#I cannot stop thinking about league of legends.

[astracora]

EVER's Tool

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (Sylus POV/MC POV)

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 10348

Written: 10th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. A lil AU almost, set after cat curse and turning point. I had the mental image of EVER making MC into a personal weapon, using the fact their memories reset so it's easier to manipulate them. I also think about the line that 'sincere emotions are hard to forget', and how the LADs are basically EVER's worst problem when it comes to controlling them. As a side note, I fucking hated Leon when I read the anecdotes, so so much. The creepy way of calling a child 'little bomb' just set me wanting him smacked in the face. So I'm channelling that dislike into ruining his day. The way I screenshotted so many main story things to pull into this. It's upsetting... I had to double check so much stuff cause I have a terrible memory. My final lil note is I have no idea how MC's resonance works, but there was a line in one of the anecdotes that EVER wanted it to absorb Xavier's, so I've run with the concept.) I have no idea if anyone else will care about this lil brain thread, but hey, have at ye. Will there be more? Gods only know. Now I can finally sleep its 2am and my brain refused to let me rest.

Now Playing: Bite Marks, by League of Legends (ft TEYA)

Masterlist

Missing for months now… He's reached out to every source he can find. Has sent Mephisto all over Linkon, the N109 Zone, beyond.

He has looked in every shadow, every dark hole he can find. He has searched and searched, and still found no trace of you. He has never felt this powerless, this lost, to have all the resources of Onychinus and still unable to find answers to the only question he really cares to have answered.

How can you have disappeared? Vanished on him, on them, when you have built a life together? The house has emptied, the halls are quieter, the bedroom you all share is hard to sleep in.

It is like they have acquired ghosts. Griefs that will not rest, that cannot settle… because they have no answers. No response, no way to seek you out to soothe open wounds, and apply salve to scars.

He cannot stop, he cannot stop looking. He looked for you through time, and space, he will not stop now.

If you are out there, he will find you, and bring you back home. To them.

He did not vow and share his soul with you, to lose you.

He has spent most of his days looking, and searching. When he is not forcing himself to keep being Onychinus' leader, he barely sleeps for investigating. If he stops for a moment he thinks of an empty bed, and cold sheets. Of limbs no longer tangled with his. Of fingers no longer soothing through his hair.

Sylus cannot bring himself to tremble and to crumble, he does not have time. Not when the answer has fractured his home. His loved ones.

He watches Xavier hunt, carry out his job. Kill and fight. Mindless and driven, because he wants to protect the Linkon you cared about too. He wants to keep his blade busy, so that his mind does not wander. Then, Sylus knows he searches and he looks. Under rock, across desert, in the mountains. Everywhere his missions take him, he searches.

He comes home empty handed, and tired, but never seems to sleep properly anymore. Restless and unsettled, no matter how often someone soothes his hair and holds him. Xavier sits in the cycle that Sylus knows they cannot break.

He has tried to reach out to Rafayel, the fish beached and unbreathing. He sits in his art room and stares at paintings he cannot finish. Empty canvas and snapped paintbrushes. There are days, he tears them, dry sobs in his chest, eyes burning for tears he can't quite shed. He splatters paint up walls, and stares at what remains. His hands cut and torn from violent actions.

He finds no inspiration, and he ignores all of Thomas' calls, and he sits as the doctor tends to damaged skin, and clings to hands to keep himself grounded. Whispering things that he doesn't want them to hear. Fears of it being his fault. They can only respond with tight arms, and affirmation. It is not, they're sure. It is not.

He watches Zayne pick up more shifts than he should handle, only home when forced to be. Sinking into work, and sleeping in call rooms. When he does return, he waters plants you have left behind, feeds the cats outside the house that seek you out, and keeps your things neat. He traces trembling fingers over photo frames, looks through albums, and reminds himself. So he can stop mistaking every hunter he sees as you.

His sleep is more uneven, and he trembles awake with nightmares, hands reaching out for comfort, and clinging to chests to cry. To weep, to shake. He cannot find solace no matter where he looks, and Sylus can only offer presence and love because he does not know where the solace is found either.

His home is torn and hurting, and he cannot fix it. He will not stop trying to fix it.

He has to fix it.

It is a late night, ninety-two days after your disappearance, when Mephisto's feed flashes. He watches, and he waits, and he sees a flash of familiar white hair and jagged scar down your cheek, through your mouth.

His hand tremours in front of the screen, as he reaches out with tentative fingertips. As though he can reach through it, and pull you through…

His legs force him up before he can second guess himself, before he can waver on the edge of unsurity. Before he can hesitate to long to miss you. He calls the prince, and he leaves. On the first winds of hope, since you vanished.

—-----

The prince stands alert outside the building, while Sylus breaks in. It is old and condemned, the same kind of building that collapsed down around you. Landed you in hospital as they put you back together.

It is not a place he would normally spend his time at. Yet he trusted Mephisto's eyes better than he trusted most things.

The perks of a robotic bird, that he has upgraded even further after your disappearance. Desperate, though he isn't sure he can admit that. Not without falling to pieces, as he digs and he digs and he searches.

Sylus is quiet as he ascends floors, his mist drifting up walls and through broken door frames. Seeking and searching for the familiarity he can never mistake. No matter how many floors he climbs, he cannot feel you. Cannot seek out the sparks of gold he knows so well, and the soul that cannot complete without his. He finally approaches the final door, and pushes it open. An apartment in ruins, but the smell of acrid blood hits him. Familiar and cloying. It does not appeal to his sense, nor to his hunger.

He looks at the walls, where blood has splattered, across the floor where bloodstains mark it. There is a body, throat cut, arm torn partially off. It takes him a second to assure that it is not you, but it is a second too long. The fear drops his heart before he can pick it back and place it where you placed your own.

Approaching the body, he cares little for the blood on his hands as he rummages through pockets, inspecting the wounds. Another stab mark through the temples. A dagger, curved. Familiar. He's seen it before. Designed by the fish, for you to use, adjusted lightness for the metal of your arm. Replacing the trusty claymore he used to witness you swinging with abandon.

Cleaving through enemies.

Cleaving through him.

He presses his fingers against it, assuring himself that he is not seeing what he wishes to. It would not be the first time he has caught glimpses of you in shadows, in alleys and chased the ghast. It is never you, it is always a cut into an already fragile heart, and he rights himself quickly.

To keep moving forwards.

This, however, he is not mistaken about. So he takes photos, sends them to the fish to evaluate, to the prince to be on guard. That someone is here, with your dagger. If it is not you, it has been stolen from you.

He will greatly enjoy cleaving through whoever has taken something precious to you. To lay their dirty hands on something that is theirs. His home, his family.

Footsteps approach him, and he hears a song he knows is yours. The notes though, they are buried in dust. The tune is not familiar. Your feet shouldn't make that noise, your heart is too familiar to him to be mistaken. To be misheard.

He whirls as a knife flies past his head. Stabbing into the broken sofa behind him. Sinking into moulding fabric. Releasing a smell he wishes he hadn't experienced. It fills the air as you step forwards, twirling a dagger around your fingers like he knows you've seen him do.

Like he taught you when you poked fun at him, asked him how he made it move so smoothly.

'Is it a crime lord aesthetic thing?'

'You have quite an image of me.'

'Am I wrong?'

'You just haven't looked closely enough.'

You are a flash of light, and a chill. A ghostly vision against the dilapidated backdrop. The dagger is dripping blood with each spin, splattering it against the floor and against your clothes. Black and loose. Harness over shoulder and around your chest.

You look as you should, jagged scars and crooked lips, mismatched eyes, arm of meta-

His eyes halt and hold on your form, there is no metal. He looks at the twisted carapace of a wanderer. Segmented into a limb, and long clawed fingers. Sylus feels as though he is staring at his own limb, long ago. When his claws could cut through your flesh with ease, and he could not feel the heat of your skin properly through his own.

It is black and twisted and cracked. Like a well used tool.

It is not yours.

It is not yours.

Yours was silver, painted by the fish, well worn and trusted. A tool as well as a part of you. A shield and a weapon in one.

It could trace his face gently, and swing a dagger with ease.

This is not yours.

The chill that you bring becomes ice down his back. It feels like the cut of a sword through his skin. Tears away at flesh and bone. Your eyes are empty, there is nothing in them but the glow of a gold he recognises. The resonance lurking under skin like a serpent waiting to strike. He levels his look on the dagger, and then back to your eyes. Seeking something out. Seeking you out.

You're in there, you have to be in there.

"Did you forget to check your phone, kitten?" He manages, but his voice is weak and cracked. He wants to grab you, to tell you it's fine, as long as you're safe now. He reaches out, and barely pulls his hand back quick enough before the dagger slices through where it was.

You tilt your head, then look down on the floor, "I was curious to know who sought out my target." The smile is crooked, it's wrong, it's twisted at the edges and broken. Like the horns he cut off years ago. "You're not on my list though."

It's a dismissive shrug, and a turn away. As though he is a stranger… as though he means nothing.

He barely holds the growl, though he is not angry, he advances on you, moving himself out of the way when your dagger darts out again. "Claws out kitten? Watch it, you could hurt someone." He manages, voice low, but pulling his tone to heel. He looks down at you. Reading at the empty gold glow, looking for something. Anything.

Disgust even, if there is disgust… you know of him.

There is nothing. Empty and cool. The abyss he should recognise but it is nothing he has seen before. Like you are missing. Like your body is empty.

You look back at him, unflinching, unbothered, watching him stare at you. It is the EVER symbol on your collar, he notices, it is like a brand against you. It is the flaming fury in his chest. It is not you.

It is them.

"Are you done?" You offer, stepping back out away from him, so he grabs your arm. The twisted skin against his flesh. Warm and pulsing under, but hard as stone. It is a painful thing to touch. It is not yours.

He looks at it, stares, and as he goes to speak, you tug it away from him. Spin, and kick him in the side.

The force makes him see stars for a moment, falling to knees. He gasps before he rights his body, before he forces adrenaline into his veins to catch the next kick you aim at him. The gold glitters under your skin, as you attack, and the leg he catches shakes his limbs. Throwing it away from him, as you spin and back away.

Sylus stands, and advances as you back up further, "That wasn't particularly nice, Kitten, we were having a chat."

"You shouldn't grab someone you don't know. It's impolite." You growl back, showing canines, and narrowing cool eyes at him.

Don't know.

He almost laughs.

He knows you, more than he knows himself. He knows you because you are part of him. He has lived with questions for who he is all of his life, has struggled to decide who he should be and who he is. You? You he knows.

He knows every piece of you, inside and out. He will always see you.

This is not you.

This is them.

"Then we should get to know each other." The words burn to say, and he reaches his hand out, ready to pull you to him. With skin, with mist. He cares little. He will capture you again, and he will make you wake up from whatever nightmare EVER have placed you in.

"I have orders, you're not part of them." You incline your head. He's used to a smile accompanying such an action, a tease, a lilt in your voice. Yet you are flat.

Then with the elbow of the wanderer's limb, you smash the window… and fall back.

He follows, on quicker feet than he has ever moved, melding into mist. Over the edge of the fall, watching you fall back. He has caught you so many times in his life. On the winds, with his wings, with his EVOL. He has followed you over the edge of many cliffs.

He will follow you over any others.

As he reaches out, you twist, hand on his wrist, pulling and turning, so that his back is to the impending floor. "You're determined." You snarl, actually snarl at him. His EVOL catches the dagger you aim for his chest, pushing it back, and he grabs your other arm, keeping the claws from closing around his throat.

You sink your teeth into his hand, biting down hard enough to draw blood, tearing at his flesh like he is a piece of meat you could devour.

The pain shoots up his arm, but it's not important. His wounds can heal, and while you can kill him, you have not levelled that fiend blade at his chest yet. Getting you back is all that matters, no matter the blood seeping down his wrist. You have bitten him before. You have come for him with daggers. You have shot him in the heart. Stabbed him through his joined heart. Cursed him.

Every drop of his blood that you bleed is another drop that belongs to you.

"Want to mark me that badly?" He laughs. He can only hope the prince has rested enough to hear the shattering glass. That he is still capable of hunting.

Your resonance bursts out of the wrist he holds in his mist, shattering it, and you kick, pulling away. Reaching out with claws to grab at the building. Grooves left behind you, as you slow your descent, he watches the gold shimmer again. Watches as the limb hardens further, claws thicker, digging deeper.

Spitting blood from your mouth, as you do.

He slows, balances himself. Without wings he cannot hover, can only slow his descent by a margin. His mist reaches out to yank you back. Into arms that cage around you, tighten around ribs he would normally be scared to break.

He holds, tight, and squeezes as much as he can. He feels you writhe, an angry cat held in a grip you do not want. Clawing and scratching. Willing to draw blood to escape. He feels the jagged claws of your hand grab at his wrist, digging into his flesh, tearing. Your EVOL bursts, and shatters, but it cannot shatter his bones, and he keeps the grip as you fall with him, as he ties you to gravity with him.

"Get off!" You growl, fury in your tone, and he's glad to finally see something from you. Some spark of who you are, even if it's angry and violent and vicious.

He sees a flash of light reflected off the glass of the buildings, and then he is caught and swiftly righted. Alongside a curse, and a huff.

Sylus turns to Xavier, who makes to speak before his eyes focus on you. Yowling and clawing. He reaches out a hand, only to have it knocked back by mist, "Don't. Your wounds don't heal like mine."

You snarl, "No, go on, let me slice you up." Claws flexing against the flesh you're serrating.

He'll heal. The pain is harsh, and burning. He's fought wanderers, but they don't have your mind. The knowledge of where to slice, the strength behind your anger.

"Starlight?" Xavier's voice does not waver often, he is used to seeing things that have hurt him. He has killed people who once followed him, he has fought those that were his loved ones. He has blood on his hands that burn to feel, but can never be washed off. Now, he wavers, watching someone who wears your face, but hisses and snarls to bite and snap. To cut and rip.

You kick back, into Sylus' shin. He avoids the second one, he knows is aimed to break his leg. Squeezes harder to creak your ribs. "EVER did something to them." He manages, using the mist to move the mark on your collar so Xavier can see it. He watches a jaw tick, the muscles jumping, blue starry eyes turn to ice, and focus on the point.

"We need to get them back." The prince approaches, and Sylus tightens his arms once more. If you have to be knocked out to get you back, well he can live with that. He's done it before. Hand around your throat, watching the life flickered in your eyes. Can your disgust hurt him more than the lack of any personal acknowledgement?

It is too soon for him to think, as you let out a snap of teeth at the prince, then smash your head back into his nose. The pain jolts up into his skull, so you reach your hand up, grab him by the hair and yank, then snap back one more time.

He's fought you before, he knows you. He knows you can beat him, he's been pinned by you in a test match before. Watching the glee in your eyes, seeing the fire at your victory. He has watched you practice swordsmanship with the prince. He has seen you cross daggers with the fish.

