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hamilando · 16 hours ago

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˚₊ 𖤓☽˚At the garden, general ? ˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.

pairing : general! max verstappen x fem reader x betrothed duke! lando norris

part : this is the first fic of the regency series

tw : set in regency era, discrimination against women, max has troubles with his dad, angst, talks about infidelity

a/n : AHHH THE SERIES FINALLY BEGINNNN, please do comment and give feedback, it’s the first time I am starting such a big project so it’s great to see feedbacks!

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden rays across the blue dusty eyes of General Verstappen, his troops in tow, riding along the unpaved path that wound through the estate of Verstappen Hall. Dust stirred beneath the hooves of their horses, a lingering testament to the journey they had undertaken from the distant battlefields of the north. As they approached the grand gates of his family’s estate, a swell of emotion surged within him, battling the exhaustion that clung to his bones.

“Home at last,” he murmured, his voice thick with the weight of longing. He felt the familiar pull of nostalgia as memories of his childhood flooded back—sunlight filtering through the ancient oaks, laughter ringing out during summer picnics when his sister would cry seeing the broken flowers and the scent of blooming roses wafting from the gardens which he once tried sneaking for his childhood love.

As they rode through the arched gates, Max’s heart raced with anticipation. He could see the sprawling façade of Verstappen Hall in the distance. The estate was a symbol of their family’s legacy, one that had served the monarchy for generations. His grandfather was a first lineage general, breaking the tradition of goldsmiths of the Verstappen lineage. Jos Verstappen, Max’s father followed his own father’s footsteps, currently serving as the military advisor to the King while his own son, Max Verstappen served as young and budding general, retuning after a successful campaign in the north.

As they dismounted, the stable hands rushed forward, eager to tend to the horses. Max took a moment to collect himself, smoothing the creases in his coat before stepping toward the grand entrance. The sound of his boots echoing against the marble floor felt foreign yet comforting.

The door swung open, and a rush of warmth enveloped him. There, standing in the entryway, was his mother, Lady Verstappen. Her eyes, a striking shade of blue that mirrored his own, widened in disbelief. She rushed forward, her arms outstretched, and Max felt the weight of the world lift as he embraced her.

“Max! My champion!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with joy. “You are home! Oh, how I have prayed for your safe return!”

“Mother,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “It is good to be home.”

She pulled back to examine him, her hands resting on his shoulders, her eyes taking in the changes in the boy she raised, the unkept hair, the gruff stubble, the cracked hands, all signs of the hardships her son endured to be the best, “You have changed so much. The war has taken its toll on you, hasn’t it?” He offered a wry smile, attempting to mask the scars that lay beneath the surface. “It has, but I am here now. That is what matters most.”

As they stepped inside, the warmth of the hearth welcomed him, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat filling the air. The flickering light of the candles cast a soft glow across the room.

His father, General Verstappen, emerged from the adjoining room, his expression a blend of pride and strictness, not allowing himself to fully grasp his happiness and relief of his son returning home, “Emilian, I see that you have returned!” His father’s voice boomed as he crossed the room, gripping his son’s arms firmly.

Max stood still, feeling the weight of expectation settle upon him. His doings always fell short, perhaps if he had endured a few more scars, his father would have said the words he longed to hear. Before Max could respond, the door swung open again, and his younger sister, Victoria, rushed in, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Maxie! You’re home!” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Vic,” he said, chuckling as he lifted her off the ground. “You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

“I have!” she beamed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I have so much to tell you! There’s been talk of the Regency, and—”

“Victoria Jane!” Lady Margaret interjected gently, a note of playfulness in her tone. “Your brother has just returned from war. Let him catch his breath first.”

Max chuckled softly, grateful for his sister’s outburst. “It is quite all right, Mother. I would love to hear all about the Regency.”

Victoria’s eyes lit up. “There will be a grand ball! All the lords and ladies of the court will be in attendance. I heard that the Prince will even make an appearance!”

Max’s heart sank slightly at the thought. The ball promised a night of celebration, yet it also signified the expectations that would soon weigh upon him. He had always felt the pressure to uphold the family’s reputation, and now, with his return from war, it seemed that burden would only grow heavier.

“Indeed,” General Verstappen said, his voice grave. “And it would be proper for you to attend, Emilian . The King will expect to see you there, representing our family.”

Max hesitated, glancing at his mother, whose expression was one of keen interest. “Mother, I—”

“Yet, you are a Verstappen ,” General Verstappen stated firmly. “You must show strength and resilience. The Regency will provide an opportunity to showcase your valour and to remind the kingdom of your service. I don’t remember my son being a coward, seeking his mother for moments to shed his tears or express his tiredness.”

“Very well,” max said finally, a hint of resignation in his voice. “If it is what is expected of me, I shall attend.”

Victoria clapped her hands, her excitement palpable. “Oh, it will be wonderful! You will look so dashing in your uniform! Everyone will be so proud of you!”

As the evening wore on, the family shared stories and laughter, yet Max found himself retreating into his thoughts. The hearth crackled with warmth, but his heart felt heavy. He gazed out the window, watching as the last rays of sunlight faded into twilight, and shadows danced across the estate.

“Maxie?” Vic’s voice broke through his reverie. “Are you all right?”

He turned to her, forcing a smile. “Yes, Vic. Just lost in thought, I suppose.”

“Do not worry,” she said, her youthful innocence shining through. “You will see that the Regency is not so dreadful. There will be music! And dancing! And perhaps even a chance to meet a lovely lady.”

Max chuckled, a genuine smile breaking through the mask he had worn. “Ah, a lovely lady, you say? And who do you propose I dance with, sister? Maybe you have someone in mind for who shall be your sister-in-law ?”

“Anyone, really! You are a hero, and the ladies will flock to you!” Victoria laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You cannot hide from your duty forever. I need to be aunt before I turn 18 !” Max just started at her in disbelief, a little smile creeping in his face, while his sister tried to control her laughter, the thought of being an aunt consuming her.

As the fire crackled and the family continued their joyous reunion, Max felt a flicker of hope igniting within him. Perhaps the Regency would provide a distraction, a moment to breathe away from the memories that haunted him. He resolved to put aside his burdens, if only for a night. As laughter and stories filled the air, Max realised that perhaps he could embrace both his past and his future. He would return to the battlefield of society, prepared to navigate the complexities of life beyond the conflict and as the night wore on, a sense of hope blossomed within him, mingling with the flickering shadows of the hearth.

The days passed in a languid rhythm, the golden sun rising and setting like a well-rehearsed actor on the stage of life. Max sat in his chambers, a cup of tea cradled in his hands, the fine china clinking softly as he rested it on the delicate lace tablecloth. Reading the newspaper was a rare leisure he allowed himself, awaiting the royal decree for his next campaign, till then he shall enjoy his mother’s and sister’s frugal attempts to get max to give them a child to fawn upon.

“Max, you must come and help us!” The voice of his sister, broke through the tranquil moment, her brow furrowed in distress as she swept into the room. She was a whirlwind of energy, her pale blue gown swirling around her like a stormy sea, the fabric catching the light with each hurried step. Max could see the servants rushing behind her, holding crates of gowns, each one customised to enhance Victoria’s aspect of getting a better suitor.

“Vic, what can possibly be so urgent that it requires my assistance on this fine day?” Max replied, a teasing smile playing on his lips. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes crinkling as he saw his sister pace around the room. He very well knew that Victoria wanted him to choose the gowns and hand gloves, one which can possible capture a young suitor. A feeling of jealousy passed over him, the thought of another man touching his little Vic, unsettling.

Vicotria stopped, hands on her hips, her eyes flashing with determination. “Mother is in quite the state, and we must finalize the arrangements for the regency ball. It is a matter of great importance, and I cannot manage it all by myself!”

“Indeed, the ball,” Max mused, feigning a yawn. “Surely, the entire ton shall be there, adorned in their finest silks, all in a frenzy over the latest gossip.”

