#arcane jargon

[feyosha]

Computers are very simple you see we take the hearts of dead stars and we flatten them into crystal chips and then we etch tiny pathways using concentrated light into the dead star crystal chips and if we etch the pathways just so we can trick the crystals into doing our thinking for us hope this clears things up.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Uncleftish Beholding

For most of its being, mankind did not know what things are made of, but could only guess. With the growth of worldken, we began to learn, and today we have a beholding of stuff and work that watching bears out, both in the workstead and in daily life.

The underlying kinds of stuff are the firststuffs, which link together in sundry ways to give rise to the rest. Formerly we knew of ninety-two firststuffs, from waterstuff, the lightest and barest, to ymirstuff, the heaviest. Now we have made more, such as aegirstuff and helstuff.

The firststuffs have their being as motes called unclefts. These are mightly small; one seedweight of waterstuff holds a tale of them like unto two followed by twenty-two naughts. Most unclefts link together to make what are called bulkbits. Thus, the waterstuff bulkbit bestands of two waterstuff unclefts, the sourstuff bulkbit of two sourstuff unclefts, and so on. (Some kinds, such as sunstuff, keep alone; others, such as iron, cling together in ices when in the fast standing; and there are yet more yokeways.) When unlike clefts link in a bulkbit, they make bindings. Thus, water is a binding of two waterstuff unclefts with one sourstuff uncleft, while a bulkbit of one of the forestuffs making up flesh may have a thousand thousand or more unclefts of these two firststuffs together with coalstuff and chokestuff.

At first it was thought that the uncleft was a hard thing that could be split no further; hence the name. Now we know it is made up of lesser motes. There is a heavy kernel with a forward bernstonish lading, and around it one or more light motes with backward ladings. The least uncleft is that of ordinary waterstuff. Its kernel is a lone forwardladen mote called a firstbit. Outside it is a backwardladen mote called a bernstonebit. The firstbit has a heaviness about 1840-fold that of the bernstonebit. Early worldken folk thought bernstonebits swing around the kernel like the earth around the sun, but now we understand they are more like waves or clouds.

In all other unclefts are found other motes as well, about as heavy as the firstbit but with no lading, known as neitherbits. We know a kind of waterstuff with one neitherbit in the kernel along with the firstbit; another kind has two neitherbits. Both kinds are seldom.

The next greatest firststuff is sunstuff, which has two firstbits and two bernstonebits. The everyday sort also has two neitherbits in the kernel. If there are more or less, the uncleft will soon break asunder. More about this later.

The third firststuff is stonestuff, with three firstbits, three bernstonebits, and its own share of neitherbits. And so it goes, on through such everyday stuffs as coalstuff (six firstbits) or iron (26) to ones more lately found. Ymirstuff (92) was the last until men began to make some higher still.

It is the bernstonebits that link, and so their tale fastsets how a firststuff behaves and what kinds of bulkbits it can help make. The worldken of this behaving, in all its manifold ways, is called minglingken. Minglingers have found that as the uncleftish tale of the firststuffs (that is, the tale of firststuffs in their kernels) waxes, after a while they begin to show ownships not unlike those of others that went before them. So, for a showdeal, stonestuff (3), glasswortstuff (11), potashstuff (19), redstuff (37), and bluegraystuff (55) can each link with only one uncleft of waterstuff, while coalstuff (6), flintstuff (14), germanstuff (22), tin (50), and lead (82) can each link with four. This is readily seen when all are set forth in what is called the roundaround board of the firststuffs.

When an uncleft or a bulkbit wins one or more bernstonebits above its own, it takes on a backward lading. When it loses one or more, it takes on a forward lading. Such a mote is called a farer, for that the drag between unlike ladings flits it. When bernstonebits flit by themselves, it may be as a bolt of lightning, a spark off some faststanding chunk, or the everyday flow of bernstoneness through wires.

Coming back to the uncleft itself, the heavier it is, the more neitherbits as well as firstbits in its kernel. Indeed, soon the tale of neitherbits is the greater. Unclefts with the same tale of firstbits but unlike tales of neitherbits are called samesteads. Thus, everyday sourstuff has eight neitherbits with its eight firstbits, but there are also kinds with five, six, seven, nine, ten, and eleven neitherbits. A samestead is known by the tale of both kernel motes, so that we have sourstuff-13, sourstuff-14, and so on, with sourstuff-16 being by far the most found. Having the same number of bernstonebits, the samesteads of a firststuff behave almost alike minglingly. They do show some unlikenesses, outstandingly among the heavier ones, and these can be worked to sunder samesteads from each other.

Most samesteads of every firststuff are unabiding. Their kernels break up, each at its own speed. This speed is written as the half-life, which is how long it takes half of any deal of the samestead thus to shift itself. The doing is known as lightrotting. It may happen fast or slowly, and in any of sundry ways, offhanging on the makeup of the kernel. A kernel may spit out two firstbits with two neitherbits, that is, a sunstuff kernel, thus leaping two steads back in the roundaround board and four weights back in heaviness. It may give off a bernstonebit from a neitherbit, which thereby becomes a firstbit and thrusts the uncleft one stead up in the board while keeping the same weight. It may give off a forwardbit, which is a mote with the same weight as a bernstonebit but a forward lading, and thereby spring one stead down in the board while keeping the same weight. Often, too, a mote is given off with neither lading nor heaviness, called the weeneitherbit. In much lightrotting, a mote of light with most short wavelength comes out as well.

For although light oftenest behaves as a wave, it can be looked on as a mote, the lightbit. We have already said by the way that a mote of stuff can behave not only as a chunk, but as a wave. Down among the unclefts, things do not happen in steady flowings, but in leaps between bestandings that are forbidden. The knowledge-hunt of this is called lump beholding.

Nor are stuff and work unakin. Rather, they are groundwise the same, and one can be shifted into the other. The kinship between them is that work is like unto weight manifolded by the fourside of the haste of light.

By shooting motes into kernels, worldken folk have shifted samesteads of one firststuff into samesteads of another. Thus did they make ymirstuff into aegirstuff and helstuff, and they have afterward gone beyond these. The heavier firststuffs are all highly lightrottish and therefore are not found in the greenworld.

Some of the higher samesteads are splitly. That is, when a neitherbit strikes the kernel of one, as for a showdeal ymirstuff-235, it bursts into lesser kernels and free neitherbits; the latter can then split more ymirstuff-235. When this happens, weight shifts into work. It is not much of the whole, but nevertheless it is awesome.

With enough strength, lightweight unclefts can be made to togethermelt. In the sun, through a row of strikings and lightrottings, four unclefts of waterstuff in this wise become one of sunstuff. Again some weight is lost as work, and again this is greatly big when set beside the work gotten from a minglingish doing such as fire.

Today we wield both kind of uncleftish doings in weapons, and kernelish splitting gives us heat and bernstoneness. We hope to do likewise with togethermelting, which would yield an unhemmed wellspring of work for mankindish goodgain.

Soothly we live in mighty years!

[feyosha]

Curse of Typography

Cursed with the gift of prophecy, but the prophecy is always a typo.

[jittersbitters]

The Long Game pt.2 [Cautious]

{Viktor from Arcane Smut Story}

Warnings: smut, light dom!vik, jealousy, fingering, oral (female receiving), more exhibitionism, AFAB reader, Arcane + IRL accurate Politics, it a bit long, mentions of praise, choking kink if you REAAALLY squint, Salo being an asshole

Word count: 7.7K (40-60min read time)

Story plot: A holistic healer from NW Shurima works privately for Councilmen Hoskel as a sort of assistant. Viktor and her meet years before the events of Arcane and have an up-down relationship that takes shape over the course of many years. Starting all the way back in their academy years, first knowing each other as respective transcribers for their council mentor/patrons during meetings. Maybe they should have stayed in that room?

Chapter Summary: After a turbulent meeting with your boss you are forced to go to a holiday celebration at the Kirammen's. Having low, boring expectations for your night till Viktor's unexpected presence crashes you're suffocating political agenda and that of the aristocrats around you. Just when tension mounts and uncertainties seem to linger, a heated moment on a balcony has the academy assistant pulling you into the garden for a new level of risk.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | • Viktor Masterlist •

Authors Note: Sorry for taking longer than I said to get this out. I passed out writing and went to the hospital for dehydration and other chronic issues I aggravated over this last semester. I'm fine now and got released for Yule/Christmas day. It's not technically a holiday fic but it has the elements for it. It long again but I had nother else todo in the hospital and I couldn't post with their shitty internet.

MDNI NSFW below cut (Farther below)

“Councilman?” I knocked on the door, popping my head in with a quick look around the room. Large imported furniture and crystal edged windows that made light flit across the room — why couldn’t these windows be in the rest of the house again? “I finished rewriting the notes from the last meeting.”  

“Hmm.” He waved me in with a boney hand, glancing up just quick enough from his mess of papers to check if I shut the door behind me. I eyed him as I came to stand in front of his desk; the tension in his brow deepening as he squinted at his notes, his hand trembling slightly as he rubbed his eyes. I noted the number of lines he had struck out, effectively rendering that page useless. His eyesight was starting to go; I’d have to add it to the list of ailments to tend to— or attempt to.  

I threw a crumpled piece of paper that had rolled away into the trash can, offering him a soft smile. “Don’t worry about organizing the trade deals. My father had me handling his for years, so I’m certain I can craft somethi—”  

“Craft?” His laugh was coarse, filled with a familiar malic. He regarded my business acumen as little more than a joke in comparison to what my healing skills could do. “You genuinely believe I would allow you to draft such important documents? With that pitiful excuse for business jargon you just spat, I’m questioning whether I should even let you deliver them!” I visibly flinched as his snotty, blended gravel of a laugh filled my ears and making my stomach turn inside out.  

I flinched at the weight in his sardonic laughter, a sound both grating and belittling that echoed in my ears, squeezing my insides. How could I have allowed my empathy to blind me, even momentarily, to the repugnant shell-like cockroach of a man he truly was?  