Everytime, you are cunning, you are ready to win. Everytime joy lights up your face if you succeed. Thrilled and happy to learn and improve. Crooked smile and bright eyes as you thank them for taking time for you to clash with.

It is not joy that lights your eyes, it's savage and it's gleaming. You do not extend your hand, or press a kiss to his cheek in your victory. You let him fall away from you, as blood sprays, and then you reach out with a clawed hand to rip at the prince's chest.

As soon as both have stumbled back, you turn, and you disappear.

Sylus' patience is strong. He has lived a long time, waiting, and living, and managing. It is when he has his prize so very close, that his desperation comes through. It was moments where he asked if you truly wanted him. Voice trembling and begging.

To touch, to taste, to hold, to seek pleasure with.

It was times when he had found you at last, growing impatient to feel your resonance against him. Moving too quickly, too desperately. Seeking memories locked behind a seal. Greedy for his beloved to look into his eyes and see someone worthy of flowers again.

It is the moments where he waits for your missions to end, and the message that you are returning, that he can no longer sit still.

It is when he saw your new home for the first time, a life built where he was not a monster, a family where he had nothing. Need bubbling to the surface to paint it in colours and fill it with song.

His patience has held until the last moment where relief is in sight. That it shatters, and it demands.

As he holds his bloody mangled arm, and spits blood on the floor, it breaks into shards. As he reaches out to Xavier, checking the wound, turning his face to check for others, he tears his already torn shirt to hold to the jagged claw marks.

As his fingers tremble and he shakes at where he is holding, he reaches for where his patience has gone and finds a small boy with broken horns. The absence of his calm, built on the back of his agony, lost to the fear and the doubt that circles his head.

It is the memory of the empty eyes, and the snarl that he can still hear in his head, the warm body in his hands, even though you had not been you.

You were finally so close, and now you are gone.

A hand tightens over his, the prince pulling his focus, and reaching up through the pain to ease tears that can't fall out of his eyes, "They're alive. We can find them again." He bites out, warming the chill in Sylus' hands, and waking him from the nightmare.

He will, and he'll melt every EVER building until he does. Rip the rot out by the roots, and become what Philos sneered at him for. A calamity.

Their evil is similar, afterall.

—------

He does not find any joy or relief in the information he brings back. As he watches the doctor stitch Xavier closed. Waving off his assistant. He eases the pain with his EVOL. Part of him wants to feel it, a reminder. You were there, he had you, and he let you go.

It does no one any good for him to be useless, or deeply wounded. So while the moon is still high, he repairs the damage, pushing his nose back into place. You'd told him it was beautiful, he hopes you still thought so when you returned. As the blood stops, and his wounds close, he leaves the room to shower.

The heat as high as it can go, to sear his flesh. It leaves his skin pink, as he finally turns the water off. Seeking out clothes that don't bear the ruins of your violence. When he returns to the living room, the prince's stitches are complete and bandaged, and the fish is looking at the photos he sent.

Before you tore at him like a beautiful and horrifying monster.

Had it been you, he would have welcomed your dagger and your claws.

He will not die to EVER's machinations. They will not make you their tool.

When he dies it will be because you have chosen willfully to cut through his chest and his joined heart. It will be your choice to sever your curse, and scatter his soul to the wind like the petals of deadly flowers.

Sylus eases himself into the sofa, leaning back and taking the fish's head into his lap with ease. Fingers finding purple locks and smoothing them out as they look at the photos.

He won't comment on Rafayel's feline-like purrs. He is too tired and worn. His heart hurts more than his arm did. "It was really them?"

"It was kitten, alright… Their body at least."

Zayne helps Xavier ease into a new shirt, cool hands sliding down sore skin, and turns his head to speak, "You think EVER are controlling them?"

The fish snorts, eyes narrowing, flames at his fingertips, "Is it surprising, after everything they've done?"

"That wasn't my question. Nothing they do at this point would surprise me, but controlling a person is…" The doctor flinches, and Sylus can see it. The image of you. Cold eyes, claws extended, tearing through Zayne's jugular. Blood splattering over your face, but you don't blink, or flinch. Simply move onto the next.

"Their eyes were empty, doctor. They didn't recognise or care when they saw me or the prince. They wanted to hurt us to escape… They didn't care how."

He finishes with the shirt and rubs at his forehead, trying to ease a headache that brews. It is better a headache, Sylus thinks, than him focusing on the aching pain in his chest. The fear of someone being broken by EVER. Experiments that defy morality. That twist and snap and destroy anything worthy of protecting.

That left him with twins, bearing scars. Inside and out. Who thought death would be an entertainment worthy of hunting for great prey.

That made you a child with a broken heart and a grandmother who didn't look close enough at what she did to you. Her morality flexible, because of your broken, twisted memory.

The doctor is a moral man, who believes in the power of medicine and science to save and protect the sanctity of life. That has rejected every offer for using his knowledge to twist that boundary. Who stares into the face of loss and believes dying in control of yourself, is better than living as a ghost or beast. Who has healed every wound you have held, and stitched up every injury.

Who nurses your heart, no matter how fragile it can be, or how much work it is.

What EVER stand for is so strongly opposed to the doctor, that Sylus can watch the tick in his jaw. The pain in his eyes. The tremble in his hands. The snowflakes drifting from fingertips, and the chill arching up his hands.

Rafayel removes himself from Sylus' lap, reaching over with heated hands and takes icy ones. Easing the cold back slowly, as the doctor fights for control over an EVOL that is soothed by you. It is a slower process with the fish, but it is worth it, as the chill recedes and the heat returns to the doctor's skin.

His trembling slows before it ceases, and he removes his glasses to rub his eyes, "Thank you."

The fish shrugs, sitting down next to him, ready just in case he is needed. Sylus looks down at his hand, flexing it in his lap, as he thinks about you taking his hand, pulling him forwards. No matter who he has been or will be, your hold has not wavered. It is his job to pull you back.

"We have a target." The prince exhales after downing a glass of water, looking over at him, and he nods, thinking. He can narrow down the search, look for traces, documents, records. EVER have always been simple to understand. Their methods are outdated to gain traitors, their experiments never stopped, no matter the state of the N109 Zone. No matter what destruction they left in their wake.

So he just has to find the thread back to you. While he has no intention of bloodying the doctor's hands, he has a fish who has killed those responsible for his people's suffering, a prince who has hunted any who dared raise a blade to you, and himself. A dragon whose treasure has been ripped out of his palms.

It is a foolish mortal that steals from a dragon.

—--------

Your return to their compound is slower after you've exercised that new EVOL you had been fed. It sticks in your maw, like a bitten on bone. It is uncomfortable, untrained, and aching. Your shoulder aches, your arm is covered in blood, and you need to clean your dagger.

The door swings open as you push through, slamming your fist on the wall to find the light. It brightens the room and you look down. Muscle and flesh in the grooves of your arm, sticking into the carapace. Stuck under segments. The feeling is a violent rejection. You rip the thing from you, throwing it across the room so that it smashes an unused lamp. Splattering some of the gore across the scientists whiteboard.

It is not really satisfaction at the viscera painting pristine EVER surfaces, but it is something. Or it is until a throat clears behind you.

"Little bomb, you should really behave yourself in the labs."

The feeling turns to biting fear, before you grab it by its throat and remind it. You do not fear foolish men. You do not cower to his slimy, disgusting voice. You do not run, or hide. You are not a child.

He is nothing.

You are a weapon.

"I don't recall you being the one I answer to, Leon."

You move through the room, seeking out the sink, and splashing water over blood on your clothes with one hand.

"Is the new attachment that unpleasant?" He points, indicating the weapon you had thrown. "If you want something better, we can provide it?"

The scoff isn't entirely in your control, but it does narrow the man's eyes, "You can't provide me much of worth Leon, don't act like you have any more power here than I do. It just needs cleaning. Drop it in a bucket. I'll care about it later."

"You're in a worse mood than normal, did you even carry out your orders?"

You round, dagger in hand and flick its tip under his soft throat, the tip pricking into skin, and bare canines, "When have I ever failed a job?"

He watches your hand, the dagger, then looks into cool, icy eyes. You can feel the resonance flickering, angry, uncontrolled. It is always harder to control some days. Like the sensations and the feelings are too hard to read, too uneven. You think about it failing when that man with white hair had you in his grasp. Refusing to help you break, to make yourself stronger. The panic of being held, the anger at being weak, the fury that breathed fire into your chest.

You do not know who he is, but you will slit his throat if he shows his face to you again. Tear his throat open with your teeth and drown in his blood.

"Kitten, tch." You hiss, pulling away from the scientist watching you with fear flickering in his gaze. "Starlight… What world do they belong to?" You spit at the floor, clearing more blood that still feels caught in your teeth.

"Seriously? Can you stop that?" Leon looks down at the blood now splattered on the floor, mixed with saliva.

"Clean it up if you're so unhappy. I'm going to clean this mess off me." You push past him, heading deeper into a compound that does not feel like anywhere you want to be.

"Stop, you have another order."

"Give it to me later."

"I'm here now, little bomb. You may as well listen."

It bubbles, it burns. You despise him, you don't really know why. You looked him in the eye when you opened yours for the first time and hatred and disgust and fear, embedded so deeply in your chest that you almost threw it up onto him. Leon greets you with his greying temples, and his sickening glimmer in his eyes as he stares at you, and he calls you little bomb.

It tears at your nerve and chews at your heel.

You want to tear his throat out, but you won't drink his blood. He is sullied, and disgusting…

But you have orders.

"What is it?"

"A doctor, he's wanted to do work here."

"Then offer him money, and immortality, I'm sure he'll jump at the chance." You spit again, this time aiming for Leon's shoes.

He rubs a hand over his face in response, looking at you like he is seconds away from locking you in a cage. You want him to try. The feeling is under your skin.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It simmers and burns and you want to cut and rip.

If he wants to try to tame your fury, he is welcome to try. To send you to one of EVER's toy boxes. To jolt you, and burn you, to remind you who holds the leash. Maybe the pain will shake out the feeling in the back of your gut. Maybe they'll put you in a ring, and watch you fight someone else like you. A tool, a weapon. Maybe you'll let someone pierce your chest for once. Spilling blood over the floor. Seeking escape in the splattered walls.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It lurches in your brain, words you don't remember, and irritation that has no place. "What on earth happened out there?" Leon finally asks, watching you wary. Good. Wary is good. Wary is careful.

"Your target had friends." You snap, dagger twirling around the skin of your hand, unbothered when it catches on fingers that don't move fast enough. The pain grounds you, washes out the voices, so you run a finger over the blade, and watch the scientist. He looks away from the blood and you almost have to laugh.

He can torture you, but he doesn't want to watch you bleed on his floor.

"Did you deal with them?"

"They weren't on my list."

"If they were there-"

This time you do nic his neck, dagger fast. His EVOL is worthless, pointless, and has no way to stop you. Not like the mist, not like it curling around your wrist like warm fingers.

"I follow my orders, Leon. They weren't on the list." His blood trickles down his neck and the scent is sour. So you push him away, turning and walking off, even though he protests, hand covering his throat, "Send me the name. I'll capture him."

The walk through the compound is full of people whose names you cannot remember, whose faces you see every time your feet carry you through halls. There are rarely new faces, a close iron grip held over tools in a grand scheme. The dagger twirls and twists, and you are given a wide berth.

Unicorn, Subject 001. It is an easy title to hold. Thanks to it hanging around your neck like a noose, you are unbothered by others. It is like you are a beast that they keep their chains around, but no one is willing to feed you from their hand.

They would rather throw flesh through the bars, and run away.

It is fear and disgust, you muse. As it should be. As if any of them are better than you.

It is bitter hatred that bites at your heels, that reminds you of every experiment, of every time waking up on a cold table, chest flayed as you are dug around in. Heart pressed and prodded.

It is your orders that keep you off that table. You are useful now. If you stay useful, you don't have to wake up in a cage.

It is the closest you can get to relief here, as though the sick doesn't swirl in your stomach still. There is no one to seek out for help, you are alone.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

Your snarl is unbidden, and you shake your head like a cat trying to shake out fleas. As if that will shake out the ghost of voices, for fools who get in your way. Bright red molten eyes, tinged in glossy tears, and star blue constellations, gazing at you in wonder.

No one has looked at you like that.

The scientists have stared at you in greed, in hunger, with curiosity. But it is not wonder, it is hungry and cruel and brings pain.

You stomach and you move forwards.

These voices will fade, you will not see red and blue eyes again, and you will forget the curling mist. 

As you enter the room you have been given to clean yourself up, the photo on the side stares back at you. A man you do not recognise, but whose name is etched into the frame. Caleb, your family… You do not remember him, your memories do not summon him. He has died, they've told you. Cut out of your life by people who stand against EVER.

Your home destroyed, so now you stay here. In a compound with cold walls… and a box of a room that cannot be filled because you own nothing. Except a photo frame you have been handed, and the clothes you are to wear when working.

You think you feel grief at the concept of not having him. You think that there are moments where something aches so deep in your chest that you can't find an answer to it. Like you are missing something integral. Seeking something out, but can never find it.

Sometimes in the shadows, when you enter and forget to turn on the lights, you think you see plushies along pillows… you have seen some with them on their desks. They are not for you though, you do not even know where you'd begin to find one.

There is a cold broken feeling in your chest, whenever you turn the lights on and they are gone. Just a mirage from a mind you think is fractured by the tests. You don't know what the feeling is, but it hurts, so you move onto another job, and move forwards.

You wonder if Caleb would look at you with disgust, to see no recognition in your eyes, to see you, with dagger in hand and blood splattered over your mouth and face.

Or was he like you? A tool to be used.

It is a question that has no answer, the dead don't speak. You will never find out. You will never have a voice answer you back, questions you speak out loud, when the room is too quiet and too cold.

So you scald your skin with heat in the shower, and burn away the remnants of the memories of voices calling out for you, and the pain. As the blood rushes down the shower drain, and leaves you as close to clean as you can get.

—------

Leon is cleaning up the blood when you return to the lab to pick up your arm, it is hours later, but he seems harried. Hair falling out from where he normally slicks it back.

You debate saying something, but decide against it, especially when you see that the gore has been scrubbed from your arm. A job you did not wish to have to handle. Even thinking about it, makes you think of the feeling of muscle under your claws. The hissed pain through clenched teeth. The arms pressing around your ribs, tight but wary. Like you would break under them.

You strap it back on, and spin the dagger in practiced claws in relief. No nics, no cuts. You don't remember who taught you, you never taught yourself. It eases you though, something familiar. A motion that is practiced and quick.

"You can get a better weapon than that, you know." Leon sighs, standing, relieved to be finished removing the mess you'd spread. So that he experiments could continue on. His finger points over at the dagger in your claw and you watch as he throws cloth into bucket.