“Oh, Maxie, must you be so insufferably lazy?” Vic huffed, her patience wearing thin. “It is not merely gossip, but our family’s reputation at stake! If we do not present ourselves well, how shall the world see us? Not only that, I am 17! It’s my debutante, you very well know how much influence you have on my suitors, if I go unselected, the prospects of me getting a good family is-”

At that moment, their mother, entered the room, her expression grave as she surveyed her children. “Victoria, my dear, do keep your voice down,” she chided gently, though her eyes glimmered with the same urgency. “And Max, you must not lounge about like a lazy lord. You are a general, after all. Your sister is correct, the suitors will want Victoria after they sense that her brother is general favoured by the King.”

Max raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Mother, I assure you, a general requires his moments of laziness. Vic is just 17, she has a good 5 years before her regency goes to waste. I assure you she will make you a grandmother before I do so."

Victoria just looked with disbelief at her brother, unshed tears swimming in her eyes, before rushing out of the room, throwing away the pearls and fine gloves she adorned, clearly saddened by her brother’s lack of interest. “You do not understand a lady’s debut Max,” Lady Verstappen insisted, her tone firm. “You must understand that with your rank comes responsibility. In a society like ours, a girl’s only way of serving is through her husband or through becoming a scholar. You know your father, he never let Victoria touch a book, if she doesn’t get a good suitor, her life may as well be sealed. Your presence at the ball is essential.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the golden strands catching the light. “Very well, I shall grace the event with my presence. But I cannot promise to enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it or not, you will participate,” Lady Verstappen said, a hint of triumph in her voice. “We shall need you to engage with the other gentlemen, to show our family's strength, if not for enjoyment, for Victoria at least.”

On the eve of the ball, the household bustled with activity. Max stood at the window of his chamber, gazing out at the twinkling lights strung throughout the gardens. The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the estate, illuminating the faces of the servants as they hurried about their tasks. His mother was busy with preparing Victoria for her debut while his father was going through the prospects of her future husband, a list already drawn of who shall Victoria interact with and who shall be tossed.

The grand ballroom of the Regency shimmered like a jewel under the light of dozens of crystal chandeliers, each facet reflecting the laughter and chatter of the evening’s revelry. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roses and lilacs, their perfumed elegance wafting through the expanse of polished marble floors. Men in uniforms and diamond struck tailored clothes and ladies in flowing gowns moved gracefully, their figures swirling like the very music that filled the air, a delicate waltz playing softly in the background.

Victoria, radiant in a gown of soft lavender silk, glided across the dance floor, her laughter a sweet melody that mingled with the music. Her light hair was adorned with pearls, and the sparkle in her eyes shone brighter than any diamond.

“Look at her, Max,” Lady Verstappen said, her proud gaze fixed on her daughter. “Is she not the most beautiful creature in the room?”

Max nodded, taking a sip of his drink, a deep, rich claret that did little to quell the apprehension brewing in his chest. “Indeed, Mother. She is lovely,” he replied, his voice low and steady, betraying none of the concern that gnawed at him. “But I wonder if this attention is all it seems to be, she is still so very young.”

“Let her enjoy herself,” his mother urged gently. “You were young once too, my son.”

Max chuckled dryly, his gaze unwavering as he watched Vic twirl, her laughter ringing out like a bell. “I was, but I was not in the company of fortune seekers.”

As the music swelled, Max felt a presence beside him. He turned to see a lady standing there, her gown a deep emerald that accentuated her striking features. Her hair, a cascade of golden curls, framed her face beautifully. She regarded him with a keen, searching gaze.

“General Verstappen, I presume?” she said, her voice smooth and melodic.

He straightened slightly, taken aback by her directness. “Yes, that is correct. And you are?”

“A lady who was told by her betrothed to not to talk to men ” she replied, extending her gloved hand. “I could not help but notice you standing alone while your sister dances. I thought it rather uncharacteristic of a man of your standing.”

Max took her hand briefly, feeling the warmth of her palm. “I prefer to observe. The world of balls and dances has never been one I enjoy indulging in.” Max turned his attention to the lady, a brief smirk on his face, “And where shall be this protective betrothed of yours? I must say he won’t be pleasant after watching you talk to me while I caress your silk clothed hand.”

“He must be somewhere, a political alliance waiting to be signed”

“Were you also one of the political papers signed?”

The lady let out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling, “ General you do have a good sense of humour but I must say the truth lies in what you speak.”

“But isn’t that what you want? A lady wants? Protection, title, a suitor worth riches ?”

The smile disappeared on the lady’s face, her jaw clenching, “Not all of us have the liberty to choose what we dream of General, why are you here? If you are so disinterested in finding a lady who wants your title and riches.”

“To protect her,” he replied, his fingers pointing towards her sister . “The world can be a dangerous place, and I’ve sworn an oath to keep her safe.”

The corners of her mouth turned down slightly, “And yet, she must carve her own path, even if it includes the occasional misstep. Is it not our duty to allow them to grow?”

“Not when those missteps could lead to heartbreak or ruin,” he countered, his voice firm. “You do not understand.”

“Perhaps I do,” she said, her tone shifting to one of anger. “But perhaps you underestimate the strength of your sister, or a lady perhaps. She is not a porcelain doll to be kept on a shelf, General.”

Max and the lady were just staring at each other’s eyes, the blue ones seeking the motive behind the brown ones while the brown ones deceptions anger, of being misunderstood yet once again by men.

“Am I interrupting something?” Victoria softly said, trying to see through the intense stare between his brother and the mysterious lady.

“Your brother and I were just having a delightful conversation,” The lady said, her smile not doing justice to hide her anger. “ I am afraid I must take my leave, lovely meeting you Lady Victoria, General.” The lady just bowed and left, her anger causing Max’s heart to stir, wondering where did he go wrong? Was offering a lady protection through title really that bad ?

Victoria just raised her eyes, looking curiously at her brother, “Did you just engage or rather should I say fight with the future Duchess of Belmore ?”

“Duchess of Belmore ?”

“She is Lady Y/N Cecil, betrothed to Duke Norris of Belmore, they are the most powerful regent couple if you may presume.”

“The Cecil household is related to the monarchy, the Lady of the household is the cousin of the King, then why do they need the Norris household ?”

Victoria just sighed, patting her brother’s shoulder “It’s not Y/N who wants it, It’s the Cecil in her name who wants the marriage, she has never even met Lando, yet look at the those two, acting like lovebirds, Lando gets a pretty face, the Norris household gets a monarchy relation and well the Cecil household gets more power, a good alliance right?”

Max glanced at where Vic was pointing, the lady who he was talking to was now in the embrace of the Lando, or rather Duke Norris, politely laughing on her betrothed's words while he just talked to other dukes.

“And what does Y/N get?”

“The ill fate of being born as girl.”

Max kept staring at the couple, observing every move of Lando, how his fingers were wrapped around Y/N’s waist, his beard slightly scraping her cheeks when he leaned to speak, the slight tremble in her hand when she held Lando’s hands.

Y/N looked up, interrupted by a servant offering her wine, she politely took the glass, taking a sip, the red wine going down her throat as she met the blue eyes. The eyes speaking more than words could, the blue and red in her system igniting a fire, something her betrothed couldn’t suffice, no matter how many county’s he offered or diamond crosses he decorated her with.

Max just smirked, not breaking the eyes contact, “Simply lovely that I chose to be a general Vic, but I feel this lady is going to meet me more often than I would want.”

Max would often go out of the house, much suprise to his mother and sister. He would catch glimpses of Y/N, the small smiles passed, the way her eyes would convey her messages when she was wrapped around Lando. Max would deliberately go her estate late at night, sneaking in the garden, where she would be waiting for him with a dish she had baked for him. It became a tradition, for what started as a banter, Y/N seemed to enjoy his company.

Days passed, it was silent night, Max who was now in the parlour with his tipsy friends. He leaned back in his chair, a glass of fine whiskey in hand, surrounded by his loud friends, all engaged in the light-hearted banter that followed a seductive dance given to them by the hostess, the friends howling like young lads seeing a girl’s legs for the first time.

