#if everything fails i can always watch arcane again

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

-_-

[waywardsou2]

(credits to @lucrezianoin for the video)

(Latching onto their post because I had something I needed to say)

My theory here is that look of surprise on Viktor's face is because Jayce hasn't ever made it this far, at least not in once peice.

Part of me thinks that this whole time he's been watching Jayce since he can jump multiverses or somehow knew where Jayce was at in the timeline of events he knew were to come in this timeline.

But for whatever reason Jayce never made it this far, he never made it to Piltover to find him and be able to learn what he needed to to succeed. This is the first time Viktor has seen Jayce in a form that wasn't "perfect, dead or dying.

He very well knew who was knelt in front of his Jayce but even still his eyes widen and flicker, his mouth falls open and he takes a pause that I don't think was for the dramatic effect on his part.

This is the first time he's seen Jayce whole in a few multiversal millenia.

And not to mention Jayce, his face of disbelief and probable realisation that everything up to this point had somehow always been connected to Viktor, that even from the beginning it was Viktor who set him on the path of his obsession with the arcane and anything magical.

His whole face softens, he was tired, he was confused, he was angry. And some part of him probably blamed this mage. If he hadn't been given the crystal, he wouldn't have perused magic, Viktor wouldn't have been caught up in all of this and maybe they could have just been professors together at the academy. But then it turns out that it was Viktor, it somehow was always Viktor

Also, that fact that both of their pupils dilate slightly which happens when looking at something you love. It's not like it was the light or anything they are both very well lit up with bright eyes. They are looking at the person they hold most dearest.

Jayce knows if he fails, he loses Viktor, he loses his life and he risks the lives of many others

Viktor knows that if things haven't worked out in the correct order, he is doomed to watch himself and Jayce tear each other apart all over again.

This also means that Viktor has seen infinite outcomes where Viktor and Jayce have not been able to save each other and that this one. These exact events, were the only thing in all of the multiverse that ended up being the good ending, where Viktor wasn't left alone with his glorious purpose and Jayce didn't wind up dead. This and only this timeline was the way things could work out without one of them getting hurt or lost.

I also want to say that this probably created a paradox. Mage Viktor only exists because Jayce and Viktor used the Arcane to unlock the multiverse. But mage Viktor had to exist in some timeline before hextech to be able to find Jayce and fix the other timelines.

And the other timelines only exist because Viktor was trying to save them, but if he had never given Jayce the crystal or saved him then the other timelines may have never suffered, he did this because he couldn't fathom the idea of a universe where he never got to meet Jayce. It was almost as if he didn't like the thought of any of his counterparts never having met Jayce...if that isn't heartbreaking, I don't know what it

And I have a question about Mage Viktor's actions...why? It's not like Marvel where fixing his timeline will fix all timelines. Jayce was only able to save his timeline and Ekko was only able to keep the other timeline from falling apart by leaving. So why did he feel the need to try and fix all the other timelines?

Because he loved Jayce, I think. And he never wanted there to be a timeline where they never met. he needed his counterparts to know what it was like to be in Jayce's presence, he needed to know that he could be loved and that he could love in return. He needed them to understand that. But so many...too many of them didn't

[ostrichlady]

I've watched season 2 of arcane many times now, and that last scene of Viktor and Jayce never fails to amaze me. Once you know exactly what's going to happen after a few rewatches, you start noticing little clues and symbolism across the show which make the scene so much more delightful but that's not even what makes me feel so impacted at the end of it. With all the sincerity I hold in me, this is one of the most beautiful and purest depictions of love I've ever seen.

The scene sequence works so well. It's perfect. It's raw and tender and caring. Overflowing with all the abstraction of what love is.

The artistry is breathtaking. The colours of a ruined world contrasting with the lively shades of flowers against Jayce's stone figure. The clean blue from the sky, the polished and ancient figure of mage Viktor against the rough edges and vibrancy of defender Jayce.

The celestial colours of their bodies detached from any materialistic accessories, Jayce's face being so much warmer in contrast with Viktor's much paler complexion. The gold from the different souls, the thin strands of consciousness gathering at one moment. Galaxy in its most humane form if that's even possible.

Everything is beautifully harmonized to fulfill one goal, which is to frame the connection of Jayce and Viktor.

I can't get enough of looking at Jayce's face throughout this whole scene. His eyes speak for his heart louder than anyone could comprehend. Understandment, care, longing, affection. A need and a want to let Viktor have his love. He's telling Viktor that he's there and he won't leave again, wherever Viktor goes, he will too. And Jayce knows Viktor isn't like him. Viktor won't simply take love and gulp it down.

No, Jayce understands that he has to do it slowly, wrapped in tenderness but full of determination. It stands out to me just how, when reaching for Viktor's shoulder, Jayce's hand hoovers for a little bit before grabbing it. He's giving time to Viktor, but he's also assuring that he's there. For him. With him.

Viktor is confused, is scared, his eyes are desperately looking at what he has done, and what it could've become, how could it be that he had been so wrong? And why was Jayce talking to him about wanting his partner back when Viktor himself doesn't know if he could be anything remotely similar after everything? Why was this man overflowing with so much affection when Viktor was, until a few seconds ago, trying to get rid of it all? Viktor gets taken down from this polished, higher power mindset and is thrown right at the core of human emotions, barely able to hang on to it.

But it's okay because Jayce will hold Viktor until he can stand for himself. 

Jayce tells him it's okay. He does it by looking at him dearly. By holding his open hand carefully. By placing the gem in it securely. No matter what happens, it is okay. 

The gem is reactive and powerful and holds so much to it. Their lives, their projects, their dreams. Magic in raw form, full capacity.

When both of their hands are placed on what started everything, they both look at each other one final time. This is it. They know what's about to happen. But it's okay. It really is. Because there's nothing else they can do to fight their destiny this time. Because there's really no point fighting this time.

Jayce pulls Viktor, a call for him. I'm here. 

And Viktor responds to his call. I know.

They are together.  They've always been together, their connection preserved into a small gem stone. Into so many others, across so many other possibilities and timelines. Whether it failed or not, it has always been there. Raw and sincere.

This time, despite the circumstances, it did work. Not everything is perfect, but it doesn't have to be. That's the beauty of it all, as Jayce said himself. The world will keep moving even after they're gone. Broken as always, but never stopping.

Theirs souls are intertwined across what we call time and space. If forever has an ending, then it will be rewritten. Their love is bigger than any terms we might choose to describe it. Their bond is far greater than any anomaly or magic blast.

They're safe, embraced by the deepness and vastness of the universe. Nothing will separate them. It started with them and it finished with them. Always them, only them. Together as partners.

[mossballs-stuff]

What costumes I think Arcane characters would wear for a costume party

Jinx, Sevika, and Isha

Isha has been obsessed with Five Nights at Freddy's and has been begging Jinx for days on end to do a costume about it. Jinx, obviously, ends up caving in.

Jinx tries to get Ekko to join in but he refused

Isha is dressed up as the crying child, Jinx put together a full Springtrap cosplay and Sevika is "a night guard" ( Wearing a purple wifepleaser she did Not want a part of this )

Jinx keeps sneaking behind corners and scaring the shit out of Vi. She tried to scare Jayce and nearly lost her tooth. He feels a little bit bad about it

She's making everyone watch the FNAF movie and giggling every time someone begs to watch something else. It's too cringe for them I fear. Isha is having the time of her goddamn life frankly.

Sevika brings purple themed drinks that only she drinks because it's JUST straight up whiskey she put purple food dye into. It's bad whiskey too.

Jayce, Caitlyn, and Vi

They dressed up as Stu and Billy from the original Scream movie. Originally they were just going to do Ghostface but Jayce really wanted to show his face. Vi decided to drag Caitlyn into being their Sidney.

Jayce keeps spilling shit onto his sweater and going "well this works anyway." His sweater which originally just had a little bit of red on it is basically covered in wine by the end of the night.

Vi keeps smearing the fake blood onto everything. Caitlyn's face still has red handprints by the next day. Vi says she'll clean it off and instead makes it worse.

They watch the original Scream and Jayce keeps pausing to talk about actor trivia and VI just unpauses while he isn't looking. Viktor is the ONLY ONE listening to him.

They brought Ghostface themed cupcakes that Caitlyn made with red icing on the inside. They're absolutely way too sweet and Vi has like 3.

Jayce brought a red sangria that is one of the more popular drinks. He says he made it himself but he bought a gallon like a few hours before because he tried and FAILED REAL BAD at making sangria.

Viktor

Was going to be Lawrence Gordon but only an hour before the party he realized no one would get his costume. He scrapped together a very shitty House M.D. cosplay in like 30 minutes.

He's only there because Jayce begged him for like an hour to come with him. He's having a fun time though.

Suggests they watch Saw because he loves describing how medically inaccurate everything is. This is also because Jayce keeps hiding in his shoulder whenever anything gross comes on screen.

He's considering convincing Jayce to dress up as Adam from the Saw movies. This is because he's seen the musical and he is, in fact, gay.

This is ruined by Jinx going "me fr" anytime Amanda is on screen and asking if she can dress up as Amanda with them. She's doing this on purpose.

I think Jinx tries to scare him and he just stares at her so unamused. It works one time on ACCIDENT and he throws the bottle of pills straight at her forehead.

He brought candy cigarettes because, again, his original costume was for Saw. Now it just seems lame. Vi chews on them so unsettlingly

Mel

Jessica Rabbit. She has the best costume in the entire party and no one can stop complementing her. She brought a little rabbit plushie and allows Isha to play with it. She ends up just letting her have it after everything.

She did not get the memo this was supposed to be about like horror movies. She's relieved when Viktor comes and he's just House M.D.

I think about halfway through she changes into a cowgirl costume. This was always the plan because that dress is incredibly uncomfortable. She comes out of the bathroom and everyone cheers.

She's not fully paying attention to whatever movies they're watching. However, she does make them watch Oh Brother Where Art Thou. Everyone kinda skitters off besides her, Jayce, and Viktor. I think they all fall asleep against one another watching it.

She brought gummy ropes as lasso and sliders shaped like bunnies.

Ekko

He's a huge Good Omens fan I know it in my heart and soul. He dresses up as Crowley. He made a leather jacket that has fake wings on the back and even has snake eye contacts.

He makes everyone watch the first episode of Good Omens and Viktor gets HOOKED so fast. Jayce ends up watching the whole show on his own time and realizes things about himself.

I think he was originally planning to be Doctor Who but Viktor was already planning to play a doctor so he went with Crowley instead.

He shows off his signed poster by David Tennent and Jayce is SO jealous

They're talking about their favorite actors for most of the night. They end up eventually planning to go to a convention together at some point. They're going to dress up as Mandalorians because they're nerds

I think Ekko is like, a professional cosplayer. He shows off his Anakin cosplay, his Cal Kestis cosplay with a functioning puppet BD-1, his old My Hero Academia cosplays... Jayce starts to get really into it

He brought a bottle of whiskey and a white wine with devil and angel wings on each respectively.

[fandom-reader]

Listen, that will be a long one but listening to this song on repeat makes me THINK!!!

I came back and brought the crown with me / The king's den

At some point Jinx will come back to Piltover, I know it. But she won't be back to seek redemption or forgiveness from the people she knew, she won't be looking for healing her wounds or closure of her past.

Once Jinx comes back, she knows she doesn't need her sister approval she was looking for for such a long time. She doesn't need her acceptance or forgiveness or Vi telling her that all is good now and they can be sisters again.

Never learned to raise my hand, Was too busy raising hell / Everything I know I am / You should go and save yourself /Thought you had my number huh / Congratulations you played yourself

She knows she's not Powder anymore as Powder died for good with Isha. She may be less crazy, voices now calmer and quieter as they used to. They are still there even if she learned how not to trust them completely or to not listen to them all the time. Sometimes she still does though.

She accepts that everything that happened to her in her life made her Jinx and she will always be Jinx. It can mean something bad, or good, everything or nothing at all, but most importantly it makes her her.

I've been in court with the spirit beside me since I was a baby / Just getting chaotic / Y'all made me a product for causing the chaos / Right here where they raised me

After all, she is chaos.

She meets with Ekko. They fight, obviously. He already mourned her death, has to learn to live without her, blaming himself sometimes that he could do more to keep her alive. And it's not easy to get past that even if he's happy to see her again.

She may not understand it completely, but she tries, and fails, and tries again. It's not easy, but taking small steps, they can make it work. Sometimes she still does not believe that he can accept her the way it is, but then he proves her otherwise. He shows here how the city changed. At some walls she can still see faded blue.

I don't believe that after Arcane's final war upper and under city will become one at all, sharing and caring for each other. As you can fight together against one enemy but it doesn't mean you're friends, and after it's done, you go seperate ways again.

And I know that Zaun people will throw a party to greet Jinx back, some of them joining just to make sure that rumours are true. And I can see her dancing freely in a bar, jumping and throwing head around to the sound of this song (which makes me want to do the same, with the amount of energy it gives me, not being able to stay still), enjoying herself to the fullest, not minding anyone else's opinion. Ekko watches her, with a warm smile on his face, giving her all the space.

Sure, some of the people are eyeing her, suspicious, some of them want to kill her, or punish her, or make her pay for the past. But she doesn't care. And then they will understand that there's no point in that.

Because she is, after all, the queen of Zaun. And Ekko is the king.

[woahjo]

Arcane anon here! I completely agree with you!! In season 1 poverty and oppression played such an incredibly central role in the story, and addressing it was the main motivation of almost all the main characters (funny how intent vs effect works). The second season really did feel like it sidelined this theme and became a bit more… spiritual? Idk what the right word is but it went from very close to issues similar to our world, to straying further and further from it with the hivemind thing. I mean I do get why they chose to go into this direction with season 2 since there was just so much to wrap up in 9 episodes and I still love the way they did it.

