#If you do this to arcane that’s the last straw

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Twenty Six

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: profanity, mentions of drugs, brief mention of alcohol, cigars and smoking

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Twenty Six:

Over the next week or so, Donna walked around you on eggshells, as did most of the Haven. Half expecting you to go manic, or have another meltdown. You, however, popped an unholy amount of pills and carried on with life. 

“So,” you said, spaying your palms out across the low table. “Tell me about the Slickjaws.”

Donna tossed a file on the table, right next to a bowl of grapes. The air was thick with Allison’s absence. Where she would have been sitting on the sofa, or kneeling on the carpet, there was nothing. Just you and Donna left. 

“Their leader is Finn,” she began. She opened the file, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to you. “He got into crime as a teenager. They specialise in assassinations.”

“What does he look like?” You asked casually, popping a grape into your mouth. Donna paused, then shrugged, reaching for a grape of her own.

“Flashy, I guess. A bit like you, honestly. Except for you, that’s not really you.” She looked up at you, eyes glittering in the rose candlelight. You smiled.

Donna placed down something else. You picked it up. “What’s this?”

“He’s having a party,” she said, voice level as she traced the gold lettering on the paper with her index finger. You snorted derisively. “You should go.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“I have my ways.”

You picked up the invite. It certainly was eye-catching. “It’s strange if I show up uninvited. He hasn’t sent us the invite personally, has he now? If we don’t have an invite, we just look like creeps.” You frowned, turning the invitation over. “I don’t want to go in like that straight away.”

Donna smirked and placed another grape in her mouth. “But we know someone who probably does.”

You frowned, furrowing your brow.

“Who?”

Donna raised her eyebrows, mouthing a single word. Your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

-

“Jinx!”

The girl looked up from the bar counter that she was leaning on, straw still in her mouth. You smiled as you entered the Last Drop, holding out a hand to her. The young girl grinned, hopping off the barstool to tackle you in a hug. 

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you?”

She pulled back. “You brought me to Silco. I just wanted to say thanks.”

You laughed, ruffling her hair. For a moment you stilled, but then you smiled. “Of course.”

“Want a drink?”

“You know I do.”

You slid onto a barstool, curtly nodding at the bartender. Jinx leapt onto hers, and it shook as she landed, slowly spinning around. “Hey, Chuck. Get [name] a drink, will ya?”

“My name isn’t-“

“Chuck,” you said darkly. “She asked you to get me a drink.”

Chuck looked at you nervously. “You’re, uh… [name], right? You run the Haven?”

You winked, a subtle smirk on your lips as you produced a sleek black card from your jacket and tossed it to him across the counter. “Come find me any time, and I’ll get you sorted for anything.”

He clumsily set to fixing you a drink. “Gin and Tonic,” you ordered, and he nodded quickly. You turned to Jinx. “So. How’s it been?”

There was a small contraption on the table. Jinx picked it up. It was dusted with colours. “It’s been good,” she said casually, snatching up a screwdriver you recognised as the one she’d gotten when you’d kidnapped her from Hilda’s shop.

“Say… when I took you to meet Silco, what happened, exactly?”

She slotted the screwdriver into the dent in the actual screw, twisting, tightening. “Oh, nothing. I just woke up and he was there. He told me I’d passed out. Weird, cause I didn’t remember anything.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. Chuck placed your drink in front of you, but you didn’t spare him a glance. “We were halfway there when you sort of just… fainted. But it’s fine, cause I handed you over to Sevika.” You grinned, resting your cheek on your palm, elbow on the table. Your eyes flicked down to Jinx’s hands. “What’s that?”

“A bomb,” she replied nonchalantly. You raised an eyebrow. 

“A bomb?” She offered it to you. You reached out nervously for the object.

“Jinx.”

You both looked up.

Silco was standing by the door. He stepped into the light, eyes fixed on you. You smiled and leaned forward to sling your arm around Jinx’s shoulder.

“Hey.” You gave him a tinkly little wave, and watched him stiffen.

“[name],” he said curtly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” He held his hand out to Jinx, who looked at you, before getting off the barstool to go up to him. She placed the bomb in his outstretched hand. He turned it over.

“What’s this?”

“A bomb.” Her voice was eager.

“Does it work?”

She took it back and held it close to her chest. “I haven’t tested it yet.” 

“You go do that,” he said smoothly, ruffling her hair. She gave you a wonky smile as she skipped out of the room. You smiled back, leaning on your elbow.

Silco scowled, stepping towards you. He placed his hand on the bar top. Chuck had conveniently disappeared into the back. You turned your face away, raising your drink to your lips and casually looking everywhere but at Silco.

“What do you want?” He snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut like a knife. You set the drink down with a deliberate clink, sighing.

“You said we needed to discuss whatever I did with Finn,” you reminded him coldly. “And I want a favour.”

“I believe you owe me two,” he replied curtly. You stiffened, then grinned, chewing your lip as you traced the rim of your glass.

“One.” Your voice was low. “Don’t push it.”

He tilted his head, crossing his arms. His usually pushed back hair had fallen out of place again. “One, then. Fine. Well, what did you want?”

You smirked and slowly drew something out of your pocket. You held it out to him, tapping it against his chest. Gold letters glittered in the bar’s dim lights. His expression darkened immediately, displeasure radiating from him like heat.

“Where did you get this?”

“I have my ways,” you said smoothly, stealing Donna’s words with a wry smirk. His brow furrowed, crease between his eyebrows deepening as he frowned, looking in between the invite, then at you, eyes flickering with suspicion. After a few moments he flicked his head at the door.

“Let’s talk.”

You swiped your drink off of the counter and slipped off of your barstool to follow him past the door, up the stairs and into his office. The door shut as you turned on the spot, looking at the now-familiar space. He went to his desk, tossing the invitation on the wooden surface and looking at you. 

“So what exactly are you doing with this invitation?”

“I’m going to go.” It wasn’t a request, just a simple statement. He sat down in his chair, turning around so he wasn’t facing you. You could make out the shadowed silhouette of his side profile as he lit a cigar. 

He flicked his head at you. “Then go.”

You slowly stepped around his desk, then pushed yourself up so you were sitting on top of it. The sharp edge of your heel dug into the wood as you spun his chair around, forcing him to face you. 

You held out your hand, and he scowled, jaw tightening, before stiffly placing the hand cigar in it. “One small problem,” you began, before taking a slow drag, sighing it out. “I don’t have an invite.”

He leaned over and past you to tap the piece of paper, then looked back at you to raise an eyebrow. You shook your head, pointedly stabbing the cigar at him. “No. It won’t work. He never sent me one personally.” You sucked the smoke in through your teeth, then leaned in, exhaling. Smoke billowed in his face, and he narrowed his eyes, looking away. “But I bet you have one. And I also bet you don’t plan on going.”

His hand shot out, snatching the cigar from you, his movements sharp and irritable. He turned away to take a drag. You leaned forward, craning your neck to try and get him to look at you. 

“Send me on your behalf.” Your voice softened into something smooth, gentle, almost coaxing. 

His eyes flicked to yours, narrowing with suspicion. “And then what? You kill him?”

Your temper snapped. “I won’t kill him,” you hissed, and grabbed his jaw, wrenching his face back to look at yours. Your fingers pressed hard against his skin and he gritted his teeth, eyes widening in shock for a moment before relaxing again. 

“But I need a fucking valid reason to go.” Your voice dropped into a low, dangerous whisper.

“Why should I do anything for you?” He sneered, lips twitching into a ghost of a sardonic smirk. You cocked your head to the side, drumming your fingers on the top of his chair, arm pressed upwards against the side as you leaned in. You stared at him for a moment, then leaned back, letting go of the chair.

“Then Finn dies, and you lose that little piece of power you have over Zaun that he gives you,” you grinned, picking up your glass that you’d set on his disk. You swirled the liquid inside around, ice clinking softly then raised it at him in a sarcastic toast, nodding smugly before taking a sip. His eyes never left yours, gaze burning feverishly.

“Fine,” he spat, the word filled with venom. “Take my invite, go on my behalf. But you’re going to fill me in on everything you plan on doing.”

“I want to cash in one of my five favours from Sevika as well,” you added casually. He groaned, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. After a moment he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Be my guest. But take it up with her, not me.”

You stayed silent for a few moments, the rim of your glass pressed against your lips. You straightened up, taking a breath. 

“How was Jinx?” You asked, your tone deceptively casual.

He looked up at you from behind his hand, due to his fingers being pressed against his temple, elbow balanced on his armrest. “She was fine.” His voice was hard. 

You planted your feet on the edge of his seat and used your legs to swing him around to face you fully. He let out a small, frustrated growl as you leaned in, your gaze sharp and unrelenting. 

“Any effects of the sleep drug?” You inquired, eyes gleaming. A muscle in his face twitched, and he shook his head. You nodded slowly. 

“She has no idea what I did.” Your voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, reaching for his cigar. “Why’s that?”

He ignored your second question, letting you prise the cigar from his fingers, watching you inhale from it. “Let’s keep it that way.” He paused, gaze flickering with something unreadable. “She seems to like you.”

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound sharp and grating. “Who doesn’t?”

He gestured lazily to himself. You grinned again, mirthlessly this time and hopping off of his desk, tipping the glass towards him in a final mock salute. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” he muttered, before giving you a smirk and tipping his head to the door. 

You scowled as you walked out the doorway.

[emmikoochaitea]

guys I’m fine..

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

synop: you get frustrated when you realize viktor is making more progress than you on hextech.

wc: 1037.

includes: just fluff. reader is a secret mage, and their connection to magic inspired them to start developing hextech. reader and viktor are academic (and romantic) partners. lots of czech pet names. he loves you so much.

author's note: been writing a lot of fics relating to being viktor's "only one" (instead of jayce, though jayvik is still very close to my heart) as if they're memories he's looking back on. maybe this will be some sort of anthology series. hope you enjoy.

Your face scrunched up in the exact way Viktor recognized as your last straw. Before he could speak your name, you were already storming out of the lab, stray papers billowing behind you.

Viktor knew to let you cool off for a moment—the frustration of not understanding was unlike any anger comparable. It was self-deprecating, self-destructing, and the sole reason an institute such as the University was build to assuage. There was no point in consoling you before you were ready. You could read the writing on the wall. Viktor was going into territory you couldn’t follow; he was getting too advanced. You would either have to play catch-up or give up altogether. Both, in your mind, were options only for those who have lost.

Viktor gave you an hour. Well, forty minutes before he decided to get up—it took him twenty to make it to the garden he knew you were stewing in. Your form was predictably balled up beneath the swaying willow tree, the branches engulfed in golden light from the sunset.

He rested his cane against the trunk and grunted as he sat down beside you. He spared you the embarrassment of looking at you; he knew you hated how you looked when you cried. Instead, he looked out over the pond for a long moment.

“You know, I get frustrated too,” he murmured.

“Not over little things like this.” You sniffled. Your tears had long stopped, but you always seemed to have a stuffy nose for the rest of the day. And a godsdamned headache.

“No, admittedly not. But you know what I do get frustrated with?”

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. Viktor shrugged and spoke anyway.

