a moment, the mask expertly back on. "Come in."

Octavia walks in, Astarion is standing with his back to her, facing the window. "Locked. I don't want any interruptions." He speaks in a curt tone, not turning at all. Octavia locks the door, nervously sitting on the chair across him.

Astarion slowly walks over to her, stopping in between her and his desk. He sits on the edge facing her, his eyes two sunset orange orbs glaring deeply into her. He takes a long breath before speaking, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice to you like that. I hope we can go back to how we were before, I'm not angry anymore."

Octavia's face is suspicious, her eyebrows furrowed, eyes turn into slits and she's taken back. "Hold on, you haven't spoken to me in three weeks, and you're apologizing? Why? Aren't you still furious with me? Are you okay?"

Astarion scoffs a skewed scowl on his face."I'm trying to be open with you like you asked me to. Are you really going to get mad because I'm apologizing to you? What is wrong with you?" He asks exasperated, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Gods you are so infuriating you're just like-" he takes a sharp inhale, "Listen, I'm trying, okay? This whole being patient, kind, open communication sort of thing is still very new to me."

He continues, "I'm willing to look past this little invasion, honestly I'm amazed that you of all people would be the one to sneak in here." He sounded impressed. "Either due to luck or stupidity, but you're the first to leave alive." He chuckled a dark sarcasm behind it.

"Besides," he paused, shuffling his feet, clearing his throat, and pursing his lips, "I missed talking to you. Passing notes like we're school children isn't as fun or exciting when you're an adult and Gale is the one you're passing them through." He pouts softly, as if seeking some sort of playful pity.

"I find that hard to believe, you seemed to like those little notes. I had so many, I thought it was an excuse to keep seeing Gale?" Octavia mocked, giggling softly. "Can I be honest with you too? I mean since we're in the spirit of openness and all?" Astarion motions her to proceed, "I missed talking to you as well. You're fun to talk to and complain with."

Astarion smirks and extends a hand towards her. "Then, may I offer my apologies to you? Will you let me air my sweet grievances and complaints to you?"

His voice dripped like warm syrup towards Octavia, his eyes had a sultry energy behind them which made her cheeks quickly heat up. Her mind is scrambling to react, but the only thing working on overdrive is her need to see how much further this could go. She decides to play into his dangerous game, one that she knows she will most likely lose.

Octavia takes his hand and leans forward on the chair, "As long as there are no complaints about me, I've been working very hard to earn your forgiveness." She chuckles, smiling with her eyes, dragging her gaze slowly back to his own, inhaling quietly as she stares into those gorgeous golden sunset pools.

Astarion leans in mirroring her movements, "Well you have, if that makes you feel better. I'm willing to work hard too. If you allow me to-" she stops him from speaking, pressing a finger to his lips.

He's taken back slightly, his lips stay puckered on her finger and he takes his chance to kiss it gently, earning him a sharp inhale from her.

"Honestly, an apology is more than I ever thought I'd get from you Astarion, no offense." Octavia laughs, she stands and removes her finger from his lips. She stands in front of him, and reaches her hand down to hold his again.

He smiles and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, gods she's even more beautiful up close. She breathes deep, allowing his touch. He caresses her cheek, gliding his hand down to hold her chin tilting her head up and looking her over.

"You expect so little of me, how can I show you that I'm much more than that?" Astarion looks at her through hooded eyes, he was incredibly persuasive in the most benign occasions, and now that he had the invitation from her, he wasn't going to let that go to waste. He pulls her in closer, letting his arm rest on her waist.

He spoke so sweetly and Octavia wants to trust him, if he's willing to drop his guard, she can drop hers. "There's so much I want to tell you, but I'm afraid it will change your opinion of me." She spoke so softly, almost a whisper.

Astarion's face turns to worry, there was a vulnerability he wished to share with her, how he did with Tav, they're so similar, this feeling is bittersweet and it terrified him. "Octavia, nothing can deter me. How intelligent, thoughtful, genuine you are..."

Octavia can't breathe, the words from his lips are so saccharine, like a forbidden fruit she longed to taste. "It scares me, the last time something like this happened, I ran from it, like a coward. I'm afraid of what it would do to you. The lengths I would go for someone like you." He confesses, she can sense the heartbreak behind the words.

His hand falls over the edge of her jaw sliding down and trailing it across her shoulder, up around her neck playing with the strands of hair that betrayed its styling, pulling her closer, his lips feather lightly across hers. Octavia's knees felt like they were about to give out, this is what she was hoping would happen in her garden, at the fundraiser, practically any time she saw him alone, he was so hard to understand but that made the appeal more undeniable.

"What if I wanted to find out? What would you do?" Octavia presses her forehead to Astarion's, her breath shuddering under the closeness between them.

Astarion chuckles "Curious little kitten aren't you?" His hand intertwined in her hair turns her head so he can lean in closer, his voice a low whisper in her ear "If you let me, I could drown you with my love. You would die a million little deaths each day. Allow me to show you."

She felt his lips press against her skin. They were cool and soft, he could feel her shiver underneath his touch, a warmth grew inside that was boiling over both of them. The fire was certainly lit, but she had to be the one to control it before it became unstable.

Her hands shot up to his shoulders, stuck between pushing him off and entangling a hand in his hair. "Astarion, wait.."

Octavia turns and looks into his eyes, full of hunger and lust, she takes a second to catch her breath. "I want this, but I want to take my time with it, I- I don't want to do anything to make you regret this. I really like you." Astarion's eyes grow wide, "I won't. I can't." His voice was soft, pleading almost.

One of Octavia's hands settles on Astarion's cheek, he settles into her touch and kisses the inside of her hand. His normally angular eyes are so round and soft, looking up at her, wanting. The vulnerability she was seeking on full display. He continues to kiss her hand, slowly going down her wrist.

She continues to watch as he leaves a trail of languid kisses. As soon as he passes halfway up her forearm, she can't take it anymore. She pulls him in, kissing him, her whole body feels like it's floating and sinking all at once. She feels his arms pull her into himself, holding her closer as he deepens their kiss.

One of her hands rests on his shoulder as the other snakes up to his hair, wrapping it in his curls. After a few moments he pulls away, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. "You are going to be the death of me, and I welcome it with an open embrace."

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #fic: memories of us #headcanon #bg3 headcanon

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krirebr · 27 days

Note

soooo i just realized heads will roll is kind of a road trip au lolol 🤭 and we all know jakey boy is a bit of a doof, so how about "... do you have any hobbies?"

It absolutely is!! It's one of the things that has me really excited about it. This takes place just a day or so into their road trip, and right after the first part of their story, which I have not written yet. 😂🤦‍♀️ Thanks for playing, Brandy!!

Realize

Pairing: future hunter!Curtis x slayer!reader x hunter!Jake

Warnings: A little bit of angst, I guess

You woke up in the back seat of the car, still on the road. It was pitch black outside. You must have slept for hours.

Curtis and Jake were having a hushed conversation in the front. You weren’t sure if they were being quiet because they didn’t want to wake you or didn’t want you to hear.

These were prime patrolling hours. That’s what you should have been doing right now. Instead, you were on the run, headed to who knows where with two complete strangers, the few personal possessions you’d been able to fit stuffed in their trunk. You were the most on your own you’d been since Gilliam had found you.

You leaned forward so your head was between the front seats. “Hey,” you said, and Jake turned toward you, while Curtis kept his eyes on the road. “I could use a bathroom break."

Jake looked to Curtis. “We could probably all use a stretch,” he rumbled.

Curtis hummed, then looked down at his dashboard. “Might not be a bad time to get gas, I guess.”

Jake messed around for a moment on his phone then said, “There’s a good exit about 10 miles up.”

Curtis moved his head enough to let you know he was talking to you when he asked, “That good enough?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said as you sank back into your seat. You didn’t say anything else until you got to the truck stop, but you noted the way Jake kept turning his head to look back at you.

As soon as the car stopped, you jumped out, heading inside to find the restroom. After relieving yourself and trying to clean up a bit in the sink, you headed out to the convenience store, aimlessly strolling the aisles as you looked at snacks. You didn’t have much money on you. That would probably become a problem. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. Right now, you wanted chips.

As you tried to decide what kind you wanted, Jake came up and stood beside you. “Curtis wants to drive through the night,” he said, “put as much distance behind us as we can before we stop at a motel or something.”

“Sure,” you said, as you grabbed a bag of something salty. You went to get in line to check out and Jake followed you, a bottle of some neon-colored drink in his hand.

There were a few people in front of you, so you just stood quietly, awkwardly, as you waited. Until Jake cleared his throat. “So,” he started then paused. You looked over at him, and he ducked his head shyly. “You, uh, you have any hobbies?”

“What?” you asked.

He moved his hand in the air awkwardly. “You know, hobbies. Things you do in your free time.”

Free time? Every waking minute of every day of the last six months had been spent training and studying so you’d be able to fulfill your destiny—killing vampires. Kickboxing, aerobics, self-defense, reading arcane mythology—it’d all been for that one purpose. You didn’t do anything else. “Uh, no,” you said, “no hobbies,” as you finally reached the front of the line. You put your chips on the counter and then Jake added his drink and handed over the cash. You started to tell him he didn’t have to, thank him, something, but he was already heading out the door.

He stopped to hold it open for you, then fixed you with one of the warmest looks you’d ever received. “Well,” he said, “first order of business, I think, is to get you some hobbies.”

Kris's 700 Celebration

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @femefetalelevelingup

#ask kris #kris's 700 celebration #brandycranby #we're all monsters #heads will roll #jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x female reader #curtis everett #the losers #drabble #ce characters #kris wrote something

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nefkyo · 3 months

Text

This is a wip of a personal project. Please note the tags before reading:

dream smp lore, post Doomsday era, implied character death, implied suicide, necromancy, crimeboys mope around in Limbo, mild description of a panic attack, mild description of body horror, miscommunication, tntduo is real, tntduo family who cheered, avian Quackity, ram Tubbo, Quackity is trans because I believe he can do anything

this is for @werenotacoupleyesyouare.

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Faint footsteps echo towards him. He's back from his light jog in the tunnel that loops into itself. He heard him get frustrated fifteen minutes ago but didn't say anything. "Hi again" he says. Even in Limbo, Tommy comes back after arguing with him, sits down next to him and gives him the silent treatment. But at least he's sat down. Does nothing he says ever sting enough? No, never enough. Nothing is ever enough to drive him away, far away enough. Not even a kind invitation to never return. "I have to tell you something about the Overworld, Will." Tommy starts, only to be cut off as usual. "I've already told you, I don't want to know whatever you have to say when you start off like that." "It's really big." Tommy looks up at him, or at least in his general direction, and for a brief moment he sees a sort of pity gloss over those blank orbs. It irks him. "I *really* don't want to know, then." he groans.

"But- How are you not even a little bit curious?"

"With the way you're looking at me, I'd rather keep whatever dignity I have left through ignorant bliss."

"H- That's nothing like you."

"Yeah, well, maybe I've changed."

"You have."

He quickly diverts his eyes back towards the train tracks. Still, cold, unforgivingly grey and dirty. "Will you tell me anyway if I say no?" Wilbur asks, he has before, and he shakes his head, he has before. "Good. Because you told me that it's a secret you were told to take to the grave." he continues. Tommy perks up then, "See?" he says, a knowing smile "That's why I should be able to tell someone else that secret now, especially you!" "You know that's not how the saying is supposed to be interpreted. It doesn't matter how important it could be, Toms," he mumbles into the pitch black horizon, "once you tell me, what would I be left to do about it? I'm dead, we're dead. I'd just spend eternity asking you why you didn't keep your mouth shut." "Yeah, but--" "Just forget about it." Tommy makes a series of noises out of frustration and then stands up, arms crossed, as he starts wandering around again. Wilbur is starting to get tired of watching him do this every time, especially with the way he phases through the shadows of the platform like nothing. "That's such bullshit! How am I supposed to forget?" "By talking about something else?" "No! It's- If anything, it's the evil shit you've been saying lately that makes it harder to choose!" "I haven't said anything necessarily "evil" lately." Wilbur shrugs, angering the blond again. It doesn't take much. "You're constantly praising Dream!" he exclaims, "you praise him, the bastard who took our lands and killed me when I tried to avenge you!" "You weren't avenging me Tommy, we both know you were in Pandora's Box to mock him and avenge yourself." Wilbur corrects him as if he'd seen the whole scene himself. He hasn't, but he got the crude details narrowed down. "Besides, if he's got this necromancy thing down, you have to give him some credit." "Well he probably fucking doesn't, it's been three months! I feel it on my skin!" "Yeah, I know." "And he has not revived me, the green bitch, so my point still stands! A-And you wouldn't feel the same about him if I told you The Thing!" Tommy defends, but once again, Wilbur refuses to hear whatever The Thing. "I'm just saying, if Dream has all this arcane power at his fingertips, then I see him in a new light. I'd be honored to pick his brain at this time." "You would NOT." Tommy groans, but he sits back down.

"...Is The Thing going to make me angry?" he asks suddenly. Tommy nods, his eyes would light up with surprise if there was any life behind them. "Probably." "Is it going to make me hate Dream like before?" "Maybe. Not directly, at least." Wilbur thinks about it for a hard, long minute before he answers. "Fine, tell me." he sighs. Tommy seems to make some mental gymnastics beforehand, then, when he feels ready, he speaks. "I know you and Quackity were dating during Pogtopia, he told me. And... He laid an egg a few days after you died."