But I wish they addressed the differences in Piltover & Zaun more cause for me Sevika joining the council is just not enough. Especially cause she is in the obvious minority so while she can finally advocate for Zaun’s interests, it will be hard to actually get them to listen. Also because throughout the show, in everything all the characters from Piltover say, you can just hear the deep rooted prejudice, even those who seem to care. Like you said even if it probably wasn’t deliberate, it is still very much there. I suppose this also mimics our world tho since her joining the council is huge but being able to taste the fruits of it is gonna take a loooong while.

Also your mind is just amazing with Jinx and Vi representing the sister cities and Jinx and Isha’s relationship representing a cycle of violence against children in marginalised and underfunded communities cause I had not even thought of that. God I love this show and being able to talk about it. No one in my circle has watched it so I can’t rant about it as much so thank you for letting me dump this in your inbox lmaoo

YES you're so right! I agree, it does feel like almost every character's motivations lied somewhere in that inequality between piltover and zaun, especially the characters from the fissures. i also totally get why they went that direction, but it does feel like a BIT of a disservice to the themes in the first season of the show, though maybe that's because i particularly dislike the trope of "the world is ending let's band together" bc it feels a tinge like a cop out, but we cannot win them all.

and yeah!!!! that's one of my fav ways to think about jinx and vi. they represent different parts of the cycle of violence and poverty. where vi aligns herself with cait and the enforcers (and thus piltover), jinx aligns herself almost entirely with zaun and the fissures. i saw someone say here how zaun and piltover are sister cities and no one can take that away from them. they're always inexplicably intertwined and i really feel that for vi and jinx as well. inexplicably intertwined even when vi wants to forget that jinx is her sister at all and it's worsened by the class divide present in the series.

when isha, jinx, and sevika are facing cait and vi in season 2, vi has jinx at gunpoint and is about to kill her. then, you have isha, a child who does not understand the complexities of their conflict or the crimes that jinx has committed, throwing herself in the line of fire to protect someone she loves. isha unknowingly involves herself in this conflict and is willing to die for a cause she doesn't fully understand because of her age. something similar happened to powder, which changed the trajectory of her life and made her who she is (for better or worse). vi is then forced to choose, no doubt reminded of her own short-comings when it came to powder. she's forced, for a moment, to think about all of the ways she (and others) failed her younger sister and decide whether or not she'd like to fail the youth of the place she came from again, killing jinx and subjecting isha to the same cycle of violence that separated the sisters in the first place.

then, you have cait, who encourages vi to make the choice to kill jinx anyway and even attempts to do so herself, regardless of the consequences to the child. cait has never experienced that cycle of violence and does not know what it means to really FAIL a child in that sense because she hasn't ever been forced to consider it. she's blinded by her own personal rage and subsequently, her comfortable upbringing and privilege (setting aside personal pressures) being from one of the most prominent families in piltover. cait is the oppressor in this moment and in the moments following it. she's righteous because she's from piltover, because she's on "the good side of the fence". her anger is justified, where jinx's is criminal. vi is not permitted, in this moment, to have empathy and cait poses vi's inability to kill jinx in front of isha as a moral failing rather than what it is, an unwillingness to perpetuate the cycle that ruined both hers and jinx's lives.

it's here, i think, that vi realizes that she's aligned herself with the oppressor and that, despite all she's done, she's zaunian first to those from above ground. that she can NEVER separate herself from jinx or zaun the way she'd like to. they're sisters in the same way piltover and zaun are. her actions have consequences, like toxic run off from piltover into the fissures, they perpetuate the cycle against people from her community. it doesn't matter that she's "doing the right thing", there is always a child who bears the consequences.

[magenta-somethings]

10 people I'd like to get to know better tag game! tagged by @magicalcreeks (its awesome seeing your username again :D)

Last song: jesus wrote a blank check by cake (i'm checking if i should add any of their songs to my kon-el playlist)

Fave color: take a guess. (… yeah. its magenta)

Last book: the myth of sisyphus by albert camus (lowkey, reading it has made me wonder if i'm an idiot. but on the plus side, i think absurdism could be an interesting lens to view batman/bruce’s philosophy through? maybe?) (<- brainrot means everything has to be about comics)

Last movie: sasquatch sunset; i admired what it was trying to do, but i don’t think it quite managed to pull it off

Last tv show: arcane s2 – watching it as it comes out with my brother!

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: sweet, if i'm being honest with myself

Relationship status: single but i’ve recently reopened the dating app (pray for me)

Last thing I searched: kon-el prime – to find the kon-el (prime earth) dc database page, to check what recent comics he’s been in

Current obsession: young justice (especially kon) & 90s/00s batfamily, but dragon age is doing its best to get a foot in the door lmao

Looking forward to: d&d game on monday!

Bonus topics

Favorite drink: chai latte

Song playing on a loop in your head: renegade (we never run) by stefflon don, raja kumari ft. jarina de marco (from arcane s2)

Current favorite character: kon!!!!!!! he’s my boy <3

Fun activity you would like to get into: cosplaying! i dip my toes into it every now & then, but keep failing to commit to actually making a costume

Last video game: dragon age: origins: awakening

Last comic/graphic novel: robin (1993), #103 (just need to get to 120 & then i can enter the teen titans (03) era!)

tagging: @rootbeerrex @taters-for-tots @garbageonion @myrkywater @so-much-for-cryptids @lucifers-favorite-child @tiamat14 @ax3faire @searchforahero @blackthornass (including some ppl i haven't interacted directly much with because, well, this is about getting to know people) (as always, no pressure)

[https-satvrn]

i was watching a video essay the other day by schnee (linked at the end of the post) called “miguel’s destructive idea of spider-man.” in it, he talks about how all spider-people in “across the spider-verse” and beyond are united by a central theme: making up for past mistakes. all of them are trying to do good because they failed someone in the past. they broke something that they can’t ever fix, so they try to fix everything else instead. from peter’s uncle ben to miguel’s gabrielle to gwen’s peter—it’s all about using the present to “fix” the past. schnee has a lot more to say on the topic, especially about how miles breaks that pattern, but i’m summarizing for time’s sake. go watch the essay for yourself; it’s so, so well-written, and schnee is an incredibly intelligent guy with amazing essays on media like arcane and across the spider-verse.

that got me thinking about how this is a theme throughout superhero media in general. if we think about all the major characters we think of when we think “superhero,” all of them at least begin their stories by trying to make up for what happened in the past. tony stark does good to make up for the destruction his company caused before he stopped selling weapons. natasha romanoff is an agent for shield to make up for her time in the red room. hell, even bruce wayne is a hero to make up for the murder of his parents. now, obviously, their motivations can change, and they usually do, depending on the media. but these are characters fundamentally based in their pasts.

another video essay by schnee, this one on arcane, called “how ekko redefines time,” also linked below, he talks about how ekko (from arcane) is a character who is based in the present. throughout the show, he is not focusing on the past or the future, but the here and now. more specifically, schnee dives into the idea of a “dynamic present.” scnee’s video describes it like this: “if i take a die and i roll it, and i get a four, that doesn’t mean the sum total of the reality of the die is four. no, the reality of the die is 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6. and it is always 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6. that’s what a die is. and yes, time moving forward can only choose one path, but when i’m engaging the die, all six realities are in that moment, meaning the concept of potential isn’t just thought experiments or what could happen. potential is a real, existing quality that is incarnate in the present moment.”

this is what kitri is. she isn’t working from the past to build a better present. she isn’t like miles morales, working from the future to define what his present should be. she recognizes what the present is: pure potential. this is at the core of her story, and why, in a genre saturated by those trying to make up for their past, i find kitri so unique and interesting. i love working with her because i haven’t seen anything like her before, besides, of course, ekko, who was so incredibly unique to me upon the first watch of arcane that i watched “the boy savior” over and over and over again, and why i still find myself rewatching the timebomb episode when i have a free hour or so.

and yeah. in case you couldn’t tell, kitri makes me just a little insane.

links to schnee’s videos and channel (again, go check him out! he’s able to articulate these concepts in much better ways than i could ever, so if any of this sounded remotely interesting to you, give these a watch!):

[alikharaghanian]

9. EMOTIONS Feelings at Play: How Games and Movies Touch Our Hearts

When I think back to the games I’ve played or the movies and series I’ve watched, the scenes that come to mind first are always the ones that stirred my emotions, rather than the overall story or the gameplay. If games were only about gameplay—killing enemies without any complexity and moving on to the next level—many players would lose interest and not finish them. Especially as you grow out of your teenage years and your perspective on life and people deepens, you start expecting more from games. That “more” is the ability to evoke emotions, which is what you truly seek.

The most fundamental requirement for a game capable of evoking emotions is deep and complex storytelling. Games like The Last of Us, with narratives filled with heartbreaking and sorrowful moments, joyful and soothing scenes, feelings of guilt, hatred, anger, fear, anxiety, and excitement, immerse players in their stories. These emotions motivate players to put themselves in the characters’ shoes and truly live the game.

Moments like the death of Max Payne’s family, Lee turning into a zombie in The Walking Dead, or the final scene of the movie The Mist are unforgettable. It’s as if the pain and suffering we experienced through identifying with these characters happened to us personally.

Another key element that enhances emotions in games and films is character design—from visual and physical appearance to their personality, dialogue, and, most importantly, body language and movements. Many impactful roles in cinema and animation don’t rely on dialogue but instead convey emotions through body language, such as the animated masterpiece WALL-E or the legendary Charlie Chaplin.

The design of certain characters in animations and games can be so influential that fans emulate their outfits, hairstyles, and body movements for years. One of the most successful examples is the animated series Arcane, which has gained massive popularity among Gen Z.

The intricate details in the design of these characters—from hairstyles and colors to accessories and outfits—create a platform for expressing emotions to the audience. For instance, a character might change their hairstyle or accessories during moments of sadness, subtly reflecting their emotional state. This level of detail adds depth and relatability to the character, allowing viewers and players to connect with them on a personal level.

Another scenario that evokes emotions in games is the gameplay itself and its challenges. The feelings of victory, frustration, satisfaction, and anxiety during progression are what deeply engage players. This is especially true during boss fights, where the tension and stakes are at their peak.

One of the games that masterfully creates these moments is the masterpiece Elden Ring. Its intricate boss battles not only test players’ skills but also create an emotional rollercoaster—fear when facing an overwhelming enemy, determination to try again after failing, and an unparalleled sense of accomplishment when finally succeeding.  The visual world-building in games brings feelings of grandeur and majesty to life, such as in God of War, where you experience these emotions in vast historical settings or during battles with giant monsters. In horror games, the design of dark and abandoned spaces evokes feelings of fear and terror. And finally, we arrive at the ever-present and recurring topic of music and sound design, which are among the most important elements in both cinema and game development. From the game’s soundtrack, which can evoke a sense of heroism, energy, or even anxiety, to the sound design of characters, which can convey their emotions to the player.

One of the most successful games in terms of conveying emotions and leaving a lasting impact is undoubtedly The Walking Dead. This choice-based game had everything: a chilling atmosphere, a post-apocalyptic world, ruined homes, and deserted towns. The game’s design effectively conveys a sense of rejection and loneliness in this terrifying world. Burnt cars, blocked train tracks, broken fences, and the silent world at night are visual elements that perfectly set the mood for the story.

The game’s calm soundtrack feels like drifting on a sea with no islands in sight, and when the tempo picks up, it mirrors the player’s racing heartbeat, creating a sense of anticipation for upcoming intense scenes. The eerie sound of zombie growls breaking the game’s silence perfectly instills a real sense of fear.

This is a choice-based game where text is the main tool for driving the gameplay. The texts and dialogues are rich with emotion, offering choices that evoke specific feelings such as guilt, remorse, and satisfaction.

The character design is exceptional. The main characters, Clementine and Lee, are masterfully crafted. The bond between these two characters conveys a father-daughter relationship so authentically that, even if you’ve never been a father or a young girl, you can still deeply feel and relate to it.

The storytelling is beyond exceptional. The deeply emotional narrative, combined with the complexities of the characters and their backstories, draws you in completely, making you feel as if you’re part of this post-apocalyptic world of the dead.

References • Chapman, A. (2006). Emotional Design in Digital Games. Journal of Game Design and Development Education, 1(2), pp. 22-32.

• Cook, N. (2018). Music and Sound Design in Interactive Media: Emotional Engagement through Audio. Sound Studies, 5(1), pp. 58-72.

• Gerrig, R. J. (2008). Psychology and Literature: Understanding the Emotional Power of Storytelling. Psychology Press.

• Green, M. (2012). Character Design in Games: Psychological Depth and Emotional Expression. The International Journal of Interactive Design and Manufacturing, 6(3), pp. 143-154.

• Jenkins, H. (2004). Game Design as Narrative Architecture. In: First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. MIT Press, pp. 118-130. • Vella, D. (2019) 'The World of Scary Video Games: A Study in Videoludic Horror by Bernard Perron', Game Studies, 19(1). Available at: https://gamestudies.org/1901/articles/reivew_vella

[yanderelovlies]

✨Galaxy Anon ✨ here!

Alright what’s the schedule? Lol

Yes same to that sentiment. Yes like I actually feel bad sometimes when someone gets me something since then I can’t refuse it and also sometimes I’m not crazy about it but the thought counts. It is sometime I wish I can turn it off but nope. I mean ay least we are responsible with money.