“When you don’t see just how intelligent you are. Just because you cannot understand some of the technicalities of Hextech does not mean you are any less brilliant. You are two things, drahá. You are a scholar, and you are a mage.” He clicked his tongue. “And no matter how far we push Hextech, I cannot begin to fathom what you understand about the Arcane. There is a reason you are my partner on this, and a reason I want you as our guide.”

“Yet if anyone knew I was a mage, I’d be hunted down and killed.”

Viktor sighed. “Maybe not killed—but hunted, yes. That is why I also say you are a scholar. You do not put all your eggs in one basket. You aren’t just a being of magic. You are a perfect storm of words and ideas. You see things others cannot, write things others could only dream to dream of. I cannot let you go around thinking you are stupid when you are the one that conceived Hextech in the first place—the one I go to when I’m stuck and need a fresh perspective.”

“What good am I to the world with words and ideas? Everyone has words—it’s those who can make physical improvements that are the most lauded. You take my words and make with them. How could merely thinking of it compare?”

“That is preposterous, miláčku. Everyone may have words, but it is those who wield them with uncanny ability that give people like us a goal to work towards. Who would I be if you had never explained to me the possibilities of harnessing magic? Likely still following Heimerdinger around, an occasional project here and there—but now I have a hand in changing the world. Your words, your ideas, they are not separate of that. I have the ability to make fire, sure, but you have the ability to use it. You are the foundation of my work. I can only go where you have laid down a path. That is where you lack self-awareness. You are exceptional because your ideas are mixed with your smarts. You dream big, you conceive higher, yet you haven’t thought of anything impossible. Not yet.”

Viktor reached over and gently placed his hand atop your arm.

“And do not think that an award from the Council is the highest honor in life. You have done good for all of Runeterra—but for me especially. If I had the choice, I would shower you with accolades and statues, miláčku. You are an extraordinary thinker, an analytical mind, and a mage immune to the trivialities of academia.” His hand slid up to lift your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. “And you are not that far behind me in invention. Don’t let one problem destroy your vision and hope. You will work through it. You always do.”

You looked at him a long moment, then sighed as you laid your head atop his shoulder. He welcomed you, leaning equal weight against you and holding you still with a hand on your waist.

“...I’m sorry for storming out,” you murmured. “I know that was unprofessional.”

Viktor clicked his tongue. “Oh, please, do you think Jayce is professional?”

You both laughed softly. You sniffled again as you rested a hand atop his knee.

“I think… I’m frustrated, because I want to use magic to help you. And I keep failing. And without the documentation of magic before the Rune Wars, I feel like I’m grasping for a fly in a fog.”

“Don’t worry about me, lásko.”

“You know I can’t do that, Vik.” You nudged him, solemnly playful. “People like you are the reason I started trying to harness the Arcane.”

“Hextech is for everyone.”

“You aren’t included in that?”

Viktor sighed, then leaned up to press a kiss to your hair. “Of course. I just worry you tunnel vision because of me. I don’t want to be the reason you miss a breakthrough.”

“Breakthroughs that don’t lead to you getting better are useless to me.”

“But they are useful for everyone else.”

“Yes, but…” You gently squeezed his leg. Viktor used his free hand to take yours.

“I understand,” he murmured as he watched his fingers lace between yours. “We will both be just fine. Your concern is endearing, but it will cloud you in your studies. Make Hextech your top priority, and my health will be right there with it. And with me, lásko, always comes you.”

dividers used: clouds • scribble

[taemcains]

your love is sunlight — cainlane

lane helps cain wash the blood off his wings and gets a thank you in return. ao3

cw: blood mentions

��� julia shortreed - broken wings

Pale golden light streams into Lane's shared room, falling on the soft carpet in a mosaic mirroring the elegant swirls on the balcony door. The picture of coziness it creates, along with the spread of reference books spilled like a domino of cards around her, brings her back to high school and days spent cramming for exams with the spring sunshine in North Carolina watching over her like a guardian.

The tremors of a door slamming shut on the ground floor dispel the mirage. Lane blinks hard, bringing herself back to Rotkov's eternal winter and her task, which is considerably more crucial and much more demanding than memorizing chemistry equations.

The Book and her notebook are each balanced precariously on her knees. Reference books lay further down from her, tossed away in rising frustration. Her wrist aches and her back has been steadily cramping from her abysmal posture, but she remains hunched over, picking up her trail of thought and leaving behind unnecessary memories to continue scrawling in her notebook.

Shadows pool on the floor, chasing away the imitation of home and warmth. Lane's head whips up to face the balcony, hair lashing against her back.

White obscures gold. It flashes once, painting the room cold before swerving to the back of the estate.

Real warmth bubbles up in her chest. Cain is back from his night patrol.

Lane spent all of ten minutes in the morning trying to inconspicuously grill the squad about his whereabouts before her mind grew disgusted by her pathetic state. Cain is an immortal. Whatever stalks the forest and whoever hides in the town should be, are, terrified of him. Worrying about someone who can handle himself, when she has a plethora of problems is fatuous. She resolved to put it out of her mind and surrender to the Book instead.

An hour later, huddled under every blanket and comforter looted from her room, the upholstered chair doing little to battle the cold, she muses. Why do you become so irrational when you… have someone? Her hand is unsteady, fingers trembling from the cold, but she makes a valiant effort to jot something down.

Anna shoots her the most judgmental glance she's received in her life. ‘Why are you freezing to death near the balcony when the bed is right there?’

Lane tries to shrug but she doubts the slight movement would be visible under ten layers of wool. ‘The cold will keep my mind awake. I could get a new perspective on the Book.’

Anna almost looks offended at how little thought Lane put into lying to her. She scoffs. ‘Is that what they're calling it now?’ She scowls at a distant spot in the sky, willing the extent of her disdainful glare to reach that angel wherever he is, before turning on her heel and leaving, muttering about ‘beautiful women falling for idiot men’ and ‘why do you never learn, Anna?’

Her mind doesn't linger too long on Anna, but circles him, as always, a whirlpool of memories and longings. She tried to choke down her worry along with mouthfuls of tea earlier, but it spews up with a redoubled vengeance. No matter how many times her exasperated mind reassures her of the angel's strength and safety, her heart refuses to quiet, pacing anxiously with a thump-thump-thump echoing through her very bones.

Are you satisfied? Everyone wants to know whether I even have a heart anymore but you keep it, toss it, and catch it with the dizzying speed of your changing whims. I don't miss that. But I miss you.

Admitting that she missed him was apparently the last straw for her mind, who was jeering at this display of yearning. Lane leapt to her feet, yanked around by the strings of her rational mind that was hard at work to erase this maudlin moment from her day. She climbed into bed, pulled the required materials to herself like a shield and lost herself in the arcane, her mind alight and awake, ready to beat her heart into submission.

Now she allows herself to exhale a shameful ‘I missed you’ to the knowing shadows of her room and let relief unfurl through her bloodstream like a ribbon.

All the romance novels and movies she'd gorged herself on in her teenage years with the relished humiliation of crawling back to an unfaithful lover, had painted love in pink, soft and bloodless. But for Lane, love is a violent intrusion, spinning her mind and heart out of control. If she'd known she would feel so foolish, she would've accumulated more experience, to chart cumulative data and predict the best response in any situation. But Cain's not like anyone she's ever met. He's not like anyone at all.

Plotting Cain would be an impossible task as he shifts a little every time she sees him, a kaleidoscope that never shows the same pattern twice. But won't he let her try? To map his impossibilities across a lifetime like counting stars in the night sky, the only futile task she wants to squander away her time on with the languidness of summer days slipping away.

Contrary to his own impossibility, he seems to have her entirely mapped out, tracing the rivers of her veins with his fingertips and the ridges of her spine with his eyes. She didn't have to ask. Cain understood her, like he once promised, and her working style which he condensed aptly as ‘You wouldn't look up from the Book unless there's a second apocalypse.’ So his wings blinked at her, sending her a sign.

Was he counting on her being able to glimpse the maelstrom of riddles behind every guileless movement of his? Delivered with a susurration of his wings, an order, a request, or the gentle luring of a lover: Come find me.

His wishes are clear, but Lane hesitates, out of her own warring desires. Her heart is almost halfway out the door, straining to settle sleepily against his voice, but her feet remain planted to the floor, roots extending through wood, bypassing time and space, sprouting out of her father's office.

Wood polish. Expensive leather. An angular man leaning over her seven-year-old self. ‘Please do not bother me when I'm working, Lane. Go see to your mother.’ Which was perhaps the greatest condemnation of all, her own father who could not see her mother's umbilical cord strangling her lovingly around her neck, a tie she could never rid of even two decades later.

The memory fractures. Warmth beckons her from the fissure and she follows as if ensorcelled. The press of a thigh to her own. The specter of fingers through her hair. The fracture widens. The tickling of feathers against the small of her back. Her father's office and her younger self preserved in contrition are swallowed into the dark.

The last fragments of the memory are brushed away by an ambrette voice that lifts her and carries her back to the body of her present self, gently setting her down in reality. Tendrils of him and his essence are already curled around her, sweetpea flowers budding around her neck, watching over her when he can't.

Glimpses of him in her memories don't appease her. Lately, even his fleeting touches, light enough to absolve him of intention, do nothing to sate the hunger roiling in her. Come find me.

Guided, or rather, misguided, by the reckless abandon that entangles with desire, Lane crosses the room and doesn't let herself hesitate to wrench the door open. Her eyes hone in on the ornate door at the far end of the hallway, quiet and anodyne.

The estate is still, the history of those hallowed halls, almost a physical presence draped heavy over her shoulders, watching as Lane's hushed footsteps ghost over the floor. She knows her efforts are in vain; he must've heard the click of her door opening, but it felt sacrilegious to stomp over in an estate teeming with revenants.

She comes to a standstill outside his door, heart awake and thrashing. He could probably hear it through the wood, no barrier fortified to the aching of her heart to be a plaything in his hands again. But he waits, lets her settle on going to him or turning away.

She knocks lightly.

‘Come in.’ His voice, smooth and even, with the barest drops of an emotion she couldn't identify, sends a trickle of reassurance down her chest.

Ominous that the creaking of the door is, when Lane peers inside, gingerly stepping past the threshold like an inexperienced thief, Cain is whole and unhurt, lips curving up as salve to her twinging unease. Her heart finally rests.

As relief streams through her blood, her eyes cascade down his figure intently. Silvery fabric molds to his skin, translucent where pearls of water trickle from the damp ends of his hair. Black slacks cling enticingly to his thighs, every slight shift flaunting the statuesque lines of his body. His wings flare, serrated edges silhouetted by daylight, a personal sunset.

Her eyes widen. Cain, who was watching her riveted gaze with a touch of satisfaction pulling up the corner of his mouth, interjected smoothly. ‘It's not mine. A spawn was found close to city lines.’

‘Is that what you were busy with all morning?’ She asks, alarm fading into distraction. Blood lashed against white wings, macabre and ethereal. Offsetting, Lane thinks, no, enhancing temptation, disoriented by her own strange desires.

‘Yes.’ His voice dips, softness melting it. ‘Were you alone for long?’