As the dance continued, Max’s gaze drifted towards the entrance of the parlour. There she was—Lady Y/N, or rather, the figure of a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to her. Dressed in a tailored suit with a cravat that could have belonged to a dandy, she glanced around the room, her eyes darting as if seeking refuge from the spotlight.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Max said, interrupting the banter. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I must… attend to something.”

“Max, where are you going? The game’s just getting good!”His close friend, Lord Riccardio, or Danny Ric as they called him.

Max just gave a sly eye to Danny, and made his move, his eyes locked onto the figure of Lady Y/N. He made his way through the crowd, dodging the odd glass of whiskeys and drunk lords. With determination, he approached her just as she slipped into a shadowy corner of the room.

“What are you doing here? That too dressed as a man!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of anger and annoyance.

She turned, her eyes wide with surprise, but quickly masked it with a sly smile. “Ah, good sir! I am out for an evening stroll. How dare you follow me”

Max closed the distance between them, pinning her against the wall with a playful smirk. “A stroll is it? I’d say you’re more of a runaway bride, I wonder how would Norris react, seeing his bride pinned so seductively against me.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she raised an eyebrow. “And you’re more of a brute than I remember. What do you want, General? Are you going to arrest me for being too handsome?”

“Handsome? Is that what you call it?” Max teased, noting the exaggerated puff of her chest. “I thought you were busy being the Duchess of Belmore.”

“Ah, but one must have a little fun before being shackled to a life of estate duties and endless tea parties,” she replied with a wink. “Besides, I can’t resist a good masquerade or a man.”

Max slipped his hands to rest on her waist, the long coat she wore doing nothing to hide her petite figure of a woman, “ And what if he finds out Y/N?”

“Well this is not the first thing you are stealing away from him.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Oh, I do hope he finds out. It would make our wedding a great deal more interesting, don’t you think?”

He held her hand, before leading her away from the ally, going down to the guest abode down the ally, booking a room before leading her inside. Inside the confines of the four walls, the two of them could escape their own reality, one bound in her hand by that diamond band.

Max chuckled, plopping down on the bed. “You’re insufferable. You know that, right?”

“insuffersble and rather clever, if I do say so myself. Besides, it’s not my fault you’re so easily distracted by a pretty face,” she quipped, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

“Pretty face? You’re wearing a disguise! The only pretty thing I can make out are the eyes begging me to take them out the disguise ” he shot back.

“You take them and the next thing you know our names being plastered on the society’s disgrace board” she retorted, her confidence unwavering.

“Touché,” Max conceded.“But what’s your plan? Sneak in, make a mockery of your fiancé, and then what? Run off to join the parlour, wearing those tiny codices of clothes and rubbing against Lords?”

“Now that’s an idea! I’ve always fancied myself as a dancer,” she replied, her grin widening.

Max eyes reflected anger, or what you could say a glimpse of jealousy, “I would rather have me being bankrupt for you than seeing those naked men throw money at you. Perhaps I should rescue you from your fate and sweep you away.” Max said, his hands closing in her neck.

“Bankrupt? I will take my chances with Duke. Besides, we are just friend right ?” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she knew they were a lie. They both knew it.

“Just friends?” Max echoed, his brow furrowing. “Is that really what you think we are?”

She hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. “I mean… we are. We meet, we talk, we laugh. That’s friendship, isn’t it?” She tried to sound convincing, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“Meet? I sneak in to see you, we talk behind the bushes so as no one catches us, is that what friends do?” Max replied, his chest heaving with the unsaid feelings.

Y/N bit her lip, her heart hammering in her chest. “I don’t want to complicate things, Max. Not now. Not with him looming over us.”

“Complicate things?” Max's eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of frustration and hurt flashing across his features. “Is that really how you feel? That what we have is just a complication? Is it about the higher title he has? The higher county’s he has?”

“No! That’s not what I mean. Max, you can be shunned if people found out you are perusing a married woman.”

“Yet to be married and I am pursuing ? Am I the one baking for myself ? Am I the only one at fault ? Last time I remembered, a kiss is not something you can just do with one person.” Max replied, getting up from the bed, the comfort long forgotten.

The anger in his voice made her ache. She wanted to reach out, to close the distance between them, but the fear of crossing that line held her back.

“What are you so afraid of?” he pressed gently, his tone softening. “You’re afraid of him, but what about us? Don’t we deserve a chance to explore this? To see where it could go?”

The temptation to confess her feelings was almost overwhelming, but the fear of the consequences stopped her. “I don’t know if I can do that, Max. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not him. He’s… he’s important to me too.”

Max’s jaw clenched slightly, and she could see the struggle in his eyes. “He is important? Your family attended his importance! Your family gave you away to bear his heirs.”

The walls seemed to shrink around Y/N as his words sank in, each syllable a painful reminder of her reality. “You don’t get to say that!” she shot back, her voice rising in defiance. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry that burden. It’s not just about him. It’s about my family, my duty—”

“Your duty?” he interrupted, taking a step closer to her. “What about your happiness? Your dreams? You’re just going to sacrifice everything because they expect you to? Here I am giving you an option for a life you want.”

“a life I want ?” she echoed incredulously, spinning to face him. Her voice trembled, the weight of her feelings spilling over. “And do what? Throw everything away? All for some fleeting sense of love? You don’t understand the stakes here. I’d be disowned, cast out… I’d lose everything I’ve ever known.”

Max took a deep breath, his frustration palpable. “So you’d rather live a lie? Is that what you want? To be miserable for the rest of your life just because it’s what they want? To bear his heirs, to be a pawn in their game? To throw this unnamed feelings?” His voice broke slightly, and Y/N could hear the pain behind his anger.

it all became too much. The weight of his words, the intensity of the moment, the raging storm inside her—it spiraled into a whirlpool of emotions that she couldn’t contain. With a swift movement, she brought her hand up and slapped Max across the face, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room.

“There’s nothing between us, Max!” she shouted, her voice breaking again, but this time with a mix of anguish and rage. “It was a mistake! It was all a mistake! I should have never approached you at the ball!”

“Why can’t you just trust me?” he replied back, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why can’t you see that I’m not going anywhere? I want to be here for you. I want to fight for us.”

“Fight for us?” Y/N repeated. “What is ‘us’ even supposed to be? A series of stolen moments in the shadows? A relationship built on your fantasies while I drown in my reality?”

The words fell from her lips, a final confession, a desperate attempt to sever the ties that bound them. She turned away, unable to face the pain in his eyes, the anger and sorrow that mirrored her own.

Then why can’t you let it go?” he asked, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “Why does it still hurt you?”

“Because it matters!” she snapped, her anger flaring again. “It matters too much! And I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t!”

Then stop pretending!” he urged, stepping closer again, his presence overwhelming. “Stop pretending you don’t want this, Y/N. Stop pretending you don’t want me!”

“Want you?” she laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “I want to want you! But it’s not that simple! This isn’t a game, and I’m not a pawn you can move around!”

Max had enough, he just pulled back, running a hand through his sweat-stricken hair, leaving her alone in the ally, before turning for the last time “ I loved you, Y/N. I am ready to fight Norris, just say it now, just say yes and I will leave my title, my everything to be with you.”

Y/N held back her tears, a small ‘no’ escaping her lips. She saw Max turn around and leave, her knees finally giving out and the sobs the she held back for long flowing freely.

The preponed wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Belmore caused the buzz in the society. The grand drawing room of the estate was abuzz with laughter and chatter, the air thick with the scent of blooming roses and freshly poured champagne. Yet, in the midst of this joyous celebration lay a heart torn. Y/N stood at the center of it all, adorned in a gown of ivory lace that flowed gracefully down to the polished wooden floor. Her eyes sparkled with delight, but deep inside, a storm brewed, threatening to engulf her.

As Y/N caught sight of Max across the room, her heart raced. He looked dashing, clad in a tailored suit that accentuated his tall frame, yet his expression was stormy. A mix of anger and disbelief played across his features, and the moment their eyes locked, a silent understanding passed between them.

