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thehistoriangirl · 2 years ago

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The Oblivious Game I Want to Lose (Without Losing You) [Chapter Three]

This one is short and messy, because I’m truly fighting creative block here. Stumbling out Google Docs covered in blood, nevertheless, I hope you like it :D

Viktor x Fem!(Hopeless Romantic!)Reader----1.9K----SFW

> M A S T E R L I S T <

Summary: You and Viktor have bonding time! (even if one is a little skeptic about it)

You settled across from him at the desk, a tray with two cups of two chocolate and cookies on its surface. Silence lingered heavily inside the studio as Viktor sipped his beverage and you munched a bunch of cookies.

It took you a couple of minutes to gain courage enough to say:

“I’m sorry…”, at the same time Viktor commented:

“I apologize—”

Stopping midway to the double interruptions, you automatically locked gazes, feeling your cheeks burn. If Viktor noticed, he cleared his throat and averted his eyes toward the garden.

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have behaved like a child. I’m truly sorry, Mister Viktor. You’re just doing your job.”

Viktor lowered his gaze, brows slightly pinched together.

“Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have judged you like I did, Miss. I’m your tutor and I didn’t act like a professional. I’m sure you have your… eh, your reasons.” He efforted not to look toward the shelf at his back, but you did.

Rather than get angry for him to looking at your things without permission, you chuckled. "I do, yes. But they aren't less childish." You signaled at the photos slightly crooked in their positions for when Viktor scanned them moments ago. "Perhaps my father is right and I should stop dreaming like if I were still the kid in those photos. But… it’s difficult, I guess. I wanted to be like my mother—she achieved so much, coming from the Undercity into Piltover. But ever since her death, my father has been doing everything in his power to make me a useful heir.”

He squinted his eyes, resting his elbows over the desk. "I don't mean to pry, but I think you can achieve your goal and fulfill your duties all the same.”

“My goal?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “How do you…”

It was Viktor’s turn for his face to get all red. “I—eh, I worked for the Music Faculty as a technician assistant in the auditorium. I oversaw the auditions for a couple of years.”

You grunted, hiding your face between your hands. "Well, that makes this situation much more embarrassing."

Viktor smiled softly, even if you couldn’t see him.

“If it makes you feel better, I think I can help your situation. If you let me, of course.”

"Why would you want to help me?" you said, and Viktor knew it was a good question. He asked himself the same thing, but could never grasp a logical, concrete answer. It was a strange sensation localized deep within his being, warm and liquid as the hot chocolate that traveled down his throat to cover his stomach. The way sun illuminated the room with soft hues of gold contrasting in your lashes and down your curious eyes.

"I… I don't know." He shrugged. "I suppose I want to help people from the Undercity, too. Alas…" Viktor shook his head, a sad smile expanding on his lips while looking directly, intently. "I can't do it at the moment. I can only help you.”

“So you’re saying, I’m your testing experiment.” You chuckled, an airy sound Viktor found… interesting, for sure. “I don’t mind. I judge you’re smart if my father considers you for tutoring me.”

Viktor blinked, feeling the tips of his ears getting warm. “Then, do you trust me?”

“Sure. I wouldn’t have answered when you knocked on my door if I didn’t.”

He nodded. “Good. Thank you for the vote of confidence. Hear me out first, the beginning of my idea may not be that appealing to you, but I promise you it can work if you wish so.”

You frowned. “Alright…”

"The main issue here is one that plagues many people here, especially creators of any kind. You want the liberty to make whatever you desire with your life. However, your patron—your father—wants you to do another thing. First, you have to follow his demands, and with time, Mr. Ventos would just let you be. Because you’ll know what you must do, which I assume is engross the capital of the Ventos’ business.” Viktor tapped the plates of cookies, now almost empty. “But with time you learn, you wait for a suitable opportunity. You’re Mr. Ventos' sole heir. You can have many opportunities like those if you wait for enough to make a name for yourself and wield that power."

You were looking at him with widened eyes, fingers froze in the handle of your cup.

“Why do I think you’re saying this from experience?”

“You know, I don’t want to be Heimerdinger’s assistant all my life.” He said, and then, just like an afterthought. “Miss.”

You smiled, saying your name between a drink of your now cold chocolate. “I believe if we’re going to follow your plan, you should refer to me by my first name.”

He wasn’t expecting that.

“Then, do I assume I’m still your tutor?”

"Only if you can handle me." You put three cookies inside your mouth, only because if you'd had your lips unoccupied, maybe you'll say another stupid thing.

Viktor blinked. “I think I can. Only if you promise don’t doodle me without telling me again." He put out your notes from his bag, and you lowered your head, just a little to look at him from behind your lashes. "Besides, I don't have a nose that big."

You laughed wholly this time, taking the notes and quickly tucked them into your lap.

“You do, but you’re still handsome,” you said, and then quickly added: “You’re saying that if I graduate from the Academy, my father will let me alone?”

"No. You said he wants you to be a useful heir, right? You'd probably have to work a little bit inside your family business."

You groaned, but Viktor gestured while he finished his sentence. “Especially because, if I recall correctly, your father will rather marry you off rather than let you disobey his wishes. Am I wrong?”

“No, you aren’t.” Your voice was a thin thread Viktor had to lean closer to listen. “I hate this so much—” you started, cut in the middle of your rant. “And I hate being so whiny. I’m sorry, Viktor. I know I’m annoying you.”

“You wouldn’t annoy me if we continue our lesson.” Viktor signaled the incomplete equation, a small smile playing while he gave you a pencil, fingers almost brushing. “Mmmh?”

“Alright.” You finished your drink, pushing the plate with the last cookie toward him. “Have it, please, it’s yours. For your help.”

He shyly took it, muttering a "thank you", before his speech returned to formal, voice firm and clear as Viktor explained what you were supposed to do. This time, Viktor would tap your notes or call your name every time you got distracted, even taking little breaks between long explanations and difficult problems.

In those breaks, you talked about your personal life.

“Why did you decide on being my tutor, Viktor? I’ve heard even if the money is tempting, many quit.”

“I wonder why would it be,” he said mockingly. You pretended to glare at him, but you were laughing too much for it to be considered credible. “Your Father told me something that implied that you were from the Undercity… like me. Though I didn’t know your mother was from the Undercity. She married into a very important family.”

You scoffed. “I hope she didn’t. I believe she would’ve preferred not to, in the end.”

“But then you wouldn’t have been born—” Viktor started, but your sour chortle interrupted him.

“It doesn’t matter,” you reassured him with a tense smile that didn’t reach up to your eyes getting shinier with trapped tears. And Viktor silently hoped you didn't start to cry because he wouldn't know what to do. “She would be still alive, too,” you muttered, lips barely open which made the words unintelligible for him to hear correctly.

Viktor tried to reach up but wasn't sure if touching you was the correct thing to do. So he poured you half a cup of hot chocolate from the little kettle, shaky fingers as he put the little porcelain thing over your notes for you to notice.

“Still, I’m happy to be here,” you added, seeing the looming mood that was starting to conquer Viktor’s eyes. “I met you, at least.”

He didn’t know what to say, feeling once again his face warming up.

You fidget with your fingers, nails clicking around the cup’s ring as you locked your gaze on the desk. “Can we… be friends, Viktor?”

He blinked, feeling his heartbeat raise with no logical cause. It wasn’t that important, Viktor tried to convince himself. Of course, you’d be the first person that openly asked about forming a friendship with him. Nothing too relevant. Why would anyone be interested anyway? He was always hidden in the library, scribbling away, or inside Heimerdinger’s office filing out paperwork.

But a change would be good. And it would be awkward for your tutoring sessions if Viktor refused—surely it was a trick on your end too, so he couldn’t back up from helping you.

An intelligent move indeed.

Viktor extended one hand toward you, smiling politely as he did it toward other merchant families and even some other members of the Academy faculties. “It will be my pleasure.”

Your hand touched his not without caution. His fingers were slim and long, palm slightly cold. He pressed your palm into his, a gentle touch that shouldn’t have lasted as much as it did.

The door at the entrance of the studio opened just enough for a maid’s voice to filter through the wood.

“Young Mistress, you’re expected in the garden to have dinner in an hour.”

Viktor quickly broke the contact, sweat prickling the nape of his neck as he felt the tip of his ears burn with shame—though he wasn’t doing anything inappropriate.

You smiled apologetically, and Viktor consulted his watch. It was indeed half an hour past his scheduled session.

“I’ll see you in two days, Viktor!” you beamed, jumping to your feet when the maid closed the door as fast as she appeared. "Be careful on the way home! You can grab an umbrella on your way out—I don't it's going to rain, but oh I wish so.”

He chuckled as you entered the same lateral door Viktor knocked on hours before. A maid quickly surrounded you with a dress, slamming the door when she discovered Viktor was peeking inside.

All he could see was half a shelf covered in books, plushies adorning a white couch, and a fluffy blue carpet adorning the entirety of the floor. It seemed even your bedroom was light blue and white.

Your notes were covered in cookie crumbs when he was piling them in order, looking with an almost unnoticeable smile at the last cookie you left on the plate for him. It tasted like nuts, filled with mousse that smelled like vanilla. It was shaped like a little flower.

From all your notes, he only took back home the one where you had doodled him. Like a silly souvenir, Viktor repeated in his mind on a loop as he walked back home. A silly souvenir of his first friendship.

Even if it wasn’t a genuine one.

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sanguine-salvation · 10 months ago

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What My Muse Smells Like

Viktor Smells Like:

Leather from their clothes

Paprika when they cook

Chocolate when they get sweets

Books from their shelves, new and old and slightly dusty

Bread they've stolen from their favorite bakery

Cement and brick and the rest of the city, especially when its wet from rain or snow

Dirt and grass, when they hide in the woods

Blood, sometimes old and faint, sometimes thick and fresh

Coffee sweetened with honey

The bottle perfume they lifted from "someone who doesn't need it", it smells like bergamot, lavender, and cedar

Cat treats that they give the alley cats they hang out with

Seawater and iron when they've stood on Sprang Bridge for too long

Brandy from the Nest's bar

Tagged by || @xxlordalexanderxx (thank you! :D) Tagging || Whoever wants to do it, tag me back so I can see!

#pass it on || dash games #eyes in the dark || headcanons

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blackcurlsgreeneyes · 1 year ago

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"Fair enough," Harry said with a half-smile. "I'm hardly a beacon of familial connection, myself." It fascinated him, how Taylor seemed to both be transparent and completely reserved when she spoke. He was extremely curious about her background, what made her tick, but he also did not want to risk alienating her with too much attention.

He chuckled a bit. "It seems like everything goes wrong one way or another, every year," Harry said truthfully. "A professor possessed by Voldemort, a fifty-year-old nightmare happening again because of a cursed diary, my godfather is revealed not to be a mass murderer, and I wind up an absolute anomaly in the Triwizard Tournament. With extra death on top."

Harry had known she would likely turn down the offer, so he just smiled. "Just know the invite's there," he said firmly. "It's more fun having friends around on a holiday, I've learned since meeting the Weasleys. They're basically my family."

(~)

Harry had been dreaming something very silly, at first. Taylor and Cho were discussing Chocolate Frog collector cards, and Hermione was dancing with Viktor Krum while Ron was helping Dobby re-hang Christmas baubles, though these ones were shaped like the elf's face rather than Harry's...

The dream changed. Harry's body felt smooth, powerful, and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone....flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly. It was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colors. He turned his head.... At first glance, the corridor was empty...but no...

A man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping onto his chest in sleep. Harry put out his tongue, finding that he could taste the man’s scent on the air. Harry longed to bite the man...but he must master the impulse. He had more important work to do.

The man stirred, a silvery cloak falling from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt. Harry had no choice. He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man’s flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood.

The man was yelling in pain, but gradually he fell silent. He slumped backward against the wall, blood splattering onto the floor.... Harry's forehead hurt terribly....

“Harry!” He opened his eyes. Every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat; his bedcovers were twisted all around him like a straitjacket, and Harry felt as though a white-hot poker was being applied to his forehead. Ron was standing over him, their dormmates gathered around, looking ashen. "Neville's gone for Professor McGonagall, just hold on...."

It took some time, absolute chaos, and Harry's desperation rising by the minute when Ron initially dismissed his panicked words as dreaming. But to his relief, McGonagall was not as unsure as his best friend; as soon as Harry told her what he'd seen, her lips settled in a thin line. “I believe you, Potter,” she said curtly. “Put on your shoes and a jumper, we’re going to see the headmaster. You as well, Weasley.”

Forty minutes later, Harry was seated in Dumbledore's office. The Weasley kids had all been collected from their varying year dorms, and Harry had choked out the summary of what he had seen. To his shock, Dumbledore had responded by calmly instructing two of the hundreds of portraits, Everard and Dilys, to go and raise the alarm for "the right people," as well as sending another--a Black, apparently, on another task.

It did not take long for them to return, affirming that Arthur Weasley had been found, and he was being rushed to St. Mungo's.

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor. “It is Fawkes’s warning,” Dumbledore noted, catching the feather as it fell. “She must know you’re out of your beds. Minerva, go and head her off —tell her any story—” She nodded and left, and he focused on the teenagers. "You lot will take a Portkey to Grimmauld Place, now. You are officially on Christmas hols."

(~)

They didn't even get to get their things, mostly because they needed to dodge Umbridge's interference. Sirius welcomed them in his dressing gown, and Molly sent word before dawn that Arthur was alive, and could take visitors the next day.

It was risky, but Harry felt guilty for the sudden departure, and he desperately wished to make sure that Taylor knew why they'd vanished. So he went ahead and sent an owl--Hedwig was very disgruntled when he declined using her, as she was recognizable--with a note to say that if she changed her mind about Christmas itself, he'd ask the adults in a heartbeat to arrange a Floo for her.

#fidelixcorde #Harry x Taylor #RP: Being the Wallflower

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naturenocturne · 5 years ago

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Noctem Task #1 - Call Me In the Afternoon || Viktor Valentina Playlist

Stay With Me - Sam Smith // All These Things That I’ve Done - The Killers // Family - Mother Mother // Call Me In The Afternoon - Half Moon Run // Hey There Delilah - Plain White T’s // Somewhere Only We Know - Keane // On Melancholy Hill - Gorillaz // FourFiveSeconds - Rihanna, Kanye West and Paul McCartney // I And Love And You - The Avett Brothers // Dark Child - Marlon Williams

#blood and chocolate: viktor #blood and chocolate: musings #nhqtask1

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thedreamlessnights · 2 years ago

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Not an end, but the start of all things

{chapter one} - {chapter two} - {chapter three} - {chapter four} - {chapter five} - {chapter six} - {chapter seven} - {chapter eight} - {chapter nine} - {chapter ten}

Vampire!Viktor x F!Reader AU (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: Spring arrives, and her gentle roots bring rebirth - in all sorts of ways.

Warnings: Mentions of blood retrieval through finger pricking, general NSFW content, oral (male and female receiving), P in V sex, fingering, edging, slight overstimulation, pulling out, intimacy and tenderness...

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Here we go, friends! One more chapter left, a total of ten! I wrote this while I had COVID - comments are very, very appreciated if you'd like to leave them ♥

Spring comes in sweetly this year. Delicate warmth floods the sky, citrine light heals. The frost melts, the sun comes out, and you find yourself in the garden more than not, soaking up the sweetness of the light.

Viktor mostly reads in the mornings - after kissing you, of course - later venturing out into the sunshine to plant new seeds, nurturing them up with gentle hands and even softer words as you accompany him. New seedlings sprout into green leaves. Signs of winter fade.

Nox grows and grows, so much faster than you could have imagined, and spends his days lounging on windowsills, soaking up the sunlight.

Then comes the rain.

The first time it falls, it soaks you to the bone. You’re too shocked to move for cover; not for a good moment. And when you and Viktor both scatter indoors, laughing, you realize that this is how you heal. Not just your body or your mind, but your soul.

A gentle haziness that soaks deep into your core. Spending breakfasts over tea, noting how long Viktor’s hair is getting, and hugging your arms around yourself. Being grateful, mostly. Feeling free at last.

It takes you two weeks to realize that Viktor isn’t eating - at least, not human food. When you sit him down, he sheepishly confesses that he’s been nervous to finally taste things, so the two of you take a trip to the market, arm in arm.

With the winter gone, the market is bustling more than ever. Pastel greens and yellows and blues stream at the top of tents, signaling in the season. The aroma of fresh bread and pastries floats through the air, accompanied by floral notes of flowers blooming and the sweetness of warm grass and dirt.

Instead of building snowmen, the children make potions of dirt and rocks and sand, basking in the warmth of the sun as they play. You watch a child that must be Jayce’s son - he looks almost identical to him, only much smaller. He’s energetic, naturally, but he also has a kindness with the other children that must have come from Jayce.

Jayce must be around here somewhere, too, but you leave it be. Today is for you and Viktor, and you want to leave it that way.

Viktor, who’s been quiet as you’ve taken in the market. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are fixed on you. Of course they are. He offers you a small smile as you lean into him, pulling him closer to you.

“Are you ready?” you ask him. “Where do you want to start?”

“I’m ready,” he confirms. “And, eh, anywhere. You’re the one who’s tasted all of these - you tell me.”

Naturally, you head straight for the chocolate, if only to watch the way his smile softly grows wider.

He watches you with bright eyes as you flit from stand to stand - and despite the way he assures you it’s fine, it still leaves a pit in your stomach, using his money.

You can’t help wondering if they’d let you open a stall here. You can sew, if nothing else. Mostly, you just want to be useful. That all can be saved for later, though.

You spend your time picking out an assortment of things for him - candy, of course, but also lemons, scattered greenery, fresh bread and butter, and a few key ingredients of your favorite dishes.

When you end up with a basket full of food, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“This will all taste good, yes?” he asks, fiddling with his cane. You immediately feel a little guilty about the lemons.

“Hopefully,” you tell him, flashing an innocent grin. “But, while we’re here, I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Viktor doesn’t exactly look fooled by your smile, but he takes the bait anyway.

“Yes?”

His hair is a warm chestnut brown in the sun, soft and glistening in the light. Gingerly, you take a strand of it between your fingers, then tuck it behind his ear.

“Are any werewolf barbers in season?”

You wouldn’t ask - even jokingly - if it wasn’t so clear that the length of his hair annoys him. He’s spent the last three weeks frustratedly shoving it away from his eyes, trying desperately to tuck it behind his ears. In fact, you’re almost surprised that he hasn’t taken scissors to it in a fit of impulsivity, but it won’t be long now, and you don’t want to risk it anymore.

For a moment, Viktor looks caught between wanting to roll his eyes or giving a laugh at your remark. Instead, he sighs, taking your hand.

“No,” he says. “I cut my own hair.”

Terror flashes through you at the thought of that.

“Let me cut it,” you nearly beg him. “I’ve cut hair before - I’ll do a good job. I promise.”

His eyes narrow for a moment, his grip tightening just the tiniest bit before he gives your hand a gentle squeeze and rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Alright,” he says, albeit warily. “Just don’t… make me look ridiculous.”

“I promise,” you repeat. “And if you look awful, you can chop up my hair and make me look hideous.”

That earns a small smile from him, despite the way he tries to hide it.