The way he looks at the dagger makes your hand clench around it, slipping it back into its sheath at your side, and glaring, baring canines. It feels like an open wound. To be separated from it. Like it is as much a part of you as… your arm…

Itching in the back of your neck, a feeling of wrongness. It is not your arm.

Silver, and painted. A beautiful red fish swimming over metal.

You shake your head, pulling away from Leon before he can get his hands near you, or near the tool at your waist.

It is yours. It cannot be replaced. "It's killed enough of EVER's targets to be a fine weapon. Perhaps you should be replaced instead."

The bite does not agitate the man, but it does satisfy the little voice asking you to snap him. A little. There is no response but you are done with him, until a question gnaws.

Like a little beast at your heel. Demanding something.

You're not quite sure what.

"Why won't the doctor join you?" You ask, pushing some equipment to the side none too gently to sit on a table.

"Stop throwing things around, we need those." Leon snaps, "Your temper is too short, little bomb."

Your laugh holds no humour, it is a choke of a noise, that means nothing, "You call me that, and expect my fuse to be long? Unluckily for you, Leon, you are the only one who doesn't fear to talk to me. So you are to bring me orders, and answer my questions. If your things are in the way, that's not my problem."

He rubs the space between his eyes, and for a moment you get a flash. Forests, and snowflakes. Drifting through branches and alighting on white petals. Blending, and freezing, then falling.

Pushing his glasses back up, he speaks, "He doesn't agree with the tests we are running."

"You think capturing him will help?"

"I think capturing him will make him less likely to help, but surely the order came for a reason."

You scoff, but shrug, "Can't imagine what they could offer him, that means enough to make him agree. I suppose all of you science types have a price though. Something they can tug at to make you abandon your souls."

His voice is cold when he speaks, and you watch the spark of irritation. It's rare, he tries to keep his calm false mask, but sometimes. You can poke and prod. Like he is a beast you want to see bite. White hair ruffled and soaked as he laughs through-

You blink, and Leon returns to his bespectacled brown hair, and brown eyes. He speaks but you don't hear, and you push off the table, waving a hand, "Whatever." You don't want to hear it anyway, whatever he has to say won't remove the scalpel. Won't ease scars that don't disappear.

Won't mean you can lay down a clawed arm of beasts that they experiment on.

You're not too different you suppose, if you were maybe your arm would have rejected your body. Demanding something closer to home. Instead it follows your demands, moves smoothly, easily. You were told it was the ideal weapon and tool, and using it has certainly made missions easier.

It does not mean you wish to see it more than you have to.

Fabric catching on the segments of hard stone-like skin. Every sensation through it feels like it's felt underwater. Distant and abstract. A picture you can't fully see.

You step through the hallways, flexing the clawed hand carefully, as you approach the testing rooms. Inside is the usual, an old man with goggles on his head, greying brown hair. Wrinkles. He pushes the goggles up as he looks over at you, "Phi, I need my check." You approach.

His chuckle is low, and he eases you. There is something about him that is familiar, against all other backdrops of the compound. This man is familiar.

Sometimes if you stare at him for long enough, you can hear his voice telling you to stay calm.

You're not sure what it means, if he was there during your hazy wake-ups that you barely remember. Just the pain of the pressure on your heart.

"The Unicorn has wandered over finally. Come on then, you're weeks late." He indicates the black reclining chair beside him.

It normally grates at you, Unicorn. It is not a name, it is a subject title. You don't remember if you've ever been called anything else though. If any other name has ever mattered to you.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

'Cutie'

'Darling'

They swirl and then you shake, like a dog shifting water from its coat. You will not drown to voices.

The chair is cold to the touch as you lie back, but Philip's hands are steady and careful. He checks over you, scans with his tools, checks your EVOL levels. "How are the new additions?" When he asks, you can actually hear concern. It's rare… it's not offered often. He is here just to manage your health, to track it. Leon is here as your keeper.

He proclaims that he knows you best. His little bomb. His reason to be in that lab. The core in your chest is his proudest test subject.

You think about the 'additions'. EVOL's fed into your resonance, powering it, making it more useful. You think about the pain, the snarling voice that wishes to devour and swallow. You would tremble at the sensation of the heat in your core. The ripping and tearing. The gold enveloping, and the rippling power that explodes outwards.

Broken glass and twisted shards of metal.

You think about how hard they are to control.

You think about fiery red eyes watching you as you fall, and the resonance failing to come to your hand at will.

You think about heat from skin like a memory you could grasp if you tried hard enough.

You think about when it finally answered you, so you could leave the call of snapping beasts at heels behind.

Questions left unanswered. Blissful ignorance, so your heart does not shatter. You don't want to know the origin of the fever or the broken splinters.

There is nothing on the other end of the thread.

"Temperamental." You finally answer, "They're harder to control than just my resonance is. I can't call them at will."

He nods, jotting things down, as he reads. As you look at his goggles, you see a leather jacket reflected in it, but when you turn there is nothing there.

Perhaps not sleeping is leaving you as useless a tool as Leon is.

A problem to solve later, when you can finally chase out broken parts of your brain, and swallow something to ease the screeching behind eyelids.

"You need to practice with them."

You huff, turning your head away, "I didn't need to practice with my resonance, what kind of tool can't be used straight away?"

When he doesn't answer, you return your gaze to him, watching as the man frowns. Staring at his tablet, like it holds news he does not want to see, but the tablet is empty. "Phi?"

He looks up, wavering eyes, and tired bags. He also does not sleep, you remember. You've never had it in you to ask why. If he's as haunted as you are. If this place keeps him from escaping his nightmares. You could ask, or you could dig for information… You do neither.

You always do neither.

"Your tests are fine, you should get some rest though, and make sure you take your medication. Leon said you've skipped it for two days now." He extends a hand with pills shaken out into them. Suppressants, for the core in your chest. To stabilise it.

You've taken them since waking up. They taste bitter, and they stick in your throat.

You grab them out of his hand, and throw them back. You feel like spitting them back up into his face, but manage to swallow them down, relieved when he has water prepared. You down the bottle, easing the sensation of the chalky taste, and run your tongue over your teeth to clear the residue.

It's no surprise to you that Leon would rat you out. Like he thinks he is your keeper. Like he owns your soul, and your body. Not just the warden responsible for your pain. The object of your abject hatred.

The cool of the seat starts to burn, so you pull up and step away. Shoving one hand into pockets, claw loose at your side. "Anything else?" The man asks, his expression becoming warmer, a smile loose on his worn lips. The familiar feeling sparks in your chest, and you wish you could ask.

Maybe if you ask you'd understand.

If you ask, you wake up from a nightmare, and you're not sure if the outside is better.

So you shake your head, "No, see you." and turn on a heel, leaving as quickly as you can. You can't thank him, you can never thank him. He is the only one who does not treat you like something to cut open for experiments, and you cannot thank him.

Because it is a low bar to clear?

Because you should not have to thank for that?

Because you blame him too?

You do not go to find food, though there is a cafeteria. You don't need to stay here. With the cold walls. Stared at by wary mad scientists.

You have a job, you can always do some research. Something that requires the movement of your feet, and the use of your brain. Something to distract from the feelings that bubble and overflow. That leave a lingering bitterness in your mouth like chalky medication.

That make you look over your shoulder, and not focus on the target.

It is an agitation you cannot shake out, so you have to focus it.

Your feet take you back to Leon's lab, but his lab coat is over the chair, as his tools are left behind. So you dig into his pockets, and pull out his wallet. Relieved to find cash, and not just card. You could figure it out, but it's always a pain.

Instead you take all the cash he has to hand, and leave, throwing his wallet back on the table.

If he wants to demand a punishment, he's free to. If you get results, he's less likely to get what he wants.

You want to watch him chafe under the pressure.

—------

Linkon is familiar in a way you aren't sure how to word. You've been told you lived here, that you lived with Caleb in a house in a nice little neighbourhood, before it was taken from you. You've walked to the area before, and while you sometimes can feel heat against your skin, you cannot quite bring the image to mind.

Like you're staring at a static tv screen. Sometimes there's a shape you think you can make out, but it could just be the broken image, flicking so fast you've fooled yourself.

It's like desperately grabbing at something, only for it to slip further under sand. One thing you do know, however, is that your feet travel before your brain focuses. That you pass by things called kitty cafes, and hesitate for a moment. Looking through glass, and wondering what it is you're seeing. You almost entered once, before dread settled somewhere in the pit of you. Pushing you back.

A warning.

So you simply look through the windows, to watch the small creatures and the floating OTTOs that tend to them.

It is enough. Perhaps.

The acknowledgement of something that you enjoy. Or think you enjoy. Perhaps you played with Caleb.

Before he was taken away from you.

Would he be able to remind you of things you have forgotten? Records of things you should know, photos of times you'd spent together? Would he be able to spark the image if he stood before you?

Your memory just a casualty of EVER's saving your life… It is a low price to pay, you've been told. That memory can sometimes be reclaimed. That your life cannot.

You cannot help but feel like a haunted ghost though. Sparks and flashes with abstracts and feelings you can't explain or name. Things that lurk along the edges but cannot be grasped. You have nothing for yourself, but the jobs you are given, and the titles you cannot shake.

Perhaps if you keep following the path, you'll find an answer at the end of it. Even though you want to turn from it. Run the opposite direction. Would the answer even make you happier? Or would it make the feelings worse?

Could Caleb really have cared about someone Leon calls little bomb? Could a tool be more than itself? Or were you both tools?

Perhaps it was easy to exist, because neither had anything else to claim.

If that were the case, you think you could accept it. At least then you would not be alone, surrounded by things that want to twist and snap and break and bend you. Make you into a weapon sharper than a dagger.

You still await the moment they pierce your skull with a sword, so you bear the horn of the beast, they're so proud of naming you after.

It is the smell of sweets that draws you to a cafe, and you are relieved that no one bothers to look at you for your arm. Though you have passed at least three people with panda costumes, so you think perhaps, this is a low scale of concern for Linkon residents.

As you enter, money in your pocket, you rattle off as many cakes as you can read, and afford with stolen cash, and then ask for a black coffee.

You pause, and then correct yourself. Cream, two sugars.

You can see it placed next to your head on a bedside table, you can hear a snort of disgust against your neck. You shiver, the sensation of lips on the back of your neck making you scratch at it with sharpened claws.

The blood that catches at the edges, makes your panic rise, but no one is looking at you. Couples too caught up with each other, groups laughing, and people alone working. Linkon, you decide, is an interesting but strange place.

At the compound you are stared at. Watched warily. There is no step you can take where you are not eyed, as though you could begin howling and snarling at a moment. You wonder if they fear you will turn into a wanderer. Will the core in your chest make you as horrifying a beast as the Myst's that EVER manipulate? Augmented protocores giving them powers beyond understanding?

It is an interesting thought. You hope if that happens, someone will silence you quickly. Lest you lose even the semblance of you that you have.

As you find your way to empty chairs, stuffing a macaron into your mouth, hunger tearing at your edges, you feel the aggravation and sensitivity calm somewhat. The itch easing, and the feelings leaving you be.

'Food is important, sweets can fill your heart as well as your stomach.'

The voice isn't familiar, it is a whisper on the edges. It does not bite at you though. The edges softened down, no longer sharp and broken. So you stuff more into your mouth, unconcerned with the world around you. Sating the beast that purrs as you feed it sugar.

As you finally stop starving your body, though you still refuse to let it sleep. Perhaps the confectionery will do for now.

With one hand you continue to claim sugary treats, while the other flicks through information Leon had sent you.

Zayne Li, cardiologist. Highly respected, has rejected offers of work over sixteen times.

You can't imagine why he'd suddenly decide to take up EVER's offer, if he has steadfastly rejected every time they had tried. Perhaps they finally had enough money for him. Money, equipment, a curiosity. It was always something that summoned the science types into EVER's hands.

They never fought or rejected for long. Denied enough opportunities, they would come running. Desperate.

Ice EVOL, uncontrolled, appears to create backlash when used.

Ice shards, tearing through skin, ripping into flesh, and rattling air from the chest. You choke on a sip of your drink, spitting the coffee on the table as you rub at your forehead. You can feel the cold on the tips of your fingers, and you aren't sure why.

It is not one of the EVOLs that was fed to you.

Just more static, things that don't belong to you, that won't stop haunting your vision. The lack of sleep has to be the reason.

Still, to have an EVOL you cannot control… That hurts you when you do. You think of the ones that aren't yours, that have been devoured by your resonance, and you rub at the space over your chest.

The core in your chest will eat anything it can grasp.

The file gives you his main location, Akso Hospital. Kidnapping a doctor from a hospital, would likely result in more mess than you want to deal with. You'll just have to follow him to somewhere else when he leaves.

Surely he has a home.

Why it's not in the file is a question you will have to ask Leon later. You'd expect them to give you more than minimal lines.

It is not as though you will fail… failing means tests. You think of isolation rooms. Of fighting people haunted, with protocore syndrome. That shatter when you fight back. You think of the agony in your limbs when they poke and prod.

You think of shocks, and scalpels. You think of what EVER means when they make you their tool. When you are their test subject.

You think of how, even if you run, they will always be able to find you.

You think of how pointless it is to fight back, when they break you down.

You think of their buildings in Linkon, office workers who mill about with their symbols on their chest.

You think of the news reports you hear, with their technology selling to everyone you pass.

It is an encompassing web, and you are barely a fly.

EVER have reminded you, that being a tool is better than breaking.

You're unsure if that's true, but you know that death never seems to save you. You have plunged your beloved dagger into your chest, trying to cleave the core out, but woken up on a table. Unsuccessful, reminded of your place.

You are hazy, if someone stops you, if you're always being watched that they can grasp you before. You wake up though, staring around you, and it continues. You continue. Dagger in hand, EVER's mark on your collar, and given orders.

It is as you lean back, finished with your bounty, sipping the last of your coffee, that the door swings open.

"I don't think now is the time to eat sweets."

"And I know you're not feeling great, when you can say that doc."

Static.

Like in that broken down apartment building. Staring at a man who looks like a ghost to you. Slowing your dagger long enough to look.

Crackling along the edges, filtering through your vision. Overlaying so many images against the other. It is noise and it is broken images.

It is a force of a wall you cannot break through.

You look, as two men enter. Tired, drawn eyes. One you know by the file in your hand.

The other, you know by the signs and posters.

Zayne Li and Rafayel Qí.

It is an easy thing to sit and watch as the one rubs at his eyes, and the other nudges him, hand easing strain from back.

They do not know you. No matter if they pick out the symbol on your collar, there are countless EVER employees, and your face is only known to the ones you're ordered to kill.

And now capture.

Still, your eyes want to move away. Looking at them hurts. The static is loud, and the feelings are back. An uncomfortable ripping at the fabric of what's inside you.