‘No,’ she answers absentmindedly, eyes transfixed to the startlingly intimate sight of his bare feet. Unarmoured like this, without the chainmail of his condescending sneer and paradoxical words, he seems closer than ever. Like she would only need to reach out for her fingertips to graze soft skin and sculpted muscle, obscured to the rest by shadows and secrets.

Appeased, he turns to the side, pushing back his drenched sleeves around his elbow. Only then does the room start to come together in snatches. Clothes strewn across the carpeted floor, his jacket a bloodied heap by the balcony, transponder thrown on the bedside table. A basin with murky water seated on the dresser, a rag dangling haphazardly from it. Precise to him, messy to others. Not unlike the owner himself, she thinks.

Satisfied with her appraisal, she peeks over at him. Leaning over the basin, rag coiled loosely around his hand, he looks half sunken in a dream. Only the rustling of his wings betray his restlessness.

Her spine is yanked straight by a part of her, a phantom cerebrum spawned to gauge and dissect every shift in his body and every quirk of his mouth. Cain would never allow himself to be so absent. Her heart screeches with alarm, and her mind reluctantly allows the theatrics, admitting the oddness of his behavior.

‘Cain?’ she calls quietly.

Regret follows almost immediately. At the most inopportune moment, she realizes she has no idea how to proceed when he responds. Cain has always taken care of her in his own absurd way, the experience irksome even as the memory fills her empty soul with sunlight. But Lane could hardly care for herself, much less an immortal.

His lashes flutter, moth wings skimming his skin as he blinks out of his daze. ‘Sorry, I was lost in thought.’ His eyes clear, latches clicking shut inside him. ‘I should clean my wings.’ They flick, avouching his words. ‘Not exactly the amorous activity you were envisioning, I'm sure.’

Her eyes narrow but they cannot lance metal. He meets her scouring gaze with calculated repose. His shoulders sink, memories imploding within, then return to their usual assured set, dust settling in the span of a blink.

Only a second, but it's enough for Lane to pry at the chips in his marmoreal mask. She sighs softly as slivers of his bare face come into view. He's… tired. So, so tired. Abandoned by heaven, shunned by earth, untouchable on his altar of divinity. Angel, priest, soldier. Beautiful as a statue, but who dares to touch him? Who can he hold?

Sensing the weight of her thoughts, he straightens imperceptibly, shuttering off any weakness.

Even now, after hurting and helping and licking their wounds, they still hesitate, circling each other like sharks scenting blood, the instinct to hurt before getting hurt honed and layered like second skin, excruciating to rip off. But they can't keep holding onto an infected limb that devours the rest of the body. Years of violent instinct wars with a fragile, blossoming ache.

The words spill out of her lips, noxious blood evanescing, her first breath without her own violence pressing down on her sweet and fresh. ‘Let me help.’

His eyes snap back to hers and lock their gazes. Narrowed, assessing, wary, they're as entrancing as ever. He sighs, the same side emerging victorious in him. ‘I'll give you a chance to back out. I'm warning you now that your arms will ache for the next week.’

‘I won't come complaining to you,’ she says dryly, the secret curve of his mouth sending a flurry of warmth through her.

He follows her lead, effortlessly carrying the basin to an empty spot in the center of the room, sunlight casting the illusion of warmth on the rug. He sets it down and folds himself into a cross-legged posture, somehow elegant even while sitting on the floor.

Lane follows suit, kneeling behind him on the plush carpet. She ties her hair back into a loose knot and pulls back her sleeves, goosebumps arising on her exposed skin immediately. She shivers, body noting the frigidity of his room while she herself is enraptured by the angel.

This close to him, the diaphanous material of his shirt coyly divulges flashes of his body. The slope of his shoulder blade. A channel down his lower back. The sylphlike curve of his waist. Lane exhales slowly, expelling the need to touch him and trace his skin. The intoxicating heat radiating off him doesn't abate the desire to drape herself over his back and see what he'd do.

‘Having second thoughts? Maybe your delicate arms hurt already?’

She rolls her eyes, abruptly breaking through for air. The same person who tenderly drowns her in the thick, languid ocean of desire also hauls her out of it with his infuriating quips.

He slides the basin over to her in reparation.

Experimentally dipping her fingers into the basin, she sighs with relief at the lukewarm water. She dunks the rag in, drenches it, and pauses, water dripping rhythmically onto the floor, lapped up by the carpet. How sensitive are his wings? She remembers the library incident with a quivering in her stomach, the idea of her touch making him still heady more than any wine or pomegranate juice. How hard can she use the rag on them?

His voice is glazed with amusement. ‘This feels familiar. Now is the time to ask me if I'm gloating.’

That settles it. ‘Why should I when I know the answer?’ she replies as she presses the rag to the base of his wing agonizingly gently. He jerks, the beginnings of a low gasp escaping past his teeth before he quiets, wings flaring.

Lane bites her lip to rein in a smirk, throat going dry at the noise and where else she'd like to hear it, again and again.

‘Have it your way, then. Is this payback for that time in the library?’ he retorts, shoulders unnaturally tense.

‘What do you mean?’ she says lightly, carefully moving the rag from the base to the top. His wings rustle and flick, but settle quietly.

A light laugh floats through the air, melding seamlessly with this impossible afternoon.

Cain stays quiet as she works her way through the large expanse, occasionally trembling as she grazes certain spots. She makes mental notes of them, for future reference. Or for leverage.

Her nose wrinkles as she nears the tip of his wing. Spawn gore clumps to the feathers, a sickly sweet smell emanating from the blood.

Cain almost whirls around at her first cough. ‘I'll deal with the rest. You've done enough.’

She waves him off. Before she could think it over again, her hand cups his shoulder, turning him away. A tremor goes through her at her boldness, the heat of his muscle and bone against her fingers warming her entire arm.

‘You reek,’ she says airily, only to douse the incalescence of his gaze, burning her more than his skin as she touched him like she had the right to.

‘Who came to whose room?’

A gradual undoing, Lane watches as her own hands cast magic, turning back time, water swilling blood from his wings, leaching them pure and white.

She retraces her path, returning to the base of his wings where stubborn flecks of blood linger on the feathers. Faltering for just a second, she discards the rag. Her fingers, a gentler heir, glide over the plumage, outsing sanguine settlers.

Cain arches like a cat, allowing himself a muffled moan before rebounding, curving into her. A shuddering breath is the only movement she shows. His back barely brushes her front, the faint contact sparking a riot in her head, one side chanting lean in close, closer, the other pull away I can't breathe anymore.

As the sun drops lower into the sky, in tandem he sinks lower onto her, the silky strands of his hair chilling her chin, the weight of his body warm and comforting. His initial wariness washed away with the blood, he's as cozy and relaxed as a housecat dozing in a patch of sunlight.

Disappointment unfurls petals inside her chest as the last of the blood is wiped away, wings gleaming in the sunlight. Enveloped by him, his body, his scent; sweet and faintly musky, entirely him with the effect it had of wanting to fall headlong into his lies, time has no meaning. The world waiting with ravenous jaws holds no importance when he's quiet and boneless in her arms.

‘Cain?’ she whispers, unsure if he's awake.

‘Hmm?’

Her toes curl into the carpet. His usual liquid smooth voice has been rendered low and thick, drowsiness dipping his tone.

She hesitates. Is it worth jolting him from his place against her—as it should be, her heart croons— for her selfish desire of wanting to look at him?

Ironically, it's her indecision that awakens him, alertness seeping back in. He slips out of her hold, a gentle thief escaping into the night, and turns to face her. ‘What is it?’ he asks, traces of worry playing in his voice.

I wish I could look at you when I want to without searching for an excuse. I wish you would keep being near to me. I want you to keep seeing me.

‘Nothing,’ she bites out, frustrated with herself, eyes catching on an anomaly in the blinding purity of snow. ‘There's dried blood crusted in your hair.’

He sighs, mindlessly patting his hair, completely missing the spot.

‘Let me,’ she interrupts quietly, pieces falling into place, desire breathing her wishes to life.

He eyes her curiously. Whatever he finds makes his mouth twitch and obediently lower his head, submitting to the ministrations of her fingers. A thrill fires through her like an arrow. She quite likes the idea of him bowed and hazy-eyed in front of her.

Her fingers ease into silken strands, white and gold playing on her skin. They trail unwillingly, longing to linger and straighten the wisps hanging over his eyes for him. She flicks the rusty flakes off, careful to not tug at the strands.

Hyperaware of every steady inhale and exhale of his, her own breathing wavers, growing shallow. She attempts to veer her attention back to his hair, instead of the proximity of her chest to his face, when his arm curves around her waist, long fingers splaying out, burning her from rib to hip.

Before she could steady herself to this, him, his thumb traces the jut of her rib. All coherent thought dissipates. Heat whirls up her insides. His fingers trail teasingly over the curve of her waist before stilling on her hip, and she wishes with sudden, fervent clarity that he would play on her skin. Be so familiar to him that he would reach for her to ease his restlessness, her hipbone echoing his music, instead of an undeserving slab of wood.

‘Your knees must hurt. Sit.’ He sounds from below her, words almost breathed into her throat. His voice lowers, a surrender just between them. ‘I can bow down for you.’

She lowers her eyes to his. A misstep. Hazy from sleep, sharp in the corners, sunlight sands down his usual jagged gaze and wicked smirk, turning him into a visage of heaven. Angelic, she thinks for the first time since she awoke to him, both at the rift and at the estate.

Cain has always been inhumanely beautiful from the moment she saw him glowing like an impossible mirage amidst blood and snow, but his beauty is almost unbearable now that she's seen the planes of that same untouchable face contort in anger, slacken in tiredness, soften in fondness. Every feature has been slashed into her mind since their first meeting, but he's a mystery she'll never tire of. She studies each detail with the same fascination as the first time.

Gold clings to every lash with the devotion of the sea returning to sand. Dawn rises in his eyes, the only place where she looks forward to sunrise. Cheekbones like cliffs, sweetpea pink lips. Twin moles wink at her from below his eye and cheek, a taunt mirrored in his eyes: What will you do now?

He tilts his head up, her hand that lay forgotten in his hair sliding down like rain. Brow bone, cheekbone, till the base of her palm curves against his jaw.

She's holding his face in her hand. What will you do now?

Her eyes hesitatingly find his again. The same eyes that speared into her being, trying to unravel her before she could undo him, that held and kept all his secrets, now betray him and look at her with undisguised tenderness. His gaze is the only mirror she can stand to look at herself anymore, her callousness and apathy smoothed over by his affection.

She loops her free arm around his neck, feeling his shoulders tense in surprise. In no reality will she come out of this unscathed. But would it be worth being hurt by these same hands that hold so gently?

Her eyes flit to his lips. Oh, but it would be worth being condemned to hell by this mouth. His lips part, luring her in before the din of doors slamming and a chorus of intermingling voices shatters their retreat.

Lane is off the floor and three feet away from him before he could even blink. His tenderness ripples into a scowl. His eyes glint a lurid red as he rises to his feet.

‘I should go,’ she says hastily, impatient to curse every member of the squad and then pore over every second of this afternoon before it dissipates like a dream.

‘And where are you rushing off to?’ he asks, notes of ire lurking in his voice.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘My room. I don't think the General will be pleased about me spending quality time with you instead of working.’