“Nonsense,” he says, pulling your arm into his, starting back home. “I would make your hair look nice.”

─────────────────────────────

Two hours later, the aroma of cooking food has your stomach growling. You can’t even imagine how Viktor feels. If anything, he seems nervous, his good leg bouncing when he’s sitting, his fingers twiddling when he’s standing.

You do notice that he hovers behind you, helping with the preparation, eyes fixed on you as you sample things for taste. You want everything to be the best that it can be, of course, but you do feel bad trying things without him.

Even so, he won’t take anything when you offer it to him - not before all the food is done. He’s adamant about that. And with all this food, you’re not exactly sure what to have him try first. Granted, there will be years and years of this - sampling all the different dishes that you could think of - but… you want it to be good for him. You really, really do.

Which is why, after some careful consideration, you end up giving him hot chocolate before anything else. Rich, creamy, sweet. Warm, but not hot enough to burn.

He smiles when you push it toward him, as if he’d expected it.

“Of course,” he says softly. “With the way you looked at that chocolate, I should have known.”

Without another word, he fixes his hands around the mug, eyes bright as he presses it to his lips.

He startles a little when it meets his tongue, brows creasing, which makes you quite anxious - had it been too hot? Then he takes a full swallow, throat bobbing as the liquid goes down.

The drink leaves a little residue on his top lip, which he licks off as he sets the mug down, rapping his fingers on the table as he thinks about it. Then he presses a hand to his chest, presumably feeling the warmth of it run through him.

You think of that day after the market, the two of you chatting with each other as the hot chocolate was prepared. The fact that he’d bought it for you without you even having to ask. The longing in his eyes as he watched you drink.

“I like it,” Viktor says, picking up the mug again. He downs the rest of it in two swallows and nods again, a grin fixing on his lips. “It’s - it makes me feel… warm.”

“One of its best qualities,” you say, instantly relieved, taking the empty mug from him. “A perfect winter drink, but almost as good any other time of the year.”

Next, you serve him warm bread with butter, which he insists you eat with him. You’re happy to oblige - the smell of it has been making your stomach growl.

This one, you can tell he likes immediately. After his first bite, he smiles, observing it in his hands before he takes another bite.

“Very good,” he says approvingly.

When you take a little more bread and butter and smear it with honey, his curiosity clearly piques - and he likes that even more than just the plain bread and butter. In fact, it turns out that anything sweet you put in front of him, he likes.

Viktor with a sweet tooth. It suits him.

Various sweets from the market - coconut ice, pear drops, caramels, toffee - all soon prove to be favorites of his, along with the honey-buttered bread and the hot chocolate.

As he eats dinner, he finds he likes mushrooms and sprouts and rosemary. Lemons, too, in mixtures - for instance, in the meal you cooked for him - but not on their own (as you learn from his glare, once he’s stopped puckering).

“Cruel,” he says, reaching for some water. “Very cruel.”

Still, he hides a smile as he drinks.

He’s also not fond of raw garlic; though, to your credit, you don’t give him that one. He tries it while it’s sitting on the counter after dinner, and immediately spends the next five minutes rinsing it out of his mouth before going back to his bread and butter.

“I think,” he says, looking very exhausted, “that is enough for me tonight.”

You can’t say you blame him - though, you do notice that he carries the rest of the chocolate with him upstairs when he goes to bed.

The next morning when he wakes, you slide him a cup of coffee, waiting next to him with cream and sugar at the ready.

“It’s bitter, and different people like it prepared in different ways,” you tell him as he observes it, swirling the mug around in his hand. “Some like it plain, and some prefer cream and sugar.”

As he lifts it to his lips and drinks, it’s immediately clear that he doesn’t like it black.

You can see it - the way he recoils a little, pursing his lips. The way he shakes his head, moving next to you, dumping an outrageous amount of cream and sugar in and stirring it before he takes another sip.

“It’s… an acquired taste for some, too,” you laugh, watching to see if he likes it any better.

“It’s not bad this way,” he tells you, drinking some more. “I like it, I think. Just… not plain.”

You can’t say you blame him. He likes the eggs and bacon you give him for breakfast much better, though. And, after seeing it sitting on the counter, he helps himself to more bread and butter.

Then comes a scowl, and him shoving his hair behind his ears.

“Will you let me cut your hair now?” you ask, trying to fight off another laugh. “My hands are steady.”

He nods, but not before finishing off his bread. Then he shows you where the hair shears are - which are thankfully sharp - and you pull out a tattered old sheet to wrap around his neck.

“Let us pray that you’re as skilled as you say you are,” Viktor teases, sitting down in a chair, and pressing a soft kiss to your hand. “Lest I will not be able to look in the mirror.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you say, spritzing down his hair with some water, pressing an apologetic kiss to his head when he flinches from the cold. “You’ll look alright.”

“Just alright?” he asks.

“Handsome,” you correct. “You’ll look very handsome, and every werewolf in the market will ask you where you got your hair cut, and you can direct them all to me. I’ll open up a shop, and stop using all of your money.”

You expect him to laugh, but he just goes silent for a long moment.

“I’ve told you,” he says softly, “you don’t have to worry about the money. I like using it for you. Seeing you happy.”

You pause for a moment, giving a sigh and setting the shears down.

“I know,” you murmur. “I do know that, Viktor, it’s just… I used to support myself, always. I learned all these skills so that I could have a home, and I was very happy doing it. I only stopped because I was dying. Now that I’m healthy, It feels wrong that I’m not… back at it. I’m happy here, with you, but… being able to do what I used to do would make me happy, too.”

Viktor is quiet for a bit longer, only speaking once you press a kiss to his shoulder.

“You might be able to… ask Jayce,” he tells you, turning to look at you. “About any places that you could work. Or whether the market has any open stalls. I’d be happy to help you.”

Relief floods you immediately. You have to suck in a shaky breath just so you don’t cry, mustering the biggest smile that you can for him.

You’re grateful, mostly, that he understands - or that he tries to, for you.

Viktor returns your smile, reaching around for your free hand again, wrapping his fingers around yours and giving a squeeze.

“Now that I’ve found the blood replacement, I have more time,” he continues. “I just want to make sure it’s distributed.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, throat going tight. “I’ll do that the next time I see Jayce. And, if I can help with the distribution in any way, I’d be more than happy to help you, too.”

“Thank you.” He squeezes your hand again, then releases. “I... appreciate that.”

The rest of the haircut goes smoothly.

You start by gently wetting the rest of Viktor’s hair, combing through it, and carefully beginning to trim. The gentle click of the shears becomes rhythmic to your ears, lulling you into a state of fixed concentration as loose bits of hair fall out around him and onto that tattered old sheet.

Viktor is a master at holding still for you, turning his head where you need it to be, murmuring soft responses to your requests.

He’s beautiful. You think that to yourself every day, but you mean it every day all the same. The sharp angle of his cheekbones, the golden glow of his irises, and the rosy, healthy sheen that he’s had ever since he’d started getting enough blood - they all add to it. You feel lucky just to get to look at him every day, much less kiss him.

And when you stand in front of him, combing through his hair with his hands and making final adjustments, those eyes stay fixed on you, too. Studying you. Watching your expression. Crinkling a bit, when you scrunch your nose in indecision.

You’ve been itching to cut his hair for weeks, but you can’t decide which style you’d like most. The same as when the two of you met? Shorter, but with fluffed-out bangs? Uniform and crisp?

“Let me see?” Viktor requests, and you shift from side to side anxiously.

“It’s not finished yet, Vik.”

But he still gazes up at you expectantly, so you hand him a mirror.

He looks mostly pleased, gazing at his reflection for a moment, rotating the mirror around him to see.

“A bit shorter,” he requests. “You’ve done a fine job, though.”

Ah, so he wants it how it was when you two met. Alright.

At the compliment, you shoot him a look that must contain the full smugness you feel, because he rolls his eyes as he gives the mirror back to you.

“I’m meeting up with someone tomorrow,” he tells you once you’ve started trimming again. “Another vampire - Sky. I knew her as a child. She’s been raised on animal blood.”

“Oh?” you question.

“Yes,” he confirms. “I’ve… worried, recently - that perhaps the replacement isn’t as effective to those who’ve only been exposed to animal blood. I’d like to experiment as much as I can before I begin distributing the recipe, and Sky has a steady source of human blood if it doesn’t work for her. She’s willing to try it.”

He turns his head toward you, only realizing his mistake a second too late as you trim. Your heart immediately starts pounding through your chest, and you let out a soft curse.

“Are you trying to have me chop off your ear?” you ask, half-joking. “How am I supposed to give you a good haircut in these conditions?”

“Ah,” he says, shooting you a soft, apologetic look that warms you from the inside out. “Definitely not - I’m sorry. How bad is it?”

As your heart rate slows, you let out a shaky breath and look at the damage done.

“Thankfully not bad,” you sigh. “I was already going to take off that bit. Go on?”

“Oh, eh - I was… I was hoping you would come with me,” Viktor stammers. “Tomorrow. To meet with Sky.”

“Of course,” you hum, combing through his hair one final time before setting down the shears. “I’d be happy to come with you.”

“Thank you.”

This time, Viktor reaches for your hand again, watching you as you pull the sheet away from his neck with your free hand.

“Ready to see?” you ask, grabbing the mirror and holding it to him. “You look very handsome, you know.”

“Do I?” Viktor asks, grasping the mirror from you. This time, he smiles, looking very happy with it, eyes crinkling around the corners. “Ah. You did well,” he affirms. “Just as I always knew you would.”

“Funny,” you say. “A true comic poet. I’ll ask Jayce if there are any openings for you at the market.”

“Trust me, I never doubted you for one second,” Viktor continues, reaching for his cane before he dusts the remaining hair from him and kisses you on the cheek. “I had full faith in your abilities.”

You can’t subdue the huge smile that spreads across your lips as you watch him walk away.

─────────────────────

When you wake the next morning, you walk into the kitchen to find Viktor in the midst of gathering ingredients, collecting papers, and snacking on various sweets. Ever since he found the peppermints at the bottom of the sweets bag, he’s grown quite fond of them.

When he leans in to kiss you, you find he tastes of sweet mint, scented of clean clothing and dirt and honey. You’re not one to complain about these things. You like peppermints, too.

Once afternoon has come and Viktor is fully ready, the two of you set out to meet Sky at the edge of the werewolf village, a mile past the market. It’s a brisk walk, but there’s a flat trail the whole way through - something that would have been nice to know when you’d journeyed in to meet Jayce all those months ago.

Still, birds are singing in the trees above you, the sun is warm, and Viktor is more excited than, well, you’ve ever seen him. You’re content to stay in this moment forever, if you should ever have the choice.

The time passes anyhow, but you’re determined to enjoy it all the same.

Sky is early - already waiting there when you arrive, accompanied by her husband. She’s a shy, smiley woman with curly hair and glasses, and an addictive, soothing voice. You find yourself quite liking her as the two of you chat, but it’s not long before Viktor is stealing her away, eager to get started with the replacement.

You can’t blame him. He’s been waiting his whole life for this.

Sky’s husband is a lanky brunet man who hovers at her side, mostly silent, observing you and Viktor with dark eyes - but there’s gentle warmth to them if you look long enough. You think he might have been introduced to you in the heat of everything, but you can’t remember his name.

In any case, the two of you mostly end up on the sidelines as Viktor takes Sky through the steps of the recipe. She doesn’t even flinch when Viktor pricks her finger, though the man next to you tenses.

Independence for each vampire is Viktor’s overall goal, though, so naturally, it would require each vampire to avoid becoming reliant on anyone else. Sustainable ingredients that anyone could access. A harmless amount of one’s own blood.

A small price to pay for freedom, you suppose. Hopefully, her husband will understand.

This is your first time seeing this process, too, and remembering the nasty cut you’d bandaged on Viktor’s hand those weeks ago isn’t making you feel much better. Guilt still lingers behind you when you think of it - that you hadn’t been awake to help him.

Not that you could have helped it, of course, but it pains you all the same. At least he’d gotten the replacement out of that process, if nothing else.

He looks anxious, but his hands are steadier than ever as he drops the blood from Sky into the mixture. Very, very slowly, the liquid turns a deep, inky black. Even Sky’s husband looks perplexed.

Everything halts as she drinks it. The birds go silent. The wind stills, and your breath hitches in your throat. All you can see is Sky tilting the mixture to her lips, swallowing it, and shuddering.

Very, very slowly, you exhale.

She says something very softly to Viktor - something you can’t pick up from your distance, but as soon as you see the look on his face, you understand - it worked.

A huge smile breaks out on Viktor’s lips, and he immediately pulls Sky into a hug. You can’t help rushing over to him, and his arms quickly wrap around you, so tight that it nearly crushes the air out of you.

You don’t care at all - he could break one of your ribs and you wouldn’t care at this moment. You’re so happy that you can barely breathe, clinging onto him, grasping his arm as Sky’s husband claps him on the shoulder, smiling for the first time since he’d arrived.

In the upcoming moments, you discover his name is Pierre, and he keeps thanking Viktor on repeat, despite how Viktor tries to brush off his successes.

“It’s nothing,” Viktor tells him over and over. “I’m glad to help.”

After the initial burst of joy, Viktor gives the list of ingredients to Sky, as well as some other instructions - to let him know if she notices anything off, to tell him of any heightened senses she experiences, and to share the recipe with anyone she thinks might benefit from it.

Sky seems to be floored by the latter instruction.

“What?” she asks. “Viktor, this is your recipe. I can’t just… go throwing it around without due credit! You should be the one sharing it with everyone!”

“It would be impossible for me to get it to every vampire out there,” Viktor says, tone frustratingly logical. “Paying it forward would give the best chance of it doing the most good.”

When Sky still doesn’t seem convinced, he sighs.

“Please,” he implores. “I didn’t do all that research to keep it locked up.”

“Alright,” she says warily, tucking the recipe into her coat. “But I’ll be telling them all where it came from. You still deserve credit!”

And with that, she and her husband leave.

Viktor seems to be in shock at her departure, watching the two silhouettes fade into the forest.

“She’s right, you know,” you tell him, moseying up to him. “You deserve credit for your work.”

Viktor scowls. “Getting the recipe out is more important,” he says.

Still, he spends the whole walk home chattering about his relief - about how he hadn’t been sure that it would work, and how much good it’ll do now that it’s out there. About how many vampires he knows who are in desperate need of it, that will finally be able to gain the true independence they’ve been looking for their whole life.

You can’t help but smile, arm looped in his.

“What?” he asks when he notices.

“You’re very inspiring,” you tell him. “You make me want to do good in this world.”

“You have,” Viktor tells you with a crooked grin. “For me, and undoubtedly for others. And you will, for as long as you live.”

And when the two of you get inside, he kisses you like he’s never kissed you before, tucking his cane up on his arm.

He still tastes faintly of peppermint, lips soft and sweet against yours as his hands trail down your waist, settling at your hips.

You’ve gotten to this point once or twice in the last few weeks, and every time, you’ve stopped for the same reason - neither of you has ever gone past this.

Or at least, that’s what you’ve been able to discern from Viktor’s stammered apologies, every time he’d pulled away. And you’re in no rush, despite the lingering heat his indisposition always left you with.

This time, he seems to be fueled by adrenaline - made clear by the ardor of his actions, by the way his hand fists into your hair, then relaxes, his thumb brushing at the sweet spot behind your ear.

You can’t help but shudder at that.

“I… don’t want to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, fingers tracing down your jaw. “Do you?”

“No,” you say immediately. “I want you.”

And, for as fast as life has been happening the last few weeks, the sex starts remarkably slow.

First of all, the two of you agree that you should be in Viktor’s bedroom. His bed is bigger than yours, and it just seems right. You head up there in silence, though, his hand lingering on your back speaks volumes.

When the two of you get in, Viktor sets his cane down and sits on the bed, his golden gaze trailing your every moment.

Your hands are slow, too, when they start peeling the layers off him - watching the way he takes in a startled breath, eyes dilating when they meet yours. His hand is warm when it cradles your face, thumb slow when it strokes your cheekbone.

You move slowly when you take his shirt off, pressing feather-light kisses to the skin, relishing in its softness. To his clavicle, you do the same, and to his sternum, and the soft curve of his stomach. When you go a little lower, pressing your lips against the waistband of his trousers, he makes a soft sound and places a hand on your shoulder.

He’s gotten hard in the last few minutes, and you can’t lie to say that you aren’t eager at the sight of that.

“Can I try something?” you ask, pulling up to kiss him, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Alright,” he confirms breathlessly, though his hands linger on your waist like he doesn’t want to let you out of his arms.

Then, all at once, everything is fast.

You unbutton his trousers, nibbling at his ear, and it becomes clear just how affected he is - his underwear straining against him. Heat floods between your legs, the back of your neck grows hot, and you can swear that even your mouth starts to water.

As you press your palm to his erection, Viktor whimpers, and the sound opens up into a moan as you repeat the action.

You could listen to that moan forever, but you have other plans in mind. You pull at his underwear. Viktor is quick to stop you, though, tugging at your clothes.

The message is received quickly - he’d like to not be naked while you’re fully dressed, please. And you’re happy to oblige, although you can’t help but feel vulnerable as the two of you peel the layers away, exposing your chest to the balmy air.

His hands start by moving to your ribs, trailing up to your right breast almost exploratively, pinching at a nipple until it goes hard, then mirroring the movement on the other side.

“How does that feel?” he asks. “Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect,” you murmur, pulling at the last of his clothes. “Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He circles one of the hardened buds with his finger, bending down to wet it with his mouth, sucking on it until you’re fighting back a sound. Then he repeats it on the other one, leaving you to cling to him and shudder until you remember what you’d been doing.

Soon, he’s naked, and you are too - and embarrassingly wet, despite the way you’re trying to ignore that. You know for a fact that you’re leaving a wet spot on top of the thigh you’ve been straddling, though you’re quick to move further down.

When you press a kiss to the bone of his hip, Viktor flinches hard, drawing in a shaky breath as he stammers out your name, his cheeks and the top of his chest flushing a deep, rosy color. His eyes shimmer as they look at you, glimmering like freshly fallen snow.

“Can I?” you ask, and he nods, thumb brushing against your cheek.

Your fingers trail downward, past the dark, curled hair, to the silkiness of his cock, warm and smooth in your hand. Immediately, he chokes out a groan, fingers moving to fix in your hair.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

In a moment of sheer curiosity, you circle your lips around the head of it, gently moving your mouth down. His response is similar - a hissed curse, fingers tightening into your hair. His cock twitches in your mouth, and that’s about all the encouragement you need.

You’re careful about it - the movements of it, listening for the telltale moans. You’ve never done this before, but you’ve crossed through enough dark alleyways to have seen it done - enough to at least have a general idea of what you’re doing. You mind your teeth, use your hand when you’re not sure if you can fit more of him, and eventually, you taste salt.

Not enough to be a full climax, but enough to let you know that you’re getting close. And, wanting to draw it out, you pull away.

Viktor shudders at the loss, closing his eyes for a moment. His ribs expand as he inhales deeply, then his eyes are back on you.

“Tell me what feels good,” you request, stroking his length up and down as you kiss his thigh.

