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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [PART 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: There is a Lion living in your chicken coop. This sounds like the setup for a really bad joke--you wish it was.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

There were wards carved into the wooden pillars of your small cottage that had existed long before you’d made your home here, and they had an ancient, cloying, sort of magic to them that always left you feeling swaddled in bubble-wrap comfort—safe and secure. Even against angry Skin Changers banging down your door.

“You won’t be able to cross the threshold unless you’re invited,” you called, hoping it might deter him from actually destroying your entire porch.

There was an irritated growl from the other side that sounded an awful lot like he was probably still going to wind up trying to put his claws through the paneling, so you pulled the door open once more and stepped aside with purpose.

“You are not welcome,” you said, cheerful, before gesturing for him to try and step inside.

The Lion Man sneered at you, his ears flattening pissilly atop his head as if such a fluffy show of irritation could ever be intimidating (even if he wasn’t drenched down the bone), and he moved to make his way into your home. But when his sandaled foot reached the threshold, he stopped. You watched as his brow furrowed and something darkly frustrated slithered across his handsome face. There was no great arcane barrier or explosion of magical prowess—just a gentle shudder you could see creep along his limbs as he tried to force himself to move and couldn’t.

“Was there something you needed?” you asked, after what was perhaps a too-long moment of watching him stew in a mucky mix of rainwater and his own burbling rage.

He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning up against the well-beaten doorway like the slouch was supposed to be intentionally casual, and not because he literally couldn’t move anywhere else.

“I need your help,” he said—demanded. He stared down his nose at you like you were some sort of unpleasant looking bug crawling across the floor.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “And…?”

“And what?” he demanded.

You rolled your eyes towards the ceiling and mercifully gave him through a silent count-of-ten to try and figure his shit out. When all he did was curl his lip at you like a petulant noble in court, you sighed and turned back on him with a cheerful, customer-service, quality smile.

“Thank you for your inquiry,” you chirped. “But I’m afraid I’m all full up for the day. Good afternoon.” And closed the door in his face yet again, but this time with a polite, little, wiggle-wave of your fingers as you went.

The next morning arrived altogether uneventfully. The rain had stopped sometime during the evening, and the lingering moisture had left your little homestead shrouded in a lovely cloud of fine, glistening, mists. You headed out into the soft chill with a pleasant hum and armfuls of treats for all your critters.

And then you noticed that there was an extra animal making itself at home in your little farmyard—one that you’d assumed had eventually given up and stomped back whichever way he’d came.

The Lion Man was sleeping in your chicken coop—perfectly contentedly, too. Which you wouldn’t have expected from a near mythical creature dripping in precious gems and who spoke with all the haughty self-assuredness of someone who’d never been told ‘no’ in any way that mattered.

You glared at him for a moment or two, hoping the searing irritation in your frown would be enough to poke him awake. But the Lion Man just laid there, cozy as a clam in his bed of shredded hay.

“You’re scaring Penelope,” you huffed, loud, and tossed a handful of seed by his feet.

The birds squawked and hopped up to peck brainlessly at the treats—unbothered by the predator lounging in their nest. The rustling of their feathers and tap-tap-tap of their little beaks at least seemed to finally wake the lazy Lion Man, and he opened one glowing, emerald, eye to glare balefully at you.

“They don’t seem like they give a shit,” he rumbled at you, voice still thick and syrupy with sleep. And indeed they did not, bopping around without a care in the world. Your aforementioned Penelope had even shuffled herself into the Lion’s lap to reach some of the seed that had fallen into the folds of fabric pooling at his hips.

“Why are you in my chicken coop?” you asked, as polite as you could manage. It still sounded like you were giving yourself a root canal.

He stood with a languid stretch and your birds clucked at him irritably for a moment before settling into the warm spot he’d vacated.

“It was raining,” he complained. Like it was obvious.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and tried again. “Why are you still here?”

“I already told you, herbivore,” he yawned. His long, white, canines, glinted in the morning sunlight. “I need your help.”

You sighed a miserable sort of sigh and fought the urge to dig your thumbs into your eyes.

“Forgive me for not jumping at the opportunity to assist the person—or, sorry, whatever it is you are—who abandoned me to die in a hole,” you harumphed, turning pointedly to start trudging back to your cottage.

“You got out, didn’t you?” the Lion griped, slipping forward to dog at your heels.

“No thanks to you!” you accused, jabbing a finger in his direction. He rolled his eyes and you could practically feel the steam leaking from your ears. “I helped you once already,” you pointed out testily. “Twice, if you count all the rations you gobbled up. And you still left me behind without a second thought! Why should I bother doing anything else for you?”

His face twisted up into something sour. The grin he shot your way was all sharp teeth and vinegar.

“Ahh, that’s right. I should have remembered—humans are only willing to barter their aid if they’re going to be repaid in kind. So. Tell me. What do you want then, hmm?” He scoffed. “Wealth? Power? Protection?”

You stopped at the door to your home and spun on him, angry.

“This has nothing to do with being repaid,” you seethed. “This is about decency!”

He scoffed again and you fought the urge to just hurl the entire basket of seed into his smug face. Because you were clearly the adult in this situation and needed to act as such. Sure, Mister Lion Dude looked close enough to your age, and you knew well enough of Magic Beasts to understand he was probably decades your senior—if not entire generations—but clearly a wealth of time left no account for manners. So you were going to have to step up and be the mature one here, and not waste an entire week’s worth of grit on the petty urge to upend it all over his stupid head.

With a heavy sigh that was more a gust of incompressible cursing than anything else, you placed the basket aside and turned to him with a stubborn pout.

“Alright, then. A deal—as you’re so insistent that you know exactly what every one of us stupid humans wants. I’ll help you again. If—” you declared, “—you say you’re sorry.”

He frowned, that righteous loathing giving way to a heady mix of even more irritable confusion.

“I have nothing to apologize for,” he snipped, turning his nose up at you.

“Then I have nothing to help you with,” you smiled, barbed, and swiveled to retreat into the safety of your cottage. “Good afternoon, Mister Lion. And please don’t eat my chickens.”

The Lion did not, in fact, eat any of your chickens. Or your geese, or ducks, or even the little rabbits that lived in the walls. He’d passed out beneath one of the overburdened fruit trees that grew along the edge of the forest and slept there for the entire evening—sprawled out amidst the roots like the rough bark was as comfortable as any other luxurious bed. He was still there now, snoring softly beneath the gentle, yellow, warmth of the morning sun.

You watched him for a few quiet moments, throat catching on a curious little hum. You wondered how long he was planning to skulk about your little homestead. You wondered how he wasn’t cold and miserable every night. And surely he must have been ravenous by now. It’s not like you’d seen him eat anything.

So you raided your icebox for leftovers and heated them on the stove until your cottage was filled with the cozy smells of well-seasoned meats and sweet, berry, tarts. You packed up the meal into a neat, little, box, wrapped it all up in a tea towel to seal in the heat, and then dropped the thing in his lap hard enough to startle him awake.

The Lion glowered down at the mesh of checkered fabric in obvious distaste. But then the scent of what was tucked within said wrappings must have made its way to his nose, because some of that ire seemed to melt away and he sniffed curiously at the air.

“Thank you for not decimating my livestock population,” you said.

“You told me not to,” he snapped, tail whipping angrily at his rear. He reached out to pick at the folded edges of the parcel with a perplexed sort of expression twisting at his mouth.

“And you didn’t,” you responded with a shrug. “It’s appreciated.”

With that, you left to go about your daily business. Your garden needed tending, and one of the corners of the fence needed a new patch to keep it upright. You also hadn’t seen much of your foxes since Lord Lion had decided to make himself at home, and you wound up spending far too much time crawling around on your hands and knees—looking under bushes and into holes as you waved around a juicy chunk of roast beef in hopes of tempting them out.

There was the telltale crunch crunch of someone stepping through the dirt to stand at your side, and you glanced up to see the Lion Man looming over you with a heavy scowl—arms crossed loose over his chest.

“Is this what you do? Everyday?” he asked, sounded insultingly incredulous. His face was twisted up into a sneer that was entirely unimpressed. “Crawl through the muck like a worm?”