Sadly... he had financed my journey here, provided a roof over my head in Piltover—a debt I could not easily shaken off without my parent’s coin purse. My parents wouldn’t risk their own money; paying Hoskel back might ‘demotivate’ me and endanger our diplomatic efforts.  

Their words, not mine. 

Unable to quit but him equally unable to fire me, I expressed my displeasure by slamming the notes onto his desk with a glare. He raised his arms like I had attempted to hit him, face mixing with disbelief and anger as he watched me take long strides out of the room. “You belligerent—!”  

I slammed the door behind me, hands clawing at the neckline of my dress, feeling the fabric constrict like the atmosphere in this suffocating place. I had to remind myself to breathe. 

~~<3~~ 

The Kirammen house looked gorgeous in the light of the setting sun. The building’s blue and off-white colors blended beautifully with the setting sun. A breeze gently swaying the bare trees tops and fluttering the ladies' dresses. I pulled my fur shawl tighter around my shoulders, feeling a shiver creep down my spine. My dress cut far to low for this weather, material cold against my skin as it shimmered in the dying light. It was not built for winter; I was not built for winter. 

“Cassandra is eager to see you tonight,” Hoskel said, gently rubbing my hand as he linked our arms to lead me through the doors to escape the evenings chill. 

We were attending yet another gathering for Piltover’s social class; a stuffy event just for indulging in the exotic food and drink from their stores. Loose lips made for the best business deals. Unfortunate for me, Hoskel had brought me as an accessory, an attraction he intended to parade around to facilitate prospective deals. The conversations typically stretched on forever, dull and monotonous Noxus in summer seemed better, frankly.  

 “May I?”  A servant helped me slip out of my fur before disappearing to hang. The house was grand on its own, though I still couldn’t help but admire the evening’s decor—pearl chains and satin draped with velvet bows hanging beautifully throughout the space. Evergreen garland and red berries stung with gold thread. The flickering glow from the countless candles pulled me into the warmth of its ambiance, nearly distracting me from the pair of molten eyes observing me from across the room.    

There is no way... 

My reaction upon spotting Viktor wasn’t subtle, but I made no effort to disguise it. A complex smile tugged at my lips, my heart fluttering in my chest. Viktor had never graced any of these gatherings before, and Heimerdinger was only slightly more inclined to socialize, once every couple of months. For both to attend... 

Viktor was up to something... 

He looked good, too. Suspiciously good.  

But I wasn’t complaining... 

Leaning casually into his cane as he stood with a group of fellow academics alongside Heimerdinger. He had traded his Academy uniform for a sharp wine-red shirt and a fitted black dress jacket. He had preened; it was obvious. From the shine of his shoes and the polished metal of his cane.  

A wave of embarrassment rushed through me as I watched his thumbs absent-mindedly stroke the handle, remembering. I haven’t been able to get the feeling, the ghost of his fingers, out of my mind the last couple of days. I had to catch myself from ‘slipping up’, letting my mind wander to far during the day. Then at night it seemed to be the opposite, unable to finish what he started as my body wasn’t satisfied by my own hand.  

The gold cord of my dress suddenly felt heavier against my neck as he caught where my stare lingered. Rolling his lips to suppress a smile as he gave me a small bounce of his brow, seemingly pleased as he looked at my appearance. 

I had never cared about anyone's approval, but his made my cheeks warm with shyness.      

“My lovely sage,” Cassandra Kiramman glided over, her arms open wide. Her dress was perfectly tailored to match the evening’s decor, resembling a pearl on a silver necklace. Her welcoming hug pulled me away from my distraction in the form of a brunette scientist. “Piltover seems to be treating you well!”    

“My sage, Councilwoman,” Hoskel interjected quickly, watching our embrace with a scowl as his opposing chairwoman shot him a reproachful glare over my shoulder.    

“Calm down, Tormund,” Tobias slid between us as his wife released me, much to Hoskel’s annoyance. “Your sour demeanor might just chase her away.” He wrapped an arm around me briefly, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Just let us know if he becomes too much. Our patron from midtown is always keen to discuss sun-stones.”    

“While he can be a bit blunt, Hoskel has been quite the gracious host these last few months,” I replied, glancing at Hoskel to let him know my words were meant for him as much as for the Kirammans.    

“How... unusual for him,” Cassandra eye the short man, clearly aware of Hoskel’s nature, before masking her suspicion with a smile. “You must join us for tea sometime; Caitlyn has been eager to showcase her marksmanship achievements,” She squeezed my arm before linking with Tobias.    

Tobias shot Hoskel a pointed look. “Give the girl a break, councilman. From what I heard about the last meeting, she certainly deserves it.” He turned to me, smiling warmly. “Always a pleasure, dear. Do make time for a visit.”    

Hoskel grumbled subtly under his breath as we watched them slip into the crowd of arriving guests. He grasped my arm tightly, drawing my attention to him. “Don’t wander off,” he warned, almost threatened. I watched him walk away, scoffing as he went straight for shady merchants and traders. Never a man to change.  

Seeing an opening in my night, I turned back to where Viktor once was and found nothing. He had seemingly vanished form thin air, leaving behind a conversation that reflected the same. I tried to move through the crow, looking around for him in the sea of bodies. My irritation starting to bristle the longer I looked, severely needing a drink.  

“Excuse me.” I tried to call for a server, huffing when a group to monopolize his tray. I turned for another one, following after another server as tried to wave for his attention without attracting everyone's around me. They only seemed to turn their back from me, “May I—” 

“Two glasses.” That familiar drawl cut in beside me. My blush from before coming back to my cheeks as Viktor stood there, hand coming up to gently brushing my up my back as he leaned closer. Body carefully hovering around mine as his other arm reached around to take the glasses from the server’s tray. “Thank you.”  

“Viktor.” I breathed, finding my words trying to hide in my throat as my heart jumped up to meet them. I took my drink from him, holding it awkwardly in both hands so I wouldn’t drop it “I —I didn’t expect to see you here.”   

“Mm. Was not my original plan for my night.” His smile warmed me from the inside out even as his fingers brushed the collum of my spin softly, curling to first graze his knuckles before splaying to take up as much space as possible. He was bolder, I had given him an inch and he was determined to take a mile.  

“That make’s two of us.” I spoke into my drink, trying to hide in my drink as his fingers made the muscles of my back shutter underneath them.  

“Are you not enjoying?” he asked, and I could sense a hint of hope hiding beneath his casual words. I hesitated, noticing his untamed eagerness running wild in his eyes as he watched my expression for any advantage.  

“...I’m mostly here out of obligation.” I confided, glancing at Hoskel smoozing. I sucked my teeth before turning into victor more, any reservations I had about ‘wander’ vanishing as I felt peeved by him- still sour with our earlier fight. “I’d rather be bundling or reading, but I won’t turn down the free food and drinks... or company” I took a sip from my glass, reveling in the sweet taste.     

He hummed, smiling into his own as he took a swallow to find his words. “We are... much alike, it seems.” He whispered into the edge of his glass before taking another quick drink.  

“Are you here just for the food?” I teased, pressing farther as I saw my own advantage. 

 “Perhaps,” he mused, before adding with a hushed tone, “perhaps not.” a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth as he spoke low in my ear like we were sharing a secret. I suppose we were, but he didn’t have to make it so obvious. “I can’t say my presence here is entirely selfless.” I returned to my drink, finding it nearly empty and my mouth still parched, as his eyes bore into mine. Conveying a multitude of thoughts and intentions that were unspeakable, less they be heard by unwanted ears.     

“You're quite the uncautious man.” I licked my lips as I swaying slightly. I turned to watch the room instead as I faltered under his gaze, his alone like a thousand pairs observing every little twitch my lips made and breath I took.  

The atmosphere thickened as the night wore on, guests gravitating toward the food table we stood in front of as new arrivals flowed in. With the added closeness, he was forced to move closer. His eyes traced a path along my neck and shoulder, tracing the cording wrapping my neck and the hang of my spiral earrings dangling from my lobe, watching how it brushed my shoulder every time I took a deeper breath.  

“In.” His thumb started to stroke between my shoulder blades as his breath fanned the side of my face, voice a low thrum in my ear. 

My breath hitched as I felt myself gravitate toward him, eyeing him from the corners of my vision. My heart starting to make its nervous ascent up my throat again. “What?” 

“It’s incautious.” His corrected with a self-satisfied smile, delighting in my surprise as his hand shifted up to thumb at the cord wrapping around my neck to hold up the front of my dress. He played with it, running the finger along the stack, his hand resting at the base of my neck. Holding me gently as he guided me away from the increasingly crowded table, deliberately closing any lingering distance between us as our sides came together. “How do you say…” We were so close he only needed to murmur, “The student becomes the master.”  

A rush of heat coursed through me, breath hitching in my throat. The cord around my neck felt suddenly too tight, and I weakly pulled with it in search of relief. 

His thumb slid under the cords in response, relieving some of the pressure from the back. Simultaneously, pulling them into my throat, the contrast made my insides twist and flutter. Did he know just what he was doing? 

“Viktor—" 

“Ah! Just the woman I was looking for.” I stood there, mired in thoughts about Viktor’s intentions when Salo’s honeyed voice cut through the ambient chatter of the party. “The talented apothecary Hoskel insists on keeping all to himself!” the councilman approached with a mockingly congenial smile. Even his simplest words felt more like insults, his eyes glinting with condescension. “You’re making quite a name for yourself in my assistant's circles. Even Medarda’s girl is asking about you. Well done.”    

I had to blink before I was able to force a polite smile, despite the flutter in my stomach quickly turning to annoyance. “Thank you, Councilman Salo. I do my best to serve who I can in need.” I felt Viktor’s irritation souring the air already as he glowered at Salo, hand not curling against my back now starting to grip his cane tighter. 

“Hmph, then perhaps this is the perfect moment to discuss your relationship with the council.” He slinked closer, cutting into my previous conversation with Viktor and trying to steal my attention like a vulture. “With your... herbal remedies, you could become a valuable asset.” His voice dripped with feigned admiration, his gaze flickering toward Viktor as if urging him to leave us.   