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Wilbur is stunned into silence, frozen in place as the information makes its way to his brain. Not the first part of the information, of course, who cares about that. "Are you..." he stammers, "...Are you serious?" "Yeah, uh... Yours, obviously. The egg." Tommy shrugs, but this is not a casual matter at all. "I promised Big Q I wouldn't tell anyone you were the father, but you should know. She was doing ok the last time I saw her, she looks like you." "She? I-It hatched, the egg hatched?" "Yeah." "Is she healthy?" he asks, his voice constricts in his throat, and Tommy just nods quietly. It takes him a long time to accept that information. He repeats it under his breath, over and over. "A daughter. I have a daughter." he whispers, and Tommy just stares ahead as usual. Tommy touches the back of his head uncomfortably, where the gash that killed him sits in its crimson glory. "Quackity told her about you, showed her pictures of L'Manberg and everything, but... Y'know, more in a symbolic way, she probably doesn't actually know anything." "So..." he hesitates. It's like someone just tossed his brain onto the train tracks. "...So that whole story you told me about Quackity starting that project, the casino, that was a lie then?" "Oh no, I didn't lie about that. He really was building a casino last I saw him." Tommy says. "He called it Las Nevadas." "Yeah, he.. He told me that's what he would've called it." his voice dies out. Wilbur thinks about Quackity, what he could look like now. Their daughter, their daughter must be a little lady now. Does he make her play in the casino? Does she deal cards with him? "When *did* you guys start dating anyway? Like, before the elections or during Pogtopia?" Tommy breaks his thought patterns suddenly. "Because I'll remind you, *you* were the one saying not to fraternize with other candidates at the votes and I will never let you live it down." "Shut up," Wilbur sighs in response, and he knows he would usually smile at this kind of tease, but he doesn't. Even if the images of those times still make something bloom in him. "We started dating *during* Pogtopia, after the festival fiasco. We'd watch over Tubbo together, console each other, as usual. It just felt different that time around." he mutters.

"Dude, ew. Tubbo was unconscious and you were kissing in there?!"

"No- No no no, what? We didn't kiss in his room, we just- we talked about it, our feelings. *Then*, after he recovered, we kissed. Completely separate occasion."

"Right. I'm gonna believe that for the sake of my sanity."

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So Tommy is now stuck answering whatever Wilbur may ask about her, about this kid nobody has ever seen more than once or twice. But when he's voluntarily about to tell him her name, Wilbur orders him not to. "Are you sure?" Tommy says, but he's already moved on to other questions.

"Does she have brown eyes?"

"I don't know, I only saw her while she was sleeping."

"So how could you tell if she was healthy if she wasn't awake?"

"Well, Quackity would've probably said if she was sick with something."

"Did she ever chirp like a duckling?"

"She did a few times."

His baby girl, nuzzled in the arms of her father, chirping in her sleep. He can't picture her, but he wants to. "Does he miss me?" he asks suddenly. "Quackity. Does he miss me?" "Well... I think he did. He was skittish of other people, he didn't really want to talk about you much. He didn't even want Phil seeing her." "Phil doesn't know about her?" Wilbur jumps up a little, and Tommy tilts his head slightly. "I think he's seen her at least once. He doesn't know that she's yours, Quackity didn't tell him." "Why?" Wilbur asks, but then he stops and thinks about it. Of course.

There's another stretch of silence. Wilbur sighs heavily and thinks on how everyone knows about a child that he can't even picture. "Do you... Do you think that I could've been a good father?" he asks with wishful thinking on his tongue. "Yeah, you wish! You couldn't even keep yourself alive, man." Tommy chimes with another tease. But after staring out into the dark for another long few minutes, he shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe you could've been." "Ouch." Wilbur smirks briefly then, only then. They're both contemplating a thousand different thoughts a minute.

"Would I have gotten to see her if I'd lived?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Did he hate me when I...?"

"Oh yeah, a lot." he nods. "He screamed a lot, then he went quiet and didn't say anything about you again." he actually turns to look at him - in his general direction at least - and with a voice below a whisper, with that same, angering pity in his eyes all over again, "Why didn't you tell him?" he asks. "I get that you didn't tell me what you were going to do, but him? Why didn't you tell him if you loved him so much?" he feels the faint taste of bile, just for a split second, before he replies with a very weak excuse. "Because I knew that if I did..." He sighs. Now he sees why he and Tommy keep secrets from each other, why they don't want to hurt each other with the truth. "...I knew that he'd never let me die. He would've done anything to keep me alive, and my brain was so set on it, so sure that I *needed* to die. He would've gotten in my way, just like you always did. And I couldn't do that to him, to you, to anyone else."

He remembers it. The night he had a breakdown so violent he almost told him his plans, thinking he was about to die from rabies anyway. In the dark, damp tunnels, pain stinging in his trembling arm, bite marks and blood and a sensory overload. Quackity held him up and looked at him with eyes of horror and repressed despair and kept telling him "It's ok, it's gonna be ok, it was just a wolf," while disinfecting the wound, pressing hard on the gauze. He looked at him and said "Q, I'm so sorry, I--" but before he could find the word that came after that "I", he froze. He couldn't tell him. So he said "I'm scared", which wasn't really a lie, and Quackity held him through that too.

Wilbur sighs as he snaps himself out of it. "Could you tell him that I'm sorry?" he mumbles. "If Dream finally decides to stop playing games and bring me back to life?" Tommy asks "Sure. But how would I let you know what he said?" "I don't need to know." Wilbur replies quickly, then, after a pause, his brother nods. "Ok."

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A week, maybe a month, maybe an hour later, a train came to the station and actually stopped. Wilbur was sleeping on the floor as usual when the screech of gears and wheels halting startled him awake. He looked up, at the opening doors, at the bright lights inside the car, and he felt this faint rise in his stomach, this feeling that told him exactly where the train was headed. And he must admit, he got excited. A tall, long figure stepped out, a blank face in a dark green cloak walked past him and grabbed Tommy, whose blind eyes darted around in confusion. "Wilbur?" he said, he spoke and Wilbur said "Toms?" with the same tone. "Wilbur, I think he's taking me back!" he exclaims, but he doesn't sound happy at all. "That's ok, I'm right behin--" he tries to stand up as he says it, but a force he can't explain, a pull keeps him seated. He can't go, of course he can't go. He doesn't deserve to go. So he starts again, trying to use that same voice of enthusiasm. "That's great Tommy, that's great! Be careful out there, don't come back here too soon!" he tries to joke, but Tommy doesn't seem glad to hear his voice so far away, to not *see* him when they're just a step from each other. The tall figure keeps a thin hand on the back of Tommy's head. "Will, I'll find a way to make you come back too!" "Don't do that, Tommy, don't try that!" he warns, but Tommy doesn't seem to be listening anymore already. The train doors start closing, one by one, now Tommy isn't even looking around anymore, he's frozen, catatonic. That's when Wilbur realizes, "TOMMY! You didn't tell me her name! Tommy! Tell me her name!" he screams, his voice rasps and the figure, the long, tall, white face in a dark green cloak puts a finger to his mouth to shush him, though it has no lips of its own. "TOMMY, HER NAME!" he begs, he feels as heavy as the day he died. Tommy mouths something, his lips quiver and make a word but the shrill of the metal doors makes it unintelligible. Then, the train departs. Wilbur feels a gust of wind, of life, trailing behind those giant tin cans that just took his brother back to the land of the living. And then it's gone.

All that's left is an empty train station. Nothing but dust on the track, and the echo of the train's wheels as it leaves the tunnel. Wilbur is alone again. That's what makes it hurt the most, really—he was right there! He had a chance, even the smallest, slimiest chance in hell, that he could've seen his own kid. That he could've kept Tommy safe with him too. Now it's gone. All that he has left is to wait, once again, for the wheels that will bring them all back together. Time is never kind to souls that refuse to move on. Wilbur has lost track, how long has he been here? That's another thing he should've asked him, isn't it ? He can think about a moment in time, remember something about himself on the surface and use it as a measurement, but those memories are all slowly fading away. Maybe that's for the best, he can't keep thinking about the people he knows, can't look back if he wants to move forward, so he waits. He waits, he waits, he waits. One day is another, and another, and another.

The train comes again. This time he's not weighed down by anything, by anyone, but he doesn't want to get on. The long, tall figure with a blank face in dark green cloak walks out, dragging from the scruff a pathetic, limp soul. He throws him out onto the pavement, a ghost that looks exactly like him. They stare at each other and they feel so terrified of the other. They can't tell who is more person, but now there's this twisted realization in both of them, that they're not the original. He tries to say anything to him, but he can't, and he doesn't either. And once they're done stalling, trading places, the figure begins to drag him in. "Wait, wait! H-he's part of me, let me get him!" he protests, but the figure doesn't let him. Some things must be sacrificed. The ghost sits in his place and looks at him with neon blue tears brimming in his eyes. As the doors close, he knows he has the other's mission now, just not what it is. He stares into the mirror image of himself, his face hollowed out from burn scars along his cheeks. It's the same in everything other than that. The way he sits, the way he slumps. He frowns, but he's not mad, really. It's just a part of him that will carry out this burden. It'll have to, whether he likes it or not. The train rumbles to a start again, he waves at himself, he waves back faintly but starts sobbing loudly soon after, almost louder than the train's screams. There's this understanding between them that they are not the same person, they could never have been, and this switch was bound to happen, whether the other thought he'd done enough up there or not. So, cheers to the other guy. Everything goes dark as they enter the tunnel, darker than death has been so far. The figure puts a thin hand on his back and he hates it, he hates it so much.

Time passes incredibly fast, all at once, faster than Limbo, faster than life. He feels vertigo pull his body in all directions, pulling his neck backwards, his chest forward, his back up, his legs down. For the first time in such a very long time, pressure enters his body. His body has depth. He sees a light, ironic, oh so ironic that he wants to go towards it but instead feels himself being pulled away from it. He fights the current, the figure stares, unaffected. He pushes through the barrier, the train shakes and rattles and screeches. He doesn't dare look.

----------------------------------------------------------

The cold, dewy air of an April's early morning fills his lungs. Lungs, he has those. He has to get used to that feeling again before he opens his eyes. His head spins, his whole body hurts like hell. Air shudders out of him violently, like a spring has just jumpstarted the valves in his system and now he's feeling the reebot. He tries to move his arms and legs, and he succeeds, but the pain that shoots through his body makes it hard to enjoy the discovery. Every joint and bone screams at him, every suture. Suture? He lifts his hand, tentatively, carefully to his eye. Stitches. Along his wrists, the creases of his fingers, his legs, his ankles. He's been pieced back together into a single string of flesh. By who? He knows who. He doesn't care, for now. For now he's alive. He groans, and for the first time in over a decade he hears his voice without echo, he can feel heat around him, his nerves are full of blood. His body aches in places that he didn't even know could hurt, but maybe he's never been more glad. And he's laying in front of a small altar, a memorial to his name, literally. Strangely enough he can still read, and his name is written at the bottom of the marble. There are drapes of the old L'Manberg flag hanging unceremoniously over his date of birth, flowers - mostly wilted - have been left beside pictures of him. And a single, still lit lantern sits near his boots. His boots? It's strange, but he's almost certain this isn't how he was dressed when he died. He uses the flat marble surface to hoist himself up again, the weight of his own body might make him throw up if he thinks about it too hard. He glances all around. Everything is empty, quiet—like a museum. Except it's not, this looks more like a rocky pit overgrown with nature. He groans aloud, the pain is excruciating but he tries to focus on the sights around him. His body wants to shut down once more, but despite the overwhelming weight of the world that's bearing down on him, he can't let his mind slip away again. He must keep going. He stands up, head bobbing slightly. This doesn't feel like any afterlife or secondary plane, it feels like the Overworld. It just *feels* like it. He stares up, he looks as far as he can squint, at the hills of exposed rock covered in dew and moss. These are ruins alright. He wants to laugh, but he just sneers. Someone built him a memorial over the ruins of what he destroyed, it's like making a plaque for the potted plant that fell on the pavement and made a crack, except the potted plant was him, and the crack was more of an abysmal crater. He squints at the ruins in front of him, everything is still and silent. Not one sound but the wind. Not one person but himself. It's all here in front of him, in this broken down splinter of what used to be L'Manberg. There's a sense of finality in the air, but it's not sad, it feels like an ending. He feels the air chill his breath and the cold ground underneath his feet. But it's a different feeling from what he was experiencing when he was dead.

Not anymore, apparently.

He hears those footsteps behind him, hurrying, running on stone and wood. Two, no, three people, and at least one other creature. He turns around in time to find himself smiling at a horrified Tommy, a very drained, jittery Tommy, with a blue sheep on a leash, and then Tubbo and... An Enderman in a suit. Tommy walks towards him carefully, maybe a little cathartically, like one walks up to a heaving rabbit they just shot with an arrow. "Oh, you fuck." "Hello again." he says, and he can't help laugh at his little audience. Tommy is looking *at* him, and he's cussing him out, it's just like the old times. Nothing's changed! Well, besides everything else. "Hi Wilbur!" Tubbo waves from the back of this posse - when did he get so tall?! "Is... is this real?" he asks, breaking the teethering tension. "Yeah. Where's Ghostbur?" Tommy asks back, and he can't answer that. He was expecting anything, a 'Welcome back', a clear indicator that he was anywhere near missed, but instead he's asked where the other guy is. The better version, he imagines. "Oh, he's... He took my place in Limbo." the words just sort of slip out of him. "He WHAT?? How do we get him back??" "I-I don't know, I just got here! I'm back." he shrugs as he speaks, like this was supposed to be obvious. He's still taking everything in, glancing at the blue sheep and the enderman, still mostly paying attention to the sound of his breathing and the feeling of the solid ground underneath his feet. So *real.* "You're supposed to act at least a little bit happy to see me." he mutters. "W-We are." Tommy forces out, but he doesn't want to move towards him any further. "So why aren't you coming here? Hey, it's me! It's me, man!" "I-I didn't think you'd-- trade places with him. I thought you'd be all in one piece together. I didn't even have a ghost, why'd you split?!" "I-I don't know." and Wilbur really doesn't know, but it feels weird not to lie anymore. "Tommy, we just got him back, can you guys not complain about each other already?" Tubbo chimes in, sliding past Tommy to walk over and hug Wilbur. It's an instant regret. It feels strange, uncomfortable, irritating like a stubble rash. But Tubbo's heart is in the right place, so he lets him. He instigated it anyway. Then the sheep tries to sniff his leg. "Oh god don't tell me I have to hug the sheep as well" was not a thought, or sentence in general, that Wilbur ever thought he'd hear himself saying, but thankfully he doesn't have to. "That's Friend," Tubbo says as he steps back "Ghostbur befriended it and we- we thought he'd be here, so we were gonna take it to him." he hears a faint and shy "and I'm Ranboo..." from behind Tommy. "Yeah that's Ranboo. They're here too." Tubbo nods, taking Friend's leash to hand it over to the creature. "...Charmed." Wilbur says, a little too focused on the other matters at hand and, quite frankly, a little unsure whether he can look them in the eyes or not.

