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uncannycookie · 4 months ago

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OC-tober Day 9: Relationships

Crea was supposed to be a short-term antagonist. Come in, be an asshole, die early.

But then they went and became interesting? And now I fucking love them?? And their dynamic with Emri is super fun?? They have a huge crush on him at the end, though they wouldn't admit that under torture.

Their fingertips linger near the edge of one of the cuts down their arm, and they're frowning. He grabs their wrist and turns their arm towards the light, searching for mistakes. "What?" he says finally and looks up just in time to catch them already looking back at him. "What's the problem?" A sharp tug frees their wrist from his grasp and their eyes flick away from his. "It's fine." They go back to fumbling with the bandages. "You didn't cut through any tattoos. You went along the lines instead." "Ah." Emri leans back on his heels, fingers picking at the ground by his side. "I mean, I had to cut somewhere. I tried to find a good place for it, but, you know." He points at their arms, as if they've forgotten the countless black lines and shapes adorning their own skin. "It's hard." Miraculously, they're nodding along with him. "No, yeah," they say completely nonsensically. "That's what I'm saying, you, uh, you got the sutures in there pretty well. Goes with the pattern, even if it ends up scarring." Naturally that had been his intention when he planned out the cuts, but now that Crea is making a weird face about it, he fears it might once again be some inane social thing he did wrong. There's a prickling along his neck. He blows a strand of hair out of his face, a little too loudly perhaps. "Well, I'm sorry if that wasn't right, but it's not like I could ask you about it. You were unconscious and I did my best." Unsure what else to say and perfectly fine with ending the conversation, he snaps his hands to the side in what he hopes is an articulate enough gesture to convey exactly that, then slaps them down on his knees and pushes himself up. Why does he even try, honestly. "I meant, thank you!" Crea barks the words at him before he's even fully straightened his back. Which means he stops to meet their eyes from a very uncomfortable position, half stood up, fully confused. Their head thumps back against the wall. "I, yeah. It was…" They sigh a long, long sigh. "That was nice of you. That's all I meant to say." For a moment they stare him down. Then they huff, look away, rip at the remaining bandage with far too much force. "Could've said it better, I guess. Sorry about that." Emri isn't sure he's even supposed to hear that last part. Slowly, he sits back down, perhaps a tiny bit contrite. "Maybe you didn't say it that wrong," he says. "It's just, with your face and all. Makes it sound different." "Oh!" Their voice is suddenly loud enough again to make him jump. "Oh, my face is the problem?" What else would it be? He shrugs. "For me, yeah." "Wow." For some inexplicable reason, they start laughing. "Thanks! Thank you so much." Emri nods. "Welcome."

#bweirdOCtober #OC-tober #october art challenge 2024 #my OCs #art or sth #emri #crea #my writing #god this took me all day #I haven't drawn digitally in so long #it's not even the ninth anymore over here #crea's design is hard ok #I already draw their tattoos way less elaborate than they're meant to be #still takes me forever #long post

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abbyslovergirlxo · 1 month ago

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Liar

Pt2 to The Most

synopsis: after your wife’s death, grief consumes you. three months have passed and Mel Medarda finds you on the balcony painting

Tw; grief, reader is not so nice to Mel, conflicted feelings, death

It had been three months since Ambessa’s death. It hadn’t felt like it though, days would fit more so to you. A lot had happened since, lots of ‘progress’ as Mel liked to remind you. Time to time you’d indulge her and listen to all the beautiful things she made possible due to the defeat of her mother. In your head you knew she meant well, it truly made you happy to hear about the news. But there was a pit inside you so deep that it swallowed anything you thought made you happy.

Week by week was spent in the confines of your room. Mel had tried many times to draw you out but to no avail. Sure she’d see you at supper and other tiny moments but that was all that you allowed the world.

Night after night you dreamt of her, her ruby painted lips and hazel eyes. Sometimes it was comforting in approach, you’d see her in her robe laughing on the marbled balcony under the sun. Or you’d get lucky and envision her whispering sweet nothings to you, her voice blurrier every time though. Other nights were not so gracious. The nights where you saw her dying over and over, always left you in a cold sweat. The first time you’d dreamt it you’d refused to go to sleep for three days.