He laughs a little, sighing at the sensation of your hand on him, his fingers still clenched - albeit, gently - in your hair. “E-everything,” he manages. “Everything. Please, don’t stop.”

And you don’t intend to - not until you’re satisfied.

This time, you’re a little bolder, taking him a little deeper, sucking a little harder. His moaning gets louder, which only encourages you to try more. Your free hand ghosts over his thighs, and - in a moment of impulsivity - runs over his scrotum, earning a soft whimper from him, but a hip jerk of sensitivity as well.

You try again, this time much softer, and he pants, hair plastered to his forehead, hips canting up to your mouth, cursing mixed with the sound of your name.

“I’m - close,” he grits out, hand tightening in your hair as a warning. “Fuck, I - I…”

And, well… you want to see him come. So you don’t stop. You keep the rhythm up, you keep your mouth and your hand on him, and moan around him for good measure. And that does it.

He thrusts into your mouth, letting out a soft, searching noise which turns into the sound of hissed air as his lips fall into a soft ‘o,’ his free hand gripping at the sheets as he shudders and heaves.

His release in your mouth is salty-sweet, light and warm against your tongue. On instinct, you keep swallowing until it stops, until Viktor lets out a final groan and jerks as you mouth against his now sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” he says, gently pulling you away from him. “Come here.”

You nose along his clavicle, pressing soft kisses to the bone until he tilts your chin up with his fingers and presses his lips to yours.

You wonder if he can taste himself on your tongue.

You don’t get the chance to find out. Soon, he’s kissing down your neck, and every thought in the world fades away but the feeling of his lips against the vein of your jugular, his teeth gently nibbling against the skin.

He kisses from your sternum down to your thighs, only halting to nudge your legs apart. It’s only then you realize his goal, face heating as he tucks your right thigh over his shoulder, gently nibbling at the sensitive skin.

“May I?” he asks. “I… want to taste you.”

You feel like you’re on fire, burning up from the inside out, but you muster out a nod. It’s funny how confident you’d been with your mouth around him, but you’re ready to shrivel up into a ball with the way he’s looking at you now, gold eyes flaming, slowly dilating in the low light.

“Tell me,” he requests softly.

“I want you to,” you breathe, trying not to throw your hand over your face to avoid his gaze. “Please.”

That must be enough, because he settles himself between your legs, his breath hot against you. You can’t help shivering, reaching out to grab the sheets next to you. Viktor grumbles, moving your hand into his hair.

“Pull, if you like,” he says, and without another word, his mouth closes around you.

As always, he starts off experimental, letting out a soft moan when he tastes you.

Then a gentle move of the tongue, a ghosted circle around your clit, anything that makes you tick. Whenever you make a noise, he repeats the most recent action, and soon your back is arching off the bed and he’s practically holding you down.

Then he adds his fingers.

You’ve always had an admiration for them - slender, nimble, steady. Inside you, they serve to make your muscles tense, heat pooling up in your core, pleasing building in waves until Viktor abruptly stops, then starts up again a moment later - this time much softer.

When his fingers curl in just the right spot inside you, you gasp, pulling at his hair, chasing down the pleasure.

“There,” you pant. “Please, there.”

Viktor immediately fixes his fingers to the same spot they’d just been and lightning courses through your veins - sparks of pleasure, electric ecstasy, sweet release as you grind down into him.

He moans in response, and the oscillation has you whimpering, just on the verge of a climax. Your muscles are tensing up, so close, and just a moment later you’re crashing down, clenching around his fingers, bathed in ambrosial pleasure.

You definitely end up moaning out his name in the midst of it, and you think he might moan again when he hears it, but everything is too fuzzed up to really be sure.

Afterward, when you’re finally recovered enough to think, you sling your arm over your face, laughing a little.

“Christ,” you murmur. “When my parents told me a vampire would eat me, this isn’t what I pictured.”

That earns a laugh out of him.

“What a shame - vampires are completely misunderstood.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, sucking a little. “This entire time, we’ve only been trying to get between a pair of very nice legs.”

You echo his laugh, sighing deeply and contently before he speaks once more:

“Can you go again?”

You think about it for a moment, recalling some intimate previous experiences you’ve had with yourself on long nights after a day’s labor.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “Yeah, I think I can.”

And Viktor returns to his work.

This time, his tongue is softer, and you’re much more sensitive. His mouth, warm and wet, is dizzying against you. Sweet, gentle, skilled - it’s not long before you’re hovering on the edge again, only able to say his name.

He backs away like before, and after you’ve been riled up to the peak again, he slows down once more, rendering you a shaky mess.

If you’d been in any state to question him, you might have. Instead, you whine out a soft Viktor and let him do as he pleases, bringing you up and down from the edge twice more before he finally brings you all the way up to orgasm.

As it washes over you, you tremble from head to toe, panting, shuddering, crying out in ways that would be positively shameful if anyone lived close at all to the two of you.

Luckily, no one does - meaning that you’re free to moan and pull at Viktor’s hair and whimper at the aftershocks until they fade. You’re left shivering with sensation and sensitivity until Viktor finally pulls away, pressing one last kiss to your thigh before climbing up to you.

He starts by settling himself next to you, brushing damp strands of hair out of your face. Then he presses a kiss to your cheek, nosing down into your neck as he wraps his arms around you.

To your complete shock, he’s hard again - you can feel it, and it’s confirmed when you look down.

It stirs something up inside you - pumps more adrenaline into your veins and heat between your legs as you reach for him.

“Fuck me,” you breathe. “Please?”

“Demand after demand,” Viktor mumbles teasingly, but you don’t miss the way he twitches at your words.

Pushing up above you, he props most of his weight on his good knee, spreading your legs open around him as he slowly presses against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re - so wet.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He laughs.

“Eh, mine,” he says. “But I can’t take all the credit.”

And then he’s kissing you, and slowly pressing into you, checking in soft, murmured words that you’re alright - that it doesn’t hurt.

And, after your affirmations that it doesn’t, he begins to thrust.

It immediately becomes clear that neither of you are going to last very long. The way he stretches you - the maddening roll of his hips; it drives you up and down the peak of climax, similar to his tongue. You’re both trembling, panting, trying to hold on, but you don’t care. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You’re very content to hook your arm around his back and press kisses to his face and shoulders, and he rocks up into you in steady motions that stoke fiery heat in you, and grow in desperation as you start to tense.

As both of you grow closer, he kisses you hard, pressing his forehead against yours. You come just as he pulls out and spends on your stomach, still heaving from the orgasm.

The two of you watch as the pearly substance drips down your abdomen, hypnotic and glistening in the light. Then Viktor heads out for a moment to get a wet cloth to clean you up with.

When he returns, his actions are gentle and tender, and the two of you change the sheets together, laughing at your new clumsiness.

Apparently, your knees don’t like to be mixed with sex.

“You need the cane more than I do,” Viktor tells you.

In response, you laugh - laying yourself down against the fresh sheets. Viktor is quick to join you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, turning down the lamps before silence falls and his breathing goes even.

He’s quick to fall asleep. You can still see him as the night goes on, your eyes adjusting to the soft glow of the moon, watching him as he rests and his eyelids flutter.

You can’t seem to find that same rest, however much you want to. Your mind races with today’s events, refusing to be quiet or still. The blood replacement. The sex. Even the bite plays on your mind, over and over again.

And Viktor tosses and turns in his sleep, mumbling softly under his breath as he dreams. You find yourself listening for words, but they’re indiscernible. His chest rises and falls, and you itch to touch him.

Eventually, you end up with his back facing you, sheets draped over his lower half. There, freckles dot the silky, porcelain skin, mapping out stars over the ridge of his shoulders, dark flecks that run down his spine. Just as beautiful as the rest of him.

You can’t resist gently tracing them. Gently smoothing fingers over soft skin, forming your own pattern of moon-kissed constellations before he stirs, turning toward you.

“Hm?” he asks, barely awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you murmur, fighting back a soft laugh. “Go back to bed.”

Then his arms wrap around you, and blissfully, sleep comes in the warmth of his touch.

tags: @mischievous-piltovan @yeehawbvby @dianounais @avid-main @stararctic @doctorho @mello-jello29 @arcane-is-life @am-3-thyst @thefiasco-onyourblock @glowstick-cafe @orangechickenpillow @the-lake-is-calling

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#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor x reader arcane #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #mywriting

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ransprang · 3 years ago

Note

Vampire AU prompt for viktor!

the two non-sexual admins wrote this one. we're so sorry.

100 follower event~ prompt: vampire au

Vampire!Viktor x reader - N/SFW

- Viktor became a vampire to cure his unnamed illness(es). He found a magical bat in one of the Undercity drains and decided it was a good idea to merge its cells with his body to try and cure himself. Fast-forward to 2 months later, he's worse than before, thirsting for blood constantly but unable to do anything because he doesn't want to hurt anyone. Soon enough his health worsens to the extent that he becomes unable to come to the lab too.

- Jayce would try to check on Viktor and visit his room to see why his best friend was becoming more of a recluse than he already was. He walked in, and seeing him lying in the dark, Jayce tried opening the curtains. But then Viktor screamed like a banshee and Jayce took the hint and left, thinking that it was just Viktor being Viktor.

- You were one of the lab assistants so Jayce asked you to visit him and make sure he was getting enough food. You did your best to ensure some nutrition got into the skinny lad so you brought him some warm meals and leave them at his door.

- One day you get him some lovely garlic pasta and leave it at the door. As usual you hide in the corner to make sure he takes the food in, but suddenly you hear alarming coughing noises. Worried, you rush to him to see if everything's okay.

- Inside, you see him crouched on the floor, in his boxers with a 8 inch cock out, clutching at his throat. He is coughing blood so naturally you assume he's choking. You perform the Heimlich maneuver. He spits out some of your pasta but seems to calm down.

- You rub his naked, sweaty back trying to ease his pain but then you catch his eyes. His chocolate brown orbs are sharpened to slits as you stares at your neck with an intensity that he usually reserves for the Hexcore. "Viktor?" you try to call out to him. Before you know it, you're flat on your back with him looming above you, his gaze still fixed on your throat.

- You open your mouth to call out to him again but suddenly you feel sharp teeth piercing your skin. There is a sharp sting but soon pleasure floods your senses and your words turn into a deep moan. You feel your body heat up and your nerves spark with desire as you pull Viktor closer, burying your hands into his soft brown hair. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you continue to moan and make soft noises at his ear while he laps at your throat.

- You both lie there for what feels like an eternity drowning in indescribable pleasure. When Viktor finally pulls away from you, you're both flushed and panting. He looks at you with regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" he stutters out in his thick geographically questionable accent. Manly tears glitter in his eyes.

- "It's fine. I'm fine," You reassure him. "It didn't feel-" You paw at your neck lamely, "-bad. I thought my moaning was clear enough," You chuckle nervously. Viktor's eyes widen as he stares at you dumbstruck. "More importantly are you alright?" you ask him.

- "Me?" Viktor scoffs, incredulous. "I bit you and you're worried about me? I'm fine." He looks down at himself. His unhealthy grey pallor has been replaced by porcelain skin with a healthy glow, even his muscles look fuller than before. Viktor stands up shakily. "Actually, I feel amazing." He looks down at you wondrously and helps you up. You're surprised to find his grip firm and strong.

- "So, what was that?" You ask and Viktor explains his strange experiments with a bat. After having read so many Wattpad fanfics in your youth, you knew that this was the perfect opportunity. Middle school you would be thrilled to find an actual vampire. You offer to be his blood source. Viktor accepts with much gratitude.

- You both live happily ever after. You slightly anemic, and him without a stick <3

your anemic girls,

admins san & sar

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kikiiswashere · 2 years ago

Text

Children of Zaun - Chapter 6

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: Heimerdinger speaks with Councilor Bone about Viktor, the Undercity prodigy. Silco gives Enyd the medicine, and she reflects on their changing roles. Katya attends her first Children of Zaun meeting, and meets a couple of its members.

Chapter CW: This chapter briefly touches on infant death and suicide; there is also a section that describes labor - not especially in-depth, but thought I would warn anyway. Take care!

Previous Chapter

Word count: 8.5K

Jarrot Bone woke up in his usual way on Wednesday morning.

In a fit of coughing, his throat clogged with mucus and pus.

He rolled out of bed, bones rattling and muscles tremoring with the force of the fit gripping his body. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and stumbled into his ensuite. A particularly forceful cough bent his spine and he tripped into the porcelain sink. His fingers found a white-knuckle grip around the edge and his balding head bowed into the bowl. He knew he should try to make his way over to the toilet, but he couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to lift himself off the floor once this fit had passed.

A shaking hand reached for the sink’s handle and turned it. Cold, clean water gushed out of the spout and splashed into the sink. Bone set his feet and braced himself as firmly as he could. With a mighty contraction of his abdominals, he heaved and retched and sputtered.

Discolored phlegm was thrown into the sink, quickly washed down the drain by the running water. Bone wheezed and lurched as he was involuntarily taken over by an onslaught of more choking coughs. More mucus, more pus, some blood and stomach bile spattered against the porcelain. Bone’s whole body trembled with the effort, his legs unsteady beneath him and cold sweat dampening his ashen skin.

Bone didn’t dare release the death grip he had on the sink until he was absolutely certain the fit had passed. He waited for the bowl of the sink to be stark white before turning the water off. As the sound of the water washed away, his pained wheezing filled the bathroom. His chest heaved and ached. Sharp, stabbing pains that cut against his lungs like razor wire. The bellow of his diaphragm spasmed and cramped in the aftermath.

Slowly, so very slowly, Bone made to stand fully, his hands still gripping the sink for support. His vision started to become clear again, after having pitched and wavered like heat against pavement during his retching. After a couple steady breaths, he lifted his gaze to the mirror before him and it cruelly reflected his visage.

Jarrot Bone was old by Undercity standards. Having been dumped at Hope House as an infant he never knew his birthday, but he was around sixty, he supposed. Give or take.

Take, really.

He looked eighty, by Piltover standards. Ashy skin, creped by time, toxins, and years of malnutrition hung off his thin bones. What little hair he had left was white and cropped close to his head. His eyes, once chocolate brown, were now muted and milky and currently watering and red-rimmed following his morning fit.

He made to clear his throat and set off another string of hacks and chokes. The most unpleasant ripping and sucking sound emanated from Bone’s chest and he hocked a congealed hunk of . . . something (blood? Lung, maybe?) into the sink.

He flipped the faucet back on and coaxed the object down the drain with the stream of water. Taking the cup from the shelf above, he filled it and greedily drank. The cool water both eased and stung at his marred insides. He set the glass down with a shuddering breath.

Working as a Slipper for all those years was finally catching up with him.

A couple weaker coughs rattled behind his ribs and Bone finally pushed himself off the sink and opened the medicine cabinet above. Plucking out the small, brown glass bottle he gave it a swish. To mix up the medicine and to assess how much he had left. The liquid inside gently sloshed within and Bone let out a hitching sigh.

He was almost out again.

He unscrewed the dropper top and squeezed the medicine up to the line etched into the pipette. With shaky hands, Bone lifted the dropper to his mouth and released the medicine under his tongue. Just as the Academy doctor had instructed.

Bone was conflicted if he wanted to go back and see the doctor. The woman had been sympathetic but realistic, that there was no cure for what ailed the Councilman and this medicine would only make him more comfortable. Of course, Bone knew that. He had watched plenty other miners (primarily Slippers, like himself) succumb to this respiratory disease.

When Bone had finally secured a seat in Council Chambers seven years ago, it afforded him access to the care so many of his peers had needed. He felt guilt at that. He wanted to do so much for his community. Give them what was now available to him as a Councilor. His political progress was slow, burdened by generations of classism and prejudice. His health had been sacrificed and he felt himself hurtling toward his end, accelerated by the same institutions that impeded the work he wanted to do.

Whether it was fear or stubbornness, Bone didn’t know, but he felt the gripping need to hold on a little while longer. His work for the Undercity was not done.

He didn’t want it to be done.

He decided he would see the Academy doctor again. Have his dosage upped and refilled.

Reverently, he homed the vial back in his medicine cabinet and went about the rest of his morning.

He had a standing early lunch with Professor Heimerdinger he didn’t want to be late for.

Bone crossed the Bridge mid-morning, cane in hand and the sun at his back as he walked toward Piltover. He had moved to a decent loft on the edge of the Promenade soon after becoming a Councilor. Something else he felt conflict over: living so much better than he ever had, while the majority of the Undercity lay in squalor. His Council peers and the doctor had encouraged it for his health and new position. Cleaner air, shorter commute. Bone understood, but it did little to assuage the shame in his belly.

Bone slid his approval papers to the gate attendant. It was a formality he insisted on maintaining out of solidarity for his people. The attendant humored him by glancing at the papers, but they too quickly gave them back and waved him on.

The café district and adjacent mercantile streets were already in full swing for the day. Bone walked past, not tempted at all by the smells or sights. While he paid no attention to it, he knew occasional eyes would stare and sneer at him. His addition to the Council had been wrought with tension and there had been a mild upset among Piltover’s citizens. The blatant hostility settled, but Bone knew that his presence on this side of the river was not welcome.

Which was fine by him. He wasn’t here for Piltover. He was here for the Undercity.

He crossed the square and made for the Academy campus. The dean preferred his academic tasks to his duties as a Councilor, and Bone couldn’t begrudge him that. The question was where would Bone find Heimerdinger? Oddly enough, his office was not a guarantee. The science lab? A better bet, although Bone hoped not since that building was a good walk away and his joints were already beginning to ache.

A warm breeze fluttered the leaves of the tall trees lining the broad walkway to the Academy’s campus and Bone shivered. Not from cold. He still had never gotten used to the sweet, clear scent of the Piltover air.

The school bell toned loudly as the Undercity Councilor made his first uneasy steps onto the quad. A deep, rich, brassy note that quaked through his old bones. Soon, adolescents and teens began to trickle out of the surrounding buildings, books in their arms and bags slung across their backs. Older students, young adults in their late-teens and early twenties, were the last to meander out of their respective buildings, striding across the paths in front of them with great purpose and furrowed brows. The upper classmen paid Bone little to no mind. It was Wednesday and they had been at the Academy long enough to expect his presence on this day. The younger students whispered conspiratorially in small, scurrying clumps, eying the Councilor with a mixture of awe, confusion, and learned suspicion.

Bone sighed and steeled himself for the rickety walk toward the science lab. However, Janna seemed to smile upon him in a small way when Heimerdinger toddled out of a nearby lecture hall. His joyful and bright sing-song voice cut through the muted passing-period chatter like a chime. At the Yordle’s side was a boy Bone recognized as the student from the Undercity. He was pretty certain his name was ‘Viktor’, but he had never officially met the lad. A gross oversight, Bone knew, considering he was the Councilor from the Underground and Viktor was the only student from there. They should’ve met long before this moment.

‘Better late than never,’ Bone thought as he ambled in their direction.

“Oh yes, yes, yes, m’boy,” Heimerdinger chortled, “I do believe you will have the utmost interest in the upcoming section on robotics and mechanization we will be beginning in my class come next week. If your understanding of physics is anything to go by, you’ll take to it swimmingly! Oh! Jarrot! I do hope I’m not late!”