“Max,” Y/N whispered, stepping away from the gathering. She felt an invisible pull towards him, her heart aching for the man she once thought she would spend her life with.

But before she could reach him, Max turned his back, his shoulders tense. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the music of the party.

Y/N felt her heart torn, seeing the man she loved standing right in front of her, seeing her get married. She was led inside in a room, told to wait for the ceremony to begin.

“So this is it then? You’re just going to go through with it?” Y/N’s head snapped back at the voice she would recognise even in her dreams.

Y/N felt her heart shatter as she realized the truth. “I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t fight this battle. It’s already been decided for me.”

Max stepped back, his expression darkening. “Then there’s nothing more to say,” he said coldly, the warmth in his voice replaced by a chilling distance.

“Max, please…” she pleaded, reaching out for him, but he pulled away, the space between them growing wider.

“What do you want me to do? Wait for you my whole life while you put on a show as a duchess? I can’t do it anymore. I gave you chance, you just had to say a yes. Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, his voice distant and filled with sorrow. With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the room, the silence in the room suffocating her.

Max was sitting with his family at the chapel when the groom arrived. The music began again, signaling the entrance of the bride. But there was no bride—only an empty doorway waiting for someone to walk through. The commotion erupted, with the Norris family demanding answers while the Cecils sent their guards to apprehend their unfilial daughter. The guests were equally shocked, absorbing the chaos around them. Max was utterly confused as well when he felt someone slip something into his coat pocket. He looked around in confusion before opening the note, a slight smirk forming on his face as he read the note.

“Meet me at the same garden, General Verstappen?”

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off-color-darkrai · 2 days ago

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I did it! He's done! Crochet Ingo is completed!

Look upon him and despair!

But seriously, Ingo took soooo much longer than his brother because I had to stop every few seconds to go over the clothes I made for Emmet, count the stitches, count a couple more times because those buggers are tiny, write down what I'm pretty sure I did, and then I could finally crochet another round.

And I still haven't made his Tie and arm band because the holidays smacked me in the face.

Together again, as they should be!

(Funny story: My cat tried to kidnap Ingo the other day! When I tried to move my cat off another one of my projects, he cried at me the whole way and hooked his claws into Ingo's coat so Ingo went with him. If my cat didn't get to sleep on my project, he was taking Ingo instead!)

I'm still planning on posting the clothing pattern on Etsy, once I've got it properly typed up.

Link to Emmet's photos, also has a Link to the doll pattern (which is not mine and is free)

#submas #subway boss nobori #subway boss ingo #subway boss kudari #subway boss emmet #crochet doll #freehand crochet #pokemon #amigurumi #pokemon black and white #pokemon black 2 and white 2 #crochet

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improbable-outset · 3 days ago

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📄 𝐀 𝐙𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

Jayce Talis x gn!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.6k

𝐂𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐖: very slow burn, flirting, unresolved romantic tension, open ending, Zaun and Piltover dynamics, light angst

𝐀/𝐍: Ok I know I said no more tumblr, but I had to share this…if it reaches the Arcane audience, cool. If it doesn’t…ah well at least my moots see this

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As a Zaunite inventor, you don’t trust uninvited visitors in your sanctuary, especially from Piltover Councillors. But Jayce Talis isn’t like most people. Persistent, curious, and infuriatingly charming, he keeps showing up to your workshop, refusing to back down. And neither are you…

An earthy tang hit the back of your throat as you swept the concrete floor, each stroke of your broom sending swirls of dust in the air. The dust particles caught the setting sunlight spilling through the open doorway, casting a golden glow inside your workshop.

It wasn’t a huge space, but it was yours— clattered with shelves of spare parts, half finished projects, and various tools.

The main door stood propped open, letting in the faded sunlight and occasional cool breeze.

The wind slowly brushed past you as you continued to sweep, the sound of the wind charm that hung outside of your property tinkered in the air. Its delicate sound was a contrast to the mechanical hum that usually filled the space.

Your routine was as steady as the machines you built. Each day was just as predictable as the last. Sweep the dust, sort out spare parts, tinker with inventions that no one would use— or buy.

Most of your work came from the Chem-barons, commissions for complex weapons or gear that promised devastation in the right hands.

They didn’t visit often, but their demands could keep you busy for days. Then, when the work was done, the stillness returned.

No one came unless they needed something done, and you prefer it that way. The fewer interruptions, the fewer chances for someone to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.

And everyone seemed to respect that.

You paused mid-sweep, the broom still in your hand, as you felt a prickle run up the back of your neck.

The air in the Undercity was always thick with pollution and smoke, but now it felt heavier— like the weight of a storm waiting to break.

The usual hum of your machinery seemed muted, and even the wind chime faltered, the tinkering notes faded into the background.

You told yourself to ignore it, brush it off like it was nothing more than a stray thought. But then you heard it again— a faint shuffle, just outside.

It sounded too deliberate to be from the wind, and too hesitant to be a usual runner.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the alleyway, stepping into the dim light of your workshop. It didn’t take long to figure out who it was— his attire was too clean for this side of the bridge.

He moved with purpose, pausing a few metres before your doorway like he’d stumble upon something precious.

You didn’t flinch, broom still in your hand, watching. You’d learn that speaking first was usually a mistake— it only gave the other person the upper hand.

The man looked at you, his stare caught somewhere between admiration and the detached curiosity of someone staring at an animal behind glass.

His height and physique could naturally draw attention. But even without that, his clothes did most of the talking.

The gold trim on his suit caught what little light filtered through the smog. His boots polished to a shine and echoed softly in the quiet streets— just loud enough to announce his arrival.

“You lost, Talis?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.

Your property wasn’t exactly on the map, it was tucked away in the maze of the alleys. Only locals could navigate these paths.

That’s why seeing someone from Piltover standing outside your doorstep caught you off guard.

His name had the desired effect, setting alarm bells in him. His posture stiffened, his expression flickered with surprise with his eyes darting back to yours. “You…know who I am?”

You leaned your broom against the wall and crossed your arms.

“Everyone in Zaun knows the Golden Boy from Piltover.” Your tone was flat, like you were stating a fact. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. Exit’s that way.”

“I’m not selling anything,” he said quickly, his hands coming up in a half-hearted gesture of surrender. “I just came to see your work.”

“My work? Why?”

Jayce Talis— a name rang out in both Piltover and Zaun. His face was everywhere— on posters, merchandise, and in carefully curated photos plastered across every surface in the city.

You always knew the pictures were crafted to perfection. They had to be. The Man of Progress couldn’t afford a single flaw.

Still, seeing him in person was…something else. You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but the pictures didn’t exaggerate much.

His hair was slick back just enough to look effortlessly polished. His thick brows and light stubble framed his features that were far too symmetrical to your liking.

And then there was his outfit— his crisp white jacket with gold pieces tailored so perfectly it felt like a statement itself.

It wasn’t overly tight, but it clung in the right places, hinting at broad shoulders and accentuating a physique that made heads turn. Each time he shifted, the fabric pulled slightly against his muscles, as if barely keeping itself together.

Even his eyes seemed to sparkle more up close in the low light, a reflection of his boundless confidence and a sign that he didn’t belong here. Not in your space.

“I’ve heard words about you going around and I was curious.”

“So what? You’re gonna give me a gold star? Show off my work at the Piltover parties?”

“No, no. I mean—” he hesitated, the words fumbling for footing. “People say you’re brilliant, and I wanted to see for myself.”

Brilliant. Of course. You’ve heard that compliment being tossed around before, along with other sweet talks from people trying to butter you up before hitting you with some impossible demand.

But he wasn’t fumbling entirely, there was still a smooth air about him. One that came naturally to someone that’s used to speaking to a room full of people hanging onto every word.

Even so, there was something different up close. Was he trying too hard? Nervousness beneath his charm?

“You think I’m gonna perform for you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice dipping lower to a more soothing note.