"Y'know, you look like you haven't aged." he tells Tubbo as they accompany his out of the caved in rock. "Really? I reckon I actually look different, like, my horns came in, fuckin' finally. Didn't you notice?" he asks when he puts his head down to show him. A set of horns, already scratched in. "I mean, yeah, I did. Looking good." "Thanks bossman." "It's just... I thought you'd be... Older, older than... This." Tommy and Tubbo share a glance, then look back at him. "How long have I been dead?" he has to ask the two. He has to ask before he starts moving his legs in any direction and he doesn't stop, it's getting hard to sit still. "About a year and a half." Tommy says something finally. "A year?! A year and a half??" he spits out. "A fuckin' lot's happened, Will, and I need you to promise that you're not gonna say some weird shit about Dream being cool or--" but Wilbur is too busy laughing incredulously at how little time has passed since he died. "A year and a half, are you kidding?? I was dead for thirteen and a half years, Tommy!" "I- No, Will. You weren't dead that long, it's just a Limbo thing."

He stares at them both, his smile evaporating, his breath catching. "No, there's no way. I feel so... I feel jaded, jaded and stuffy, Tommy!" There's no way he was only gone for so little time, it's impossible. He could swear on his life that he was alone for so much longer, there's no way his own memory could deceive him like this. But Tommy looks almost the same as when they last saw each other in Limbo, Tubbo's just a little taller than before. It's the landscape, that's what really changed. He can feel the rushing of wind from nearby cracks in the stone, he can feel the need to look through them. "I mean, no offense, you look older than you're supposed to be..." Tubbo says, cocking his head slightly. "Did you know you've got white hair?" "I got white hair too, after I was revived." Tommy points out. Wilbur hasn't even had the chance to think about a mirror, he's just wandering off, staring out into the sky, the blooming dawn. If he's not thirteen years older, then his daughter, who's out there somewhere, isn't a teenager. She might still need him. Quackity might still need him. His soles find a step and he stares down at a sea of glass. If regret needed a preview, it would look like what's underneath it. "Is this L'Manberg?"

#mcyt #dsmp #dsmp lore #c!wilbur #c!tntduo #qsmp talullah #nefkyo can write #crimeboys #i miss them #benchtrio #mcyt ff #this was not spellchecked in advance so sorry

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illarian-rambling · 2 months

Text

Thanks for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks! Sorry it took me a while to respond

5 Lines Tag

A line about a building

In time, Mashal began to recognize the buildings they passed from his first trip here. It seemed like all of the apothecaries and paper shops huddled around the city’s center, and by extension, the Archive. None of these were open at such an hour, so sneaking around was even easier. Above the slate roofs, he could see the dour spire of the magical library---the tallest spike in the crown that was the Yewbury College of the Arcane.

As they passed through the ring of shops and entered the university grounds, that spire towered above then as a gargantuan monolith, a massive panopticon set to watch the whole city for any signs of ignorance. It seemed almost alien, how bare it was. Just a brutalist gray slab reaching impossibly high into the sky.

A sad line

From outside the house suddenly came the shrill blast of a whistle. Mashal jumped at the noise, while Astra's face fell. Elwe and Dahlia looked at each other exhaustedly. It seemed their lunch break was over.

"Time to get back to work," Dahlia muttered. She stood, crossing the room to pull on a heavily mended pair of boots. Elwe hesitated, but stood as well with a sigh.

Astra scowled bitterly. Mashal saw her briefly reach into her sleeve, fingers brushing over dozens of assorted runes, though none that did what she wanted right now. Her gaze was dim as she hugged her parents goodbye. Soon, it was the two of them alone in the house.

"I coulda' begged 'em to stay," the witch murmured. "They deserve a day off. I deserve the chance to spend time with 'em."

A line that's wimpered

"You've got this," he whispered, careful to keep his voice below Avymere's enraged complaints---which now featured not only Landry's blood, but the lack of refreshments and seating arrangements, the demiplane's air quality, and both his and Sixteen's omnipresent mechanical hiss-clack.

"I'm going to die," Elsind whimpered.

Without another word, the changeling squeezed into their liquid form and oozed towards the cell bars. The moment they moved, Mashal could see what the problem was. Elsind's skin typically had a slimy cast to it. Not enough to leave marks or stains on anything---just a bit of a sheen. Vermir had scalded all of that off to rid herself of her liquid intruder. Elsind's movements were jerky and pained; they involuntarily tensed up any time something brushed up against them. Instead of a clean squeeze through the bars, it was more of a sticky struggle, limbs clawing half-formed on either side.

A line with taste

Then came the unmistakable sound of a large explosion.

A bitter grin crept up Vermir's face. She remembered the taste of that summoned fire. It had stuck. What sort of fire did that? No, the witch who'd managed to impress a five hundred year old mage possessing the power of seven sorcerers wouldn't fall to some city guards.

A funny line

"Top of the east tower, right?" Mashal asked. He held out a map, cross-referencing that with the written directions.

"Yeah, but we gotta take the servants' passages or they'll kill us," Astra muttered. "Or boil us alive, or sew us in a bag with rabid dogs. Or make us listen to ballad jazz."

Mashal shook his head. "Ballad jazz is great---you must be deafer than I thought from all those explosions. We'll take this passage here." The man started walking faster, Astra having to take twice as many steps to keep up with her long-legged friend. "That'll connect to here, which should bring us to the stairs."

"How many stories?" she asked with a wince.

"Thirty," he answered mercilessly, eyes still on the map. "The good news is, the staircase connects directly to a door in the Duchon's chambers. Technically, the whole east tower is theirs, but they only live on the top floor. Also, did you know there are elevators here like in Unity? Though they're only for the---"

"Love, if ya finish that sentence, I'm gonna have a conniption."

Your lines are: A line about clothing, an angry line, a line that's muttered, a line with taste, and a loving line

I'll tag @bunnymermaidwrites @the-ellia-west @melpomene-grey @sleepywriter00 @somethingclevermahogony and YOU :D

Have a bitchin day <3

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #author

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littlebitshylittlebitangry · 3 months

Note

Here I just copied and pasted it, enjoy

First of thanks for tagging me in that little fic between arcane egg and shadow milk, it made me so happy but also so very sad. For as much as I put my little cookie through I just want her to be happy. The more I look at the “it takes two au”, the more I realize that this arcane egg has the worst time. Like ever.

Warnings for: suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, and attempted suicide, feel free to skip this post.

Which leads to this scenario, it takes place at arcane egg’s lowest point. I imagine that the force kept in her soul jam has been released, probably by dark enchantress, she probably exploited arcane eggs rapidly growing hopelessness to break it. And so releases the nightmares / hungry one’s that then take arcane egg as some sort of host / center point, since I don’t know if you noticed but their just full of suffering.

Anyways plot ensues and I imagine golden butter is able to enter what ever plane / abyss arcane is with the help of the other beasts ,since their obviously they care about arcane egg especially shadow milk cookie. So golden butter finds her and is like

“Cmon we gotta get you out of here“

And arcane egg is like “no”

“??? What do you mean no”

“I mean no, I’m not leaving. But I know that the hungry ones are a problem so you should just kill it.”

And golden butter is like, wouldn’t that kill you? And arcane egg replies yup that’s the plan… THE PLAN?!?

Golden butter is obviously not gonna do because why would she. And if arcane egg doesn’t only have major self hate issues, unresolved feelings for shadow milk cookie, but also unresolved feelings for golden butter than omg. Arcane egg wants to die, full stop at this point.

And so arcane egg just starts pleading, begging for her death to golden butter. Much to her horror I imagine. Like full on mental breakdown, it starts to show not only her depression but her slight insanity is the best way I can describe it. Arcane egg is in full hysterics just begging

“Please please, I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be awake. It’s to much!”

And will arcane egg ever explain why, no of course not. And that’s for two reasons, first as stated previously she’s the very definition of the meme “I’ll keep all my feelings here, and than one day I’ll die”, and secondly if they tells them her feelings they’ll surely hate her. And that’s so much worse than death, especially for someone who’s as soul crushingly devoted as arcane egg is to those they care about.

So at one point arcane egg just tries to get golden weapon so she can just do it herself, obviously golden resists and like it’s not a good time all around.

How would golden butter react, how would the others react, shadow milk? I don’t know honestly because this scenario is just so so depressing it’s actually ridiculous .

Anyways thanks for listening to this very disorganized rambling. Hope I don’t make you go sad, see ya!

ooooo

You have given me ideas, friend.

Warnings; Suicide idelation, thoughts of suicide and Attempted assited suicide, getting knocked out by magic.

Be warned

She knew the moment they step foot into her resisidence. She felt the moment they were searching for her. She hated it- Hated this.

The buzzing between her jam- her formeraly cripsy layer had cracks in it. It looked and honestly felt quite painful as she traced them over, she could tell just by looking down to her neck that it was likely she already had cracks on her face.

(She was on a timer- It wasn't something that someone had to tell you. Sometimes you just know. You know you're dying and that you can't be saved.)

(Arcane Egg was on a timer- perhaps she had always been on a timer.)

Gazing at their soul Jam they saw the former once bright color shift darker. The outer layers almost pure black as what looked like cracks slowly crept towards the center. Its then they bend their head to spot the neckless laying on them.

They reach their hand up to cup the neckless for a moment- and they stare as liquid drips from their face. She release the neckless was they reach their hand up to rub their eyes.

She doesn't even recognize her voice for a moment as she whispers, "Its better this way." It throws her off as she looks around, before she settles, realizing its her voice. Its raspy, horse and sounds dead.

Its a bitter thing, perhaps just like they feel.

They close their eyes with a shudder as they almost feel the group split up- one of them seemingly coming her direction. For a moment it comes to her.

(She's too cowardly to do it herself, to scared, too terrifyed of the consequences for herself, but what if?)

(Surely one of the others would be willing?)

(Surely they would do it- They understood the consequences if it doesn't- Even if the rest didn't- Then surely wouldn't Golden Butter be willing?)

So they stay. They stay in that spot as they sit there and they feel the moment someone steps within their range.

They know who it is the moment they speak.

"..Arcane Egg Cookie... why- are you okay?!" She feels Golden Butter rush over and turn her to face them. She sees the frantic look on the others face as she carefully looks over the newly formed cracks.

Golden butter slowly traces over what they can only assume to be a crack on their face. Slowly she speaks, "We gotta get you out of here." She tries to pull Arcane up, but stalls when the other just sits there. "...Arcane Egg?..."

She shakes her head, "No." She replies.

Golden Butter freezes, "..Arcane.. what do you mean by no?" Arcane shakes her head as Golden Butter grabs her shoulders, "Arcane what do you mean by no?"

Arcane egg shakes off Golden Butters hands, "I'm not leaving. The hungry ones are a problem that need to be gotten rid of, but I need help to do it." She looks Golden Butter right in the eye as a slow on coming horror falls into them.

Golden butter is shaking, and shes shaking badly.

"w-wouldn't that kill you?" She stutters over herself, "Wouldn't that demand your death at this point- Arcane there are other ways we can look into-" Arcane Egg raises a hand, "This is the plan. It has always been the plan." Her voice is resigned, as she drops her hand.

Golden Butter went still as Arcane Egg continued, "...I'm sorry... Golden Butter, I need you to kill me, I need this all to stop." Golden egg shakes her head as she reaches out a hand and grabs on Arcanes wirst, "I- Acrane- I- I can't, I refuse." She shakes her head frantically.

Arcane Egg stares at her as Golden Butter shakes and grips onto them. Arcane Egg looks down, "You have to Goldie.. There... There isn't another option, This is the only choice-"

"NO!" Golden Butter shouts.

Arcane Egg stares at golden Butter, looking slightly frazzles as a wild look begins to form in their eyes. "You have to goldie- no else will understand- you- you have to- there isn't another option you have to-" Golden Butter shakes her head, "I- I can't, I refuse."

Arcane eaches out and grabs onto Golden Butter who pauses in their shaking, "You- You have to Goldie- Please- please you have to- I can't- I can't take any of this anymore- PLeas being awake- living like this- I can't- I can't take it-" They feel something press onto the side of their neck.

They look at Golden butter desperatly, "please please, I don't want to be here anymore- I don't- I can't- please- I can't stand being awake- its ts too much-" Slowly their breathing slowers as they slur over their words as Golden butters magic takes hold.

The other kneels down, tears falling down her face, "I'm- I'm so sorry Arcane- I- I promise, I'll make it better, we'll make you better." A kiss presses to their forehead as they feel themselve slip away, "You- You deserve so much- far more then what the world has handed to you."

They slip into the unconiousness with a wheeping friend holding onto them with a wild desperation.

And slowly another cookie comes around the cornor. He swallows, "I'll carry her." Golden Butter swirls over to him, "Shado-" He shakes his head, "..Not... Not now....just.... lets just focus on Arcane."

Its moments as golden butter slowly releases her hold on Arcane that Shadow Milk cookie picks her up and the pair begin walking back.

ooh boy this one was a large one, Hope you like it!

Also note for you or anyone else who has ideas regarding cookie run kingdom. Check out my sideblog @revisitingfandoms. I do writing requests there.

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #cookie run au #cookie run oc #two in fact #check out my last post to check out the amazing writiers for these two #I'll link it later #shadow milk cookie

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cookierunauprompts · 3 months

Note

Warnings for: suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, and attempted suicide, feel free to skip this post.

“Cmon we gotta get you out of here“

And arcane egg is like “no”

“??? What do you mean no”

“I mean no, I’m not leaving. But I know that the hungry ones are a problem so you should just kill it.”

And golden butter is like, wouldn’t that kill you? And arcane egg replies yup that’s the plan… THE PLAN?!?

“Please please, I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be awake. It’s to much!”

So at one point arcane egg just tries to get golden weapon so she can just do it herself, obviously golden resists and like it’s not a good time all around.

How would golden butter react, how would the others react, shadow milk? I don’t know honestly because this scenario is just so so depressing it’s actually ridiculous .

Anyways thanks for listening to this very disorganized rambling. Hope I don’t make you go sad, see ya!

ARCANE EGG

god the beasts sure ain't gonna like DE after this, i can probably assure you that. As for Goldie, depending on where she is she's gonna be more or less assertive in trying to encourage Arcane Egg to keep living. She'll be disappointed in herself for not acting sooner, not pushing harder when Arcane Egg said she was alright. But regret can come later, right now she needs to focus on Arcane egg's safety.

