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writerblue275 · 6 months

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Jayce finding out about your relationship with Viktor.

Inspiration: Part of my pet name headcanon (HERE) for Viktor! I just had to. The thought of this cute little interaction from the pet name “my most esteemed colleague” was just too good.

Character: Arcane!Viktor

Genre: Headcanon

Category: FLUFF (Ft. Jayce being a bit of a silly goose. 😂.)

Gender: Gender Neutral Reader!

TW: Small mention of alcohol. Swearing (because I swear lmao.)

Important context: Based on what I wrote in the pet name headcanon, I’m writing this with the idea of the reader being a professor at the academy (any subject). Also timeline-wise: this is before the end of the timeskip. Obviously HexTech exists, but Jayce isn’t a councilman yet or anything.

You and Viktor have only been dating maybe a couple months at this point. Your relationship is extremely new.

Not many people in your lives know. Not because you both aren’t happy or excited about this new relationship. It’s quite the opposite, in fact.

You two have never been so happy, but both of you are just fairly private people. Neither of you feel the need to be extremely obvious about your relationship in public. You’re both happy to save affection for those quiet moments alone together.

Someone who surprisingly does know? Heimerdinger. He knows because he’s the one who introduced you to Viktor at the academy holiday party last year. It was only maybe a couple months after you joined the faculty.

He immediately noticed you and Viktor both trying to discreetly check each other out during academy meetings.

“Discreetly” lmao you two were halfway to making heart eyes at each other already, let’s be so fucking for real. But he thought about it and realized you two would actually be really good for each other.

“Viktor, my boy, I’d like to introduce you to one of our newer colleagues here at the academy, Professor (Y/L/N). Professor (Y/L/N) teaches [enter subject] and is already responsible for some incredible projects. Professor, I’m pleased to introduce my former assistant, Viktor. He’s now working in our labs with Mr. Jayce Talis on HexTech.”

You couldn’t help but smile shyly at the tall young man who seems only a bit older than you are. He’s really quite handsome. And his EYES. You were pretty sure you could get lost in those amber eyes forever.

You realized you’d been quietly watching for a moment instead of responding, causing you to blush and stammer out a response.

“V-Very lovely to meet you, Viktor. I’ve asked Professor Heimerdinger to refer to me as (Y/N). Since he still won’t, I hope you will? I find Professor (Y/L/N) too formal for me, at least among colleagues.”

Viktor gave you a smile that made your heart flip. “(Y/N) does seem a lot more fitting, I agree. Happy to call you whatever you’d prefer (SMOOTH VIKTOR 😉). Now, while we were talking, I see they’ve set out the champagne. Would you like me to bring you a glass?”

“I’d love that, thank you! Once you return, I’d love to hear more about the intricacies of HexTech. Your work with Mr. Talis is fascinating and I’d love to understand it better, especially if I can hear from an expert.”

“Happy to talk about it, as long as I can hear more about [subject you teach] and your projects. I admit it’s not a topic I’m extremely familiar with.”

You smiled. “I’d love to tell you about my work, though I can’t promise it’ll be as attention holding as yours.”

Heimerdinger stepped in here, “You sell yourself short, Professor. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our conversations about your projects. Now you two go enjoy yourselves. I’m going to go make sure people aren’t causing any trouble.”

The yordle had been alive long enough to know when two people have excellent chemistry. He noticed the intense sparks between both of you IMMEDIATELY and he figured it wouldn’t be long before the two of you were together. (Surprise surprise he was correct.)

You’d never had so much fun at a work function before that night.

You and Viktor ended up talking together the rest of the party and he walked you home. Turns out the two of you live fairly close to each other.

You and him quickly became friends, and it only took a couple months for him to ask you on a coffee date, which you happily agreed to.

And once again you and him ended up talking together for hours. It was the most enjoyable date you’d ever had. You’d never felt so naturally comfortable with someone before.

And Viktor wasn’t even upset about being away from work for so long (though he did have to create some random excuse to appease Jayce’s curiosity).

Soon one date turned into more, and before too long, the two of you were officially in a relationship.

This brings us back to the present.