You narrowed your eyes, holding back a scoff. So he thought a change in his tone would win you over? Clearly, he hadn’t met enough people like you.

But the real question still nagged at the back of your mind. How had he found you? It still baffled you. Your workshop wasn’t the kind of place you could just stumble across— it was hidden by design

So how had Jayce Talis done it? Had he bribed someone for directions? Pulled strings with someone that owed him a favour?

Or had he stubbornly worked his way through the Undercity on his own, pretending to look harmless?

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. He looked glaringly out of place. And yet, he stood there, looking like he genuinely cared about your answer.

Not that it mattered. You learned not to trust a nice tone or an earnest expression.

Before you could tell him to get lost, his eyes flickered past you. He stepped forward, just slightly, but enough for the air between you to shift.

“Is that…a chem-powered stabiliser?” Jayce asked, pointing past you.

You froze, following his gaze to the machinery perched on the workbench. He even had the cheeks to step closer and peered through the doorway to get a better look.

“I’ve never seen one so compact before. How did you—”

“Don’t touch that!” you snapped, stepping in to block out his view. “These aren’t for you to admire.”

He pulled his hand back immediately, fingered curling to his palm, but his eyes were still glued to the device.

“Is this some sort of new hobby? Charity work for the poor Zaunite researchers? You think you could waltz into the Undercity, slap a few compliments, and go back feeling good about yourself?”

You see him deflate a little, genuinely taken back by your words. For the first time, you saw his brows furrow as your words seemed to sting. “That’s not why I’m here, I just—”

“Then why are you here? I don’t need your approval, councillor.”

The title landed a sharp jab, but instead of retreating completely, Jayce straightened his posture.

“Fine, fine— I’m going.” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “But your work is incredible, even if you hate me for saying it.”

His expression softened, his gaze flickered between the stabiliser and you. For a moment, he looked like a wounded animal, retreating quietly but with a trace of stubborn determination in his eyes.

“Don’t come back, Talis.” you called sharply, already turning your back to head inside.

“Can’t make any promises.” he smiled faintly, disappearing back into the shadows of the alleyway.

The muted hiss of the soldering iron filled the quiet. Your hands worked with precision, the glow from the tool casting flickering light across the delicate gears in front of you.

It had been almost a week since Jayce’s unsolicited visit, and you haven’t had a single visitor after that. Days like this weren’t unusual— visitors were rare, and you were accustomed to that.

Despite the chaos of the Undercity, it always felt distant here, muted by the walls and your deliberate isolation. Your workshop was designed to block out the clamour of the outside world.

The only sounds were the occasional clink of metal and the crackle of circuitry.

You adjusted your position, leaning closer to your work, and ran your tongue over your slightly chapped lips as you steadied the gear. The solder melted, releasing a soft wisp of smoke that carried a sharp metallic scent.

With the rare visitors and social interactions, your tools were the only thing keeping you company. They didn’t have any demand explaining or carrying expectations. They only required patience and precision.

The silence gave you room to think— sometimes too much room. After days without a single visit, you felt the weight of it begin to press on you. It wasn’t something you dared to admit to anyone— not even yourself— but you felt the toll of it.

The lack of noise sharpened your senses, as if your ears were always straining to fill the void. You heard every creek of the floorboards beneath your feet, every shift of machinery in the room, every distant echo from across the streets.

Sometimes you could even hear the faint thrum of your pulse in your ear.

And that’s why you heard them before you even saw him.

Boots.

Not the mismatched kinds that the locals wore. These sounded like it came from a clean sole that didn’t stick to the streets. A confidence that you didn’t hear often.

You paused mid-solder and tilted your head slightly, listening carefully. The sound grew louder, sharper, and irritably more familiar. It was the same stride you heard a few days ago.

Placing the iron down, you turned towards the doorway. A shadow lingered in the dim light before a figure emerged.

And there he was, flesh and blood.

Again.

“Still not lost this time,” he announced.

He carried the same easy warmth, light but steady, that seemed to sweep into the room and disturb the peace you cultivated.

Except now, it was more infuriating than the last. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back?” you asked, glancing at him briefly.

“You did,” he admitted, unfazed. “I have a habit of not listening.”

Your gaze dropped briefly to his boots, taking in the faint sheen leather material that hadn’t been scuffed by Zaun’s grime.

“You really got some nerves, Talis.”

Of course he hadn’t learned. Why were you even surprised? Of course he thought he was entitled to walk back in here, as if the first time wasn’t enough.

“What do you want, Talis?” Your voice was a blade against steel. “You don’t belong here.”

“What, and you do?” He arched his brow, as though he caught you in a contradiction. “Doesn’t seem like you get a lot of visitors.”

“I like it that way.”

Usually, your words were enough to send someone packing. Your cold indifference was a shield, and most people didn’t push past. But Jayce didn’t flinch.

Instead, his expression softened, giving you a steady gaze. There was no mockery. Just…patience.

You didn’t know what to make of that, like his warmth stonewalled your annoyance. You stared, half expecting him to make some sort of patronising comment. But he didn’t.

It dawned on you that he really wasn’t going to give this up.

You opened your mouth and closed them again, struggling to find the words before you finally hear yourself speak again.

“You might as well come in since you came all the way down here…again.”

The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up. Part of you wished you could snatch your words back, but it was too late now.

Jayce had already stepped closer, his broad shadow loomed across the threshold. His boots scraped against the uneven floor. His steps felt measured, like he was testing how far he could go without setting you off.

The workshop always felt just the right size when you were alone— a perfect balance between cramped and cozy. But now it suddenly felt stifling. The creek of the floorboard under his weight and his shuffling steps sounded amplified in the quiet. His height alone made the walls feel closer.

Even his presence had some volume.

The glow lamps casted a soft light around the room. The workshop area had a few overhead lamps with exposed bulbs that threw harsh lighting over the workbenches, drawing attention to every imperfection.

“You know,” he started, his voice carrying a light teasing to it, “most people are at least a little polite to unexpected guests.”

“You’re in Zaun. Niceties get you robbed,” you shot back.

“Good thing I’m not carrying anything worth stealing.”

“Those boots say otherwise, Councillor.”

You didn’t wait for his resort, turning to glance around your workshop. To an outsider, the area probably looked like a disaster— grease stains on the wall, loose screws and scraps of metal littered the workbenches, and half finished work lay abandoned in various states of progress.

But to you, it’s an organised chaos. Everything had its place. You could locate a specific bolt buried under a pile of blueprints in seconds.

If anyone even dared to call it a mess, it wouldn’t bother you. Their opinions didn’t matter.

However, you’d never have a Piltovern in here. Not until tonight.

You didn’t have to look at him to imagine the look of disdain he must feel. A poorly lit workshop that reeked of oil and soldered metal wasn’t part of his orderly world.

Surely the grime and chaos would send him scurrying back to his prestigious lab in Piltover.

But when you turned to face him, the look in his face stopped you short.

Jayce leaned casually against one of the shelves, carefully avoiding anything breakable. His eyes scanned the room like he’d just stumbled upon a treasure trove. The faint glow of the lamps reflected in his eyes.

It only made you stiffer. Was this real awe, or just another layer to whatever act he was putting on?

People didn’t come here to admire your work. They came with demands and offers, often laced with ulterior motives.

His sincerity didn’t fit. It was foreign and dangerous. You weren’t used to it and you weren’t sure if you wanted to be.

And you certainly didn’t trust it.

“You made this?” he asked, picking up the small contraption with surprise care. The device whirred softly in his hand. Despite the scrubby appearance, the mechanism was fine and intricate, every piece deliberately placed.

You frowned, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you always just reach for anything that fascinates you?”

“Sorry I just—” he set the device down, as if it burned his skin. “I guess I got too curious.”

His sheepish tone irritated you more. It was easier to deal with people that were openly arrogant.

He turned his attention past you to the wall-mounted shelves stacked with material. Tools hung from hooks in neat rows, their placement a product of necessity rather than decoration.

Space was limited, so you had to think vertically, every inch of the walls serving a purpose.