Before I could respond, Salo’s hand settled at the base of my back, where my dress hung low with loose fabric. My heart raced with discomfort. I instinctively arched away, only to feel his hand follow. Each brush of his fingers intensified my urge to disappear into the ornate wallpaper. Salo had the kind of connections that could shift the city’s dynamics, while I was merely a healer in Hoskel’s service. This position left me with little choice; despite every fiber of my being screaming at me to move away, I held still.    

Salo had never been this friendly with me, but he had a reputation for being opportunistic. I wondered how long it would take for the rumors of Hoskel’s deteriorating health to reach his ears, validating the others about Salo eyeing his resources for a takeover, and I guess that included me.  

Viktor stood a few paces behind me, tension radiating from him as he sized up the situation. I hoped he would let me handle this on my own; any bad reaction to Salo could jeopardize my reputation, and by extension my patron’s. Our fragile partnership wouldn’t survive a public argument with his biggest rival.     

“Think about how much the council could benefit from your knowledge, especially with a favorable recommendation regarding your parents—” Salo continued, oblivious to my discomfort. He began to guide me away from Viktor, toward his group of colleagues and traders to talk with. Hand incessantly pressing into the small of my back, uncaring. “—you could assist with—”     

Viktor stepped forward to stop us, his expression rigid as he glanced between us. “I believe the lady is busy, Councilman,” 

He just had to say something. My knight in shining fucking armor. It would be endearingly cute, if it wasn’t ill timed. 

“Oh! Heimerdinger’s undercity assistant!” Salo face flickered as turned to Viktor, a sourness to his tone even as he tried to hide it.” I did not expect either of you here. So many interesting personalities in attendance it seems.” 

I tried not to scoff at the unabashed classism; the Piltover-Zaun political climate was not lost on the surrounding Shumira cities, and it seemed to be as much of a game to Salo as my discomfort was. “Councilmen Salo, I think—” 

“Not that I’d expect you to see potential—beyond just scrap metal,” Salo interrupted, talking over me because I suddenly didn’t matter now that his authority was being challenged. Ugh, men.” you must see something of use, of course. Why else would you concern yourself?” The audacity of him, fixing his gaze on Viktor’s cane and his injured leg, as if he relished the chance to undermine him further. I could see Viktor's jaw clench, his eyes momentarily darting away, a subtle but telling sign that the jabs, however veiled, had hit their mark. “Just think about what she could bring to the council—her help with medicinal initiatives and valuable insights.”    

I leaned away from Salo with shooting brows, my tone slightly raised in shock and indignation. I wanted connections, not backhanded compliments at the expense of others. “Councilmen, that is not— 

Viktor’s hand found its way to my back, and my hiccup, combined with the warmth of his touch between my shoulder blades, caused me to stumble over my words. “The lady has other commitments,” he declared, pointing a challenging gaze at Salo that warned him to back off. His fingers firmly gasping at my skin, attempting to press me closer to him, each movement revealing the simmering anger beneath his composed exterior. Despite my embarrassment at my back became their battle ground, I couldn't help but appreciate Viktor’s defense. “It would be rude to keep her from them, don’t you think?” 

Frustration flickered in his eyes; he was losing. “Relax, we’re just having a friendly conversation,” Salo tried to hum, his condescension clear — he was used to charm working in his favor. “Isn’t that right, my dear?” He turned to look at me, pressing his fingers into my lower back, copying Viktor but he was daring me to disagree.    

Oh, now they were letting me talk? How kind.  

Swallowing hard, I bit back venom and fear, and I forced a tight smile. “Quite... However,” I struggled to keep my voice steady with the unease in my stomach, “I really should get back to my rounds.” I shifted into Viktor as his glare burned through the air around is, boiling as Salo’s smile returned, trying to grab at the last bit of dominance I just threw him. It all left a bitter taste in my mouth I wasn’t going to be rid of anytime soon.   

“I’ll escort you,” Viktor shut down any farther attempts from Salo, tugging me to his side. The blond scoffed, realizing he had lost and bowing out gracefully. Finally withdrawing his hand. “If you’ll excuse us, Councilman,” Viktor lowered his head mockingly, I copied clumsily, before guiding me with a little push, leaving no room for protest.    

“An interesting evening ahead, isn’t it?” Salo called, dripping irritation as he stepped back, the amusement fading from his face as he watched our hasty exit.    

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My heart no longer strangling itself in my throat. “Thank you—”    

“Come,” Viktor hissed into my ear, voice low. He continues to slide his hand down, leading me through the crowd, absorbed in his own churning thoughts and seemingly oblivious to how we appeared to others. He halted at the dip; jealousy evident. He allowed himself to cast one last glare over his shoulder as he let out a quiet tsk, thinking I wouldn’t catch him. But I did.  

I caught the way his fingers slid across the collum of my spine while holding open the garden’s balcony door. I noticed how he was taking up the same spot where Salo’s hand lingered; however, unlike tentative touch Viktor greeted me with before, this was unmistakably more aggressive.    

Once outside, the crisp night air enveloped us, washing away the stuffiness of the gathering and the tension from the exchange. It allowed my chest to finally expand fully, allowing me to feel lighter as I found my way to the balcony’s edge. The moon bathed the carefully manicured hedges in a silvery glow, and the intoxicating scent of blooming jasmine drifted around us.  The cool night sent a grounding shiver through my body, helping to steady my rapid heartbeat.  

I felt his hand brush over my shoulders as he followed to stand next to me. “Are you —” 

“You can’t bait Salo like that,” I interrupted this time as pushing his hand away and turning back toward him. Rationality flooding back, hindsight being unfairly 20/20. Seeing the damage we could have caused to my future here. I took a calming breath to stead any hostility that leaked into my voice; I wasn’t angry, I was scared. “Your words were sharp—almost reckless. Don’t you care how it reflects on me—or even Heimerdinger?”   

“Reckless,” He scoffed, not getting my point. “Heimerdinger will survive.” I tsked at his answer, looking away as his expression soured at the sound. There was something so genuine that hurt. “You think I should just smile and nod like a simple courtier? I refuse to compromise my integrity!”  

“’A simple courtier’?” My head felt like a swivel as it snapped back to him, gawking at him for a moment. Hurt sinking as his last word struck a chord.  

He’s too stubborn, but perhaps he had a half a point.  

“I am not... I — “My tongue feeling heavy as forced myself to speak freely to, basically, a stranger. “Salo is... a pompous, self-serving ass. I know he is, Viktor, but integrity holds little value in politics. I can’t screw anything up here. ”   

He hesitated, his voice becoming a weird combination of biting and soft. “His actions were unnecessary. I was merely pushing back.” There it was—a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. Was it jealousy?    

I stepped closer, my own curiosity peaked. 

“What do you mean by ‘pushing back’?” I watched his reactions as I talked, looking for something else. Though, I still had to lecture him, just gentler than I originally intended. “If Salo interprets your comments as an insult, it could backfire on me.” I glided around the balcony, staying with the railing, so there was at least some distance between us even as I stayed in his orbit. “Hoskel could fire me and then...” I shrugged, giving him a coy stare. 

A flicker of regret softened the fierce look in Viktor's eyes. “It’s hard to watch,” he confessed, “After the meeting, I—”, before hesitating, “You’re so familiar with him.”     

“Being familiar with him is part of my job, Viktor.” My heart raced, fighting to maintain composure as I caught his backtracking. Feeling excitement as I played with him for once. “This city isn’t just made from science and formulas; it’s built by perceptions. Salo has the power to manipulate those perceptions. This attitude could lead to...”    

“Don’t you think I understand that?” he snapped, the frustration growing in his tone amplifying something lighter, more vulnerable. “You’re worried about my attitude? What about Salo’s? His hand on your back tonight was completely inappropriate!” 

“So that’s what this is about? You think I don’t know how to handle myself?” The way his eye twitched made me refute the idea before he was able to respond. I could see why he liked watching my reactions, it was like a puzzle and his was growing interesting by the second. “No. You’re reacting this way because you don’t like how he treats me. Specifically.”  

And I was going to crack it. 

“Thats not...” Viktor looked away to find compose; frustration and compunction evident in the way his jaw clenched, staring out into the garden. A breath rattling his bottle, shoulders heaving before he stepped toward me, feeling safe. “His motives seemed questionable; caution... would be best.”    

“Caution?” I challenged, taking the moment as an opportunity to press. With what felt like glee, I tilted my head. Being coy again.  “That’s rich coming from you.” 

 He scoffed, “What does that mean—”   

“Hand on my thigh,” I shot, pushing from the railing to enclosed on him again feeling emboldened as I watched him instinctively backed up. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks as I watched one start to tinge his own. “Whispering in my ear to just pay attention,” I jabbed an accusing finger into his chest, feeling the heat radiate between us. “Fingers traveling farther and farther up. Persisting. Inappropriate.”    

“That was different!” He seized my elbow, yanking me toe to toe with him as a burning intensity sent a thrill up through me. “Both of us are at fault for what happened.”   

“Fault?” I scoffed; my voice laced with mock hurt even as a bit of truth seeped in. “You... You're the one who fingered me in the middle of a council session!”    

His gaze narrowed as warmth flushed fully consumed his cheeks, a spark of defiance igniting in him at my exclamation. He started to back me up, countering my attempt to corner him to the window with his own. “Did you not enjoy it...”    

“Excuse me?” I tried to retreat, only to feel my escape blocked by the railing I once sought comfort in, his body soon to follow as he boxed me in.   

“Did you not,” his head dipped as his hand came to rest against the edge of the stone as he left his cane next to us, “enjoy my fingers buried inside you?” His gaze bore into mine with an intensity that crackled the air between us with an intoxicating mix of confrontation and undeniable attraction.   

I couldn’t breathe. 

“Viktor —”   

Viktor leaned in closer, his voice playful yet laced with an intensity that sent a thrill through me. "Did. You. Enjoy. It?" His breath fanning down the side of my face and neck again. This time without the stale air of the party I could smell the carbonated alcohol on his breath mixed with the spice of something with anise. "I won't repeat myself again."   

I didn’t hesitate with this chose — "Yes.”   