“Not every day,” you said after a moment of consideration. “And worms don’t have limbs. I’m more like a cockroach, maybe.”

He scoffed. “And you have the nerve to think that you’re too good to help me.”

“I never said that,” you frowned, sitting back on your heels and brushing some of the dust and grass from your pants. “I just said you needed to apologize first.”

“I’m not sorry for anything,” he said again, just as put out as before.

You waved a finger at him in a gentle tut-tut. “Ah, but we’re making progress. See, earlier you said there was nothing to apologize for at all. Now at least you’re recognizing that there is, in fact, an anything.”

You swayed your way back to your feet before he could launch into another rant about your mortal ridiculousness.

“A friend of mine hunted down a White Moor Stag last week,” you said, brushing the last of the grit from your knees. “It’s supposed to be delicious, and I’ve had some of the cuts marinating for a while now. You see, it’s this whole mess with orange zest, and molasses, and these little Red Eye chilies that I’ve been growing for ages now—”

The more you rambled, the more constipated he looked. So you cut yourself off and rubbed at the back of your neck, just toeing the wrong side of embarrassment.

“R-Right. Anyways. I’m going to be cooking some of it up tonight to try. So—Well,” you waved your hand awkwardly around your head in a gesture that even you weren’t entirely sure made any kind of sense. “If you apologize before then, you’re more than welcome to come in and have dinner.”

He scoffed. “That’s not exactly a worthwhile offer when we both know you’ll just end up bringing me some tomorrow either way.”

You sighed.

“Probably,” you admitted. “Well. See you in the morning then if you’re still around, I guess.”

“You’re terribly accommodating to unwanted guests,” he sneered after you as you climbed the set of stairs that made up your teeny porch, and you waved him off with a grumble.

What was so wrong with being civil, huh?! You liked to think that your little cottage was homey and welcoming. You took in weird guests all the time! And you liked being known as that awkward but friendly recluse who could offer a wandering adventurer a fresh set of laundered clothes and a good meal. It was how you’d met all your other friends. Odd as they all were. In fact, if you were being perfectly honest, in comparison to some of your other compatriots, Mister Lion really probably was the most societally acceptable definition of ‘normal’ out of the bunch. Which was—not to rag on your dear friends or anything—but that was certainly… Uh…

You spent the afternoon shuffling about your kitchen, and then a long evening searing the meat to perfection. It tasted absolutely divine—totally ‘making noises not meant for polite company’ and ‘curling your toes under the table’ levels of yummy. You happily set aside some portions for your friends whenever they inevitably stopped by (with an extra-large and prettily packaged one for your Hunter), and then packed a small box of leftovers to set at the front of the icebox. Just as the Lion had said you would. Because unlike him, you were nice. And kind. And really didn’t want him to get hungry enough to start eyeing your chickens in earnest.

The next morning when you ventured beyond your front door, you noticed something a bit odd.

Your brow scrunched and you shifted the little box of meats into one hand so you could use the other to poke around your very neat looking garden.

“I don’t remember weeding this yesterday…”

Nor had you had time to fix the fence amidst all your fox chasing. Or prune the berry bushes. And normally your trimming was not quite so, err, ugly, lopsided, like the work of a toddler with safety scissors imperfect. More of a scorching, really, than any kind of clipping. There was a soft dusting of glittering, arcane, sand scattered along their roots.

The Lion snorted and snatched the food from your hands with a scowl. It was a weird, tiny, twisty expression—and way more performative than he’d probably intended it to be.

“Then you must be even stupider than I thought.”

“Huh,” you mused, plopping yourself down on one of the low-cut stumps and resting your chin in your palm. You tried to hide the amused tick of your lips behind your fingers. “I hadn’t thought that would be possible. What’s lower than a base zero?”

“Negative numbers exist,” he sneered and sat cross-legged in the grass across from you to devour his plundered meal.

You hummed and rifled around in your pockets. You unearthed another wrapped treat and passed it his way.

“Thank you for cleaning up,” you said.

He scoffed and took a too-large chomp out of his food, eyes averted towards the ground. “Whatever.”

The Lion followed you around the rest of the day—always at a distance, and always with a perpetual cloud of scathing comments settled about him like a swarm of buzzing bees. You just hummed through the streams of pessimistic angst and continued your chores. Mostly he just watched you toil away. Occasionally you’d toss him a berry from a bush you were replanting, or share some bites of the granola you’d tucked into one of your pockets. He accepted each treat with an upturned nose and absolute indignity. But he ate each and every morsel, and you noticed him go back to swipe another berry when he thought you weren’t looking.

He still outright refused to apologize, so you took your dinners alone. But he did help you move some thorny branches, and didn’t even complain too much when Penelope the Chicken made herself a nice bed in his lap. You brought him one of your spare blankets—a big, old, fluffy thing that you’d once hoped would be a bit magical, as you’d spun it together from some enchanted wool. It was not, which was disappointing. But it was still warm and pretty, so that was fine.

The Lion scoffed at it, but you just left the folded-up mess of soft fluff by his side with a pointed pat-pat-pat before returning to your own cozy bed for the night.

When the sun rose the next day, you woke to a familiar, scraggly, redhead at your door. Ace smiled at you through a layer of grime thicker than the shirt on his back, and you immediately herded him out towards the backyard to dunk him in the pond.

“What did you even do?” you asked, upending another bucket of water over his head. “You look like someone tied you to the back of a horse and dragged you the entire way here.”

He shivered petulantly. “I didn’t do anything! I swear! And nothing happened!”

Splash went the next bucket.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he corrected, and you handed him a towel as a reward for his vague attempt at honesty.

Eventually Ace managed to weasel his way out of the frigid pond and into a fresh set of clothes. He sighed, content, and set about lounging in the sun like a fat, lazy, tom cat. Which, speaking of lazy, lounging, cats…

You glanced around your little farm, but your new Lion companion wasn’t anywhere to be found. Huh. How strange. You retreated back into your home to collect some of your leftovers before returning to your friend. You carefully balanced one of the boxes atop the fence as you went, just in case the Lion did come around looking for a snack.

You handed the other to Ace, and his mouth nearly started watering at the sight.

“No Deuce this time?” you asked, peering back out towards the dirt road—half expecting to see the warrior sprawled out in a ditch or something just a few paces down the path.

“Nah,” Ace sighed, kicking up his feet and letting out a heaving sigh that sounded like it weighed more than the thick, traveler’s, pack usually strapped across his shoulders. “He stopped back in town to drop off a letter for his mom.”

Ace moved to dig into the food in earnest, and you lit up at his enthusiasm.

“This is from that Stag,” you beamed, and his face went a bit pale. “Remember? The one we could barely fit through the shed door even when we got all six of its antlers off? I finally got around to cooking it.”

“That Hunter brought this?” he asked, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second.

“I mean, who else could kill a White Moor Stag?” you laughed, and Ace’s expression was shifting into something that looked a bit too close to sea-sickness for someone sitting in a soft patch of grass in the heart of a landlocked prefecture.

You reached forward to pluck up a bit of one of the juicier steaks between your fingers and shoved it firmly into his mouth. The indignant spluttering that followed rapidly melted into near moaning, and whatever hesitance was brewing in that empty skull of his dissipated in the face of such a pure, culinary, masterpiece.

You leaned forward eagerly when he began to shovel the stuff into his mouth like a dying man inhaling his last meal. “How’s it taste? I tried using rinds this time in my marinade instead of just the orange pulp, and also tried whole ginger slices rather than the ground up kind, and—"

“Yeah, yeah,” Ace waved you off around a mouthful of half-chewed meat. “Food magic, and fancy things, and whatever. Can’t you just let me enjoy this stupid, terrifying, meal in peace—”

A clawed hand slammed down over the top of the makeshift lunch box with an echoing thwack, and the redhead lurched backwards with a startled squawk.

“If you’re not going to bother listening, you don’t deserve to eat it,” the Lion huffed, snatching the portion for himself and gracefully folding his unfairly lithe limbs to plop down at your side.

“You’re one to talk,” you blinked, taken aback at his sudden appearance. And blatant hypocrisy. Like. Come on, dude.