Time had not proven to heal you at all. Everyday you felt heavier and heavier. Here and there joy would find you in small moments, but always in the back of your mind was her. Always. And you weren’t sure if you were prepared to live with that for the rest of your life. Maybe you should’ve considered it when you agreed to kill your lover. But that was of no use now.

Currently you stood in front of your easel, splotching purples aggressively into the corner of the canvas. Occasionally you’d step back and look over it, examine it, study it. It wasn’t exactly perfect but it was something and you hoped that was enough.

“ They told me I could find you here.”

You didn’t bother to turn around, knowing who it was.

“ Found me.”

Your voice was different, your once light voice was now rough and raspy. Either little emotion thrown into it or too much to conceptualize. Mel had noticed it a couple weeks ago. She worried silently that it was all of your outburst that caused it. She had been stern with the staff to keep quiet about the screaming that could be heard from your room most nights.

You didn’t stop your painting, pressing streaks wherever it seemed called to be. Mel opted to walk next to you, since it was apparent you were making no true effort to face her. She looked at you, then trailed her eyes to your work. She grimaced slightly at the painting but held her composure well.

“ There is something we must discuss.”

You hummed, the only gesture you allowed to let her know to continue.

“ The founder's ball, we need you there.”

Instantly you shook your head no.

“ I need you there. The people need to see us as a united front.”

“ Mel–”

“ They need to see that the remaining Merdardas are dedicated to our city. I can’t do that without you, not entirely. My mother left many things in your name, without y–”

“ Take it. Whatever has been left to me, strip me of it and take it.”

She looked at you, stunned. Mel clenched her fist slightly, trying her best to refrain from anger.

“ No, that’s not possible. Noxian titles are only passed on in the death of a person.”

“ Then I’ll die.”

“ You need to stop this.”

You pressed the brush harder into the canvas, moving more rapidly now. Mel said something, of which you couldn’t be sure. The only thing you were sure of was that you hated this fucking painting. You didn’t get her eyes right. Or her arms. Or her hair or her hands or anything. Especially her lips. No matter how blurry everything else had gotten, you’d never forgotten the blueprint of her mouth, the creases of them like a roadmap to your heart.

Until now, apparently. You clenched the brush. Another press. Another one. Then another. A black streak, unloving and darkening. You weren’t sure when you’d started ruining the painting. You hadn’t even noticed what you were doing until you felt a hand grab your shoulder, spinning you to look at such a familiar face. The tears made it a bit blurry, the horrid expansion of paint like a decrepit mirage in your peripheral. You sobbed, looking over the fuzzy face.

The gold ring. You’d forgotten the gold ring.

“ Hey…hey I need you to look at me.”

Your head dropped, salty tears dripping from your face onto the marbled floor.

“ I can’t remember her face, Mel…”

At Least not in the way you wanted to.

It’s something that came to you three days ago, when you sat at your desk trying to sketch her. You’d scribble out her beautiful curls, and under eye bags. But then you’d mess up the crease in her neck, the softness of her iris. You’d spent the next 2 hours trying to capture your wife onto tear soaked papers. The ones she’d brought you from that one shop you’d liked, even if you protested about its expenses. But to no avail. It wasn’t until finally you gave into that pounding, that monstrous noise in the back of your head.

Not even 10 minutes later, you stared soullessly at the lifeless body of Ambessa. Why couldn’t you remember her with that sunkissed tinge in her cheeks? The abrupt laughter against your neck? The curve of her smile as she danced with you? Why couldn’t you remember your Ambessa how you wished? Why were the splatters of blood on her face so much easier to paint? Five years of marriage blurred and five minutes of grief ingrained.

Mel looked as if she too wished to cry but she feared your grief was too big to make room for her at this moment. You looked unwell in such a way that she wished for just a second she could be her mother if it meant it’d take that look off your face. It reminded her of a deer, one too weak to stand and too anguished to allow help.