Heimerdinger was pulled from his giddy tête-à-tête by the rhythmic sound of Bone’s cane tapping towards him. His ears twitched and shot up in alarm as he scrambled for his pocket watch.

Bone chuckled. “No, no. Not late. Not at all.”

His brown eyes shifted from the dean to the boy. He saw the student’s large gold eyes flick to his cane and then up to his face. Bone’s eyes crinkled when Viktor’s hand gripped his own cane with a little more conviction.

Heimerdinger’s ears drooped in relief as he pocketed his watch.

“Well, I’m glad for that,” he sighed, “it would be like me to lose track of time talking about nuts and cogs!” A chuckle whistled from under his impressive mustache.

“Viktor,” Heimerdinger said suddenly, “have you met Councilor Bone yet?”

The student shook his head, his creased eyebrows giving away his anxiety. “No, sir, I have not.”

“Well! Isn’t that a shame!” Heimerdinger gasped. “You know, Councilor Bone here is from the Undercity as well.”

“Yes, I know,” Viktor said quietly.

“Worked in the very same mines that your sister does,” Heimerdinger continued brightly. “We brought him on the Council – what was it? – seven years ago? It’s been very eye-opening and useful for Piltover to have an Undercity citizen in Chambers. We’ve been able to do a lot of good work.”

Bone’s smile strained, but he didn’t think Heimerdinger noticed. Viktor pulled his lips into his teeth and nodded politely. Both Trenchers knew the Yordle meant well, but remained largely ignorant of just what life in the Undercity was like.

“Yes, we have,” Bone agreed. He turned fully to the boy. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Viktor.”

Bone smiled and gently dipped his head.

“P-pleasure to meet you, too, sir. Councilor,” Viktor corrected quickly, nodding his head in return.

“Viktor is one of the brightest students in his year!” Heimerdinger gushed. “We are very lucky to have him and his capabilities on Piltover’s campus. Definitely one of the most deserving recipients of the Academy’s lottery.”

Bone watched Viktor’s fingers squeeze his cane a little tighter and a furious flush tinge his cheeks.

“Your sister works in Rynweaver’s mines?” Bone questioned, trying to divert the boy’s embarrassment. Viktor looked up at him through his mop of chocolate-colored hair and nodded. “What does she do there?”

“She works in the medical clinic.”

“Ah,” the Undercity Councilor breathed. The exclamation caught in the back of his throat and he wrestled down the cough that fought to rip through. “She must be very clever, too, then. To be entrusted to patch workers up with the little resources available to her.”

Bone’s eyes flicked to Heimerdinger, looking to see if he caught the under-handed comment. He didn’t appear to.

“Yes, she’s very smart,” Viktor affirmed. “When I go home for the weekends, she helps me with assignments and studying.”

Bone was unsurprised to hear that the student did not stay on campus permanently. There would be no way to afford it, even with the scholarship he was on.

Viktor’s feet awkwardly shuffled from side to side. Whether it was from anxiety or discomfort in his bum leg, Bone wasn’t sure. In any case, the boy spoke up.

“If you’ll excuse me, Professor, I n-need to go to the Hall of History. Professor Holgren’s exam is this afternoon and I would like to review more.”

“Of course, my boy!” Heimerdinger sang. “Please, don’t let two old men keep you from the pursuit of knowledge. Go on then! Off with you!”

“Thank you. Nice to meet you Councilor, sir.”

Viktor dipped his head toward Bone again before hobbling away. His steps were hitched and painful at first, but smoothed out to a steady limp as his gait warmed up. The two Councilors watched the boy go.

“How is he doing?” Bone asked once Viktor was out of ear shot.

“He is the brightest the Preparatory school currently has,” Heimerdinger admitted. “Perhaps even brighter than the upperclassmen in the Academy. Extremely promising.”

Bone nodded, his eyes following Viktor’s angled shoulders as he slowly made his way toward the Hall of History.

“How are the other students with him?”

Heimerdinger’s pause answered Bone clearly, but he eventually said, “He is struggling socially.”

Bone’s jaw tightened. He knew Viktor wasn’t struggling socially. He was struggling under Piltover’s prejudice.

“Shall we head to my office?” Heimerdinger asked.

Bone nodded and the two Councilmen headed toward the Academy’s Quarters for Administration. Heimerdinger’s short legs and Bone’s weary body kept pace with each other well. Bone’s eyes drifted down to his peer as they walked through the campus. The Yordle was usually peppy and chatty, filling dead air with keen observations and science-based puns. Now, he was quiet, pensive. His small gloved hands clasped behind his back as they traveled.

“What’s on your mind, Professor?” Bone carefully asked.

“Hmm? Oh, my. Apologies,” Heimerdinger murmured, his twinkly blue eyes widening as he snapped back to the present. “Just . . . pondering.”

Bone hummed and lifted his eyes to the path in front of him. He didn’t press. He waited.

“May I tell you something, Jarrot?”

“Of course.”

“This is between us, you understand,” Heimerdinger started in a lowered voice. Bone nodded. After a moment, the Yordle sighed and pressed on.

“Thank you. This has been on my mind for a long while, so I appreciate you lending an ear,” whether the little stroke along his own large ear was a joking gesture or a nervous tic, Bone wasn’t sure. “I am very hopeful about Viktor’s studies here, like I said. Myself and his other professors are extremely impressed by him and his skills. Truly remarkable given his breeding.”

Bone’s brows dipped at Heimerdinger’s well-intended but still ignorant comment.

“I worry for him though,” the professor continued. “He is not well, physically. Not just the limp. His immune system is compromised.”

Another thing Bone was not surprised to hear. He knew a lot of children born with physical defects typically dealt with deeper, more internal maladies. Weak lungs, a heart that pattered too fast, reduced cognitive function . . . if the babe was even given a chance to grow old enough to present such unfortunate symptoms.

Bone remembered a time in the mine where he had helped to deliver an infant whose mother had gone into labor while chipping away at the rocks with her pick axe. The child had come out feet first, her shoulders peculiarly sloped and her head too small. The girl wailed something fierce, and he had watched a kaleidoscope of emotions sweep across her mother’s face.

Relief and joy that the baby was not still born, even after a difficult labor.

Horror when she got her first good look at her daughter. Bone remembered that moment the most. It clenched his heart then. It clenched his heart now. The horror wasn’t rooted in disgust. The horror was born of the realization of what it meant to have a child like that.

Grief flickered briefly on the woman’s face before hollow resignation forcefully settled in.

“Please,” the woman had whispered to him. She held her daughter against her chest loosely, afraid that if she dared to hold any tighter that she might never let go, and doom them both. “Please. I-I can’t do it.”

Bone couldn’t bring himself to refuse her. He took the newborn off her chest and traveled many yards down the dark and sooty tunnel so the mother wouldn’t be able to watch or hear.

He smothered the babe, and then put her small body deep into a waste trolley that would be emptied into one of the mine’s incinerators later that day.

When he walked back down the tunnel, the mother was gone.

Later that week, he heard that a young woman had thrown herself from a turbine blade into the darkness below.

She had been doomed anyway.

Bone shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory as Heimerdinger continued.

“He would benefit from staying on campus permanently,” he said. “It may also help with his socializing.”

“But he can’t stay on campus?” Bone asked even though he knew the answer.

The two men rounded a corner and the Administrations Building came into view.

Heimerdinger shook his head, his swirl of blond hair bobbing in the air. “No. His family can’t afford it. And I have yet to convince the board to expand the funding for the lottery program. And they are not willing to make an exception to allot more funding to only one student.”

Bone and Heimerdinger entered the ornate hall of the Academy’s Quarters for Administration and made for one of the golden and glass lifts. An attendant opened the partition door and the two men stepped inside. Once alone, Heimerdinger spoke again.

“I - ,” he began, seeming unsure if he should say what he wanted to say. He cleared his throat and started differently, “In Viktor’s last parent-teacher conference, I floated an idea to his guardian – “

“His sister,” Bone said.

“Yes, his older sister. I know she is concerned about his well-being, too. I – I made an offer to take Viktor on as a ward.”

Bone looked down at his companion, eyes widening. This was a development he didn’t expect. “You suggested she sign his care over to you?”

Heimerdinger nodded. “As his professor I cannot legally aid in funding his education and board. While there would be some red tape and gossip to muddle through, I could provide that assistance if the boy were under my care.”

“I’m going to guess that his sister refused.”

“Vehemently,” the professor admitted. “I can’t say that I don’t understand her hesitation – “

Bone decidedly could say that Heimerdinger did not understand Viktor’s sister’s ‘hesitation’. People of the Undercity were rightfully distrusting of Piltover politicians. And what was more, familial bonds (whether that family was blood or found) in the Lanes were sacred. When you had so little, you held tightly to what you did – your family, your friends, your community. It was something Piltover, what with their money, their things, their gluttonous abundance, could never truly understand.

“ – but I am hoping she changes her mind. For Viktor’s sake. He’s too bright to be kept in the dark.”

The lift chimed and the doors opened. As Heimerdinger and Bone stepped out, they were greeted by an agitated young aide.

“Oh! Professor Heimerdinger! Councilor Bone!” she gasped, struggling to collect the stacks of files in her arms.

“Good afternoon, Miss Banforth,” Heimerdinger greeted brightly, his previous somber tone melting away. “Do you require assistance?”

“No no no no,” Ivy breathed, catching a loose file. “I just – “she took a moment to steady herself and her load. She took a deep breath in and said, “I just hadn’t realized the time. I needed to get these papers to Ms. Clotter in mailing and then have your and the Councilman’s lunch delivered to your office.”

Heimerdinger chuckled. “No rush my dear!”

Ivy smiled weakly in thanks. “Er – Professor,” she said, “Mr. Rynweaver is waiting for you in your reception. I told him you were not available today – “

Bone’s hand involuntarily flexed around the handle of his cane. So, Rynweaver had gotten the aide flustered, throwing his station around and intimidating anyone beneath him into a quivering mess.

“Don’t fret, Miss Banforth,” Heimerdinger assured. “I’ll take care of it.”

Ivy thanked him and skirted into the elevator he and Bone had just vacated. The two Councilors walked down the hallway to Heimerdinger’s reception area and office, their footsteps muffled by the plush runner underfoot.

The suite that belonged to the dean was large and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Academy campus and parts of Piltover. The space was sectioned off into two rooms: the reception area where Ivy would greet and intake guests, and Heimerdinger’s actual office which was sequestered behind ridiculously large ornate wooden doors.

A vacant, beautifully carved desk faced plump chairs. Thade Rynweaver sat in one of the them, his long legs crossed and hands primly folded in his lap. His dark blue eyes looked up at the sound of the hall door opening and a schooled smile cut across his lips.

“You have a jumpy assistant, Professor,” Thade said. His eyes darted to Bone and the gleam in them sharpened.

“Miss Banforth is just very meticulous in keeping to schedule,” Heimerdinger cheerfully explained. “She can get a little flustered when things don’t go to plan.”

Thade breathed a small, humorless chuckle as he made to stand up.

“I was hoping to speak with you, Councilor,” he addressed only Heimerdinger, “about the next lottery. The Kirammans heard some rumors that the Academy is trying to raise the amount of funds again?”

Bone felt the Yordle stiffen at his side before he melded back into something pleasing and palatable.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to speak with you about that right now, Mr. Rynweaver,” Heimerdinger said kindly. “Even if I did, you know that is officially a Council matter and would need to be brought up in Assembly.”

Thade eyed the Yordle with a passive look. Too passive to not be hiding strong feelings. Too passive to not be hiding something.

He shrugged, his structured coat shifting over his shoulders. “Very well. I had time, and thought I would go to the source. I shall gather my fellow benefactors and we will put in a request for Assembly.”

Thade whisked past Heimerdinger and Bone without a second glance. “Have a lovely lunch.”

Silco sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands fidgeting the small vial of medicine Katya had gifted him a day prior. He hadn’t given it to his mother yet. He wasn’t sure how he was going to.

She would ask how he got it. She would be afraid that such a gift would come with strings, that he had gotten himself wrapped up in some kind of trouble to acquire it. She would refuse the medicine under those conditions and insist that he give it back.

Would she think he stole it? Maybe. She would refuse it then, too. Scold him and tell him to get rid of it.

Would she think he bought it . . . somehow? That he had been putting cogs and hexes aside until he could go across the river and visit a pharmacy? Unlikely. She might, even then, still refuse.

He had tried to come up with a way to slip it to her without her knowing. Could he sneak a dose into her morning tea? Maybe . . . but then he wouldn’t be around to make sure she took the midday nip.

Silco’s tongue flipped inside his mouth in time with how he spun the vial between his fingers. His boot heel vibrated and his brain buzzed.

No good options.

Decidedly, he got up and left his bedroom. He strode to the kitchen to find Enyd sitting at the table sipping her morning tea. The false medicine. She eyed him questioningly as he took the seat across from her. Before she could say anything, Silco very purposefully set the small, brown vial in front of her.

Enyd’s brow furrowed and her tea cup lowered. “What’s this?”

“Medicine. Actual medicine.”

Enyd slowly lowered her tea cup to its saucer, her gaze switching between the vial and her son, the confused crease in her brow deepening. Her mouth twitched, unsure of what to say or ask. Silco’s knee began to bob nervously as he waited for her reaction.

“What do you mean actual medicine?” Enyd finally asked, staring at the bottle as if it might explode or jump at her.

“I mean exactly what I said – “

“Where did you get this?” came Enyd’s sudden question, hissed through a tight jaw. Her teal eyes widened with worry and her brows scrunched and flew up to her hairline.

“It . . . it was given to me,” Silco decided to say. A partial truth would do. “When I had my physical day before yesterday, I mentioned to the medic on staff performing the exam that you . . . were sick. Before I left, she gave me this.”

Enyd frowned and bit her lip. “She shouldn’t have done that, Silco. It wasn’t hers to give. She could get into a lot of trouble if someone finds out. You could get into a lot of trouble – “

“No one will find out, mum,” Silco promised, leaning forward. He licked his lips and fixed her with pleading eyes. “No one will find out.”

“You don’t know that!” Enyd snapped in a strained whisper, as if she were fearful Enforcers could hear from the streets below.

Silco’s hands shot across the table and gripped hers. “Mum, please. No one will find out. Ka – The medic told me that she does the ordering for the clinic. She can account for this. They can spare it.”

Enyd’s eyes fell to the hands holding onto hers. Her son’s hands were large and svelte, wrapping protectively around hers. She felt a tightness in the back of her throat that had nothing to do with her illness.

It seemed not so long ago that her hands dwarfed his. That when he reached for her, his small fingers curling needily around hers, his bright blue-green eyes would look up into her face silently asking for comfort, guidance, protection, affirmation, love. And she would always give it, whatever it was he needed. That was her job after all, as his mother.

Enyd had been surprised and grateful that her heart, body, mind, and soul fell so willingly and completely into loving her son.

Initially, she had been nervous and unsure that she could accept the babe growing inside her womb, given how he had been forced upon her. After the first couple of months, when it was clear that the pregnancy had stuck, Enyd’s heart found a new home in her throat. Angry and ashamed how such a fate had befallen her; scared for her own well-being (birthing children in the Undercity was hazardous business); nervous and uncertain about what she was going to do with the baby when she bore it.

A large part of her – the part that jumped at shadows and woke up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and tears, the part of her that feared and hated the thought of facing a piece of him every day – was certain she couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t keep it. She steeled her nerves throughout the entirety of her pregnancy, preparing to dump the infant at Hope House the minute it passed through the birth canal.

And then . . .

Then labor began, deep in the rough fissures of a new tunnel. The fourth month of pregnancy had caused Enyd’s abdomen to pop away from her waifish frame and she was temporarily relieved of her Slipper duties, and was transferred to a unit sifting for sediment used for smelting. Getting her out of the mine’s crevasses was the one part of her condition she was grateful for.

Enyd’s water had broken in an impossibly large gush, simultaneously clumping the soot underfoot like wet sand and wafting fine dust particles up into the already thick air. Contractions were upon her fast and strong, feeling as if her body was trying to rip itself in half. The unit Enyd had been placed in gave her a wide berth, save for two other women who ushered the laboring mother-to-be to an alcove in the rocks.

One was a Vastaya who did not speak the same language, but was a strong arm to grip to when Enyd’s contractions crested into blindingly agonizing pain. The other was an old woman who began coaching the terrified young woman out of maidenhood. Her knobbily fingers pressed into Enyd’s hips and gave her firm but empathetic instructions on breathing and positioning.

Between contractions, the older woman told Enyd that she herself had given birth to twelve children in her life time. That each birth was painful, but each one was also worth it. Enyd couldn’t find the breath to tell her that she had doubts about the baby trying to make its way through her narrow hips.

Periodically, the crone would hike up Enyd’s tunic to inspect her progress (her undergarments had long been shucked to the side). In what seemed like too short of time, the old woman shoved a rock under each of Enyd’s feet.

“You’re going to feel like you need to push soon,” she had said, coming to grip the shaking arm not in the Vastaya’s hold.

Enyd’s heart moved from her throat to the back of her mouth and she choked on a sob. Her legs quivered with exhaustion and fear as she was held up. The bottoms of her dirty bare feet squeezed the stones beneath them.

She wasn’t ready for this.

She didn’t want this.

The feeling the old woman warned her about came, and a sound Enyd didn’t know she was capable of ripped from her throat as she bared down. The animalistic cry bled into an anguished wail as Enyd’s body forced an exhale. Her head lulled back on her shoulders as she cried openly.

The old woman ducked a hand between Enyd’s wet and bloody legs. She then guided Enyd’s own hand there.

“There. Feel that?” she had asked, pressing Enyd’s palm to a firm, foreign object. “That’s his head. Just a couple more big pushes and he’s out. This is over.”

“He?” Enyd sobbed. How could she be so sure of that?

The old woman didn’t answer her. “Come on, girl, push!”

Enyd cried out, her haggard voice reverberating off the rocks around them. She braced her legs and abdomen and bared down again, her cry turning into a teeth-grinding growl. She felt the babe’s head breach the birth canal and its soft mewling cries joined hers. The old woman once again guided Enyd’s hands between her thighs and had her grip the back of the infant’s neck.

“One more time. You can do it.”

The sound of the baby and the feel of its soft, slick skin under her hands ignited something deep and primal within Enyd and she unleashed what could only be described as a guttural battle cry. She pushed hard, her thin face scrunching and turning scarlet; her molars gritting together. Spittle gathered and fanned at the corners of her dry lips and veins throbbed at her temples. She felt the infant’s shoulders breach past her opening and she ripped her other hand away from the Vastaya to cradle the torso as it slid from her body.

A wail fell from Enyd’s mouth as her body suddenly felt strangely light and empty. Without a second thought, she lifted the fussing newborn to her chest. The Vastaya and old woman guided Enyd carefully to the cavern floor, allowing her wobbly, numbing legs a chance to rest. Enyd panted as she leaned her back and head against the rock wall. Sweat plastered her dark hair to her forehead and the sides of her face, tears rolled down her cheeks and neck.

“It’s a boy,” the old woman confirmed with a smile, her tone much more soothing.