Viktor always gets to his lab so much earlier than you arrive at the academy.

To the point you sometimes wonder if he’s slept there. (The answer is sometimes yes.)

But anyway, one Wednesday night when Viktor decides he isn’t going to sleep at the lab, he comes over to your apartment for dinner. And while you two are chatting, he can’t help but complain a bit about the coffee machine in the lab not working.

And while of course you are being a supportive partner and listening to him, it is kind of hilarious, but also concerning, to realize how much this man depends on caffeine to get through his day.

Like you knew he drank coffee. You were not aware how much coffee he consumed since he mostly consumed it in the lab.

As the two of you sit together on the couch, chatting while Viktor goes over notes and you grade assignments, you can’t help but muse out loud a little bit after another round of tired grumbling from him.

“Tomorrow is my light class day. I could bring you coffee and breakfast? Since I know you’re already at the academy before the local cafes open.”

He perks up at the thought.

“I don’t need the breakfast, just the coffee, my dear.”

That earns him a mock stern stare from you.

“Ah ah ah, I’m going to make sure you actually eat breakfast, damnit. Even better, I’ll eat my breakfast with you. I rarely get to see you in the mornings, so it will be nice.”

He can’t help but smile. It would be nice to see you in the morning, especially when he’s tired. You always brighten his day whenever he sees you.

You’ve been visiting him and Jayce in their lab occasionally since you and Viktor became friends, but due to both of your recent schedules, it’s been a while, like since before the two of you made things official.

“That sounds nice, yes. When should I expect you?” His voice is happy as he laces his fingers with your hand that isn’t holding a pen.

You can’t help but blush happily at the little gesture. Viktor becoming more and more affectionate with you in private has been such a lovely surprise.

“I usually get to the academy around 9 on Thursdays. Does 9:15 work for you?”

He nods. “You know my order, yes?”

“Of course, Vitya. But, I also want to go ahead and at least grab coffee and pastries for Jayce and Sky. Do you know their coffee orders?”

After noting down his lab mates’ orders, you happily go back to grading papers, now enjoying companionable silence with Viktor.

Once he decides to get home for the evening, you send him off with a gentle peck and a “I’ll see you tomorrow with breakfast, love.”

He’s blushing so hard on the way home omg. You made him so happy calling him love.

And so the next day, you walk into work with one of those drink carriers, a big bag with pastries, and a smaller bag with your and Viktor’s omelets.

After dropping off the non-essentials in your office, you make your way over to the lab section of the academy.

You knock on their lab’s main door before opening it, just to give them a little heads up someone is coming in.

As you walk in, you’re greeted with a happy, but tired, “(Y/N)!” from Jayce. You and him have become friends too since you became close with Viktor.

“Good morning, Jayce! I’ve brought the lab some treats since I heard the coffee machine is currently out of commission.”

“Did Viktor tell you? Oh my god, you’re my fucking hero!”

Speaking of Viktor, he’s nose deep in textbooks at his desk, but the second Jayce says your name, he looks up and smiles at you, getting up and making his way over to you.”

“Ah! There’s my most esteemed colleague! Come to save the day.”

You can’t help but giggle at the silly little name.

But out of the corner of your eye you see Jayce looking a confused and maybe even just a little bit hurt that Viktor reffered to you, someone he’s only known like six months, as his most esteemed colleague and not him, the man he literally founded HexTech with.

Not that Jayce doesn’t respect you. He’s thinks you’re incredibly impressive, but after all they’ve been through, damn Viktor that hurts a little.

Realizing that you have to be the one to smooth over Jayce’s misunderstanding somehow, you meet Viktor in the middle of the room, smiling as he takes the coffees.

As soon as he takes the coffees and the smaller bag with just breakfast for you two, you lean up and gently peck his cheek and offer him a “Good morning, my most esteemed colleague. I hope you haven’t been caffeine deprived for too long, Viktor.”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed by your generous gift and presence, my dear.”

Now out of the corner of your eye you see Jayce’s eyebrows immediately go up in surprise, and he definitely doesn’t look upset anymore. In fact, he looks super excited for both of you, sporting the largest grin.