So you stand to leave, hoping you can pull away and come back another day. It is no use tracking a man when he has company, for all you know the artist is a bodyguard in his spare time.

Complications are not worth testing with.

It is the movement of your chair, and the way you stand, grasping at your chair to push it back in, that draws their gaze to you. It sends a chill down your spine, as they look.

As forest green eyes and burning pink and blue stare at you. Wavering.

You are hit with the static, louder now, pushing down on your head, trying to drown you. You want to cover your ears, but you can't. You can't stand out. You can't be odd. Not out here. Not more than you already are.

No one has looked, or cared. So you put one foot in front of the other, and it shatters the silence.

"Cutie?"

"Darling?"

It tears at the fabric, and it rips at the gauze. The open wound in your chest. You feel the ice though skin, the water in lungs. There is a sensation of falling, and an aching where you land.

They approach, and you wave off. Claw in the ground trying to right yourself, pull yourself together. Remember what you're supposed to do. Get out, leave. It doesn't matter if they remember your face… It won't matter when you knock out the doctor and take him back.

Even if the artist remembers you, EVER can cover it up.

They've never failed to do so before.

You just have to get out. To find your feet.

Why is there so much static?

Someone kneels by you, and a cold hand touches the claw digging into the ground. It cuts through the carapace, rips at the seams. You pull away, and it gives you enough shock to cut through, to give you a door. You back up, and shake your head, "I'm fine, sorry."

You don't look at teary eyes, or stop long enough to be grasped at, you don't want to know why they looked at you, or saw something.

You don't want the static.

You just have to get back, and do your job… Then shake out the voices who call out names that settle softer than Unicorn.

[gortrash]

guh

[hahazed]

Despite everything, is it still you…?

Read this post and went insane

[astrodart]

returns from my grave to post my fish wife

[local-hyena]

Allright allright, I think I'm ready now...

TF2 COMIC 7

Saying "I loved it" would be an understatement. It was PERFECT, the perfect ending we deserved. It's been seven goddamn years, I honestly didn't think this issue would ever be released. I started getting into tf2 only recently, about a year ago I think. I hope everyone who've been there from the beginning are happy.

This last issue gave us SO MANY THINGS ! A TIME SKIP WITH THE MERC'S FUTURE ! I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY ALL GOT THE "THEY GOT HOME AND BUILT FAMILIES AND REUNITE FOR CHRISTMAS" TYPE OF FUTURE THAT LITERALLY ALL FANFICS ARE ABOUT. SINGLE DAD SCOUT IS THE GREATEST CHARACTER DEVELOPPEMENT POSSIBLE.

WE ALSO GOT LITERALLY EVERYTHING WE WERE HOPING FOR. WE GOT UNMASKED SPY, WE GOT PAULING'S FIRST NAME, WE GOT SCOUT'S LAST NAME, SCOUT WITH AN UGLY HAIRCUT, WE EVEN GOT PYRO'S DOG AND MEDIC'S BABOON, TOM JONES IS BACK. ALSO HEAVY HAS A BEARD NOW, AND SOLDIER AND ZHANNA HAVE CHILDREN !!

there are of course still unanswered things. However, the fact that the Administrator forgot why she wanted revenge on Mann really adds to her character and the overall story. Also, it seems that Scout still odesn't know that Spy is his father, since he introduces himelf to Scout's children as Scout's coworker... Scout's ma is also noticably absent, I do not want to think about it too much, since Demo's mother is still alive, there is no reason she wouldn't be as well. We're gonna say that she's spending Christmas with another son, since she doesn't really take an important rôle in the comic... Also, as a Medic main, THERE WAS NO MEDIC CONTENT. LIKE, I KNOW THAT THE LAST COMIC WAS VERY MEDIC AND HEAVY FOCUSED, BUT STILL. I always need more Medic content 😭😭 glad to see that Archimedes is here also !

Also, Merasmus why are you so ripped 😂😂 he looks ugly as ever.

I am so very happy that Hale and Olivia both got fired from MannCo. They are finally happy now, with Hale going back with Mags fighting animals and going on other dangerous adventures.

There is ONE lats thing I need to point out. No, two things. First, I wonder what Valve will do now. Now that Team Fortress 2's story has come to an end. What will happen ? Is the game going to stop updating ? Or on the contrary will they go back to working on it ? Is there going to be a Team Fortress 3 ? Or is Team Fortress simply going to end on this perfect note ?

Finally, the ending. It took me a while to understand that the last dinner scene was adressing directly to us, the reader, the player. When I understood that, it hit le right in the heart. I cannot say that tf2 has been à huge part of my life. Like I said, I only got interested last year or so. I don't even oike the game itself that much, online multiplayer competitive FPSs are not my preferred genre. But the story, the characters and what the community makes (yes, the funny GMod machinimas and SFM movies. The memes and the serious stuff, both of them) made me learn to enjoy this universe. I must confess something. For some time, I played Fortnight with my brother. He made me try because I kept saying that I didn't like it, but I hadnd't poayed the game. After my first game, I said that I had some fun, in the end. So, he kinda forced le to play. For... idk, a few years. I do nlt remember the dates but I started the season with the Nomad skin as the ultimate reward, and stopped when there were hoverboards, or whatever they were. I didn't enjoy it because he insisted on being super competitive and was raging 90% of the time. So yeah, I hated every second of it and I vowed to not play competitive online multiplier games anymore. Which is why I absolutly refuse to play Overwatch and League of Legends. I wouldn't say that Team Fortress 2 reconciled me woth these type of games, but after watching all the Meet the Mercs and learning more about the story, I tried playing. I was a bit intimidated as to which class to choose, but after trying out several (and being very influenced by Meet the Medic), I found out that I had the most fun while playing Medic. I do nlt have a very good aim and I tend to die immediatly when I try to shoot at people. I also discovered that, playing an online multiplayer game doesn't have to be competitive. I have 9h30 in tf2, I play very casually. I do not get mad when I die or my team loses, because in the end, I just want to have fun in my own way. So, this ending hit me right in the heart

I... I almost want to print that last panel and hang it on my wall... I know, there's nothing stopping me, but I don't want my family to question it.

Anyways. That was tf2 comic issue 7. I cannot wait to see what the future will bring for our mercs !

[234moon]

I don't play League of Legends so I'm surprised to know that Singed's daughter not only has some parallels with Viktor (lung disease, loved one obsessed with keeping them alive) but also is a good representation of a progressing Theseus' paradox, where if you were to replace one part of a ship every month or so to keep it from being "rotting", would it still be the same ship after all the parts are replaced? If Orianna truly is a parallel to Viktor, then it could be a good idea to explore Viktor's receding humanity in the context of him being "reformed" by magic, something Jayce probably figured out, in addition to what he saw.

Because initially, Jayce wasn't concerned about what humanity Viktor would be left with if kept alive beyond human means. Now he likely saw the consequences. Yes, you can evolve beyond nature's limitations on you. No, maybe it's not your time right now to do it. Both of these facts can co-exist. And that might be the issue with Viktor. Maybe it can provide the answer to Theseus' paradox too. Sometimes, you cannot cheat mortality. If things and people are meant to finish or pass away, stopping it stubbornly might not be the answer.

This is not an apologia analysis for what Jayce did, but more just me thinking out loud. It does make me think though, given the Jesus and Judas analogies, it's likely Jayce either knows Viktor will be "resurrected". Or this is his final act of love—giving back to Viktor the humanity he stole from him because of his own stubborn love.

[redjadethewriter]

Which Arcane Lady Is Girlfriend or Wife Material?

The women in Arcane League of Legends are some of the best developed animated characters I’ve seen in a long time, specifically designed for adults to watch. Unlike animated characters aimed at children, they cater to an older audience. As someone who enjoys animation and appreciates the quality of storytelling it offers, I want to explore something fun in this blog: using the female characters as an example. My focus will be on whether they would make compatible companions for me. To illustrate this, I’ll draw from my own preferences and experiences, particularly when discussing the qualities of each character. Ultimately, I’ll be determining who fits my standards of being girlfriend material and who doesn’t.

Before I dive in, I want to point out, in the series, Caitlyn and Violet stood out as the more explicit couple. However, Jayce’s relationship with Mel was not as clear-cut. While they hooked up, they were not explicitly a couple. On the other hand, Jayce and Viktor had a stronger, more established connection.

In my opinion, Viktor and Jayce are actually a compatible couple. It’s clear that they were into each other. Although the writers didn’t explicitly state it, Jayce seemed to be attracted to Viktor and displayed a bisexual inclination.

Viktor, on the other hand, is an enigma. He was never interested in Sky. Actually, for a second, I thought Viktor was asexual. However, I soon realized he had a soft spot for Jayce. Viktor probably is Asexual, but it’s important to note that Asexuals can love and be in a healthy relationship as well. But who really knows what Viktor’s sexuality truly is?

But come on, who spends their lifetime trying to get Jayce to save his version of Viktor by convincing him of his beauty, imperfections, and all? It’s worth mentioning that Jayce, in season one, wanted to un-alive himself, and guess who stopped him? Viktor. Throughout seasons one and two, Jayce constantly thinks about Viktor, even during the sex scene with Mel. That’s not just bro love, that’s love-love. It’s a love shared between companions.

However, when it comes to Cait and Vi, in reality, their relationship would never work. Their communication with each other is not the best. And let’s not forget that Cait looks down on the people from Zaun. As for Vi, she herself holds no allegiance to any nation or people. Her love is conditional, not unconditional. That’s why the two women in her life went through a growth phase and changed into people she didn’t like. Vi was judgmental and lacked acceptance. How can two judgmental people be together romantically? They can’t. That’s why Arcane is fiction. Furthermore, Cait completely ignores the fact that Vi is a lower-class citizen from Zaun.

Can you imagine your romantic partner ignoring your heritage, culture, and where you come from, only seeing you as an exception because of their desire for you? This imbalance of chemistry ruling the mind too much and reason too little is problematic. Both individuals are allowing chemistry to guide their decisions, despite underlying issues that would not work in reality. It’s similar to what Vi mentioned to Cait in season one - they are like oil and water. From my perspective, I can confidently state that the composition of oil cannot be changed. While oil and water can temporarily bind with certain tools, they will eventually separate. Cait and Vi, in reality, form a toxic mix. In the show, they serve as red flags to be mindful of. Although they are both attractive characters and share chemistry, these factors alone do not sustain a long-term relationship. Thus, I believe Jayce and Viktor serve as a better example of a compatible couple in the story compared to Vi and Cait.

Now that I have finished explaining my thoughts on the better couple, let’s shift our focus to the characters who I believe are capable of building a lasting romantic relationship. Additionally, I will discuss the reasons for considering these characters and also highlight the ones that should be avoided without any exceptions.

Ambessa

Regardless of how anyone chooses to frame it, Ambessa is a woman to be avoided. Once I discovered the inspiration behind her character, I realized she’s someone we can learn a great deal from. It’s important to be cautious of anyone who finds themselves attracted to her persona. In essence, Ambessa is the female equivalent of Niccolò Machiavelli. The writers were quite clever in their portrayal. They had Ambessa teach Mel about embodying both the Fox and the Wolf, while Machiavelli spoke of being both the Fox and the Lion. Though the terminology differs, the underlying mentality remains the same. The aim is to disable enemies enough so they won’t feel compelled to get revenge. That’s why Ambessa is merciless toward civilians of an empire she takes over. Manipulation is the focal point. Ambessa and Machiavelli share traits such as violence, deceit, treachery, and using others to their advantage. Ambessa passed on these characteristics to her daughter as well.

Now this moves on to Mel.

Mel is another red flag for the very reason I mention her mother as someone to stay away from. While she may have a caring side to some degree, in reality, she’s manipulative. Nonetheless, there are positive traits that can help redeem her negative qualities, allowing her to use them for good. However, I wouldn’t risk myself on that notion unless there was a clear sign it would end up okay.

On the one hand, she can change and not be like her mother. But on the other hand, in the series, it’s something I wouldn’t count on too much. I do give her praise for helping fight Ambessa, but I would still tread cautiously in a romantic relationship with this character. She can swing in either direction, depending on the influences.

Therefore, Mel is a gamble at this point. Getting involved with her could potentially lead her partners into terrible circumstances, both mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Next on this following, the no-compatible trend is Violet/Vi.

The only good thing about Vi as a character, based on my preferences and opinions, is her strength and protective nature. While some may find her attractive, her personality is lackluster. She uses humor as a coping mechanism, but it’s clear that she’s struggling with her own problems. As I mentioned earlier, she’s conditional, meaning she can’t accept her partner changing or evolving. This reminds me of people who resist change and hold onto toxic fantasies and memories, leading to disastrous situations. For instance, Powder, also known as Jinx, wouldn’t have had to save Vi if she had accepted that Vander was gone. Furthermore, Vi lacks loyalty. Her transformation into an enforcer for Piltover exemplifies her chameleon-like nature, lacking a solid individuality. You know those people who change their looks to fit their partner’s tastes? Vi acts like them. Many celebrities engage in this behavior, altering their appearances and personalities according to their partners, but it’s not healthy. Additionally, Vi is not a good listener. Although she is comfortable talking about herself and being vulnerable with certain people, she is oblivious to her partner’s issues. Unfortunately, Vi is too mundane to keep me interested. Her interests revolve around fighting and being tough, lacking the complexities that make a character intriguing. It’s no surprise that Cait told her she was becoming predictable. I can’t help but think, “Cait, she’s been predictable since season one. She is the most transparent character in Arcane.” I have to be honest about this. Vi is just not a mystery, and some people, like myself, enjoy unraveling the complexities of a romantic interest. So, what happens if there’s none of that? Well, there’s only sex. While some people may solely be interested in the physical aspect, that’s not me.

Next on this list is Sevika.

If there’s one goon worthy of falling in love with, it would undoubtedly be Sevika. Despite her involvement in illegal activities, particularly under Silco’s command, she embodies the true meaning of loyalty. Sevika’s allegiance has always been unwavering towards her nation and its people. She aligns herself with leaders who prioritize this quality, such as Vander, until she discovered his lack of loyalty to the community. Sevika, on the other hand, takes immense pride in her work. Even though Silco held the reins of power, she efficiently managed the lanes, ensuring that everything ran smoothly for him. She was the driving force behind the functioning of businesses and the well-being of the people. Despite tempting offers from the power-hungry chembarons, Sevika remained loyal to Silco. In season two, when the chembarons sought to hand Jinx over to Piltover, Sevika stood firm in her belief to never betray their own. Additionally, Sevika possesses a softer side. Her concern for Isha was clear when she and Jinx searched the prison block for her. Sevika’s help in helping Jinx infiltrate Stillwater prison to rescue Isha showcases her compassion. It’s worth noting that their primary aim was to find Isha, with freeing the others being an added bonus. Sevika is not only a protector, but also someone who speaks her mind. Her bluntness stems from a genuine desire to do what is right. Despite her interest in gambling and fighting, she remains a complex and captivating character because of her grounded nature and unwavering principles. For me, Sevika is a dependable partner, someone who can smoothly navigate everyday life. The best part is that I wouldn’t expect anything less from her. She is resolute and unswayed by others, and her loyalty is an incredibly attractive quality. With Sevika, there would be no insecurity or fear of infidelity. She would stand by her partner’s side, no matter what.