His mouth curls in derision. ‘If Dmitry's concern is incompetence, you're the least of his problems.’

His tone gives her pause. The second she tilts her head, his cool nonchalance snaps back into place, clicking shut with the finality of a lock.

‘I'll get going,’ she echoes before her heart could rope her into some foolish scheme. ‘Will you go to sleep now?’

‘Yes.’ He pauses, eyes sliding to her, lingering on her exposed collarbone. His voice lowers, softens, a snake coiling around flesh and she feels his words like he whispered them onto her skin. ‘Will you miss this opening?’

Her heart jolts. He can't possibly be…?

‘To watch me sleep again.’ He tilts his head innocuously, the effect offset by his growing smirk. ‘What were you thinking?’

Entirely unhelpfully, her mind bestows her with a visual. She thinks of him asleep, cheek pillowed by his arm, lashes casting needle-thin shadows, his ever-furrowed brows relaxed and a physical burn flares to life under her ribs.

She knits her brow in irritation, saving face too late, hastening to leave. The Cain who curved into her like the moon, who she'd christened angelic had fallen asleep, dreaming in some crevice of his mind. The one who stands in front of her, challenge highlighted in every plane of his face, is familiar, familiar and dangerous, familiar in a sense that she could hardly guess his next thought.

Just as her hand wraps around the door handle, she senses his searing presence behind her. Her body reacts instinctively, gearing up. Cain sends all of her emergency responses into overdrive, fight, flight, and fight speeding and crashing at the junction of her mind. All thoughts come to a screeching halt, leaving only expectant silence, air thrumming with possibilities. A discordant note or a lilting melody?

His fingers curl around her wrist, a gossamer touch. He lowers his head while raising her wrist, night falling as the moon rises to meet as a sunset, as a kiss. His cool breath snakes across her skin, travelling the course set by her veins, the faint brushes of his lips blissful torture.

A marionette in his hands, he angles her wrist to his mouth, setting the stage. The first act: the bite of his teeth against her pulse.

Her shoulders seize and she bites her lip, the blooming pain-pleasure shoving a gasp back inside her mouth. He presses, so gently, an invisible divot to savor and linger over at night, an ephemeral mark of him on her skin.

Can he feel her hand trembling? Her knees will give out if he continues.

In answer, in tender defiance, he scrapes his teeth across her pulse point, shrapnel and velvet, mouth feverishly hot, teeth deliciously sharp. Her spine jerks, pulled by his strings, aching to lean against his body. A low noise escapes her before she could haul it inside.

He halts, knowing when to coax with hardly a look, pulling her along to freefall into desire, another line they can never uncross, and when to let her be. He presses a full kiss to soothe her skin, before the curtain falls with a delicate graze of his lips over the faded cut on her palm.

He pulls back and she blinks as the world rushes in, both the celebrated principal actress and the dazed, breathless audience. He lowers her wrist gently, fingers falling away like the night. ‘Thank you,’ he says quietly with no trace of the smugness she was expecting.

She could hardly remember what she replied or how she stole away into the hallway. Half her mind still trembling in that room with him, the other half lazily waking up from a pleasant dream, she muses as she stumbles to her room.

The weight of the emptiness in her soul is always lurking, always ready to drag her into nothingness. Being around others only seems to chip away the remnants of her soul clinging to her insides; their strained laughter, easy anger and human hope shattered mirror shards reflecting the humanity long gouged out of her. You are not like us. Each irregular mosaic amplified till the message was deafening. You are not like us!

But as she stood in the hallway, vision golden with dust motes swirling around in a lazy waltz in the ballroom of sunlight, her soul is… silent. Not clamoring in its depleted state, begging to find its stolen half and fill it up. Cain's mere presence lifts this particular veil of half death, making her heart pumping in lazy disinterest startle awake, having to work overtime to make up for her lungs slacking.

Though she was the one who wished to lighten his burden today, it seemed he was imbuing her with his own life force with every touch. A thirst for life, and just not survival, gasped for air within her, only to see him again, to touch him again and make him tremble.

The corner of her mouth twitches as she turns the handle.

She has to find a way to get him back for that kiss.

[joejhang]

every insane thing that happened in arcane season 2 act 2 (spoilers)

isha. (don't SPEAK to me don't TOUCH me don't mention it i'm crashing out)

VANDER???? (bro...i'm losing it.)

caitvi reunion how we feeling (they have a LOT to work thru next act bro)

jayce when i catch you jayce (i mean ok we don't exactly know why he did it but like EVERYTHING WAS GOING SO WELL)

guys i think jayvik broke up fr this time

caitlyn redemption arc i'm holding out hope (JUST bc she saved vi doesn't mean she doesn't have inherently discriminatory views and her actions didn't majorly affect others i could write essays about her)

ambessa...girl tf

MEL WHAT'S GOIN ON

dude where is ekko and heimerdinger they're like my unproblematic faves

VI AND JINX OH MY GOD DON'T TALK TO ME (the way i was sobbing my fucking eyes out when they finally reconnected like sisters. goodBYE. i can't do it. i'm losing touch with reality. they better be going strong next act)

on that note JINX...MY GIRL. MY BABY. (i can't do it it's the way she's lost probably the person who mattered most to her just then. i'm gonna lose it. i'm gonna lose it! hahaha doing great NO because we were going so strong I'M FOAMING AT THE MOUTH THEY COULD'VE JUST BEEN A FAMILY ambessa when i catch you ambessa)

the flashbacks to vander and silco and felicia...that was pretty uncalled for (the watercolour shit was the last straw bro)

lowk disappointed we didn't get more of pitfighter vi but it's probably good for her mental health

also i need to like SIT vi and jinx down so they can talk things thru properly bc i feel like there's still...many unresolved issues there

if this makes jinx spiral and disconnect with vi again i might kms

jinx about to flip off sevika but forgetting she lost her finger is lowk sending me

jinx is so much calmer this season bro GOD I LOVE HER SO MUCH SHE MAKES ME SO SICK

so is viktor like...dead

dude where is sevika i like how she just disappeared girl tf

also sevika WHY did you cut ur hair

dude the maddie and caitlyn JUMPSCARE...the way it was like the FIRST scene too

i can feel the caitvi angst from three episodes away

the act 3 preview was insane too (JINX OH MY GOD JINX COME BACK TO ME BB)

dude is viktor like...god???

VIKTOR COME BACK TO ME UGH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

on that note his new look OH MY DAYS my biggest hear me out tbh

cait commenting on vi's new hair is actually TAKING ME OUT

also vi calling her "cupcake" caitvi nation we are SO back

i'm gonna be real i'm more interested in jinx and vi's relationship healing than i am in caitvi WOAH WHO SAID THAT

OH AND I'M SO INTERESTED TO SEE HOW CAIT AND JINX'S RELATIONSHIP IS GONNA CHANGE...THAT LITTLE CONFRONTATION AFTER JINX FOUGHT RICTUS WAS SO TENSE AHDSNBHFAHJ

dude i'm scared there's way too many loose ends to be tied up in just three eps (the black rose shit, piltover vs zaun ???, whatever tf the arcane is, ekko and heimerdinger, ambessa doing whatever tf she's doing GOD I'M SO STRESSED)

[bloodcossmos]

felt the need to compile some of my opinions and analyses on arcane s2 regarding caitvi and their development so far. I've either seen diehard vi fans calling cait a bitch or diehard caitlyn fans calling vi useless and that's just not it.

spoilers for season 2 under the cut ‼️

okay so first of all. we cannot keep ignoring the fact that cassandra's death was a determining factor for caitlyn's change of temper. she is RAGING. UNSURE. INCONSOLABLE. as any normal person would, caitlyn is deeply affected by this. it is simple, textbook grief. anyone can feel it in their lifetime, everyone is allowed to mourn. BUT‼️understanding grief does NOT mean you have to justify the coping mechanisms used to deal with it. the fact that caitlyn's first instinct after the memorial attack was to put every zaunite in a same basket and call them animals and COMPLETELY throw away all compassion and understanding she had for them in season one (even up to the first minutes of the first episode) is NOT justifiable under any means. it's the same thing in reverse; not justifying coping mechanisms used to deal with grief DOES NOT MEAN you're invalidating the grief itself.

with that out of the way, we can understand that caitlyn, one way or another, went through a MASSIVE change of character this season. we saw it all in act 1. she was no longer the "good cop trying to fight the system from the inside and show the privileged how truly privileged they are by standing for the lowest ones' rights." the only thing in her mind was REVENGE. GETTING JINX TO PAY FOR HER ACTIONS AT WHATEVER COST. releasing toxic gasses into zaun and risking hundreds of innocents at a time to possible death by exposure? we all know, by common sense, IT'S NOT A GOOD THING TO DO. OBVIOUSLY. but she cannot; she's blinded by grief, blinded by rage. and it's gonna be even more evident in episode 3, when her and vi's kiss and, shortly after, breakup, happen.

this blindness towards others' feelings and opinions and only caring about the end goal— killing jinx— is what causes their falling out. vi, despite being COMPLETELY alienated from her principles and her people for the sole purpose of helping out her girl (impulsed by jinx's violence towards the council, which was the final nail in powder's coffin), understands that there can be a risk of killing an innocent: isha. she stops her. she's not happy about that. bombs go off prematurely. they're stuck between rubble and the frustration bubbled up caitlyn's throat and it comes out TERRIBLY. not just verbally, by saying her blood is in your veins— as if IMMEDIATELY condemning her— but also physically in the worst way possible. a full circle moment, if you ask me; hit in the same place she was stabbed, by the same person that helped heal her. full blown drama. lesbians are really something.

by the start of act 2, caitlyn is not just a hurting and grieving woman in a position of power, where all the weight of house kiramman falls on her shoulders; she's also a commander. which is... twice as much power in her hands. but the difference is that she's not acting on her own now, to satiate her own bloodlust and revenge. she's now hanging by threads, like a puppet controlled by none other than ambessa medarda. a ruthless warmonger who wants nothing but full influence over a broken woman to achieve her own goals in piltover. we saw it at the end of act 1; she was the one who instigated the attack on the memorial, which could be considered as the last straw for caitlyn's sanity. she took advantage of that weakness to further consolidate her hatred and biases against the undercity and, in consequence, be able to provide some sort of solace for her aching heart. and what better than to have such an influential woman like caitlyn as her protege; her pupil, if you will.

but of course, the point of writing such nuanced characters like the ones in arcane is that... they're not just one-dimensional. or even two-dimensional; like a stationary cardboard figure that is either-or. no in between. no chance of reflection or redemption or regret.

caitlyn, in the time skip between end of act 1 and beginning of act 2, starts to worry about the excessive occupation of noxian forces in piltover and zaun and how they're handling things. she goes as far as to question ambessa as to "why is peace always the justification for violence?". this inherently shows FEELINGS. she's EXPRESSING DOUBT. like any other human being, caitlyn goes through it; questioning the excessive use of force in zaunite checkpoints and how the noxian warlord justifies it all because they've lost so many. as if zaun hasn't lost innocents and guilty alike. this, obviously, leads caitlyn to a middle path, which is the one we see her in until episode 3, where her allegiance changes completely in the span of... a couple hours?

why is that though? first, we gotta talk about vi.