Alright. Let me get the list

Helluva Boss

The Owl House

Amphibia

Arcane

Gravity Falls

Sunny Day Jack

My Dear hatchet man

See Thru: Need a Friend

My Hero Academia ( though have lost interest on later seasons and manga)

Tokyo Revengers

Fnaf ( more into lore than games. I love reading fanfiction about it it’s fun seeing theories)

The rest I have to remember but I like more anime and shows but these are the ones I indulge into the most. Hmm what’s wrong on aliexpress? Not trustworthy or selling it for crazy prices? I hope you find it soon viví!

Wow it really was that bad though can’t blame you I don’t think that work environment is good for you especially still in school. Do what I couldn’t do and pass the math. I’m serious I literally think I would’ve failed a grade from it. Ooh what kind of tips if I may ask?

Thanks viví especially you waiting for my replies and sorry again for taking awhile. I do my best to respond the fastest I can but it’s so busy in life sometimes I barely even have to wind down. It’s always great to see your replies and hear from you as well!

Ooh so cute! Any songs in particular you recommend or love to hear while driving?

Seriously it is like that. Your basically in danger for showing basic human decency for being tricked and hurt by horrible people it’s crazy. If your not paranoid you can get easily hurt worse. That’s why I just like staying inside so much. At least you have enough bravery to do that, I hate people hearing my music unless I let them and it’s rare. I mean seriously not even my family hears a lot of my music since it’s so personal to me and also I’m afraid they look at me weird for my taste. My music taste is wild. So yeah I don’t even take chances doing that since I feel self conscious and since I have terrible hearing well unless I want the world to hear I can’t do the same shame.

Honestly yeah. Yeah and on the other side there are people who demand your attention even if you visited there table twenty times and get mad if you don’t visit for four minutes it’s ridiculous and get mad at me for it. Thankfully most are patient. Yeah at least I’m used to it also so I have more patience.

Also to answer the other thing I said about having a break don’t worry viví! Tell your brain to shut up and have a break otherwise you’ll get stressed from the pressure. I mean at least you have a schedule but don’t be afraid to take a break on it. You make these requests for free so people shouldn’t demand you make it right away. Vivi’s brain let them rest!

Lol I'll have to get to you on that one

Oh i know my old friends use to ask how I always seem to keep money. I had to gently explain to them that they don't have to buy everything they see. I was not the favorite that day 👀

All of those I've heard of but never been into the fandom. It's hard for me to get into shows. I really want to cause it'd what everyone is into, but it's hard for me to watch it. My mind wanders and I do other things completely ignoring the show. Don't get me wrong I have shows, but not a lot.

That being said I wouldn't hearing about them! I don't mind spoilers if you don't mind questions. Who knows maybe talking about it with you will make me watch it! Also from what I understand it's like wish and I don't trust clothing that come from wish.

Honestly If it a gets really bad I'm getting a tutor I'm determined to pass and get my degree. Won't lie it scares me a bit but I'll do what I need to. Since it was on semester it was basics such as meditating, Journaling (that one had helped a lot by the way) and finding the little joys. If you point out something positive at the end of the day it helps you see the day as good rather focusing on the negative.

Honestly, that depends on my mood when I'm driving. But I can give you some of the songs that hyper fixated on lately!

Honestly, I think it is just because I have never been able to hide away till recently so anything I listened to everyone heard. The only downside to it is now I have big loud speaker in my house that my neighbors hear on the daily. It hasn't been a complaint yet (cause I usually play it during the day and turn of off the closer to dark it gets) but waiting. The only playlist I keep to myself if my "when the clouds come" type of playlist if you get what I mean.

The people who want your attention the whole time they are there make me upset. I just don't understand where that entitlement comes from. They get upset when people mess up their work day so why do it to others?? Ugh

I know 😭 thank you for worrying about me 🥺🥺💕💕

[nokwisi]

hi hi !!! idk idk this has been done before, but imagine the day Vik augments his leg with the hex core and does his sprint, he comes back home to the reader with a rush of adrenaline and has really rough sex with her since he’s finally able without his weak leg…. ;) love ur work! <3

whatever it takes—viktor x fem!reader note; hi hello! thanks for sending in such a lovely prompt! As per my norm, I got carried away. it's rough, it's emotional, it's maybe a little self indulgent...but I hope you like it nonetheless, anon! warnings/tags; nsfw, 18+, cunnilingus, biting, hair pulling, little bit of choking, rough sex, smut and angst, porn with feelings wc; 5.3k

Check out this amazing VA accompaniment by the lovely, talented, @kikorenart! Buy the full version, treat yo self.

Running.

He's running.

I am running—

—and although the throbbing ache that had ailed his leg his entire life has finally, finally been abated, there lingers a phantom pain in every single nerve of his remaining flesh-and-bone body; as though the evolution of a piece of him has in turn magnified the faults he carries elsewhere.

His back is throbbing, the metal embedded into his spine grinding against the bone as though whittling it away; he has never put so much strain on it before, he dismisses it. His head is pounding, exhaustion and dehydration hitting him in stacked waves; he knows he hasn't been taking care of himself—why care for a sanctum that has fallen to ruin?

But, there is something that transcends the physical, manifesting behind the cage of his sternum like an amorphous mass of everything he's ever regretted; everything he's held back, bottled up, kept buried. It swells within him, pushes him to push himself, like he could simply outrun the weight of it now that he has that option, but he can't.

It's infuriating, because he cannot diagnose the root of this problem. He cannot apply medicine, or science, or even his meager knowledge of the Arcane—and it rises up his throat, unbidden and out of his control, exorcised from his being with a shout; a long, agonized cry that is a coalesced purge of triumph, despair, and every single possible micro-emotion between.

It slices through the rain, shatters the preternatural silence of the docks, and Viktor finds there in the heady taste of catharsis on his tongue: dreams, goals, and desires. Things he has simply never been capable of accomplishing, now shining under the pulsating, purple light of possibility.

He thinks of you.

His heart thrums quick, like a chord struck and reverberating through him with the tonality of anticipation. He's riding a tidal-wave of a high, pushing him out of the realm of logic and into the depths of something baser—wants that have always come second to his work.

Friend, companion, lover, bystander to tragedy, future mourner; has he been selfish, in taking you, in keeping you? Viktor knows the answer to that already—knows that you deserve more than what he offers, that he has pushed you into the shadows to watch from afar as he tries, and fails, and tries again to save himself.

He was preoccupied with chasing down the end of his rope, grasping blindly to stop it from going abruptly taut, but now...now, he can root himself in the soil, keep himself grounded on this plane...and now, he can run to you.

Viktor is almost tempted to leave his crutch on the docks, abandoned and shunned as a part of him cast aside, much like the blood and sinew and bone of his leg, but he takes it nonetheless. If there is a sense of disdain in doing so, he pushes it down—a method he's also beginning to abhor, but he is not entirely without reason.

Should the infamously crippled half of the Hextech partners be seen suddenly galivanting around as though magically cured of his ailment, he may never have the opportunity to fix the rest of his crumbling body. In that, he may never be able to grasp all those buried, now bursting through the seams, dreams and goals and wants—never be able to show you just how desperately he wishes to give you everything he never could.

No, they wouldn't understand.

Viktor believes—knows, that you will.

It's well past midnight, and the worry that had started prickling under your skin earlier—when you'd gone to find him in his lab, and he was not there; and you'd asked Jayce, and he said he didn't know—is reaching a crescendo in your chest.

You're sitting in your shared apartment, center of the sofa in your living room that, admittedly, appears more like a workshop than a place of living. You both prefer it that way. Warm tones, ornate wood often graced with well-used parchment; bookshelves teeming with journals and the gold-embossed spines of thick academic books from years ago. Diagrams and schematics are tacked onto the wall, flickering with yellow light at the lanterns you'd strung from the ceiling six months prior in an effort to 'liven the place up'.

It feels distinctly desolate without him, however.

Normally, his prolonged absence wouldn't be a problem. Viktor is well known for stretching hours until they roll into days, and you never fault him for it—his drive and passion are integral to him, and the very reason you fell in love with him, in the first place.

This is not a normal time; the diagnosis he received days prior made sure of that, tainting everything with a looming shadow of dread.

Having bitten your nails down to the quick, you're nearly vibrating with the urge to jump from inertia and go seek him out. The only thing keeping you here, waiting and restless, is the very viable concept that he simply wants to be alone.

You would never consider Viktor to be a selfish man, but disappearing without a trace, leaving you to turn over worry and anxiety until it nearly aches—you can't help but be frustrated.

You sigh deeply, tugging your lower lip between your teeth to chew it with contemplation and uncertainty. His well-being, fragile and tenuous as it is, is far more important than his ego, you decide.

With that, you push yourself off the sofa, and into action.

Serendipitously, the door to your apartment swings open just as you venture into the bedroom, seeking out a jacket to shield you from the gentle down-pour that pelts against the gilded windows. You startle and pivot, and your heart feels as though it's been released from a vise-grasp of dismay, fluttering in relief at the sight of him.

"Viktor." You sigh, and then a knot forms between your brows, "you had me worried sick. You can't just disappear right now, not when you're—"

"I want to show you something." He cuts you off, and it's with an urgency and eagerness that immediately stuns you into silence. "I want to show you a great many things, and I hope you'll forgive me for the worry I've caused—for everything...but this...this is insurmountable."

Your prior worry melts away, and in it's stead, a tense curiosity.

"You've reached a breakthrough, haven't you?" Baited and waiting, you can discern the glimmer of thrilled excitement in Viktor's amber eyes, far away as he is. "Viktor, did you...did you find the answer?"

"I've found...an avenue. It is a dangerous one to venture, but my choices are limited." He steps into the apartment, the door closing behind him, and he swallows thickly and squares his gaze firmly with yours. "Whatever it takes. Do you remember?"

Of course you remember.

You'd whispered those words against his mouth naught days ago, bodies intertwined and trembling, grasping onto one another as though he may simply vanish in the span of an instant. It was after he'd received his diagnosis, both of you functioning with a desire that far surpassed anything physical. You told him you couldn't lose him. You begged him to save himself...whatever it takes.

There's a palpable tension in the air now, brought in with Viktor's presence, solidified with the recollection of those words—spoken with despair-charged passion and desperation then, but as this moment unravels, a sense of harrowing anticipation wraps itself around that invocation; around you.

"I remember." You whisper.

Suddenly, there is an urge to drag your attention over his body, scrutinize, seek out discrepancies; find the change. Something that would answer the question that rings in the back of your head, without having to voice it: what did you do?

Viktor appears no different than last you saw him. Frail, pallid, all hard angles stacked upon one another with a steadily shifting, off-kilter foundation—tragically beautiful.

"I've done nothing to afford such a request...but, I ask that you never forget what you said. No matter what the future has in store. Can you do that for me?" A tremor rattles his usual refined cadence; your heart quickens in the cage of your ribs.

Fraught—he sounds nearly fraught, and pleading, and you come to the conclusion, devastatingly quick because there is no other choice in your mind, that you never will.

You feel as though you're standing before an abyss, blind to what's before you, but for Viktor...you will gladly step into the unknown.

"I won't." You state with conviction. "I won't forget."

Viktor's gaze softens marginally, as though relieved, and just as quick, it hardens—like amber solidified to stone. Without another word, he lets his crutch fall free. The hard, metal clang as it hits the floor startles you, and before you can instinctively go to his side to aid him, he straightens out, and he goes to you.

Your breath catches, stunned and rendered inert as Viktor closes the distance between you two with a purposeful, undeterred, steady stride. His brows are knit, a sharp determination in his eyes, and coupled with the barely there curve of his lips, you cannot help but feel suddenly weak.

"Viktor—" is all you manage, the myriad of questions on your lips snuffed out as he presses his mouth against yours with a harshness that knocks your teeth together; cupping your face in a way that spans his touch to your neck, as though trying to hold as much of you as possible.

Your mind is reeling, questions rapid-firing and sizzling out just as quick with the way he kisses you; frenzied, packed with so much passion it makes your legs weak. Viktor holds nothing back, licking eagerly against the seam of your lips, delving in when you gasp at the way his hands venture up, combing through your hair to give a neat little tug, angling your head back.

"Let me have you." Viktor exhales hotly, coaxing your lashes to flutter, resurfacing from the daze his touch induces to connect with the molten gold of his eyes. "Please."

"Have I not answered that question already, Viktor?" Reaching up, you cradle his sharp jaw in your palms, stroke your thumbs from the corners of his mouth, outward. "You hardly have to ask, but I...I have questions, as well."

His lips curl into the faintest, wry smile. "Of course you do, and they will be answered...but, I still live on borrowed time, my love." He's searching your face, now; earnest, full of tenacity that simmers beneath the surface of his cool countenance. "I would be remiss not to take advantage of this, to not please you in ways that I have only imagined of doing."

"Advantage of what?" You push, curious, contrary to the lance of arousal that shoots through you via his words.

In response, Viktor closes the distance once more, kissing you hard, nipping at your lower lip to draw out a surprised, pleased whine from your throat. He's derailing you, and you hardly have the will to be frustrated about it. You can't remember the last time Viktor's been this emboldened, and you find yourself sinking into the embrace once more, your arms resting on the angled shelf of his shoulders; fingers dragging through the small hairs on the back of his head.

"I will show you." He supplies, close enough that his lips graze yours, and suddenly, he's pushing you back; herding you into the bedroom.

His kisses trail from the corner of your lips, to the cusp of your jaw and over, searing hot and open-mouthed down the column of your throat. Gasping quietly, you cling to him, follow his guidance, and internally question—theorize, hypothesize—just how he's managed to become the anchor, the stability, in a familiar dance where you always led.