Enyd kept her head pitched against the rock, staring up. She felt the baby shift and fuss against her chest and her throat constricted. She didn’t want to look down at it.

“Girl,” the crone called again, “Look at your boy. Look at what you made.”

Enyd squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. The bumpy rocks shifted and scratched behind her head as she reluctantly ducked her chin toward her chest. She opened her eyes and her heart gently grounded back down, deep into her chest allowing her throat and lungs to fully breathe for the first time in almost a year.

The baby looked up at her. He had her eyes. She remembered his eyes, and the ones currently peering up at her looked nothing like those horrible, deep-set black pools.

Her baby had her eyes.

Her son.

He watched her. His eyes searching her face for comfort, guidance, protection, affirmation, love . . .

A soft cry hitched at the back of Enyd’s throat and she held her boy closer. Her finger tips gently grazed over his head, marveling at the soft, dark fuzz. As her hands caressed down his cheek, he flailed an arm up and firmly gripped Enyd’s index finger in his small hand.

“Strong,” the old woman murmured. “Like his mama.”

He was perfect.

He was hers.

She was his.

Hope House was forgotten.

Enyd curled her hands around Silco’s in return, her fingertips pressing and massaging against the meat of his warm palms. Her throat tightened further and a bitterness settled on the back of her tongue. The gradual reversing of their roles was difficult for her to swallow. To have him fret over her; to have him be the comforter, guider, protector . . .

She didn’t want to be done with him needing her in those ways. She carried such tremendous guilt that she had ever hoped that she would miscarry and then giving him up prior to his birth, that loving him as intensely as she could was her way of trying to right those cruel wishes and thoughts. And the shifting of their dynamic once illness took hold of her ate at her heart like the blight ate at her lungs.

“Mum,” Silco said quietly. Enyd’s gaze lifted from his hands to his eyes. Her eyes. “Please. This is the least they can do,” he nodded toward the vial. “Piltover can spare a vial or two of medicine after everything they’ve done. They won’t find out. I promise. Please.”

Enyd held his gaze for a moment longer before she sighed and lifted his hands up, resting her forehead on his knuckles.

“My perfect boy,” she whispered.

“C’mon Kat,” Sevika whined, as she paced the alley behind Babette’s.

“I’m almost through it all,” came a voice, echoing from within the confines of the open dumpster.

“Didn’t you make all your deliveries last night? Don’t you have enough coin for a new brassiere?”

Katya’s head popped out from over the top of the dumpster. “Will you shut up, please?”

Katya glared at Sevika, and her gold eyes scanned the alleyway.

“No one’s here,” Sevika drawled.

“You never know who might be listening,” Katya grumbled, as she dove back into the discarded clothes and trash.

She was aggravated with Sevika’s loose lips and with the lack of selection in Babette’s dumpster. She tugged on a promising looking piece of satin fabric, only finding it to be a stained robe. Her lips curled in disgust and she tossed it aside.

“We’re gonna be late!”

“I didn’t think revolutionaries cared about such things as timetables.”

The next article of clothing Katya pulled on ended up being a very abused and damp pair of underwear. She flung it across the dumpster in revulsion. However, underneath those damaged undergarments had been a simple, sheer brassiere that looked to be Katya’s size. Her breath caught in excitement as she lifted it up and inspected it. There was no sizing tag, but aside from a fraying strap and broken hook it looked to be in decent condition. Satisfied, Katya tucked it deep within her coat and hopped out of the dumpster. She dusted herself off and walked towards Sevika, who was leaning against the mouth of the alleyway, looking out onto the street.

Peering over the girl’s shoulder, Katya saw two brothel workers leaning against the front door to Babette’s, calling and reaching out to people as they passed by. The two women were beautiful. Long, shapely limbs draped in see-through fabric, slim waists cinched up in corsets that had the soft, pert flesh of their breasts and ass spilling out over the top and underneath. Sevika was staring at them, chewing her lower lip.

Katya rolled her eyes and snorted, causing the younger woman to jump. A rosy blush quickly bloomed across Sevika’s round cheeks.

“Come on,” Katya ribbed. “We’re going to be late.”

Too quickly, Sevika stalked away from the alley heading in the direction of The Last Drop, her shoulders hunching around her head in embarrassment. Katya jogged to catch up with her. Once they were in stride, she put a comforting arm on Sevika’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Katya said as they wove through the night crowds milling about through the Lanes. “I did not mean to make you feel self-conscious.”

Sevika looked down at her friend as they walked, her tight shoulders softening under Katya’s warm gaze.

“It’s fine,” Sevika huffed, rolling her head to one side. “I suppose I deserve a little shaming after – “

“’Vika,” Katya warned.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything!”

Katya’s stern look relaxed and she sighed. “You already apologized for telling . . . them,” she gestured in the direction they were walking, “and I forgive you – “

“But you’re still mad.”

“I can be both. Mad and forgiving.”

Sevika sighed.

“As long as you don’t mention it to anyone else, I won’t bring it up. I’m certainly not going to lord it over your head, nor shame you because of it. Admittedly, I may be more discerning with the information I give you.”

A small smile tilted the corners of Sevika’s lips and in a hushed voice she said, “That’s fair, I guess. I am sorry, you know.”

“I know.”

The pair continued through the bustling streets in silence. When The Last Drop came into view, Sevika felt Katya tense beside her.

“You ready to meet some of the other Sons and Daughters?”

Katya pursed her lips and continued to cross the square.

“How did you end up convincing her?” Vander asked as he and Silco moved a crate of bottles against the wall.

They were in the basement of The Drop, preparing for a meeting for the Children of Zaun. They never knew how many Brothers and Sisters might show up, but it was a good idea to clear the floor just in case. They set the crate down and Silco wiped his hands on his pants.

“I just,” he started, shrugging, “told her about our vision. About Zaun and all it deserves to be.”

Vander’s thick brows knit together. “That’s it?”

“You didn’t threaten her?” Benzo asked in a chuckle, stacking crates together.

“No, Benzo, I didn’t threaten her,” Silco spat.

“Not even with a good time?”

Vander jumped in before Silco and Benzo could hiss and spit at each other like alley cats.

“Well, whatever you told her,” he said, clapping a hand to Silco’s shoulder, “good work.”

Silco’s lips twitched and he nodded in thanks. Benzo heaved the final crate on top of the rest and muttered something about getting a drink before the meeting started as he trudged up the basement steps.

“You know he’s just goading you,” Vander said with a sly smile. “You don’t always have to take the bait.”

Silco pinched his face in a sour expression. “He’s just so . . . insufferable. I don’t understand why you like him.”

Vander smirked and pulled a cigarette and book of matches out from his vest pocket. He stuck the filter between his lips and lit it. He took a drag before blowing a string of smoke out of his mouth and presented it to Silco between pinched fingers. “He’s said the same about you.”

Silco hummed and took Vander’s offering. “And what do you tell him?”

“That you’re my best mate. That despite this hard and bony outside,” Vander poked Silco playfully in the chest. Hard.

“Vander, fucking don’t,” Silco hissed, cigarette smoke streaming out from behind his teeth, swatting the abusive finger away.

“You have a good heart,” Vander continued with a fond smile. “You convinced me to leave those mines before the Pilties could kill me, didn’ya? You also ‘ave more piss n’ vinegar in ya than all of the Brothers and Sisters put together. You believe in Zaun in a way that can keep the rest of the lot motivated.”

Silco took a second drag on the cigarette before handing it back to Vander. He found it difficult to keep his expression cool and collected as his Brother’s words of affirmation washed over him.

“Zaun is our vision, Vander,” Silco reminded as the other took the cigarette back. “It wasn’t only me dreaming it up in the mines.”

“Aye, I know,” Vander agreed, placing the filter back between his lips. “But your passion about it convinces people. Rallies ‘em. Makes ‘em believe.”

“Perhaps,” Silco conceded. “It seems to scare as many people as it rallies, though.”

Vander shrugged. “Leave that lot to me n’ ‘Zo.”

“Ah, yes, the friendly-faces of the revolution,” Silco grumbled, a fingertip absently swiping down his long nose. “Much more palatable.”

Vander’s face softened and he reach out to place a hand on the juncture between Silco’s shoulder and neck. Without thinking about it, Vander’s thumb swiped along the smooth skin of his Brother’s collar bone. “Hey. Don’ worry about it. I, for one, like your . . . intensity, let’s call it.”

Silco smirked and gently brushed Vander’s hand off his shoulder. The taller man smiled back and took one last drag off the cigarette before tapping it out against the basement wall.

Instead of going through the front door of The Last Drop, Sevika led Katya behind the building to a basement walk-out. The teen rapped on the metal door in a string of intricately timed knocks, and the squeaky door was opened by Cairn the busboy.

“Are we late?” Sevika asked as she and Katya stepped down the darkened staircase.

“Haven’t started yet, if that’s what you mean,” Cairn answered, closing and locking the door. He gave Katya a searching look as he followed behind them. “You the nurse?”

Katya’s heart skipped a beat and her jaw momentarily locked before she said, “I suppose.”

Cairn smiled widely, presenting a large gap between his front teeth. “Good. Sev’s shit at stitching.”

“Watch it, you clod,” Sevika growled over her shoulder. Katya wasn’t sure if she flexed her sculpted back on purpose or if it was a defensive reflex.

Cairn snickered and slipped past the two women. “Gotta get back upstairs,” he said. “I’m manning the bar for Van.”

“You’re not staying?” Katya asked.

“Vander will catch me up later!” the busboy called as he leapt up a set of stairs. He opened the door at the top and the warm light and sounds of The Last Drop briefly streamed down to the basement hallway before shutting again.

“C’mon. This way,” Sevika said as she directed their journey down a narrow hall to the left.

Katya was led through a door that blended seamlessly into the wooden wall and into a large storeroom. Her eyes widened and she gripped her fists in her coat pockets. The space was warmly lit, like the rest of The Drop, and there seemed to be as many people here as there were above.

Katya hadn’t outrightly thought that Vander was lying when he told her that the Children of Zaun had decent numbers, but she was truly surprised at the size of the gathering. Sevika had been right: this wasn’t just a few drunkards at the end of a bar moping and cussing about the future.

Most of the people in the storeroom looked to be late-teens to young adults. A few older individuals lurked at the sides of the room, quietly chatting with each other; and, to Katya’s dismay, there were more than a few children weaving through the crowd, giggling and chasing one another.

At what appeared to the designated front of the room, Vander and Benzo were in conversation. Silco stood off to the side, his narrow hips leaning on a crate, cigarette dangling from his lips. As if sensing her, his eyes landed immediately on Katya. His lips tightened their hold on his cigarette and he lifted his head ever so slightly.

“Hey, Sevika!”

Katya jumped at the sudden and loud cry directed and her and her friend.

“Hi Annie,” Sevika responded, hands coming to rest on her hips. “How did the observations go at the docks the other night?”

The young woman – Annie – was seated up on a stack of crates to Sevika’s right. She was a pretty thing, with deep indigo hair swept back in loose braids. Her hazel eyes gleamed under the warm chem-lights. Butted up right against her side was a young man with freckled skin and blazingly red hair. His eyes were large and dewy blue.

“They went well!” Annie chirped.

“I’m pretty sure we’re gonna go over it tonight,” the young man added.

Annie’s eyes slid over Sevika’s shoulder to Katya.

“You’re new,” she said.

“This is Katya,” Sevika introduced, stepping aside. “She’s from the mines, too. Kat, this is Annie and Beckett.”

Katya smiled at the couple and murmured a greeting.

“You’re the nurse Sev’s talked about?”

Katya looked up to Sevika, questioning. The teen shook her head, a promising look in her silver eyes.

“I work in the mine’s clinic, yes,” Katya slowly answered.

“Thank Gods!” Annie cried, rolling her head onto her shoulders dramatically. Her dark braids slipped over her shoulders and behind her back. “No one here knows how to patch and stitch. I’m surprised no one’s lost any limbs yet!”

“Do – do people get hurt often?” Katya asked.

Beckett jumped in. “Right now, only from Enforcers who get their jollies from beating up Sump Rats. Nothing too bad yet.”

Katya did not like the word yet.

Annie’s eyes left Katya’s face to look beyond her shoulder. “Hey Silco. What’s the hold up? When can this meeting get started?”

Katya turned and saw the slender young man approaching their small circle. He gave Annie an unimpressed look and said, “Have somewhere else to be?”

Annie clicked her tongue against her teeth and rolled her eyes. “No. Just the sooner we get started, the sooner we get to bothering Enforcers.”

Silco frowned. “You know this isn’t just about bothering Enforcers.”

“She knows, Sil,” Beckett interjected. “Lighten up.”

Silco’s face tightened before turning his attention to Katya.

“May I speak with you?”

Katya nodded and followed Silco to a quieter corner of the storage room. Her eyes flitted nervously around the crowded space and her fingers worried a loose thread of her father’s coat. She couldn’t help but feel the mood was too light given what they were gathered there for. The interaction with Annie and Beckett, as nice as they seemed, put her more on edge.

“I just wanted to thank you again,” Silco whispered, bowing his head towards Katya’s ear. “For the medicine.”

“Did your mother take it?” Katya asked, forcing her eyes to look away from the center of the room and up at Silco.

His face softened and he nodded. “This morning. And I told her about the dose to take in the afternoon.”

“Good,” Katya said. “And she was agreeable?”

A small smile tilted the corners of Silco’s mouth, a lovely shadow curling around its corners. “It took a little convincing, but I think you can attest to my powers of persuasion.”

Katya rolled her eyes, but smiled as well. “Yes, yes you are very good with your words.”

“Oi! Silco!” Vander called from the front of the room.

Silco glanced over his shoulder to see his friend gesturing him over. He turned back to Katya and said, “Anyway, thank you – “

“Let me know when she needs more.”

Like when she gave him the vial in the mine, Silco was lost for words. The grin that had faded from his face briefly returned, and he nodded before heading back toward the front of the room.

“Alright, alright,” Vander called out over the crowd as Silco resumed his spot, lurking just behind the bartender’s shoulder. “Quiet down everyone!”

Sevika appeared at Katya’s side once more and lightly bumped her arm. The shorter woman looked up at her friend to find her smiling excitedly. Katya reciprocated the best she could before crossing her arms over her chest and directing her attention to the front.

“For once we have some news!” Vander continued, his voice and presence easily filling the large room. An excited murmur fluttered through the crowd before dying down again. “I know you lot have been waitin’ for something to happen, something that the Children of Zaun can really sink our teeth into.”

Affirming murmurs whispered through the room. Next to Vander, Benzo knowingly nodded his head.

“Well, now that our numbers are growin’ by the day n’ now that we have Brothers and Sisters with necessary skills and access,” Katya could’ve sworn his grey eyes landed on her, “we think it’s time to make ourselves known.”

The crowd cheered. Katya winced and gripped her arms tighter.

“We’ve received word,” Vander continued, “that there’s gonna be a large shipment of weapons and artillery delivered to Piltover’s – “ a small flurry of ‘boos’ echoed around the room “– Enforcer’s Headquarters this weekend. At the Southside docks.”

“You’re welcome for that intel!” Annie called from her crate. Beckett smiled and looped his muscular, freckled arm around her shoulder. Some of the crowd giggled at her outburst.

“Yeah, you n’ the ginger did alrigh’,” Benzo replied and took a swig from the mug in his hands.

The meeting quickly turned to planning. A small team was assembled to go with Vander, Benzo, and Silco the night the shipment was due to dock; others volunteered their homes and businesses for storing the boon; some children offered to run recon the night of to distract Enforcers and keep them off of the Children of Zaun’s tails.

Katya watched from her corner. Mouth growing dryer and dryer.

Notes: You made it! Congratulations! Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and reblog <3 Us writers and our fics are a lot of responsibility: we gotta be commented and reblogged to stay healthy and strong ;)

Thoughts on Annie and Beckett? (and who they might be? tee hee)

Coming Up Next: Katya picks Viktor up from the Academy, and they enjoy an evening together in the Undercity while she tries not to think about the robbery the Children are trying to pull off.

Next Chapter

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, just message me.

Taglist: @dreamyonahill @pinkrose1422

#arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #silco fanfic #silco x oc #young silco #young vander #young viktor #heimerdinger #children of zaun #coz #my writing #silco arcane #vander arcane #viktor arcane

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nicos-oc-hell · 2 years ago

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IDENTITY

Full name: Sinncere Lucas Perphyra

Nicknames: Luke, Sinn

Date of birth: November 12th, 1979

Gender: Cis-male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Blood status: half-blood

Ethnicity/Race: Elven and Caucasian (some egyptian from his great grandmother)

Nationality: New Zealand

MAGIC & HOGWARTS

House: Slytherin

Wand: yew wood, dragon heartstring and 8 ½ inches

Animagus: Bear

Quidditch: Beater

Prefect: Yes

Head boy: No, went to Jebron

Clubs: Herbology

APPEARANCE AND VOICE

Faceclaim: toddle - Sprouse twins, Child to early teen - Walker Scobell, late teen to Adult - Sam Claflin

Height: 5’7

Hair color: Blonde

Hair style:

Eye color: light green

Skin tone: fair and tan

Scars: none

Modifications: none

Distinguishing marks: none so far BUT he does have a huge dragon tattoo on his back when he’s older

Clothing style:

Accessories: a necklace he took from Pietro’s room and a ring he got from Anton

What’s in their pockets?

Coins

Candy

Wand

A pen

Firecrackers

A lighter

What’s in their school bag?

Text books

Ink

Parchment paper

Quills

Voice claim:

Young - Walker Scobell but add a little new zealand accent onto it

Older - Antony Starr

Languages understood: English, Elvish, Danish and German

Languages spoken: English, Elvish, Danish and German

Speech and/or language disorder: lisp in all languages

PERSONALITY

Favorites:

Color: Blue

Food: Chocolate chip pancakes, syrup has to be an ungodly amount

Weather: Sunny

Books: The outsiders, lord of the rings (took it from Hester)

Hobbies: Causing mischief, bothering Antonin and Thorfinn, skateboarding and baseball

Music: rock and metal music music (acdc, nirvana, Black Sabbath, Slayer, Guns n Roses, queen, metallica)

Dislikes: Hermione granger (Academic rival) and dogs

RELATIONSHIP

Father: Anatoly Perphyra

Mother: Ashley Lestrange

Twin brother: Jebron Perphyra

Pet: A cat named mr fluffy, the dogs are Jebrons

S/O: Dotta Rowle

Children: TBD

Friends:

Jebron

Draco Malfoy

Theodore Nott

Blaise Zabini

Vincent Crabbe

Gregory Goyle

(Let me know if you want your ocs to be friends with either of the twins)

Doormates:

Draco Malfoy

Theodore Nott

Blaise Zabini

FACTS

Accent is there all the time

Went on a 2 week trip to muggle America during the summer with Jebron, Theo, Draco and Blaise because of a bet with Antonin and Thorfinn, saying they couldn’t last 2 weeks

Got a cat to spite Jebron

Both equally smart, Jebron is book smart and Sinncere is street smart

Tries to one up Jebron all the time

Favorite uncles = Viktor Jr and Alex

Prefers paternal grandparents

Hates a british accent but has come to deal with it because the scottish one itches his brain more

Somehow is seen as the bad influence when Jebron is just putting on a show for people

#sinncere perphyra #golden era #golden era oc #oc profile #harry potter oc

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eve6262 · 3 years ago

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jayvik week 1- [coffee]/crank it

Viktor does not drink coffee. Sometimes he will order hot chocolate from a nearby coffee place, sometimes he will heat up sweetmilk in a saucepan via burner. Sometimes he will be nursing an expensive tea, imported specifically to deal with his leg.