Jayce stepped closer, his movement slower and more mindful. His gaze was glued to the tools, taking them in as though each one was a masterpiece.

“These tools look amazing, I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“Well, I’d hope not. Because I made them.”

“You made them all yourself?”

“Most of them.”

The words came out clipped, but his reaction wasn’t what you expected. If he was fazed by your snarky attitude, he didn’t show it. Maybe he braced himself this time, expecting your hostility, or maybe he found it amusing.

“How long…how long did it take you?” he asked softly.

“Depends on how complex it is.”

“It’s incredible,” he said. “People back in the Academy spend months trying to get this kind of precision…and even they don’t come close”

For a moment you faltered, your eyes twitched at his words. His praise sounded genuine, and you knew it. And that’s what nerved you.

Compliments always came with strings attached.

You quickly deflected. “Flattery won’t work. I’m not one of your lapdogs.”

“Good, I don’t want lapdogs,” he replied, his grin disarming. “I like inventors who can outthink me.”

The casual delivery of his words struck you unexpectedly, leaving a hairline fracture in the armour you’ve built around yourself. It was a small blip in your radar. You didn’t know why you trusted him enough to stretch the conversation this far.

For now, you allowed the unfamiliar feeling to linger, watching as he wandered through your sanctuary.

Jayce’s gaze combed through the shelves and your unfinished project with childlike wonder. At this point, you truly couldn’t decide if this was an act of not.

People didn’t come in here to admire your work— they came to collect it. Usually they would mutter a few pointers about what needed tweaking, toss their payment on the nearest bench, and leave without so much of a second glance.

You were used to that rhythm— content with it.

But, now you weren’t sure.

Having someone appreciate your work felt foreign, and the way he handled your creation with care left an uncomfortable knot in your chest.

You silently cursed yourself for noticing the subtle curve of his smile when he discovered something particularly interesting.

It was only his second time here and for some reason you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He was already threatening to throw you off balance.

A week hadn’t past before you heard his footsteps again, cutting through the tinkering of the wind chimes, as familiar as the beat of your own pulse.

“Is this going to be a routine now?” you asked, arching your brow inquisitively.

He stepped closer, his voice almost teasing. “As long as you allow it.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead you turned, stepping back into the workshop without looking back. You knew he’d follow; given his last visit. Though you never made it easy for him.

But despite the lack of warmth in your welcoming, the air between you was different now. No hostility, no tension. But no comfort either.

It didn’t take long for Jayce to settle into the rhythm that grated your nerves in the worst way— calm and unhurried. It wasn’t just that he was an inventor, too. It was how he saw things with such fresh eyes, as if the clutter was all just a puzzle for him to piece together.

But there was still an odd feeling that tugged at the back of your mind.

Piltover men didn’t linger; they demanded, bargained, gloated. Then left without looking back. They didn’t come back three times, and they certainly didn’t waste their time applauding your work like it came from some exhibition.

It made you bristle. Not because he was here, but because you couldn’t figure out why.

You’ve already cycled through the possibilities, and none of them made sense. If he was scouting for talent for Piltover, why not send an envoy? If he wanted to commission something from you, surely an assistant could’ve handled it. And why three separate visits, at irregular intervals?

Your thoughts spiralled tighter, refusing to pinpoint and answer that fit. Then, a thought you didn’t dare to acknowledge emerged.

It couldn’t be that, could it? The possibility— absurd, offensive, ridiculous— settled in your mind like a splinter.

Your throat tightened, a heat rising up your neck. You shouldn’t entertain it. But the only way to gain some clarity was to confront him about it.

“You’ve been sulking around my workshop for the third time now…” your voice came out sharper than intended, but you didn’t regret it.

You let him linger around in your threshold once already, and this time, you were determined to figure out what he wanted.

“Yes..” his tone was annoyingly steady. “I just wanted to see your work.”

“Please. I know men like you. You act interested, then expect me to fall into your lap.” You stepped closer, crossing your arms over your chest. The next words edged with frustration. “If that’s what you’re here for, you can save both of us the time and get lost.”

The word tasted bitter, even when you said them. You weren’t sure why you mind went to that possibility. But it felt like the only way to shatter the weird tension that you were feeling when he was around.

Jayce froze. And then his face grew flustered at your words, like you’ve just crossed a line he hadn’t even considered.

“Is that really what you think of me?” he asked softly, before his voice gained conviction. “I don’t care about…that. I wouldn’t be that selfish. I wanted to see what you’ve built because it’s nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t have an ulterior motive, I swear.”

You wanted to snap back, to call him out on what you assumed was an elaborate excuse, but you couldn’t find the words. You felt embarrassment cross your form.

The moment of stillness filled the space, the absurdity of your accusation sinking in. A Councilman slinking into a Zaun for…something improper. You almost wanted to laugh at yourself.

He’d never once cross a boundary. His posture was careful and his steps were measured. His gaze on you was momentary, but it never strayed too far from your workbench.

“Hmph…you’re persistent I’ll give you that.” You muttered, your voice far quieter now. “Most people don’t make it past the first visit.”

The corner of his lips quirked up to a bashful smile. “So I’m not most people?”

Your lips twitched before you quickly smothered it, fixing him a look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Golden Boy.”

Despite the harshness in your tone, you felt the lingering awkwardness pressing at the edge. Your accusations made your skin prickle with self-consciousness.

You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, not that you ever tried before. But now it felt different.

Jayce, on the other hand, redirected his attention back on your workbench. He offered a few offhanded comments, his tone deliberately casual. You could tell he was trying to smooth out the tension, though you barely registered his words.

Just a few weeks ago, you’ve done everything in your power to push him away. Sharp words, cold stares, anything to make him leave and never come back. All proven futile.

But now, you weren’t sure if you wanted to ruin…whatever it was between the two of you.

Having someone like him around brought a spark of something you hadn’t realised you missed.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes. His broad shoulders seemed almost out of place in your cramped workshop— like an elephant in a china shop. But his presence didn’t feel intrusive now.

His eyes scanned over your blueprints and half-finished projects with genuine interest. There was a strange sense of pride that washed over you, one you tried to ignore.

Knowing that someone like him valued your craftsmanship, took the time out of his day to see your work, was almost unsettling. And you didn’t want to think too hard about why.

“This joint,” his voice cut through your reverie, drawing you back to the present, “it might seize under pressure. Have you considered a pivot here?”

You blinked, following the direction of his finger on the diagram. “It works fine as it is.”

“I’m sure it does, but it could work even better.”

He wasn’t backing down. His voice wasn’t condescending or dismissive. But something else that made you tense, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He continued to offer feedback and suggest adjustments, but you weren’t fully listening. His words were slipping through your focus, weaving around you. You were too distracted but his voice. The way he said things. The way his presence seemed to fill the room.

You felt your heart stutter, and you realised you hadn’t heard a word from him for the past minute. All you could focus on was how close he was, making your skin feel tight, his hands moving over the blueprint.

“You know,” you said, leaning back slightly, “you’re kind of cute when you ramble.”

“What?”

“I said you’re cute,” you repeated, shifting your weight and hoping he hadn’t noticed the flush creeping to your face. “You’re not deaf, are you?”

“I— uh— I’ve never had anybody describe me as ‘cute’ before.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“You know, I’m a councillor. You are aware of what that status means, right?”

“Being a councillor doesn’t spare you from being cute. Or are you implying that councillors are above compliments?

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, letting out a chuckle to conceal something deeper— maybe nerves, perhaps. “I guess it’s a change from the more…superficial compliments I get.”

“Superficial?”

“I get a lot of ‘handsome’ and ‘charming’ and all the usual words.“

“That’s because they’re boring.”

A small shift seemed to pass over him— maybe he hadn’t expected that response. His gaze lingered before he looked away, as if your words had an effect on him more than he let on.

You hadn’t known Jayce for long— not personally, at least. But the more you were around him, the more you realised he wasn’t as unreadable as you first thought.

You’ve seen glimpses of him, like fitting together different parts of him that made him who he was.