#not a prompt #cookie run au #it takes two crk au #made a tag for the au because silly #Golden Butter Cookie Tag #other's ocs

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bleachbleachbleach · 8 months

Text

9/6 - 9/10/2023

I think my biggest accomplishment this week is definitely regrowing a decent bit of skin on my leg, and in addition to my "omg just write fanfic do not clean the kitchen it's dangerous out there" lesson I mentioned last week, I've now also learned a lot about burn care! Or not the care itself, but burn progression, and what those stages look and feel like. Also learned that Reddit won't let you view "mature content" (burn images) on your phone unless it's through the Reddit app, which is very annoying. I'm never gonna download the Reddit app. Anyway, new skin is thrilling! And while my September plans were supposed to be "work out more," the burn care thing has sort of tabled that for a bit, which has let me commit more to "omg just write fanfic" September.

I spent most of this week working on scenes that do not feel that great. Reasons for this:

My attempts to describe setting and/or stage business keep coming out in the most arcanely described and/or overwritten (or maybe underwritten?? who knows) ways. Why.

It just feels like there's a lot of Things, and why are there so many things. Like *butterfly meme* is this worldbuilding or is this an episode of Hoarders

But by the time I got to the stuff I was writing on Saturday and this morning, *I* at least feel like some of the threads are coming together. I spent a lot of Thursday feeling despair of the "but who's going to read that far" variety, but part of me is also like, well, it's fairly likely no one's going to read this either way, so maybe the concern should be proportional to that.

Right now, I'm about 1000 words into a Renji-Akon conversation that's had all the middle bits written for like, a year and a half. The middle bits were all jokes, lol, but I'm currently feeling pretty excited by the Themes and Motifs that are coming out of the full version of the scene. It's been really interesting learning about how their POVs about the Gotei and their co-workers and the NATURE OF LIFE AND DEATH mesh, or don't. I always think it's interesting thinking about like, people who've worked together(ish) for decades, and what about each other is knowable and old hat--except you're co-workers, not exactly friends, so your dataset of what's very known vs. what you know absolutely nothing about is super skewed.

To finish the chapter, I have the end of the Renji-Akon conversation to write; the end of the subsequent scene to write, which will probably be more involved than it seems because it's kinda-sorta a fight scene; and then revisions to the chapter tag, which I think will mostly be about trying to make this chapter seem less like a grab bag of things that happen to happen in sequence and more like there's some kind of narrative throughline.

I want to say I can finish the chapter by the end of the week, but unfortunately I'm out of town Thurs-Sun for a ~strategy retreat~ and am feeling very upset about having to drive myself to the airport (hell itself) at 2:30AM on Wednesday night, so I'll probably spend most of the first half of the week trying to keep all my shit together and then a lot of next week trying to get everything back together.

I'm going to boldly aim to finish this chapter, my Part 1 read-through, and Chapter 7 (to finish out Part 1) by the end of September! Which was my previously-stated goal for the end of August, lol.

Part 2 starts with Kira's chapter, which I think is the only chapter I've written absolutely none of, and which I have the least notes for (and all of those notes are about Hinamori, not Kira), but Renji and Akon just talked a lot about Kira, and I'm pretty excited for that horizon once I get there!

#stories for the sea

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ember-owlet · 5 months

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hi, i'm just getting to learn about agere, and i'm a little anxious, i wanted to know if you could write something for mel as a cg?

a/c: absolutely firelight! thank you for your patience. i'm so glad you've been trying to learn more about age regression! speaking personally, it is a wonderful coping mechanism and i really hope this brings you some form of comfort on your journey. (/gen) this was an absolute treat to write and create the moodboard for as i don't see as much mel content in the arcane fandom, much less for elora in the agere tag and i hope to provide as much as i can. ʚ♡ɞ

tw: descriptions of anxiety from reader and moments of overstimulation/overwhelm

reader is referred to as: darling, little one, sweetheart, and my love mel is referred to as mommy

dynamic: gn!regressor! reader x cg! mel medarda x babysitter! elora

----

"Now now darling I'll only be gone for a short while." Mel swept her hand across your cheek and slid down to your chin, giving you a slight tap with her slender finger to the very tip of your nose. Your caregiver had reminded you that she was going away to a council meeting for the majority of the day. "Elora will be here to provide you with anything that you'll need." Mel would look over to reveal the presence of her assistant, the woman giving you a slight nod of acknowledgment and a shy wave as to not startle you further. "You'll be a brave little one for me, won't you?" Despite the thousands of ways you wanted to beg her to stay, you knew that her work was important to her, but being without your caregiver for so long presented a new form of unease. Before you could protest further the door had already locked into place, the sound of the great marble echoing in the open air. Elora adjusted her posture before straightening once again, "I think it's quite a lovely day to go outside, don't you?" She paused, stretching beyond where you stood to retrieve your comfort plush off of the floor, eyeing the other toys and miscellaneous gifts scattered aimlessly, noting to have the place cleaned and organized before Councilor Medarda's return. "And, maybe if you feel up to it I heard there was a lovely spot near the marketplace to find a new outfit for you and your stuffie." Shuffling you weighed your options, and though it would have been wonderful on its own to stay inside and let the thoughts of missing your mommy persist, a day out couldn't hurt? The extravagant doors swung open again, much more persistent than when the two of you had exited the room moments prior. You had no idea where to go, but the overwhelming urge to curl up and cry overtook you as the room spun with you in place. You quickly launched yourself into bed, your ears tickled with the strain of picking up every beat and sound around you. Elora moved with ease throughout the room, resetting the environment to make it as quiet and calming as she physically could. Despite your best efforts, the town square was bustling with activities, unexpected noises, and situations you weren't prepared for. It was too much, and without Mel around to help it didn't take much for the churning in your stomach to become unbearable. The only other person present that brought you a sense of familiarity was now down to a side sitting position. "Hey sweetheart.." she cooed at the edge of the luxurious bed, guiding a pillow and blanket beside you, unrolling the silk should you need easy access to it. "Take as much time as you need. I let Mel know about the situation and she'll be here as soon as she possibly can." she spoke almost in a whisper, the pen in her hand being flipped between each finger back and forth. Her eyes flipped through the tiered bookshelf that rested not too far away from your bedside. "How about I read to you until she gets here. When you feel ready, pick whichever one you like while I get you something to drink." Time was lost in the countless titles that graced your collection, and through small sniffles, you gathered the energy to select a few. You draw a hand lovingly over the worn copy of The Short Tales of a Fox and Their Warren. You loved the way your mommy would effortlessly paint the images of the once lonely fox and how, after discovering another lone rabbit out in the forest, would create a warren of their own. You clutched the book tightly in your arms, another exhale to calm your restless mind. Elora poked her head gingerly into the doorway, the warm, freshly sweet scent of chamomile lingered in the air. The cartoonish mug stood tall and proud contrasted to the elegant tray. Elora bent down to hand you the heated vessel. "Drink slowly, it's still a bit hot." You took short but wide gulps of the tea. It was just what you needed and you exhaled deeply as it warmed your aching body.

Swaddled together in your bed she finishes, "And then, the once lonely fox smiled. For they knew that though this newfound family was different in many ways, they had finally found what they had been looking for: A place to belong. The End." She motioned to close the book, letting the spine crackle before it set into place. She looked down at you; rather fond of the way you clutched onto her side as you slept. Suddenly her attention was taken to the doorway, smiling at the sound of the approaching (and all too familiar) hasty footsteps. "Perfect timing. We had just finished storytime. They finally felt safe enough to rest." she greeted Mel with a gentle nod, sliding herself out of the bed to let the frazzled woman swiftly replace her position and slink into your arms. She looked around at the spotless room and sighed in relief to the peaceful atmosphere. "Thank you Elora. As always, you have done wonderfully. Tomorrow morning please have the rest of the day scheduled in my absence. I think I've had enough excitement for one day." She leans over, brushing aside the strands of hair that fell over your face. Already striking each event from the list, Elora bids the councilor a good evening and closes the door behind her. It didn't take long for you to feel the golden bangles around your mommy's waist, slowly bringing yourself to meet her gaze. "I missed you; so so much mommy." You whine, holding her tighter and burrowing your face deeper into her. She chuckles, wiping the dampness from your cheeks and placing your soft friend in your arms. "I missed you too. You did so well today, my love. Come, let's get you freshened up and ready for bed."

#cg! mel medarda #babysitter! elora #gn!regressor!reader #gn!reader #mel medarda #elora arcane #arcane agere #arcane #fandom agere #sfw agere #agere #agere fic #embers writings

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angelltheninth · 10 months

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Could you please do a gn! Reader x arcane characters where reader gets drunk at a bar/party and arcane characters take care of them? (Silco, Viktor, jinx, Vander, Caitlin,) :)

Sure, love getting Arcane requests again.

Pairing: Jinx, Caitlyn, Vander, Silco, Viktor x Reader

Tags: fluff, comfort, parties, drinking, cuddles, sweet kisses, headache, teasing, needy!Reader

A/N: I get sleepy so fast after drinking alcohol, maybe I need more tolerance.

Jinx loves a good party, or any excuse to have one. Given her nearly endless energy she can party until morning and she never gets drunk or sick. Well lucky her because you're only human. No Shimmer in your blood.

Good thing that Shimmer also gives her a lot of strength because she had to drag your pretty ass all the way home. Your drunken thank yous are very cute and she will tease you about them in the morning, but for now she will let you sleep this off. She can take a nap next to you but if you get handsy you'll wake up without that hand.

"Down you go sugar. Not that way down, not when you can barely look up at me. How much did you drink anyway? You wanted to match me? You... do realize that amount can kill a normal human right? I love you want to keep up but don't put yourself in danger for my amusement. Seeing you like this is... not fun."

Caitlyn doesn't actually have that much of a tolerance for alcohol, not the hard stuff anyway. Besides she needs to always keep her with about her, even when there's a party going on. It's a habit that she can never let go off, always on alert, never letting her guard down.

This allows her to keep an eye on you, someone who she knows will party pretty hard. You want her to have a good time too so you always try to include her, but as soon as she notices you're going overboard she will pull you aside and up to her bedroom. You stay here for the night, she'll help you sneak out in the morning. In the mean time, maybe some water and something salty would help.

"I can't take my eyes off you can I darling? I never do but especially now. How can I when you're irresistible to me? Yes, even dead drunk, I still find you very cute. Wipe that silly grin of your face will you, before I do it for you. I'm not kissing you while you taste like alcohol!"

Vander has seen many, many people get absolutely wasted in his bar so he knows how to see the signs early. There's no way he's scooping you off the table or the floor while you throw up everywhere, how would that look for him as the owner? It'd get him teased for sure, plus a few laughs ain't worth you getting hurt.

He picks you up in his arms, deciding to pack up for the night, at least for the two of you. Even as you're lowered to the bed you don't let go of his shirt, pulling it off his body until it's on you instead. Now you can sleep, when you have his scent all over you. But in the morning when you wake up you have to fight against a drumming headache as you hear the kids running and laughing through the hallways.

"That's what you get for drinking so much darlin'. I told them to keep it down but you know I can't fully control them. You can sit today out, I'll take care of everything else. Now uh... my shirt please? Why not? I ain't going out there without it. Well maybe we can make a deal hm? A few big kisses for my shirt?"

Silco already has his lackies and his kid to watch out for. So you need to be an adult here, along with... and just a few hours in and you're drunk. Well now he knows where Jinx gets her party encouragement from.

He has to carry you up on his back, all the way to the bed and... you should really let go of him now. There's still people downstairs and he is not letting Sevika be with a drunk Jinx because the last time that happened there was a fire in the bar. But he also doesn't want to leave you... what a dilemma. Will you stay in bed if he gives you a kiss? More then a kiss? Fine, but make it really quick.

"You really need to learn some self-restraint darling. How do you expect to please me when you can't even stand up? Oh I can see you can still use your mouth, but I'm worried you might hurt yourself. How about you lay back and I please you? That should be enough to make you pass out no?"

Viktor doesn't drink a lot, not because he doesn't like it because he doesn't handle it very well most of the time. He needs to be in a really good mood to drink. Most of the time he drinks when he's with you, to loosen up a little and have fun with you.

However he's also the one who ends up patting you on the back when you throw up in the toilet later that night. He told you to slow down, but nope, you had to prove you can drink more then him, which isn't really that hard. You end up cuddling with him all night and mumbling how much you love him and end up telling him he'll make a great husband one day.

"Husband? You're thinking that far into the future my darling? Interesting. I'm guessing you didn't mean to say that right now so I'll be sure to act surprised when you actually ask me to marry you. You want kids too? Any other big secrets? You loving me is no secret."

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questforgalas · 1 year

Text

Hidden in the Moonlight

Summary: After weeks of Brynjolf dodging the dragonborn, Lorienna, after they took down Mercer, she's ready to throw him in the cistern herself. With some pushing from Delvin, Lorienna confronts Brynjolf about why he's been avoiding her all this time

Notes: Apparently I write Skyrim fanfic now??? Meet my OC, Lorienna :) Also, writing Scottish accents is hard so I'm sorry if the dialogue spelling detracts from the story! Enjoy!!!

WC: 4k

Tags: BrynjolfxFemaleOC, Delvin, Vex, love confessions, fluff, gentle kissing, idiots not communicating

On AO3

“Sorry, lass, I’ve got important things to do. We’ll talk another time.”

It took a lot for Lorienna to lose her temper. During her short time in Skyrim, she’d been attacked by cultists, fought more dragons than she could count, was hunted down by the Thalmar, and survived a drinking game with Sam, though that last one was a close call. That’s not to mention the many guilds she stumbled upon that all oddly were in need of a leader so badly they just let the newest recruit fly through the ranks and quickly become their master, but who was she to question the rules. At least that’s what she told herself each time she was handed a hideout master-key or a centuries old set of armor with more enchantments than an arcane table.

Yet, here she was, ready to throw one flowing-haired ginger into the waters of the cistern if he brushed her off one more time. There were layers to her frustrations, of course. First off, she was the dam guild master. What in Sovngarde could be more important than talking to the guild master? Lorienna may have been new to this, but she was pretty sure that in the “Priorities of the Thieves Guild” mental-handbook, speaking with the guild master was number 1.

Second, if the distractingly rugged nord really had such important things to do, shouldn’t she, again, the GUILD MASTER, know about them? Wouldn’t that be something her second-in-command should keep her in the know about?