By contrast, Jayce inhales the stuff like it's his blood. No matter where he is, what the occasion is, there will undoubtedly be a cup or a mug or some receptacle through which to injest the stuff. Surprising quite a few people, he drinks it completely black, as when he's working his taste buds sometimes simply turn off and stop caring what the caffeine tastes like.

It somehow took until Jayce was a Councillor for this to matter at all.

They used to keep to their separate desks, but as time went on they seemed to intertwine. Two plants, Viktor is reminded of; two trees whose roots are so interchangeable they eventually start feeding each other, until no one remembers what part is whose.

He remembers. He remembers some of it- the wrench is probably Jayce's because it's nice and shiny, that's his pen because he recognizes the green stains from a snack he was eating once, and this is not his sweetmilk because it tastes like acid.

Thankfully for his pride, he does not spit it out. He does start violently coughing and slams the mug down on the table, though.

"Viktor? V, you okay!?" Jayce is on him in an instant, hand on his back that he only vaguely registers through the back brace. He'd love to respond, say something snarky about how absolutely acrid that coffee tastes, but he's too busy coughing his lungs out so he settles for a slight nod that his research partner does not process.

It takes a minute or two, but finally, he's done gasping for air as well. "What happened?"

"Your goddamn poison happened."

"Poison!?"

"Yes. Your coffee- might as well be called cyanide with how it tastes."

"Oh, come on."

Viktor waves him away, hoping to keep focusing on the task at hand, but Jayce has apparently caught onto this loose thread like a dog onto a ball and wants to catch it again. "Come on. You can't say you hate coffee."

"I can."

"Bull."

"Have you ever seen me drink it?"

"You have to. There's no way you stay up that late without any caffeine."

"I suppose the air down there must have infused it into my bloodstream directly, because I do not consume any, no."

"Really? None? There's none in sweetmilk? There has to be some in sweetmilk, that has to be it."

"I am not a chemist, but I am quite sure that heating up something to make it sweeter is not creating acid."

"You don't know. It could be overpowered by something else."

"Jayce," he says, turning around with a look on his face. "What is this actually about?"

The man fumbles for a moment, not used to being called out like this. Usually his carefully orchestrated conversations go just as he plans them, because the Piltover elite fall so easily into their own trappings and guises and the like. Mel Medarda is no different, often, though occasionally she will stun him.

Viktor is none of those things. The man will do as he pleases, say as he means to, and refuse to bat around the bush. Jayce often jokes (only in his own head, to save his legs the pain) that the man thinks talking around subjects instead of directly at them will save him precious research time.

(and can he really be blamed, his time is finite, so much more than Jayce who will live long and old and see his closest friend die due to nothing he could stop-)

"I'm just..."

"Strangely concerned with my drinking habits."

"Worried. About you. About how much you push yourself."

"I assure you, it is fine. It is necessary, what with the absolute nonsense they shove onto you as a Councillor."

"It isn't. You don't need to work yourself to death, Viktor, please. Every time I come here you're already working, and when I leave you're still working, and from what Sky says you never leave unless she drags you by the collar."

"I would rather not leave when I could just-"

"You can't tell me sleeping on the couch is that comfortable."

"The couch," Viktor says, as if he just remembered it was there. "Yes, I-"

"Viktor, wait."

"What is it?" The man snaps, looking quite annoyed at his partner.

"Have you been sleeping at your desk?"

There is a long pause. Viktor is likely debating whether Sky will blow his cover or not, considering she often is the one to find him at his desk. Eventually, after evaluating the answer is a resounding absolutely yes she will she wouldn't hesitate, he responds, "...I do not mean to."

"Viktor."

"What?"

"That's it. Come on, we're taking a break."

"You may, if you wish. I will-"

"Be joining me for lunch."

"Why should I eat away when I could be working?"

"Viktor, you take maybe one bite of your sandwich an hour when you're working. That's not a meal."

"A sandwich is a meal."

"Says who?"

"Says my life, Jayce. I am not a child who needs to be told how much food they need."

Suddenly, the thought strikes that maybe he hasn't had a warm place to sleep and plenty of food and comfort his whole life. Maybe it's not just his inability to take care of himself, but a lack of experience of what being taken care of is like. If he even had parents- he didn't have a family name, though in the undercity that means nothing.

"Yeah, well, you don't seem to be doing a very good job at it."

"If you are trying to bully me into eating, you should know I have been bullied my whole life. That will not work on me."

"I'm not trying to bully you, Vik," he pleads. "I'm worried. You barely eat anything, you only drink sweetmilk but you go on for hours and hours on end, you're already in pain but you sleep at your desk every day- it can't be healthy."

"I am not healthy by birth."

Wrong choice of words, he thinks, mentally smacking himself. "Maybe not physically. But mentally, it can't be okay- and I'm sure it would be more comfortable to take a break."

"...Fine. But only because you are so insistent.'

Jayce lights up like a puppy being given its food and immediately moves to hand Viktor his cane, prompting him to be shooed away. "I can get up myself, thank you very much."

This one he doesn't say anything about. It's a point of pride for Viktor to walk on his own, go places without being held or treated with pity. Accessibility is one thing- if he literally can't do it, it's on the designer- but that is a yes/no question, is there a ramp or isn't there, are your stairs painfully high for even able bodied people or aren't they. He refuses to be coddled any further than to make the place possible to get to without all four limbs perfectly intact.

Of course, that doesn't mean Jayce can't still help. He keeps his pace slow as he brings them to a little hole-in-the-wall cafe near the elevator that separates the two cities. It's got a good atmosphere, covered wall to wall in plants and greenery, and doesn't seem like an immediate health code violation unlike the majority of undercity restaurants.

Viktor has never been here before, and he sees the wonder in his eyes before a glimmer of recognition. Maybe he has, on his own? But if he does it doesn't show, as he still lets Jayce lead andl looks over the menu like he's never seen it before. "Do you recommend anything in particular?"

"I usually get the fillet."

"Mixed menu, then? I suppose that's sensible, given the location."

When a waitress comes- chest spilling out of her simultaneously lewd and perfectly reasonable outfit, bright eyes with thin, wiry brown hair- Jayce orders the same as he always does. Latte with a fillet, please, medium rare. Viktor orders a dish in Entresol, to which the girl goes, "Ah! You are, too?"

They have a short, few sentence conversation in which he orders, and then the girl giggles and prances off to go tell the cooks. "What did you get, by the way?"

"Soda and a type of fish. Undercity food- I doubt you've seen it before."

"Soda?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I didn't think you'd be the type. Though, thinking about it now, it does make sense."

"Meaning...?"

"It's sweet. You like sweet things."

"I suppose," says Viktor, and then the silence becomes somewhat awkward. They don't have much to talk about that isn't work, and on the way here Jayce laid that conversation to rest citing the mild headache he was sure to have if they kept on this tirade, so Jayce now realizes they don't have that much to talk about. He knows next to nothing about Viktor's personal life that hasn't interfered with their endeavors- his disability, obviously, his penchant for sweets, a given, and that he comes from Zaun- and the idea annoys him.

"What's your favorite color?" Is not what he intended to say, but he asks anyway. Viktor looks at him with some approximation of surprise, but takes a moment to answer. "...Yellow, I think."

"Really? I thought you would've gone purple or something."

"Purple and blue I feel suit me, but that means little to me. Yellow is much more bright, but has the capacity for prettier colors, especially when mixed with some slight red." He pauses. "Actually, I think amber is a better description.'

"Huh. I can kinda see it." What he means is, Viktor is awfully pretty right now in the vaguely setting sun, the light reflecting off the abundance of metal and painting him in amber light and it's absolutely stunning. He is decidedly not going to say that, so he pretends not to have noticed that his partner looks absolutely radiant when his too-pale skin is given a healthier hue by the sun's good graces.

"And you?" He almost doesn't notice the question, but scrambles for an answer. Red is his house color, too generic and self-centered, blue is way too simple, green is- no thank you, what to say-

"Here you are! Have a good meal," she says, accent thick. Viktor's food, in all honesty, looks like a health violation, but he merrily picks up a spoon and starts taking small bites. It looks absolutely adorable.

"Well?"

"White," he blurts out.

"White?" The slight amused grin on the other man's face tells him the fumbling is absolutely obvious, but he tries to recover nonetheless.

"Yeah. It's- I like it. A lot."

"Care to say why?"

Dammit. He tries his best, either way. "It's- it's versatile, you know? It can be a canvas, and then the white spots become meaningful because of the color next to it. But it can also stand on its own. Y'know, like white stone accented with gold?"

"I can see it," Viktor admits. "Though it surprises me. It seemed more like you didn't have one before this conversation."

He always knows what's going on, Jayce laments. It is simultaneously one of the best and worst things about him. Caitlyn would laugh hysterically if she could be here now- he can hear her, actually. White? You said your favorite color is white? Jayce, come on, you could've said anything and you said white?

"I like it, though," Viktor admits. While Jayce has been having a miniature crisis, he's considered the sight of Jayce in crisp white with red accents and considered that maybe he does have a point. And he thinks about the Academy's architecture, white stone embossed with only depth and yet the shadows paint beautiful portraits in black and gray. "It is not something one would usually think of, but it is quite plentiful, eh? And not so offensive to the eyes unless it's terribly bright."

He gets a beaming smile in response and tries desperately not to blush, probably failing. "Yeah."

The silence is much more amicable now, mostly because they both have their respective meals to eat. The pieces of fish swimming in broth that definitely tastes authentic- and it must be, because that stuff is infused with the fumes when made in homes along the fissures- remind him of home, of a mother would would cook before going down to work in the morgue and teaching him all about biology and what he needed to work on people instead of machines.

Of course, he ended up working on both. She would know- she was so young, both his parents, when he was born. Thus is Zaun, though. He begrudges neither of them for the childhood he struggled through, what with their support and love. It's a little homesick, if not for the soda, which sits innocently fizzing next to him.

He takes a sip. It's nice. Comfortable, actually, which is something he has not said in years. There's a dull pain in his leg, of course, his back twinges, but those don't prevent the atmosphere and the general blanket of calm that washes over him when he looks at Jayce casually eating across from him and thinks this is nice.

"How's the food?"

"Quite good," he says, humming for a moment before continuing, "Authentic, though it does not taste entirely of sumprot."

"It's still green, though..."

"Of course. If you make it without fissure air, it's not authentic."

"Somehow, I feel like that's a health hazard."

"My existence is a health hazard," he comments, rolling his eyes. "Some soup cannot make me that worse."

Jayce laughs at that, something gentle, not so booming as it usually is in parties he doesn't want to attend or relishing in attention he's finally tired of. It pierces his heart so softly he almost doesn't realized it went in until the sinking feeling of being loved tries to blame him for its own presence.

Viktor finishes the rest of his food quickly, because he cannot stand to think about this for too long lest he give himself away.

Unfortunately for him, Jayce's coffee is still half-filled, and so his is soda. So they still have to talk while they finish their drinks- and Jayce, apparently, has the perfect idea. "Hey, you know, I'm really glad you came out with me today. I mean, I know, you always want to- to just keep working, but I really do worry about you being cooped up in there all day and night, you know? You have to take a break once in a while, it's good for you."

"I rarely do things that are good for me," he jokes, but quickly moves to sincerity as he sees the hurt in his partner's eyes, "But I am glad you convinced me, I must say. This is a nice place, and you are such good company."

He did not mean to say it like that, like he is Medarda trying to court the man. He, in fact, did not even mean to say "such," but apparently his traitorous tongue and subconscious are working together to stage a revolution. Against what tyranny, he isn't quite sure.

Jayce's eyes flutter half-closed as he hears that, a small smile on his lips. "You're good company too. Really, really good company."

Jayce is leaning across the table, quite far for a man with better posture than Viktor. For his part, it is a strain to lean any further than a quarter of the way; Jayce must recognize this, because he moves his chair to the side so he can get closer to the man he's having lunch with. "Very good company."

"I can't be that good company," he says, playing with fire. "You know me."

"I do know you. A bit. You're still a mystery- one I want to unravel."

Neither of them is sure who first does it, but lips are on lips. It's only a moment, a fleeting moment, before Viktor pushes away. The man's about to stammer out an apology but before he can pretend it was something else he's interrupted by a, "We're in public."

Recognition and happiness both flood Jayce's eyes. "Right. So,"

"Lemme finish my coffee and then let's go, yeah?"

sonic destruction ep 2 is about to premier. I am fucking READY

~Eve6262

#jayvik week 2022 #jayvik #jayce #jayce league of legends #viktor #viktor league of legends #writing #fanfiction

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infraaa · 3 years ago

Text

An OC Introduction

Machxi “China” Strobovski

Technical Information

Name ~ Machxi Strobovski (pron. Moxie Strobe-off-ski)

Russian Signature - Махси Стробовски

Japanese Signature - モクシー・ストロボフスキー

Other Names - China (By Laura and Tiara,) The Successor (By Angellica,) Senior (by Victor and Angellica,) Rustic Clockwork (By Erie)

~~~~

Biological Information

Age - 19

Sex - Female

Blood Type - N/A. No one’s sure, not even she’s sure. Her blood is different from a humans’.

Birthday - 5 April (she picked this date out and calls it her birthday.)

Star Sign - Aries

Pronouns/Gender Alignment - She/Her, Cisgender

Orientation - Bisexual (She has a preference for women.)

Height - 5’7 ~ 170 cm

Weight - 143 lbs ~ 65 kg

Race/Species -African American Tarwill (I’ve given you all a link to understand them better.)

Skin Tone - Chocolate Brown (in her human skin,) within her Tarwill Form it’s like a very dull version of that. Her skin kinda looks like dirt water in color and is bruised and cracked.

Eye Color - Magenta

Hair Color/Length/Style - Dark Silver with a blonde ombré, her hair is mainly up in a big bun most of the time and it’s very curly.

Figure/Body Shape - Muscular, Pear Shape

~~~~

Description

Machxi Strobovski is the successor to Angellica. She is a distant relative of Viktor, although no one knows how closely they’re actually related, and if they’re actually related at all. She is considered a senior of Infinity School, and as such she travels around, eyeing the protagonist from a distance. She’s known to be quite stiff in nature, easily annoyed by Viktor and his antics. Being a Tarwill, she’s seen most of the time with her mask on, hiding her true face from the school. She’s described as a beauty by Mr. Mix, which she strongly disagrees with when it comes from him, but when it comes from Erie, she welcomes such a compliment with a hidden smile and a dark blush coating her cheeks. A mystery walking in gothic heels, and a velvet smile hiding under her mask.

~~~~

Abilities and Assets

Molting

Machxi’s skin isn’t her own—she stole it from someone that walked the school previously. She can take this skin off at will to reveal her Tarwill form at any time.

Inhuman Strength

She has demonstrated multiple times that she can kick a door out of its hinges, and she’s also able to hold Erie down, albeit not indefinitely. She’s not as strong as Viktor, but her strength is about the same as Tiara’s.

Healing Factor

While not being able to regenerate completely from wounds, Machxi can heal herself, allowing her to quickly recover from things like bone fractures or bullet wounds.

Defensive State

If she sees that she’s become too weak or too injured, she can retract her body inside her mask, like a shell, to protect herself from further harm.

Excellent Performance with Sharp Objects

She has extensive knowledge on how to use sharp objects, and can wield them with incredible precision. This is seen and complimented on my Mr Mix when she can mince garlic cloves and onions with no difficulty. Her weapon of choice is a rusted pair of scissors that she picked up from the Art Floor, and although they aren’t that sharp, she can wield those quite well.

Conscience Reading/Heart Reading

Machxi is able to distinguish human emotions very well, as well as read them. She is a master at psychology and sociology, giving her a psychic sort of approach. With a flash of her eyes, flashing into a brighter shade of pink for about a second, she is able to register someone’s true intentions, as well as discern a truth from a lie.

Corrosion

With incentive, anything that Machxi touches can corrode over into a rusted version of itself. She can control this ability fairly well and is able to manipulate whether she wants something rusted or not under her touch. She cannot however corrode other living organisms, no matter if she has the incentive or the intention to do so.

~~~~

Behavior

Machxi, unlike the the other characters in Infinity School, doesn’t have a designated floor. She’s roams around Infinity School, mainly for the soul purpose of following Angellica around. The reason as to why she does this is unclear to most inhabitants of the school, but she says it’s to monitor her as she goes through the school, and to ensure she isn’t harmed by anyone else but her. Machxi doesn’t want anyone else causing her harm, so what she does is that she manipulates Angellica into thinking that she’s a safe haven, there to help her, always approaching her in her complete human skin—without her mask.