He was close—far closer than he was normally willing to get to you and your human cooties. Practically slotted up against you from hip to shoulder. His tail curled up and around your wrist and you could feel the tip of it twitching irritably against the soft skin at the heart of your palm. That aloof, emerald, glower of his was fixed on Ace with just a touch too much ire to really be considered indifferent, and his ears were pressed down into stiff, flat, lines atop his head. You blinked again, wide eyed and a bit confused. Huh. Maybe he just wasn’t a fan of strangers.

“When have I ever interrupted one of your ridiculous tangents?” the Lion snipped at you, pointedly popping the thickest, juiciest, slice of the bunch into his mouth. It shredded like tissue paper between his canines and Ace audibly gulped.

“You make faces at me,” you argued petulantly, and immediately felt like a toddler.

“But I always listen,” he shot back, equally as bitchy. And also… surprisingly earnest. Even if he was being as miserable about that sincerity as he was about everything else.

His green eyes flicked down to meet yours for a moment—two, three, four—before swiveling back towards Ace and narrowing all over again. And yeah, you’d assumed that the Lion had looked irritated with you plenty of times before, but the sneer he was giving Ace was all sorts of unpleasant. Rivaled only perhaps by that open, spiteful, hatred when he’d turned to bear his fangs at the metal spike trap twining around his legs and keeping him trapped in that pit.

His lip twitched up, almost like a snarl, before he continued, “Even an herbivore like you deserves that at least.”

Then the Lion reached around you to snatch the checkered tea towel wrapping from its place discarded at your friend’s feet, jostling you ridiculously all the while and practically bullying you into his lap with his flailing elbows in the process. He idly wiped the mess of sauces and drippings from his fingers before tossing the fabric back into the dirt—this time at his feet. You rolled your eyes at the petty theatrics and shot Ace one of your patented ‘man, what a day, am I right?’ looks, that he responded to with an expression that looked more like someone had just punched him in the nuts and threatened to wear his skin as a suit than it did any sort of real life, rational, human, emotion.

The Lion’s arm tightened from its place at your waist—where he’d lazily left it after that initial reach around. You settled back against him with a good natured, if exasperated, huff. At least he was warm. And honestly a much nicer seat than the damp ground.

“Uhm—” Ace choked. Cleared his throat. Tried again. Choked harder. “Who—Who’s this?”

“Oh,” you hummed, pensive. “Actually. That’s a very good question. I don’t really know.”

The Lion Man practically groaned into your neck. Ace looked like he wanted to put your head through a wall.

“This entire time,” the Lion hissed. You could feel the imprint of his canines bumping up against your skin as he grit his teeth. “You didn’t even know who I was?”

“No?” you frowned, confused. And then, rightfully indignant, “It’s not like you ever introduced yourself!”

He pulled himself back with a sigh that sounded like it was the only thing standing in between a gruesome murder and whatever fragile sanity he’d managed to wrangle together. He straightened—posture going rigid and regal. The claws at your waist flexed into the breezy fabric of your shirt and his tail tightened along your arm.

“I am Leona Kingscholar,” he declared, proud. “Second Son of the Sunset Savannas. Heir to the King's Roar.”

Ace started choking all over again, and let out what sounded vaguely like a strangled ‘holy fucking shit.’ You waited a moment, shifting through the catalogue of names and places in your head before drawing a complete blank. So you simply nodded as best as you could while squashed up so close against him and offered your own name politely in return.

Ace gawked at you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You frowned. “What are you talking about? I was just being polite!”

“This is—He’s—!” your redheaded friend just barely managed to splutter out past his obvious terror. “Leona Kingscholar is a Warlord. He’s an ancient terror—He’s—He’s a General, and a monster, and the fucking Changeling Prince whose family rules over this entire goddamn continent, you absolute fucking halfwit!”

Your brain seemed to evacuate the premises all at once, and you were left gaping like a fish out of water. Mouth opening and closing as if of its own devices. Just. Not a thought passing behind those wide, horrified, eyes of yours. Eventually you managed to tilt your gaze up and up until the back of your head thunked against your guest’s shoulder. You stared at him in outright consternation and he simply arched a handsome brow, entirely unimpressed by your apparently lackluster deductive reasoning.

“…is that all true?” you asked haltingly. He rolled his eyes at you.

“More or less.”

“… and you’ve been sleeping in my chicken coop.”

Leona snorted. “I have.”

You turned back to Ace, a creeping sort of dread slithering through your gut and clawing up your spine.

“Oh no,” you said. With feeling.

“Oh fucking no indeed,” he wailed, and dropped his head into his hands.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Leona x Reader #Leona x Yuu #Skin-Changer Leona #Ace Trappola #Monster Mayhem Leona Part 2

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angelltheninth · 13 days

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hi! love your blog, hope you’re happy and well.

the idea of Arcane characters being with a fem s/o with a high sex drive has been living in my head rent-free.

like, in my mind, them walking into the room and her being “””busy””” 😳😳😳 is something that’d be very likely to happen often because of her libido, could you elaborate some kinky sh based on that? pretty please?

(if you do write about it pls don’t forget to include the baddies: sevika, finn, vander, viktor, ekko, marcus)

♡ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ♡

Ekko is not a baddie, he is in fact the BESTEST EVER.

Pairing: Vander, Sevika, Marcus, Finn, Ekko, Viktor x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, high libito, masturbation, watching, masturbation instruction, lots of cum, marathon sex, dirty talk

A/N: Must be a lot to have a high libito.

Vander is so damn tired after a long day of work. All he wants to do is cuddle up next his favorite lady, maybe talk about some of the highlights of his day and then fall asleep. Imagine his surprise when he finds you masturbating instead.

Might be too tired to join you but he can always enjoy a good show. You don't have to have sex in order to have a good time and make each other feel good. Your pussy on display is enough for him.

"I come in and this is what you're up to to darlin'. Not even waiting for me, just going at it without a care in the world. You ain't gonna get shy on me now, you do what you need to do, give that hole all the attention it deservers, I'll watch you."

Sevika expected this, after all she's been dating you for a while. She's got no problem seeing you masturbating when you need it. The only thing she's mad about is you not telling her that you were in the mood.

As she approaches you she pulls your hand away from your pussy, giving it a hard slap. You didn't wait for her, now she has to punish you. But with your libito a full night of non-stop sex might be just what you need.

"See how well you'll be standing after I'm done fucking you. Not even gonna be able to touch this pussy without coming on the spot. That's it sweetheart, show me that needy cunt."

Marcus hardly has energy for much of anything after a long Enforcer shift Especially since he recently became the new boss. By now he's gotten used to walking in on you fingering yourself.

He is however in need of being in control so he wants to tell you what to do. As you take a seat on the edge of the bed he kneels down to have a better look, to make sure you're not touching when you're not supposed to. And also to kiss your pussy when you're doing good.

"Need me to keep your legs open for you sweetheart? I need to touch you too, I miss you. Wait, now, wait, I didn't say you could move your fingers yet, let the pleasure build up, then start moving them in and out very, very slowly."

Finn doesn't allow you to touch yourself without him being there to witness if. Breaking that rule means you're ready for the punishment that comes with it. No matter what it is.

For your punishment he won't let you have a wink of sleep for the entire night, he'll use you how he sees fit. Not just your pussy, and not just once. You'll never think of not obeying him again because you will never be able to match the pleasure he gives you.

"Open up kitten, come on, I said open up! You couldn't listen to my words, but you seem to be able to understand everything when you have a cock in you. Guess I'll have to keep it in all the time, to make sure you listen to what I say."

Ekko shows up exactly on time to see you get started. Did you think he'd miss this and let you have all the fun by yourself. No way is he gonna let his girl fuck herself when he can do it himself.

There are times when he's a bit late but in general he's on time, already hard and his ball full of cum for you. You want all of it, all over you and he's more than happy to let you have it. But you already had a bit of a headstart so you owe him at least one orgasm.

"All this cum on you and my Firefly still still wants more. I knew what you were like when I got together with you, and hey, you want me all day every day, what's there to be complain about. Want it again already, then get me hard again, it won't take long."