“ I…”

You finally peered up at her, eyes glossy, her hand holding you up almost. Your eyes were distant, as if you were neither here nor there. For the past three months every time she looked at you, one of two things were at the forefront of her mind. One being that you really needed help, that your mind was proving to be more sick than your body. And then the second. The thing she never let seep out of her, the thing she always kept stuffed down. I’m sorry.

“ I do.”

She seemed unsure of what to do, what to say. She felt as though she had a delicate thing in her grasp and the last thing she wanted was to break you even more. For a moment she forgot about the founders ball, about the regulations and to-do’s, about Jayce, about everything. And in the next moment that followed, all she could think about was her mother. For years she’d spent her time hating her, angry at the morales she clung to, the abandonment. For so long she spent her time seeing her mother as a dark shadow with no face, only an evil presence who she needed a drip of love from more than she’d ever admit.

But after her death it's as if something had lifted. Grief still invited itself into her bed most nights but now she could rest that piece of her heart that always resented her mother. Now that shadowy figure was the stern faced woman who brushed her hair, the applauding voice during her training, the smiling mother who greeted her.

It suddenly occurred to her how you both must’ve been different sides of the same coin. You’d known the kindness of your Ambessa for the entirety of your marriage. But after her death, that seemed to die with her. Now all your mind allowed you was the distorted images of her body. Maybe it was your way of punishing yourself. Who knows. All you knew was that all her death offered you was oblivion. And yet her death offered the woman in front of a way out from such darkness.

Mel smiled at you, wiping the tears from your face.

“ I can tell you about it if you’d like.”

She reached over cautiously to your shaking hand that still clutched the brush. She grabbed it softly, but your grip was firm, your breathing still uneven. God, why did your chest burn?

“ I can paint her for you too if it’d please you?”

Finally you looked at her, really looked at her. You let the brush go, allowing her to take it. Your hand moved for you, your mind not catching up to your body. The touch of your palm caught your off guard causing her to flinch. She didn’t remove it, waiting for your answer. But you didn’t respond, your thumb doing small circles on her cheek. She wondered if you’d even heard her.

“ You…”

She nodded, as if encouraging you.

“ You look like her, you know?” You whispered.

Mel nodded again this time, unable to hold back the tear that fell. She cried softly as you continued, your hands roaming over her face gently and softly. You traced her face as if she was going to disappear any moment, as if the last piece of your wife was going to vanish into thin air. She leaned into your hands, your ring finger trailing her jawline, rubbed over her brows and caressed her nose. Mel was pleased when she saw you smiling softly, even if it held a million echoes of torment behind it. Atleast you were smiling, she thought.

“ Was it worth it?”

Her brows furrowed, knowing exactly what you meant. She stared at you, your smile never gone, only a bit weaker now. She’d asked herself the same thing many times before she’d rest her head at night, before she stormed into meetings, before she did anything. She considered telling you the truth. But then she looked past you, at the distorted image of her mother in purple, the violent strokes of black across her face. She looked at the bags under your eyes, felt the tenderness in your touch. Mel thought back to the night she’d come to you, telling you what must be done. She’d told you that it was necessary and once it was done it’d be worth it. She remembered the tremble in your lip when you’d asked her this same question months ago.

And she answered the same way she did before.

“ Yes.”

Mel watched as your smile faded, your hands retracting. You looked gone again, the echoes of torment no longer in the background.

“ Liar.”

The tone of your voice was so light, so empty that she had no idea if you were speaking to her or yourself. She watched as you walked away without another word. She stood there, holding that stupid brush before she threw it at the painting. Her knees betrayed her as she crumpled to the floor, her formal composure leaving her. The soft tears she’d offered you before were heavier now, louder with a burning truth behind them. Mel Medarda broke apart on that tile, eyes burning holes into that awful painting.

“ You’ve left me here with this! With her!”

She screamed at the canvas as if she’d hear her mothers voice do the same back to her. But it never did. Solemnly her voice died down and her chest burned.

I’m sorry. She thought. I’m so sorry.

#explore #ambessa league of legends #ambessa x reader #ambessa smut #ambessa x you #arcane #arcane ambessa #explorerpage #arcane x reader #fypage #mel medarda #mel arcane #mel x reader #arcane fyp #arcane mel #SoundCloud

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