This change, wherever it may root from, is enough to push you into a state of astounded compliancy, like nothing else matters except for him—letting him purge himself of this intense need with an eagerness that casts all your doubts and questions aside.

With the backs of your legs brushing against the bed, routine and familiarity has you shifting, tugging Viktor in a silent beckon for him to lay down, do as you've always done and slink your way atop him; take the lead. But Viktor remains rooted where he is, and instead, he lets his hands fall from where they are buried in your hair, to firmly push against your shoulders.

"No—not this time," he breathes, "on the bed, please." His tone is an intoxicating composition of steely demand, and searing desperation, and who are you to deny him?

So, you do as he bids; you let yourself drop down, sitting at the edge with anticipation, and the way Viktor lowers himself to kneel between your thighs—easy, fluid, not an iota of pain on his face—makes your heart leap with both joy and inquisition.

"I have always been plagued with the guilt of depriving you of what you deserve." Viktor states, his hands smoothing up your thighs, further still to your waist, where he deftly works the button of your pants through the eyelet, "there is not enough time left in the world for me to pay you what is due, miláček."

Swallowing thickly, Viktor's admission steeps into you, fills you with adoration, sentimentality, and the overwhelming urge to dissent.

Reaching for him, you brush the wayward hairs that've fallen in his eyes back, feel the skip of your heart when he leans into the touch. He gazes up at you beneath the lust-addled weight of his lashes, you say with sincerity: "You've always been enough for me, Viktor."

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, "a sentiment I truly cherish, but...I may have to disagree with you." He tugs on your pants, you raise your hips on instinct, a static warmth blooming on your skin as he catches your underwear as well; shucking them down your legs to leave you bare.

Viktor's attention drops down, a shuddering exhale leaving him at the salacious vision before him; the arousal that wets the inside of your thighs, which tremble just enough beneath his fingers as you part your knees that you're positive he can feel it.

Bashful and coquettish, you whisper, "I suppose we'll just have to agree, to disagree, then."

"I suppose, so." He whispers—it's distant, listless nearly, and it directly contradicts the sudden and zealous way Viktor glides his hands to the backs of your knees; long, spindly fingers digging into the sensitive skin as he hikes your legs high enough to rest on his shoulders. His breath billows onto your heat, "or perhaps, I'll change your mind."

A shiver weaves it's way down the track of your spine, bursting inside you like an electric jolt when Viktor closes the sparse distance, parting your slick with a broad, heavy swipe of his tongue. You curl your fingers in his hair, moan, and steady yourself with a shaking arm behind you.

Viktor hums against your cunt, caresses his hands from your knees, all the way up your flanks, before grasping your waist tight enough it aches; giving a firm tug that nearly has your ass hanging off the edge of the bed. You fall onto your back with a punched-out gasp, he doubles-down on the deadly precision of flicking his tongue against your clit, effectively thwarting whatever sense you have left.

It doesn't take long before you're riding the cusp of your orgasm—it never does, with him.

He moans against you, shedding any modicum of his signature decorum in favor of fucking you relentlessly with his mouth; lewd, wet, heavy breaths that roll over you in waves of heat. He sounds just as blissed out as you feel, follows eagerly when you pull his hair, willing him impossibly close—and you're so, so close—

"Viktor," you whine loudly, begging for something you're not entirely positive of; you just know that you need more, trust in that he will fill in the blank spaces of your lust-drunk plea, "please, oh—"

And he does, he knows precisely what you need—a perfect synchronization where you haven't the faintest means of knowing yourself. Viktor vocalizes a response that registers as nothing more than a bone-shuddering vibration; circling your clit in perfect little spirals with his tongue in tandem to two deft, long fingers pushing into the clutch of your heat.

The stretch is divine, the prominence of his knuckles felt acutely when he spreads his fingers, works you open, honing in against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves with an expertise that he's since mastered.

Viktor anticipates the responding buck of your hips, pushing down against you with the hand that brackets your waist—iron clad, unmoving, and you distantly picture the bruising he will leave; the intensity of him, imprinted on your skin like a brand—before he immediately picks up a steadfast, perfect piston of his fingers.

You're reduced to stuttering out his name, voice pitching higher and higher as though Viktor is tuning your body to his own preference—that being: coarse; piteous; debauched. Tightening around his fingers, blindly tugging his hair, you writhe and squirm against the tension threatening to snap within you, the pleasure reaching a fever-pitch.

"Come for me," he murmurs directly against you, sounding wicked and depraved.

Every muscle in your body spasms, going taut and rigid as you fall over the edge with a shattered cry; a frisson of euphoria throwing you into a stupor of utter bliss. You're helpless to the way your toes curl, legs drawing inward, back curving with an arch that pushes your head into the bed—contorted, thoughtless, neither here, nor there.

"You don't know how beautiful you are." Viktor muses breathily, his voice sounding far away, through the depths of ecstasy and the hum of your afterglow.

He eases his fingers out of you with an audible slickness that makes you shiver, immediately mourning the loss of him inside you, before he begins kissing against your hipbone, continuing upward from there. Pushing your blouse higher and higher, he presses his lips in a hot line up your heaving chest, and it's with a haste and need that fans the ember of desire inside you.

You move as though hypnotized, raising your arms, letting him strip you of your remaining clothes before he brings himself down and kisses you again. You taste the distinct bitterness of yourself when he licks a line along your tongue, firmly bracketing the underside of your jaw in the curve between his thumb, and forefinger.

It's a distinctly possessive hold; you find yourself thrilled by it—enough so to take his lower lip between your teeth in a borderline vicious bite, drawing back and tugging hard enough to earn a strangled, throaty groan in response.

You let go; he quickly chases you down, "yes—do not hold back, I want you to be rough."

"Only if you promise to return the favor." You rush out, aiming for cheeky, but landing somewhere in the realm of indigent.

"I intend to." He all but growls, kissing you again. It's harsh, all teeth and tongue with an underlying rumble of a moan in his chest.

You've almost forgotten Viktor's cryptic words from before, the mystery that lingers in the background of this embrace; the keystone that is fueling this entire moment. You're reminded when he brings himself closer, shifting you higher on the bed, kneeling so effortlessly between your still-trembling legs.

His right thigh is unyieldingly hard beneath yours; thrumming with a strange, pulsating type of warmth that you can physically feel.

Viktor, ever astute, breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours, panting against your mouth. "Whatever it takes." An aide-memoire, lilted in such a way that it nearly sounds solemn.

Your heart kicks into higher gear, compelled to impatience as anxiety and uncertainty fester behind your sternum. You cup Viktor's face for a brevity of acknowledgement, craning to kiss him quick before your hands start working haste on his tie, tugging it free; the buttons of his vest then; his dress shirt thereafter.

"Show me."

Viktor doesn't hesitate in shrugging off the layers of his clothes. You don't meander any longer on his chest say for a hastily reverent drag of your fingers over the front of his brace, down to the hem of his pants. It's a fumbling series of maneuvers; Viktor settling back, you leaning forward, tugging open the fastens—a shift, a trade in movement, and he's leaning over you, pushing his pants and briefs down, and he makes it no less challenging with the way he consistently chases down your lips with his own.

Stripped down, bare and exposed, you break from his kiss and glance down between the chasm of your bodies.

Your breath catches.

Viktor's attention quickly flits to your face; searching, anticipating, and perhaps disquieted.

The bedroom is shrouded in dark now, but the tracery of winking light embedded in Viktor's now-adamantine leg is enough to cast a violet glow across the room; highlighting and shadowing the dips and curves of your bodies. You reach out, and you touch him. Tentative at first, just the curious drag of your fingertips over the synthetic, wiry musculature. You feel the warmth he emanates, the eerie hum of something inhuman and yet, so very strangely alive.

"The Hexcore." Finally breaking the silence with an awed kind of wonder, you slant your gaze to Viktor. "You did it."

His brows arch, as though he is relieved, as though he ever doubted you to begin with; and he is quick to caress your face, an ardor of fondness and adoration softening his amber eyes before he bows himself over you, and kisses you firmly.

"For now...but I do not want to focus on such a grim topic." Viktor breathes against your mouth, "I have much more pressing matters to attend to."

Your legs are pushed higher beneath his thighs with the movement, the steel-hard plane of his augmented limb echoing heat into you, and coupled with the tantalizing way his cock presses against you, you're inclined to agree.

"I'd never stop you from achieving your goals." You whisper, equal parts playful and genuine as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close.

You have questions, but now...now you've got time. However fleeting it remains, it's more than what you had before. Enough time to indulge in this—to indulge in him.

Viktor huffs a laugh against you, "I know," and with a hand deftly disappearing between you two, he presses his cock flush against your throbbing heat. You hiccup a surprised moan that he eagerly swallows, kissing you breathless before pulling back just enough that your lips graze, "my goal is to pleasure you beyond anything I've ever been capable of. I want to hear every moan, every cry of my name that I have yet to earn."

You shudder, barely manage to lob out, and with a warbled tone that undermines whatever teasing you're going for: "quite the ambition, Viktor."

"Intention, my love." He parries easily, and proceeds to push against you, inexorable, stretching you out and filling you in one smooth, seamless thrust that chokes out whatever response you have.

Viktor barely stifles a groan, exhaling sharply as his hips press flush against you. You're trembling, clinging to him as you adjust to the size of him—always a feat, always a process—but it seems he doesn't intend to give you that reprieve.

But, he isn't entirely without clemency. "Should you reach the point of begging—I will stop." And it's with such a distinctly Viktor brand of self-satisfaction, that you can't find it in you to be anything other than aroused.

It's become such a rarity, this brazen confidence he's exhibiting, and you want nothing more than to kindle it; to give him this, take what he's so eagerly offering; feel what he's promised. You push your fingers up and through his hair, grabbing a fistful of wild, chestnut waves in either hand, and you pull him down with a force that makes him grunt in his throat.

"Perhaps you should let actions speak louder than words." You say, locking your gaze with his; and you watch as his eyes sharpen, seizing your explicit permission with a harsh kiss and a throaty moan.

Viktor wastes no more time. He brings himself low, braces his weight with an arm above your head, his other hand snaking around your throat in a grasp that is both gentle and grounding, pushing his tongue in your mouth as his hips roll smoothly against yours.

The friction is there, the heat and pressure of him inside you, the stretch and the drag and the depth of his thrusts making you moan and rock back, but you want so much more—you want to see him baser, driven to carnal want.

"Harder." You urge, feeding into his flame, "fuck me like you've always wanted to, Viktor."

Viktor groans, unabashedly effected by your words, tightening his grasp on your throat just enough to deliver a pleasant, hazy daze. "I want to fuck you until you cannot think straight." He admits in a rush, and you clench around him in response, bring a hand down to wrap around the taut, wiry muscle of his forearm—a silent consent.

"Want to—ah—to see you ruined by pleasure...I want to be the one to do that to you." His pace has picked up; hard, unrelenting thrusts that spear you deep enough it nearly aches, desperation lacing not just his tone, but his movements.

"F-Fuck, Viktor!" Digging your nails into his ivory skin, curling your legs around his waist, the metal and fastens of his brace chafe against your inner thighs, but you couldn't care less—you've never been able to do this; to put that weight on him with him above you, to drag him close and remain blissfully carefree on whether or not you're hurting him.

"Oh gods, yes—fuck...you feel so good." Moaning the words out best you can, you grind your hips against him with each forward stroke, will him deeper with the lure of your body; chasing down the intoxicating catch-drag of your clit against his pelvis.

Viktor visibly shudders at the praise, releasing his hold on your throat. You inhale raggedly, immediately reverting to whining; sweet, pleading little noises that spur him on.

"Louder." He hisses it in demand, finding purchase with his hands behind your knees, pushing your legs up to your chest. "I want to hear you."

The position has his cock slide impossibly deep, your breath snagging in your throat, hands scrambling to hold onto him by way of tugging his hair. Sound returns to you in the form of a reedy, trembling moan. The way he's fucking you is seismically different than anything you've ever done with him—raw, harsh, bruising. He hasn't faltered once, the steadfast, borderline brutal way he thrusts against you frying any coherence you might've had.

Nothing matters but him—the sounds he's making, the familiar and comforting scent of him, the way his body is pressed so tightly against yours that you feel every hard angle; every shift of bone; ripple of muscle, and the newfangled, bruising press of his steel leg colliding with the back of your thigh. He is all-encompassing, pounding pleasure into you that sings in your veins like magma, permeating you down to the marrow.

You're not going to last much longer.

Through stilted moans, Viktor leans in close enough to latch onto the soft palette beneath your ear; hot, heavy breath dampening your skin. A shiver racks your frame when he bites you sweetly, coalescing with your pleasure like a personalized dose of euphoria.

You wrap your arms around his head with a half-garbled cry of his name, and Viktor huffs out an amused breath, "have I truly been enough for you? Have I ever—mmph—f-fucked you to the point of speechlessness?"

How you can't even form a response is all the answer Viktor needs.

"I wanted to," he grits out, his grip on your legs fierce enough that you know you'll be bruised—you'll have a collection by the time he's done, and the concept makes you clench tighter around his cock, eliciting a sharp groan from him that vibrates against you, "always—every time I have been inside you, I have craved this."

As though charged with that declaration, he slows his pace, backs his movements with a force that rockets knife-sharp pleasure right up your spine, carving it into a radial bow off the bed, pushing your chest into his. The hard protrusions of his brace press into you. You don't care, you pull him closer, voice your pleasure with a keening moan every time his hips collide with your thighs.