Viktor knows you're masturbating before he opens the door, you're not exactly quiet. He's happy you weren't doing it in the living room this time. There was a big mess to clean up last time.

Cock in hand he's seated and ready to masturbate with you. But if you want his fingers on you he can do that too, with him on a bed, you sucking his cock and him reaching over your soft ass to push his fingers into your wanting pussy.

"Closer darling, a bit closer, I want to get my fingers fully in there. You deserve my all if I'm gonna give you anything, I'm always willing to do this for you. I'm adding another finger, gonna make you full okay, so full, make you feel so loved."

#arcane x reader #vander x reader #sevika x reader #marcus x reader #finn x reader #ekko x reader #viktor x reader #arcane imagines #arcane headcanon #arcane smut #arcane x you #arcane x female reader #league of legends x reader #league of legends imagine #league of legends headcanon #league of legends smut #league of legends x you #league of legends x female reader #x female reader

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081314 · 2 months

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Dire Crowley - Raven Jacket (Voice Lines)

Following is my translation of the voice lines for Crowley's Raven Jacket card.

Spoilers after the cut.

Summon

🐦‍⬛: Good day, everyone. Now then, I shall reveal to you all the innermost secrets of magic.

🐦‍⬛: Is there anything you're having trouble with? If so, please don't hesitate to reach out to me. For am I so very kind, you see!

Home Lines

🐦‍⬛: Did you call for me?

🐦‍⬛: It's not only the students who look forward to the holidays - the entire school staff does, as well. The same goes for me, matter of fact!

🐦‍⬛: You'd like to know why I disrupt class sometimes? What sort of a question is that! All I'm doing is ensuring no one is slacking off!

🐦‍⬛: Hm…? Ah, I hadn't noticed my shoes had gotten a tad dirty. I'll give them a nice polish later.

🐦‍⬛: How is life at Ramshackle Dorm? No, no, you needn't say anything. I can already tell by that face you're making how much you simply adore living there.

🐦‍⬛: I'm so glad to see how dedicated you are to your studies. I wish the other students would take after you, they're all so terribly undisciplined.

🐦‍⬛: That ghost camera was just sitting around gathering dust in the- Erm, I meant to say, we've been following a most stringent regimen to keep it in pristine shape all this time. You best take good care of it.

🐦‍⬛: I never meddle with the rules and lifestyles that each dorm establishes, as I respect the students' autonomy… And I also just simply don't have time for all that.

🐦‍⬛: You wish to know the full extent of my powers? That's an awfully reckless thing to ask, you know. That concerns me as your principal.

🐦‍⬛: Excuse me! Grim's wolfing down my candy again! Please, you must watch him better!!

🐦‍⬛: Hm? You wish for me to instruct you personally? I do apologize, but if I did that, I'd just be taking away the teachers' jobs from them.

🐦‍⬛: I'm so relieved to have such a diligent, outstanding student as you. Please do continue looking after all these problem children for me.

Groovy

🐦‍⬛: This is Night Raven College, a prestigious arcane academy. You should feel proud to be here, never forget that.

DUO

🐦‍⬛: Allow me to show you how it's done, Grim-kun!

🐈‍⬛: You ain't gotta show me nothin', Principal!

#dire crowley #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twst jp #voice lines

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 10 months

Text

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the King.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride; young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self—trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself; something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the King’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the Realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing Lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The King sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars; only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…”

At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the Lord out, truly; but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed; the Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The Princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my Prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his House has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A Princess of the Realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon; and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little—“I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me; I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me; a Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow; pause; look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the Seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your own pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely in his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty; but it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but to ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally; his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, Princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. an underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the King himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the squeals of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s hand to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension cross your face at the question.

At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage had very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he could claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking playfully as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her; not this one, not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back. “Look.” He lightly nudges him to walk alongside him as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor had jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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416 notes · View notes

idkwhatimdoingbutslay · 8 months

Text

… I can’t imagine that we actually watched the same show. Like I REALLY AISNSOSNWKMEJDND

hold on I’m gonna need to calm down.

Let me just make a list of why I disagree and at least organize my anger. Long post incoming.

Vander was friends and had a deal with Grayson. The sheriff. Idk what else to even add to that

Caitlyn is more than a cop and Arcane isn’t copaganda. Genuinely don’t know what kind of progress some of these people are looking for. Real allies are a necessity for real progress.

SILCO IS A CLASS TRAITOR. HE FUNNELLED DRUGS INTO THE UNDERCITY AND PUT POOR KIDS IN FACTORIES FOR THAT DRUG FOR PROFIT!!! HE PAID THE ENFORCERS TO LET HIM DO IT WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE

Vi is not as much as an activist as you would like to believe

WHY IS EKKO NEVER EVER BROUGHT UP IN THESE CONVERSATIONS????

Silco was not good for the Undercity

Silco was not a great guy. Ekko had to build an entire separate hidden community for the people he hurt and stepped on for his own benefit

Caitlyn is ignorant and naive. That’s ok. That’s what character development is for.

Loving imperfect characters like Silco and Jinx then hating characters like Vi and Caitlyn is peak media illiteracy to me

FOR THE LAST TIME: VI DIDNT ABANDON POWDER!!!!! Silco literally wanted Vi DEAD for trying to stop him from killing Vander??? How could you possibly say silco was there for jinx when Vi refused to be???? SHE WAS IN PRISON BECAUSE OF HIM???

Silco’s manipulation is working wonders on y’all

Embracing all the outrage without at all looking out for the people harmed by bigotry is not activism

SILCO IS A CLASS TRAITOR x929282929394

Caitlyn was the first person in years to show Vi kindness and care. She listened and stuck by her and took care of her after Vi was locked up for years and beat up by cops (i wonder what led her to be thrown in there?). Cait being a cop stopped being a point of contention once Vi recognized her naivety and genuineness.

NUANCE NUANCE NUANCE. ITS NEVER EVER BLACK AND WHITE

The only way I can see Vi touching ‘class traitor’ in season one was the shimmer raid. Guess who the hell put those kids in there in the first place.

Just hanging out with Caitlyn isn’t being a class traitor if Vander’s allowed to be friends with Grayson.

Critical thinking is very necessary for watching shows like Arcane

What the hell did Silco really do for the Undercity???? What changed over the 7(ish) years he was basically in power of the place? All I’ve heard was he made the air cleaner, which would be great except for, you know, shimmer and the child factory workers

Jinx is unwell and feeding into it like this in a fully serious manor would not help Arcane as a show at all

What do you want Arcane’s message as a full show to be? ‘Screw cops’? That’s a little boring and unproductive isn’t it?

CAN WE TALK ABOUT EKKO AND HIS IMPACT PLEASE???? x9382728283

Caitlyn is trying to make Piltover and Zaun a better place. Is that not allowed? Am I missing something?

Caitlyn and Vi’s arcs have only just started. Season one is basically fully set up except for characters like silco and Jinx. This is far from the end.

Genuinely think Vander would appreciate Vi for being friends (using this term loosely because they are in love) with Caitlyn considering he was the one who was opposed to war and Vi wasn’t.

Silco should NOT be your idea of Undercity independence and respect. He oppressed the Undercity the same way the Council and the Enforcers did. He helped no one but himself, his team (barely) and Jinx.

You’re allowed to like and dislike any character you want but pretending like Silco is better for the Undercity than others is just so ridiculous to me. Everyone is of course completely allowed to like Silco, but we can’t pretend like he’s this stand up guy. If you have to pretend like he was, maybe you don’t like him as much as you think.

“Because Cait’s pretty” is also incredibly incorrect. Go check point #14.

Vi never stopped loving and caring for Powder. Powder’s mental health issues were amplified and utilized by Silco because he couldn’t even heal himself.

If all of your opinions of Caitlyn and Vi start and end with “cops suck” and “class traitor” then you genuinely don’t respect Arcane as a show enough to show you nuance.

The misinterpretation of characters is just so … it’s like you go out of your way to love and/or hate characters no matter how much they show you who you are.