Third, and the one that stung more than she wanted to admi, was that she wasn’t just the guild master to the infuriatingly handsome thief. Or at least she had thought.

Yes, many members of the Thieves Guild have been victims to Brynjolf’s easy charm. There wasn’t a day that went by without a new recruit ending their first job with star-filled doe-eyes focused on the good-looking man, but Lorienna had been certain she felt the shift between Brynjolf and herself during the whole mess with Mercer.

When she wasn’t lying to herself, she could admit it started shifting well before that, well before he ran up to her in the cistern, disbelief in his eyes, relief in his voice, telling her he’d looked for her. Too lost in the moment, both of you had missed the knowing glances passed between Delvin and Vex, silently smirking at what you two didn’t know yet - that you were well beyond the safety of the shoreline of this river of emotions.

But right now? She was lying to herself as she stared daggers into Brynjolf’s broad, rippling back hugged by his Nightengale armor in the most deli…

Ok. She had it bad.

Too distracted by her warring thoughts of plunging a knife in Brynjolf’s armor to either make him bleed or to cut it off of him in offense for blocking him from her view, Lorienna didn’t notice Delvin sliding into the unoccupied chair to her left, thunking his mug onto the table. “Ya know, I don’t think actin like that mug is Brynjolf’s throat is goin to help ya at all.”

Jerking back, Kandri blinked Delvin into focus, shaking her head of the cobwebs occupying her mind. When Delvin’s words registered, she looked down, noticing ghost white knuckles strangling the tankard in hand. “I wasn’t imagining strangling anyone,” she mumbled.

“Might be more convincing if ya hadn’t been starin at his back without blinkin the past 10 minutes.”

“I was not staring.”

“Miracle he hasn’t looked over at ya, honest.”

“Can I help you Delvin? Or are you just here to archive my movements?”

A chuckle shook the guild-veteran’s shoulders. “Just wonderin when ya’re gonna talk to him, boss.”

“Who? Brynjolf? There’s nothing to talk about. He’s obviously content with moving onto the next chapter with no regard of who he’s leaving behind in the pages.” Lorienna wanted her statement to drip with venom, leave no question for the disdain she was obviously feeling, but Delvin caught the melancholy lilt sucking all the poison out of her words and replacing it with an ache only the hear knew.

“Listen, boss, I ain’t here to tell ya what to do. But, well, listen, I’mma be blunt. Ya’re walkin around here like a kicked puppy, and it’s obvious to err’one why. Well, maybe not err’one, hence why ya’re mopin around…”

“I am not moping...”

“Ya’re. And it’s pathetic. Ya’re lucky I’m givin ya this talk and not Vex, she’s been wantin to throw a dagger at ya the past two days.”

“I don’t know how a dagger wound is going to help anything…”

“It’s Vex. Probably best not to question it, yeah? Either way, either ya talk to him or we lock ya both in the vault.” While Delvin spoke, their subject of conversation rose from his seat, emptying his tankard with a long gulp, setting it down on the table for Vekel to clean, and made his way out of the flagon to the cistern.

Lorienna didn’t realize she’d been watching Brynjolf’s every move like her eyes worked completely on their own agenda until Delvin jabbed her in the side, causing a startled yelp and an arm to flail, knocking the wooden plate in front of her to the floor. The clatter only interrupted the Ragged Flagon’s din for a beat, everyone going back to their conversations once they were satisfied with what could’ve caused their leader to cause such a ruckus.

Rubbing the fresh bruise, Kandri pointed a daggered look at the man now becoming a quite literal pain-in-her-side. “Why do you care so much? What’s in it for you?”

“Figure it’s best for err’one to have our two leaders be happy. Not gonna be verr’ good with both ya actin like draugr around here. Morale and all that. Not to mention Brynjolf’s been messin’ up job details, so that’s not helpful.”

Kandri took a beat at that last bit. Brynjolf messing up jobs? She’s never heard of him missing a speck of dust on the vault door, let alone pass along faulty job information. This guild was new to her, but it was Brynjolf’s family, and he knew better than anyone that bad information meant risking a member of that family. He’d rather cross Maven Blackbriar himself than risk sending any thief on a half-assed job.

“What’re you getting at Delvin?”

With uncharacteristic softness, Delvin met Lorienna’s gaze, “Ya both deserve happiness, boss. And right now? Ya’re both wading through each day like Sovngarde’s already takin’ ya. Bryn’s too blind to see his own feet, so he’s probably got no idea. But just talk to him. It’ll be alright, ya ‘ll see.”

He gave a comforting squeeze to her hand and downed the rest of his ale before moving over to join Vex and Dirge in their game of cards at the next table. Vex caught Lorienna’s eyes over Delvin’s shoulder, giving a knowing smirk, and coked her head in the direction of the cistern.

The guild master let her head fall back, eyes closing, as a small groan escaped her lips. “Sovngarde take me. These bunch of idiots are going to be the death of me.” Pinching her nose, she took one last deep breath as she steeled herself and finally pushed from her seat.

To her surprise though, the cistern was mostly empty, many members still in the Flagon given the early hour. Steady “thunk” “thunk” thunk”s told her someone was by the archery dummies, and she wandered in the direction of the sound, fingers crossed that she’d catch Brynjolf practicing archery for the first time in their friendship, but Stendarr wasn’t on her side today as Rune came into view.

Seeing the guild master approach, Rune loosed one more arrow, satisfying “thunk” meeting their ears, and lowered the bow as he turned to greet her.

“Lorienna, what can I do for you?”

“Hi Rune. Any chance Brynjolf came through here earlier?” Lorienna hated the sheepish tone of her voice and was praying that her cheeks weren’t an telling shade of crimson while she spoke. Either Rune had the soul of an angel or he was none-the-wiser to her plight because his face never changed as he kept his attention on her.

“You just missed him. Exited out the entrance just a minute ago.”

“Outside? To the town?”

“Yup.”

“Huh, ok. Thanks Rune. And keep up that practice, your shooting is already greatly improved.” Now it was Rune’s turn to blush as a shy smile crept on his face. Easing his suffering, Lorienna brushed past him, giving a pat to his shoulder as she did. Moments later, the crisp night air of the Rift touched her face while the stone door ground behind her.

This was Lorienna’s favorite hour to wander the city. Not many found Riften beautiful, with it often considered the underside of Skyrim, but Lorienna found the opposite to be true, relishing in the beauty that hid beneath the cracks and creaks of the fishing port. The surrounding mountains kept the air cool, even in the summer months, while the steady water below them offered a mask of tranquility to a city that lived in bedtime stories to keep naughty children at bay. During the day, the sun reflected off the mountain snow, bringing out the colors of the foliage as if they were freshly painted on the branches. And at night? Oh, the night in Riften was magic.

Running water replaces the bustle of the market, crafting a spell of calm to all who wandered the streets, making their way to the Bee and Barb or to rest their weary heads. The moon casts a shimmering blanket on top of the water, stars appearing in the air, reflecting off the windows and lamps as you passed by. You could feel completely alone and surrounded at the same time. It was Lorienna’s happy place.

When she started rising through the guild ranks, duties piling up and stress multiplying with each new member, Lorienna would escape their underground home to the quiet streets of the city above, basking in the moonlight on top of the temple roof. It wasn’t surprising when Brynjolf started following her there, attempting but failing to hide the worry in his eyes as he claimed he just happened to be scouting the area when he caught site of her up there. She didn’t bother pointing out that scouting the area he knew like the back of his hand when sleeping didn’t make much sense; instead letting him ease down next to her, always settling into comfortable silence.

That rooftop, in the spotlight of the moon, became their hideaway. So she knew exactly where her instincts were pulling her as she turned from the Thieves Guild entrance and looked up, finding him right where she knew he’d be. At first, it appeared as if he didn’t notice her standing just before him on the ground, but then she saw the slight tilt down of his forehead. “Should’ve known ya’d find me here.”

Oh, how she missed that voice.

Her usual route to the roof was imprinted in her brain, and she was approaching their spot in less than a minute, but as she walked closer, she felt her steps get smaller. Just steps away from him, back still facing her, she paused.

Weeks. It had been weeks of hearing his sorry excuses. Of hearing him brush her off over and over again. Of watching her best friend move on without her. One more exchange and she was going to break. But standing here, preparing to confront him, her heart was in her throat. Every doubt, every fear, every reason for her to turn around and run bombarded her brain as she stood frozen, feet unwilling to take the final steps, because she knew. She knew once she started the conversation, there was no going back. To before. To their easiness. To their companionship. Was this worth risking all of that?

Brynjolf didn’t even bother to turn around to interrupt her spiraling mind. “Just sit down, lass. I can hear ya’r thoughts all the way over here.”

That voice. That voice was a balm on her soul when she returned from a job, weary, exhausted, ready to collapse. That voice was her guiding light as they confronted Mercer. That voice was just one part of a man who plucked her off the streets and became her home. Lorienna closed her eyes, taking one more steadying breath.

Much to her chagrin, the descent onto the rooftop was more of a “plop”, foot slipping on moss slick with the day’s rain, and the “oomf” she let out didn’t go unnoticed. Shoulders shaking, Brynjolf didn’t bother trying to hide his chuckle while Lorienna got herself situated, rubbing her arse in an attempt to ease the pain. Leaning on an arm for leverage, her shoulder brushed his, and Brynjolf turned his head at the contact. For the first time in weeks, since they took down Mercer together, Lorienna and Brynjolf held each other’s gaze.

Familiarity settled in her chest before unease and fear gripped her heart. She swore she caught a glint of sadness in Brynjolf’s brown eyes before he turned away again, focusing his attention on the mountains over the wall. Well, it was now or never.

“Where’ve you been, Bryn?” Lorienna asked him, eyes never leaving his face.

“Only been here a minute before you got here, lass.” He answered.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean the last few weeks, since Mercer.”

“I told ya, lass. I had important thin…”

“Brynjolf. Talos help you if you say you had important things to do. I am the guild master. Master of the Thieves Guild. Top of the top. What in Sovngarde could have been more important than talking to me? Especially if you were doing ‘important things’ for the guild! Please enlighten me because I have been losing my mind the last few week!”

Lorienna’s gaze never faltered, staying focused on Brynjolf’s temple since his gaze on the mountains seemed as determined as hers. For a few beats, he remained frozen, not even a twitch of his jaw to be seen. It took every ounce of Lorienna’s will to remain patient, letting him sort through what was flickering through his mind, instead focusing on calming her pounding heart.

Agonizing seconds passed before he closed his eyes, letting loose a sigh she felt in her own bones, and turned to face her. His eyes met hers. Brown eyes that could flash with mischief and then compassion and then steel determination in the span of a second. Eyes that always held a softness for his family in the guild, and a softness that grew a little more noticeable only when he looked upon one particular member. Eyes as deep as the treasure troves of Skyrim that Lorienna loved to get lost in.

Hope bloomed as she watched the sadness in his gaze transform to fondness, holding her breath as he seemed to settle on whatever thought he’d been arguing with.

“Lorienna, lass, I’m sorry. I – I wasn’t truthful over the last couplah weeks.”

“No shit.” Brynjolf tilted his head, rolling his eyes at Lorienna’s lack of decorum, giving her a bored look as if to ask if she was done.

“Ok, ok. I’ll behave now,” she relented.

“Aye, I like it better when you don’t.” The mischievous glint in his eye left as soon as it appeared, somber softness settling in again. “It’s a sorry excuse, and an ever sorrier way to go about it, but I was scared. That whole mess with Mercer, I thought I was ready to handle it, to come out of it same as before, but I was only foolin myself.”

He returned his gaze to the mountains beyond, resting an arm on top of one bent knee, the other placed behind him on the roof to keep himself upright. Sitting patiently beside him, Lorienna listened as he put his thoughts forward.

“I knew it well before too. When ya came back from Goldenglow, eyes shinin brighter than any emerald, bouncin on the balls of your feet with adrenaline. Mara herself could’ve descended, and I wouldn’t’ve questioned why. But I lied to myself. Tucked that feelin down and buried it, tellin myself you were a new recruit, probably not gonna make it the month. Can’t get attached now. Yet, insufferably determined lass you are, ya kept comin back. Nose down, gettin jobs done. Gradually takin in my family like they were ya’r own. Slowly, a kernel of worry would always form when ya left for jobs. ‘Ya worry for everyone, don’t overthink it,’ I’d tell myself.

Then the kernel would stay, plantin itself as soon as I’d watch ya leave the cistern, and not makin itself scarce until my eyes were on ya again. Didn’t take long until I’d ask Delvin or Vex where they sent ya off to. Thought I was bein subtle, but they know me too well. Wanted to punch Delvin right in his smirkin mouth every time it popped up.

But I am nothin but a man of my word so I kept tryin to bury it, kept tryin to lie to myself. Thought I was goin crazy when givin ya your next job was my favorite part of the day simply because it meant I’d get to talk to ya.”

Lorienna’s cheeks were flaming as she listened, nuzzling her face in her knees in an attempt to hide the affects his words had on her. Never in her life could she fight the smile that was taking over her face, basking in the moonlight, listening to Brynjolf’s confession.

It seemed that this next part wasn’t coming to Brynjolf so easily though. Pausing, he shifted his gaze to the shingles underneath them, scratching at the wood like it was the most important thing for him to do in that moment. Just as Lorienna opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, he planted his hand flat on the roof as if grounding himself and continued.

“Then Mercer sent ya after Karliah. As I watched ya walk out of the cistern, my instincts were yellin at me. ‘Tell her, tell her. You’re in love with her ya fool, tell her.’ Like they knew something was goin wrong. But the fool that I am, I stood there, feelin that seed of worry take its usual place. Weeks went by. Somethin started to nag at me. I’d look at the entrance to the cistern everyday, pleading with it to open and ya’d walk back in. Finally, Mercer returned, alone. As he approached me, my mind was screamin. Every fiber of my bein kickin at me that this wasn’t real, that this was a trick. Ya were right behind, comin in any second. It all went silent when he told me ya were dead.”

At last, Brynjolf lifted his head, brown eyes meeting Lorienna’s green. Small tears began to form in the corners, and she allowed herself to reach out, wiping one away before it fell to his cheek. For a moment, her hand lingered there, her palm lightly scratched by his stubble, relishing in being in front of him and not a corpse left in the snow.