He even calls out a, “Ah Viktor, they really are your most esteemed colleague, I see.”

You smile at Jayce as you go over to give him the pastry box while Viktor gets a little pink on his cheeks.

“Those are for everyone, Jayce, so I better hear that Sky got some too. Anyway, I suppose I am. He is mine as well! Careful of teasing though. I’ve given Viktor all the coffees to pass out, so he might decide to keep yours for himself.”

Viktor smirks at you as Jayce lets out a tired whine.

“Ah, I like the way you think, my love!”

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Ahhh this was so fun to write. As soon as I put “my most esteemed colleague” as a “slightly silly but still plausible and cute” answer on the list of Viktor’s pet names for his partner, this idea immediately came to mind and I just had to write it. Having been in university, and then grad school, I’ve been colleagues with some pretty cool people. I also loved including the little first meeting and matchmaker Heimerdinger for this Professor!Reader AU! Shoutout again to my friend from college who is my beta reader for Arcane things because she also loves Viktor basically as much as I do (lmao I love my friends)!

#arcane #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #viktor #viktor headcanons #Viktor fluff #viktor arcane #arcane headcanon #reader insert #arcane fluff #jayce arcane #silly goose Jayce

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incense-and-nonsense · 5 months

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Finished watching Arcane last night and I have some thoughts about Ambessa Medara that I need to get out of my system.

What I find fascinating about Ambessa as a character is the fanbase's reception of her: she's a big muscle mommy with a hidden soft side. However, I don't think the show's writers want us to like her and especially don't intend to portray her as an attractive person. The reason I think this is because (aside from her gender) she's a textbook example of a toxic, hypermasculine, alpha-male power fantasy.

Let's elaborate. Only a few minutes after we're introduced to her (having invited herself into her estranged daughter's world in a display of Emotionally-Healthy Parenting TM), she announces that she's off to "sample the local cuisine," gesturing towards a male consort/companion who awaits her.

And then there's this scene:

Here we are shown Ambessa naked in a bath being massaged by the same comparatively small companion we met earlier. The power dynamic in the relationship is clearly one of domination and submission. She's indulgent in her consumption and luxury and lobs criticism after criticism at a visibly uncomfortable Jayce, all while the artwork behind the two reinforces how this exchange will play out: Ambessa holds all the power, while Jayce is on the defensive.

In short, everything about the way Ambessa talks and carries herself is meant to convey one simple message: I am powerful. She never needs to insist on her power--it's self-evident.

On the surface, this seems like an extremely well-written feminist icon. Ambessa is strong and confident, bending to no-one and self-assured. In flashbacks and in her own dialogue, she's presented as someone who is willing to take ruthless and decisive action regardless of other's feelings. She exudes confidence and charisma and never apologizes for the space she takes up in other's lives. Other people exist largely to fulfill her goals and desires. Further, later she reveals that she exiled her daughter Mel because her daughter's more merciful and diplomatic nature weakened Ambessa and her resolve.

In short, Ambessa is the textbook icon of hypermasculine power fantasies enfleshed in a woman.

Thing is though, these traits don't become less toxic when they happen to belong to a woman. Imagine the two scenes above if the character's genders were swapped. Then what we see is a confident, muscled warmonger who establishes his place in the social hierarchy through displays of sexual dominance and belittling those around him. Imagine Caitlyn attempting to discuss the situation in Piltover as a nude, muscled man insults her competence and strides naked over to her in a clear display of power. That's not a character we celebrate; it's a character who makes us feel violated by their very presence. Moreover, it's a character we've all probably seen before a hundred times.

Toxic behavior doesn't stop being toxic when done by a woman instead of a man.

Ambessa is not intended to be a likable character. She manipulates and dehumanizes others (especially sexually), refuses to show mercy, and pushes away those closest to her out of her fear of weakness. She's not an icon of female empowerment. Her character is a commentary on how easy it is to think that feminism means adopting the toxic ways in which men have often exercised power over others. Dehumanization and exploitation aren't behaviors that we should celebrate just because they make a women look strong. Rather, we should re-evaluate what we think strength looks like.