Your closed mindedness is clouding your judgement and making you out to seem like you don’t actually want the Undercity’s triumph, you want Silco and Jinx’s, even if it means ruining the Undercity. And that would be fine because father/daughter evil duo but trying to say you’re all for this duo because you want what’s better for the Undercity when they continue to hurt it is simply not correct and very harmful (to fictional characters in a fictional universe 😭)

Only being able to understand how Silco and Jinx were oppressed and therefore should be able to not just destroy Piltover but also Zaun is not the eat you think it is

Why is Viktor never called a class traitor? I think he's great (I also think Silco and Jinx are wonderfully written) but we hardly saw him in the Undercity/ interact with people from the Undercity plus he killed someone (Sky) from there (accidentally)

EDIT TO ADD ANOTHER POINT: Caitlyn has shown little to NO malicious intent and has no real negative impacts other than Jinx’s attachment issues and insecurities being amplified by her mere existence. Again, this is her story and development. Throughout the season she is exposed to reality and recognizes her and her peers/ families wrongs. I have no idea what you want from this character. Should Piltover just be gotten rid of in the story? Then what? Should Caitlyn have just never gotten involved and continued to embrace her privilege? Should she have left Vi in prison and stay ignorant?

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #point number 32 sums it all up I think #i blocked most of the people who added and made the post so they wont see this lol #i might be overreacting or misinterpreting #maybe i didnt watch the show right #or maybe i did and some of these people are bad at this #some points are most definitely redundant #and im open to people disagreeing.... respectively lol maybe dont wish death on a character and ill hear you out #again i wouldnt dislike silco as much if he wasnt put on a pedestal by people who swear theyre all for the undercity #i wrote this kind of in anger so like sorry about that lol #anti silco #<- for tagging purposes if this is too silco critical for the people who like him #to slay or not to slay #caitvi #this is the second repost because the first two didn’t show up in the tags cuz I messed with my settings 😭😭😭

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yanavaseva · 3 months

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I was having a hard time finishing anything (that's not a commission) in the past few months so I just ended up doing another variation on those pictures from last year. I tend to look back at something recently completed and think of alternative poses or sequels I could've done instead. Often it's very particular details I just want to try depicting and so I end up making an entire picture.

The environments they take place are ancient and this time I wanted the place to look a little more comforting ... like watching a warm fire, intricate pictures, flowers growing. Perhaps plants covering something that people before you built is too melancholic for comfort? But hey, these murals were made to last and they still glow with arcane energy. Nature's keeping them secluded instead of destroying them.

I was thinking that probably not many people would care so I should just draw what I want.

#my art #my characters #elf #elves #stabri killinov

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yanderes-galore · 7 months

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Heyyy, can I could request a romantic yandere Arcane Silco x human waitress darling with prompts 5.) and 20.) ? pls 🤞

I'm assuming my prompts so sure, I'll see what I can do :) I recently finished Arcane so I'm quite pumped to write this. You said waitress so I took that as female darling! Possible OOC Silco, not sure though as this is the first time I've written for him. I hope it's coherent, I finished this really late at night lol.

Yandere! Silco Prompts 5 + 20

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

"I've been waiting too long for this...."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Pub harassment (not by Silco... entirely(?)), Drug use (Shimmer), Alcohol, Manipulation, Murder mentioned, Forced/Dubious relationship, Stalking, Coercion, Slight intimacy implied.

When working at one of Zaun's most popular pubs you're bound to have your regulars. Be it one of the Zaun top dogs or your typical Shimmer addicted trencher, some people you happen to recognize. Being a waitress was how you made ends meet and a pub happened to be where others collected.

You knew the dangers of your job yet put up with it. Due to all the Shimmer and alcohol being passed around in the pub you worked at, the occasional strange comment was common. In fact, some customers were weird with their wait staff after being given a drink.

You never touched the stuff. Shimmer and alcohol seemed like a slippery slope. Plus you've seen how it destroys people.

Your job mostly consisted of serving drinks and food. Customers tended to be happy with their substances and food. Meanwhile you try to tolerate the behavior of customers. However, you never get used to how handsy they can be.

"Your drinks." You say simply to a table, placing down the order. The Zaunian thank you with a crude smile before you turn around. That is... until you're pulled into a lap.

You shriek and struggle, trying to get off their lap. Their grip is that of iron and you feel your heartbeat quicken. You fear for what they'll do until you hear a booming voice.

"Let the girl go, what kind of filth do you think you are?"

With that you find yourself freed from the drunken customer. Your breathing is still fast but you turn to your savior. You then freeze due to his attire.

Silco.

Why would Silco be here?

You had no doubts it was him. The clothing, the scars, that eye. Zaun's Eye was here in the pub you work at... and he saved you.

Silco then looks to you with a look of pity in his eyes. A young woman working in a pub... harassed by drunks. All he wanted was to find Sevika for a task.

"Waitress." Silco calls, making you give him a tired and still scared look. "Could I speak with you?"

You follow the man to a secluded booth and watch as he sits down. His look is stern yet he appears concerned. You frown in embarrassment.

"Sorry, sir..." you sigh softly. "It happens-" You notice a grimace on his face.

"Happens? How often?" Silco's voice is smooth, gesturing for you to sit down. Hesitantly you comply and sit down across from him.

"Well, usually not very often. But people get a bit rowdy when on substances." You elaborate, refusing to make eye contact. You feel thankful... but embarrassed.

"I see. I'm sorry a girl such as yourself has to go through such a thing." Silco comments and you shrug.

"Have to suffer to make a living sometimes... right?" You shrug, trying to ease the tense conversation.

"Yes... I suppose you're right." Silco responds, casting a glace at the problematic table.

"Could I get you anything, sir?" You ask, standing up.

"Silco is fine. I just came to find someone, but I suppose a drink can't hurt." Silco grins towards you and you nod, taking his request down before retrieving the drink.

Silco didn't stay too long after that. He finished his drink and left with a woman who frequents the pub. You almost felt guilty taking the tip he offered... it was bigger than the ones you usually get, if any at all.

That wasn't the last time you met Silco, either.

Far from it, actually.

In fact, after that Silco had become the newest regular in the pub. He always sat in the same spot out of the way to not draw attention. He always asked you to serve him. He always dragged you in for talk. Plus, he always left you a good tip.

At first you were intimidated around him due to his reputation, yet you tried warming up to him. When he was around you never had any trouble. Even when you did, the customers that caused it strangely don't come back.

Good riddance, honestly.

Silco quickly became a friend to you while you worked the pub. His conversations went from general to more personal as you spoke with one another. He became someone you could trust.

Loyalty is what runs Zaun... it's only natural you'd trust a powerful man such as him.

Silco originally just pitied you for being yet another struggling Zaunite. Yet he began to find himself drawn to you. You often haunted his thoughts when he was away.

You always worked so hard to please. When you spoke with him you listened to every little word and tried to downplay your hardships. You kept appearing in his head... so Silco gave into temptation and frequented the pub you work at just to watch you work.

Silco thrives off the trust you give him. He cultivates it for his own interests later down the road. It's so easy too.

As friends Silco gets rid of any rowdy customers you have to deal with. All it takes is him asking Jinx and the deed is done. This way you'll be so much safer at work, plus if he's not here then Sevika is.

He isn't sure why he's so drawn to you. Is it your resilience or did he just become attached because you looked so helpless? Either way... Silco can't seem to get you out of his head.

In fact... while he's watching you work... he comes to the realization he finds you attractive.

No wonder he's so attached.

Once he realizes, the longer he talks to and watches you, he enjoys your presence more than he thought... he wants to have more. Surely you can do better than working at a pub that treats you like dirt, right? He could get you something so much better.

Hell, he could do so much better for you. You shouldn't be forced to work here. As friends... or maybe even a future boyfriend or husband... he should help you out.

You trust him, don't you?

"Silco, I couldn't possibly accept such an offer."

He had offered you a job. Silco had become a regular long enough, had known you long enough, that he wanted you to work for him. The entire time he has a smile on his face... yet it feels sinister?

"I'm sure you can. I'd love to have you as an employee. You trust me, don't you?" Silco's tone is sweet as honey, leaning his head on his hands.

"I just don't feel comfortable working with all the shimmer...." You try to excuse, earning a hum from Silco.