“I acted on pure will and muscle memory, grabbin my gear and equipment I needed. I didn’t hesitate, immediately makin my way to Snow Veil. Nothing would’ve stopped me. I dared any imperial or stormcloak to get in my way, blocking my path to ya. It wouldn’t’ve ended well for ‘em. By the time I got there though, ya were gone, and there weren’t any tracks for me to follow. It was a dead end, nothin to tell me what Mercer said wasn’t true. Nothin to wake me from the living nightmare I was trapped in. As I trudged back, I grieved. Grieved the love I had been too stubborn to accept. Grieved the fiery dragon who burned her way into my life. Grieved the thief who was the sole owner of my heart.”

Lorienna knew this story, but this was the first time she heard the depths of Brynjolf’s pain. Heard the crack in his voice as he relived that grief. For a brief second, in the back of her mind, she cursed her inadequacy with necromancy not letting her bring Mercer back from the dead just so she could kill him over and over again for eternity.

A hand found its way onto Lorienna’s check. One she nuzzled into, eyes closed, humming at the contact. Brynjolf’s thumb gently stroked back and forth, coaxing her to meet his gaze. “I hadn’t realized my world had stopped until ya walked into the Flagon weeks later, casting my life in ya’r fiery glow once again. Mercer’s plot be damned, I wanted to grab ya right there and hold onto ya until the divines separated us. Durin that whole ordeal, swearin to Nightengale, takin down Mercer, restorin Karliah, I swore to myself I’d tell ya as soon as we were back. I couldn’t go another day without ya knowin how I felt. And then we got home, and well, I ran.

Not literally, of course, but any time I dredged up the courage to talk to ya, I’d look in these gorgeous green eyes with the ability to make my brain stop, and I’d get scared. What if ya didn’t feel the same? What if I read everything wrong? Could I date the Guild Master? Was that even allowed? Would the other members reject it? Every cowardly question would roar in my head until it was all I heard, and I’d run. Throwin that half-arsed excuse at ya every time ya approached me. I’m honestly impressed ya hadn’t punched me right in the mouth.”

Lorienna rolled her eyes. “You were one more excuse from getting thrown into the cistern.”

That earned her a hearty laugh that she found contagious, the tension built upon for weeks dissipating into the Rift night air. There on their little hideaway, laughing like schoolchildren, Brynjolf and Lorienna took each other in for the first time not as guild members, not as friends, but as the sole protectors of each other’s most precious possession.

Brynjolf moved the hand resting on Lorienna’s cheek to snake his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side. As she went to nestle her head in the crook of his neck, he stopped her with a gentle tap to her chin. Tilting up, she blinked up at him, catching him glance down at her lips before meeting her eyes again and closing the space between them. A ghost of a kiss touched her lips, one that had her angling her neck to deepen it, chasing whatever she could. So gently she barely registered the movement, Brynjolf moved away, looking at her like she was the greatest treasure he’d ever beheld.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a right arse, lass, but I promise ya. I’d fight every divine if it meant havin ya by my side. No one is takin ya from me again. I’m honored to be your second-in-command, rebuilding a life for our cozy, little family, but if ya ’ll have me, it’d be my greatest honor to be your partner.”

“Until my dying breath, Brynjolf, you and I will go through this life together, no matter what the divines have in store for us.”

Conveying the conviction in her words, Lorienna leaned up to seal her oath with a kiss, one that Brynjolf returned eagerly, trying to deliver every promise he could offer to her through such a simple act. Breaking apart, they rested their foreheads, trying to imprint this moment in their memories to hold onto for eternity.

Hearts settled, Brynjolf moved to make room for Lorienna in the crook of his neck, resting his cheeck atop her head, his thumb tracing small circles along her hip. Together, they took in the view in front of them – snow-capped mountains glistening with the stars in the moonlight, gentle waters lapping underneath the city, and the cemetery below cast in silver light, a single moonbeam shining on the hidden entrance to their family.

Was this worth risking their before? Lorienna could feel the answer wash over her as if the divines themselves were handing over their blessings.

Because he was hers and she was his, and even when they find themselves separated in the darkness, they would always find their way back home. Back to each other.

#skyrim #brynjolf #oc #female oc #brynjolf x dragonborn #brynjolf x oc #brynjolf x female original character #fluff #love confessions #dragonborn

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madschiavelique · 2 years

Text

A Crown Of Ink : chapter 1 - The Tower

masterlist : 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 word count : 6,7k

mentions of : nothing that I know of (if you do find some elements that might be triggering please don't hesistate to tell me so that I can add it)

summary : You've always been an excellent in student in the Academy, getting the best results and always being first in every class. But it all changes as soon as you see your name in the second place, the first being occupied by a certain Viktor.

"Rivals? Yes, rivals, so be it, that is what you will be."

some extra information on this : she/her reader, academic rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, reader is really competitive and wants to be first at everything, Tarot themed fanfiction with guidelines, slow burn

author's note : hi besties, hope you're having a wonderful day/night/moment. I've been writing and thinking about many arcane fics lately and since this one had a few drafts ready in my files I thought I could share some with you ! here's the first chapter of this fic, I'm so excited to read your thoughts ! (also my native language is not English so you might find some grammar mistakes - sorry about that)

tag list : @wincestisasincest

Heat, insufferable waves of heat washing over your limbs, pulsing in your veins from your cheeks to your hands. It’s like a lingering murmur that hums in your entire body, a fever that drowns your thoughts in a boiling blazing mixture. It’s like you can hear your blood just pounding in your ears as your chest is on fire.

Raw Anger electrifying your body like the most vibrant jolt of lightning.

But still, you feel so weak, like your bones are icicles that might thaw under all that warmth, and all this melted ice might just run up to your eyes and wash the last bits of pride you had just a few minutes ago. It’s like your stomach turned to soft snow and you could feel the cold creeping to your heart like iced brambles.

Pure fear, feeling as fragile as a spider web.

War, that is what it feels like. A violent conflict that should not happen, a battle for a territory that never ends. They’ve eradicated shame.

Because anger and fear are sisters, they’ll have no time for shame.

And he started it.

[Earlier that day]

“Come on, let's have a look at what your next semester will be like.” Says Eris before gently rapping her fingers on the first and last cards of the deck.

You'd always found it satisfying, the steady sound of cards being shuffled, the clacking of thick, rich paper full of truths and predictions. The movement that Eris's hands repeated with her slender, accustomed fingers was mastered, fluid thanks to practice.

Tarot, an interesting science of interpretations that could offer you answers to your questions through card reading.

You didn't really feel nervous, the great number of herbs hanging on the walls of your friend's stall probably always helped to put her customers at ease and probably helped you feel relaxed.

Everything smelled of hot incense, lemongrass, and Eris always smelled of mint, as did most things she touched. She used to coat her fingertips with peppermint essential oil, so when she shuffled the cards, the freshness of the mint seemed to be the slicer of the future.

You inhale the scents, holding them in your nose for a moment before releasing them in a long breath through your mouth. You had come for your quarterly Tarot reading.

On every holiday you came back to meet Eris in the Undercity. Of course, you would do additional activities together.

You would engage in late night debates about the various sciences taught at the Academy, dissecting some of the legends of the continents of Runeterra or discussing absurd objects that had nevertheless been created in this world.

But the highlight of your stay was always your card reading which helped you in your studies and slightly in your daily life.

You preferred to keep the readings focused on your studies, to ensure your success until you finished school. So you didn't ask her for more information about how your life would go during the next months..

She stopped shuffling, setting the deck of cards on the counter. Used to it, you grabbed it with your left hand : always the left. This was a crucial rule, the cards must be shuffled and drawn with the left hand.

Eris had explained to you that we always control and deal the cards with the left hand because the feminine, intuitive and receptive energy is related to the left side of the body.

You cut the deck, she took the pile you hadn't touched and placed it on top of the one you had cut. Then, with an elegant and expert gesture, she laid the cards down until a perfect line was drawn on the dark, scratched metal.

You reached out your hand, trying to find the cards in the deck that called to you the most, waiting for a tingle in your fingertips.

Sometimes you even waited for that feeling of a vein in your arm being tugged lightly, which echoed like a guitar string to your heart as your ring finger hovered over a card that needed to be drawn.

You breathe in. The minty smell mixes with the whiff of the cards.

Breath out. You make sure your jaw is loose and your shoulders are relaxed

Tingling. You touch the card that Eris takes out of the line.

Tingling again, you apply the same gesture.

Ooh, this one almost pulls on your finger, it’s the third and last card.

You had often wanted to learn this science, this art. Your friend preferred to call it an art, with the argument: "an art that does not serve to heal is not an art".

But you didn't really know where to start, and you had surprisingly never asked her to teach you. Moreover, the lack of time between your studies, your job and Eris' work prevented you from spending longer moments together that could have allowed you to learn more.

That's also why she gave you small readings with only three cards. Fast, but it was always possible to develop on it.

She flips the first card: Wheel of Fortune. Cool, or so you think, because so far nothing seems wrong with your friend's behaviour. Eris flips the next card, and her reaction is quite different:

"Why are you making that face?"

Her straight nose was wrinkled, her dark grey eyes squinted, her right hand came to scratch the back of her neck slightly hidden under her black hair.

"Let's just say that... things are going to be pretty hectic for you in the next months."

The card she had just flipped was the Tower, and from what you could see the mood was not the happiest. At least, you wouldn't say that a lightning bolt striking a tower and two people falling from it was the most pleasant situation in your eyes.

Did that mean you would throw yourself off the Academy's observation tower? Great start of the year.

She flipped the last card: the Emperor.

She frowned her thick eyebrows as you waited impatiently for the results.

It was as if a very thin veil suddenly surrounded you, and it began to slowly but surely tighten your limbs. It was a bit like an itch you couldn't scratch.

Uncertainty, impatience, both lurking around you, ready to squeeze even tighter, to nip at your ribs in anticipation.

"Well," she finally said with a sigh, "this year will undoubtedly be much more turbulent than the last two, much, much more."

The veil tightens, the embrace is stifling you. Instinctively, your hands meet and your fingers fiddle themselves.

Well, that's probably an overreaction, you think, Eris hasn't even started her explanation yet.

You frown in turn before she picks up the Wheel of Fortune card and presents it to you.

"What I can see is that the wheel is turning. The Wheel of Fortune card is typical of the cycle. You know, things always look up in the end, or the calm before the storm. Whatever it is, it's something you can't avoid, you can't stop the wheel from turning.”

"And this Wheel of Fortune intends to throw me brimstone, salt and..." you squinted to better contemplate the details the card inhabited, "mercury?"

"I hope not," she sighs, before picking up the Tower's card, "In your case, what's coming is a storm. It's going to move hard, and it's not going to be pretty. The Tower card is very representative of a violent and sudden change.

"Yeah I gathered I wasn't going to be asked to agree," you say, looking at the card more closely.

A black background, in the centre a square grey tower being smashed at the top by a bolt of lightning, removing the rounded crown from the building. The tower is on fire, and two people are falling. Nice. Great. Fantastic.

"And finally..." She took the Emperor's card. "Have you met a guy lately?"

"I met some of the principles of science last night before I went to bed, so you can imagine the state of my social life," you say with a sigh, "but let me think about it."

You were so dedicated to your studies that it was hardly possible to see human beings other than on paper. You had a simple but important goal in your studies: you wanted to become Heimerdinger's assistant.

Why? Because being Heimerdinger's assistant would offer many privileges. And, not really knowing what you wanted to do later on, having a master key such as the title of his assistant would be perfect for whatever professional path you wished to take.

And although this may sound completely absurd when you put it like that, the results the Academy had recorded about you indicated the opposite : Successful in every subject, determined, meticulous, still some work to do regarding participation.

You already knew Heimerdinger, and by that you obviously meant that you had already conversed with him on various subjects when you happened to be in the same hallway or room with him. He was full of politeness in between his little chirps, but it didn't stop you from having conversations on serious subjects.

Who else could occupy that masculine place... Jayce perhaps?

You had met Jayce when you first arrived at the Academy, when you had been arranged as a group to prepare an engineering project. You exchanged a lot, bonded enough to be good friends, and even got the best mark for your assignment.

However, the popularity of this Golden Boy did not necessarily give you the honour of his presence every day. You weren't unsympathetic or unable to open up to others enough to have a wide repertoire of friends, but let's just say... You had enough personal reasons for not having the same level of sociability as Jayce.

"No, I don't really see anyone.”

"That's what I thought, well, in some cases, this card could indicate that despite all the hardships you're going to go through, you will regain control. In the second case, prepare to meet someone, and I mean a man. The Emperor card is a masculine force, sure of itself, it dominates the material world. It is even likely that... It is this someone who is causing all this change and this, how shall I say, 'upheaval'?"

"I hope I don't meet anyone then."

"That you know as well as I do, the cards-"

"Don't lie, yes, yes I know." You complete, knowing full well the end of her sentence. "I was going to double my efforts this year, but I think whoever is coming is trying to put a spoke in my wheel.”

"Nice one, and I doubt it's possible that you're going to give yourself any more than you are now," Eris says, gathering her cards to reform the deck and place it back in its box.”

You didn't like it at all, the reading, but at the same time you couldn't see how such splendid news could make anyone happy. You felt that you were missing bits and pieces of information, that it all lacked precision, as if you took a handful of sand and grains crept into the cracks between your fingers

"Don't you have anything else to tell me about this reading ? It's a bit short, isn't it?

"I can't give you an 18 card reading like I usually would," she was busy arranging trinkets on her display to make it look cleaner and more professional, "my next customer is coming in five minutes."

You run your fingers through your hair, chewing your cheek, thinking of ways the wheel could turn until it would become excruciating.

Bad grades? Your grades were often within two points of the top mark and always had been.

But what if some new teachers mark completely differently? That's not a problem, you would analyse their grading style to adapt to their demands and requirements in your work.

An incurable disease? A zombie invasion? A war? A pirate attack on the Academy? Well, apart from the war, the statistics are low.

No, you had to know what it was, you needed more information. You hesitated, then finally said softly:

"Eris?" she turned to you, waiting for you to ask, "do you have a deck to lend me ? And a manual to understand how all this… works?"

If the lack of time on Eris's side prevented you from knowing more, you would bring the answers to yourself. She looked at you for a moment, surprised, before a thin smile split her face.

From underneath her stand she pulled out a box on which was marked 'Radiant Wise Spirit Tarot'.