#arcane netflix #arcane #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #toxic people #toxic #toxic masculinity #feminism #girlboss

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lirotation · 8 months

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I Hail from Silverymoon: The First Kiss

Pov my little fanfic, Astarion X Amaara(my wizard Tav) Finally some fluff. All my frustration and dissatisfaction towards BG3 were alleviated by kissing him 10 times a day in game =)

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Astarion sat staring blankly at the book in his hands, thoughts far away. His mind kept circling back to that moment a couple of days ago when he had confessed his feelings to Amaara. It had taken all the courage he could muster, and the memory of her embrace afterward was etched into his heart.

However, since that night, she hadn't sought him out, and a sense of doubt had begun to gnaw at him. He couldn't help but wonder if he had misunderstood the gesture. Perhaps the hug was just a polite way of saying goodbye. The uncertainty ate at him, and he found himself yearning for her presence, for the warmth of her smile, and for the sound of her laughter.

Over the past few nights, he had watched as Amaara spent her evenings with Lae'zel, engrossed in reading a githyanki book. It frustrated him to no end; the book had already been translated, and Amaara could have easily read it herself. Good thing they finally finished it. He wasn’t sure how many more nights of that he could take.

This evening, as he lingered by the campfire, a scene unfolded that only deepened his ache of longing. Amaara stood preparing a piece of pork, her hands covered with salt and herbs. Next to her, Gale stirred a pot, scooping some soup to blow delicately before feeding Amaara a taste.

Her eyes lit up in delight, savoring the taste. Their laughter filled the air as they shared their enthusiasm for some seasoning they had found. Their easy camaraderie oozed a profound connection Astarion envied. He watched the intimate exchange like an outsider peering through a frosted window. So commonplace, yet beyond his grasp.

Astarion gazed down at the book clutched in his hands - a rare first edition novel he'd discovered in an abandoned house earlier that day. He had secretly tucked it away in his own pack.

He vividly remembered her eager reaction to the tome Gale had shared. He pictured her keen eyes lighting up, soft lips curving into an appreciative smile when he presented this book to her as a gift.

But on second thought, simply handing over the book was not enough. No, better to draw out her anticipation, sharing a chapter or two each night by the campfire's glow. Let the tale unfold slowly through his theatrical narration, giving him an excuse to linger by her side night after night.

The party was gathered around the campfire after dinner. Amaara sat slightly apart, nose buried in a heavy tome, oblivious to the friendly chatter around her.

Astarion sidled up beside her, peering over her shoulder. "My, that looks terribly dull. All those tiny cramped letters, and not a single illustration," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"It's a chronicle of arcane discoveries in Thay," Amaara explained enthusiastically. "This chapter describes the properties of residuum and its catalytic effects when combined with-"

Astarion held up a hand, chuckling. "Spare me the lecture, my dear. Must your nose be glued to these interminable pages every night?" he chided lightly. "Tonight, I wish to share something far more stimulating."

He held up the leatherbound book bearing ornate silver lettering.

"The first edition of 'The Ballad of Drizzt'!" Amaara's eyes lit up in delight as she traced the embossed title. "However did you get your hands on this rare treasure?"

"I happened upon it in the house we visited today.” He opened the book, turning to the first chapter. "Now this is true literature, with prose as sharp as any rapier," he declared. Clearing his throat, Astarion began reading aloud, his cultured voice expertly infusing the tale with drama and suspense.

Amaara found herself enraptured by his performance. The nuance Astarion brought to the dialogue and description had her hanging on every word.

When at last he closed the book, Amaara applauded enthusiastically.

"Now that was a masterful performance! You truly brought the story to life," she praised.

Astarion flashed a pleased grin at her reaction. "I'm delighted you enjoyed it, my dear. Aren’t these beautifully written stories more rewarding than those dry arcane pages? We can do this every night, bedtime stories."

Astarion's gaze traced along Amaara's features, noting the way her eyes lingered on his lips before lifting to meet his own. A lovely smile spread across her face, carrying a mixture of fondness and shy anticipation, "I would really like that." she said softly.