In that moment, his lips crashed against mine with a fervor that transcended the heated words we’d exchanged. The kiss ignited the air around us and I melted against him, my resolve crumbling like fragile parchment before a roaring flame, consuming heat radiated from his every action.    

His hands started at my waist, burning me as his teeth found my lower lip and pulling it hard with desperation. A shameless, startled moan jumping from the back of my throat allowing his tongue to muffle it a second later. I used a tight grip to ground myself, hands sliding from his shoulders to curl into his hair as I gave back everything he gifted. Longing and frustration, a bitter-sweet concoction, two vastly different worlds colliding in a moment that felt dangerously exhilarating. I felt every nerve in my body awaken as his lips smothered mine and vice versa, adding gasoline to a fire that was smoldering inside us.    

I felt out chopped breath mingling, dulling my senses and drowning out the rational voice that warned of the trouble this could cause if someone looked out the window. One of his hands began to move to find the familiar skin of my thigh. Grabbing it with a hapless want, pulling it closer to his. Bending me slightly as he pushed in for more, teeth bumping as he took everything he could. I couldn’t bring myself to protest, reveling in the warmth of his body that seem to encircle me, protecting from the chill of a dry winter beyond this intimate cocoon we had created.   

We didn’t pull away so much as me having to push him back, breathless and dazed. My fingers playing with whatever they could grab, one still in his hair and the other fiddling with his shirt collar. I could feel the weight of our argument dissipating still, leaving behind the lingering ache of unfulfilled desires. My heart raced in my ears to the same beat as the party just a couple yards away behind a glass door. A thill matching the swell of my lips and the pressure of his fingers, it was dizzying already.   

Did he feel it too...?  

My questioned seemed to be readable on my face as he answered with another kiss, insatiable but sweet this time. A hand jumping to hold my face as he tilted my head perfectly into his. His hand bigger them my check as his fingers found part of my hair to smooth other my ear. He drank in every small sound I couldn’t hide, the hand on my thigh starting to push up the split of my skit. Tracing and thumbing the reflective material, teasing it higher and higher.   

His kiss was a sweet as candy, but his actions mimicked the liquor of our drinks. I was ready to risk being caught if it meant I could satisfy the slowly droning thrum starting in my belly.   

“Where is that damn healer!” The shrill, angered voice of my patron broke us away from each other. Viktor and I broke apart to watch Hoskel pass by the window looking for me, both of us stiffening as we waited for him to find us. Luckily, he didn’t, continuing on through the room grumbling something muffled by the door.   

I let out a small laugh that seemed to infect him, our heads still spinning. “I should... I should go see what he wants before someone comes out here looking,” I hummed, reluctantly pulled away from Viktor, giving a soft push to his shoulder to urge him to let go of my leg.   

Though when I moved around him, I found I was unable to leave as he stops me with a hand on my wrist. Demanding grip giving away his desperation even as he masked it with gentle words. “What if you didn’t?”  

I turned my head confused, “But —”  

“What is the worst that could happen?” He pulled me closer again even as he started to step away from the balcony himself. A plan brewing in his eyes.  

“I can’t just leave him,” I pointed out, only receiving an amused smile. “I thought we agreed to be careful —”  

Viktor’s smile widened, “Careful? Where's the fun in that?” He leaned a fraction closer, his breath tickling my ear as he chuckled. The sound wrapping around me like a warm blanket, making me blind with those fuzzy feelings again. “Sometimes it’s those reckless decisions that lead to the most interesting outcomes.” His eyes sparkled, his head bobbing toward the garden behind us, his meaning clear now.  

I bite my lip as I weighed the outcomes of my next words. “Interesting, or hazardous?” I countered, raising an eyebrow, to bide time. 

“Is there a difference?” He tilted his head slightly, regarding me with a playful seriousness that made my heart race. “You can’t deny that the thrill entices you, as much as it does me.”   

“Enticing, yes. Dangerous? Also, yes.”   

He started tugging me toward the garden regardless, slowly stepping toward the stairs with on hand dragging me and the other remembering his cane. “I’d hate to think you’d shy away from a little excitement.”   

“Excitement?” I felt my reservations fall away as I let myself be dragged. The smile on my lips undeniable, the butterflies in my stomach unfamiliar. With one last look back at the party inside, I willingly started to follow Viktor. “Well, I suppose I could manage a little.” 

I couldn’t suppress my excitement as we hurried down the steps, careful not to trip. Of course, we stumbled on a raised stone, eliciting a giggle from me and a soft chuckle from him as he pulled me closer. We continued down the vine-covered stairs until we reached a spot where the wall sheltered us from view. My back pressed against the twisting flora with grass tickling my angles. His hands resting just shy of the opening at the back of my dress, while smiling up at the windows we had hidden from and then down at me. The tension from the balcony lingered, more electrified now that we had stolen this private moment at the risk of our jobs.   

This time, I was ready as Viktor edged closer, maneuvering one of his feet to settle between mine, pushing me firmly against the wall. We melded into the blooming flowers that surrounded us, his nose brushing against mine. Our smiles mirrored each other as our faces inched closer together. He allowed my hands to trace his jaw before his lips brushed mine again. 

This kiss began slower than the ones before, with passion rekindling as he immediately claimed my lips. He wasted no time, yet relished each moment. Sparks crackled between us as his hands roamed the curve of my back and I pulled at his hair again.  

Stealing my breath again, leaving my brain short on oxygen, his lips began to greedily descended to the line of my jaw, trailing to the exposed skin of my throat. Dragging across the taught muscles while the delicate cord restrained him from getting every inch. His hands toyed with the excess fabric cascading down my back, as if contemplating whether to give it a tug for more access.  

I was taken aback by the whimper that slipped from my lips when he chose not to, instead contenting himself with what skin he could suck of my shoulders. He took everything he desired, leaving me breathless while one of his hands curved along my back, drawing me closer to him as the other hand roamed down my dress. He gathered the skirts, his fingers tactfully gliding against my thigh until they reached the juncture of my hip and waist. His head rested against my collarbone, the heavy desire making us drown in each other. His eyes were focused on the way his hands twisted the shimmering fabric as his breath fanned across my chest which rose and fell with anticipation.  

“Viktor,” my voice escaped as a gasp while I clutched his back, feeling my legs twitch as his hands drifted away from the fabric of my dress to my laced folds. He pressed and caressed with a teasing touch, elevating his mouth again to mine to drink my pants. He didn’t take his time like before; there was no slow buildup or gentle movements. He was desperate, and with no one to witness us, he could be as hap-hazardous as he pleased.  

His name slipped from my lips in the form of a soft moan as he pushed into me. My hair began to tangle in the vines, head going back, as he immediately pumping his fingers, starting slowly and gradually picking up to a steady pace. 

 He curled and swiped his fingers with precision, just like he had in the meeting. He instinctively knew when and where to apply pressure—a quick learner. His grin brushing my lips as eyes flickered between mine and my open mouth. I found it difficult to close, each breath becoming more labored as he whispered soothing words into my ear talking me through the start of a building orgasm. He was saying how good I would feel, how sweet I’d taste. His accent doing horribly wicked things, making the release come all that faster.   

“Do you think you could stay silent if I gave you more?” He asked, tilting his wrist and eliciting a deep, drawn-out gasp from me. His thumb circling and pressing the little numb at the top, dragging it down teasingly as he watched my reaction completely engrossed. Cheeks rosy and my eyes fluttering, losing all rationality to the feeling of his fingers stuffed inside me.   

I nodded; my voice edged with desperation. “Yes. Yes, I can be quiet.”  

Only needed my consent, he slowly withdrew his fingers from me. I let out a whimper at the loss, but any anger quickly faded as he brought the digits to his lips. It echoed his actions from the end of the meeting, right before they vanished past his chapped mouth. The teasing sound he made sent a rush of heat from my cheeks down my neck. Unable to talk, only pant as I watched him lower himself into a knee.   

“Your leg,” I tried to stop him as he tried to hide a hiss, only receiving a harsh smack to the hand trying to pull him up.  

“I’m fine,” He bit back, sending a warning look my way.  

His hand slid away from his mouth, gliding up from my ankle to my knee before effortlessly letting it rest on his shoulder. I felt exposed as the chill in the air made my legs tremble, a wave of anxiety settling in my stomach as Viktor's inquisitive gaze roamed over me. Unapologetically, he leaned in closer, tracing his lips along the inside of my thigh. He followed the same path his fingers had taken during the meeting, back to mirroring those precise movements and calculated gestures. His intense focus left me breathless, even before his mouth found my dripping cunt, breathlessness turning into a breathy moan. As the fabric of my skirt fell over his head, his lips and witty tongue began to explore, dragging and molding against me, opening and closing, reacting to every response until he perfected the rhythm.  

Which meant it didn’t take long for another louder moan to escape me, one I quickly stifled by biting down on my bottom lip. Soon to bust it as my hands tried to find a purchase somewhere. One strangling the vines behind my head and the other tangling in his hair as his nose brushed against the nub, a familiar pleasure starting to coil in my stomach. I started shifting my hips restlessly, chasing my release as it started to tickle my edges.  

Finding it hard to keep my lip between my teeth as sounds grew more desperate. The thorns of the vine cutting into my palm as my grip tightened, making him grown as his scalp throbbed. It made my hips raise in surprise and a shameless whorish moan to break past. His following tut draw it out as he held my bucking hips still against his face. Pinning my cunt to his mouth as his tongue moved between the folds— pushing and curling, the movements perfected already. A newfound determination fueled his actions as he pressed his face as close as physically possible, nearly suffocating himself. His grip on my thigh and bone of my hip feeling like it was going to be bruised.  

I chanced looking down, my eyes having fallen closed in this rush of lust. Prying them open I let out shutting gasps as I found him completely lost between my legs. The sight awakening something inside me, no man confident enough to act so desperate. Kneeling beneath me, For me. Hiding like a young boy in his mother’s skits — 

Wrong time to think of — FUCK! He can’t stop. 