inevitably.

she's been the most hurt character in this show, for sure. thrown around like a punching bag for everyone to use, she's been broken since day one. lost her parents at an early age, had to take care of her little sister even though she was taken in by vander and raised with two other boys; then proceeds to lose her found family, hits powder out of impulse (because HOW ELSE would you want a 15 year-old to react to something like that while the wound is still raw? "don't worry powder, you disobeyed me and caused an explosion that killed our family but it's okay, let's go home and eat something I'm starving" WHAT????) that ends up marking her for the rest of her life right before getting thrown into prison by a crooked cop and spending the next seven years in a cell; cold, bloody, hungry, counting the hours until she could get back to her sister.

yet after she gets released, she finds warmth for the first time in a long time: and it's in caitlyn. in a way, you can't blame her for building such an important bond with her. she was the first one to show her kindness and genuine care in a very long time and, naturally and humanly, that's gonna leave a mark on her. yet she is strong, determined, dead set on finding her sister and bringing her back; she doesn't fall easily into the comfort of love, because her heart is bleeding for the small child she slapped seven years ago and that she couldn't console or apologize to. YET, HUMANLY, she ends up lowering her defenses around her. finally, she finds someplace she feels safe with, someplace that makes her feel like anything is possible. but that place ends up being a person, and people change. inevitably.

after the attack on the council, vi tries her best to be of as much support to caitlyn as possible. she knows she's not generally welcome in topside, but nonetheless she's pushed by love to provide any comfort she can. what she wasn't expecting was to provide that comfort by turning into one of the things she despised the most: an enforcer (for those saying that it doesn't make sense for her character, you're wrong! she's put in a position where she's serving as support to caitlyn, and as support she must mold into what she needs her to be. even if it's not what aligns with her morals. yes, it wouldn't make sense if it would've been a personal decision, but in this context? absolutely). she slumps into mental darkness for a moment, wondering how inconsiderate she can be to ask her to be something so opposite to her nature when maddie comes to her and outright guilt-trips her into accepting caitlyn's proposal. personally, I have no idea if she was sent by cait beforehand to manipulate her into doing it, but seeing as we haven't been given an explanation for that I'll assume it was fully maddie's doing. and like that, vi accepts to the total alienation from her morals that entails becoming a cop for the sake of her lover.

things go awry. we all know how. vi feels beyond betrayed, beyond hurt, beyond alone. not just because caitlyn changed when she asked her not to (it was inevitable) but also because that safe space that she stood for is no longer there. that single hit of blunt force into her abdomen means so much more to her than just the stinging pain of the wound sevika left— the one caitlyn had healed. the moment she began to feel like she could trust her—, but more deep-rooted trauma from her years in prison. seven years getting beaten to a bloody pulp, no signs of warning, when she was at her lowest and her loneliest. do you think that, when she looked up at caitlyn, she saw her, or the faces of the enforcers that abused her?

it's a deep cut, for sure.

after that, she hits rock bottom. her self-preservation skills are null. or maybe they aren't, but she chooses not to use them. her entire life, she's been squished into the mold of the responsible one; the rock, the support, the leader, the protector. but without anyone to protect, or lead, or take care of... what's left of her? nothing but a husk of self-hatred and disappointment that she decides to fill in the most self-destructive ways. because why bother? she can't do anything right; not save her sister, nor protect her, nor hold on to anything good because everyone changed. everyone except her. maybe her heart of gold is more of a curse than a blessing.

she spirals into alcoholism, filling the void of loneliness by going to rowdy bars and getting shitfaced to distract herself from the perpetual state of pain she's in. yet caitlyn lingers in her mind. haunting her every minute of the day, making her feel miserable; yearning for that woman that was once so soft and bright. but it's not her anymore. she's dead, just like powder.

now, a lot of things happen between that moment and when she meets caitlyn again. but let's focus on their point of reunion, which a lot of people were deeming "weird" and "disrespectful" on caitlyn's end because she wasn't IMMEDIATELY tear stricken and pleading for forgiveness before giving us an hour-long makeout scene. be fucking for real.

up to that point, vi's had plenty of other things on her mind than just her ex. and believe it or not, the frustration shown during her pit fighter montage is also rage; at least, how I read it. yes, she's hallucinating images of caitlyn in her old enforcer uniform and yearning for her, but the current caitlyn? that's not her. seeing her again was not gonna cause immediate tears to well up in her eyes and consider, FOR A MOMENT, that vi's inner turmoil also contains resentment towards her. even if she did yearn for her past self. (it's funny to me how the same people that complain about vi not having any sense of autonomy because she's in love with caitlyn are often the same ones that talk about how they wanted a more emotional reunion, when the context did not call for it...)

on caitlyn's end, she doesn't break down YET... there's something in her eyes. more evident on her than on vi, I dare say. her eyes widen and soften in a way I haven't seen them in a while. that means something. and despite the apathetic remark about her hair you can tell there's hesitation. could this mean, possibly, that during all those months spent apart she's had time to reflect? regret her actions? seems to me like it does. because after all, when cupcake escapes from her lips she doesn't recoil, she doesn't frown or scoff. we see the old caitlyn again, even if just for a moment. she probably didn't know she needed to hear that from her again, but now that she did... she realizes she still cares for her.

even if this is just a personal reading of the situation, I think it's the most fitting if we're talking about normal, human interactions. the people acting like caitlyn is an unforgivable monster that has no feelings or is not capable of any self-reflection strips her entirely of her nuance. you want highly complex female characters yet you can't handle her.

another detail to add to the pile of reasons why I think caitvi is still viable is because, even though maddie had been trying to convince caitlyn time and time again to speak to ambessa to withdraw her forces, to finally take a stand... vi convinced her with just one look. in truth, she's her soft spot; she always has been. the fact that flared up emotions got a hold of her beyond rationality does not mean she can't feel regret for her actions later. it doesn't mean she's an irredeemable monster. hm, that sounds familiar. maybe... what happened after the factory explosion, seven years back?

that was just a thorough overview of what I consider is an objective opinion about both sides. caitlyn had evidently changed for the worse, and vi couldn't let go of her past self; the kinder cait, the sincere cait, the cait she fell in love with. vi has been, yet again, thrown into the chaotic claws of fate and has come out hurt once again. but does that mean the relationship is beyond salvageable? that's what act 3 is for.

do I believe that their relationship will be perfectly back to normal in just three episodes? not really. there's no time to fully heal the scars that were left to harden during act 2, but it doesn't mean there can't be redemption. do I believe a sex scene will compensate for all of that? ABSOLUTELY NOT. despite my very biased opinions on the ship and how I desperately want them to be together because my little lesbian heat can't handle otherwise, I understand from an objective perspective that things aren't easily solved through sex. I will not be considering any sexual or romantic advances valid or necessary if there isn't a long, thorough scene where they rough out their differences; hell, even express their more hidden emotions to each other. maybe shedding a tear or two.

it's the most rational and balanced way to approach their situation. I utterly despise people that cannot see both sides of an argument and that blatantly disregard any attempt of changing the script toward redemption or healing. it happened during season one with jinx, it's happening now with caitlyn. she's done objectively bad things, yet there is no need to classify her as the set villain for this season; especially if you don't understand the influence ambessa had over her. as well as there's no need to classify vi as a dog on a leash just because she exposes vulnerability towards the person she loves. it's a human emotion, a human experience. isn't that what we're looking for in media? to find true representations of reality and the complexities of human psychology to feel some sort of catharsis? to feel like we're not alone?

in any way it ends, I just hope for satisfaction.

[coolclassicmusicbookcollector]

Arcane Artbook Raffle Zaundad Work

@zaundads

Notes: I fell down the Arcane Rabbit Hole. This is more of rewrite/add-on of the Vander Flashback scene in Season 2 ep. Blisters and Bedrock. I wanted to add more Silco and Power/Jinx parallels as well as Jayvik Partnership. I also want to add more to middle of it but then it would get way too long to post. I'll post the link with extra - but unnecessary - content later if curious.

In the warm, cheery quiet of the Last Drop, the day's weariness melted away with each hearty laugh and clink of glasses. Behind the bar, Vander finished topping off Huck's drink with practiced ease and a warm smile, then set about cleaning the bar with a rag. His movements were smooth and familiar, a comforting routine in the midst of the evening's bustle. Vander couldn't help the burst of pride he felt looking over the bar—the community—they had built together. A thriving, safe place in the Undercity, free of threats or violence, where everyone could relax and enjoy each other's company.

'Well, almost everyone,' Vander thought with exasperated fondness. As usual, Silco was seated at the bar, scribbling in his notebook, his sharp eyes completely focused on his writing.

Vander's head perks up as the jukebox plays a familiar tune.

'There's a girl in town and word's gone around she's just fine'

Felicia looks over with a smirk, then dances her way over to the bar with fellow Zaunites hooting and calling after her.

“What’s the occasion?” Vander asks, already getting several glasses out.

“Hmm, can’t a lady just be in the mood for a familiar song?” she replies with a chuckle as the mood goes back quiet.

“Haha, not this lady, and not this song,” Vander teases, grinning while filling the glasses.

“Tonight a harebrained scheme these two bozos cooked up to turn a dank crack in the earth into a thriving, healthy community becomes a reality,” Felicia toasts, raising her glass.

“Tonight, eh? You hear that, Bozo #2? We made it. We're done,” Vander says, looking towards Silco.

“Oh, you’re sadly mistaken," Silco counters with an air of solemn gravity, finally looking up from his journal. "I’m Bozo #1.” He smirks, eliciting laughter from Felicia.

“A night of revelations,” Vander jokes.

Felicia takes a deep breath. “I’m knocked up."

Vander and Silco's eyes meet, widening with surprise. Without missing a beat, Vander switches Felicia’s glass of wine with a cup of orange juice and a straw, his movements quick and caring.

"A girl.”

“How do you know?” Vander asks.

“Mm. Wasn’t really part of my plan, but guess that’s everything when you’re living week to week,” Felicia explains as Silco closes his journal.

"What did Connol say?"

Felicia looks over her shoulder to where Connol is sitting with the other miners. “I haven’t told him." She looks back to Vander, holding onto her arms. "Working up the nerve. I don’t know anything about kids. I get sweaty being alone with one.”

“Hey, you’re gonna be a great mother,” Vander reassures her.

“Shut up. I’m not ready for that,” Felicia retorts, shaking her head. “I started trying to come up with a name, and it hits me that this one word is a decision she’s gonna live with her whole life. I can’t protect her from all the shit down here and work out how to be a parent at the same time." Silco glances towards Vander. Felicia always has this energy, a spark that is usually snuffed out in the Undercity. To see her so scared is worrying.

Finally, the fear and vulnerability slide away as she smirks at the two of them. "Then I realize, I don’t have to.”

“Hmm? Why’s that?” Vander asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Because the second I tell you, I put you on the hook,” Felicia says with a chuckle. “You two are gonna figure this Zaun thing out. I don’t care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock, covered in blisters. You’re not allowed to fail anymore. For her. For me."

Vander and Silco exchange a determined glance.

"What’s the point if we can’t raise an ankle biter or two?” Vander retorts.