"You won't need to touch it, dear. I can find you something... out of the way." Silco persists, gaze digging into you.

"I'm just not-"

"Dear... you trust me, right?" Silco asks, sitting up straight.

"Not if you manipulate me like this...." You say softly, looking at him sadly. "I already said no."

"Manipulation?" Silco blinks, looking shocked. "No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

"Are you now?"

"Please... all I want is the best for you. I just want to help. Won't you please give it a chance?" Silco continues, never taking his eyes off you.

"... if you're so insistent." You give in, Silco giving you a pleased look in return.

"Good... I knew you'd listen to me. I promise you it will be so much better than the pub." Silco promises before you two part ways.

Silco kept to that promise because he cares for you so much. He made sure to keep your trust by keeping you happy. After all... this was the best way to court you, no?

With some well placed charisma, Silco can be quite the charmer. He speaks to you in honeyed words, he is sure to check the working conditions for you are perfect. Silco wouldn't dare allow anything to ruin you.

When it comes to building the relationship he wants with you... he needs to perfect it. He plans his actions carefully and appeals to you in any way he can. It isn't long until you trust him completely... which leads to what he's wanted for a long time since he's met you.

"I love you."

Those three words is what he's been waiting to say and hear when it comes to you. His heart quickens when he looks at you and you break his stoic nature. Just looking at you doesn't appear to be enough.

Which lead to him being rather enthusiastic at the idea of giving into his desires once he has you.

"I've been waiting too long for this...." He mumbles into your skin. He won't tell you how long he's wanted to kiss you... as it doesn't matter now. With careful planning... he's done it.

He has you.

In his eyes he saved you from your life at that pub. With him you have no worries. In fact, you even have someone who loves you.

Someone who'd burn cities for you.

Silco doesn't care that he'd made Jinx kill for you. He doesn't care that this relationship of yours has been fabricated from the start. He's just glad to have you.

In fact... he doesn't have to stop. He'll do more violence in your name. He'll even continue to lure you in deeper with more kisses, bites, and pleasure.

You make him such a happy man. You're such a beautiful woman... all for him. Silco feels no guilt about how he's gotten to this point.

Why should he?

Charming the people has always been how he's gotten what he wants... along with some planned bloodshed.

#yandere arcane #yandere silco #yandere league of legends #yandere arcane silco

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moodywyrm · 1 year

Text

no breakdowns here

college! vi x reader

so I watched arcane,,,, I need vi so so bad. MDNI on principle or I'll cry. I will probably write more of her if I don’t have a colossal breakdown first but ya know. college.

songs! cariño by the Marias it’s one of my favorite songs ever and it’s just so so soft I'll cry over it

wc: 1.3k

Thinking about sitting next to Vi in the history class she’s taking for her GE, whereas ur the sweet lil history major that she sat next to on the first day

She thought u were really cute so obviously, she chose the seat right next to u out of the entire class

U two say ur hellos and goodbyes before class, share notes throughout lecture, lean into each other to whisper lil comments, repress the unbelievable sapphic tension between u two. ya know, normal seatmate things.

Class with her is always a fun time, filled with giggles n explanations n overall she is just so glad she sat with u, especially when u get all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed over getting to talk about history with her

so needless to say, she’s more than a lil bit shocked when u come in one day and don’t say good morning or smile or really look at her at all

u just sit down, pull ur supplies out n keep ur head down n she’s just like??? What happened to hello??? How are you???

no but actually she is very concerned bc u r rarely this quiet, at least to her

So she shuts her laptop and turns to u, leaning her head down to try and look at ur face n her heart does a weird little upset flip bc u are holding back tears and u have this lil frown on ur face n she just goes “oh sweetheart”

n u almost break then and there, sniffling extra hard and looking up at the ceiling to make sure u don’t start sobbing before ur 9am topics in world history class bc that would blow

u look at her and give her the saddest lil smile she’s ever seen and her heart breaks bc while u may be quiet, u were always confident n rn u look like ur gonna crawl into a hole and never come out

n then u whisper a lil ‘hey, i’m okay’ to her and she looks at u like oh honey oh no n she asks u ‘what’s wrong sweets?’

n u just Go

“I didn’t get to eat breakfast this morning bc I forgot to set my alarm and I look like shit and I have so so much work to do, like four assignments and that would be fine if i understood the readings but I don’t and i feel like an idiot and i’m just so tired and sad all the time” and Breath

u pause and look at her, and Vi just hauls her arm around ur shoulders, tucking u into her n u both Pause bc hold up?? Physical affection???? More pls pls pls

It’s kinda an awkward position but nonetheless u reach up to hold the hand on ur shoulder, n lean into her (trying very hard not to focus on the squish of her chest pressing into u thru her sports bra bc she is always in the fucking sports bra)

N then she starts whispering to u n talking u down from a breakdown n honestly u might start crying purely bc she is being so gentle with u

‘Alright sweets, ur gonna sit here and not think about any of that rn. Take whatever notes u think u can, n then u can fill em in with mine. Do you have anything to do after this? No? Ok, we’re gonna go get breakfast, my treat don’t u dare fight it, n decompress n then, if u want to, we’ll find a nice place to sit and do our work, alright? Sound good?’

n ur near tears n ur so warm n u can’t speak bc she’s sooooo perfect that u just give her a lil nod n a sniffle

N she can’t help herself, she presses a lil smooch to the top of ur head and tightens her arm around u as more students start to filter in

“You’re not an idiot, you’re just overwhelmed. Princess, you’re the smartest person I know, but it’s hard to be so smart and so intense all the time. You’re allowed to take a break and ask for help.”

Ur voice is so small and sweet when u look up at her n go ‘thank u :(’

n she smiles at u and lets u both return to ur spots, but right before class starts she leans down to ur ear and whispers ‘n by the way, u don’t look like shit princess, u should wear those leggings more often’ with a lil wink n oh m y god

yeah u didn’t get like any notes down, u had to use hers after class

Speaking of after class!! She totally helps u pack up ur things, slotting pens into ur lil pen case and holding ur bag up so u don’t have to lean down to put everything in

Even helps u put on ur backpack like the perfect lil gf material she is

So u two make ur way to the main coffee shop on campus, not holding hands but walking incredibly close :(

n to distract u from ur worries, she’s telling u abt how her friend ekko walked in on her just as she fell of her bed n then her downstairs neighbor come up to yell at her abt the thunk

n ur laughing so hard bc girl wtf but it’s so worth it to see u smile, especially in the morning when the sun is hitting u just right so u look downright angelic in ur pretty lil flared legging n tied up t-shirt that fit so so well she just wants to take a bite out of u chomp chomp

n she’s definitely blushing bc this is the first time u two have hung out outside of class n it’s bc she wants to make u feel good and then she realizes she always wants to make u feel good and oh no vi u have a crush! A huge debilitating crush! a gf level crush!

So internally she’s losing it just a lil bit by the time u get to the coffee shop, which is packed and makes u anxious all over again

So obviously, when u get in line and she notices just how fidgety ur getting, she wraps one big strong arm around ur waist and tugs u into her side, whispering to u that it’s okay, you’ll just get ur food and then find somewhere nice n quiet to sit

n ur mind is spinning at this point, but in the good way bc her arm feels so secure n warm around u, u might just have to kiss this girl silly

Ofc she orders for the both of u when u get to the cash register, detaching for a split second to grab her wallet out of her pocket and then immediately clinging back onto u

By the time u two find a nice lil spot in a quiet, tucked away corner of the school to eat ur food, u feel like ur gonna combust with all the yearning ur experiencing rn

Don’t worry so is Vi

Bc she’s sitting there, leaning against a tree, watching u sit in a patch of sun breaking through the leaves, munching on a breakfast croissant and sipping an iced matcha latte

ur practically haloed by the sun dancing across ur skin, looking all warm and content

she swears ur the prettiest girl she’s ever seen, n she’s seen a lot of pretty girls

That’s the moment, that peaceful silence where she gets to watch you decompress and build yourself back up to your usual self, where she swears to every god in the universe that she’ll make u hers

If she can ever manage to stop freaking out when u lean into her

She;s so cute i need her so bad

#arcane fic #vi x reader #arcane vi x reader #arcane fluff #arcane vi fluff #arcane vi #arcane #vi x reader fluff #vi fluff #arcane x reader fic

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pathetic-sapphic · 8 months

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First meeting with the Arcane milfs

One night you decided to visit the Last Drop after recently moving to the Undercity, and it didn't take long for SEVIKA to take note of your cute face. You sat at the bar, chatting with Thieram, while she watched you from afar, taking in your adorable gestures and the expressions you made while talking. After losing her card game for the 5th time due to being distracted by you, Sevika decided it's finally time she made a move. She joined you at the bar and started up a conversation. You were taken aback to say the least. You couldn't believe that you were lucky enough to be approached by such an admirable and strong woman who was, safe to say, exactly your type. And once you realized she's flirting with you? Best day of your life, that's for sure. The more you kept talking to her, the sooner you worked out that this was the scary woman of Zaun that almost everyone warned you about. You couldn't believe it at first, sure she seemed tough and rugged but she acted nothing short of protective towards you. Safe to say, you wouldn't mind getting to know the dashing and strapping woman better and it seems like she feels the same about you.