"You...you are going to come again—hm?" He envelopes you in his arms, holds you with one hand buried in your hair, the other winding around the nape of your neck. You whine, delirious and broken and vaguely affirmative, and Viktor kisses your throat once more, "do it, so I can push you over the edge again, and again. Until I am satisfied with the mess I will make of you."

He's speaking rushed, quick and hot, and he punctuates his urgent statement by way of sinking his teeth into the sensitive apex between your neck, and shoulder.

Silk walls clench so tight around him that his hips stutter, that he groans against your skin and it ricochets a wild flourish of tingles throughout your entire body, that he has to grip you harder, hold you in place as you writhe and arch and shriek through the hard-press of your teeth.

Your orgasm hits you with cataclysmic force, and all you can do is hold on, ride it out, shiver and tremble in his arms as he chases down his own release. He bucks against you, his seamless movements pulling apart, short and choppy and desperate, Viktor groans and bites you harder.

You pull his hair hard enough to tune that throaty noise of his into a whine. Shivering with the heavy pulse of his cock, nestled deep inside you, you can feel the blooming warmth of him filling you to the brim, washing you over with a wave of pleasant goosebumps.

He relents from digging his teeth into your skin, gasping out foreign swears embellished with the reverent invocation of your name. Everything—his movements, his voice, his vise-grip, winds down in tandem, until it feels like time itself has reached a standstill.

With your lashes wetted with involuntary tears, leaden with post-orgasmic bliss, opening your eyes feels like resurfacing from the depths of rapture; catching your breath feels just the same.

Viktor rests his head against your collarbone, his body loosening, unraveling from the tense pressure he's put upon himself, allowing your legs to drop down on either side of his waist.

You can both feel and hear the rattle in his lungs as he chases down a steady inhale-exhale, spurring you to gently comb your fingers through his hair, soothing him; coaxing him silently to recuperate. As though he senses just that, finding the challenge as he's always had the proclivity to, he breathes in deep, and pushes himself up on trembling arms.

"Viktor." You croak, voice hoarse and lilted with concern. "You should rest." Cupping his face, you stroke beneath his eyes, which have sharpened once more with that zeal of determination.

He shakes his head—your heart swoops with both admiration and concern. It's so painfully obvious, so cuttingly worrying: he genuinely believes he has something to prove, burdened with the guilt of not being enough for you; driven to right what he believes is wrong. He's healed a fraction of himself, and in doing so, finds the mistakes he's left unchecked, and Viktor, always so headstrong, is convinced he can solve it with the fleeting strength he's been given.

But an augmented leg does not cure the sickness within him.

"No." He says, with a sense of finality. "I told you...time is precarious for me. If I cannot have this now—give this to you now—I may never have another opportunity."

Your brows knit, and you steady your hold on him; force him to look at you. There, in the depths of his gaze, glints something like despair. You pluck it easily from his obstinate front; you've spent enough time looking into those amber eyes to discern the cracks beneath the surface.

"You promised me, Viktor." You remind him, firmly. "We will find another chance...find more time." Gently pulling him closer, your tone slips into an imploring lilt. "Do you remember?"

Viktor's breath shudders, his expression softening with a telling gloss. He reaches up, overlays his hand over yours and leans into your palm. The smile on his lips is faint; sad, loving, grateful.

He echoes those words again. This time, they are weaved with a thread of forlorn optimism; saccharine and bitter; a multitude within five syllables.

"Whatever it takes."

[deny-the-issue]

The Villian Who Shagged Me

Arcane’s Silco as Dr. Evil rom Austin Powers

Synopsis: Silco returns from space to enact his revenge on the topsiders.

Warnings: partial nudity, cursing, comedic violence.

Word Count: 2.2k

Notes: This is my first one-shot and I just threw it together, enjoy!

Silco swiveled around in his oversized office chair to face the room with his mismatched gaze. Multiple pairs of eyes were on him, watching with fear as he slowly stroked the hairless cat in his lap. He had requested the room he once met with the Chembarons and was surprised to find the building completely renovated. It had a modern interior, missing the raw industrial style that Silco had coveted. Eager to try out a new feature of the room, he addressed the people.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to my underground lair. I have gathered here before me the world’s deadliest assassins and yet, each of you has failed to kill Vi. That makes me angry, and when Silco gets angry; Mr. Bigglesworth gets upset. And When Mr. Bigglesworth gets upset - people DIE.”

He pressed a series of buttons on the control pad in front of him. All but one of the chairs bent backward, dumping its occupants through a hole in the floor. A chorus of screams rang out before the slats snapped closed, filling the room with silence once again.

“Why must I be surrounded by frickin’ idiots?!”

Sevika eyed Silco suspiciously from the remaining undisturbed chair, not daring to challenge him. She cursed herself under her breath for installing the feature. It had seemed like a good idea at the time - but that was when she was in charge of everything. 

“I trust you’ll take care of her; you never failed me before. Now, tell me how my business is doing.” He commanded lazily as the cat rolled over in his lap, undisturbed by the horror that just took place. 

“We’ve moved away from Shimmer in favor of energy production. Moralicon has more warehouses and factories than any other power company.” Sevika reported with pride, “The topsiders are dependent on the undercity, now.”

“They’re vulnerable, hm?” Silco scratched the cat's chest pensively. “We could threaten to blow the bridge unless they relinquish the city to us.”

“Half of our power plants reside in Piltover, sir.”

“We’ll flood their streets with Shimmer, then.”

“Shimmer is already on their streets, sir. It’s a problem the undercity helps with. We provide rehabilitation centers for addicted topsiders.”

“I've been frozen for thirty years, throw me a frickin’ bone here!” Silco growled through chipped teeth. With an exasperated wave of his hand, he decided, “Oh hell, let's do what we always do - Hijack some explosives and hold Piltover hostage.” 

Sevika’s mouth drooped lower and a soft sigh escaped her lips as she resigned herself to watching her empire crumble because of Silco’s freezer-burnt brain. Silco’s name still held weight in the undercity and a recent dip in her PR prevented her from dethroning her recently returned boss. 

She couldn’t help but hope this was all a dream - that he had not, in fact, returned from space after thirty years. Who could survive such a thing? But here he was, in her seat, talking about Piltover’s destruction like there were still equality issues. He was a fucking cockroach. A lot more things ran through her mind at that moment, the foremost being: I’m too old for this.

Silco, however, was as spry as she remembered. Sevika may not even be a match for him, with her body physically twenty years older than him. The degradation in her shoulder caused by Shimmer over the years also handicapped her, preventing her from donning even the most basic prosthetics. Her stature was the only trait left to her now, and she was stronger than ever. Not that it would help her now. 

“We can steal the explosives from a Noxian mining shipment that leaves tomorrow. They won’t notice anything’s missing until they're halfway home.”

“Riiiiight,” Silco exaggerated his agreement as he observed the telephone on the table with disdain. 

“I’ll begin writing the ransom note while you take care of that.” Sevika chuckled at his words, drawing his ire. “What?”

“No one writes letters these days. We have telephones now, almost everyone has ‘em.”

“Telephones?”

“Yeah, just wait until you see a television. Moving pictures are all the rage right now.” She teased with a devilish smile, lighting a cigarillo. 

Silco huffed at the concept. Moving pictures? What is she going to tell him next, undercity residents ruled Piltover? Ridiculous. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The meeting room was occupied by fresh, young faces, and Silco despised each and every one of them. Their unkempt hair and sparse, colorful clothing insulted his very being and he resisted the urge to dispose of them with a press of a button.

“What do you have for me, Sevika?” He asked impatiently as Mr. Bigglesworth jumped into his lap. Silco cooed at the cat, scooping it into his arms to hold. The room exchanged uneasy glances as they silently judged him.

“I have the perfect weapon to use against Vi.” She announced, opening the door to allow a scantily clad woman and a guard through. She had perfectly curled blond hair, alabaster skin, and ample breasts, with her nipples piercing the thin fabric of a pink chemise.

Silco’s brow furrowed in frustration, not seeing the point to this other than the obvious. Sevika turned to the guard and ordered him to kill her. The guard hesitated only a moment before drawing his pistol and aiming it at the woman. 

She licked her lips seductively and smiled, causing him to falter some more. In a split second barrels erupted from her bra, protruding from her nipples, and fired. In a barrage of bullets, the guard fell to the floor and the barrels receded, leaving two holes in her nightwear. The woman winked at Silco and he could hardly contain his excitement as he grinned maliciously.

“No person attracted to women is able to resist the fembot’s charms.” Sevika gloated, speaking from personal experience.

“I like to see women of this caliber,” Silco mused to the silent room. Clearing his throat awkwardly he added, “Great work as always, Sevika.” 

Sevika grunted and signaled the fembot to remove the deceased guard before taking a seat at the table. Silco eyed the flabbergasted expressions from the hippies at the table and sneered at them. Only one of the hipsters had the courage to speak their mind.

“This plan is so violent, man. Why can’t we all just get along? There’s no need for war.”

Silco wasted no time in slamming the button that correlated to the man’s chair, sending him careening backward and disappearing through the open chute with a scream. 

“Does that address your concerns?” Silco inquired dangerously, resuming his steady petting of the cat in his arms. Panicked nodding satisfied him and he continued, “We have the explosives in place all around Piltover, all I have to do is ask for a hundred thousand gold pieces.”

The hippies shifted nervously in their seats, not wanting to correct him. Sevika knew better.

“Moralicon alone is worth five million,” She gently informed him. Silco’s lips thinned as his eyes narrowed at her in silent accusation and she rolled her eyes in response.

Why didn’t you bring this up sooner?

You didn’t ask.

“Fine, We’ll ask for a billion gold pieces.” He spoke with confidence but his eyes searched for reassurance. Sevika nodded in agreement and Silco’s face relaxed. “Everyone leave - except for Sevika.”

  The others were all too happy to scramble out of the chairs, tripping over each other to leave the room. Sliding the foreign contraption her way, he commanded Sevika to call the head of the council. He picked up the handset, watching intently as she pressed a series of numbers. When she nodded he put his ear to the phone, hearing it ring.

“H-hello? Who is this?”

“You’ll know me soon enough. I’m calling to inform you of the presence of explosives carefully hidden around Piltover. They will be detonated unless you hand over a billion gold pieces.”

“And who do I send this money to?”

“Moralicon.” 

“The power company? Don’t you already have enough money?”

“This is not up for debate. Get me the money or your city burns.” 

Silco slammed the receiver down onto the tabletop, pleased with himself. Bringing Mr. Bigglesworth up to his face, he planted a big kiss on his head.

“Who’s a pretty boy? You are, yes you are.” 

Sevika rushed over in two huge steps and hurriedly ended the call. 

“Did they hear me?” He asked with his teal eye impossibly wide. She raised her brows to confirm and he groaned, “Fuck.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the precipice of the completion of his plans, Sevika brought Vi to Silco in the meeting room. Hands bound, Vi fell into the chair as Sevika pushed her. When Vi’s defiant glare reached Silco, she began to laugh hysterically. 

“You’re a cat person, now?”

“You’re in no position to be laughing. No one can stop me this time, not even you.”

Sevika sat down at the table with a huff, patience wearing dangerously thin. Why did he want Vi at the table with him?

“What’re gonna do, feed her?”

“No, Sevika, I’m going to place her in an easily escapable situation involving an overly elaborate exotic death.”

Wait - is he serious? Sevika’s face tensed as she searched for signs of humor and found none. He’s lost his shit. 

“Guards!” He called and they approached Vi, dragging her out of the seat and through the large doors at the back of the room. She was forced onto a platform in the middle of a large pool where the bridge connecting it disappeared as the guard flipped a switch, stranding her there.

“Silco, do you really expect them to pay?”

“No Vi, I expect them to die. Even after they’ve paid me the money I’m still going to burn Piltover to the ground.” Silco sneered delightfully, standing from his seat to yell, “RELEASE THE SHARKS!”

“Vi, you’ll notice that all the sharks have laser beams attached to their heads - I figure every creature deserves a warm meal.” He placed his hands on the table, gracing Vi with an evil smirk. “Alright guard, begin the unnecessarily slow-moving dipping mechanism.”

The guard did as he was bid, shaking his head in disbelief all the while. 

“CLOSE THE TANK!”

Sevika’s head snapped back to Silco, unable to hold in her outrage.

“Wait - a-aren’t you going to watch her? She could get away!”

“No, no, no. I’m going to leave her alone and not actually witness her death. I’m just going to assume it all went to plan. What?”

“I have a gun, you give me five seconds, BOOM, I’ll blow her brains out”

“Sevika, you just don’t get it do you? You don’t.” 

“It’s no hassle!”

“SH-”

“But-”

“SH-”

“I’m-”

“SH-”

“She’s gonna get a-”

“SSSSHHHHH!”

Sevika ceased her arguing, the decision to leave firmly planted in her brain. She gave him a contemptuous look that caused him to start again. 

“SH! That was a preemptive SH. Just know I have a whole bag of SH with your name on it.” He threatened as she contemplated shooting him. “Shall we move to the tower to oversee the destruction?”

He’ll have to do it alone, Sevika thought. She was planning on raiding the safe as soon as he left; Leaving the undercity with all the money she could carry wasn’t the retirement she planned on, but it would have to do. She earned a vacation from this shit show.  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Standing on the top of the tower in the Promenade, he surveyed his kingdom with new clarity. Significant portions of the undercity were visible: The pollution that once plagued the city was a mere afterthought with the technological advances of the last thirty years. He admired the fast pace of society and briefly entertained the idea that he no longer belonged in this world. 

The idea quickly disintegrated as the fembot climbed the tower stairs, hands covered in blood. He had wanted Vi to escape that first room. In fact, he expected it. Placing the fembot in the room just beyond was the real trap.