The defeated look he wore when you first shut him out of your workshop. The awe that lit up his face when he stepped inside and took in your projects for the first time. The stunned silence after your accusation, as if the words had thrown him off balance.

And how he was flustered— caught completely off guard. His mouth twitched into a hesitant smile, and he quickly covered it with his palm, as though trying to shield it from you.

This was your favourite expression by far.

Something about watching him internally stumble, seeing him stripped off his usual poise struck a chord in you. It wasn’t just satisfaction— but something softer. As if you weren’t the only one out of your depth for once.

After a few heartbeats, Jayce cleared his throat, breaking the momentary silence like pebble tossed in water.

“Well, I should probably let you get back to it,” he said.

His usual confidence faltered as he turned to the door, muttering something along the lines of “cute” under his breath. The door opened to reveal the darkness of the night, with the flickering glows of the street lights.

You rolled your eyes and suppressed a grin as he stepped outside. “Don’t get used to the hospitality, Talis.”

He glanced back with a smirk, a mix of shyness and mischievous. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”

Then he was gone, disappeared into the night, leaving you alone again with your tools.

#★— ayrus writes #jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce talis x y/n #jayce talis x gender neutral reader #arcane #arcane jayce #jayce talis arcane #jayce arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane jayce talis #jayce x reader

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yakool-foolio · 1 day ago

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(Project Eden's Garden chapter 1 spoilers)

I've been thinking about how Wolfgang and Eva parallel each other in their desire to be something more than what the world decided they should be. It's especially apparent with Tozu's talk of sheep being nothing more than their number tags, yet there are some who still want to believe they're worth more. Makes me wonder what would happen if Eva was able to hear Wolfgang yelling about never being able to become 'you' (presumably referring to his mom cause he may believe he saw her while hallucinating) and deeming himself a failure. Maybe she would've resonated with what he spoke of and stopped herself, but the music was too loud. She remained in blissful ignorance of their shared struggle to prove themselves.

In regards to Wolfgang's past, still shrouded in so much mystery, I definitely think his mom died very early on in his life, maybe before he even knew her since he talks about 'finally meeting her' and screaming to 'bring her back'. With Wolfgang's blackmail, it's clear he also practically turned into a carbon copy of his dad, reflected in their strikingly similar appearance and the 'wolfish mind' they both share. Perhaps his dad pressured him into the legal profession after he showed interest in the court system, but he felt like he could never live up to the profession like his dad (I like to think he was a prosecutor) and wanted to be more like his mom, whom his dad must've shared stories about also being accomplished in her field (whatever career she might've had, perhaps she was the defense lawyer Wolfgang truly aspired to be). Wolfgang wanted to walk in his mom's footsteps pressed much deeper into the earth than his, but his dad pulled him out of his dreams and threw him into a world that would drag him into his own purgatory of never quite being enough.

"I won't give up... until the world knows..."

"I won't give up... until everyone knows me as-!"

...

"Your son..."

#are you proud of me mom?#project eden's garden #project eden's garden spoilers #project eden's garden chapter 1 #project eden's garden chapter 1 spoilers #wolfgang akire #eva tsunaka #this is all speculation of course but man if i didn't inflict these wounds upon myself #it's always the daddy issues

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officialclangen · 2 days ago

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Will there ever be a feature that allows one to reset a file instead of deleting it altogether, to be able to keep the cats selected upon creation?

Unfortunately I don't believe that's something feasible for our project </3 Your best alternative would be making a copy of your Clans as soon as you create them, and storing those somewhere safe!

☆ Fable ☆

#clangen #ask response #warrior cats #clan generator #clan gen #ask

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sweetieviktor · 14 hours ago

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"happy birthday", feat. prototype! viktor.

summary: it's your birthday today, why not enjoy it sleeping with your partner?

word count: 360.

content warning: established relationship, reader has longish hair (enough to twirl it). and fluff! :p (and it might be a bit ooc im sorry for it

author notes: this one is a little birthday gift for a mutual ( @zerun0 ) bcs today is her bday and i wanted to do something! im sorry if its tiny, i needed to write it quickly :(. but anyway, hope u like it!! :DD ((and again im writing til 5AM oh fuck

behind the windows, the faint sunlight peeked from in-between dark curtains, making the room a only bit brighter, but enough to disturb viktor's sleep. he rolled to the side, yawning and rubbing his eyes, trying to pry away from his slumber.

he looked to the ceiling, blinking continuously, pupils still adapting to the light that now bathed the room, reflecting and projecting itself upon your sleeping form. and, janna, what an angelic sight.

first, he was just admiring you, he didn't want to wake you up early this morning, it was your birthday, you should decide things today. but he couldn't help it, his hands quickly found their way to your messed up hair, adjusting to it's typical placement, so it wouldn't bother you. soon he was playing with the ends of your hair, twirling it around his finger, amazed with how it curled against the metal.

“vik?”, when he heard your voice, he stopped his movements. you looked at him with tired eyes and furrowed eyebrows, it was uncommon for days to be this bright in zaun.

he let go of the hairlock he was toying with, placing the same cold, metallic hand over your cheek, caressing it, observing how your body relaxed and searched for more of his affection, “didn't think you would wake up this early, love. but, since you are already up –”, he got closer to you, kissing the top of your head, “happy birthday, my darling,” throwing a lopsided smile at you, now, kissing the cheek he wasn't holding.

“oh, thanks vik,” you placed your hand over his, warming a bit its cold exterior, “but may i make a wish now?”, he eyed you with curiosity, tilting his head to the side, making some grey strands fall over. you reached for them, smothering back to its place with your free hand, “what about just five minutes more, hm?” you playfully smiled at him, adjusting the blanket over you both, while hearing viktor's laugh being suppressed by his hand.

“quit laughing! i want to sleep!”, you said jokingly, trying to act as serious as possible.

“sure, anything you want, love. the day is yours.”

#—swe writes #arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane #oh fuck its 5am i love my life #but happy bday zero!!! :DDDDDD #my mind is wonky. theres long time since i’ve written smth :(#still hope u like ur bday gift :]#thinking bout writing for other viktors skins ........#bcs the prototype one is just >>>>>

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yaoirotic · 21 hours ago

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Strilondes (or more specifically just Dave and Rose), a second gen immigrant reading.

Firstly, it’s important to note that Bro & Mom don’t hate their kids. I feel that getting this is pretty integral to getting them and getting their relationship with their children. They both are good intentioned albeit going about raising their children in bad ways. A lot of this comes from the isolation they felt arriving on earth and growing up without any guardians of their own, attempting to project traditionally western societal ideas. For Bro, it was full of violent, macho masculinity. For Mom, it was the busy house-keeping housewife.

Dave’s story of having traditional masculinity being imposed upon him by Bro is very comparable to how second gen immigrant kids experience masculinity and tough love. Bro was trying to toughen up Dave for the world albeit using violent methods that are comparable to how normalized it is to use corporal and physical methods of “discipline” as a means for punishing their children. Bro doesn’t hate him, but like some second gen immigrant parents his methods of raising Dave are extremely misguided and harmful. How he comes to terms with realizing that he did suffer from abuse is a lot more relatable when you look at him from a non-white perspective. He grew up in a household where this tough love mentality was idealized, and as a result he never really considered how bad his situation truly was until he was able to get out of it and realized him being given such extreme measures of “toughening” didn’t really help him at all in the long run.

As for Rose, her mother wanted to give her the childhood she would’ve wanted as a kid. Lots of lavish objects, giving her ponies and wizards while still inflicting child neglect on her in an alcoholic stupor. Even Mom’s tea set and extravagant bedroom imply a yearning to relive living a more lavish and feminine upbringing. It’s possible to interpret this from a transfemme perspective, and I think that’s right too. I don’t think they’re necessarily mutually exclusive by any means.