"We'll start with the simplest and most direct. The Tarot de Marseille has too many ambiguities and I suspect that with your busy schedule, you won't have much time to analyse everything, so I'm giving you a Rider Waite Tarot. There's a booklet in the box that will give you explanations of the card you're drawing."

"And..." you took the box in your hands, "what do I do next ? Do I do like you, draw three cards and then dive into the booklet and try to connect them together ?”

"Um, let's start with something simpler that will probably be faster for you. Start by shuffling the cards until you are sure that everything is mixed up and the cards are no longer in sequence. Then, the exercise you will do is simple: every morning, shuffle the cards, put the deck down, cut it as you usually do, and look at the bottom card. Read its description and see how, over the course of the day, you can relate it to events. If any card comes out when you shuffle, keep it on the side, it might be supplementary information about your day.”

You gazed for a moment at the drawings that ran the length of the box. You never thought you'd try this, but if it could help you to know better how to guide yourself this year, why not give it a try.

"How did your little warm-up exam go, by the way ? Did you do well ?"

"A child who’d just come out of a storm on a ship and is seasick could have done well on this," you say as you tuck your tarot into your backpack, "but if the result is anything else, I'll tell you in my letter."

You corresponded by letters, the quota being a letter every fortnight or so to tell each other the latest events in your lives. She was probably the person you had known the longest.

"The results are coming in today anyway."

"So soon ? They never get a break at the Academy.”

"We run on coffee, it's the oil in our engines," you say, pointing to your brain. "And that's not all. Today, I'm welcoming my roommate."

"You accepted that ? You, the eternal lone wolf?”

"Poor wolf, a dog would be a better fit."

"You're a good biter though."

You roll your eyes. In Zaun, everyone has fought at least once in their lives. So you may have potentially already bitten someone. But it was obviously in self-defence, and to...

"I was forced to have a flatmate, a room normally for two occupied by only one student at the Academy is just impossible in the long run. Anyway, I hope she won't be difficult to live with. I don't know her name, but I know she's on the same course as me, so who knows, maybe we'll end up getting along.

"Then let's just hope you don't make her feel uncomfortable."

"Me ? That's not knowing me well, with my warm sociable nature I could be buddy-buddy with anyone I want."

"Another hidden talent of yours that no one knows about ? That's what I love about you, your boundless empathy."

"What can I say, I'm a world to discover."

You adjust your bag on your shoulders, getting ready to leave when Eris calls you one last time:

"Take care of yourself."

You smile at her one last time before waving and heading for the exit of her shop. You pull the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and adjust a thick black cloth to cover your mouth and nose. The reasons for this 'mask' are various. Firstly, Zaun's fumes are getting worse every year thanks to Piltover's waste, so you try to protect yourself as best you can from them. And secondly... let's just say that there are certain people you'd rather not run into again in your life who could be detrimental to you, so you might as well mask yourself.

The waste that Piltover dumped ended up in Zaun, where the air is so thick you feel heavier, where the greying water tastes like a medicinal concoction and where the sugary smell of cold tobacco, incessantly kicked up dust and metal suffocates you.

You arrive at one of the lifts in the Undercity. They've been running for decades, and you can't help but notice all the visible mechanisms and gears that make them work. They are almost ironic in their simplicity to you, all rusted and burnished by time. A few squeaks, a slight tremor, and the machine starts to move, beginning its ascension.

It has changed so much, it has evolved so much. The Lanes you knew ten years ago bore little resemblance to the Zaun of today.

The transport, the architecture, the shops, everything in the city centre of Zaun had literally changed. As for the other, more remote parts, you didn't prefer to venture there alone, it was too risky, too dangerous.

Not that you couldn't defend yourself, but it's not the first place you would have thought of if you'd thought of coming back to Zaun to spend a weekend.

Your ride in the lift ended, you had reached the surface. The sun was high in the sky, its heat was not horrible but it could quickly become uncomfortable in this mid-afternoon. You began your long walk, not really preferring to linger in this place that reeked of urine and expired eggs.

So you walked on, weaving your way through the streets until you reached the central road. You continued until you reached one of those big bridges connecting the two nations.

It was a long walk, but you were thankful that the trees of Piltover could provide you with some shade under their leaves. For although the bridges between Zaun and Piltover were convenient, they were very long and left little to no shelter from the sun.

And although you could have been content to stay under the foliage of the tree you were standing under, you now had to face another parameter of the journey home that you didn't appreciate : the slopes.

It didn't look like it when you were near Piltover, but from a distance you could see that it was a city built in tiers.

You could only look at this sight of Piltover like a big decorated cake that was built on levels which you could see in those fancy pâtissier displays. All glazy, shiny with golden details that cost three times your own salary.

So you started the second part of the journey in cake city. You continued down the alley you were in, crossing it until you came to a small square in the centre of which stood a fountain made of ochre blocks of earth. But you continued on, taking your first set of stairs to the right.

You started to climb, and you hated Piltover for their architecture that went in all directions. You went up, then took a large shopping street on your left until you came to one of the big crossroads of the city, then you turned right again, took a small street, and then took stairs again.

The pace was relentless, the heat made you feel like you were swimming in your own sweat, but at least you were not far from the area of buildings reserved for scholarship students.

It was a small area, really, considering that the more privileged students – that is, the majority of the Academy's students – had bigger flats further uptown. This was the case for Jayce. But then again, when you're supplied by the Kirammans, it's hard to be poorly lodged.

You sometimes had the opportunity to chat with the Kirammans' daughter, Caitlyn. Although she could appear cold and distant, once she got comfortable enough with you, she was actually quite friendly. And so far, you were getting on well with her.

It was absolutely exhausted and out of breath that you finally arrived in front of your building. It was not far from the shuttle bus stop that would take you to the Academy.

It was an old building, quite long and two floors high. From what you were told, it was an old hospital that had been refurbished. After all, Piltover was a very healthy town and therefore had few hospitals.

The cool thing about former hospitals is that their beds are always extremely comfortable, so it is always a struggle to get out of them in the morning and a relief to get back in at the end of the day.

You took a deep breath, readjusting your bag on your shoulders.

It was full of little gifts and supplies that you had collected from Eris. Most of them were herbs for stress, so you had several whole bottles of peppermint or assorted Bach flowers to hang in your room, as well as elixir versions that your friend had given you.

You had also picked up some new textbooks that she didn't use – you might as well take advantage of them and save money instead of having to spend it on new notebooks.

She had also stocked you up on ink and you were probably set to write for several years with all those bottles of Ionian ink.

How did such an expensive item made its way into your friend's stall ? Well, all sorts of customers came through her shop and sometimes paid by barter instead of the common currency.

She kept a lot of strange things hidden behind her stall that fascinated you whenever you came to see her.

Gold-flecked red eggs, feathers of many colours that you could not have imagined in your mind, knives with blades of particular and expensive metals, perfumes with strange powers and all sorts of things that would have made Benzo's shop and other Zaun's apothecaries look like children trading marbles.

So you had inherited a new quill, along with other supplies that would be useful this year.

You passed through the bronze gate, closing it behind you before climbing the three steps to the stoop and opening the door to the Hall.

The building was not complex, which cut through the labyrinthine appearance of the entire city. A hall connected the two wings of the building: on the left was the girls' wing, on the right the boys' wing, although mischievous people playing bashful lovers often deviated from this organisation.

The hall had a high ceiling from which hung three simple but perfectly illuminating chandeliers. It had a common room in the centre and a fireplace on the wall opposite to the entrance. A few brown leather armchairs and sofas formed a few circles around low tables.

Entering this hall was like entering a distant period in the past, it had nothing to do with the clean, modern, flawless and polished to perfection appearance of the Piltover buildings.

No, here it smelled of varnished wood, old books and something fruity like warm orange. Something from beyond time, where the fire crackles in the dark winters, somewhere where anything can happen in the quietest of quiet.

Sitting on one of these armchairs was a young man with brown hair, prominent cheekbones, head bowed over a piece of paper that had been folded and crumpled many times. An elaborately designed crutch laid against his seat.

He seemed to wear fatigue like an elegant cloak with the dark circles under his eyes, hunched over, his chocolate hair finger-combed, his chin hidden in his hand as he scanned the piece of paper.

You would have gone on your way, and perhaps you should have. As you entered he looked up, his amber eyes meeting your gaze for a moment before inevitably turning back to his piece of paper.

You had never seen him, never met him, never spoken to him. All you could deduce was that he was new. This was not difficult to understand when you saw the bag of luggage that was lying near his feet.

What else can you deduce… This poor guy was looking at his perfectly folded piece of paper as if it held the most important secret of his entire existence, and the way he was looking at it seemed almost painful: he was obviously lost.

How was it even possible to get lost in such a simple building ? In any case, he had probably been there for a while, because if one of his legs was aching, he had to sit down on one of the chairs after a while.

Who knows how long he had been staring at his cursed paper without answers?

But what to do in such cases? Do something? Do nothing?

If you did something, maybe you'd disturb him. Maybe he wasn't even lost and was just waiting for someone, and maybe that damn paper was just an equation he was stuck on or a cryptic post-it note and not instructions to find his way.

However, if you didn't act and ran into that same student again later, you might feel ashamed that you didn't come to his aid.

You had not been raised to help others, you had been raised to compete, so taking the first step to help someone was not always the first thing on your mind.

You were flipping a coin in your head, are you helping him? Are you not helping him?

You ended up choosing the option that would not make you look heartless and lacking in empathy as you pronounce with whatever strength you had left from your journey:

"Need help?"

He didn't even look away from his paper, which seemed to have been crumpled in every way possible, before answering you in the most disinterested way possible:

"I'm managing just fine, thank you."

It was a peculiar accent, and one not commonly found in Piltover. In fact, you'd heard that kind of accent before, but in Zaun. And although you knew the pride of the Zaunites, the harshness of the rejection had redoubled your desire to return to your flat as soon as possible.

‘With my warm sociable nature I could be buddy-buddy with anyone I want’,you were replaying that ridiculous phrase you said to Eris in your mind.

So you headed for your dorms and almost collapsed at the thought of having to climb stairs again. Admittedly it was only one floor, but how you would have envied having one of the ground floor dormitories.

Your body was screaming with fatigue, you felt dirty with sweat, bent over by the weight of your bag, and your feet seemed to be threatening to never allow you to walk again even though they were used to the journey.

You almost dragged yourself to your floor, exhausted. But you couldn't afford to arch your back like the roof of a cathedral forever when you spotted an unfamiliar figure at the end of the hallway, where your flat was.

Oh, that's right, your new room-mate. You pulled yourself up, trying to look straighter than the pile of exhausted limbs your body composed. You might as well make a good impression on the person you were going to be living with for the next... for the time that person would be studying at the Academy, you assumed.

You stepped forward, and she noticed you from where she was standing. She was of medium height, her hair pulled back into a high, thick bun of brown curls. The dimple that split her chin quivered and her pale eyes behind her half-moon glasses peered shyly at you.

When you reached her level, you forced a smile that must have looked more like a wince, given the aches and pains that were already showing on your body. But then again, you have to look polite and welcoming for someone you're going to be sharing your home with for a while, don't you?

"Hi," she began in a voice that proved to you that she had to repeat her introduction over and over before you arrived, "I'm Sky Young, are you the owner of flat 110 ?

"Nice to meet you Sky, that's me indeed." You say, introducing yourself and taking your keys out of your pocket. "You didn't have to wait too long, did you ?”

"Not at all !" Lies, she must have arrived a while ago and had to wait a long time.

"Didn't you get lost on the way ?”

"I must admit it wasn't an easy place to find," she confessed, "but it gave me a better idea of the city."

You opened the door to the flat.

It wasn't a huge place, but there was enough space for two. A tiny corridor led you to the first room. The wall opposite probably had your favourite aspect of the room: huge double glazed sash windows with thin glass that looked like one of these stain-glasses you find in churches, only these were completely polished and separated by some sort of cold golden metal. It was longer than it was high, separated into three parts with a ledge to sit on next to it, it was a great corner for reading or just looking out at the night.

Against this same wall, in its corners, were bedside tables each glued to the sides of single beds while, not far from them, two small personal desks were opposite.

A tiny kitchen with three cupboards, a mini-fridge, a sink, a hotplate and a microwave were stuck against the last corner of the room. Opposite the window was a small dressing room serving as well as a passageway to the bathroom.

You put your bag on your desk before sitting down on your bed, closing your eyes in satisfaction at the touch of your mattress.

Sky looked like she didn't know where to put herself, the poor girl resembled a stunned fawn on the spot.

"Please make yourself at home." You pointed out to her, "over there is the dressing room, it's small but it's enough, and just after is the bathroom.”

You didn't really know where to put yourself either, this type of living arrangement wasn't really common to you. Did you offer to help her organise her things? No, you'd already offered to help the guy downstairs, so getting rejected twice in a row would almost be personal.

Engage in conversation ? Yes, that's probably the thing to do :

"Have you ever visited the Academy ?"

She had moved to the dressing room and started unpacking her things, putting them in the cupboards.

"Not yet," she said, stooping to retrieve a pile of t-shirts, "I'm fairly new."

"You're not from Piltover right ? Where are you from ?" you asked, taking your turn to take out the stuff from your bag.

"I come..." She pauses. " From the other side of the bridge. "

Ah, another Zaunite ? That would make three in the building.

Firstly and obviously, you. Secondly, Sky. And if your assumptions were correct, so was the morning-pee-eyed guy.

Two new Zaunite students arrived on the same day. You wondered whose room-mate this guy would be that you already felt sorry for.

Should you, however, also say that you were from Zaun ? You could already imagine the tricky question of ‘really ? Where are you from ?’

"Oh, I see," you simply replied.

You organised your desk neatly, arranging your ink bottles correctly, hanging the Bach flowers above your headboard, placing your new notebooks on the desk and leaving one in your bag.

As for your tarot deck, you put it on your bedside table so that the next morning you would not forget to draw your card.

You watched it again, your eyes tracing the outline of the box. The truth. It must be hidden in there, it must warn you, help you.

Something frees itself in your throat, creeps into your tongue, tickling your lips. You want to ask, ask where, why, ask how, ask when, ask who. You want to know, and still it's like being in the middle of a foggy night, discerning street lights in the distance, determining blurred shapes without ever being able to understand them.

You’re lost, completely lost. Where are you going ?

Oh, the results, you suddenly remembered. You looked at the time on your wrist, the test results were due in about an hour.