Now let us move on to Caitlyn, aka Cait.

You would think that I would place Cait after Vi or before Sevika, considering I talked some trash about her. I mean, Cait is a character who tends to look down on others when unfortunate events challenge her perspective. However, I attribute this primarily to her sheltered life and the naiveness that resulted from her mother not teaching her the harsh realities of the world. I have to admit, Cait’s mother never instilled in her the importance of holding a higher position in life to effect change. The elites hold power over the lower class. So, when Cait was disgusted by how the Undercity residents lived, she failed to realize that it was the upper-crust of Piltover who was responsible for their plight. Instead, when she witnessed the consequences of inequality and the oppression faced by these people, her mind automatically labeled them as animals. Consequently, she dehumanized them. In season 2, she even resorted to using biological warfare tactics in her pursuit of Jinx in the Undercity, disregarding the well-being of innocent citizens. I’m fairly certain there were casualties resulting from her use of the grey. So, when you really think about it, she may have caused more deaths than Jinx. Now, why would I mention Cait, after praising Sevika’s admirable qualities? Well, despite Cait’s transformation into a dictator, there are certain positive aspects about her that I cannot overlook. One of them being her empathy and capacity for compassion when she gains a deeper understanding of things. Her world was shattered in season one, having been betrayed by a citizen of the Undercity for shimmer and taken captive by Jinx in her most vulnerable state. That’s a lot of trauma to endure. Furthermore, she witnessed Jinx launching a rocket at the council. However, in season two, Jinx confessed to Cait that she had no idea her mother was there. This goes to show that Cait is not immune to narrow-minded thinking.

Cait is known for being super analytical and her ability to read people. She pays close attention to those around her, unless she’s consumed with thoughts of revenge. Unfortunately, this obsession blinds her to those who manipulate her, which ultimately led to her letting Maddie and Ambessa into her home. On the other hand, when Cait is not seeking revenge, she genuinely cares about the people close to her and is willing to help them, even if it means sacrificing material things.

One person Cait has a good understanding of is Vi. She can predict Vi’s actions, showing just how observant she is. Cait is not only attentive to her partner, but she also acts as a protector in her own unique way. While she may not possess Vi’s brute force, she adapts and learns new techniques to become a more efficient fighter and protector. She even goes as far as sacrificing her own eye to ensure Mel’s victory over Ambessa.

Like Cait, I can relate to making tough decisions and doing whatever it takes to accomplish goals. Cait maintains a stoic demeanor, but she let her guard down with the people she trusts. Additionally, Cait’s intellect might actually make her a captivating conversationalist, despite her privileged upbringing, which I like that. Her marksmanship skills and classy demeanor add to her appeal. It’s worth noting that in season one, Cait went through a rebellious phase as she sought to find her own path outside of her elite status. This quality is truly admirable. Actually, it’s cute.

Cait handles challenges exceptionally well, especially when faced with skepticism and lack of support. She takes initiative and is willing to take risks to achieve her objectives, refusing to let anyone stand in her way. While it’s unclear if Cait is capable of loving someone unconditionally, her love for Vi suggests that she is. However, Cait needs to acknowledge and embrace Vi’s background, understanding that Zaun and the Undercity have both good and bad individuals, just like Piltover. Cait’s ability to love someone less fortunate than herself is a testament to her character.

I must admit, I have a soft spot for characters like Cait.

Now let us move on to Powder, aka Jinx.

I love both Powder/Jinx. Although they are the same person, my love for them is unconditional. It’s not surprising that Ekko had a crush on Powder when they were kids. Powder is incredibly creative and practically a scientist and engineer, as she creates her own weapons. For instance, she designed her own grenades and crafted guns that perfectly suit her fighting style. Whether she goes by Powder or Jinx, she always likes to make a grand entrance. Even in the alternate universe, Powder showcased her true character - caring, thoughtful, loving, compassionate, and empathetic. There’s just so much to adore about her. Despite her possessiveness, it stems from her fear of abandonment. She simply wants to be useful to those around her. Unfortunately, Vi never really nurtured this side of Powder, and allowing others to bully her didn’t help either. It’s disheartening that we had to witness an alternate universe where Vi is no longer alive to see Powder rise and become the leader. In that reality, she became a solid foundation for her brothers, Mylo and Claggor, and they no longer belittle her, as shown. She even prevented Mylo from embarrassing himself in front of a girl. It’s a stark contrast to the world where Vi is still present. Powder is a vibrant individual with excellent taste in music. She embraces her quirkiness, loudness, and expressiveness. Her thoughtfulness and adorableness shine through when she customized an arm for Sevika based on her gambling habits. Powder pays attention to people and their interests. She even drew in Ekko’s journal, similar to how someone in love would leave love notes for their partner, except hers were cute doodles with hearts. Although she is young in this series, Powder, also known as Jinx, possesses many qualities that could lead to a fulfilling long-term relationship.

Despite the trauma and everything else going on with Piltover versus Zaun, the qualities are still there. Jinx, in particular, exhibits selflessness when the situation demands it. She has shown her willingness to protect those in need, which is commendable. In fact, she offers more positive support than Vi ever did, as evidenced by her actions towards Isha. When Isha had a memory flashback, similar to the one Jinx experienced in Season one, Jinx jumped alongside her, holding her hand. It is clear that Jinx can use her past experiences to forge stronger connections with others in the future. She strives to do things that were not done for her in the past, seeking to provide the support she longed for. This growth from past mistakes shows her commitment to personal development.

Furthermore, Jinx possesses a unique way of being a protector. While she may not have the physical strength of Vi, she compensates with her craftiness and agility. Using her skills as an intuitive gunslinger, she leverages speed and precision to her advantage. This is why I believed that Jinx and Caitlyn would have been a better match as a long-term couple. They complement each other perfectly. Caitlyn desires someone who will stand beside her, and Jinx has that persona to be that person. Not to mention the loyalty factor. Jinx yearns to be useful, always ready to lend a hand to those who appreciate her presence.

Moreover, let’s not forget that Powder can be quite the gangster. Her entrance with the balloon blasting her music was absolutely hilarious. The expressions on Ambessa’s and Caitlyn’s faces were priceless. We should be grateful for her stylish, yet badass persona.

Conclusion:

Who is the better romantic partner, based on my preferences? Well, considering that I relate more to Jinx’s persona, Caitlyn or Sevika might actually be a more grounding partner. However, Caitlyn is a lot less blunt, so I might be leaning towards her. I really admire the discipline she has in her life. On the other hand, Powder’s persona is also quite appealing. I’m not sure, to be honest. Oops.

[tubbytarchia]

new jim hardcore smp....... 30 days...... watching the vod............ this is so long im so sorry. i cant stop noting every little detail.

members (might miss some. just saying ones that join or are mentioned): jimmy, martyn, bekyamon, sneegsnag, fwhip, mogswamp, joel, sausage, lizzie, oli, "all the life series crew (but none of them responded)", scott, aimsey (jimmy says later theres "about 14 of us")

martyn almost dies immediately i think. he joins and almost instantly starts complaining about a zombie at spawn.

bekyamon DOES die immediately via skeleton. jim does the thing where he goes dead silent.

jimmy revives her after a moment of trying to figure out how to. he got someone to do it for him (i think an off-screen admin. like sonam life series)

he places down a crafting table ONLY to craft sticks then picks it up again. this isnt important i just thought it was funny. he then places it down again 5 seconds later

on the way to find stone hes met by sneeg and martyn in a boat. they all spend the first night together. cute. sneeg gets inside their makeshift cave and immediately goes afk (to talk to his chat i think)

jimmy: two dudes chilling in a dark cave, (places 2 dirt between him and martyn) two blocks apart...

martyn: NOT IN PRIDE MONTH!! (runs around the dirt)

^ they then both do the AYYYYY! thing which i think is cute.. big dogs will always be real. they keep talking about league of legends and i dont know whats happening.

jim and martyn go out at night to get resources. jimmy crashes while mining coal around some gravel and he crashes....... he has the falling block glitch,,, martyn crashed too i think (update: they all have it. i think its caused by mods not installing properly but its probably server side since its everyone? or fwhip messed up since jim said fwhip organised a folder for everyone to install.)

jimmy finds a village! on the way he has a close call with a creeper and he then raids it. he mentions football but then hes like "you dont care do you. no worries" TALK ABOUT YOUR INTERESTS ON YOUR STREAAMMMMM i mean what

chat keeps telling him to kill a golem. he resists for a bit before doing it. "you know what. ive gave in to peer pressure. im going to kill him." he then kills the golem and he goes ooo or yeah for every hit.

lizzie joins and he starts BEGGING her to not die first. "lizzie, lizzie, listen to me, if youre watching the stream still. you CANNOT be the first one to die. lizzie, please. please, please. do not be the first one to die, please. you cant have that title. you cannot have this title." (lizzie then says im gonna live so hard and he laughs. but jimmy what the hell was that about)

lizzie then mentions in chat that theres powdered snow at spawn and jimmys IMMEDIATELY like not my fault. the server did that. ???????????? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM LIKE ACTUALLY i need to study him get in my lab boy

chat asks if its gonna be made into videos. he says its only going to be streamed. jimmy please hire someone to edit down your streams. please

jimmy makes it very clear that he wants to survive all 30 days. i believe in him

LIZZIES HERE shes in her empires season 2 dress skin. ?????? she forgot to install all the mods

she then leaves and sausage arrives by yelling DADDY JIM?????? (jimmy then says "first time someones called me daddy! wow!" to which saus goes "LIES. LIES. LIES!!" and jim says "well. you know. we dont talk about what we do in our spare time-" ?!!?!?!!?!?!)

lizzie then rejoins and it makes both of them jump. lizzie explains the skin by saying she likes to use the skins she doesnt wear much in between series. thats so cute i cant do this

sausage says his sos builds were him "holding back". i am scared of him i think

lizzie wants to test if you can still jump off cliffs in boats. she then goes into a ravine (and lands in water so it isnt even a test) and realises that she did just jump into a ravine with a total of 0 resources. she gets out fine :)

they talk about saving the villagers and lizzie tries to. seduce one of them into going inside the house. then sausage tries to seduce the SAME villager.

sausage has a gapple already???? he tries to give it to jimmy but jimmy gives it back.

jim and lizzie talk about joel. jimmy: "i wish i could spend some quality time with him, you know?" lizzie: "yeah me too, me too man" they then start talking about him. like wanting custody over him. like some strange pet. jimmy and lizzie and the weird thing they found on the street. jimmy explicitly refers to joel as "our man" which i think is kind of gay.

jimmy and lizzie and sausage go mining together. this is such a great trio im so happy. they go into one of those shitty little caves and mythical "builder" sausage starts texturing the entrance. someone put him in a creative world its good for his enrichment.

sausage picked the seed :) every biome is close by

lizzie keeps taming cats and im scared she isnt going to stop.

honestly the mining trip is really chill... its just the three of them hanigng out and talking. very fun. sausage meows when hes nervous. lizzie has just found out that hardcore means the server is set to hard. they also all remember that cats scare creepers and theyre having a great time. lizzie has no armour and reaches 1 heart.

sausages texturing is an ongoing bit and its so fucking funny they keep encouraging him. sausage this whole cave needs texturing.

oli wants to know where jimmy is. this gives hey girl i mean they energy and i cant explain it. jimmy says "we" are in a hole atm and oli goes full jealous bf mode on him. he calls him kitten. i cant do this

the gang finds a lush cave and sausages texturing bit gets even funnier. hes so happy about moss. unfortunately theres like a million mobs.

aimsey asks in chat if someone can sleep so jimmy does. he says it was him and aimsey says "YAY!!!!! you are my new favourite" while scott says "youre so hot for that". jimmy does not acknowledge either of them. winning the idgaf war.

sausage combat logs in between a bunch of mobs. lizzie combat logs a moment later. leaving jimmy alone to fight all the mobs (its like a single creeper and skeleton) and jimmy is SO annoyed about it. he'll never forget this.

they both join again but lizzie has to leave :( she goes back to the surface to log out safely

sausage is visibly upset about caving day 1. he yearns to build. he really really wants to build. did you know he wants to build. he wants a starter house. he doesnt want to be in the caves.

they see some gravel and jimmys like be careful. dont touch it cuz of the glitch. sausage then goes wait can i hit it here? and the game IMMEDIATELY crashes. jimmy is devastated. like clutching his head hitting his desk. hes worried hes gonna fall to his death cuz he was placing blocks.

they both rejoin at about the same time. turns out what saus did (i think) is he tried to break a single piece of gravel that he THOUGHT wasnt connected to anything. but it was. it was connected to a lot of things actually. so they both crashed

they start to go back up and they find oli!!! oli starts playing the oli and jim theyre just two guys song. hes actually so jealous boyfriend "explain to me why i have that song ready and youre spending time in a hole with OTHER men by the way!?" he also says kitten again. i cant do this. oli tries to modify the oli and jim song to oli and oli. he chills out quickly then starts playing their talent show song

they go back to the surface and oli starts talking about wanting (armadillo) scutes (for dog armour) and a dog. while oli is talking about dogs jimmy is just. zoomed in on his feet. sausage just says he will give oli 10 gifted subs if he shows his feet on stream. they get on him for being too direct and not being pg. as if they were being perfect little angels. ok oli and jim.

they all start talking over each other about lore and i cant hear anything except jimmy going "IM THE DADDY OF THIS SERVER!" and oli going "NO YOURE MY KITTEN YOURE MY KITTEN YOURE MY KITTEN YOURE MY LITTLE KITTEN MAN"

jimmy leaves to get food. he comes back and briefly passes oli and saus and i just hear oli calling sausage kitten too. i dont know what this new bit is and im too scared to ask.

all three of them go on a little boat ride to find more people. jimmy wrote a sea song yesterday and its really fun and catchy.......

they eventually run into martyn and sneeg. i think a thing about this smp is going to be me not being able to hear anything. theres a minimum of 3 people talking at any given time. the boats end up as jim/martyn, sneeg/oli, and saus. oli changes oli and jim to oli and sneeg.

i genuinely think theres like maybe 2 braincells between them all because as soon as someone says something they all start repeating it

oli and jimmy separate off. theyre looking for some place to live and they realise the spot they want is where scott is. so they make a bit out of trying to move into the area without anyone noticing theyre there. scott tries to talk to them and theyre like heyyyyyyy we didnt notice you here aha. ahaha. for context the area is like. a massive hole in the ground thats not a cave but its just. a pit. scott and aimsey call it the donut jimmy and oli call it the disc.