''Hey, uh, so I didn't notice you here before, you new in town? Hm, makes sense, I definitely would have noticed such a beauty if I had seen you around before tonight. Well, I should warn you, this place is full of dangerous creeps so make sure you're careful. If you ever need any help, you can always find me here and I'll make sure no one gives you any trouble, alright? Good, now that that's settled, how about we get out of here? I'll show you some of the best hidden spots in the Undercity and all I ask in return is your company. Now, what do you say? We got a deal, cutie?''

GRAYSON and you lived in the same apartment building and she noticed you as soon as you moved in. It was hard not to, especially when you brought over some baked goods as a gift for your new neighbor. She thought you were very sweet and always looked forward to running into you in the hall whenever she was coming back from work. Eventually, you worked up the courage to invite her for a cup of coffee at your place. This became a weekly thing and you two got close quite quickly. Before she knew it, Grayson had a huge crush on you. You always listened to her rant about annoyances at work (Marcus) and you would greet her with the brightest smile and kindest words. She just couldn't get enough of your company so one day she showed up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and waited for you to let her in. You were touched by her thoughtful gesture and even more when she formally invited you to go on a date with her, which you gladly accepted.

''Hello, darling, it's good to see you today. How have you been? Ah, these? Just a small gift to show my appreciation for the coffees and the lovely company you're always providing me with. I know I didn't have to but I wanted to, it's not often someone is so willing to listen to my endless complaints about boring paperwork. You're far too kind. However I must admit, my motives for giving you this weren't entirely selfless. I wanted to ask you if you'd like to join me for dinner, tomorrow at 7 pm? Great, it's a date then, I'll come and pick you up. I'm really looking forward to it.''

You ran into AMBESSA while she was exploring the sights and wonders that Piltover had to offer. You were hurrying along, not really looking where you were going in order to avoid the evening crowd as soon as possible. This led to you hitting what felt like a wall brick but was actually the Warlord of Noxus herself. Now you're lucky you're cute, otherwise Ambessa wouldn't even spare you a glance, much less help you get back on your feet. She dusted you off and checked you for injuries while admiring your cute apologies and red face. She decided not to tease you too much, seeing as you could already barely form a sentence just because she was looking at you. Deciding that she has found her company for the rest of the day, she went off to explore Piltover with a little wonder she found on her own.

''Careful there, darling, I almost ran you over just now. You need to keep a better view of your surroundings, understood? Good, now, are you hurt anywhere? No? Do you have anywhere to be right now? In that case, I was also looking to get away from these bothersome crowds and I am quite new in town so why don't you show me some hidden spots around town? Surely you know of some, as a local yourself. Wonderful, give me your hand and let's go, wouldn't want to risk you running into someone again. You're mine for tonight, darling.''

CASSANDRA met you whilst trying to get some alone time to rest her nerves during an incredibly taxing and boring gala. She exited to the balcony, trying to get some fresh air and escape the gaggle of people which endlessly needs her attention and, frankly, she was tired of it all. Cassandra was nothing but loyal to both her family and her job but, at the same time, she wished she had some sort of an escape from it all. Her prayers were answered rather quickly, because you soon joined her on the balcony. At first, you tried to leave because you did not wish to bother the Councilor but, surprisingly, she called you out to join her and keep her company. You soon realized just how lonely and exhausted the older woman was, as the two of you made some small talk she inched closer to you, putting her hand over yours and always maintaining eye contact. By the time the night was nearing its end, you were both smitten by one another and Cassandra wasn't going to let you just slip through her fingers.

''Well, hello there. Ah ah, where are you going? Why don't you come here and join me, I promise I don't bite. Good girl, take a seat here. Have you also come here to escape the stuffy atmosphere of the gala? I must admit, I found myself here for exactly the same reason. Don't get me wrong, darling, I do love my job but it gets so terribly lonely and bothersome at times. Lucky for me that I am graced with the company of such a sweet girl. Tell me a bit about yourself? Oh, we don't have time, you say? Well then, how about we continue this conversation tomorrow, at my place? Wonderful, someone will come pick you up later in the evening, you needn't worry about a thing, sweetheart. Have a good night, I'll see you tomorrow.''

#arcane #arcane headcanons #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #arcane milfs #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane grayson #grayson x reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane cassandra #cassandra kiramman x reader

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yuurei20 · 5 months

Text

Trey Info Compilation part 3: Deuce

Trey’s first act as “Stargazer” for the Wish Upon a Star event is to follow Deuce, who immediately gets into an argument about wishing stars.

Crowley encourages Trey to guide Deuce during the event, for which Deuce apologizes. When Idia refuses to participate in person Trey asks Crowley to consider not pressing the issue too hard, out of concern that Idia may drop out entirely.

When poor weather looks like it may require the cancellation of the entire event Trey says that continuing on with rehearsals and just hoping for the best doesn’t seem like a good use of their time, with which Idia enthusiastically agrees.

Deuce asks them to reconsider and Trey acquiesces, saying that Riddle would have their heads if the weather clears up and they haven't practiced.

Deuce confides his dream of becoming a magic marshal to the group, and in Book 5 Trey explains an international organization called “the Arcane Response Unit,” which seems connected.

When Deuce scares off a pair of bullies who were threatening to disrupt the Starsending event Trey compliments him on his self control. In a voice line Deuce says that, during practice, he “accidentally clotheslined Trey.”

When Cater invites Deuce to join the team that is attempting to seduce Eliza he refuses, but Ace successfully tricks him into joining by invoking Trey: “Oh, so you’re just gonna abandon Trey?…I’m sure Trey’s just waiting for you to swoop in and save the day.”

Deuce enthusiastically denies to join the team, saying, “Trey deserves to have his revenge. I’ll be the guy to deliver it.”

Cater observes, “Oh, Deucey. You can’t even see how he’s playing you.”

Deuce also comes to Trey’s aid during Spectral Soiree when Sebek calls Trey’s hobby of toothbrushing bizarre, saying, “Hey, don’t make fun of him. Trey’s parents run a bakery, so naturally he follows their advice and is real thorough about brushing his teeth…but he also looks out for the people around him, so they can enjoy their sweets more.”

Deuce defends Trey a third time in a vignette where he calls Ace out for saying that Trey’s cares “were getting samey.” Ace points out, “Trey’s a chill guy. It’d take more than that to make him mad.”

Deuce agrees with, “He’s kindhearted and caring—a pretty rare combo among our student body.”

Deuce’s opinion on Trey comes up in another vignette where he says, “Trey’s kind enough to let minor errors in judgement slide if you work to make up for it…(he has) always had a kind older brother thing going on…(he is) always calmly watching over us.”

Deuce goes to Trey's defense a fourth time during the Wish Upon a Star event when two bullies begin to mock him, saying, "I don't care what you say about me. But if you're gonna diss Trey like that, then you and I have a problem!" (Trey is revealed to have been hiding behind a pillar to allow Deuce deal with the bullies on his own).

When Trey actually agrees with the bullies, saying, "I get what they meant. Dancing in this getup IS embarrassing. Which is why I was trying to avoid being seen." Deuce responds, "Why would you say that, Trey? You look great in that outfit."