“Is it done?”

“Yes,” She answered, coming to a stop by his side. “A large shipment of coins has arrived at headquarters.”

“That’ll be my ransom,” He crowed as he pulled the detonator from his pocket. “I’m not waiting a moment longer. Sevika’s going to regret missing this.”

Placing an arm over the fembot’s shoulders, he pulled her close as he flipped the switch. Several bright bursts of light illuminated the night sky as fire consumed entire neighborhoods of Piltover. The shockwave shattered the windows of every building in the undercity, hitting Silco and the fembot with heavy winds as he looked over it all with glittering eyes. 

The black smoke that followed swirled around the flames, creating a mirror image of Silco’s corrupted eye. Without a thought for herself, The fembot offered a freshly clipped cigar, lighting it with a finger when he took it between his chipped front teeth.  

Smoking the expensive tobacco, he relished the sight for a moment longer before leading the fembot down the stairs.

“Let’s go feed Mr. Bigglesworth.” 

[morocosmos]

Febuwhump Day 5 - "That’s Gonna Scar”

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Relationships: Warrior of Light, Tataru Taru Content/trigger warnings: None

Continues from here

“Come in,” he wanted to say, but Tataru’s eyes were wide as she stared at him in horror. “Moro’a – what in the Twelves’ names happened to your hands?” she asked.

Gods be damned – he’d hoped it would be too dark for her to notice. “My hands will be fine,” he answered. “Come in and I’ll explain,” he answered, opening the door wider to let her in.

“You can sit on the bed, I don’t mind,” he added, locking the door once more before making his way over to where Tataru had seated herself. “Thank you for taking the time, Moro’a. I truly mean it,” she said softly.

Moro’a nodded, then gestured at his wrists. “About these – the Crystal Braves…had me restrained in the sultana’s chambers after Teledji revealed his hand, before bringing me over to the banquet to frame the Scions,” he began. The scholar did his best to speak neutrally as he told Tataru everything he could remember about what happened to the rest of their friends; practical, like explaining the details of an inspection gone awry to a senior assessor. It made things easier for him as well, putting distance between himself and the events.

“Twins preserve,” Tataru whispered when he’d finished. Her pearlescent eyes shone, and she paused to rub them with her arm before taking a deep breath. “...’Tis worse than I thought then…but even so, thank you for telling me.” Her morose expression suddenly became a slight frown as she looked at Moro’a’s hands. “Oh heavens, weren’t you going to do something about those? No more explaining, not until you’ve tended to them,” she asserted, surprising Moro’a with her insistence.

The Keeper complied, reaching for his folded robes. For a small blessing, the Braves had failed to discover the hidden pocket situated on the inner left side, padded and thus further concealed by the thick material. Drawing it open, he removed a folded square of thin parchment and a tiny quill and ink set.

“Oh,” Tataru exclaimed softly. “The pocket you asked me to make all those moons ago…”

“Which I must thank you for again now,” Moro’a replied, surprising himself with a small, if weary smile. Even so, there was little parchment to go around, and even less ink; he would have to use both sparingly. Uncapping the ink bottle, he carefully dipped the nib into liquid and drew a small glyph, keeping it simple to minimise the amount used.

He could feel Tataru watching him intently. “That’s the arcane geometry for Physick, is it not?” she inquired. “It’s so small…”

“It’ll be enough to keep my wrists from getting worse.” Cupping the glyph with his hands and drawing the necessary amount of aether, Moro’a activated the spell with quick mutter and channelled it towards the burns, sighing as the restorative aether washed over the raw skin. Once it was done, he inspected his wrists – the burns had darkened, and felt far less tender as he tested a few of them with his forefinger. “There. They’ll have completely healed in a few days,” he said.

But Tataru had not stopped frowning. “The marks will still scar for sure,” she commented, surprising the scholar with her accuracy. “Is that…will you be alright with that?”

Her question gave Moro’a pause. He’d not thought to consider whether the scarring would even matter – surely it wouldn’t, he thought. He almost always wore gloves together with his robes, and given they were to bunker down in Coerthas for the next…however long, he was guaranteed to wear similar clothing for the foreseeable future.

Still, to bear a visible reminder of the banquet, and all that had transpired…

“I will be,” Moro’a half-lied. Like as not, he would much rather be prepared for potential dangers ahead, and there was no telling when he might next be able to acquire additional materials.

[mimik-u]

Togetherness

Summary: The aftermath of Steven transforming into a huge reptilian monster brings back old memories for Pearl, who remembers another time Steven was scared so many years ago.

A/N: This piece was written for the Pearl-focused I am a Pearl! mini-zine a couple of months ago! It was a great opportunity to get to explore Pearl's mind space after the events of "I am My Monster" and how her friendship with Greg has evolved over the years. ;w; Thanks to the mods for a great zine experience! <3

AO3 Link / Zine Tumblr Link / @iamapearlzine

—

Steven is sixteen years old when he erupts into a scaly, pink monster—fifty-foot tall and inconsolable.

Everyone tells him that they love him, but because words are rarely ever enough, they show him that they do; they embrace him; they hold him; they press their fingertips into his reptilian skin. His scales are cold and sharp against Pearl’s palms, keratin hard and impenetrable. She tells him that he shouldn’t have to keep anything from her, all the while burning with shame that he’s kept so much from her.

He’s felt responsible for her fragility and loved her enough to tiptoe around the Diamond in the room.

His mother.

His mother and the complicated history between them.

The love.

The torture.

The grief.

The love.

(Because what is grief after all but a manifestation of love? A reminder, its echo, and its painful, lingering, lovely ghost.)

Connie kisses Steven, very lightly, very softly, and he falls from the sky, a boy again. 

Pearl wraps him in a blanket.

Garnet carries him into the wreckage of their home.

And approximately one hour later, they’re all standing on the deck, waiting for Priyanka Maheswaran to finish her professional assessment of him as the sun sinks into a honey-colored sea.

Pearl cradles her face in her hands, elbows sinking into the railing, trying to retrace every missed sign in the blackness of her own head. She sees his skin glowing pink in the darkness—at the Reef, in Little Homeworld, just moments ago in the living room…

So many flares in the night.

And Pearl had watched them all fizzle.

—

Steven is six years old when he moves into the newly minted beach house, and he tells Greg that he’s afraid of the silence. Nearly all of his life, he’s been surrounded by noise—the gentle rumble of the van’s motor, the susurrant murmur of the sea, wind, rain, buskers playing guitars on the Boardwalk, the whoosh of the rollercoasters at Funland. 

His dad’s snores echoing off the tin ceiling.

His dad’s laughter.

His softly-sung lullabies, too.

The beach house is really quiet at night, Steven tells Greg who tells the Gems, and he doesn’t like that…

He’s trying really hard to like it, though.

Maybe things’ll get better next week.

Pearl never looks at Greg as he delivers this news, tapping her fingers against the side of her leg as she sits at the kitchen table, ankles primly crossed. He stands in the doorway—right beneath Rose’s painted image—wringing his hands and looking too awkward to be allowed. She resents him for this—for his awkwardness, for his intrusion into their lives, and for everything else, too. 

(Namely for Rose.)

She inwardly knows that she’s being unfair. 

That loathing a person on the basis of his existence is morally suspect.

Wrong.

But what are rightness and wrongness to emotions? To the sheer primality of grief?

Grief is irrational, she rationalizes to herself—she self-justifies; it knows nothing of ethicality.

“Why didn’t Steman tell us this?” Amethyst asks, absently scratching her nose. “If it’s noise he wants, I got an old drum set he can knock himself out on.”

Pearl frowns, well-remembering the ten straight years Amethyst played the drums through the nineties. Rose loved it; Pearl spent many hours alone in her room to decompress. 

“He’s still intimidated by you three,” Greg shrugs kindly. “And shy. You just have to give him reason enough to trust ya with stuff like this. Tucking him in at bed at night, y’know. Checking under the bed for monsters.”

“There aren’t monsters under his bed,” Garnet says, practical as ever. “They wouldn’t fit.”

Greg chuckles, running a flat hand across the back of his neck as he peers between the three gems. When he and Pearl lock eyes, she meets his stare coldly, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“But Steven doesn’t know that,” he mumbles, glancing away, his cheeks flushing. “You gotta shine a flashlight down there and show him there’s nothing there.”

“Doesn’t that seem patronizing to you?” Pearl asks, taking little care to disguise the condescension in her voice. Across the room, Garnet’s visored stare finds her—blank, inscrutable, and arcane—but Pearl knows her fellow gem well enough to understand that this is chastisement, silent and brutal.

Arching a thin brow, she ignores Garnet.

She demands an answer from Greg.

“Maybe,” the man concedes, but when he acknowledges her gaze again, there’s a little defiance in his eyes, an edge in his scratchy voice. “But maybe not. That’s what being a parent is sometimes. Patronizing the kid! Playing along. Showing him that you’re listening to what he needs. Letting him know that you’re there… haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?”

“No,” she protests immediately, bristling.

“Pssh,” Amethyst snorts. “Last week, you jumped ten feet in the air ‘cuz you saw a snake.”

“You did,” Garnet smiles wryly. “I was there.”

Pearl scoffs, trying and failing to ignore that her cheeks are suffused with blue blush…

… and that Greg is staring at her with an almost distinguishable emotion in his eyes.

If she didn’t know better, she would say it was pity.

—

Dr. Maheswaran tells them that Steven is okay; he’s tired and sore—transforming expended a lot of his energy—but he’s ready to see everyone now. She tells them to be quiet and to maybe go in one by one, so he doesn’t get too overwhelmed.

Firmly, she warns them that it’ll take more than a good night’s sleep for him to heal .

And she doesn’t mean physically.

“Here’s a number of a good therapist I know,” she says, placing a card in Pearl’s hand. “Her office opens at nine.”

Pearl folds her fingertips over the edges of the glossy card stock but doesn’t quite glance down to look at the name—too fixated on watching Greg stand in front of the doorway, palming the screen door as he seemingly steels himself to go in. 

He’s aged so much in the twenty-something years that Pearl has known him—from his nearly bald head to the branching lines creasing the corners of his eyes—but for some reason, it is only now, in this ephemeral moment, that she realizes how old he is.

She doesn’t mean physically either.

As the others gather around Dr. Maheswaran, asking her questions, voicing their concerns, Pearl takes one deliberate step and then another.

—

Garnet tells Steven that it’s okay—there are no monsters under the bed—and when she shines a flashlight beneath the mattress, Amethyst is there, shapeshifted into a tiny kitten, purring at the child sweetly.

“See, dude?” She laughs, bounding out from beneath the bed. In an instant of blurred matter and color, she becomes herself again, her bangs sweeping inelegantly over her eye. “No monsters under the bed, only cute kittens.”

“Only kittens?” He repeats, grinning that famous gap-toothed smile that everyone adores. His legs are nearly swallowed by his oversized shirt.

“Kittens and dust bunnies,” Amethyst confirms, knuckling his curls playfully and smiling broadly when he laughs. “G’night, Steman.”

“Night, Amethyst!”

“Goodnight, Steven,” Garnet murmurs, lifting the six-year old into her arms and gently placing him onto the bed. She tucks him beneath the covers. She tenderly kisses him on the head.

“Nighty night, Garnet.”

And then it’s Pearl’s turn. Garnet and Amethyst head towards their temple rooms, and Pearl settles down on the edge of the comforter, balancing her left ankle on top of her right knee.

“Don’t forget about M.C. Bear Bear!” She teases softly, reaching over and placing the stuffed animal next to Steven’s arm. “He needs a snuggle buddy.”

Steven nods in agreement, his brow furrowed seriously over his eyes.

“Yep,” he says importantly. “I’ll be sure to hug him tight.”

“Excellent,” she says primly.

“Excellent,” he echoes playfully.

She lightly skims her knuckles across his soft cheek, smiling when he giggles a little, always ticklish…

… but then, when she withdraws her hand, letting it fall away from his face, the moment that immediately follows is quiet.

Too much so.

So quiet that Pearl can hear the softness of Steven’s breath, quiet enough that Greg’s words from earlier haunt her in the absence of noise.

Haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?

Contrary to what Garnet and Amethyst may believe, she isn’t afraid of snakes —pestilent creatures though they are.

She’s surprised by snakes.

And afraid of much bigger things—five-thousand-year old secrets and equally ancient insecurities, for instance.

Six thousand years ago, after all, she was coded to believe that her highest order in life was to be a slave.

And sometimes—if only sometimes—she fears that her weaknesses were ingrained then, in the very moment she emerged from a shell and was called a pearl

One of so many.

Disposable.

Programmable.

Objectified.

Sometimes, she barely knows what it means to be herself, much less what it means to be a parent .

Indeed, Greg Universe of all people seems to have the idea down better than she ever could.

So, yes, Greg, she is afraid.

(Afraid of failing Steven.)

(Terrified that she’s already failed her. )

Patronize him, Greg suggested.

Play with him.

Show him that you’re listening.

Let him know that you’re there.

—

“Greg?”

Pearl places a light hand on Greg’s arm, startling him from his trance as he turns around to face her.

“Pearl!” He exhales, his breath coming in short bursts. “Y’scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, not quite moving her hand away yet. His skin is warm beneath her fingertips, soft like wave-washed sand. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yes,” he returns immediately, and then—taking one look at her imperiously raised brow—just as quickly rectifies himself. “No. I don’t know. I’m freakin’ terrified, Pearl. I feel like a failure of a parent. I don’t know what to tell him. But I gotta go in there anyway.”

He says it all very rapidly, as though he’s talking to himself.

Encouraging himself.

And putting himself down to do it.