Amaara's smile, so familiar and bright, filled Astarion's heart with warmth and eased his uncertainty. How he had missed that smile! He couldn't help but be drawn to her soft lips, yearning to feel their warmth against his own.

he leaned in slowly, his intent clear—a kiss, a tender moment of connection. But as he moved closer, Amaara's eyes widened, and she leaned away, creating an abrupt gap between them that was filled only by awkward silence.

Astarion's surprise quickly gave way to hurt, and he couldn't hide the flicker of pain that crossed his features. He had misunderstood, and rejection stung deeply. But then, Amaara reached out, placing her hand gently on Astarion's.

"Forgive me," she began, her voice soft with empathy. "I believed that any act of intimacy might make you uncomfortable. Please, you don't have to do this for my sake."

Astarion's hurt subsided as he realized her intentions. He shook his head gently, his voice filled with sincerity, "I would never say no to a tender kiss from you."

Amaara's smile returned, her eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. "All right," she said, her own bashfulness shining through. "...May I?"

Astarion's heart filled with anticipation. "I would like nothing more," he replied with a soft, genuine smile.

So, she leaned in, closing the distance between them, and placed a gentle, soft kiss on his lips. It was a simple peck filled with warmth and affection, a sweet moment that spoke volumes about the feelings they shared.

A sudden bashfulness washed over Astarion as they pulled away, and if he could, he would have been blushing fiercely. He lowered his gaze for a moment, his words coming out in a soft, almost shy tone. "I really rather liked that, you know?"

He slowly reached out to caress her cheek, "I think… that counts as our first real kiss…and It was perfect.” Like a whisper of spring after endless winter. He silently added.

Seeing Amaara's rosy blush as she nested against him, he felt his unbeating heart swell. No further words were needed in that tender moment.

#I love a man who reads #fluff #bg3 fanart #astarion #astarion fanart #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanart #bg3 fanfiction #amaara ashvale #my oc stuff #astarion x mc #bg3 #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion headcanons #baldurs gate 3 #procreate

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avidfics · 2 years

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Meeting Vi

A/N: I literally love Vi and made this account after watching Arcane. This is kinda a slow burn.

Summary: You get to meet your crush, Vi, for the first time, but she thinks you’re a bad influence on her sister.

Warning: cursing, some simping

Word Count: 2.1k

The wind whipped across your face as you rode through the busy streets of Zaun at night.

“What happened to you promising a fun night with absolutely zero explosions!” You shouted at Jinx, whose arm was bleeding out from where she sat on the motorbike behind you.

She, on the other hand, was acting as if she wasn’t bleeding profusely. Instead, she used the sides of the bike to stand up, making her sway from side to side.

“I said prepare for a fun night FULL of explosions!” the she-devil let out an excited shout in the air.

“I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered that distinction.” You scoff to yourself.

“Just sit still.” You plead with her as you try to not hit the many people walking. “And please explain to me why you’d rather get patched up at a gym than get a real doctor? I’m sure Silco has someone on staff.” Not that you wanted to be in the same room as the most dangerous man in Zaun. Your, already queasy, stomach lurched just at the thought.

Jinx finally sits on the seat and lets out a dramatic sigh. “Silco would make a big whoopie doo and send a hit squad after the idiots who caused this little scrape.” Said ‘little scrape’ was still bleeding The warm blood was sticking to the back of your shirt from where she rested. “No way will I let him in on my heist, it’s my business, not his.”

Abruptly she tries to stand and, once again, you lose control of the bike. “Those ugly bastards better hope I bleed out because they won't get a second chance!”

“Can the mega ass-whopping be paused so we don’t crash!” Your efforts to calm Jinx down are wasted. A pole comes out of nowhere and the front wheel crashes right into it.

The bike lands on your ankle at an odd angle, but you are more concerned with Jinx. What if she landed on her injured arm-

“Great steering skills, chief.” Jinx groans out sarcastically.

“Smart-ass”. “Well, you shouldn’t have dragged us to some back alley doctor.”