Although her mask is the core of her life force, it has been expressed that she can go for at least nine hours without it. This isn’t natural to tarwills, as this behavior was conditioned. She trained herself to resist harm without her mask to appear more human to humans, expressing authenticity with her human disguise. The closest thing that mocks her mask would be the gold glasses she wears, which provide some sort of leverage for her without her mask. She is also seen on lunch breaks in the restroom with a lit cigarette. She doesn’t actually smoke— the human that she took the skin she wears did, another act of authenticity. She just holds lit cigarettes for a while until they shorten, or if she’s feeling impatient she’ll take her scissors, cut off a length of the cigarette and relight it to make it look like she was smoking.

~~~~

Relationships

Viktor Strobovski

Viktor is the math teacher, and to her dismay, her predecessor. Everyone seems to be under the impression that they are related in some way, although this in itself is questioned. As Tarwills, they have the same complex abilities just in greater strengths. When he starts pulling out his jokes and memes, that’s where she views him as detestable, claiming she doesn’t have time to deal with his foolhardiness. She doesn’t understand where his anger comes from when. It comes to incorrect answers, believing that he has a perfectionist complex, or that he’s just psychotic. They talk from time to time in their own language, but it’s not often. “Why are you a math teacher if you’re bad at math?” “Shh don’t tells the other children okays?” “Sure I guess.”

Tiara

The significant other of Victor. Machxi doesn’t interact with her simply because of the fact that they’ve fought numerous times. While either Laura or Viktor was there to break it up however Tiara has a strong distaste for Machxi simply because of the supposed affiliation she has with him. Machxi on the other hand has tried to be nothing but good to her, and she just treats her attempts to hurt her as attempts to be immature and crass. Nevertheless they are the same species, and therefore that’s the only thing stopping Tiara from doing any real damage to her— the fact that she, Machxi, Viktor, and Dubory are the only ones left limits her to what she can do. She calls her China out of spite, and she on the other hand refers to her as a monster for hurting Alice.

Mr. Mix

Mr. Mix is an interesting case. Mr. Mix really likes Machxi, despite her apparent dislike for him. She doesn’t interact with him often because she claims he grosses her out, but sometimes she has no choice but to. In scenarios where cooking is involved, she must interact with him. Of course, she tries to minimize all interactions with him as she can possibly take. Not a lot can be said on their relations, since they’re’s so few if she can even help it, however, everyone assumes that they are not in good terms.

Alice Freudenmascher

Poor girl, Machxi believes. She’s probably just like Angellica, had it been for Tiara possessing her. She tries her best to protect her from Tiara in the ways she knows, however, she knows that there’s only so much she can do, and she can’t completely stop Tiara from possessing one of her good friends. When not protecting her however, they can be seen studying history together, as she has been seen to be have an interest in learning human history. She grows interested when she hears Alice speak about war, and how it impacted the lives of many humans across the world of Earth. Overall she sees Alice as a good person to be around, a very valuable friend to have, and an excellent person.

Erie

Ah, Erie. Machxi often visits her library just so that she could see her. Victor thinks she may have a thing for the robot, however, she knows that she is taken by Alice, and therefore doesn’t try to make any moves unless Erie makes it clear that she wants to be polygamous. She checks out books from her library all the time, sometimes just for her leisure, sometimes to study with Alice or Viktor, and other times she gives some of the books she checks out to Angellica to read if she gets bored while in her watch. They have good interactions, it’s just that Erie finds Machxi a little strange due to her seeing her want to coddle Angellica from other entities in the school. It’s clear that Machxi has a trust for Erie, often going to her for advice.

Laura

Their relationship is extremely stiff. Laura just tends to be overall formal with her, and tends to call her China, despite it making her feel uncomfortable. She doesn’t know if it’s supposed to come out of a place of harm or if she’s being serious, but she assumes the ladder just to remain passive. If she has issues at all, she goes to Laura if she knows she has trouble dealing with something or someone. They don’t interact a lot, but if they do, it’s because Machxi goes to the Punishment Room to check up on Angellica. Often times she goes there to defend Angellica, claiming she did nothing wrong and that she needs to leave her alone. However, she just does this to coddle Angellica, wanting no one else to harm her… other than her.

Angellica

How did she even end up here? Whoever put her here needs to be slapped. Regardless, Machxi wants to protect her from everyone else. Her own intentions say otherwise from what everyone else seems to believe. She wants to be the one to bring Angellica pain. This could stem from her strong dislike for Mr. Mix, or her feeling that she needs to compete with Victor, since they are related in some fashion. Angellica seems to see Machxi as an acquaintance despite them having very notable differences. As Angell can’t talk, Machxi reads her heart to hear what she has to say, which is a gateway to figuring out her secrets and the things she wants to hide from her, allowing her to be manipulated by Machxi further. They seemed to be on good terms until Angellica finished the history floor, where Machxi reveled in her victory, her plans coming into true fruition. After stopping Alice from doing harm onto Angellica, she planned to try and take Alice’s place, trying to hurt Angellica in the process, basically it becomes a hot chase where Angell has to evade Machxi.

~~~~

Trivia

Her blood is white, and upon tasting it, it can be noted that she tastes like an unripe pomegranate without the sweetness.

Mr. Mix believes she wears licorice perfume. That’s just the scent she gives off. She smells like straight up licorice.

She likes Tetris and often plays it in her spare time. (Her favorite part is the music though.)

She learned English through Marzia so that she could seem more authentic to Angellica and the rest of the dimensions’s populous.

It’s unclear whether or not her intention to hurt Angellica is because of everyone else and that bandwagon or she has something against her. She stated she doesn’t get a thrill from hurting others, although the act itself does require a lot of effort and gut, which she most certainly has.

Unicorns creep her out. She claims to not like anything with horns despite her love for dragons and narwhals.

She prefers to be called Machxi. China was the name of the person she took her skin from, and she actually likes the name, she believes it’s an improper way to address her.

She loves sour candy. She loves bitter things. Give her a warhead! She’ll be content.

Humans intrigue her, which is why she doesn’t have full on disgust for Angellica.

In her Tarwill form; she doesn’t look like an actual Tarwill. Her skin just mutates and dulls over. However she can still pull her actual skin off, she just refuses to do that because she claims it’s painful and slimy.

She has an eye for anything steampunk. Erie gave her the clothes she has as a Christmas gift. The ones she has for her Tarwill form are her default clothes.

Her speaking voice is Morgana from League of Legends, when in human form. Her voice distorts when in her Tarwill form. If you’ve heard Coven Morgana’s voice, that’s it. Her singing voice matches Christina Perri.

She isn’t easily intimidated and is highly agile. If she sees you’re holding a Tarwill mask, thinking she’ll stop following you, she won’t stop. It won’t hinder her.

She doesn’t reciprocate affection well and often pushes it away.

#infrawrites #infra's cast #machxi strobovski #oc #my oc #oc biography #oc bio #oc info #my oc stuff #advanced education with viktor strobovski

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lunarfly · 4 years ago

Text

Defending Harmione part 3!

I'm back to defend my fav ship!

I have a part 1 where I debunked some of the most popular arguments against Harmione and in part 2 I debunked the "siblings" argument. Time for part 3! This one is going to be about a video on YouTube titled "Why Harry and Hermione Wouldn't Work - Harry Potter Video Essay" and I'll go over the points the YouTuber made and try my best to debunk them. 💘

Also, I accept that there's still a few minor flaws to the ship, but these little flaws and obstacles make every ship beautiful. 🥀

1. "It would be too cliche. The hero gets the smartest and prettiest girl as a trophy."

This is a fair argument to the whole story itself, but it doesn't defeat the ship in any way. If you put it in other words: "Harry and Hermione wouldn't work together because they're both very powerful and great and that would make it very cliche." That's silly. But even that isn't right. The situation isn't exactly how people make it seem.

Hermione isn't the all-perfect girl, the most beautiful, the most intelligent, everything perfect. She has flaws, many flaws (which weren't portrayed in the movies) and she is a very realistic character. She is intelligent and productive, she is a perfectionist in a way, but that also causes her to be very anxious and stressed out at moments, she puts too much pressure on herself, and she's also insecure! Who said Hermione was the most beautiful one? Just because Emma Watson was gorgeous doesn't mean Hermione was too. Of course, Harry thought she was pretty according to OotP, but it's clearly stated in the books that she wasn't the prettiest girl in the series. Fleur, Cho and even Ginny were much more beautiful. Hermione is NOT the perfect superstar.

You might say that even if she's not perfect, she's still the female lead. But the actual "cliche" part is about the hero ending up with the perfect superstar and not necessarily with the other lead hero.

So back to Hermione being the brightest witch of her age. But her being very bright and powerful doesn't make her a bad match for Harry. Ginny was very smart in fact, she was beautiful and funny, very sassy and confident. Why isn't she considered as a trophy for Harry?

The point is, NO, Hermione is NOT a perfect all-star and their relationship wouldn't even have to be built on the hero and the heroine being perfect, their relationship would be built on trust and loyalty.

2. "Harry and Hermione's relationship prove that a male and a female can be friends without having a romantic relationship, so we shouldn't ruin that."

Yes, it's truly a beautiful demonstration that a male and a female can be best friends, but this says nothing that's actually against the ship, just like the previous one. If you put this in other words, it would sound like this: "Harry and Hermione were amazing best friends so they can't date." I understand that their friendship was amazing, but that in no way means their relationship would be bad. Of course, you don't have to see their relationship as romantic just because they were good friends, you can see it as platonic, but I'm just saying that the argument makes no sense.

Besides, was Hermione really the only female friend Harry had? What about Luna? What about Ginny (if you consider Harry and Hermione start dating and Ginny remains a friend, she was clearly very included after OoTP)? What about Ron's friendship with Hermione? What about Ron and Luna's friendship? What about Neville and Luna's friendship? What about Harry's quidditch teammates (Alicia, Katie, Angelina)? Why does everyone always make it seem like Hermione was the only female friend he had? Surely she was his only BEST friend but then Ron and Hermione were best friends too...

3. "It ruins the dynamic of the story. Harry's relationships were never meant to be the main focus, just a demonstration of his maturity. While Ron and Hermione's relationship developing in the background is nice to see."

I really didn't want to drag Romione into this because it's my second favorite ship from the entire Harry Potter universe. Just a disclaimer that anything I say here is not meant to bash Romione and hate on it because I'm truly a big fan of them and their love is undeniable.

I also mention Ginny and Harry's relationship in this and I have to say they're ALSO one of my favorite ships in the entire hp universe so no hate to them either. 🥺

Okay, so, basically every point he made in his video was about the story and not their actual relationship. The title is wrong, this doesn't show why Harry and Hermione wouldn't work, he's just saying how it would change the storyline. But I think we are all already aware that Harry and Hermione getting together would change a lot in the story. But I'll go over it anyways.

First of all, I don't entirely agree that Harry's relationships weren't the main focus, I mean half of the half-blood prince was about him developing feelings for Ginny-

But anyways, if Harry and Hermione were going to end up together, it would still happen in a similar way. We have all read the beautiful moments they shared together throughout the books, and those would've been enough for them to develop their feelings, but just not realize it until the last 2 books. We wouldn't have to add in any scenes that would change the story massively to lead them to falling in love, honestly, we had enough already in the books. So the only thing that would change would be probably Harry not developing feelings for Ginny, but instead slowly realizing his feelings for Hermione. Simple!

And as for Romione, I agree, the slowburn was beautiful, but we could've had the same thing, same development but as a friendship! Ron's character arc is one of my favorite things about the series and nobody can convince me that it wasn't amazing. Instead of Ron changing for Hermione to become her lover, we could have Ron changing for her to become a better friend. His character arc remains the same and Ron Hermione become best friends. Of course this would change many scenes and the storyline would've changed a lot as I already mentioned, but hey! At least we wouldn't have Ron haters who bash him for mAkInG hErMiOnE cRy. 🤡 And JKR could add different scenes instead of the ones hinting at Ron and Hermione's romantic relationship. We still would have had a beautiful story with a VERY SIMILAR dynamic.

4. "Harry wasn't the kind of guy Hermione was looking for. She already made a mistake with dating Viktor Krum, and she realized she didn't need a hero. She was a hero herself. Although Harry ≠ Viktor, they have very similar qualities like: bravery, loyalty and they are both heroes."

This is probably the best argument of the entire *almost* 5 minute video.

But there's still so much wrong with this.

Bravery and loyalty are literally Ron's best traits lmao. That's exactly why she chose him. 🤣 Every Romione shipper knows she doesn't value intelligence and looks, she values bravery, courage, loyalty. That's exactly what she said in the first book and stuck by it until the end.

She didn't need a hero? She was a hero herself? - Then why are we forgetting that Ron was also a hero? Everyone always makes it seem like Harry and Hermione are the mighty heroes and Ron is their goofy sidekick. He was also a hero! I believe he is even on the chocolate frog cards (correct me if I'm wrong)! And we all know that's the biggest flex. 😌

But besides that, Ron and Harry are very similar in many ways. They're both brave, they're both loyal, they both like to have fun, they're both lazy, they're both amazing at quidditch, they're both talented (Harry is very powerful and he's good at DADA, while Ron can do many impressive things like mimic voices and come up with quick solutions even when he's under pressure and his life depends on it!). So if Hermione liked one and thought he was her "type", then there's a hight possibility she liked the other too. In canon, she only likes Ron obviously, but I'm saying that since Ron and Harry are so similar and share the same traits, Hermione could've chosen Harry too.

Anyways, that's all that the video included, it was very nice hearing different opinions and I actually wasn't writing this out of anger like I wrote the post about defending Romione against *the ridiculously stupid* arguments that Dr*mione shippers like to use.

Once again, if it isn't clear, I STAN both Romione and Hinny, but Harmione definitely could've worked. :)

Thanks for reading! ~ Lia <3

Art: Asha47110 on DeviantArt :)

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sanguine-salvation · 6 months ago

Note

Cake is a thing people get on their birthday, right?

At least that is what the healer has gotten them. A large slice of red velvet cake, and a familiar, though significantly cleaner, previously missing knife stuck in the middle of it.

Viktor doesn't really expect much on their birthday, still. Not even cake, unless they oh entirely and very legally 'fetch' it themself in a fit of petty indulgence. It's a day that comes with frustration, this year a little more than most.

But when they find themself staring down at a slice of red velvet playfully decorated with their missing knife, well, it leaves them a little gobsmacked.

"... I knew it." It's a quiet utterance, but one with a small chuckle of respect, because she kept that damned thing hidden from them. A feat not even most of Arkham could keep up for half as long. Ah, to be served defeat. But whatever exasperation is on their face is replaced by something a little softer.

There the healer goes again, putting a band-aid on a sore old wound. It didn't stop all the ache, but it was something more than before. "... Köszönöm. Chocolate is my favorite, too."

And without a care for manners, they pull the knife out and lick it with a keen little smirk. Well, at least it's cake and not blood.

#i have a place for you || answered #dance with || elisethetraveller #;birthday

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naturenocturne · 5 years ago

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&&. ( viktor valentina ) was just spotted in amsterdam. rumor has it ( he ) is a ( 33 ) year old ( werewolf ) who resembles ( kit harington ). ( He ) has been said to be ( empathetic & protective ) but also quite ( overbearing & stubborn ).with all the chaos surrounding the magical underworld, ( he ) has chosen to align with ( no one / the russian bratva ). ( he ) is/are currently serving as ( pakhan of the russian bratva ). hopefully the city doesn’t devour them whole.

The Basics

Name: Viktor Valentina

Age: 33

Species: Alpha Werewolf

Occupation: Pakhan of the Russian Bratva

Positive: Empathetic, Protective, Patient

Negative: Worrywart, Overbearing, Stubborn

The History

The Valentina family is an old name among werewolves and the Russian Bratva alike. Born and raised in the harsh reaches of Russia, its members are famous for their ferocity and their strength. And so when Viktor Valentina was born, it came as no surprise to anyone that he would follow into his father's footsteps to uphold the family title as Pakhan. But unlike the elder Valentina, Viktor was a kind-hearted boy who spent much of his time doting on his siblings and befriending humans outside of the family estate. Much to his father's exasperation, Viktor rarely bared his fangs at outsiders, despite having demonstrated considerable combat prowess when pushed too far. The odd conflict between Viktor's animal instincts and his calm personality, however, was perhaps his most efficient weapon as an Alpha. Rather than coercing others to follow in his wake, he convinced them through sheer (and admitedly unintended) charisma and tenacity. Viktor gained a reputation as a steadfast leader in Russia, overseeing his father's operations as he gradually stepped down from the family business.

But Viktor's world came crashing apart upon the disappearance of Tatiana Valentina. His precious little sister, an unregistered Omega who wouldn't have harmed a fly, never came home one night, placing the Valentina household into a state of uproar. Viktor's mother fell ill with the sheer stress of the incident, and his father came out of retirement to scour the country, leaving bodies and violence in his wake like a man possessed within a matter of days. But none were so affected as deeply as Viktor, who felt a personal responsibility for having lapsed in her security. He spent tireless nights, pulling every connection he knew of and them some in search of her, running through the forests of Russia in hopes of catching a whiff of her scent. Viktor didn't eat, didn't sleep, tortured by Tatiana's absence and terrified about her fate.

Salvation came in the form of a tip, wrestled from the dying breaths of a rat who had been lurking near the borders of his territory. An omega was shipped off to Amsterdam for a substantial price, to be trafficked among the intricate networks of smuggling within the city. Viktor, desperate for any possible lead and furious beyond comprehension, booked the first flight available and flew off in pursuit of his sister. A man on a mission of utmost importance, the Pakhan will do anything to ensure Tatiana is brought home, even if it means he must tear up the city to do so.

Fun Facts

Under most circumstances, Viktor is an intimidating Alpha, but around his family, he’s mild, almost timid at times. Those in his inner circle know just how soft the Pakhan is, but they know better than to test him, as he is likely to flip into a rage if those he cares about are in danger

Viktor has considerable amount of blood on his hands, but he views it as a necessity to protect his pack. His views on violence and normal living are also warped based on his upbringing

On his days off, Viktor enjoys going out incognito to observe other people

Viktor has a weakness for things he considers cute and small, and tends to dote on them when the opportunity arrives

Viktor is by and large a family man, and he views the Bratva as his pack

#nhqintro #blood and chocolate: viktor #blood and chocolate: musings

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lgbtyrus · 6 years ago

Text

TJ’s Playlist Chapter 13

Story Summary: When Cyrus finds a playlist on TJ’s desktop full of old love songs, he realizes that TJ has never been a scary basketball guy but rather a huge sap. TJ just wished Cyrus could realize that all of those songs remind him of a certain boy who likes chocolate chocolate chip muffins without telling him directly.

Ao3 Link | Prev Chapter | Chapter 1

Words: 4,191

They boys laid there, holding hands and listening to the songs TJ had put on C.C.C.M. Crazy Cool Cat Music Cyrus thought to himself. Most of the songs were love songs, and it took a lot out of him to constantly remind himself that that was a coincidence. There was no specific reason why TJ was showing him these songs.

“I owe you cake,” TJ suddenly told him after half an hour of being there. Cyrus lifted a brow before remembering that TJ said he’d bake him a cake with the frosting of his choice. TJ sat up, not letting go of Cyrus’ hand and said, “Come on, we’ll go make the cake and watch the movie downstairs.” Cyrus found himself sitting up, being pulled out the door and down the hallway by TJ.

In the kitchen, TJ refused to let Cyrus do any of the work. Cyrus sat down and watched from the table where TJ was mixing ingredients. “Let me help you,” Cyrus insisted.

“Nope,” TJ stuck his tongue out at Cyrus. “You’re the guest.”

“You’re very stubborn sometimes,” Cyrus frowned, making TJ smile.

“I’m not ashamed of that,” TJ shrugged. Cyrus rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his smile. “You can pick out the movie today.”

“Really?” Cyrus placed his hand on his cheek. “I’m usually not allowed to.”

“Why is that?” TJ asked as he poured ingredients into a pan.

“Because Andi and Buffy hate documentaries,” Cyrus bit his lip. He didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed when it came to TJ finding out he was a big dork. It written in neon letters on his forehead basically.

“Pick one,” TJ said, moving away from the table, “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? I’ve been wanting to watch this one on weird sea creatures that’s on Netflix.”

“Yeah, Cyrus,” TJ turned around to give him a quick smile, “I don’t mind. My parents make me watch documentaries on bands all the time. I know more about Queen than anyone our age should.” Cyrus smiled before he realized something.

“Do your parents know I’m here?” Cyrus asked him, moving his fingernail between his teeth.

“Nope,” TJ said, turning on the oven.

Cyrus let out a little gasp, “TJ.”

“What?” TJ smiled. “They won’t care. They like all my friends. My dad likes to pretend that he’s cool. He just gets really sad if you don’t understand his music references.”

“I feel unprepared to meet your parents,” Cyrus told him, making TJ laugh.

“You’re fine, Cyrus. They’re not going to go after your blood.”

“Well considering they’re vampires, that’s hard to believe,” Cyrus half-smiled, the anxiety starting to take a toll on him.

“Well vampires stay out late. We’ll probably be asleep by the time they come back.”

“Oh, we’re actually going to sleep?” Cyrus cocked his head to the side. “I thought sleepovers consisted of mandatory all-nighters.”