“I’m his dad,” he concludes, his voice breaking, tears standing in his dark eyes. “I’m his dad, and I didn’t… I wasn’t there for him, and I should have—“

“ Shh, ” Pearl cuts across him gently, patting his arm as tears threaten to slide down her own face. “Shh. There are so many hypothetical should haves that we’ll all have to face soon when it comes to Steven. But not today, Greg .”

With her free hand, she conjures a tissue from her gem and hands it to him, unflinching and kind, even when he needs to wipe his nose.

“Today,” she murmurs, her voice inhibited, a hundred emotions thick, “we just let him know that we’re here.”

—

“Pearl?” Steven asks.

Pearl blinks rapidly, coming back to herself; she’d been lost in her own thoughts, nearly consumed.

“Hey,” she smiles, placing her hand on top of Steven’s own. His skin is so warm and soft; she absently wonders if her alienness feels sharp to him… hard… cold… “Here’s an idea—how about I sing you a lullaby before you go to sleep?”

“You know how to sing?” Steven’s eyes widen incredulously, his mouth shaping itself into a delighted smile.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she laughs playfully. “When we were younger, your mother and I used to sing all the time—hymns from our home planet and the like…”

A pause, infinitesimal, hesitant. 

“...I could sing one for you if you’d like?”

“You could?” The child dares to be hopeful; the very emotion shapes the pitch of his question, the light in his eyes.

He has his mother’s eyes.

Dark and full of stars.

“I could,” Pearl repeats. “I’d sing as long as you wanted me to.”

“How about fooooorever?” 

“Let’s just start with until you fall asleep,” Pearl laughs. “That’s a part of forever, yes? This moment?”

“If you say so, Pearl,” he wrinkles his nose skeptically.

“I know so, Steven.”

As she sings him to sleep in her mother tongue, Pearl admits that this must be something that Greg knows, too.

The importance of hereness to a child.

Togetherness on scary nights.

[omniscientwreck]

Hi🖤 Omni! If you're looking for a fic request I've got one.

Okay so Essek is Feeblminded by remaining Volstrucker at his tower. Verin came to visit later that day and has been taling care of Essek, as they both would be scared of the Umavi's wrath should someone find out.

Well Caleb comes to visit a few day's later and Certainly gets a surprise.

Fluff ensues.

I'm talking the Unicorn from Despicable Me level Fluffy😁😁😁

Hi Umbra! Sorry I'm incredibly late answering this, life is weird but I hope the length makes up for it! I know I said drabble but like this just turned into a whole fic so I hope you enjoy!

Verin had worried when Essek’s door hadn’t opened of its own accord, usually he knows when he’s arrived. Deciding something was certainly wrong he barges his way into his brother’s tower. He finds it silent which is normal but unnerving and the unnatural stillness as he calls for Essek has his hackles up.

His knuckles pale as he grips the hilt of his sword and searches methodically throughout the tower. Finding the main floor empty he heads up the stairs to the library. There’s a shuffle, a falling book, a whimper. He draws his sword, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The door is ajar and he can hear shuffling. He thrusts it open is momentarily relieved to see his brother. His hair is tousled and white is stained with flecks of red, his robes are torn and his mantle is askew.

He’s never seen him like this before and his heart lurches. Surprise and fear are plastered across his features, far more freely than Verin’s ever seen him feel. He doesn’t talk and he seems to not even recognize him. Checking the rest of the room, the sword is returned to its sheath and Verin crouches, reaching a hand to Essek.

“Brother, what happened?” Silence, a whimper. “Essek? What’s wrong? It’s Verin, your brother.” His brows unknot, and the tension in his jaw slackens. There’s a looseness to his demeanor and as he stands he waves his hand as if to float, but nothing happens. He tries again and again. The first try was decisive, after watching him for so long Verin knows what it looks like when he casts it. The second time it’s not quite right, the third time it gets looser still. By the time Verin has stopped counting and Verin has grabbed Essek’s hands to calm him it seemed like Essek didn’t know what he was attempting to do.

“Is this some kind of spell? What happened?” His brother looks up with the face of a stranger. His eyes are open and sad, his ears fall just a touch and Essek leans in to hug Verin. He’s never wanted to do that before.

Verin hugs him back. “Oh Essie, what are we going to do?”

Caleb approaches Essek’s tower and is struck by immediate concern when the door doesn’t open for him. Essek always lets him in when he arrives, and with everything that’s happened he immediately panics. Caleb tries to tell himself Essek must be busy and has missed him tripping the wards. So, he lifts the knocker and gives the door a few raps.

He’d asked Caleb to meet him here to assist in the transport of his most important items after their trip to Aeor. He needs to run, he knows it and Caleb knows that turning himself in to the Dynasty would mean certain death so he’s agreed to help. No amount of good will from the Bright Queen would let them bargain for his favour. Selfishly, Caleb won’t allow him to get caught, so he will harbor Essek for some time, helping him stay out of the eyes of the Dynasty.

Eventually he knocks again, beginning to hold a firebolt just in case. “Uh, just a minute,” calls a stranger’s voice from behind the wood. “I’ll be right there.”

The door opens just a crack, “Who is it?”

“I am Caleb Widogast of the Mighty Nein, who is this?” His hand is up and encircled in flame.

“Oh thank the Light, one moment.” Whoever he is, he’s clearly relieved. Caleb’s firebolt stays held.

As the door opens Caleb is greeted by a tall drow, muscular with long braided back hair. He looks familiar but Caleb cannot place him. His features are slowly fading into relief from what must have been a deep concern. “Hello Caleb Widogast, I am Verin Thelyss and I am so glad you’re here. Your the wizard yes?”

Nodding, bewildered as he’s being dragged into Essek’s home by his brother, Caleb can hardly remember to respond, “Uh ja, that’s me. Where is Essek?”

“Well so I came by a few days ago and he didn’t let me into the tower which was weird. There have been some rumors going around and when our mother said he was back I had to ask. I don’t know if you know but… well it’s bad.”

He’s leading him upstairs as he explains and the back of Caleb’s neck is on fire. Verin doesn’t know, but there are rumors that are most likely true. Is he too late?

“So, I’m hoping since you also practice the arcane you might know what’s happened here and how to solve it.”

He leads Caleb into the library and Essek is seated on a chair idly flipping through a book far too quickly. It doesn’t even look like he’s reading, Caleb knows what he looks like when he’s reading. The quiet concentration and the tension it brings his jaw is completely missing. When Essek looks up at him there’s recognition but no words and when he rises to make his way to Caleb, he walks.

He’s wide-eyed and has a sweet smile across his face, it’s difficult to look away but if he doesn’t the heat rising in his cheeks will show. “Essek, what is it mein Freunde?”

No words. Why can’t he talk and why isn’t he floating?

“Essek?” A gentle hand reaches up to rest on his cheek and the heat takes over at the abrupt contact. Especially with Verin standing over his shoulder observing them. “Verin how long has he been like this?”

“About 2 days. I didn’t really know what had happened and if the Umavi found out well… I’m unsure what she would do.” Verin is a little more easier to map out than Essek had been initially and he’s been told enough stories about Dierta to understand the undercurrent of Verin’s words.

“Ja, I understand.” Verin starts at that and Caleb just continues past it, “I believe he has been affected by the spell Feeblemind. I - ah - have experience with this kind of thing. We have friends that can cure him but I will have to contact them, which I will not be able to do until tomorrow.”

Essek’s hand has wound its way into Caleb’s and he tries and fails miserably to contain the blush that he knows is spreading to his ears. Memories of little touches in Aeor flood back and Caleb pushes away thoughts of conversations he’d promised they’d have later, after Essek was safe. To call to attention this thing between them and get it out in the open before it drives him mad. Even if Essek’s feelings do not align with his it will be better to have it in the open.

“So this isn’t hurting him?”

Caleb turns to Essek, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He remembers a blur of time, when his mind had failed him. He remembers terror, looking down at his hands and not knowing whose they were. He didn’t have an anchor, nothing but his own thoughts, with someone there it might be different. Essek can’t understand him but the tone of voice seems to elicit some positive emotions and Essek squeezes his hand, a contented smile across his face, “He seems alright to me. It is unpleasant to be cut off from your casting, but he isn’t in pain and he isn’t alone.” It’s difficult to mitigate the emotion bleeding into his voice.

He pushes down memories of the years he’d been locked away and squeezes Essek’s hand back, reassuringly. “Have you gotten him to eat?”

Verin nods, “Occasionally. Probably not as much as he needs. I’m not exactly an excellent cook and nobody can see him like this so I’ve sent his staff away.”

“Alright, well I’ll just do this then.” he begins casting the tower, “I understand if you want to stay but if you need to go I can care for him.” he wants Verin to leave, he wants him gone so badly, to just take care of Essek properly without the shadow of somebody who doesn’t know hanging over them.

“I should be back to Bazzoxan soon. They’ll begin asking after me.” Caleb finishes casting the tower and leads Essek in. Just before he enters, Verin stops him, “You mean something to each other. I’ve never seen him act this way before, granted there’s an arcane influence but genuinely he has never smiled like he did when he saw you. I trust you with this because I think he would. Do not betray that.”

Caleb nods, “Of course not. We’ve faced the most difficult challenges of my life together and with our friends. I will care for him.” Verin seems satisfied with that and makes to leave, and Caleb enters the tower to find Essek waiting in the centre of the tower. He has an idea of where he wants to go. As the tower door closes behind Verin, he and Essek begin to drift upwards. Essek opens his mouth as if to reflexively murmur ‘up’ as had become their custom in their long travels together and his brows knot in distress, as if he’s realized again that his voice will not come. Caleb reaches for his hand, to comfort him and says it for them both, to which Essek smiles.

The drow releases Caleb’s hand and begins to swirl around, never leaving the central column and Caleb is forced to mirror his motions lest they collide. He flashes back to a moment of levity when they’d first come to Aeor. They had showboated then, dancing around each other as their works often did. This Essek is less restrained and his eyes and nose crinkle into a genuine smile when Caleb joins his frivolity.

They stop at the ninth floor which Caleb had known to be Esseks’ destination and immediately Essek lays on the pillows he always places in the corner. Usually, on their research expedition, he tranced in his room but on particularly emotional days they both preferred an expanse of stars above them as they rested. It became tradition and over time they’d drifted closer and closer together, until they would sometimes come to consciousness to find that through the night Essek had curled into Caleb’s side or that their hands had wound together unknowingly.

Now, Essek’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open in wonder as though it’s his first time seeing it all over again. Caleb stands over him, following his gaze up to the idly shifting starscape above. Caleb is quickly distracted by the versions of them that traverse different paths. Sometimes in each other’s company, other times in solitude. In a few they hold hands or make contact at the shoulders. Those are the ones he likes the most.

When his gaze is pulled back downwards, Essek stares up at him with a tenderness that quickly turns to expectation. He’s arranged burgundy cushions across the floor beside him for Caleb and so he obliges. As he stretches out across the crude bed slender, cool fingers interlock his own and he lays back and tells Essek of the constellations he’s hidden among the stars.

When Caleb himself was in this state he remembered lacking familiarity. Nothing around him made sense and the upheaval of his life only moments prior had only amplified the disorientation of the magic that kept him prisoner for 11 years.

Essek has someone to watch over him, he’s in a place that evidently brings him much joy and in recent months he’s found himself halfway to peace. Caleb finds his heart swell at the idea of making this experience bearable.

The silence was always the worst so he points to guide the elf’s eyes as he tells them the stories behind each constellation. He tells him of Nila, gentle and fierce. Of Twiggy, ever optimistic and wholly delightful. He tells him about Reani who Essek has spent some time with. Brief recognition flashes across his face, though it’s quickly replaced with frustration. Caleb remembers. He remembers knowing that someone was there who he should recognize but not having the words to know he had forgotten their name. He was in terror and treated everyone as a threat. Essek treats everything with wonder and discovery. The innocence is sweet and a syrupy feeling pools in Caleb’s throat as he’s again confronted with the way his heart swells when Essek looks at Caleb with that same contented smile.

He scoots closer and this is entirely too much. The idea that this version of Essek may curl into his side willingly, while they were fully conscious where the other version cannot unsettles him. Instead he stands, offering his hand, “Why don’t we get you something to eat ja?” There’s a momentary droop of his ears, much more pronounced than any movement he’d seen before before he lifts Essek and they go down to the dining room.

If there is to be anything significant between them it cannot be spurred under these circumstances. Caleb has to know he means it. As they wait while he cats prepare what had become their usual fare while traversing Aeor, he defaults to telling stories. First he tells him of the tunnels they traversed to reach the Dynasty, crafting an illusion as well as he can of the crystalline caves they made camp in. Food arrives and he continues weaving story and image as Essek picks at the well spiced soup comprised mainly of squash and potato. As he crafts an illusion of the dragon turtle they’d fought just after the peace talks out of amber and morphs its shape to a smaller turtle and then a sea slug, laughing to himself at the absurdity, he notices the clink of Essek’s spoon has long subsided.

Glancing over electric eyes focus on him instead of the illusion, so he drops it. “Ah, Es tut mir Leid, I know I tend to get carried away.” A little contented noise bubbles from Essek’s throat and his heart squeezes. In a desperate attempt to try and get Essek to eat more he turns back to his own soup and looks expectantly over to his friend.

Giving him a look of exasperation, he mirrors Caleb and eats most of the soup. Caleb rips up bread and encourages him to dip it in what’s left of the soup and finally, the bowl is empty. They leave the cats to clean up and Essek’s hand grasps Caleb’s again and squeezes. He knows he shouldn’t draw conclusions or let himself be taken by these gestures that the man wouldn’t make if he’d had the presence of mind, but it’s turning into a losing game.