“Don’t stop,” I couldn't hold back the longing gasps and soft cries that escaped from the back of my throat, his available fingers glided from my reddening thigh to join his tongue. They quickly synced, accompanying a chuckled at my new pathetic mewling and lust-drunk reactions. My hips giving small tight rolls, fighting against his grip even as it grew skin splittingly tight in an effort to maintain control over. Unable to keep myself from clenching, something he caught with another core rattling chuckle.  

He seemed to be enjoying how the muscles around his face started to twitch and spasm as much as I was enjoying myself. My thighs cutting off his air, much to his happiness as a groan confirmed it and sent my heart into my throat. A warmth starting to pool in my navel as the pulsing began to matched the rise and fall of my chest, hand pulling his head in harder. The band starting to tighten passed the point of no return.   

How was he already making me come. 

“Viktor, I —” He silenced me with a gentle hush, already aware of what I was about to say. I pressed my head into my shoulder, stifling a choked sob as the knot in my stomach grew so tight it became near painful. A shutter coursed through my shoulders, desire igniting my veins with a white-hot intensity as I teetered on the edge of true pleasure. This was a sweetness I had been denied last time, but now I was free to embrace it fully.   

The fall was so much sweeter than the climb as I felt every nerve in my body be lit a flame, hips stuttering as Viktor held my hips down against his mouth with all his strength. Both hands having to shoot up and bruise my skin in order to keep me still, milking my orgasm with just his skilled mouth till I was whimpering for him to stop. My plea faded into breathless whispers as I worked to salivate my dry mouth, feeling as though all the moisture had been drained from my very soul.   

When he finally did stop, I felt like all the air rushed back into my lungs.  

His rough hands smoothed over my hips and thighs, coaxing the tight muscles as he gently lowered my leg from his shoulder. He pulled his head from my skirt, resting his chin against my stomach, his eyes sparkling with amusement as his lower face glistened with my slick in the moonlight. I would have been completely embarrassed if my mind hadn't still been swirling.  

“What?” My voice was soft as I brushed my fingers gently through his hair, trembling slightly with the fear of shattering this sweet moment. “Why are you looking at me like that?”  

“That was absolutely not quiet,” he teased, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he slowly rose, using my hip and the vines behind me for support. I did my best to ignore the slight grunt from the strain on his leg, learning from last time. 

We caught each other’s gaze, and in that instant, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of us. The moonlight enveloped us in a silver glow, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way the light danced in his hair.   

“We shouldn’t be out here,” I whispered, half-heartedly trying to sound serious, but the flicker of mischief in his eyes told me he was already thinking of a way to push our luck a little further.   

“Just a few moments longer,” he urged softly, brushing his thumb across the middle of my back I nodded, feeling my heart race at the intimacy of it all. It felt exhilarating, sneaking away and making our own wanton little paradise under the starlit sky.  

... Until a metalic clink came from somewhere above us.   

My breath caught in my throat, and I craned with him to look toward the sound. “Was that…?” I started, glancing back at him, but he was already scanning up the stair wall.  

Before we could decide what to do, a voice called out, cutting through our tranquility like a knife. “Hello! Is anyone out here?” My heart sank as I recognized the voice—it was Elora another assistant to the council, wandering into the garden. I glanced at him with wide eyes, and we both shared a fleeting expression of panic. 

 “Time to play it cool?” he suggested, trying to lighten to mood.  

 I couldn’t help but smile, smoothing down my skirts. “Let’s just hope we weren’t missed,” I replied, shaking my head as the moment we had just shared clung to the air between us.   

 “You first,” He smiled at me, giving my hand a gentle squeeze as he nodded up the steps as Elora called out again, threatening to come out to the garden. “Perception and all that.”  

I gave him a thankful grin in return, doing the same with the squeeze. “Sweet,” I complimented as I chanced a small quick kiss, catching him off guard. I didn’t let him recover before I turned to walk away, pulling my hand away last. I saw him give a goofy wave as I ascended the stairs, plastering on a political smile to join Elora on the balcony. “My apologies, I needed air and the Kirammen garden in still breathtaking,” I linked my arms with hers, admiring her lovely blue dress.   

“Oh! We can take a walk if —” I stopped her from turning back to the garden.  

“No!” I said that too loud, drawing her suspicious with a raised brow. “I am fine. I assume Councilwomen Medarda wants to see me?”  

“Yes, your patron has been talking incessantly about your specialty in toxic flora and my mistress was most intrigued by the applications you have found for them medicinally...” Elora’s voice faded into all the others of the party as we emerged from the doors. I sent one long look out to the garden, a new bounce to myself as I joined the group surrounding my Patron.   

“Do try to keep your wits about you. It would be unfortunate if you were to embarrass me,” Hoskel muttered, his voice low but laced with irritation.  Never one to miss a chance. 

I rolled my eyes, “I won’t embarrass you.” I dipped my head lower towards the gorgeous council women to my right, her soft green eyes observing me and liking what she saw. “It's a pleasure to meet you Councilwomen, Elora and my patron speak highly of you.”  

She bowed her head back, eyes flickering to the balcony doors behind me, Viktor walking in finally, a fact unknown to me. “The pleasure is all mine, doctor.” 

(Himerdingers lab at the Acadamy or Hoskels mannor next time? still haven't decided)

Taglist: @freakboycentral • @jollyperfectiontimemachine • @ac1d-0 • @chaoticevolution • @that-gingernut-girly • @im-just-a-simp-le-whore • @shortbreadbunny • @circeinspace • @miju69

[piltoversfinest-caitvi]

Katie Leung at 2023 Facts Gents Con

There has been news circling around about season 2 Arcane development as well as the Q&A recorded at the Facts Gents. Take some information posted with a grain of salt but I believe them to be plausible

Some questions for Arcane:

Q: In the voice acting were you able to be together in the studio for like scenes with interactions for example between Caitlyn and Vi

Katie: No... so I have not met Hailee who plays Vi. Normally when you do voice acting for something like Arcane, you are just in a box, so you have a producer on one side of the room with a glass pane between you And then it's just me and then the mic and the monitor with the lights or the animation and sometimes if Hailee's done her Vi lines before me then I'll get to hear the stuff that she's done and then I can respond to it. But most of the time there's a director on the screen who will just say the lines to me and then I have to respond and not that they are not great actors because I'm sure they could kind of give me a performance if they want it but I think they try and keep it neutral so then I'm responding to Vi saying something that might be potentially romantic and (the actor) will just be very dead and then I'll just have to kind of respond in the way that I would want to respond as caitlyn so it's funny that because when they put it together, it sounds like we're all in the same room because so much emotions that's carried forward in the voice acting but I've never met Ella or Hailee or anyone for that matter so it's great what they can do

Q: How did a process feel for you because voice acting is different from real life acting and how excited are you for the second season?

Katie: Oh my god I just did some recording for season 2 of arcane a few days ago and I can say that it's looking really good. It was a project I went into without knowing how big it was going to be how incredible the animation was going to look. I heard of league of legends before because my brother is a huge gamer and I used to be a big gamer as well but I never played it so... I did it because I knew he was a big fan so yeah I'll just do it cause I have time. And these guys, you know the creators, they sound really nice so I remember them sending me just photos of Caitlyn And this is the character you're going to play. And she looks really cool so I really yeah uh I went to the recording studio like you know it was just me and the mic and that was kind of strange because I wasn't really sure what they wanted and I wasn't sure you know with the storyline I didn't know what they were talking about when they were talking about piltover and um just all these kind of different jargons that are in relation to League of legends so I was a bit confused about what I was doing and seeing And then once the animation came in and I was able to see some sketches I was like oh my god this looks really cool and then when it came out last year I was just blown away

Q: Which line from Arcane is your favorite? (@ 2:30 Sunday) Katie: Oh that's a hard one because I feel like I really enjoy all the scenes between Vi and Caitlyn and like the moments they have. The most precious moments are the ones where they don't say anything to each other. But if I had to choose a line probably when Vi calls her cupcake and she says shut up. Yeah, that's a really cute moment

Q: Which character storyline are you most excited about for season 2? Katie: Uh…… I think I'm excited mostly.... I'm just trying not to give anything away but I think with season one for Caitlyn she like I felt her pain in season one, you know she had, there's a lot of kind of weight on her shoulders uhm kind of to do the right thing she's kind of like she's a justice warrior She wants to do things correctly and she wants to do things for the people she believes in equality and justice and all these and uh obviously she's a bit of a goody goody two shoes um in comparison with Vi and I think we get to see a different side of her in the next season so I'm really excited for people to see that arc, that journey um and also it's been really exciting for me to play that as well.

Q: What kind of dynamic do you think Caitlyn will have in the upcoming season with Vi

Katie: Oh…. I can't tell you that, I mean, all I can tell you is that….. no no I can't tell you.

I'm telling you a lot by not telling you

Q: If you come to facts as a cosplayer who would you dress up as Katie: Oh my god that is a really good question. I think I would dress up as Caitlyn because I just did some recording of season 2 and she has some incredible costumes. She looks really good. Yeah I mean I can't say anymore but I would love to dress up as a Caitlyn you know her costumes are really cool

Q: When you did the voice acting, did you have any props or cosplay items that you could use? (@ 6:35 Sunday) Katie: No, um, I think it would have been helpful to have like something I could hold on to because there are certain moments when Caitlyn, you know when she's fighting, .. Okay I'm giving stuff away now ..

But when she's maybe in action whether she's running or she's fighting or just breathing heavily or trying to climb out of something I think it's always helpful to be able to grab onto something but there's nothing that you can because they're afraid you might make extra background noise so everything has to be like in the air.

So that can be difficult so I would have liked to have some props for sure but it, there's only ever like a glass of water and the pages with your lines on it and the microphone.

Even when you're running, you have to just be like you have to pretend you're out of breath in place so I'd say it's definitely not easy to do voice acting but it's so much fun when you get the hang of it.