Somehow Jinx is able to crawl from under the motorbike easier than you. “I’m just fulfilling my role as an awesome friend - “ Your eyes bug out at the audacity. “I promised a fun night so I delivered you on a silver plate to someone I know you want to have fun with.” She comically wiggles her eyes at you, who is still, lying under the bike.

“What are you talking about -”

Your words are cut off by angry boots slamming against the pavement toward both of you.

“Powder, what the fuck?!”

Without looking up, you know the owner of that voice with every fiber of your being. Your assumption proves correct when Jinx gives you a slow, shit-eating grin. Obviously, the little mischief picked up on the seismic crush you had on her sister, Vi.

“Powder, please tell me that isn’t your blood dripping from your arm.”

“It’s Jinx, and it’s not all my blood. Some of this belongs to the lovely gentlemen Y/N and I played with tonight.”

Vi’s vibrant pink hair whips down at you. The accusatory glare is hard to miss. You squirm under its weight but, you know her mood will change once Jinx actually shares what went down tonight with her sister.

Subconsciously you also wanted Jinx to clear the misunderstanding because you’d hate for Vi to have a negative view of you since you’ve admired her from a distance for some time. It started when a couple of teenage thugs were spray painting obscenities on the window of your tiny bakery. Not to be underestimated, you had a small knife and a bat underneath the cash register that you were prepared to use, but then you’d have to step away from your customers.

Just as you were preparing to take off your apron, Vi came jogging along, hoodie pulled over her head, sleeves bunched at her elbows, and wraps circling her knuckles. The last thing you expected from a complete stranger was to take all four boys down to the ground, groaning in pain, as their paint sprays rolled away on the sidewalk. You stood in shock and watched as she lectured them for five minutes and when she finally let them go, the boys came inside the bakery and apologized.

Those boys still come in twice a month to wash the windows and scrub the floors.

From that day on, you monitored the sidewalk outside your shop everyday at 10 am to watch as Vi went on her morning runs.

Jinx called you a stalker.

Still, you never got a chance to talk to her and it had been eating you up inside. Even now, as she stood less than four feet away from where you still sat on the pavement, scolding Jinx for her recklessness, her proximity was sending your stomach in turmoil.

Being this close to the boxer made your lungs constrict in a panic. Her wide, determined stance with both arms crossed over her chest in a way that made it hard not to notice her well-defined muscles. Just seeing the way her black tank top clung to her made you want to send a prayer of thanks to the heavens for the high temperature.

God, you were no better than a dude. You were supposed to be worried over Jinx, not lusting over her sister.

“Jinx, head inside the gym. There’s someone inside who can patch you up. I’m going to speak to your friend.”

The troublemaker herself rolls her eyes but not before sending you an over-the-top wink. “Sure, you two spend some time being ‘friendly’. Maybe invite Y/N over for a sleepover while you’re at it”

Fuckin Jinx! You wanted to be more upset, but you finally were going to have a conversation with Vi.

“Hi, I’m-”

“Not interested.” The cutoff was a slap to the face. “I only want you to tell me what is Silco trying to use Jinx for now. Don’t look confused, I know you are a low-level thug for Silco. So what? Is he giving you a paycheck if you convince Jinx to mess with gangs on the east side?”

Vi was totally heated; somehow it was turning you on. It wasn’t your fault! She stood over you with full attention on you, a snarl on her beautiful lips.

You shake away the nervousness you had about talking to Vi to try to make sense of what she was saying. “First, I’m no one’s low-level thug, I mean I had skill. Second, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” It sucked that you were still sitting underneath the bike so try standing up, but your ankle wasn’t having it. A sharp pain shot up from your ankle and sent you back to the ground where you started. This might’ve been the most embarrassing moment of your life.

You sheepishly peek up at her. “Mind giving me a hand before we continue?”

One bandaged hand extends down. You have a slight hesitancy, but you place your clammy hand in hers, and that heated warmness returns to your stomach as she grapes your hand in a punishing grip. In a move so fast you miss, Vi yanks your shoulder forward to encroach in your space. Her steel boot finds footing on the bike. Ever so slowly, she steadily adds pressure as it presses into your injured ankle.