Silco raises his glass. “To Zaun, then. Blisters and bedrock”

“Blisters and bedrock,” Vander echoes, clinking his glass against Silco's.

“Blisters and bedrock,” Felicia echoes with a smile.

“I’ve always liked the name Violet,” Vander suggests gently with a smile as he finishes his drink. "Now go tell Connol and if he reacts with anything but support tell me, and I'll have a nice chat with him after I grab my gauntlets."

Felicia smirks before making her way back over to the table, her cup of orange juice in hand. Connol greets her with a smile then shoots her a puzzled look after seeing her drink.

Silco and Vander watch with amusement as Connol's eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to joy. He jumps up, pulling Felicia into a tight hug before lifting her off the ground and twirling her around.

The commotion catches the attention of the other patrons, cheers and congratulations filling the room as people gather around the couple, patting Connol on the back and offering Felicia warm smiles and words of encouragement.

"Hmm, well what do you know. Fable-tales do exist in the Undercity," Silco comments with false sardonicity. He's just doing it to get a rise out of Vander. His tongue is already on the tip of his mouth, ready to respond to Vander's 'you pointy bastard'—the only person he would allow to say those words to him, the only person who could say that without scorn, voice dripping with warmth, turning what should be an insult into the highest of praise.

"Yeah, it's great, isn't it?" Vander's voice has a dreamy, almost wistful edge.

He looks at Felicia and Connol, their faces practically shining with happiness—a rare sight in the lines that wasn't preceded by drugs or alcohol. Sadly, it is an even rarer sight when the news before it concerns a child. But they are genuinely happy about the news—scared as even topsiders would be about raising a life, but happy. Because there's a community now, and that has created something that hadn't existed before: hope. Hope for a better future for themselves and their kids. Janna, the idea of everyone in the lanes—no, the Undercity—reacting with happiness at the thought of the future instead of melancholy or despair is more intoxicating than any alcohol or drug.

So caught up in his aspirations, Vander doesn't see Silco's smirk drop or the flash of fear in his eyes. The words of Felicia echo in his mind. She had been an integral part of their dream, always by their side, until she met Connol. Now, she had to focus on her child, not Zaun. The fear of abandonment clawed at Silco's chest. He takes a deep breath and tries to unclench his fingers from around the glass.

"Oh, is the great Hound of the Undercity looking for his own fable-tale with pups?" Silco pokes with a smirk too full of teeth.

Vander's head tilts back as he lets out a full belly laugh, "Haha, no way Sil. I am too busy looking after the Lanes. Besides, I am not the settling down kinda guy, you know this. I mean, yeah I'll look out for Felicia's ankle-bitter but I am not having one of my own, or making a family."

Vander's eyes are full of mirth, but sincerity when he leans toward Silco. "You heard Felicia Bozo #1, it's just gonna be you and me figuring out how to make Zaun a reality. You and Zaun are my family. And that's never gonna change."

Silco feels a warmth spread through his chest, the gnaw in chest whispering "dirty little thing" finally easing. He leans in looking up at Vander, finally, a genuine smile on his face.

Together they look over the Last Drop. Vander sees the place bustling with life, filled with the familiar faces of friends and family. He sees the camaraderie, the laughter, and the genuine connections forming. He watches his fellow brothers and sisters in the Undercity laugh together, share stories, and ease each other's burdens. It fills him with pride to see the dream he and Silco have nurtured becoming a reality.

But Silco's eyes are drawn to the shadows lurking in the corners. He sees the dirt and the grime that cling stubbornly to the walls. His gaze settles on a minor savoring her drink, knowing it will be her last until the next payday. He watches as another licks his bowl clean, unable to waste even a single crumb. The clothes people wear are threadbare, patched over and over, handed down from one person to the next. To Silco, the struggle is palpable, a stark reminder of the harsh realities they face. Despite the lively atmosphere, all he can see are the cracks and the flaws that mar their existence.

Two men in a bar look over their people, and together they share a vision of the future they will create—a nation united as one. They see only the similarities and potential good they could create. At that moment, they are blissfully unaware of how the differences in their vision will make this future unattainable. How they will lose themselves, lose their dream—how, in the pursuit of great, they will fail to do good. But that is in the future. For now, they can dream and believe the future will be bright.

[space-1z-cool]

spoilers ahead for s1 and 2 of arcane

jinx centered Arcane rambleeee :3

i feel that jinx is the embodiment of getting so close to happiness but having it constantly torn away from her. Usually somewhat by her own doing, but Vi also had a lot to do with her losses when u think abt it.

Ekko Jinx Vi Claggor and. the guy i forget his name. Were all starting to be happy and live a life with Vander and the chill guy who was like ekkos dad. Yea sure they did get involved with shady shit, and crime and all of that. But They didnt have much of a choice while living in Zaun. But then they go on a mission, which the outcome of has a chain reaction to the rest of the series.

(as clearly shown in the AU where vi is dead and everyone else is thriving and hextech doesnt exist bc jayce probably succeeded in his attempt on his life after the explosion killed Vi. And Theres a buncha stuff that could have happened w viktor. maybe his disease progressed too far, or he didnt gain interest because of the outcome of its accidental use killing a young girl frkm the undercity. which could give him moral cause to not support jayce. but anyways back to the main topic)

That mission led to powder/jinx really really needing to feel helpful. So what happens? She gets her bombs to work. But she accidentally "kills" vander in the process. As well as actually killing claggor and the other guy. Therefore getting si close to feeling happy and useful. But it being taken away by her own actions and Vi's influence (imo vi's reaction is what leads her to be taken in by silco. bc silco feels safer now than Vi, who just hit her in the face and called her a jinx after previously reassuring her she wasnt.)

Later on when Jinx is with silco. Silco loves jinx. He's a decent father figure, horrible person (product of environment and never finding the letter) but an ok father. He loves Jinx and wouldn't give her to Piltover even though thats what the council wanted to 'allow' zaun to be its own sovereign state. He trusts her to an extent. She has her fun with her gadgets and explosives and Silco scolds her when needed. etc. I'd argue that Even though it wasn't perfect, and jinx was struggling with untreated mental illness, She was starting to get kinda happy and comfortable.

But what happens next? She kidnaps Vi and Caitlyn, Vi accidentally triggers her into an episode, and jinx accidentally kills silco while she's disoriented and hallucinating. And even after that?? Silco didnt get upset because he Knew that she didnt mean to. ( which EUGH.. their fucked up father daughter duo makes me so emotional) Happiness ripped away p2.

Okay! Maybe third time is the charm. She has Isha! And She's done with the Jinx persona but knows she isnt really powder either. She does her best to be a good older sister and shows isha the ropes of zaun-living kinda. They genuinely have a nice bond and Jinx stops getting involved with as much violence. Also if you notice, most of her hallucinations have stopped (at least on screen).

And Then they meet up w Vi and find Warwick/Vander. They make it to Viktor's Cult and happiness looks so fucking close. They could be a real Family.

And WHAT HAPPENS????? Ambitcha and her army barge in, wanting Warwick for a weapon, Jayce drops in to try to kill his boyfriend who isnt himself fully anymore, and it all goes ti shit! Jinx loses Isha and Vander (again) And its all fucked. That was her last fucking straw. After losing all of that she goes tk prison.

And after EVERYTHING she's endured. All of that kind of finalizes in her brain that she is a Jinx.

In the end, If you look at jinx's facial expressions as she saves Vi and (probably) dooms herself, she's content. She's content dying this way. After losing Everything. After feeling like she was the cause of everything bad. She could do One thing to give her remaining family member happiness. And doing that one thing seemed to give her relief or possibly even her own happiness. And if she died, that final emotion, finally reaching a semblance of being content, couldnt be taken away.

and i dont blame her for choosing to go out like that. was i happy? FUCK NO i was sobbing. but it made sense. ik there's a theory she's probably alive. esp cus she's like a main character in league. but from what ive seen/heard? arcane is based on lol lore but not quite. And Jinx is a far more nuanced character in arcane.

i think thats all for now. prepare for more long ass posts bc this show is pure art. and i loved it.

[marysunburn]

My post-Arcane fanfic is out on AO3.

No, it’s not Azir karma this time. I’m sorry.

“A year after the battle against Noxus, the illusory peace between Piltover and Zaun has shattered into a thousand pieces. Camille Ferros, the new head of the Council, uses the mysterious death of Caitlyn Kiramman and her partner to tighten her grip on Zaun. Despite the efforts of the Firelights, led by Ekko and his new companion Zeri, and the reassuring melodies of pop star Seraphine, the city below is at its last straw.

Jinx has traveled the world, from home to home, in search of a place that – in the words of her only friend, the demon known as the River King – will reawaken her appetite for life. Now, with no sister waiting for her, but only the cries for help of an entire people, the time has come for the Loose Cannon to return home.

And she is not the only one in Zaun looking for a new purpose.”

I didn’t really like the ending, for eschewing both the political angle and Jinx’ arc about reclaiming hope and reconnecting, so I decided to do my thing and let it happen.

There’s going to be all sorts of familiar faces from League of Legends, including the most outlandish ship this side of ZAC/Riven.

Please check it out and leave comments if you do, there’s gonna be a lot of crazy fun – as well as angst, found family and class warfare.

[sageisntamathperson]

(intro post) I am many things, but I am not a math person.

And when I say “many things,” I mean MANY things. Art. Creative writing. Journalism. Acting. Theology. Philosophy. Urban planning, Disabled self-advocacy. Environmentalism. You name it — if it’s humanities or a biology-adjacent science, I’ve got it.

But while an unimaginably nerdy fourth-grade me was founding a school newspaper or making an unprompted presentation about pharmacogenomics (yes, I was extremely a bit pretentious), there is one subject I have hated since I had the capacity to hate:

Math.

I qualified for Advanced Math testing every year of elementary school. EVERY YEAR! And did I ever get in?! NooOOOoOOO!

Every year, I was good enough to get tested but never enough to actually ace that test — and every year, I watched the smug little faces of my peers as they moved to another classroom to learn the arcane, esoteric, staggeringly difficult art of fourth/fifth grade math. For a little kid whose entire identity was built on being the “smartest kid in the class,” it was agony in its purest form.

This continued into middle school and is still a problem in high school today. I’m in honors math — but not the highest honors math. My math scores are always notably lower than my scores in, well… everything else. In fact, I’ve gotten two Bs in my entire life as of now (sophomore year), and they were both in — shocker — math. I’m in a math class with freshmen, and when I went to my school’s resource center to ask for help on matrices, I ended up getting tutored by someone my own age.

(Are these stupid problems? Of course! There are people dealing with math [and grades in general] who have it a lot harder than I do. Intellectually, I know that a B isn’t a bad grade, it’s okay to be in a class with people younger than you, and a lot of people have a tutor the same age as them. Don’t feel bad if any of that applies to you! I’m just a perfectionist who uses academic validation a source of self-worth, and for me, this is the equivalent of a rock that never seems to get out of my shoe.)

All this was tolerable, but when I found out that the highest math class in my high school — the one I would be on track for if I got into Advanced Math in elementary or middle school — had barely any girls in it, that was the last straw. I am not perpetuating the myth that girls are bad at math!