Q: What do you think Caitlyn's Spotify playlist looks like? Katie: Oh god, I don't think she would want anyone what's on her playlist but if she had to... it would be like 90s, R and B, literally, I'm just listing the stuff that I listen to. A bit of rock, a bit of grunge, I'm thinking of TLC I think she would love a TLC, maybe see Dr Dre, maybe Linkin Park, yeah, put up everything

Q: What nickname do you think Caitlyn would have for Vi? Katie: Oh.... do you know what I think she would probably call her by her full name. Violet. I think that would be quite a tease because I think Vi is such a cool name. I'm not sure Vi likes her full name to be honest, I think there's a reason why she doesn't, cause, Violet is, I guess I would see it as quite feminine and quite lovely and that's a last thing Vi would want to hear. As Caitlyn, I probably would call her Violet.

[feyosha]

We don’t really work like that; that’s more the purview of the likes of, say, @wizard-council-bureaucrat. We’re more about how you use it.

To illustrate with the example of Soul Drain:

Are your casting components made out of the correct materials (bone, mummified flesh, vinyl, etc)? How’s the line work on your sigils and glyphs (did you use the good chalk?). Are you making sure to keep the outputs of one Soul Drain at least 4 meters away from the inputs of any others? (I would say try it and see but you won’t live to see just don’t do it) When was the last time you checked your staff for cracks? (it’s like falling from a 6’ ladder; most common and most boring way to die on the job site)

We’re about how you do it.

And frankly we’re mostly concerned with making sure you don’t accidentally die a boring death.

If you wanna attempt Apotheosis we won’t stop you. We will tell you when what you’re about to attempt has been attempted before and resulted in a smoking crater. Less cop, more caution sign.

Wizards are not naturally immortal, in fact creating their own form of immortality is their graduate thesis.

[feyosha]

Attention Science Enthusiasts and Chem Majors!

Reference for the non-chemists:

Alkaline Metals: putting water on these will set them on fire. Combines explosively with Halogens to produce salts, which are largely impervious to heat.

Halogens: corrosive as fuck. Includes Fluorine and Chlorine. Combines explosively with Alkali Metals to produce salts, which are largely impervious to heat.

Mercury: thanks to Cooper Pairs and Quantum Weirdness, is liquid at room temperature despite being heavy as Lead. Turns Aluminum to mush. Will drive you mad.

Dimethyl Cadmium: 2 methyl’s on a Cadmium! A Metal, directly on Carbon Functional Groups! Carcinogenic, Teratogenic, Neurotoxic, Lipophilic, with both acute and chronic effects, this shit will wreck your cellular machinery like an industrial mining apparatus turned on a neighborhood brownstone.

Azoazide Azide: hello yes I would like to order 14 Nitrogen atoms, but, can they all be exclusively single bonded in a second-order Azide? Whaddya mean it’s the least stable molecule ever fabricated? What do you mean it self-immolates in isolated conditions?

Sand: it's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.

[REDACTED]: goo

[illarian-rambling]

You know what, I AM having a bitchin day, and hope you are too!

I have come for your ask game >:)

Hit me with Sepo, Yewbury, and Aloe Vera pls!

Sepo - What's something that, without fail, will always make this character angry?

I'm not gonna answer for Sepo, because he gets angry at every minor inconvenience, so let's hear from one of my new guys!

Faalgun is a kind and understanding man. He knows what it's like to fail others and, more importantly, to fail himself. He makes an effort to be forgiving, especially when he knows someone isn't lashing out on purpose. That said, he has zero tolerance for laziness or insubordination. Faalgun practically grew up in the Flying City navy. He has had it drilled into his skull again and again to always do his part, and to always shut up and listen to those who outrank him. So when others don't do that, it just baffles his mind. He usually ends up going full drill sargent. After all, in a place as deadly as the void of space, the hesitation that insubordination can bring might be deadly, and letting ship maintainence slide is surely a recipe for disaster.

Yewbury - What classes could you find at a college in this world?

A lot of the normal ones, though they'd cover more in-world themes. The main difference involves magic. On Illaros, magic and science are so closely intertwined as to be inseparable. Chemistry and alchemy are studied side by side, runes are integral to the field of mechanics, and magic is even involved in things like archeology and art. Sorcerers (people with inborn magic) also need a specific education to hone their gifts. They're common enough that most universities will offer classes for sorcerer-specific studies.

Here are some class names you might see:

Runic and Mundane Engineering 102

Advanced Microbial Alchemy

Araunian Studies

Elven Culture (This one is controversial because there are two main elven cultures and they hate each other)

Arcane Signature Reading: Sorcerers Only

Aloe Vera - Are there any skills you have in real life that you've been able to include in your writing? (Ex. chef describing food, martial artist writing fight scenes)

Ok, so the martial arts example is just me, but I've talked about that before, so I'll talk about something else instead. I write pretty good jargon. I'm good at making some fake word for alchemy or runic science sound real. I get this from being in STEM. Honest to god, this is what I'll use my chem minor for. Arnoflouric acid, Tamm units, tonality, Anbane's equation. I'm turning my academic terror into something fun!

Thanks for the asks!

[miodiodavinci]

good news!! i am 25% of the way done with the first draft of my portfolio!! (read: partway through like 50 pages of intensely jargon driven mini essays that are each evaluated by several arcane and strangely worded rubrics)

bad news!! the intense euphoria of nearly being at the point where i can Finally take a break and do what i want without the stress of deadlines hanging over me for the first time in nearly a year paired with the soul-crushing reality of needing to finish the remaining 75% of this project is giving me such intense waves of anxiety and nausea that it is actively preventing me from working on more of the project

[feyosha]

Oh it’s all fun and games exploring spaces that fail to meet basic axioms… until your circulatory system starts following infinite parallel but untouching trajectories and ceases to be a circuit.

Reality Anchors! Every! Time!

[thepoliticalvulcan]

"Against the Death Penalty except for..." misses the point.

So Biden has commuted the sentences of all but three prisoners on Federal death row.

A bit of throat clearing and explanation for those not hip to the jargon, that's ONLY Federal prisoners. The President cannot commute the sentences of STATE prisoners. So everyone on death row in Texas et al. facing increasingly arcane methods of execution are regrettably still confronting that fate.

Commute also means to reduce the sentences. I doubt Tumblr needs this explained to it but you do see a few people here and there who confuse commute and pardon. So these former death row inmates are now getting life in prison.

Throat clearing finished.

You see a lot of people whose natural resting point is being against the death penalty but will say things like "kill all pedos" or "kill all rapists." I'm not going to wage a rhetorical war to persuade you dear reader that sexual assault, even against children, is something that deserves complicating or contextualizing. I don't know if these behaviors are "conditions" that can be "fixed." My gut feeling is that whatever is responsible for these things happening, the death penalty is not a very significant factor in a person making a conscious choice or giving into a primal instinct and committing these heinous acts.

Which is in part why the morality of the slow death, perhaps even torture by some definitions represented by life in prison vs execution for people who cannot be "fixed" is not actually where I situate my ABSOLUTE opposition to the death penalty.

Even for rapists.

Even for pedophiles.

Let me start with a question: what is the reactionary right's favorite accusation to hurl against its social enemies?

Pedophile.

Groomer.

Recall that poll that something like one in five of all Americans believe at some aspect of the QAnon conspiracy?

A core belief of QAnon is that there's a cabal of child abusing, child murdering occultists (and possible literal demons) instantiated at the heart of American power and predominantly on the left, but sometimes ex-right wingers that fall out of favor with the conspiratorial right like Liz Cheney get lumped in.

Now "some part" means that one in five may not agree with all aspects of the way I just characterized it, but belief in some version of it, however watered down, illustrates what I think the danger of the death penalty is. Look how readily humans are to believe in child sexual abuse allegations against people who irritate us with their baffling political and moral beliefs.

If there is an approved category of people who we are allowed to kill, then that is a category that can be weaponized against people who aren't actually guilty of that crime but fit the mental template that the accusers, prosecutors, jurists, judge, and the mob have for that category.

Pedophilia is real.

It is dangerous and sick. But the death penalty opens it up to being used as loosely and maliciously as "super predator" was. Think about how often you've encountered the story of a person about to be executed despite calls from even former prosecutors in some instances admitting that they got it wrong, the evidence was contaminated, new evidence has been discovered etc. etc. and that person is often executed anyway.

Remember when Elon Musk called a man trying to save children trapped in cave a "pedo guy?" Not only did this thin skinned CEO get big mad because someone correctly pointed out that his own Rube Goldberg scheme failed to achieve anything, Elon won the defamation suit that Vernon Unsworth brought against him. Now Elon seems to be a quasi "shadow president" whom Congressional Republicans are more afraid of than Trump himself since Elon has pledged to wield his fortune as a weapon to fuel primary challenges against anyone who crosses him. Now look, Elon's relationship with Trump and with the GOP may be doomed. There are heads of lettuce that outlasted formal and informal counselors to the President in Trump's first term.

But the point is that a man who wields the term pedo frivolously is adjacent to the highest law enforcement office in the country.

The death penalty is a leopard.

You cannot tame it.

There may be people in this world who deserve to have their face bit. Maybe you feel very confident in your ability to discern who should have their face bit.

But you cannot ever be certain that it will not solely bite the face of the people you think deserve it.

If you allow it to eat faces, it will eat your face.

Its only a matter of time.

The only way to be sure it won't is to not keep leopards as pets.

Abolish the death penalty.

[sciencestyled]

A Stake in the Code: Van Helsing's Wild Foray into Bioinformatics

Let me tell you, dear students, about the day I discovered that monsters don’t always lurk in dark castles or foggy graveyards. Sometimes, the most sinister creatures hide in something far more diabolical—data. Yes, you heard me right. While you imagine your brave professor charging through the night, crucifix in one hand, holy water in the other, you must now picture me hunched over a glowing screen, battling spreadsheets and strings of code. How did it come to this, you ask? Well, sit tight, for this tale involves an unfortunate encounter with a conference on modern science, an espresso machine with a grudge, and, of course, Dracula.

It all began when I was invited—lured, more like—to a prestigious science symposium. A splendid opportunity to expose these modern "men of logic" to the perils of the undead, I thought. Instead, I was met with a barrage of jargon, acronyms, and more slides of molecular models than I’d care to recount. I made it through the first day, my senses numbed by an endless stream of buzzwords—"genomics," "data analysis," and, shudderingly, "algorithms." Oh, the horror! I was sure that even a vampire bat would be driven to stake itself in frustration.