oli says "has there ever been a disc war" and i was thrown so hard into 2020. they then speak over each other but jimmys like (to scott) YOU FRUSTRATE ME! I AM FRUSTRATED! and oli says that oli/jim are the disc heads. surely nobody is going to mispronounce this. just a couple of disc heads. ok mr pg. their house is the discheads disc den and they keep saying it really fast and i think somethings going to go wrong.

martyn and sausage and sneeg turn up and within like a second olis like "we love riding disc in this house" and saus says "ill ride that disc" i dont like either of them at all. then oli shoos jimmy away to convince sneeg to call it the disc and not a donut (probably to say something not pg). whatever he said it worked cuz by the time jimmys back hes calling it the disc. mog turns up at some point during this too.

jimmy walks off and finds a whole bunch of dogs.... he got one of the new ones. woods wolf? idk its very cute. he goes back to the group and mog gets exiled for calling the hole a donut. jimmy mines for like 5 minutes then ends. :p next stream monday and theres another build and seek video tomorrow

Me and Liau read this ask together a few days ago and all of this OOC is the funniest shit. But also I don't think it'd be bearable for me to watch lol (minimum of 3 people speaking at a time sounds god awful. I'm just not the type of person to be able to watch that without getting really overwhelmed. Sobs) so I lay you extra thanks for updating me!! Also the humor sense is uhh. This is really starting to feel like one of those fan-made Life Series where it's mostly kids whose humor sense is primarily sex jokes. Once again OOC this all gave me a good laugh but oh my god I would not personally be able to get through this

Aughhh him and Lizzie talking about Joel though.... their man... yeah it's gay. Jimmy needs to be adopted into hermitcraft so bad dude these two never stop proclaiming how much they miss each other. End my misery

How dare Sausage and Lizzie combat log and leave Jimmy to fend for himself.... Jimmy should start murdering... also the bit with Sausage hurts my brain noooo all I can think is that miserable Jimmy does just. fuck Sausage I guess. Because he gets little affection from anyone else and Sausage is the only one to actively reach out to him and offer anything of the sort and Jimmy just takes it and has led himself to believe that he likes it this way when he just doesn't have any other options to get the affection he desires but is unable to ask for it from anyone himself. The trauma and all. Ugh I'm sorry Sausage enjoyers I cant with him

And Oli is so weird about him too lmao what are they doing!! But I can accept Oli, he's funny to me. The way he goes to comedic extremes at any inconvenience in his relationship with Jimmy to quickly switch back around is funny to me. He doesn't compare to Sausage. He could do Jimmy some good. The blonde boyfriends have my approval even if Oli is the way he is

I love when Jimmy just proclaims how he's feeling. "THAT FRUSTRATES ME. I AM FRUSTRATED" why is he such a stupid little thing I love him

Mog getting exiled immediately for referring to the hole wrong is really funny. I'm so sorry Mog

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel

Viego: Pt 4, finale

League of Legends | Viego x F!Reader

Chapters: Prologue | Viego: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Read the whole thing on AO3 here

NSFW: Oral (f!receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, overstim

Summary: Turns out that Runeterra isn't the only place that has a Void. Plucked from your world into one of a video game with nothing but stolen time powers, an inability to die and a middling recollection of lore, you're prepared to do just about anything to get back home again. You just have to find the right Champion to help.

The restorations get more tiring. Viego is careful with who he brings you, though you have no idea how he can tell how old the souls are. You don't complain, but he seems to notice how drained you are after. You think you're doing well to pace yourself, until one day after the newly restored souls have been sent off, Viego goes very still.

“The mist is rolling in over Bilgewater,” he says tensely, his eyes focused on something very far off. “There will be a Harrowing.”

You straighten, concerned. “Can't we do anything? I mean, before anyone dies?”

He glances at you, brow pinched. “I will go,” he decides. “Every wraith banished back to the Isles is one that cannot hurt anyone for a time.”

“You know I'm coming with you,” you say. He gets a very pinched look on his face, and your tone steels. “Viego, I know you're worried about me, but I am not staying here while people are getting hurt. I'm going, and you know you can't stop me, so you may as well watch my back.”

He searches your eyes for a moment, then sighs and holds out his hand. “Very well. Let us go.”

You take it, and mist envelops you. You've never traveled through his mist awake before, and it feels a mix of diving into ice cold water and walking through a car wash. You can't see anything for a moment, not even your own hand.

The mist clears just enough for you to make out Viego's form just ahead of you. He raises a hand, and as he waves it the mist curls back in on itself, creating a bubble of clear but filmy air around you. You recognize Bilgewater by the rickety dock-streets under your feet, and more than that, the man in a trifold hat who runs full tilt past you swearing at the top of his lungs. Viego immediately strides in the direction he ran from, releasing your hand to pull his sword from nowhere. He spares you a single worried look, before the first wraith breaches the mist and he grimly turns to the task ahead.

The wraiths don't target Viego at first–he’s one of them, after all, and has no precious life force to siphon. You, however, are a different story. A dozen wraiths spills from the mist, and you raise your hand to freeze them mid-leap scant seconds before Viego cleaves through three in one swing. He spares you an appreciative look before he dissolves into mist himself, and then is behind you, running through another you hadn't seen. You finish the rest in front of you with a fan of thrown knives, instantly teleported to their destination by force of habit.

You work your way through the streets like this, you controlling the crowds and him dispatching them with quick and brutal swings of his blade. Pretty quickly, the wraiths start to target him too, and he seems to have much less concern for his own health than making sure nothing touches a hair on your head.

“If you die on me, I'm gonna kick your ass,” you say tersely, catching him by the elbow as he appears close to you, a wraith already impaled in his blade. He blinks as the gashes left by the wraith's claws close, the dark mist that was leaking from the wounds vanishing.

“I will endeavor not to disappoint you,” he says dryly, and effortlessly swings his zwei with one hand to catch two leaping wraiths at once. Inappropriately, you get the sudden urge to pin him to a wall and kiss him senseless, but you're going to ignore that. Effortless displays of force did something for you, noted, moving on.

“It's him! It's the King!” Someone yells, and you turn to see someone standing at the edge of the mist looking strongly like he doesn't know which way to run. “He's here to kill us all!”

Out from behind him stumbles a stocky woman desperately trying to support a bleeding man. “Oh, shut your fucking trap, Harold,” she seethes, turning to look at the both of you. “You ain't here to kill us, right? You brought me auntie Sash back, so do me a favor and fix this lug up ‘fore you gotta pop him back out the mist too, yeah?” She gestures at the bleeding man. Viego looks vaguely appalled, and she clears her throat. “Uh. If’n you please, your majesties.”

You stifle a laugh, and walk up to touch the man's shoulder. His wounds vanish, and he slurs what you think is a thank you. The woman nods sharply. “Many thanks, milady. Now, if I could suggest you bring that murder machine you call a husband up to the slaughter docks, he’d have a right fine time killing all the mist beasties there,” she offers you a sailors salute and proceeds to march out the way you came, her companions scrambling in her wake.

“Why does everyone assume we're married?” You say aloud. When you look back at Viego, he's scraping some spectral wolf thing off his blade. Murder machine you can't deny, but husband? You're not even wearing a ring.

“Can we please focus on the task at hand, dearest?” He says. That was probably why. You make a face and march towards the docks.

—

It is a long, long time before the wraiths begin to thin. With them out of the way, Viego corals the worst of the mist away, pushing it back out towards sea with his mouth set in a grim line of concentration.

The citizenry begins to emerge from their hiding holes as he does, and the murmurs echo around you so loudly they become completely indecipherable. Viego sends the rolling wall of mist away, creeping slowly back out over the water, and lets out a harsh breath of exertion.

“Are you okay?” You ask, touching his elbow. There's nothing to rewind, though–whatever effort he's expended isn't the physical kind.

He nods tightly. “It was still hungry. Difficult to control, after we interrupted its meal.”

“Your majesties!” A familiar voice calls. You turn to see your ferryman, no worse for wear save for a gash across his arm. “On behalf of Bilgewater, thank you for your assistance.”

“You know I'm not actually a queen, right?” You point out, reaching out to heal his wound.

“Legal particulars ain't never mattered much to me, my lady,” he says smartly, completely missing or deliberately ignoring your point. “I'd invite you to the post ‘hooray for not dying’ celebrations, but from the look on milords face and the way you're swaying on your feet, I reckon he'll be wanting to take you home shortly.”

“I'm not swaying–” you protest. Viego catches your shoulder to steady you before you overbalance. “Alright, yeah, I spoke too soon,” you relent. He leaves his arm around your shoulders, you notice.

Viego inclines his head at the man. “We will require your services the day after tomorrow, Captain Brigg. I'm sure there are those we could not help, and Iso will want to return them as soon as she is able.”

“The day after?” You ask. “I can–” he casts you a look that brooks no argument, and you resist the urge to pout.

“I'll be seeing you then, milord,” Brigg agrees amicably. “Have a good evening, your majesties.” Viego nods, and as the last fleeting tendril of mist curls around you, you disappear.

He takes you directly to your bedroom, and you really do hate to admit it, but he's right–now that the adrenaline has passed, you can barely stay on your feet. Viego gently lowers you onto your bed, and then kneels to take your boots off.

“You don't have to–” you begin, flustered.

“I know,” he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. “But I want to.”

You're too tired to argue. Instead, you sigh and struggle out of your bodice and skirts, until you're just in your chemise. Viego stands as you shuffle under your covers, and on the very brink of unconsciousness, you feel him press a kiss to your hairline. “Rest well, my heart,” he murmurs into your hair. You want to sit up and ask what exactly the fuck this thing between you is, but you can't help but sleep.

—

In your dream, Viego is on his throne. He hasn't seen you yet as you walk around it, but when he does he smiles so warmly it makes your heart jump. You get that insatiable urge to be closer, to touch that perfect porcelain skin, and you can't think of any reason not to. His hands settle on your thighs as you climb into his lap, and he kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world. He's warm, despite the plumes of mist leaking from his heart, and when you mouth along the column of his neck his skin feels as alive as any others. He gasps, rolling his hips up into you, as you grind down into that delicious friction–

You wake with a start.

“Viego, if I took you to a bar, would you wingman for me?” You ask the ceiling muzzily. Predictably, he is indeed in the room.

“What does that mean?” he asks, puzzled.

You open your mouth to explain, then immediately think better of it. He'd make you look bad by comparison, with a face like his. “Nevermind.”

“Are you well?” He asks, tone considerably more concerned.

“Yeah,” you sit up, rubbing your face. “How long was I out for?”

“All night and most of the day. It is around sunset now, I believe.” Viego says. He sits on the bed next to you and hands you a plate. “Here, eat.”

You stare down at the sandwiches for a moment before taking them from him. You can tell he made them himself–he still sucks at cutting tomatoes. “The ferryman came by,” he explains casually as you eat. “Some of the citizens wanted to send their regards, which apparently in Bilgewater consists of a vast array of gold and alcohol. They're holding a vigil over the bodies, instead of burying them at sea.”

“I suppose you'd better find those souls then,” you muse. “I imagine we'll get some strongly worded letters if we're late.”

“No need,” he says. “They've all found their way to the castle already. I suppose nothing can stop the Bilgewater rumormill, not even death.”

You start to get up, putting the plate on your bedside table. “They're here? I should–”

Viego pushes you back down against the bed with a hand flat against your collarbone, right over where his triangle of mist would be on him. You hit the soft pillows with a faint whuff. “You should rest.”

“Viego–” you begin to argue.

“Iso,” he shoots back in a tone that clearly brooks no arguments. “You only just awoke. I will not have you putting yourself back into a coma. We said we would return them tomorrow, they will wait until tomorrow.”

You stare each other down for a long moment, but Viego holds resolute. You sigh. “Y'know, the last man who pinned me down in bed was a lot more fun.”

A flash of something dark flashes across Viego's face. He leans in, putting one hand on the pillow next to your head to support his weight, while the hand still on your chest comes up to stroke the column of your throat. His gaze, already so piercing in its uncanny glow, bores into yours. “I do not expect you to reciprocate my affections, but that does not permit you to make light of them,” Viego says dangerously. His hand reaches your jaw, his thumb just barely brushing over your parted bottom lip. “I am a greedy man, and one day you will have me wanting more than you are willing to give.” You let out a trembling breath, and he’s so close–

And then he sits back, stands up, and vanishes into mist.

“What the fuck?” You ask the empty room, dumbfounded.

—

It's not so much that you avoid Viego for the rest of the night. You're not sure you could avoid him, if he was particularly set on finding you. It's just that you're so fucking confused you have no desire to do anything but pace around your room.

You'll admit, you've been avoiding so much as considering the idea that Viego has feelings for you. Most likely because it's pretty obvious that you have feelings for Viego, which absolutely was a horrible idea, because Viego's defining character trait was being irrevocably, obsessively, head-over-heels in love with a dead woman.

…Except the Viego you know has done his grieving. The Viego you know came to terms with his wife's death and found other things in his past and future to live for. The Viego you know didn't have his story end in the Hallowed Mist, pinned to the scene of his wife's last true death for all eternity. No, he's changed and grown and remembered who he used to be, before death robbed him of everything but the thing he held most dear. The Viego you know has, now that you think about it, been pretty straightforward about his feelings, and you just deflected every time because you were staunchly refusing to address the possibility out of…what? Fear of rejection? That you were reading him wrong, and he would be disgusted by the thought of anyone who wasn't Isolde, thereby ruining your friendship forever?

Your eyes catch on the music box, still on your dresser. In the drawer in the bottom of that dresser sit the notes you wrote, detailing your every foiled attempt to get home. Somewhere deep inside, you still held out hope that you'd find something, anything that could take you back. If you said yes to him, you'd be saying yes to staying in this world. Forever, probably. Neither of you can die or age. The only thing that could take you from him is if you left of your own will, and the thought of having him and then being forced to choose between him and home petrifies you.

You groan, throwing yourself back onto your bed. God, you just had to uncan these particular worms, didn't you? You couldn't have just…fucking repressed all of your feelings forever. Not that that's fair to Viego. Who you've been flirting with and then immediately brushing off when he reciprocates. No wonder he got fed up with your shit. You're stricken with the urge to rewind yourself back to Ionia and disappear into the woods forever, but then again, he'd probably follow you.

He doesn't show up when you pad down to the kitchen to make dinner. The solitude makes you antsy–it’s the longest you've been truly alone for months now. Viego has practically been your shadow, and having him gone for so long makes you uneasy in a way you didn't expect. You make yourself something quick and easy, and leave a portion out for him in case he decides he wants any, before quickly making your way back to your room. You do not sleep well.