So I’ve decided that even though I’ve been told my entire life that “everyone has different talents” and I’m “just not a math person,” I will be working hard to skip the equivalent of a grade in math and get into AP Calc BC junior year. I will find out what it takes to be good at math (and why some of my friends like it so much).

(Plus, math is an extremely inconvenient subject to be mediocre in. Intellectually, I understand the appeal. It’s built into the fabric of the universe, for crying out loud!)

And thus, into the studying vortex I go.

For women in STEM everywhere!

For vindication for my elementary-school self!

And most of all, for my own fragile ego intellectual curiosity and an unquenchable thirst for learning!

[the-down-upside-finch]

WIP List (Tag Game!)

Thank you for the tag, @anyablackwood!

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

...I don't think you understand what you are asking me to do.

*drags out my folder labeled "WIPs," where each of my stories have their own folders because I have to be organized* So, we have, in an order that descends into the "unnamed" docs: (The * means that this is a big folder with even more stuff inside of it)

Potentially Kinetic (webcomic)* - PK S1 by Chapter - PK S2 by Chapter - Idea Blurbs - Timeline

Stained Integrity (webcomic)* - (1) Stained Integrity (Revision Doc 2) - (2) Stained Integrity - [insert title]

Pentad of Un (novel)

Minding Q's (novel)

Secrets of a Gon (novel series)* - (1) Secrets of a Gon - (2) Secrets of a Gon: Fairling - (3) Secrets of a Gon: Witchery - (4) Secrets of a Gon: Krow

The New Magicians (novel series)* - (1) The Lucky Ring That Brought Bad Luck (The New Magicians) - (2) The Wooden Stick From the Wizard's Castle (The New Magicians) - (3) The Jeweled Heart From the Mage’s Dungeon (The New Magicians) - (4) The Ruby Crown That Shapeshifted When Worn (The New Magicians) - (5) The Glass Box Which Held an Unseen Curse (The New Magicians) - (6) The Feathered Mask That Could See Darkness (The New Magicians) - (7) The Hiltless Sword That Was Held By Shadows (The New Magicians) - (8) The Blue Cloak Worn to Cover a Curse (The New Magicians) - (9) The Spotted Egg From the Dragon Caverns - (10) The Bottle of Dust Stolen From Thieves' Bazaar - (11) The Ghostly Ship That Sank With the Sun - (12) The Arcane Ingredients Needed to Brew a Potion (The New Magicians) - (13) The Shell-Made Throne at the Bottom of the Sea - (14) The Gon Blood of the Last Descendants

Parallel Shadows (novel series)* - (1) Parallel Shadows (Revision Ver.) - (2) Light of the Railing (Parallel Shadows) - (3) Burning in Degrees (Parallel Shadows) - (4) Perpendicular Grid (Parallel Shadows) - (5) Crossed Between Axes (Parallel Shadows) - (6) Divisual of Angles (Parallel Shadows)

Wager and Cursed (novel trilogy)* - (1) Betting on Mushrooms - (2) Flying for High Stakes (Wager and Cursed) - (3) Always Bet on Blackmail (Wager and Cursed)

Shakedown (stream-of-consciousness experiment)

When It Showers

Link & Pin* - (1) Link & Pin — (The Quill & The Feather) - (2) Link & Pin — (Murder of Crows) - (3) Link & Pin — (Blue Overcast)

The Final Straw

A Stanger Comes to Town

Navigating Peril With a Compass and a God

150 Million Tonnes

Lies Von Iash

Shards of Midnight

Something in Retaw

The Neitherling & Champion

Beachcombers

Deck Them All

The Hotel With the Glass Elevator (previously titled "GGD Crew")

Half-Hour Identity

Head Space

Twisted, Entwined

Out Phazed

Non-Stop ∞

My Life is a Comedy (and I am a Side Character)

Two-Faced Flip

(post-apocalyptical world where you can kill someone for like a house)

(the necromancer/holy knight thing)

(Where the knight gets stuck protecting the practitioner)

(Attempt to write mystery)

(that one story idea)

(Untitled WIP, Walled-In Town)

A prince that can turn into a dragon visits a kingdom where he is supposed to marry the princess and he turns into a dragon to share his secret but someone sees him so they have to make up a whole situation where the princess is captured by the dragon and

Like 82957 short stories that I'm not going to list here because. there are literally so many of them.

Y'all. That's like 35 WIPs in my stupid WIP folder, not counting the individual stories within each series. THERE'S NO WAY I FOLLOW KNOW MANY WRITEBLRS BUT I'M NOT ABOUT TO BACK DOWN FROM A CHALLENGE So I'm (gently) tagging: @my-cursed-prince, @athenswrites, @amaiguri, @k-v-briarwood, @the-grim-and-sanguine, @planets-and-prose, @owlsandwich, @card-queen, @zestymimblo, @lordcatwich, @wordswrittenbynight, @worldsfromhoney, @ahordeofwasps, @autumnalwalker, @nettleandthorne, @bassguitarinablackt-shirt, @gwenthekween, @harleyacoincidence, @dancinginsepia, @fire-but-ashes-too, @aziz-reads, @serendipminiewrites, @maskedemerald, @da-na-hae, and literally whoever else wants to do this because. Yeah. Open tag.

(I realize after typing all of that that the game is probably just supposed to refer to only one specific WIP but you know what. I already typed all of that so I'm just going to live with it. Have fun y'all.)

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Three

also available on AO3 and Quotev | visit first tag to find other chapters | warnings: pre- s1 (for now), mentions of pregnancy (you’re not the one who’s pregnant dont worry), smoking

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Three:

Caring for Alice had proved harder than you’d expected. You needed places to leave her while you went out to run errands too- the enforcers had quit looking for her, assuming she was dead.

You’d grown closer to Vander too, and Felicia, through Silco. A day or two whining at the bar had resulted in Vander offering to keep her at the bar during the day.

You narrowed your eyes at him, swirling your straw around in your cup before taking a long sip. Felicia put her hand on your shoulder.

“It’s fine, [name]. Vander’s good with kids.” She flashed you a toothy grin. You slowly exhaled, not moving to shrug her hand off. You peered over the counter to see Alice with her back pressed to the inside of the bar, scribbling on a piece of paper.

“Fine, I guess. But don’t let her out.”

“You know it’s calm during the day. She’ll be fine.”

“Not a foot outside the building.”

Silco stepped out from the back, a book clutched in his hand. You looked at him, studying his face slowly. 

“How about you tell me.” You flicked your head towards him, and he raised an eyebrow. “Should I leave Alice here during the day?”

He grinned, and you could see his chipped tooth. “She’ll be fine here.”

That reassured you, and you quickly took another long sip from your drink.

So it was decided. While you went out to make whatever money you could, instead of locking Alice up in your tiny apartment you left her at the Last Drop, where Vander and Felicia would keep an eye on her.

You stood up, the barstool scraping, and went round to Alice. “Come on. It’s time to go home.” She stood up, handing you the crumpled piece of paper. It was a drawing of you both.

“This is lovely,” you cooed as you led her out of the bar, flashing the three a grateful smile as the door shut. And you took her home.

Over time you’d grown a maternal love for her. She kept your lonely self company, when Silco wasn’t around. And Felicia and Vander just weren’t the same. Seated in your cold apartment, you brushed through her tangled hair, shared a mediocre dinner, and went to bed.

Tangled in the sheets for warmth, she clutched your shirt. “Is mommy coming back?” She mumbled, half asleep yet still wide eyed. A sharp stab of guilt tore at your chest.

“No,” you whispered, and wrapped your arm around her, burying her into the crook of your neck. 

“Are you my mommy now?” Her voice was so small it broke your heart even more.

“Yes baby,” you reassured her. “You have me now.”

You both fell asleep.

-

“She thinks I’m her mother now.”

You took a drag of the cigarette, looking out over the rooftops. The sky was clear, azure blue hanging over you both like a blanket. Silco side-eyed you, reaching for the cigarette.

You turned and blew smoke in his face, making him recoil, and laughed at his face. He indignantly snatched the cigarette from you and took a flustered drag on it.

“Aren’t you?”

“Well I-“ you stared at him. “I don’t know. I guess I… stepped up.”

“Certainly,” he drawled, smoke wafting through the hair. You scooted closer to him and reached for the cigarette, fingers closing around his. He looked at you.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said quietly. “You’re sure she’s safe with Vander?”

He smiled softly, and let you take the cigarette from his hands. “I’m sure.”

“If anything happens to her, I’ll kill myself.”

The heavy words escaped you so easily you hardly noticed. Silco flinched, and put a hand on your knee, chuckling nervously.

“Please don’t.”

Your eyes flew to his hand. He snatched it away.

“Where have you been, Silco?” You asked, voice dropping low again. “I haven’t seen you in a week. And that hair-“ you moved to brush a lock of hair obscuring part of his face. “It’s getting in the-…”

He stared at you. “What?”

“Where did this come from?” You lightly poked the bruise, and he flinched, snapping his head away. “Silco.”

“You know people get into scrapes. It’s fine.”

“Right, but you don’t. And this looks bad.” Your fingertips traced down his cheekbone to the cut across his jaw.

“It’s fine, [name].” He grabbed your wrist. “I’m fine.”

“Just promise you’ll be safe.” You took a drag of the cigarette.

“Of course I do.”

You blew the smoke in his face and he frowned.

“Promise.”

He sighed, relenting. “I promise I’ll be safe.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder and offered him the cancer stick. “Good,” you hummed contentedly, feeling him tense then relax beneath your cheek as he gingerly plucked it from your fingers.

You weren’t sure if he was holding up on the promise.

Days after that he’d return with more bruises, or simply not show up at all. You would stay up on the roof until it was time for you to leave, and wouldn’t find him at the Last Drop either. Vander and Felicia were rather unhelpful considering his whereabouts, and he refused to speak of them. Another evening of waiting on the roof, he arrived late.

You sat up, watching him slightly shake as he dropped down next to you. His lip was split.

“Silco.” Your voice was strained.

“What?” He sounded slightly breathless. “I made it.”

“What are you getting yourself into?” Your voice shook, and he blanched, shocked at the genuine worry in your tone. “Tell me the truth.”

“[name], I…”

“Please. You promised me.”

After a long moment of studying your face, he sighed. “You can’t tell anyone, [name].” You circled your arms around his.

“I won’t,” you pleaded. “Please.”

“I… I’m a member of a-“ he cleared his throat. “Resistance group.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“The Children of Zaun.”

He didn’t say anything more. You sat up straight, pulling away from him. “That’s it?” Your voice was a dangerous whisper. “That’s all you’ll tell me?”

“For your safety.” He sounded urgent. 

You stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. In truth, your heart was pounding with fear. For him. But then you nodded.

“Don’t die. If anything happens to you, I’ll kill myself.”

He seemed so sick at hearing those words you figured it would be enough to keep him cautious. 

“Now let me bum a cigarette.”

He relaxed, then chuckled, pulling out a pack. “You’ve bled me dry.”

“Don’t run dry then.” You watched as he placed one between his lips, and held out your lighter. He leaned into the flame. Pulled away. The lighter snapped shut. Inhaled. Moved the cigarette from his lips.

And blew the smoke in your face.

You coughed, shocked. “You- you bastard!”