Deuce says he can’t even imagine Trey getting angry. Trey says that Deuce will beg him for help with his studies (“I’m glad he’s committed, at least”) and when Trey gets a box of assorted cookies and candies from an upscale hotel during New Year’s he makes a point of inviting Deuce to join the group for tea to eat them.

#Trey Clover #twsttrey #twisted wonderland #twstfacts #treyfacts

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luolands · 1 year

Text

Essek's Powers

EGtW: Essek is a prodigy who displays an unprecedented talent for the manipulation of dunamis energy

c2e57: You follow Essek and as you do, you feel like your pace is quickened. People pass by, other guards, but they blur past like you're unable to necessarily focus. Something is subtly influencing you to make it difficult to really trace the path you take to where you're going. ... Fjord: Do you not feel the same effects? Essek: No. Time is one of my specialties.

Essek, c2e57: Don't deal much in blacksmithing, not my specialty. [His hand rises out of the curtains that is his cloak and his hand passes. These trails of somewhat translucent, gray energy drift off his fingertips for a second and float there before dissipating.]

Essek, c2e57: While we do have periods of worship in which we give ourselves to the sunlight as part of our means of showing our faith, it does impede our day-to-day business. So as part of our craft, we've found a way to keep it at bay, for as long as we'd like.

EGtW: Twelve hours of daylight each day can become painful and physically detrimental to those beings adapted to subterranean life. To mitigate this problem, powerful dunamancers have woven arcane shields to temporarily block out the sun above Rosohna.

c2e61: The rain seems to fall, but you never see it scatter across the Shadowhand. It seems to drift around and he stays dry amongst the storm.

c2e61: Following below, it's hard to see because the cloak almost meets the ground, but looking below: his feet aren't touching the ground. He's just drifting.

Essek, c2e71: It seems you have made your preparations and are ready to leave? Beau: Yes, you may enter and cross into the threshold. Essek: Thank you. [He glides in. You watch the ball bearings actually separating out around his form. Like there is some invisible force that is pushing them outward, and just generating this strange force that keeps them at bay.]

Jester, c2e74: [I pull out a cupcake] It's fresh, I swear! Essek: [Extends his hand and the cupcake lifts out of your hand and drifts over. He sniffs it.] Thank you. [It vanishes beneath the cloak.]

c2e77: At which point, you watch as she begins to lift up off the ground from the chains and you see Essek, his hand out of his cloak, lifting her off the ground. ... You watch as her entire central torso crushes inward, the chains go taut and you hear the metal bend as some of the chains begin to pull and break in places before she is dropped to the ground limply.

c2e91: And he just drifts off, the gate opens on its own (creak, slam) and he heads up to the interior.

c2e91: Essek approaches, waves a hand, and the gate (creaks) opens and lets you guys in.

Essek, c2e91: Allow me to take care of this for you. [He waves his hand for a second and you watch as the chairs, the furniture (scraping) scoots from the edges into the center, forming a little seating area, table scoots in.]

Essek, c2e91: [He goes ahead and lifts a hand towards the hunk of clay] If I could have some help? [You lift it and it's half the weight it was before you grabbed it.]

EGtW, 2nd Lv. Graviturgy Wizard: Adjust Density. As an action, you can magically alter the weight of one object or creature you can see within 30 feet of you. The target's weight is halved or doubled for up to 1 minute or until your concentration ends.

c2e97: He moves his hand this way and one of the crates (scraping) scoots and he sits on it. Jester: Still cool, still fucking cool.

Essek, c2e97: My entire life, I've been propped up to be perhaps worthy of being one to break those boundaries.

Essek, c2e124: [And he rises and begins to head towards the door. The door opens on its own.]

Essek, c2e131: You are led to the familiar exterior of Essek's chambers. And, as you approach, the door (whooshing) opens on its own. ... As you all enter, the door closes behind you as he curls his hand towards him. And, with his other hand, he drifts out, a chair scooches forward and he drifts down into the chair, one leg crossed over the other.

Caleb, c2e131: Come on in. Jester: Wait, we're naked! Essek: [The doorway opens, stops. And slowly opens. (he sighs) The door opens the rest of its way on its own. ]

Essek, c2e132: Hold on to that, we have our means of drifting carefully. Or we could try to climb- well, you could try to climb. I'll be fine. Veth: Oh, yeah, you can drift. Essek: I can.

c2e132: Partway in your descent, you have this shadow drift by as Essek just drifts over the edge and just glides down past you, like an elevator, and just looks over at you each as he slowly descends towards the bottom.

c2e134: You see, as he starts putting his hands out in front like this, like he's soft throwing objects forward. You watch as rocks start coming out as he's just plucking them, as he pulls the gravity from them, aiding you as you guys go along.

c2e135: You see Essek puts his hand out and begins to concentrate, his eyes narrowing. As he does, you watch as the smooth, relatively untouched stone base of this glass tube device (stone cracking) begin to crack and crumble. You see it get pulled away and dragged under the ground behind, scattering. The glass breaking, and as opposed to shattering around you, being shunted off to the backside of the wall, scattering on the ground.

c2e135: As it all falls away, he turns his hand up, and as he does, it's like an invisible hand digging into clay and lifting through as it sifts past the fingers. You see the rock lift and then crumble, and then there in the center, you see this diamond-shaped gem, of faint dark purple coloration, that was now released. He lifts it and drifts it over into your hand.

c2e135: You guys all were all prepping and doing this space, as this was happening, Essek, you see him begin to cast something and then condense it into his hand. He hands you this small bead, Veth. This is like a marble. And just goes, "Follow my lead." ... A bolt of black lightning arcs out from it, across the way towards the creature. It's a level four Lightning Bolt.

EGtW, 14th Lv. Chronurgy Wizard: Arcane Abeyance. When you cast a spell using a spell slot of 4th level or lower, you can condense the spell's magic into a mote. The spell is frozen in time at the moment of casting and held within a gray bead for 1 hour.

c2e136: [He's wading through the water and he's like] Don't forget to return the favor! Sam: He can't float on the water? Liam: It's a three-inch spell. Matt: It doesn't quite work like that. It keeps him off of solid ground, but it doesn't put him over fluid surfaces. It's not a levitate type spell.

c2e138: He pulls out a piece of dark chalk and finds a section of the floor, and begins to draw different dunamantic symbols in this patterned array, making you progressively more and more uncomfortable as the designs begin to come together. Some of them are little more intricate for even your understanding, but you begin to pick up the basics of it, using this stone as a focus, not unlike how residuum is used as an amplifier device in a number of other laboratories.

c2e138: There's that brief moment where you see Essek, sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he's concentrating, and as you're focusing your spell energy towards this crystal, you see it begin to glow brighter and brighter and brighter, not unlike the way that the threshold crest was taking on that filament-like brightness, but this itself has a deep, deep purplish hue, and you see it begin to flicker, not unlike the symbol that you were seeing, which makes you extremely uncomfortable. In a moment, you feel this urge to just rush in and stop it, but as you do, Essek twitches his arms around it and then draws his fingers in two different directions, and you see this small tear in reality, a break in reality, if you will. And with that, you can see, in a brief moment, in this sliver, hundreds of realities just brushing by at an endless speed. He begins to take and fold that tear around, like if the tear in space time became a thread, and wrap it around this stone, and as soon as it begins to close on it, (sizzling, shattering) it shatters... and we're going to go to break.

Essek, c2e140: I spent my entire life studying the intent to not let things like this happen to chance.

Essek, c2e141: I have spent my life in the pursuit of the ability to control one's future, and that path has led me to making many mistakes. And my shift begin to wander the possibility of fixing one's past, and since we found this, I've thought of it often.

EGtW, 14th Lv. Chronurgy Wizard: Convergent Future. You can peer through possible futures and magically pull one of them into events around you, ensuring a particular outcome.

#essek #essek thelyss #mighty nein #the mighty nein #critical role #crit role #c2 #campaign 2 #cr campaign 2 #kryn dynasty #egtw #dunamancy #chronurgy #graviturgy #dunamis #ref #writing reference

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