Rose’s reaction to her mother’s alcoholism and neglect is a lot more interesting from the reading of her being a second gen immigrant. She feels guilty for hating her mother in spite of her bad upbringing, for the lack of a relationship they ever really had. It’s similar to how a lot of second gen kids may feel guilt for having less than positive feelings on their parents due to them not necessarily trying to hurt them and being well intentioned, but still having faced abuse regardless. There’s an all too familiar sentiment amongst ethnic that regardless of how awful a family member may be, they’re still your family and you should be obligated to try and keep a connection or relationship with them, and reading Rose as a second gen immigrant you could very well see that she has a pretty bad case of this.

Hussie, whether intentionally or not (likely not if we’re being honest), wrote a pretty solid depiction of how children from ethnic backgrounds may realize and deal with their abusive upbringing, and I think reading it as such makes for a pretty intriguing read of their characters. In a way, Bro and Mom wanted to raise their children better than them. Bro wanted to harden Dave up for the world and raise him to an idealistic and reasonably unattainable level of masculinity. Mom wanted to give Rose a life of luxurious femininity and gifts, but in turn failed to meet her emotional needs. I feel that when you look at it from the perspective of a second gen immigrant (speaking from experience here) it’s a lot easier to sympathize with and understand their struggles and relationship with their parents. It’s a good, different depiction of abuse that breaks out of the mold of “abusive parents purely hate their children.” Because not all abuse comes from a place of hate for your children.

#homestuck #homestuck meta #rose lalonde #dave strider #strilondes #bro strider #mom lalonde #this is like my first time writing serious meta please be kind to me #id also like to hear some other thoughts about it!!#spideythoughts

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seventh-wilted-sunflower · 2 days ago

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"And then I memorize everyone's footsteps... Step, again, step, again."

Meet; Project 707. An experiment done by the lovely Sunflower Labs! Known for their strong moral compass, which is quite... Odd, and their extreme durability.

707 is rather young, seeming to be only nine years old, although he is rather... Dull, and quiet. They're often hiding, only coming from the safety of the shadows when called upon, or whenever blood is shed

"...not again, please, god, not again–"

Helloooo, mod here! 707 is an OC for the Sunflower Labs rp, group linked here

And mod of THAT over here; @elder-sister. Tell me if I missed anything!

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beetlesau · 3 days ago

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Its Light Still Shines

Chapter 2 - 1.2k

(Chapter 1 here)

haters will say Shadow wasn't even in this chapter. sorry

The grass beneath me is soft. I've never felt anything like it in all my memories. I smell the earth, fresh and beautiful.

I don't know where I teleported away to.

An old abandoned cabin sits before me, and a running stream-turned-river sits not far from it. I can hear its flowing water and the small fish that splash its surface now and then. Morning is breaking just over the horizon, and pink and orange paint the sky as I approach the worn building.

"Hello?" I call out, but no one has been here in a long, long time.

I knocked on the door before opening it in case someone or something was waiting inside. I didn't expect how sturdy and tough the door would be. The outside looked like old wooden logs but resonated like a metal crate. When my knuckles made contact, a small, pin-sized light met my gaze and scanned my retina.

"Welcome, Experiment L2S-03xx. to SafeZone 12." A static voice chimed in the door, which swung open automatically. Dust and dirt accumulated around the crevasses, which were knocked loose and found their way to my throat. I coughed, covering my face, and tried to disperse the debris with my free hand.

I entered, and to my surprise, I found it looked like a cozy cabin you'd book for a vacation. It was an open floor concept, with a bed on the far left wall, a bathroom ahead of me, a kitchen, and a small dinette to the right. The decor was simple and a bit antique. A frilly duvet on the bed caught my gaze. I rolled my eyes when I realized I could even recognize such small details about something I'd never seen in my real life before—sudden thoughts of watching interior decorating on TV flashed in my mind's eye.

I groaned. I had other problems besides the clashing curtains in the dinette not matching the plates stacked on the shelves above the sink. Namely what the AI system called me.

"L2S? What? What was it you called me?" I asked aloud.

"That is your experiment identification code," it stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Where am I?"

"This is isolated SafeZone 12 erected by Professor Robotnik, Gerald."

"When was this last time he was here?"

"57 years, 8 months, 21 days. Would you like the question answered to the nearest second?"

"No! No, thank you. Do I have a name?"

"You were not assigned a name, only your experiment identification code."

"What is Shadows experiment code or whatever, then?"

"S2L-02xy - or Project Shadow."

I removed my jacket, shuffled over to the bed, and plopped onto the surprisingly soft mattress, caressing little angels into the plush comforter. "Bummer. How come he got a name, and I didn't?" I was speaking to myself now, but the system took it upon itself to answer anyway.

"Records indicate you were an preliminary project that was not completed under the supervision of the Professor."

"Yeah, yeah. So what is my purpose?"

"Error. Purpose Obsolete."

"Ouch okay, what was my purpose?"

"You are a culmination of the residuals left over from Project Shadow, chaos emeralds, and the restructured DNA of the deceased Maria Robotnik. Your purpose was to serve as replacement parts for an incurable disease within Maria Robotnik. However, key parts of the experiment did not occur due to the ARK's destruction. Your consciousness was triggered and stages of your development were altered by the government organization known as GUN."

"You're kidding me."

"I do not understand; please rephrase."

I wept quietly to myself.

I was never meant to awaken. My purpose was never as divided from Maria as Shadow. If GUN hadn't intervened, there would be no me.

But then Maria may still be alive otherwise.

Did I even deserve to be alive instead?

I pulled one of the pillows close and buried my face into it.

All these memories of her kindness. Her beauty. I have them because she died.

It's too much for me.

I screw my eyes shut, hoping I can lock my tears away, but I can't. They come and soak through everything. The pounding in my head kicks up again. Before long, I cried myself to sleep at the thought of her and all she was. All that I can only hope to be for myself.

Being in stasis and actually sleeping are worlds apart. When I wake, my mind settles, and I better regulate my emotions. It's once again dark outside, and in the night, I see a flashing light coming from the dinette table. I pull myself up, groggy, and shuffle over to check it out.

"What is this?" I ask the system.

"There is an electronic pulse similar to that of the Professor's work in a quadrant of Japan that has recently appeared. Would you like to take a look?"

"Show me." Anything to do with the Professor now could only mean something involving Shadow.

The system flashes, and a small hologram feed floats just at eye level. It shows security footage of a pier in Japan, likely hacked into by Robotniks tech, which is still advanced all these years later. My skin prickles as I watch an immense mechanical crab surface from the water.

I've seen this before, but Shadow isn't there. Not yet. He's going to find the Professor, not the Doctor.

"Can you keep tabs on that crab from here?"

"I can mark it as an object of interest, of course. Would you like to be notified when it relocates?"

"Oh. Uh, I don't plan on staying here much longer, I'm leaving once I figure out where Shadow is."

"I have an electronic bracer in the refrigerator that can be used as a notification hub when you're away from SafeZone 12."

"The refrigerator?"

"It is the red box behind you and to your left, it typically holds items to keep them cool and fresher for longer than if they were left out at room tem--"

Okay! Thank you, that's not really what I meant when I-- you know what? Nevermind. Thank you. I'll be sure to grab that before I go."

"You are welcome, L2S-03xx."

"Could you call me something else?" I grumbled.

"I can reassign your name, yes. What would you prefer?"

I took a moment to think it over. I wasn't stuck to one thing. I could change my name as much as I wanted; it wasn't like I had one. And I wasn't really Maria; keeping hers didn't feel right. Though I could, as an homage. I didn't think this would be that hard, but a name might be a big deal.

"I don't actually know... I guess I should just shorten my experiment name for now. Call me L. I'm sure I can come up with something better later. Maybe." If I couldn't stop Shadow from what was to come, it wouldn't matter if I'd had a name.

I felt drained all over again. Although I've been alone all this time, I was never lonely—not when they occupied my mind. But now I felt the weight of things.

I'd never had Shadow. I was nothing to him, but I would fight for him.

I couldn't be his Maria; I must be something else. I would reach him.

"Its Light still shines."

#shadow the hedgehog x reader

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