---

The next day, Viego is waiting outside your door. You give him a slightly stilted hello, incredibly aware of yourself in his presence in a way you never had been before, and you walk in awkward silence to the Great Hall where the shades gather. The clamoring of the dead is preferable to whatever the fuck this is, and you're glad for the distraction just as much as you are that you can help. The ferryman even makes the trip up to the castle this time instead of meeting you at the docks, and about an hour later he departs with the grateful newly not-dead of Bilgewater in tow. Leaving you back in the awkward silence hell.

“I apologize,” Viego says before you can figure out what the hell you’re supposed to say to him. You give him a questioning look. “For yesterday. I was agitated and got…carried away.”

You stare at him, even more thrown off than before. “I…” Fuck it. You couldn't avoid it forever, and this is killing you. “Viego, how do you feel about me?”

His brow furrows as if you're asking a very strange question. He hesitates a long moment before answering, searching your face for some indication of what you're actually asking. “I love you,” he finally says. “You saved me from myself, and I hope to one day become a man worthy of your affections.”

That confession, delivered as if he was stating an obvious and self-evident fact of the world, floors you. “But why?” You insist, flabbergasted. “Because I just…happened to be the person who freed you?”

He frowns. “Of course not. You taught me a different way to live, and gave me back parts of myself I did not even know I had lost. You treated me with kindness and honesty, and every day you drive me to be better just by existing.” He looks at you earnestly, as if willing you to believe him.

“I–” your voice trembles. Fuck, are you crying? You are. Viego's entire counternance softens, and he steps up to cup your face.

“Oh, my heart, what troubles you?” He asks softly, wiping your tears away.

“I love you,” you hiccup. His eyes widen in shock. “But if I love you, then I can't–I couldn't bring myself to leave, Viego, I couldn't–”

“Then don't leave,” he says softly, urgently. “Stay with me.”

You shake your head. “You don't understand, I can't…I can't give up on them. What kind of person does that make me, if I give up on them?”

“My heart, my love,” Viego croons. “Moving on is not a betrayal. You taught me that. You have fought so hard and for so long, and now they would want you to rest, to find peace and happiness where you are.”

You dissolve into sobs against his chest. He holds you tight, stroking your hair and whispering soft assurances into your hair, until you're so exhausted from everything that you can't help but sleep.

—

Viego is beside you when you wake up. You know, because he's toying with your hair. You open your eyes to find him laying on his side on top of the covers, head pillowed on his arm.

“How often do you watch me sleep?” You ask. “Be honest.”

He thinks about it for a moment. "Do you remember the first night I brought you back here, and you told me to focus on something in the room?” He asks. You nod. “I chose your breathing. I found it comforting, and I still do.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘a lot' while not technically answering the question?” You ask.

His lips quirk in a smile, and he shrugs noncommittally. You're struck with the urge to kiss him, so you do. It's a simple press of lips, but when you pulls back Viego looks stunned.

And then he's on you, devouring your mouth like it's the first water he's seen in years of drought. He pulls you closer with one hand and cards the other through your hair and tilts your head at an angle just so, and, god, he really was a heartbreaker, wasn't he? He had to be, if he could kiss like this.

“Iso,” he breathes against your lips. “My heart, my beloved.” His lips move along your jaw, down your neck, and you gasp. His mouth latches on your pulse and you have no doubt you'll have a mark there tomorrow.

“Viego–” you gasp, only for your voice to trail off into a needy whine as his teeth scrape along the junction of your neck and shoulder. You grab onto his hair for stability, and he moans when you accidentally tug. The sound goes straight between your legs. “Fuck,” you breathe.

“That can be arranged,” he murmurs, looking up at you from beneath those pretty lashes. You nod frantically, and the grin he gives you is absolutely wolfish. He levers himself up so he can pull the covers off you, and you’ve never been so angry at how many layers women's clothing in this world has. Still, Viego is amazing at multitasking–he nips at your throat as he unlaces your bodice, leaving open mouth kisses down your chest as he pushes your chemise down to free your breasts. You gasp as his mouth closes around a nipple, and he slips an arm under your back as it arches, pulling you ever closer to him. You take the opportunity to wrap your legs around him, and he makes a needy little noise against your skin.

His free hand slides up the outside of your leg, rucking your skirts up, and for one delicious second he rolls his hips into yours and good lord, he was packing. Then he’s between your legs, slithering down the length of your body so quickly you're half certain he becomes mist to do it. You yelp as he snaps off your garters with his teeth, and obligingly raise your hips so he can slide your underwear off. You get the impression he would be remorseless about tearing them off you, and you like this pair–

He laps at your clit and moans like it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, and thoughts evaporate from your head. You grab his hair again, this time to hold on for dear life, and you swear he whimpers as you fist your hands in it. You'd be worried you were hurting him, if he wasn't still going down on you like his life depended on it. You roll your hips up against his face demandingly, gasping yes right there–

Viego isn't satisfied with making you cum once. He gives you barely enough time to come down before he's easing those long fingers into your drenched pussy. He sucks on your clit and curls his fingers ruthlessly up into you, noting what makes you twitch and cry out with pinpoint accuracy, until he's reduced you to a trembling mess.

“Viego–” you gasp, tugging his hair. He doesn't even seem to register the motion, so you do it again but harder. He comes up, mouth glistening with your juices and eyes glazed, looking somewhere between indulgent and lust-addled and vaguely annoyed you're interrupting him.

“Yes, my love?” He purrs, curling his fingers up in you again. You moan, rolling your hips, and his eyes track your face intently.

“Get up here,” you order as soon as you can form coherent sentences, beckoning him with one finger. He complies immediately, and oh, that's kind of nice, isn't it? You kiss your taste out of his mouth, and he whimpers, rolling his hips against the mattress. “And get this off,” you continue, pulling at his coat. He sits back on his heels to comply, and from this angle you can see his cock pressed painfully up against his pants, neglected save for whatever friction he got against the bed. You sit up and palm him through his pants, feeling him throb, and his hips jump against your hand as he lets out the most desperate noise you've ever heard a man make.

He leans back over you, kissing you desperately as he undoes his belts with one hand. His cock springs free as he shoves his pants halfway down his thighs, and he buries his face in your neck and moans as he drags his length through your folds, once, twice, then finally, he pushes his cock into you. Even with his relentless preparation earlier, the stretch almost burns, and just when you think there can't be more his hips jump and there is. His grip on your hips is almost bruising, and when he finally hilts himself in you, you're both trembling.

Then he begins to move, almost like he can't help himself, dragging his cock out in one slow movement before slamming back in with a moan. You're not sure Viego is even capable of getting tired, because he fucks like he isn't, furiously pistoning his hips like he isn't making an absolute mess out of both of you. He's noisy, too, moans and bitten-off pleas and slurred praises, you're so tight and wet and perfect, my love, my heart, come for me, yes, just like that–

He moans gutterally into your ear as you clench around him, thrusting into you as deeply as he can before he cums. His hips don't still, and with a start you realize he's still hard. “Forgive me, I need m–mhh, more,” he slurs, already starting up another brutal tempo even as his cum leaks out of you. “You–ah, you feel so good, please, let me–” his speech dissolves into needy incoherency. He grips your knees and pulls them up and together, practically folding you in half, and it changes the angle of his thrusts in such a way that has you whimpering. When you cum, it's to a stream of praises and an absolute lack of any noticeable change in his pace.

Perhaps it's to be expected for breaking a century long dry spell, but Viego is insatiable. His thrusts turn sloppy as he chases his own release and he practically sobs as he cums in you again. He sits back, and he's a mess, hair stuck to his face and cock still dripping with your combined fluids. You think he's done, but apparently the sight of your abused hole dripping with his cum does it for him. “One more?” He pleads, and those puppy dog eyes do not belong on a man whose cock is twitching against his stomach.

Ah, fuck it. You roll onto your knees and and give him your best come hither look, aided by the no doubt completely fucked out look you must be sporting. He almost growls, and then he's on you.

—

“I…apologize,” he says sheepishly. “I may have gotten carried away.”

You crack open an eye, and he's looking at the bruises he's left on your hips. “You know I could fix those, right? I'm not doing that because I like them.”

He blinks at you, except his eyes are glazed in such a way that tells you he's thinking of something dirty. “You will be the death of me,” he muses.

You snuggle back against his chest, and he wraps his arms around you. “Been there, done that, dying is overrated. You're stuck with me.”

He kisses the spot underneath your ear, and he sounds utterly sincere when he says, “And how lucky I am.”

[twosentencereviews]

I can't stop thinking about Silco's line from S2E8 of Arcane.

We build our own prisons. Bars forged of oaths, codes, commitments. Walls of self-doubt and accepted limitation. We inhabit these cells, these identities, and call them "us". I thought I could break free by eliminating those I deemed my jailors. But...

This is fabulous. This isn't just good drama, this is some actual legit philosophy going on here.

There are tons of self-help gurus, get-rich-quick scheme sellers, and new-age spiritualists who will tell you "You're only holding yourself back! You can do anything you set your mind to! You just have to let yourself be successful, and you will be!"

Silco's response, and Arcane's by extension, is to agree, yet disagree. One could do these things, yes. There are many things which a person could do. We all impose limitations on ourselves. But to let go of these limitations, to abandon our restrictions and become wholly unbound, would be to lose ourselves in the process.

This is a vision of identity as negative space. There are things aach of us won't do. Or things which ,if we did them, would make us someone else. A parent who will not harm their child. An activist who will not give up on a lost cause. A lover who keeps trying to fix a broken partner, no matter how many times they have to forgive them, and the partner who cannot or will not change.

Arcane is, to a large extent, a tragedy. Like the best tragedies, the suffering is preventable, yet inevitable, because the characters cannot help but make the wrong choices, over and over. But unlike, say, Shakespeare's Othello whose choices are driven by paranoia and jealousy, the great undoing of most of the characters in Arcane is love. Love of their friends, their family, their city. The characters in the show are driven by authentic emotions and heartfelt beliefs, the truest parts of themselves. And, for the most part, it brings them to ruin.

There's almost a Buddhist quality to this. One of core teachings of Buddhism is that suffering is borne from want/craving (tanha). We draw a line, a boundary between "us" and "not us", and suffer because the things which are "not us" are outside our control. A path to enlightenment is to learn to let go of this division, to understand oneself only as a part of everything, to see no distinction at all between existence and non-existence.

Arcane rejects this path. The closest anyone gets in the show to this kind of depersonalized godhood is Viktor. And he's the villain. His attempts to inflict this on everyone is the threat to be defeated in the grand finale. In another time, another reality, where he achieves this, he tells Jayce that a world of endless solitary peace and intellectual freedom...wasn't worth it. He goes back in time, again and again, to give Jayce the tools he needs to set the world on exactly the path of destruction necessary to bring him (Viktor) to that realization. The show's "happy ending", such as it is, it that everyone will get to continue being fucked-up humans in a world of suffering and violence, but also love and community.

Silco's regret here, in this monologue, isn't "I wish I didn't care so much about Vander" or "I wish I'd given Jinx up when I had the chance". He only regrets that he didn't see his self-imposed limits as good, that he couldn't accept that his love made him weak and that that's okay. It's okay to just be a squishy human with emotions, to fail and be broken where others might have succeeded. It will always hurt that you can't be everything you dream of being, and making peace with that is the only way to live. It's a dark hope, learning to be yourself by identifying who you are not.

I still can't believe this show is based on League of fucking Legends. It has no right to be this god damn brilliant.

[tleeaves]

The Fictional Crush Line-Up For 2023 and Beyond

Was going to do this sooner (as in a review on the year based on the new or resurfaced interests I picked up, with aforementioned fictional crushes along the way), but I wanted to collect art for them all too and then I also had to try and remember them all. But here we are. If I'm missing any, I'll either have to edit and or reblog to include them.

See if you can spot any common threads (it may get trickier as the list goes on, just be warned). This goes almost in chronological order. But order does not in any way reflect my level of brainrot and obsession with each.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE FRAGILE THREADS OF POWER, BALDUR'S GATE III, AND ARCANE: LEAGUE OF LEGENDS (SPECIFICALLY REGARDING VIKTOR).

Consider yourself warned.

Victor Vale (Vicious by V.E. Schwab)

Victor and his revenge story are kind of responsible for kick-starting my journey of self-rediscovery these past twelve months, in a strange and roundabout way. He made me want to stick up for myself and what I wanted out of life. Sure, he's extremely morally grey in a concerning way, and yeah, we don't normally encourage revenge, but I found him a comfort at a difficult time. But also, I could totally fix him (no one can and it's no one's responsibility, yet the sentiment is still there). I'm not usually one for blonds (I am a liar) but his cold aesthetic is oddly pleasing. There's nothing I understand more than an awe that rots into resentment and envy while maintaining the same thread of fascination with someone. "Victor Vale was not a fucking sidekick" is just a, mwah, chef's kiss line. Honestly, I have less of a crush on this guy, more of an understanding that I appreciate. Also, I haven't even mentioned the chronic pain implications and canon uses of his powers. But that might be for another time.

Viktor (Arcane: League of Legends)

Another Viktor with chronic illness themes and whose (in LoL lore) regard for a partner in science goes sour over time as they pursue different objectives (not seen in the Netflix series yet, of course, it's too early for glorious evolution). This guy always comes back to rot in my brain, and I cannot wait for season 2 later this year to see what comes of his arc. I'm planning a fanfic involving him, Jayce, and maybe/sort of Jinx, based on a dream I had months ago but still have swirling in the soup that is my consciousness. There is something so pretty about this guy. If I was more confident in my sketching abilities, he'd end up being my muse way too often. Viktor's character to me is kind of a tragedy personified, and I love a good tragedy. Oh, and his voice actor?? Amazing. There's some debate over how authentic he sounds to Eastern Europeans, but the accent aside still, he sounds sooo good. I want to sit in on a lecture where he speaks about literally anything for two hours.

Kell Maresh (A Darker Shade of Magic; The Fragile Threads of Power by V.E. Schwab)

Usually, I don't talk about Kell because of how silly I feel like my crush on him is. I identify with Delilah "Lila" Bard throughout ADSOM and even Threads, so I hate further mentioning how much I actually think about Kell because I'd have to fist fight anyone who said I only relate to her because of Kell when that's not the truth. And yet, there's still enough differences between Lila and I for me to be like "if I had to pick a woman in the Schwabverse..." But also, MAYBE I JUST THINK KELL IS GORGEOUS, OKAY? 🫣 Maybe I like that he starts as a somewhat naive prince who's had things both easy and rough in life (wanting to be loved by the only family you know and not feel like you're only there to protect your adoptive brother whom your parents tried to tell you both was not actually your brother and you should stop treating each other as such is VALID, argue with the wall, also he's the bodyguard and eternal worrier (yes, worrying) for Rhy and he's taken lives way too young). Maybe I like that he fell first and fell hard for Lila (okay, but if we're getting into the nitty-gritty, she did flirt with him first multiple times, but she would never admit to actual feelings), that he's the male love interest without reservations for once, leaving it up to Lila and whether she's open to love for once in a story. And yeah, okay, maybe I like that he's actually some kind of a prince charming, the sort you always secretly dream about, you know? Shut up. I like his stupid magic coat too. He's clever, but occasionally actually unbelievably dumb, he's funny and witty yet he knows when to keep his mouth shut (and is usually the one hauling others out of a scrap because of their own smart mouths), he cares too much about his family, AND DID I MENTION HE ALSO HAS CHRONIC ILLNESS THEMES THAT BROKE MY DAMN CHRONICALLY ILL AND IN PAIN HEART? I've said too much already, but there. He's a guy.

Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Man: Across The SpiderVerse)

This is the one my sister teases me most about because she doesn't get it. To be honest with you all, even I don't know how to explain it. But this guy. Miguel. There is something about him that I just abdkjdjsdv, you know? Is it the tragedy? The moral greyness? The fangs? His insane height? Just his fanon self? The fucking muscles?? I don't know. But I will defend how interesting he is as an antagonist until the cows come home.

Elliott (Stardew Valley)

Oh... boy. Sometimes, I realise I have a type. It's pretty guys who are hopeless romantics that write novels and poetry. Maybe it's just this one guy. But wow, it works on me. I'm writing a fanfic about him because I need to. There's only 400-odd words to it so far. It was not long after I met him in the game that I decided I had to wife him up. I planted that pomegranate tree early, because it's his favourite fruit for those who don't know, and he loves receiving them as a gift. I got ducks so I could give him their stray feathers. I learned how and when to find lobsters and catch crabs because he loves those too. If I'm out of gifts, I go get a coffee for him because every writer needs their sustenance. Literally, by Spring of Year 2, we were married, and I wondered if perhaps I might have been a little too single-mindedly pursuing every one of those cut scenes when I should have been taking it a bit slower and making it less of a mission. Don't know what to tell you, I went crazy. I fully believe in the headcanon that he gets up early just to go through his haircare routine. Is he pretentious? Maybe. Does he lay it on a little too thick that he's scared of dying alone? Well, okay, yes. Does it bother me that as a househusband he doesn't help out more on the farm? Occasionally. But there's also no one else I'd rather be with (and I developed a sprinkler system specifically so there was less work for me anyway and so now I don't mind at all when he isn't helping). And I can't believe my sister ever introduced me to Stardew Valley because I am now mentally ill about a videogame character made of pixels. Yes, I make wine just for him too. Hush. I spoil him daily now that we're married. Our first child is a son named Ernest. I was debating between Ernest and Edgar, and honestly, I think I should have gone with the latter, but I chose the former. All the dialogue from Elliott is so frickin' cute.

Astarion Ancunín (Baldur's Gate III)

And do you know what the worst part about this one is? I still haven't actually played Baldur's Gate III. I know, I KNOW. A crime. I'm working on it. But you best believe I've watched every cutscene I can, every scrap of gameplay dialogue, all the choices, the different endings you can get with him (Ascended breaks my heart every time -- I don't care how hot he is, it's not what he would have wanted, he doesn't love you like he used to anymore, and he's not as happy as he could be), and I've listened to all the interviews with Neil Newbon and the writer for Astarion about him. This fruity traumatised vampire haunts me. I want to hold him gently and caress his face and tell him he's beautiful and what he looks like to me since he hasn't seen his reflection in centuries and I want to make sure he knows he's loved. I want him to bite me and drink my blood too, but that's not as important. Does it weird me out how much he reminds me of Prince Charming from the Shrek franchise and Preminger from Barbie: The Princess and the Pauper and then aesthetically Asra from The Arcana: A Mystic Romance? Yes. But Astarion's also his own character and I'm in love with his smile and goofy lines.

Settrigh "Sett" (Heartsteel; League of Legends)

This... might be the lowest point, actually 💀 My sister would agree. Because it's not enough to crush on book characters, show characters, and videogame characters -- while technically this guy is a videogame character and was part of League of Legends waaay before the music video, it was the PARANOIA music video that got me. So, even fictional characters made/involved in music videos are not safe from my heart. Because, as I understand it, OG Sett is a bit different from Heartsteel Sett, and I've found I usually prefer reading about the interpretation of the latter in fanfic more than the former. I mean, I still really, really enjoy fanfics where he's The Big Boss of the pits, and or his other background/lore is included, but I've read some where his old personality is a bit Yikes. The golden retriever energy is my favourite era of his if we can call it that (I still headcanon him as a part fox Vastayan, you can't convince me otherwise so go argue with someone else about it, not me). And honestly, I think I might have read more fics involving Sett in 2023 than I did any of the other characters on this list. Which is saying something since he's not as popular as a few of them. He's a pretty guy and I wish to bite him. Lovingly.

Mizu (Blue Eye Samurai)

Oh woman. Mizu is... is... she's basically my wife. I know she's all our wife, but like just let me dream a little here. As soon as I finished the series, I was opening up Tumblr, Pinterest, and AO3, my holy trinity of fandom. My platonic wife was sending me TikToks of our shared fictional wife. Mizu can wind up non-binary, male, female, I honestly do not mind because I am in love with any version she is/becomes (for now, I interpret her as a woman in disguise, but if that changes, I'll absolutely change how I refer to Mizu). She is a tragedy wrapped up in revenge because of a rotten love and unfortunate parentage and time period. I want her as much as I want to be her. Also? I go insane over her little smiles and smirks. I LOVE when we got to hear her laugh, even if it was mostly the flashbacks (do not mention Mikio near me; if he wasn't already dead, I would kill him). Also, who doesn't hate their British/white half, ahaha, oh my god, I know mixed ethnicity is a hot topic for people who do not want POC whitewashed in media, and I fully understand that, but I do appreciate seeing parts of myself in mixed characters like the conflict between trying to be more like one side than another. I'll also admit it: she does indeed look hot covered in blood and carrying a sword. I'll see myself out the door. I've been wanting to write a fanfic about her but I'm still stewing over ideas. Mizu is also probably my first truly major crush on a fictional woman (other than my childhood crush on Helga Sinclair from Atlantis: The Lost Empire). Vi from Arcane comes pretty close, but I see too much of myself in her that it gets weird.

We'll do some honourable mentions for characters from The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim since I've gotten into that again.

Brynjolf, Hadvar, and Nazir, I wish I could mod my gameplay so I could marry you. The developers hated their men-loving gamers (I know the women-lovers complain about Serana, but she will never be as heartbreaking as Brynjolf, I don't care if she recognises proposals only to decline them). I mean, Brynjolf is the Tamriel equivalent of Scottish, he calls you "lass/lad", has got a smoothass voice, supports you through so much of the Thieves Guild questline, has a wicked sense of humour, and then when you finish the questline, it's all "sorry, lass. Got important things to do. We'll speak another time" 😭 You can't even recruit him as a follower. He says nothing when you wear an amulet of Mara. I play on a fucking PS4, I can't do mods to marry him or get more dialogue.

(By the way, on my most recent playthrough, Lydia died when I fought the troll on the seven thousand steps, and I am still mad about it. It used to be difficult for Lydia to die, that was why I brought her everywhere, and now I have to become Batman "I work alone". ESPECIALLY after Benor then died on the way up to Paarthurnax. I still can't believe that happened, I should have told him to stay behind and wait for my return.)

Also, every time I play, Derkeethus is so bugged, I can't even rescue him let alone marry the guy, which was disappointing because he seemed nice.

Argis the Bulwark, Vilkas, Farkas, Rayya, Aela the Huntress, and Marcurio, you are all marriageable and live in my heart always. Marcurio was the first I ever married, I think. Three guesses why I chose him (it's the sarcasm, wisecracks, and general sense of humour) (maybe the long hair too). Has anyone noticed how there doesn't seem to be marriageable options among the Khajiit characters?? Why do you think that is? I just checked the Skyrim marriage wiki and this is what it has to say in the trivia: 'There are no Khajiit spouses, however; since the majority of Khajiit in Skyrim are traders or travelers from Elsweyr, they probably have families back home. Additionally, Khajiit characters talk about home a lot, stating how much they miss it and how cold Skyrim is; thus, they probably do not want to marry and settle down in Skyrim.'

Heart-breaking. Oh well.

And that's the end of the line-up. If you read through this, Divines bless your goddamn soul. Psycho-analyse me based on them, I dare you. Or just judge me. I'd like to see either. And if you can find something in common about them all (you don't need to consider the honourable Skyrim mentions), please let me know, because I am personally at a loss.

[codenamesazanka]

What's the best way the spinner deku convo could (realistically) go? (Unrealistically I think they should (finally) team up and travel straight to hell together to get shigaraki back)

laughing and crying at that "(finally) team up" because for real. They should've!!!! I realized the other day that they're exact opposites in what they think of Stain and Shiagarki:

Deku: Understands Stain, Can't Accept him/his methods; Does Not Understand Shigaraki, Cannot Accept him.

Spinner: Does Not Understand Stain, Accepts him/his methods; Understands Shigaraki, Accepts him completely

And like. that could've been so good a clash and then collaboration.

The best way, imo, for a Deku and Spinner convo to go (tho will be somewhat not realistic if I want Deku to be challenged in anyway), is Deku having to get to know Spinner and his grief and anger and bond with Shigaraki and the League (...All the things Deku didn't do with Shigaraki). To understand why the League wanted to destroy, why the League are so close with each other, why the League are so loyal to Shigaraki, and why, even after his heart was touched and his hatred destroyed, that Tenko remained the League's leader to the end.

Shigaraki spoke of destruction because he was angry and lashing out from trauma, yes, but also because he wanted to destroy the current values of the world, the injustices and rejection that affected all of his League, that harmed all the people labeled Villains/made it so they were labeled Villains in the first place. He wanted to be the one guy who stands up for the Villains. That's what Deku didn't understand (because Heroes! So! Cool! Worship Them Like Gods!), but what everyone in the League did even if the way Shigaraki phrased it seemed insane and evil.

Of course Deku would argue back that, while that's actually kinda noble and he gets it now, the League damaged a lot of things and hurt a lot of people in the process, so they had to be stopped, couldn't they have found a different way to go about it and be patient? Because in hurting people, they only continued the cycle of sadness.

And Spinner would have no good justification for the latter except asking why should they have to put up with the pain until things changed, because being 'selfish' for themselves is the League's big flaw, but also say there was no other way of forcing real change - ideally making Deku think of what Nagant said about trust being the bedrock of the Hero System and she was ordered to do to maintain that illusion.

And they go back and forth until they reach a balance, an understanding, in which Spinner admits the League were extreme in their methods and will atone for it, but Deku also understands that sometimes, in the case of structural injustice and corruption, destruction is valid. Smash! by another name. And he understands what Shigaraki meant by 'depends on you guys. do your best' and agree to destroy the current values of the world that creates Villains in the first place.

Actually this is very unrealistic. Def too radical. But it is the best way such a convo could go.

Agreed with you that the best unrealistic way is that Deku frees Spinner from jail, goes on the run with him, and they two of them make their way to the underworld to retrieve Shigaraki. Spinner's account of the league of legend duo play he did with Shigaraki moves Hell Overlord so much he allows Shigaraki to leave. Actually maybe Shigaraki has been wreaking havoc in Hell so much that the Hell Overlord is relieved to see him go and just needed an excuse. Anyway Deku's job is to make sure neither of them look at each other on the journey back to the land of the living. This is an extremely difficult job but in the end he gets it done (Then he never wants to see the two of them ever again because they were so cringe and horny during that long and exhausting journey).

Thanks for the ask!

[n0wav]

My Miku Obsession...

Hello chatters!!!

I am currently coming at you guys from my pc in which i use to play video games such as, overwatch, fortnite, destiny 2, league of legends (i feel off fr on that game) and good ol' roblox and minecraft.

if anyone wants to play any of these games with me (mostly fortnite) please dm me and we will play at any point you'd like!

Now back to the topic at hand

she has blue hair, blue eyes and she hides in your wifi...

IIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTSSSSSSSSSSS

HATSUNE MIKU!

Now my story starts aaaaaalll the way back to the year 2010, I was age 5 in my daycare/pre-school. Now my time in that daycare has many many many stories, but i will not be talking about those at the moment. Now as a child i did not enjoy nap time at daycare. I was not able to sleep thanks to my ADHD, so instead I was allowed to stay up and like draw or play with toys and stuff. At this daycare, maybe at many more I've only been at the one, they had highschool interns working there and helping the main teachers take care of and control the little children.

There was one high schooler who, instead of just making me draw, she would take me to the office and watch youtube, and majority of the youtube videos were miku music videos. As a little 5 year old i was automatically hooked, to the point to where I would beg our roommates (we lived with another family for a large part of my life) to let me use their computer so I could keep watching more and more videos over and over all day long.

Now through the years I stopped watching many of the videos mostly because i was scared people would think i was weird for watching them so in middle school i basically fully stopped and ended my love for miku.

up until high school in my freshman year where i came across a random miku video and decided to click on it....

I was then hooked again.

i kept it a big secret however, not even telling my close friends.

near the end of highschool i kinda stopped again mostly because i was going through a whole lot and i just really could't watch much things anymore so I had a small break.

Recently i've been falling back into miku and its been awesome and i now remember why i loved her so much. I cannot stop wathcing videos and listening to songs and once i have money i will spend it all on plushes and figures!

we love miku

miku is our everything

here is a miku song i suggest yall should listen to

thank you all for listening tomorrow i will make another post where i will do an analysis of a band and it will be very very good and def wont be another rant :3

last note this is the best miku song (joke)

[cosymothfelix]

Mais ma meilleure ennemie, c'est toi

Fuis-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi

I’m not an arcane super fan but I cannot stop thinking about the animation and the colours in these scenes I need ittttt

also know that technically ‘ma meilleure ennemie’ is for powder/jinx and ekko but it fits these two so well…

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

How far have we fallen?

by Neighborhood Shipper (IG_KorrasamiShipper)

“You let some war-crazed pig oink poison into your ears, and you just ate it up!” Vi exclaimed with disgust in her voice in each and every word.

“I KNOW.” Caitlyn finally shouted with heavy breaths. “I know…” This time her voice sounded broken.

Words: 3320, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Spoilers for the 2nd season I guess, I LITERALY cannot stop thinking about act 3's teaser where Vi is cussing Caitlyn out, Caitlyn looks so fucking hot and I'm dying cause of it, But Vi has me wheezing at how angry she is, And so... they deserve to FUCK so I wrote it for them, angsty smut, Caitlyn you freak. Finally tasting Vi for reals 😏😂, No beta it is unhealthy how much I think about Caitlyn from act 3's teaser

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’