But he was laughing.

You laughed too.

You leaned back into him. He let you.

“I know how much Zaun means to you,” you whispered. “I know you want a better place for the next generations.” You looked up at him, eyes saying one thing. But please be safe.

He stayed silent, looking back at you. And then he spoke softly. “Felicia’s pregnant.”

You sat up. “What?”

He grinned and nodded.

“Then- then who’s the father?”

“Connol.”

“Silco… this is…”

He looked at your unsure expression, and then held out the cigarette. “It’s good.”

You nodded. “It’s great.”

[adultswim2021]

Aqua Teen Hunger Force #96: “Juggalo” | April 5th, 2010 - 12:00AM | S08E08

Hey, this one’s pretty memorable, and actually has a decent amount of context on which I can heap. I love heaping things, so let’s go to it: 

Shake is attempting to create a simple diversion for some comedy reason, and he does this by causing a massive pile-up by throwing a concrete slab off an overpass. One of the lives he cut short is Paul F. Tompkins, sorta playing his dapper-ass self. By that I mean he’s got the same personality and they drew him in a relatively accurate manner (I think his head is too small, personally). The man’s spirit haunts Shake and forces him to do good. He has the ability to send Shake to hell when he mouths off. He makes him be nice to Carl, which is the final straw. 

When the angel has a bout of “angel diarrhea” and has to excuse himself, Shake makes a break for it and quickly finds a demonic force to help him vanquish his heavenly pest. But he only has a few minutes on craigslist and the best he can dig up is a teenage juggalo. He’s voiced by Paul “once told me he liked my online comic strip and I am pretty sure he actually meant it” Rust. Shake’s plan doesn’t work, because the kid just dresses shake up like a Denny’s goth and makes him give him and his friends rides. Shake eventually can’t take the torment and blows his own head off with a shotgun. 

The final scene takes place in court. ICP, voicing they (whatever the opposite of “dapper” is)-ass selves, are being sued for their lyrics causing Shake's suicide. George Lowe is the lawyer representing Shake’s household, now in mourning. ICP lightly defends their lyrics, and then reveal they can spit literal fire, and set the court ablaze. That’s it, aside from a brief over the credits scene where Shake is in hell, washing Carl’s car, which I guess also died and went to hell. 

Back around this time, Paul F. Tompkins was very regular on The Best Show on WFMU with Tom Scharpling. Tom Scharpling was on the show way back in 2003’s “The Shaving”. Paul would call the Best Show most weeks and occupy a huge chunk of time. Their most remembered riff was them talking about the then-viral Gathering of the Juggalos in 2009. There’s even a trading card commemorating it. I have it somewhere! I can’t find it in my home, or online. Sorry. PFT and Tom had a falling out shortly after this. What a couple of weirdos!

One last bit: Paul is credited, probably to skirt union rules, as “Mr. Hutchinson”. This is a particularly arcane inside joke based on a story where Paul was recognized in public by fan. At the time, Paul was the host of Best Week Ever, and this fan, who loved the show, misidentified Paul as “Mr. Hutchinson”, believing that to be his name. I actually remember there being one episode of Best Week Ever where Paul came back from a commercial by saying “welcome back to Best Week Ever hosted by Paul F. Tompkins. I’m Mr. Hutchinson”. 

I liked this one fine. I think sometimes going heavy on the guest star can be a mistake, but this one works for me. I haven’t really kept up with PFT, but when this aired I genuinely thought he was one of the funniest guys out there. He might still be for all I know. I respect him, and I should respect him. I am going about this the exact correct way.

MAIL BAG

You wear a disguise to look like SNL guys, but you're not Will Ferrell, you're in Chickenfoot

Mr. Hutchinson? Now that reference I get. What the fuck is this? Some kind of disrespectful music parody? Answer me at once

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

you put your emptiness to melody (your awwful heart to song)

by archiveofourscone

The piano in the Kiramman estate hasn’t been touched since Caitlyn was young. Then, she was too short to reach the pedals, and the piano sitting in front of her felt larger than life.

Her mother made her take lessons. It was the proper thing for any child of a notable family to do, so Caitlyn started when she was four and learned the piano twice a week.

The last time she played, it was for a few of her mother’s friends just before she quit her lessons. She remembers the feeling of being watched, every note scrutinized, and how she grit her teeth when her pinkie slipped from the A flat to G.

That had been the final straw. That night at dinner, she took a deep breath, asked her mother to quit, and forgot about the piano’s existence.

Until now.

She doesn’t really know why she cares about it now.

Words: 10391, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Tobias Kiramman, Ekko (League of Legends), Mentions of: - Character, Jinx (League of Legends), Cassandra Kiramman, Maddie Nolen, Ambessa Medarda, Mel Medarda

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn & Ekko (League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends) & Tobias Kiramman

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Post-War, PTSD, Flashbacks, Self-Hatred, Marriage Proposal, fankid, I don't actually play piano, my best friends do but I don't, So if anything is wrong, that's why, Happy Ending

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

[tojiscrack]

i keep like not seeing when u answer my asks jfc.....

BUT ANYWAYSSSSSS

i just got back from CANADA. i usually like it there but after being in california a few months ago, i was reminded how much i HATE paper straws. and canada fucks w paper straws so that was hell but.

ANYWAYYYYYS.

'‘cause how are you so perfectly okay with killing YUJI.'

THATS WHAT IM SAYINNNNNNNNN. I LOVE YUJI SM.... i genuinely think he's one of my favorite anime mcs ever bc he's one of the few i don't dislike! and he's def the reason why my friend is sticking w jjk. (we did a trade deal where i have to watch arcane if she watches jjk).

'the whole guy bsf thing, ARE YOU GUYS ALL LIVING THE SAME LIFE WTH?'

It's a canon event i fear.... i was literally thinking ab him on the drive back from canada and i realized that HE STOPPED LIKING ME WHEN I STARTED BEING NICE TO HIM??? men only like it when you're mean to them.

'you guys can bond over your shared/similar experiences on top of when i traumatise you all by making you go through worse in the story! 😋'

i'm gonna cry......

yk what's so crazy... i discovered liar liar right before the west coast cyclone last month and binge read it during the 4 days we didnt have power (i charged my phone at my gym). and i have been obsessed with it since. so just know that if you hurt me, you hurt cyclone me 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

'my obsession with making fun of emos needs to be studied'

STOP UR SO RIGHT. literally my ex bsf is fuckin emo and she is the most insufferable self victimizing bitch ive ever seen in my life so she ruined emos for me.

ANYWHOOOOOO

give us a sumaya lore drop just for shits and giggles 🙏

OKI BYE

yeah ykw, tumblr needs to come up with a feature that basically alerts us of when our asks are answered 😐 like why is that not a thing already?

like now it’s a fear of mine to think about how someone might think i’m ignoring them when in actuality, i’m beginning to get more interactions so i speedily answer every one, and then theirs goes further down my page but they’ll never know that ‘cause TUMBLR (😒) doesn’t have a feature that lets us know our shit’s not being ignored 🌝

anyway mini rant over, bACK TO YOUUU ML 😋🩵

i wanna go to canada so bad ☹️ i heard that the british-accent privilege over there is a million times better than the british-accent privilege in america 🤧 i’d be favoured so nicely over there 🥴

paper straw hate is so real. why do these stupid turtles keep snorting the plastic straws anyway? dumb turtles. aND WHY DO THESE HUMANS EVEN THROW THEIR STRAWS IN RIVERS AND NOT THE BIN THAT’S 0.2 CM AWAY FROM THEM? dumb humans.

second mini rant over, back to you again 😋🫶🏽

‘just know that if u hurt me, you hurt cyclone me’ — noted 📝 😚

i love how everyone has stories of where they’d been when they found the fic, how they came across it, what they were doing during reading it, etc. it’s so fun seeing different stories, like idk, it’s computing to me that we all have different lives but we’re connected by one story?

my story? 🥹

gonna start weeping stoppp

anyway <3 you’re so right. yuji’s such a cutie patootie and does no wrong. i’ll defend my son till i die he’s older than me but idgaf. personally, my fav mc has to be eren from aot, but i can’t exactly say ‘he did no wrong’ ‘cause… yeah 💀

bUT YUJI HAS DONE NO WRONG! MY MORALLY RIGHT SON! <3 i have a deep, deep hatred for that four-armed tarantula ‘cause of his random vendetta against my yuji 🌝

omg trade dealllll! i do those with my friend so often but she does me dirty every time. i put her on an awesome sitcom, but she said she refuses to watch it until i watch saltburn.

yeah. saltburn.

so i was traumatised after that and she was having fun with the sitcom. i’m glad you and ur friend do fair deals 🥲

‘it’s a canon event i fear’ — 😟

‘HE STOPPED LIKING ME WHEN I STARTED BEING NICE TO HIM??? men only like it when you’re mean to them’ — so i think m*les in the usa and m*les in the uk are different breeds, ‘cause when i tell them to leave me alone or give clipped, straight to the point, honest and dry responses, they go away 🌝

but maybe the circumstances are different ‘cause i’ve never been asked out and the m*le you’re talking about had feelings for you 👀

whatever girlypop, i just know that from the way you speak, you’re gorgeous 😐 if you ever did go with him, it’d be those couples i see on the street and my first thought is ‘he makes me laugh’ ahh relationship.

‘i’m gonna cry…’ — honestly, i’m being dramatic 😭 like the angst is bad and the ending MIGHT be bittersweet, but it won’t evoke tears. at least, ik that if i was a reader and not the author of the story, it probably wouldn’t be enough to have me in tears, yk?

‘she ruined emos for me’ — NAUUUURRRR 💔⛓️🖤😔👊🏻

just think of malakai (i don’t think you participated on the kai hate train so i’m saying this with a grain of salt lmao)

anywhoooo

I DON’T HAVE ANY LORE TO GIVE 😭 i’ve got the most plainest life ever. the most you’ll get that i can even strain to think of ‘cause that’s how little lore there is to me is that bad grades will put me in a coma 😔

oh, and that literally an hour ago, i was gonna jump a middle-aged man for being rude to my mum at home bargains? 😭 yeah, not much lore, just stupid occasional stuff

[eggedbellies]

Using hypnosis to try and get you to do something you are interested in kink-wise but too scared to do but accidentally unleashing your inner sex demon.

I'll take creative liberties and say it was some sort of bondage and after numerous attempts, you keep chickening out and that is the last straw you need to do this if you're going to do anything kinkier. So you entrust your partner in this story to try and get you to not be so fearful and accept your kinks. So as they bring you under and try to get you to accept these current kinks, they get a little vague and go "Accept all your kinks" so they won't have to do this next time. But in doing so it changes you.  You start to grow and change, and your clothes start to snap due to your growing body, your demon tail emerging, your wings growing, little horns popping out, and other things.  Your partner drops the watch, ending your trance to reveal the new you, and you feel in yourself you want to test something out. You can shapeshift, you can change others, you can create transformation items, you can make someone's belly grow, and anything this blog relates you can do. You've become a master of arcane arts of sex stuff. Oh, what to do now?

Ohohohoho, being transformed into a succubus basically by someone's desires... being able to shape myself and breeed and transform others? It would be a dream.. just a dream...