"When you've finished putting your things away, would you like a tour of the Academy ?" you offered.

Sky, who had finished organising her clothes and moved to her desk, turned to you with a small, shy smile.

"It would be a pleasure. The results of the first tests are due today, aren't they?

"Absolutely, we'll finish the tour with that."

In no time at all, Sky had finished packing up all her things with an efficiency you appreciated. You gave her the spare key and left the flat. When you went downstairs, the young man was no longer there, fortunately, because you couldn't bear to see him again.

When you arrived outside, a handful of students had already gathered in front of the shuttle bus stop. You took the opportunity to inform Sky of the shuttle's timetable so that she wouldn't get lost or be late.

Once in it, you started to show Sky around. You pointed out the convenience store where you used to shop - which you should do right after the results.

You also showed her a charming little bakery where you praised the cheap snacks, showed her the café where you worked at weekends, the stationery shop where you sometimes went to buy things when you were short of certain utensils.

She was attentive the whole way. You arrived in front of the Academy's golden gate and so began the long visit.

***

You had spent the next three quarters of an hour going through the various corridors that would be useful to know at the Academy. The small lecture theatres and the larger ones, the study rooms, the library which alone took a good ten minutes to visit, the laboratories, the refectory which you only advised Sky to go to if she had enough money.

The Academy canteen was expensive, and although it had good food, the scholarship students tried to avoid it as much as possible, preferring instead to make their own lunch boxes.

You had obviously shown her the two courtyards, the entrance one and the inner one where the students met during their breaks if they were not in the study hall.

And now you were heading for the results panel near your main classrooms.

"It's interminably big," Sky huffed, "I'm afraid I'll get lost."

"Don't worry, we can make the route together. Besides, you've still got the next two days to get used to the building.

Tomorrow was the start of the weekend, and the Academy remained open for those two days to welcome students and teachers alike. This was mainly for information purposes. The Academy's library was full of everything a student would need to know.

In addition, some students found the atmosphere of the study rooms much more conducive to work than if they were at home or in their dormitories.

The small group seemed more agitated than usual, some of them looking at you. You didn't really care, it wasn't unusual for people to glance at you after a grade announcement had fallen.

After years in their company, one could indeed expect them to wonder who always came out on top everywhere. You hadn't left the title of "First" for a long time. And although it was probably a surprise to some, you gave your all to stay first.

Survival, survival taught you that. Be first, whatever it takes.

In the distance, you saw Jayce's head sticking out. How could you miss him, he's easily a head taller than everyone else here. Except that at the moment he's not really smiling like he usually would be, but that doesn't stop him from coming towards you.

"Sky, this is Jayce, Jayce this is Sky, my new room-mate."

"Nice to meet you Sky," Jayce smiles politely before turning to you and giving you a strange look. "I think you should check out the board."

Your eyebrows immediately furrowed as your gaze jumped from Jayce to the crowd of students. You stepped forward, your shoulders suddenly tense and your jaw clenched.

Your usual confidence at this kind of moment crumbles, giving way to fear of what you might find on that board.

You make your way through, your classmates even moving aside slightly so that you can pass. The list of students in your class is long, so you look at the names at the bottom first.

You know them, they're almost always the same. Your gaze keeps going up, your name is still not present, as you would expect.

However, what worries you is that Jayce has advised you to come and see the board. He knows very well the complex you have, he knows very well that you want and need to be first everywhere at all costs, he doesn't know the reason for it but he knows enough.

Your serenity was eroding, your heart was beginning to beat against your ribs like a caged bird.

You continue to climb, you look at the last quarter of the names. Your mouth goes dry and you have trouble swallowing. It scares you, what you might find at the top of that list.

It terrifies you as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice, a huge, black hole, and your feet were sticking out slightly into the void.

You keep going up, and you find your name. And it's like trying to swallow a big block of ice, because your name isn't the first. It's the second.

So you read this name that stole your title, your place.

Viktor Moravec.

Who the fuck is this Viktor occupying your first place ?

Your heart is squeezed, as if the bird had finally been caught, still trying to flip his wings, sending tingles in your entire chest. It feels so heavy now, your lungs weigh tons, it feels hard to breathe.

"Woah, you're second !” Sky says as she comes up behind you.

The knife stirring your stomach was completely rearranging your insides, and she was unintentionally pouring vinegar on every open cut to your heart. To Sky it may have been incredible, but to you it was catastrophic, you were so mediocre that you came second. Pathetic.

You want to get away from these people, from this group who sees you failure, who sees your defeat and whose eyes swarm over your body like thousands of insects.

While Sky was busy looking for her name in the long list, you were drifting away from the group. It was unpleasant, very unpleasant for the first results of the year.

Viktor, that name really didn't remind you of anything either. Who was it ? Who was it that was dethroning you?

"Ah Jayce, I'd lost track of you."

That accent, you've heard it somewhere before, you're sure.

"You're just in time, I have to introduce you." Jayce says as he turns to the individual.

The footsteps are not steady, a clink of metal rings out on the floor. Your eyes, lowered to the ground, gain on the feet of the person advancing towards you. An elaborately finished crutch, held by a young man with chocolate finger-combed hair and prominent cheekbones.

It's when your gaze reaches the level of his morning-piss-eyes and Jayce makes the introductions that you nearly scream :

"This is Viktor, Viktor..."

"I've met her before, Jayce, no worries." He says without taking his eyes off you for a moment.

"But I guess some real introductions are in order."

The Emperor who came to dethrone you is in front of you: Viktor.

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#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#academic rivals to lovers #academic rivals #arcane #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn #tarot cards #tarot #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x reader

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maliro-t · 10 days

Text

Early on in my second BG3 playthrough, I had my pocket picked by Silfy at the Emerald Grove, and when Mol returned my things, they came in the following container:

Pickpocket's Bag: "A warning is embroidered in shaky letters on the inside flap- 'HANDS OFF'."

There was a lovely bit of irony to this whole affair, given that my Tav was an urchin that grew up on the streets of the city running similar cons, and keeping similar stashes. He was endeared by them (and by the bag), and I'm overly sentimental, so I started collecting items that I thought would have stood out to him in this sack, something I added to through the end of the game. Just trinkets and letters; the kinds of things that didn't feel right to just sell or lose in an overfull chest. Little bits of other people's lives that he wanted to remember.

So, to give myself something to looking back on, the following is an account of its contents by the end (excluding some utility items I kept in there for easy access), and some musings on each.

Kanon's Handkerchief: "Its owner frequently insisted he didn't need this hand-cut linen square, but his sister kept it to hand in case his allergies kicked up."

Found on the body of the tiefling Arka, on an overlook between Moonhaven and the goblin camp. He thoughtlessly encouraged her push for revenge. He wished he had told her to live instead.

Mirkon's Story: "Mirkon's present to you, describing how you saved him from the harpies, and how he thinks you were 'ammazeing'."

Once, there was a boy on a beech. he saw there was a harpie nest. He was a very good climer. he wantet to clime to the top and steel from the harpie nest. But the harpie was very mean. She sang a song and the boy forgot wat he was doing. But then an adventurer passed by. The adventurer was very strong and killed the harpie in one blow and safed the boy. The boy was very cold and scared. He was standing in the water so he was very cold. But the adventurer was ammazeing. The boy wanted to be like the adventurer. He wanted to be strong and safe peopple and never be scared egain. Just like the adventurer. THE END

A little scrap of someone else's wonder. Nothing else like it.

Brass locket: "Slightly tarnished and opened with a mere flick of the thumb."

Found on the body of one of Aradin's crew; an adventurer that died at the gate to the grove. It seemed important somehow.

Dog Collar: "An old, leather collar for a large dog. The name 'Myrna' is engraved on the tag, surrounded by a plethora of indecipherable runes."

Someone's still thinking of her, all the way down there.

Torn-Out Paper: "A torn strip of paper with two lines of barley legible script."

Guiding Light: "Used by the previous owner to access both the Underdark's darkest corners and her own basement, this ring seems to reflect light where there should be none."

[The writing on this torn-out strip of paper is shaky and blotted with tears, making it barely legible.] The silence stretches on- I'm all alone. Please, can hold your hands, for just a while?

Patched Parchment: "A small poem about love and loss inscribed in this torn paper."

[The paper is torn and patched in many places, as if it was well-used but treasured. On it is a small poem without a name.] These empty sheets are all that's left of you. The last of all the thoughtless gifts you gave. I will hold onto them; it's all that I can do. I can't throw them away; I've never been that brave.

Vestiges of Lenore. He never had a handle on pretty words like this. The arcane tower was striking, even as someone with little knowledge of or interest in magic. Sometimes you enter a place and can sense the fingerprints of the people who lived there all over it, take in their joy and their pain and their loss as if it were your own, and leave feeling like you've lost a friend even though you never met them.

Sending Shell: "Faint whispers creep from this Sending Shell when you hold it close, yet the method of sending messages from it is unclear."

Purchased from Mattis at Last Light Inn. You can't knock the kid's hustle in even the darkest of times. And besides, this thing has got to work eventually, right? It's pretty, if nothing else.

Stuffed Bear: "This bear- oft torn and repaired- seems one good squeeze away from crumbling into mouldered stuffing and threadbare patchwork."

Found abandoned on the road through the Shadow-Cursed Lands amongst other belongings likely left by refugees. He's sure someone is missing it. He tries hard not to think about the shadow vestiges.

True Love's Caress: "The most pragmatic and courageous lover ever known was, of course, Sorcha MacTire, for whom the popular hairstyle is named, and for whom many an extremely sappy poem has been written (most of them comparing her to geography)."

One of a magical pair of rings connected by a warding bond, the other of which he never found. He's a romantic at heart, in his own way. The idea of it was sweet, anyways.

Barnabus' Collar: "Necklace the Gnoll Master gave Barnabus when she first met him."

He watched this creature tear itself apart, unable to fulfill its master's saccharine-voiced requests. Even a monster deserved better than to be twisted like that. It mattered that it had a name, even if it was given by her.

One Becomes Many: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

In each of us is more than what we are; Parts and multitudes that form our thoughts, desires, nature itself. Manifold are the creatures inside you- and what you can become when you speak my words is all your parts made manifest. Your weakness can become strength if it is made legion: quaking hearts can find courage in their numbers, the lowliest vermin can humble a goliath if they stand as an army, and a ruin can become a kingdom for one soul made many. Speak Itori mustag thrice. Become your finest self- all of them Raphael.

Perhaps he kept this one as a warning of what becomes of dealing with devils. Or, on the other hand, out of enticement. But maybe there was just something about a man so desperate to live that he split himself into a hoard of vermin- left to be the final wretched survivors worshiping at the ruined altar of spiteful god- that felt worth mourning.

Crumpled Note: "A plain, unadorned note."

Papa, I love you. LOVE FROM IZ

How quickly we lose things, he thinks, carefully folding one more note into a side pocket. How desperate we are to remember them as they were.

Arfur's Private Musings: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

[An unfinished love story, handwritten by Arfur Gregorio, whose name is attached to the bottom of every page.] Her ample bosoms fluttered like doves' fingers, brushing against his nails. The very ends of his moustache stood to attention as the fire stirred behind his eyes. No doubt this was love. Love, ah love! The stuff that dreams are made of. It made him sweat to think of it- the graceful, enduring, blossoming magnitude of what it all, the priceless, breathlesss, weightless, sheer romping joy of it..."

Sometimes you intimidate a 'philanthropist' into surrendering his house to squatting refugees, discover his involvement in an elaborate plot to kill a bunch of kids, scare him into skipping town, go through all of his shit, and keep his half-written smut as a hilarious trophy to fondly remember him by. You know. That universal experience that everyone has.

Guild Ring: "Calishite emeralds are embedded in this heavy silver ring"

A souvenir from past and present.

Inklings: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

[This novel is bookmarked on a page lined with markings; its reader seems to have underscored certain parts for emphasis] After all, there's no point in denying the undeniable, which, until that moment, I had obscured with the million minor tasks by which I measured my life. Yes, the polishing, the scrubbing, the pouring of wine and tea and deference into my master's cup- all of it had surrounded and obscured the essential truth of my life, like a phalanx now fallen. I had wasted my years, one by one, and now there were hardly any left to me at all.

Garlow's Retirement Plan: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

List of Things To Do: -Climb a tree -Have a truly exceptional sandwich -Spend a whole day reading -Visit Waterdeep -Get a massage -Swim in the Chionthar -Buy a new coat -Get a cat

Vestiges of Garlow. Reminders to live life and live it joyfully. To always notice how beautiful the sunset is, even when he sees it every night. To never take the gentle warmth of the sun on his skin for granted. Wherever that old man ended up, he hopes that he never stopped seeing how precious it all was. The clock won't stop, and this is what we get.

Dear Ansur: "A plain unadorned note."

Dear Ansur, I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it again- there is no cure, and that's all right. I'm fine, more than fine, I'm better than I've ever been. So why torture yourself like this? Of course, I know why. Remember Yal Tengril? You and I sailed together for months, seeking the Great Spire. By the time we found it, we were sick as dogs. But you never left my side, not for a moment, even though you could have simply chosen to fly. You told me there was something about experiencing it with me- through my eyes- you wanted to share in my passion for the adventure. It was, you said, a privilege. The truth is, the privilege was mine. You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me Ansur. I never had to ask you for anything, but I'm asking you now to stop. I may no longer feel my feelings, but I know yours, and yours are agony. It doesn't have to be this way. Be free, Ansur, Fly. And know that even if I'm not beside you, I will always have been your Balduran.

He's not better than he's ever been. He's sure of it. What would it be like, he wonders, to try to impress upon someone the profundity of a love he could only remember once feeling?

Yet here, the Emperor begs not just for its own life, but for Ansur's. Of course, that didn't matter in the end. But there's something about this that feels more real than the carefully presented facade he sees most often from it. There is an incurable humanity in the way it believes unfalteringly that it is right.

#alternate title: what's in my bag (cian's version)#alternate alternate title: a bunch of shit i found mostly on the ground that made me very emotional #the old garlow notes make me tear up for real. i hope the person who wrote them knows that they are appreciated.#and honestly so does dear ansur. woof #oh also the guild ring thing is related to like. the whole backstory for this man that exists in my head which i still think i'm too #self-conscious to trot out. but u know.#it speaks #buzzin #bg3

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