With the time spent on the ninth floor and the prolonged battle of coaxing Essek to eat they only have a few hours until sleep. Essek takes his customary seat on the couch in the study and Caleb withdraws some of the lighter fiction that now populates the shelves. Lying back on the sofa, feet resting on the armrest, head by Essek he holds up the copy of Der Katzenprinz to show the illustrations. “You seem to like hearing me talk so why don’t I share this with you? Either way you won’t understand what I say so I will read it to you as it was originally intended.”

He begins, in Zemnian to tell him the fairy story that had brought him so much joy as a child, and the cats bring them hot chocolate as instructed. Warm mug in hand, Essek sits patiently through the story and as it turns to a close, picks up another of the books Caleb has gathered and thrusts it upon his chest. A real laugh bubbles up at that and he obliges.

As the night winds on and the mugs are emptied, Essek’s hand winds its way through Caleb’s hair, gently combing. When he looks up at Essek he’s met with soft, drooping eyes and a plain smile laced with nothing but care. He tries to stop Essek over the course of the book but finds that the drow always goes back to his hair so eventually, he leaves it. When Essek’s breaths even and elongate and he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open, Caleb sends him to trance.

He’s met with a slightly mournful look as Essek settles into the cushions he’s provided for trancing, but Caleb squeezes his shoulder, “If something goes wrong the cats will know to come get me. This is for the best.” Looking not at all reassured, but staying in place, Essek lets him leave without protest.

In the middle of sleep, dreamless and warm, there’s pressure. Then a caterwaul cuts through his subconscious followed by several more. He awakes with a start and immediately the cats gather around his feet as he pulls on slippers. They lead him to Essek’s room, where through the closed doors he can hear the sounds of furniture being disturbed.

Barging in, heart pounding, he finds Essek with tears streaming down his face. “Essek Schatz what’s wrong?” He kneels, abandoning any sense of propriety or boundaries and as he collapses into Caleb’s arms with nearly silent sobs he’s struck by how small the other man is.

“It’s alright Essek, whatever it was it cannot hurt you. I will keep you safe as you have done me.” They’ve never talked about the nights when the cats would do the same to Essek as they’d done to Caleb. When he’d been awoken from nightmares with angry red scratches down his forearms and a friend to bandage them. They’ve never quite discussed the comfort in Essek trancing just beside Caleb’s bed on difficult nights and he’s tried to stifle contemplation about the safety the man brings to his subconscious. The timing wasn’t right and despite his own longing he couldn’t make that step towards Essek. Not then.

Now, however, the elf shudders in his arms and he brings him into his lap, lighting soft amber globules of light to examine Essek. When he finds no physical harm he puts them out again and draws him in tighter as Essek clutches at the sides of his nightshirt and curls into his chest. He sings gentle lullabies his mother had once used to soothe him, voice cracking slightly as he flexes it in a long forgotten way. Eventually the shaking stops and breath becomes more solid, but hands stay grasped into his shirt so, with assistance from the cats, he maneuvers them into an easier sleeping position. Ever determined, Essek stays in his arms the whole time and when he tries to encourage him to trance beside him, arms wind around his waist.

“Okay, okay. If this will help.” Caleb resigns himself to creaky joints the next morning and sleeps with Essek in his arms, pushing away any indulgent thoughts of future nights spent with him in the same orientation.

When he awakes Essek is gone from his lap, though their fingers are laced and his head rests atop the drow’s on his shoulder. “Guten Morgen Essek.” He startles and smiles over at Caleb. Open, honest, vulnerable. They need to fix this. “I just need to prepare and then we will see Jester ja?” He receives a blank stare in return and nods to himself. “I will be back in a few moments and then we will go to Nicodranas. Just wait here.” He leaves and dresses quickly, returning to find Essek essentially where he’d been left. He takes a moment to glance over his spellbook and concentrates as he casts Sending, “Hallo Jester, I need your assistance with a pretty big restoration. Can you help today?”

She sounds half-asleep as she responds, “Caleb? Oh hi! Yeah I can help, just come to mama’s, we’re in Nicodranas. Oh my gosh I have to tell you, the dragon turtle-” her word economy same as ever.

“Okay Essek, Jester can help. I don’t know where you kept your parasol but I’m sure she can make you another.” With that they head out the door and Caleb transports them safely to the Lavish Chateau. Essek’s hand never leaves his.

Upon arrival they’re beset by a shouted greeting and Jester crushes Caleb in a hug before even realizing the other man is there. “Ohmigod Essek hi! I missed you!” Instead of awkwardly patting her back as he usually does, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in. “Hey Caleb, what’s going on with Essek?”

She pulls back and sees his broad smile and dancing eyes and looks at Caleb distinctly concerned. “Ah- I’m afraid he is a victim of the Feeblemind spell. It’s what they used against me in… well.” Her face clouds with understanding. “He’s okay physically though, whoever attacked him clearly just needed him out of the way. If you can use Greater Restoration that will undo the effects. He’s been ah - rather clingy.”

She waggles her eyebrows at him, making suggestive noise, and gets out the required diamond dust, sprinkling it delicately over Essek who watches in wonder. She puts both hands on her shoulders and green radiant energy emanates from her and passes to him. Before long he’s shaking his head and stepping back, voice hoarse from disuse, “Where- Jester? Thank you oh my gods thank you.”

She grins back at him, “I’m glad you’re back Essek! It’s a good thing Caleb brought you here you were acting so weird-”

She’s cut off as he chokes out, “Caleb.” and looks over with a deep violet flush and wide, apologetic eyes. “I ah- I am sorry for putting you through that. I-”

“Nein, do not apologize. Maybe we should get back to your tower to try and piece together who did this to you and what they were after ja?’

Essek nods and casts his levitation cantrip, shoulders sagging with relief when it works. “Yes, of course. Thank you Jester, I’m sorry we can’t stay but-”

She hugs the both of them again, “It’s okay, you have lots to talk about probably I don’t know bye!” she gives Caleb a wink as he begins casting the spell again and to his surprise Essek’s hand winds itself in his as they vanish.

They’re back in the tower and Caleb looks down, Essek’s hand still in his. Essek drops it and there’s a flush set deep into his cheeks and it spreads to his cheeks as their eyes meet. “Caleb I-” he swallows “I remember most of what happened, though not very clearly. I um-” his eyes are downcast and Caleb braces for what he believes to be coming, “Thank you for your patience. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable it is very difficult to explain but I think you’re aware of the feeling. I didn’t exactly have my full faculties and I fear I broke boundaries that may have encroached too far on your hospitality and our friendship.”

It’s difficult to see him so apologetic for the affection displayed. This thing between them has gone unspoken quite too long and before he realizes it he’s speaking, “Don’t apologize for that Schatz, I ah- I didn’t mind. There’s something I think we ought to discuss fairly plainly because I do not want to mince words about the way I feel anymore, it’s tiring.”

Essek looks up to meet him, steeling himself and as Caleb is about to speak he cuts him off, “I am aware enough of how I acted to realize I cannot properly hide my feelings further.” He takes a deep breath, the back of Caleb’s neck is burning and time has all but frozen, “I care deeply for you Caleb. It is difficult to bring myself to those words for I know this is the last thing I deserve but here I am, a fool for you. I know that there were moments in Aeor, I hold them close to my heart as precious things in a life of solitude. If you do not do the same, if you do not feel the same I will remain your friend if you’ll allow it, your research partner, anything. But-” he looks down almost sheepishly, “I owe it to you to be forthright and so I will tell you that if you’ll have me, I would very much like to see where this takes us.”

A smile breaks across Caleb’s face as their eyes meet, “May I kiss you?”

Essek draws in a sharp breath, eyes wide, and nods. It takes Caleb only a moment to close the gap, hands sliding around Essek’s waist and over the back of his neck as he leads them together. Essek’s hands hold his shoulders and his eyes flutter closed as their lips meet, electricity and heat mixing. When they finally pull back they’re both flushed. Essek lets out a huff of a laugh and Caleb wraps him tightly as he brings him in again, smiling into another kiss.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Krel, Douxie, Value Me?

Leave a “Value Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character telling another how they feel about them.

From send me characters and a prompt (no longer accepting)

And until I reblog this ask meme again, this is the last of these prompts I will be writing. They're finally out of my inbox! Yay!

This technically takes place during RotT (after Douxie and Nari get sent back to their own bodies) but I still refuse to actually watch the movie so the timeline and whatnot are probably not canon compliant with the movie.

CW: references to canon-typical death and torture.

AO3

FFN

~

Krel didn't have a problem with organizing his lab. Oh, sure, other people had a problem with the way he organized his lab. But was that really Krel's fault? He was the one who was going to be working in the lab, so it was best if he calibrated it to the maximum efficiency of himself. After all, he could find everything easily, so why would anyone else matter?

Douxie mattered, though. And Douxie looked incredibly frustrated by Krel's organizational skills. If it were anyone else, Krel would be inclined to brush it off as them not being able to understand the genius of Krel's mind and organization. But.

But Douxie mattered so much more than Krel's ego. That, and the two of them were trying to build a new amulet for Jim. They were working together, and Douxie deserved to be able to find what he was looking for.

Not failed projects, like what Douxie was currently holding.

"Krel? What's this flashlight-thing doing here?" Douxie flicked the switch and it started beeping, fast and loud and high-pitched. So it worked, even if only in the shortest of distances. "Please tell me it's not a Geiger counter."

"No, it's not a... why is everyone so worried about radioactivity?"

Douxie crossed his arms. "I don't know about you, but radiation sickness is a nasty way to die."

Krel wondered if it was a worse way to die than falling from the sky, a worse way than being tortured and having your soul ripped from another's body and forced back to your own.

"This was originally a core scanner," Krel said, taking the device from Douxie's hands and turning it off. "I modified it, though, but it seems to only work in a short range, so it wouldn't work for what I modified to for. To look for magic, and souls." Krel lifted his eyes off of the device to meet Douxie's. "To look for you."

"I... that makes sense." Douxie looks away from Krel. "You would've been able to find Nari's body, and maybe even the seals, and then this whole mess could've been prevented."

Douxie wasn't listening to him. Gently, Krel took Douxie's hands in his lower pair, and he put his upper pair on Douxie's shoulders. "No. I mean, that would've been helpful, but I wasn't looking for Nari's body, or the seals. I was looking for you. Just you, to bring you back to me. To us."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Douxie burst into tears at that. He took a step forward, though, burying his face in the crook of Krel's neck. Krel dropped Douxie's hands in favor of wrapping three arms around Douxie's torso and using the fourth to card his fingers through Douxie's hair in a hopefully-comforting manner.

"I didn't think anyone was coming for me," Douxie confessed between sobs. "I tried to convince myself this was good, that you were focusing on keeping Nari safe and planning for when I failed to keep my hold on her body, but..." Someone inhaled sharply, and Krel couldn't tell who. "I was so scared, and I almost wanted someone to come for me, even if it seems selfish. But, but you were trying?"

"Oh, Douxie." Krel squeezed Douxie just a little tighter. "Of course I was. I'm not a warrior, and I can't promise I'll always be able to keep you safe in the first place. I can't promise I'll always be able to save you. But I promise you that I will do everything I can to try and save you anyways."

It was a promise Krel had accidentally made to himself when Douxie had fallen from the sky, back during that impossibly long and agonizing moment where they had crowded around Douxie's body. Krel hadn't even known Douxie yet beyond that he was a wizard who did reckless things like cut in line and take on demigods on his own, and yet Krel found himself silently promising that if Douxie survived this, Krel would do everything to ever keep him from being so hurt ever again.

Later, Krel would find out that this was called the bargaining phase of grief. The only difference was that it had worked and Krel's feelings for Douxie had been able to grow past grief.

"You would do that?" Douxie looked up at Krel. His tears had ceased falling, but there were still tears in his beautiful golden eyes. Tears, and disbelief. In that moment Krel hated everyone who had ever made Douxie feel like he wasn't worthy of being saved.

"Of course I would, Douxie. I..." Krel's eyes darted away. If Douxie didn't feel the same way, then making the amulet together might be awkward. But Douxie really needed to hear how much he was valued, and if that meant Krel had to be embarrassed... Oh, kleb it.

"I love you," Krel said, and Douxie's eyes widened. And then, he smiled before pressing his forehead to Krel's. A gentle, fluttering feeling overtook Krel's core. It was a feeling Krel wanted to last forever.

After a few wonderful moments, Douxie pulled away, still smiling. "I know a really good deli place. Assuming it doesn't get destroyed by the Order, do you want to grab dinner there next Friday?"

"Are you-"

"Yes, I'm asking you on a date."

Krel beamed. "Then yes. Of course I'd like to go on a date with you."

"Then let's make sure there's still a world by Friday," Douxie said, turning back to the workspace of the lab. His smile faded by a fraction. "You really need to find an organization system."

"I do organize things!"

Though, maybe, after they defeated the Arcane Order, Krel would re-organize his lab to be slightly more accessible to his boyfriend.

~

A/N: I feel like this ends one of 2.5 ways: 1) Due to this scene, Douxie and Krel are able to change things just enough that Jim decides not to go back in time. AKA, Gay Love Saves The Timeline™. Whether or not it saves the deli where the boys were gonna go for their date is a different story, though. 2) This changes nothing, or at least it doesn't change enough, and Jim resets the timeline, erasing this moment and all their character development...      2.5) ...or at least, it does until Jim is able to restore Douxie and Krel's memories. (Yes, I'm saying that this fic might be an unoffical prequel to Reunions and Revelations.)