However, my despair peaked during a presentation by a rather excitable researcher on a topic called "bioinformatics." Now, I had no idea what kind of nefarious creature this was, but the term "bio" immediately set off my vampire-hunting instincts. Perhaps this was some new breed of blood-sucking pestilence? The researcher, with the fervor of a man possessed, prattled on about deciphering genomes, comparing them to vast tomes of knowledge that could predict diseases, track mutations—essentially, the modern-day grimoire of disease.

I tried to stay awake by guzzling coffee—until the machine itself turned on me. One ill-timed splutter, and I was doused in scorching liquid. As I wiped the caffeine from my waistcoat, it hit me: bioinformatics was a science of tracking. Not just tracking disease, but tracking the malformations of life itself. It was a code, a pattern, a series of markers… much like the bite marks of our nocturnal enemies! If bioinformatics could trace illness, then surely it could predict vampirism—or at least explain why Dracula’s hair had the consistency of damp hay.

My interest piqued, I cornered the researcher after his talk. Through a series of incomprehensible diagrams, I learned that bioinformatics involved massive troves of genetic data, all neatly catalogued and ready to be mined for clues about humanity’s most terrifying afflictions. This was no mere science. This was a battlefield. And as we all know, I have never met a battlefield I didn’t like.

I had found a new crusade. In bioinformatics, I saw the potential to eradicate vampiric curses at their source—by identifying genetic markers long before the first fang ever punctures a jugular. Picture it: no more garlic garlands or holy water showers! Imagine a world where we can pinpoint who is destined to become a creature of the night with a simple blood test. No more guessing whether your charming neighbor is just a night owl or plotting your demise.

Of course, there were skeptics. My students, bless their skeptical hearts, scoffed. "But Professor," they cried, "surely science can’t predict something as mystical as vampirism?" To which I replied, "If it can decode the human genome, it can decode Dracula!" Armed with this newfound knowledge, I plunged headlong into the arcane realms of bioinformatics. Genomes, sequences, databases—they became my prey, and like any great hunter, I stalked them with unyielding determination.

Thus, I resolved to pen my insights. Not just for posterity, but as a rallying cry. For if we can battle genetic ghouls with modern science, perhaps we can rid the world of vampiric plagues once and for all. And so, dear students, I present to you my findings—my digital stake in the dark heart of bioinformatics. Let us see where this madness leads...

[dontcallpanic]

So, I'm doing adulty things like contacting banks and sorting taxes and creating work contracts and throughout it all I am haunted by the idea that whoever linked all this terrifying admin with demons knew exactly what they were doing.

You want to access this money/power - well you're going to need all these arcane texts (identification documents). You need to present them in the exact right order and if you get them out of order then poof the demon (admin person) vanishes. If you get through that stage you need to say the magic word (provide passwords) and again if you submit any one of the numbers/letters out of order then the whole thing goes up in smoke... or alternatively the wrath of the demon is unleashed and you loose access to your (money) power. Obviously, IF you get everything submitted in the right order with the right magic words then you are allowed access (but at what cost!).

And then there's contracts. You have this really long, jargon heavy (occasionally latin) document that definitely gives rise to the expression 'the devil is in the details.' On the face of it, it's just a bunch of symbols and paper but if you sign your name to it (and names have power), because we all believe in it and build our entire society on this stuff, it takes on this imense power. So we get that whole be careful what you sign your name to warning. And it may have tricky little clauses that trip you up or are designed to entrap you (very fae). Also if you happen to break this contract really, really terrible things are going to happen and people are going to hold you VERY accountable for ALL your actions and there's a chance you might loose everything you worked hard for. If that's not a demonic contract/ deal with the fae, I don't know what is!

And Taxes are similar in that you need all these symbols (numbers) written down in the right order, in the right place and if you get one symbol out of place, the demon (HMRC) is going to rain fire and brimstone down on your soul (fine you heavily). Of course, if you refuse to even engage with the demon (HMRC) said demon will hunt you down and still rain fire and brimstone down on your soul. - There's definitely something to be said about not giving your name to demonic creatures in the first place because that's absolutely how they find you! So then there's something here about trading your name for power (access to money and things we need to live?).

Does this make accountants, demonologists? I hope so.

And in future should I have to write an encounter with a terrifying demon I am definitely going to imagine the kind of terror and stress that my tax return inspires!

Yes... I am going insane with all this bureaucracy and yes, imagining I am making an arcane deal with a demon and/or the fae is making me feel better about it!

[feyosha]

Relevant Spell List:

Embiggen: for when you only want to make part of someone bigger

Healing Word: just in case you overdo your Embiggen

Disable Semen: stay safe y’all

Cure Disease: see above

Hitachi’s Sphere of Power: conjures an invisible sphere of powerfully vibrating force. Adjustable.

Animate Rope: the classic

Animate Tongue: don’t know what you’re doing? This spell does!

Invert Genitalia: bottom surgery at sorcery speed

Lesser Telempathy: now you can let your partner know what you want while your mouth is busy!

Greater Telempathy: what feels good for you feels good for me too!

Amazon’s Clapback: turn a booty clap into a 15-foot cone of percussive force damage. 4d6 no save, lost dex roll falls prone

Crimew’s Polymorph: transform into a tCatHackerGirl

Sullivan’s Polymorph: transform into a large hairy beast with long powerful arms and a huge unit

Guillermo’s Greater Polymorph: allows the caster to modify any number of elements of their appearance in monsterfuckery ways such as but not limited to: eyes like black pools, long nimble elegant inhuman fingers, decoratively sharp teeth, decorative fins, tails, etc.

Johnsonville Slugger: transform your shlong into a shilleligh. 1d8 bludgeoning 2 handed

Ghost Hand: an extra hand. It’s handy.

Summon Tits: make your breasts arbitrarily large

Banish Tits: make your breasts arbitrarily small

my horny ass could NOT be a wizard

[luxe-pauvre]

Democracy, Rosenfeld explains, requires a fine-tuned relationship between expertise and scepticism. Experts use methods, jargon, journals, conferences and so forth to acquire knowledge. But researchers express scepticism about each other’s work in peer review, and the public raises doubts about what experts are up to. ‘Pluralism,’ she argues, ‘along with a dose of scepticism inherited from the ancients, has, in theory, been a key characteristic of modern experiments with popular rule from the start.’ The problem today, according to Rosenfeld, is that expertise and scepticism are out of balance. Postmodernists writing arcane books do not help matters, though they are not the main culprit. Populist leaders share stories that they and just about everybody else know are false. People live in social media bubbles, and outlets cater to this development by publishing sensationalist stories. Like Jonathan Rauch in The Constitution of Knowledge (2021), Rosenfeld does not want experts to impose their dogmas on the public. Rauch and Rosenfeld envision a contentious public sphere in which experts and laypeople debate ideas and proposals. That said, they worry about the rise of ‘post-truth’ politics dominated by tribalism rather than a commitment to seek the truth. They both share a Platonic sense that the wise should have the final say about what stories may circulate in society.

Nicholas Tampio, Scepticism as a way of life

[rhetoricandlogic]

Mirror, Mirror in the Ward

Ava Reid

Tue Sep 12, 2023 10:00am

There are few things more elementally fairy tale than mirrors. From classic fairy tales Grimm’s “Snow White” and Andersen’s “The Snow Queen” to ancient myths like Narcissus, there is an intrinsically magical quality to mirrors.

Yet they are almost overwhelmingly sinister objects: In “Snow White,” the evil queen is moved to a black, murderous rage by the words of her magic mirror. In “The Snow Queen,” shards of mirror-glass blind Kai and infect his heart with hate. And vain Narcissus is so enraptured by his own reflection that he wastes away on a riverbank, unable to tear his gaze from the face of the handsome youth in the water.

Modern and contemporary fantasy gives us mirror-as-portal: from Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass to Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. But these mirrors are hardly less malevolent. Alice’s mirror transports her to a psychedelic world where she is bedeviled by sentient chess pieces and talking animals. In Jonathan Strange, stepping through a mirror lands you in an ancient labyrinth of roads and bridges, suffused with arcane and baneful magic.

So, perhaps mirrors are simply vexing as much as they are sinister—at best, chaotic neutral.

[Content warning for discussion of mental illness, disordered eating, and suicide.]

Beyond the realm of fantasy, feminist discourse frequently paints mirrors as symbols of women’s oppression, extensions of the male gaze, or representations of shallow, image-obsessed beauty culture. “Mirrors are crafty,” Margaret Atwood writes—in this poem, the speaker is a woman trapped within a mirror, reflecting only the vain desires of her male lover. There is something undeniably poignant about this metaphor, which is why it is deployed so frequently across various pieces of media, and why it resonates so deeply with so many women.

And I count myself among those women—sort of. For years, while I navigated the hellish landscape of eating disorders, the mirror was a totem that I carried with me at all times. Capricious and cursed, it guided me, for better or for worse. It made up the order of my world. Most anorexics will echo this sentiment: we are both in love with and terrified of mirrors; obsessed but also repulsed.

Obsessed: because we believe the mirror is the ultimate arbiter of truth. Repulsed: because we believe the truth is that we are disgusting, unlovable monsters. A powerful totem indeed, imbued with some mystic knowledge that the rest of the world can’t be trusted to bestow.

The idea of mirror as arbiter of ultimate truth is one that I clung to quite fiercely—to my own detriment, but also, strangely, for my own salvation. My eating disorder grew ever-more consuming, unfolding long black tendrils in my brain. Reality began to hold itself at a distance. Shadows blurred the corners of my vision.

I had no word for it at the time, this slow but inexorable slipping. It would not be until years later that I was gifted the medical jargon to explain what was occurring. These false beliefs that hardened like diamonds in my mind were delusions; the wispy strains of darkness that disappeared at an eyeblink were hallucinations, all of this comprising a grim label: psychosis.

A month-long stint at an eating disorder treatment center passed over me like water. It did nothing to dispel the visions or voices.