Renewed pain burns through your ankle. A startled scream chokes in your throat.

You look up at Vi, incredulous that she would be this violent to you, and what you see back makes you freeze. Vi is kind, gentle, and a tad sarcastic, but she is also protective. No matter how hard you tried to yank your hand away, she kept yours in a vise, squeezing so hard her arms flexed. You can’t help biting your lip because it was kinda hot.

“Shit, what’s your issue!?” Her foot remains constant on the bike. The struggle against her was futile and damning because you had never noticed the cut on her lip before. There was an intense urge to lean up a few inches to run your tongue along it.

Your blatant simping, unfortunately, does not go unnoticed. Vi’s gray eyes had followed yours, bringing that hardened smirk back to her lips.

“Focus darling.” Literally swooning, while being stepped on, a new low. “Everyone knows you work for Silco, so tell me, why are you using Jinx to steal equipment from gangs?” she asks, followed by another intense press of her foot into your injury.

Crap, this was not how you wanted to meet Vi. She was treating you like one of those mischievous boys who spraypainted your bakery and it was pissing you off. “Ow! What part of I don’t know don’t you understand? I worked for Silco, as in, PAST tense. Which, hello, everyone’s sister or brother has in some way or another worked for that maniac. I’m a freaking baker now, my only scheme is trying to pay less for sugar and flour. I’m freaking retired and your sister knows this but somehow she roped me into helping her a few times as a getaway - I have a soft spot for that crazy girl.”

You manage to wrestle a small knife from your waistband and tap it against Vi’s side. “I don’t plan on snitching about Jinx’s plans, now get the fuck off of me so I can check on Jinx.” You dig the blade a smidge deeper.

Vi doesn’t hide her surprise look at you pulling a knife on her. Her shock doesn’t last for long as she smiles, almost looking proud. “Looks like the baker has some edge. Sweet and then sour.” Her smile disorientates you for a second, and that’s all she needs. Her free hand covers your hand that grips the knife. “You seem scared, kitten. Do you know how to use it?” Her thumb gently rubs against the pulse at your wrist.

Your breath shutters as you exhale. “Let go of my hand and you’ll find out.” Secretly you hope she doesn’t call your bluff. Vi wasn’t your favorite person at the moment but you didn’t want to harm her.

Seconds tick by as Vi’s eyes don’t leave yours. Until they do and they go down, lingering at where your v-neck shirt had dropped down, exposing more of your cleavage than you normally show.

You shake your hand from Vi’s to readjust your shirt.

Vi awkwardly clears her throat and places her hands in her pockets as if she suddenly became self-conscious. “Let’s get this bike off of you.” The harsh Vi is gone in a cloud of smoke and the Vi you recognize arrives, but which one is the real Vi?

With one hand she lifts the bike up and puts down the kickstand. She gently lifts you up next, despite your protest. “Let me help walk you inside.”

“First you cause my injury and then you want to make it better?” You shake off out of her hold, completely peeved.

“Cupcake, sloppy motor skills caused your injury -” you let out an irritated sigh. “However, I sure didn’t help it heal. Sorry?” She ducks her head down to give you an apologetic grin. Your heart skips too much to give a reply so instead, you offer her your arm so she can help you limp inside the gym. But Vi must’ve had other plans because she bends until her knees touch the concrete, and looks up expectedly.

“I’m protective of Jinx because she’s the only family I have, but sometimes I go too far. I know Jinx considers you a friend so I am sorry for hurting you.” A gentle hand tugs on your calf. You let out a startled yelp and feel your face heat at how close her face is to the tops of your jean-clad thighs. Her neck is angled straight back to look at you with puppy eyes. “Let me take care of you to show how sorry I am.”

You literally stop yourself from moaning. Vi had a way of making every nerve feel alive and buzzing like a live wire. You believed that she was just looking out for her sister, but you still were going to sulk for a bit.

“Fine.” You wobble around to her back and wrap your arms around her neck. “I don’t want to hear a peep if I’m too heavy.”