“Do you want to pull an all-nighter?” TJ raised an eyebrow, a little surprised with him.

“Nope,” Cyrus shook his head, a little relived. “I would die.”

“You wouldn’t die if you became a vampire,” TJ brought up his tongue and placed it on the tip of his canine teeth for Cyrus to see.

“I’m not interested in immortality, but thank you,” Cyrus said politely, making TJ laugh again. “I’m going to go figure out how your TV works now.”

“Okay,” TJ said as he moved around the utensils, “remote might be on the coffee table. It has a Netflix button. The cake is about to go in anyways.” Cyrus left the kitchen and found Macaroni on the arm of the couch, fast asleep. He smiled and went to pick up the remote, a family photo catching his eye. He had noticed very few photos the last time he was here, and the more he looked around, the more photos he saw. He picked up the photo next to the remote and saw a younger TJ, getting a piggyback ride from his dad who was holding Amber’s hand. Amber was wearing a hot pink dress while TJ and his dad had matching blacks shirts. Cyrus was almost positive the shirt his dad had on in the photo was from a band, but he couldn’t read the font. TJ really didn’t look like his dad as much as Amber. Cyrus noted that TJ didn’t look like his dad at all.

Cyrus put the photo down before sitting down next to Macaroni who let out a pleased purr. The smell of popcorn started coming from the kitchen and into the living room, as Cyrus searched for the documentary.

“Oh,” TJ frowned as he came in with a bowl of popcorn, “Macaroni is here.” Cyrus grabbed Macaroni and placed the cat on his lap, causing TJ to glare at the animal.

“Macaroni wants to learn about what’s at the bottom of the ocean,” Cyrus announced to TJ, only to tick him off a little more.

“Macaroni probably came from the bottom of the ocean,” TJ rolled his eyes before sitting down next to Cyrus. Macaroni hissed at TJ, causing TJ to scoot further away from Cyrus. “He’s hoarding you.”

“It’s not my fault I’m attractive,” Cyrus joked around. “Just kidding. Macaroni just hates you.” TJ smiled at him before sticking out his tongue at the cat. Macaroni let out another quiet hiss before Cyrus started playing the documentary.

Cyrus looked over at TJ the entire time, trying to make out if he was paying attention or not. He was more into it than Cyrus was, that’s for sure. Cyrus couldn’t really focus on the screen when he had TJ letting out small gasps of amazements every other minute. It was really cute to him, and all of the feelings he had for TJ would roll through his body. The rest of the night was going to be even more painful, he could feel it.

The documentary was over in less than an hour, and TJ was sitting there, popcorn halfway to his mouth. “Do you think this is all real?” TJ asked Cyrus, the popcorn falling back into the bowl.

“Duh,” Cyrus smiled. “That’s why the ocean is scary, and I don’t trust it.”

“I don’t think I trust the ocean anymore, either,” TJ laughed, looking down at the bowl of popcorn. “I forgot to share with you, sorry.”

“I have cat hair all over me. The last place I want it going is in my mouth.”

“I’m going to go check on the cake,” TJ said, putting the bowl on the table. “You can put on something else.”

“About the sea or corporations?”

“Nothing is going to stop me from eating fast food.”

“This one documentary is one of the main reasons why I only eat at diners now,” Cyrus wiggled his eyebrows at TJ who was contemplating.

“Fine,” TJ let out a dramatic sigh. “Show me what you got.” While TJ was in the kitchen, Cyrus was going through Netflix to find the documentary when the door behind him opened. Macaroni immediately jumped off Cyrus lap as Cyrus turned around.

“Honey,” a lady in a simple black dress said, looking at the nervous Cyrus, “that’s not our kid.”

“Pearl,” the man sighed, walking over to Cyrus, “I know I don’t have my glasses, but I can very clearly see that that’s one of our… nope,” the man smacked his lips on the ‘p’, “he’s not ours.” TJ walked out of the kitchen nonchalantly and smiled at his parents.

“Hey,” TJ said, sitting back down, “you guys are back early.”

“We just came back to change,” the man said, switching his view between TJ and Cyrus. He was squinting, and Cyrus came to the conclusion that he had really bad sight.

“Why?” TJ asked, reaching over for the bowl of popcorn. “Where are you guys going at this time?”

“There’s a local band playing in town, and I can’t go in there in heels,” Pearl said, already reaching down to take off her red shoes.

“I also forgot to put in contacts this morning,” the man waved his fingers all over his face. “I haven’t been able to see shit.”

“Language!” Pearl’s eyes widened. “There’s a guest!”

“Oh yeah,” TJ nodded his head at Cyrus, “this is Cyrus. Cyrus these are my parents.”

“We’re not vampires,” TJ’s dad immediately said, confusing Cyrus. “This is the friend that you tricked into thinking we’re vampires, right?” he looked over at TJ who seemed to be getting flustered all of the sudden.

“Uh,” TJ cleared his throat, “one of them.”

“Nope,” Pearl shook her head. “You only said one name, and it was Cyrus.” TJ was nervously running his fingers through his hair as Cyrus and his parents smiled at each other. “Nice to meet you, Cyrus.”

“Nice to meet you guys, too,” Cyrus told them.

“Hey, are you the one that also helps TJ with math?” his dad asked him. TJ was sinking down into the couch now, obviously regretting not getting his parents out of there as fast as he could.

“I’m mostly there for moral support,” Cyrus told him, “but if we’re not being too tight on facts, that would be me.”

His dad smiled and nodded, “Thank you for that.”

Before Cyrus could say anything, Pearl put a hand on her husband’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go get ready, Viktor. Show starts soon.” Viktor nodded and started heading up the stairs. Pearl stayed a little behind and looked over at TJ, “Did you bake?”

“Yeah,” TJ muttered, a little too miserably.

“It smells good,” she complimented him.

TJ sat up a little and smiled, “Thanks, ma.” Pearl quickly followed behind Viktor, heels in her hand.

“Your parents are really nice,” Cyrus smiled.

“Yeah,” TJ agreed with him. “They went to a marriage counselor on Tuesday. They’re going to start going once a week and see how it goes. It’s been really good so far. No fights.”

“Is Amber still going to therapy?”

“Yeah,” TJ nodded. “She never stopped.”

“Can I ask you something?” Cyrus looked over, not knowing how to put out the words.

“Always,” TJ sat all the way up, looking right at Cyrus.

“Why didn’t you decide to go to therapy?” Cyrus hoped he wasn’t asking a bad question. He was interested in a lot of aspects of TJ, and he wanted to know more and more of him.

“I don’t think I needed it as much as Amber, and also, I wouldn’t be able to open up to a stranger,” TJ bit his bottom lip, his eyes no longer meeting Cyrus’.

“You opened up to me when we first met.”

“You’ve never been like anyone else, though,” TJ scooted a little closer to Cyrus and grabbed his hand, making Cyrus’ face heat up. “I always felt like I could trust you, and I can. I just didn’t know if I could be a good friend to you.”

“You are, TJ,” Cyrus squeezed his hand.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

“Not really. That’s just you,” Cyrus said, making TJ look over at him.

“Want to go decorate the cake?” TJ smiled.

“Will you actually let me do something for once?” Cyrus teased him.

“Maybe,” TJ stuck out his tongue before standing up, once again leading Cyrus by the hand. TJ let go of Cyrus to go through the drawers. “My dad tends to eat things like frosting and honey, so if it’s gone, it’s gone,” TJ smiled.

“I didn’t eat whatever I’m being accused of eating,” Viktor walked up to the doorway. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of the fancy clothes he had on earlier. Cyrus could see his resemblance to Amber.

“A can of frosting,” TJ said without looking away from the shelf.

“I ate a whole jar of jam this morning and that’s about it,” Viktor smiled. Cyrus was cringing on the inside, not understanding how any human could process that through their bodies.

“You’re not my dad,” TJ shook his head, taking out the can of strawberry frosting. He showed it to Cyrus before closing the cabinets.

“I know we don’t look alike, but I’m pretty sure you’re my kid,” Viktor chuckled. “Your Nana designed you somehow to look like your mom’s side of the family.”

“Yeah,” TJ laughed, opening the can of frosting, “she hacked into my genetic code.”

“Exactly,” Viktor snapped his fingers. Pearl walked up the kitchen door, wearing the same thing as Viktor, colors and all. “Awe, we’re matching,” Viktor put his arm around her shoulder.

“I guess we are,” Pearl laughed, taking in their outfits. Pearl looked at the boys and smiled, asking, “Are you sleeping over, Cyrus?”

“That’s the plan,” Cyrus nodded at her. Viktor flashed him an awkward thumbs up that made TJ roll his eyes and Cyrus chuckl.

“Okay, we might be gone for work by the time you guys wake up. TJ you’re not going back to the kiddie’s gym tomorrow right?” Cyrus quickly turned to look at TJ who was biting his lip now.

“Uh, yeah,” TJ told her. He hadn’t told Cyrus that he was quitting the gym. It did make sense why he wasn’t working that day now that he thought about it.

“TJ,” she pursed her lips like a mother about to scold her child.

“I quit, ma,” TJ reassured her, “I promise.”

“Okay, just making sure,” she smiled at him. “See you boys later, okay? Don’t burn anything down.” She gave TJ an eyebrow raise before walking away, leaving Viktor’s arm in the air.

“Later, dudes,” Viktor waved at them before heading out the door behind Pearl. As soon as the front door shut, Cyrus looked over at TJ who was clearly trying to avoid his gaze.

“You quit?” Cyrus raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” TJ bit his lip, looking down at the frosting he was pouring into another bowl. “Yesterday.”

“Why?”

“My parents wanted me to. They didn’t see a reason for me to be working anymore now that dad has a job.”

“Did you want to quit?”

“Not really,” TJ shook his head, filling a baggie with frosting. “But basketball practice starts in two weeks after Buffy gets her team together. I can’t slack off on math right now, especially. It was for the best.”

“I see,” Cyrus frowned. “I liked the kids.”

“They liked you, too,” TJ bit his lip. “A lot.”

“I’m going to miss them.”

“Yeah,” TJ handed Cyrus a bag of frosting, “me, too.”

TJ woke up, barely able to open his eyes. The green coming from the TV was hurting his eyes, the sound of Shrek playing in the background filing in. He blinked a couple of times, realizing that the movie was almost over. He looked to his side and saw that Cyrus was under his arm, sleeping peacefully. Cyrus’s head was resting on him, his breathing even. He didn’t want to wake him up, and he wanted to go back to sleep, but his parents couldn’t see them like this.

“Hey, Cy,” TJ whispered, pressing his lips into Cyrus’ temple. He was tempted to kiss him, but held it back. He pulled away a little and whispered, “Cyrus. Let’s go get ready for bed.” Cyrus shifted a little, reaching up to rub his eyes.

“What time is it?” Cyrus said, making the mistake of looking up. TJ’s heart started hammering against his chest. He had Cyrus so close, their noses touching.

TJ gulped, “Late. We should,” TJ was trying his hardest to not lean in, “go.” Cyrus nodded ever so slightly, the tip of his nose pressing against TJ’s. Cyrus was the first to pull away, standing up to stretch. TJ looked down at his hands and took a deep breath before standing up himself. He was a little more awake now, feeling like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. On instinct, he checked his pocket for his phone, but he hadn’t used it since Cyrus texted him that he was on his way.

TJ stood up, following behind Cyrus who was already going up the stairs. They both went into TJ’s room, Cyrus going through his bag. “Where can I change and brush my teeth?” Cyrus asked him, not looking at him. TJ felt like something was off with Cyrus, and it was making him nervous.

“The door right across from here,” TJ pointed at the open door. Cyrus simply nodded and walked out, TJ watching him go with a frown on his face. Did he say something? Or was Cyrus as confused as he was?

Couches seemed to be cursed places for them.

TJ walked over to his bed where he found his phone. He had a couple of texts from his friends on a group chat he thought he muted and two messages from Amber.

Amber: [img]

Amber: Tell him you like him tonight, TJ! Listen to the kiddies from the gym. Kids aren’t liars.

TJ looked at the photo that Amber had sent. It was them sleeping on the couch. She must’ve sneaked down to eat and caught them like that. TJ placed the phone on his bedside drawer, not wanting to think about it too much. The idea of telling Cyrus he liked him made him nervous. They hadn’t even been made up for over 24 hours.

But he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t felt so many feelings for him at once.

When he announced to the kids at the gym that he was leaving, they all immediately asked him if that meant they wouldn’t see his boyfriend, Cyrus, anymore. TJ had never been so embarrassed as he told the little kids that that wasn’t his boyfriend.

“But you guys went on a date once,” a little boy named Elias said, his mouth in the shape of an o.

“Yeah, I thought you liked him, TJ,” one of the older girls named Leandra chimed in.

“Or is he your secret crush?” Cathy giggled, causing all the other kids to let out ooo’s and awww’s.

“No, no,” TJ shook his head furiously, “it’s not like that.”

“You should tell him,” Cathy shouted.

“Tell him what?” TJ raised a brow. His now exboss was now chuckling in the corner, taking in the scene.

“That you like him, duh!” Cathy shouted like it was the most obvious thing in the world. TJ stood there as all the kids agreed with her, looking at him with hopeful eyes.

“Maybe I will,” TJ shrugged, causing all of the kids to roar with cheers.

TJ was at the edge, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on for. He looked over at the air mattress, upset that he still had to set it up. He decided to do it after he brushed his teeth.

He sat at the end of his bed, wondering if Cyrus was fed up with him. He wanted to know what he was thinking. Did he like him, too? Did he want to kiss him, too? He wanted to ask him all the questions that had been burning inside of him, and it ached knowing that it came with the risk of losing him.

TJ looked down at his sweaty palms, wondering if that night was even a good moment to tell him.

Cyrus walked in sluggishly, his shoulders drooping down. He sat down next to TJ, shoulder touching shoulder.

“Are you upset about something?” TJ asked him, sitting still.

“I think I am, but it’s something stupid. Don’t worry about it,” Cyrus muttered. “I just needed to rinse off my face with cold water.” Without thinking, TJ reached over and grabbed Cyrus’ hand, interlocking their fingers. “TJ,” Cyrus sighed. “We’re friends, right?”

“Duh,” TJ said, laying back on the bed, his legs hanging off.

Cyrus mimicked him before whispering an, “Okay.” TJ licked his lips, silence starting to fill the room.

“Friends don’t,” TJ sighed, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to find the right words, “they don’t really do this stuff, do they?” TJ raised their hands up in the air slightly before gently setting them back down in between them.

“Not really,” Cyrus replied quickly.

“We’re a little different, then,” TJ said before whispering, “just a little.”

“Just a little bit,” Cyrus’ voice was trailing off.

Then, TJ broke.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

Not wanting to hold himself back anymore, he pulled his hand away from Cyrus and started furiously rubbing his face, letting out a barely audible, “We have to talk about this, Cyrus.” As soon as those words came out, he knew there was no going back.

“Let’s talk then,” Cyrus said plainly, sitting up on the end of the bed. TJ moved his hands from his face, but he didn’t want to sit up. He couldn’t look Cyrus in the eye right now- not when he felt so vulnerable. “Why did you really not want to see me when I came the day of the party?”

“Honestly, Cyrus,” TJ sighed. “I didn’t want you to see what a mess my life was that day. That’s it. If we’re talking about what happened on the couch… I couldn’t think about that at the moment, okay? I promise that’s it.”

“What happened on the couch? Because I still don’t know what to tell myself.”

“I don’t know what to tell myself either, Cyrus.”

“TJ,” Cyrus groaned, “what is our conversation even about?”

“Things we’re both clearly too afraid to talk about,” TJ sighed, rubbing his eyes. It’d help if he didn’t feel like he was going pass out every other minute.

“You’re not going to lose me if you’re scared of that.”

“That’s exactly what I’m scared of.”

“Well,” Cyrus laid back down next to him, “I’m here to stay.” TJ turned his head and smiled at Cyrus who was looking at the ceiling.

“Cyrus,” TJ clenched his hands into fists, searching for the courage to say the words. “Look,” he took a deep breath, “I’m going to say this as quickly as possible to get this over with so we can go to sleep and pretend this never happened.” TJ relaxed his hands, neatly folding them on his stomach, “I like you. Like you, like you. A lot.” TJ felt one weight being lifted off his shoulder as the weight of the world fell upon him. Cyrus didn’t say anything, each second going by slower than the last. “Please say something, Cyrus,” TJ pleaded, his eyes started to hurt.

“I like you, too, TJ,” Cyrus finally said, a little chuckle slipping out at the end. TJ’s eyes were wide open now. “I just didn’t think you’d like guys, too. You’re Mr. Heterosexual of Shadyside, honestly.”

TJ let out a snort, “That’s the worst thing anyone has called me. Being in basketball came with one curse.”

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve known for a long time. Only Amber and… I guess you, know.”

“The gays really do group together,” Cyrus joked, reaching over to grab TJ’s hand. TJ ended up pulling his hand towards his cheek, leaving it there. His lips were pressed slightly on Cyrus’ thumb.

“Is this real or another dream of you?” TJ mumbled as he started to process the entire situation. Was this really happened? Finally?

“Do you dream of me?” Cyrus asked, smiling through the question.

“Mostly daydream,” TJ found himself admitting. TJ turned his head to look at the brunet and smiled, “You’re really great, Cyrus. I hope you know that.”

There was a comfortable pause before Cyrus asked, “So what now? I don’t usually take initiatives.”

“I don’t know,” TJ laughed, “I didn’t ever think I’d get this far.”

“Well, really, the only option was for me to jump out your window and run home.”

“Would you do that?”

“Only if it wasn’t you.”

“So,” TJ smiled, “you like me?”

“Don’t make me repeat it, TJ,” Cyrus pressed his hand momentarily into TJ’s face.

“I feel like I didn’t appreciate it enough the first time,” TJ merrily laughed.

“You’re just messing with me now,” Cyrus rolled his eyes. “But,” he bit his lips, “I like you, so I’ll say it again. I like you a lot, TJ Kippen.”

“I like you, too, Cyrus Goodman,” TJ cheekily grinned. Not knowing what else to say, he asked him, “Can I take you out tomorrow?”

“On a date or in a fist fight?” Cyrus asked before quickly adding in a, “Sorry. I make jokes when my heart is beating so fast I can’t feel it.”

“Don’t worry,” TJ said, “I like it. I like you.”

“I know.”

At last my love has come along

My lonely days are over and life is like a song

At last the skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you

I found a dream that I could speak to

A dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill I've never known, oh yeah

You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast

And here we are in Heaven

For you are mine at last

A/N: Well. There's the confession lmaoooo. I've had this confession written out in my notebook since August 19, 2018. It's currently November 14, 2018. It's only partially the same tbh. They were originally going to be at the swings because this sleepover wasn't planned. This was the only way or else this story was going to get longer and longer than what I wanted. I have 2-3 more chapters left in me. Maybe 4?? But it won't be long before I reach the end :) Anyways, if you survived this long burn from the beginning or any point in time really, congratulations. I made it difficult for myself lmao.

Tysm for the love and support :’) <3 It makes my heart go !!!!!!

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#stars writing #andi mack #tyrus #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #tjs playlist

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