Over the course of my first year in college, my mental health deteriorated quickly and drastically. There were the ordinary growing pains associated with leaving home for the first time, mingled with my own fundamental sense of unworthiness. This was exacerbated, of course, by the fact that I felt my admittance to an elite university was a fluke. I was a fraud, an idiot, and I was floundering.

The common wisdom is that mentally ill people isolate themselves because there is so much social stigma and shame surrounding mental illness. That is certainly true, and plays a large role in my own isolation as well. But I offer another explanation, which is harder to articulate, and more insidious. If you have spent the large majority of your life with a severe mental illness, you have had little time for anything more than brusque, grueling survival.

For example, the basic acts of eating and sleeping seemed to me, an anorexic insomniac, like exotic habits. I was intellectually aware that I needed food and rest in order to thrive, but I had no way of applying that vague platitude to my daily life. How one went about establishing close friendships was also a mystery. Once a conversation shifted beyond casual talk of classes and tv shows, I fell silent. What would I talk about? The month I spent tearfully sipping Ensure at an eating disorder treatment center? The shadows that flickered across my vision and the hateful voices that curled in the shell of my ear?

The cruelest trick of mental illness is the way it subtly removes you from your personhood. You become obscure to yourself. You grow to hold the world at a distance, and it does not even feel intentional. It seems only natural, because fear has built a cage around you and convinced you it is a fortress. It is not so much that you are afraid of judgment, afraid of being seen as sick and strange. You are afraid that, deep down, you are empty, save for this black chasm of terror. You are not a teenager, not a college student, not a friend, a lover, a sister, a daughter—you are the most adept escape artist.

And once you have been convinced of your own emptiness, the pain you inflict upon yourself becomes not only righteous, but necessary. Mental illness is illogical to the well-ordered mind, but to its sufferers, it has an irrepressible internal logic. And the logical conclusion of the belief that I was intrinsically worthless was to simply remove myself from the world.

The pain was there, of course. The scraping of an empty stomach, the icy pall of loneliness, and the electric jabs of fear, should never be discounted. But my first suicide attempt was engendered more by lack of feeling than by glut of it. This apathy did not break down until the electronic doors of the psych ward locked with grim finality behind me.

At eighteen, I was just a few months too old for the children’s unit, and by far the youngest person in the adult ward. The person on the unit closest to my age was a blonde, beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. She worked a prestigious corporate job that kept her glued to the pay phones in the day room, feeding them quarter after quarter so she could dial into meetings.

I never saw her cry or protest. She hardly seemed to acknowledge her surroundings; it was as if she were going through the motions of her ordinary life, oblivious to the windowless walls, the other patients’ hysterical outbursts, the squeak of our sure-grip hospital socks on the linoleum floor. To the aides, tapping her on the shoulder so they could administer her twice-daily medication in paper Dixie cups. She covered the receiver with one hand, took the cup with the other, and dry-swallowed her pills in a single gulp. In truth, it did not occur to me that this behavior was pathological. I was in awe of her competence, her normalcy. I found it difficult to imagine how she had ended up in the psych ward at all.

I was not so nonchalant about my imprisonment. Lying on the examination table, as my slashed wrist was scrutinized, a nurse in yellow Minions scrubs thrust a clipboard in front of my face. She told me I had to sign myself into the psych ward.

“What?” I asked in alarm. “I don’t want to.”

With no shift in her expression, she said, “If you don’t, we’ll send you to a state institution. You don’t want to go there. Trust me.”

I was too naïve, and too dizzy with the shuddering aftershocks of the pills I’d swallowed, to judge whether this threat was credible. So I signed myself in.

Within an hour of all my belongings being snatched from me, my sweatpants and their hazardous drawstrings being removed and thrown away, and being thrust behind the impenetrable, electronically locked doors, I was sitting on my glorified cot and sobbing hysterically.

When the attending psychiatrist, a white-haired man in a white coat, made his rounds on the first day, I was still sobbing in my bed. I begged for him to let me go. He looked down at me coldly and said, “This is why you’re in here. You can’t control yourself.” Then he left.

I remember my time in the psych ward more as individual moments rather than as a coherent narrative—thanks in part, I’m sure, to the mysterious cocktail of medication I was put on, which was different from my usual regimen. To this day I do not know what those pills were. I asked but was never told. Refusal of medication was not an option, and was punishable by a stint in the isolation room.

I ended up in the isolation room anyway, because I could not sleep. For three straight days and nights. I’ve always been an insomniac to some degree (a symptom of, among other things, bipolar mania), but in the psych ward it was more extreme than it had ever been. The staff, however, took it as a refusal to sleep, so I was put in the seclusion room. A bare chamber, about eight feet by eight feet, with no windows and blank white walls, and a crusty carpet which reeked of urine and dried sweat. In the center, a narrow bed, and me inside it, both sleepless and dreamless.

For three days I also did not eat. Strangely enough, my eating was not monitored or enforced, despite the staff ostensibly knowing my history of anorexia. My weight dropped by ten pounds during my time in the ward.

What did I do, then? Curiously, one thing that the psych ward does not offer is therapy. Aside from the daily rounds by the attending psychologist and the barrage of medications, I did not receive any other treatment during my stay. Most patients’ days were spent in the main room, watching a rotating collection of DVDs, the same dozen or so recycled over and over again. Cell phones were banned; laptops were banned; as was anything else that could connect patients to the outside world. But books were allowed. So I read.

Both to compensate for the fact that I felt like a complete idiot and a failure, and to try and maintain some semblance of who I’d been before, I read philosophy and poetry. Nietzsche and Sylvia Plath. But, mostly, I read Shakespeare. The Tempest was my favorite. Miranda, isolated on an island with only her all-powerful wizard father and his army of sprites and monsters. Naïve but desperately curious, lonely yet so easily moved to passion.

Slowly, I also started to talk to some of the other patients, mostly the beautiful blonde woman who took incessant business calls. She, too, had been hospitalized against her will after a suicide attempt. Surreptitiously I looked for scars on her wrists, wondering if I would find cuts there that mirrored my own. We would spend whole afternoons talking, and sometimes even laugh.

“You’re so pretty and so smart,” she told me. “You’re going to be okay.”

With the rational wisdom of hindsight, I can see how pathological this comment was, too. Yet in the warped reality of the psych ward, in the perverse mind of a not-quite-recovered anorexic, it brought me a flicker of joy. Here was someone else, I thought, who saw the truth of the world the way I did. Who saw that physical beauty was essential to one’s humanity.

My emotions were still warped and blunted by the unknown array of medication, but I came, in a strange way, to love her. When she was discharged, I cried.

Yet the strangest thing of all was this: despite everything, my experience in the psych ward did not isolate me. Until then, mental illness had been my own private torture. Doing leg-lifts in my bedroom at night. Carving scars into my skin and then covering them with my sleeves. I wrapped this isolation around myself like a cloak, warm but impenetrable.

The psych ward ripped that cloak off, leaving me cold and revealed. But being exposed also meant I was no longer alone.

There are no mirrors in a psych ward. Broken glass can too easily be fashioned into a weapon—as the fairy tales will warn you. Despite this, I still saw myself reflected back. In the woman whose wrist bore the same scars as mine. In Sylvia Plath’s “Mad Girl’s Love Song” and “Lady Lazarus.” In Shakespeare’s tale of a girl trapped among bizarre beasts, made infantile by her seemingly omnipotent captor. Miranda’s, her wizard father; mine, that Charon in a white coat.

A book is a portal, much like Alice’s mirror. But unlike a mirror, which reflects only physical reality, a book builds its own symbolic world around you. It can be the shelter of a grand castle. It can be the promise of adventure at the prow of a ship. It can be the mystery of a gloom-cloaked forest. As Ursula K. Le Guin said, a book is not ephemeral. It lasts. It is reliable. There has always been a castle, a ship, a forest. So I began to trust this world within the pages—slowly, shakily, but irrevocably.

And so, although I did not know it at the time, the foundation of my own book, A Study in Drowning, was constructed behind the locked doors and within the windowless walls of the unit.

“I refuse mirrors. I refuse them for you, and I refuse them for me.”

A Study in Drowning opens with this quote from the Fairy King, the novel’s villain and a sinister chthonic spirit who has haunted the main character, Effy, for nearly her entire life. As in Britain’s traditional fairy ballads, the Fairy King seeks out vulnerable young women, plies them with magic and the pretense of love and devotion, then kidnaps and abuses them. The first rule he impresses upon his victims is this: no mirrors. They can only know themselves through his ancient and all-powerful eyes.

Within the set-dressing of fantasy and threaded through the arc of romance, A Study in Drowning is a book about mental illness. Effy fears that her hallucinations of the Fairy King will have her deemed insane, locked in an asylum and left to rot. It is not an unreasonable fear. While straitjackets, icepick lobotomies, and padded cells are now mostly the garish fare of horror movies, the core inhumanity behind these practices remains—in the form of 5150 holds and, of course, the mirrorless cells of the psych ward.

What saves Effy is seeing herself reflected within the protagonist of her favorite book—her world’s version, say, of Miranda. What saved me is much the same. We often talk, in media reception discourse, about a book itself being a mirror, and the power in that. The power in knowing you are not on an island, adrift. The power in knowing you are not alone. The king within the castle knows its walls are strong. The sailor at the prow of the ship knows it will reach the shore. The wanderer knows the forest can be traversed. And, if you allow yourself to feel the weight of the crown, the spray of the sea, the chill of the mist, you can know it, too.

In A Study in Drowning, a mirror is a symbol of power reclaimed. In the mirror Effy sees herself, truly—not through the eyes of the men who abuse her, or the world that stigmatizes her suffering. Yes, her pain is thrown into agonizing relief. But so is her strength.

Perhaps mirrors will always be the stuff of fairy tales, objects imbued with so much byzantine magic. Its broken shards can wound. The glass can crack like ice, plunging its victims into Wonderland. Dark-tendrilled vanity can lurk at its edges, waiting to poison wayward souls.

But maybe in some stories, the girl in the mirror can rescue herself.