A playful pinch on your thigh makes you let out an embarrassing giggle. “Cupcake, I could give you a piggyback ride all week.”

You tried not to think of other kinds of ‘rides’ as she carried you inside the gym.

#vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi arcane

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karniss-bg3 · 8 months

Text

Hope's Shadow

Sequel to Planned Obsolescence

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

Kar’niss retreated to his quarters for the remainder of the day, hiding away from his mistress and the new addition to the manor. He dug through his meager belongings until he found his one source of comfort, a simple music box that had been brought from the surface. He wound up the silver key mechanism in the wooden base to bring it to life. A simple, enchanting melody filled the air which assisted in easing Kar’niss’s anxiety, a rare smile tugged at his lips. His eyes closed which allowed him to surrender to the tune and drift away from his current reality, his personal hell.

Visions flashed in his minds eye. The aroma of a night orchid, the magnificent glow of sussur trees, a fluttering sensation rolling in his chest like warm cider, and the vague memory of a face; Her face. She was delicate and wise, her hand in his leading him through a valley of torchstalks. Fire beetles flew all around them shedding sparks with every beat of their wings. This created a dazzling display akin to sparklers, a feast for the eyes and a wonderment for a boy as young as he was at the time.

“Noura, doesn’t the fire hurt them?” The boy asked. “No, Kar’niss. They are immune to fire for it is their element to control. Many creatures in nature are connected to the elements.” His face crinkled as he mulled the information over. No older than ten he was still learning about the world around him, or at least the world he was meant to know. “What about on the surface? Do they have fire beetles too?” The woman chuckled and turned to face the curious child. “The surface has many wonders of its own. However, it is not a place we are welcome. The surface dwellers do not like drow, they see us as vile beasts to mock and destroy. The Underdark is where we belong, watched over by our glorious goddess, Lolth.” Kar’niss worried his lower lip between his teeth, his fingers curled tighter to grasp Noura’s hand all the more. “That is sad. I was hoping to see it someday, just to know what it looks like. But I don’t want people to mock or hate me.” Kar’niss bowed his head while his feet shuffled against the ground. Noura moved to kneel in front of him, her hands reaching out to cup either side of his face. “That is why it is better to stay here where you know you’ll be valued. Lolth rewards her faithful and if your arcane talents improve, you are sure to rise high in her favor. If not, you’ll find a Matron to serve which honors Lolth just as well.” The boy nodded and leaned into the touch to his face. In Noura there was safety, there was understanding, a far cry from what he could expect from his parents. Noura sensed Kar’niss’s disappointment at being denied a trip to the surface. She reached into her bag and fished out the small music box, placing it within his hands. “Wh-What’s this?” He asked.

“A music box. I obtained it during my last excursion top side, I think you should have it.” “Really?” He looked the item over, turning it around in his hands to study the features. “Yes, really. Just make sure not to play with it while around the Matriarchs, or your family. This is for you and you alone. Consider it a little piece of the surface from me to you.” She smiled. His eyes lit up, quick to hug the mechanism to his chest as if it were a favored stuffed animal. He leaned into her and wrapped an arm around Nourna’s neck to hold fast. “Thank you...thank you...” *** A firm knock upon his chamber door snapped him out of his daze, throwing him back into reality. He scrambled to slam the music box shut silencing the device, spinning around in his chair with some annoyance. How long had he been daydreaming for? “Who is it?” He asked, his voice shaken. “Xaros. May I come in?” Kar’niss groaned, a hand clapping over his face before his palm ran down the length in a single motion. “Fine, enter.” Xaros opened the door and stepped into the room, closing it behind him. He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against a nearby wall, too apprehensive to approach. “I’m not sure what happened before. I know you don’t like me, the older servants never do,” Xaros said. “It’s not my business to like you, it is the Matron’s. We’re here to serve her, our interpersonal relationship means fuck all. Anything else?” Kar’niss turned to put the music box away, his hand swiping at his shoulder to dust it off. Xaros frowned. “I disagree. Our interpersonal relationship holds the greatest importance. After all, we’re merely tools for her entertainment. You and I are the only real souls here, the only ones with a sliver of decency. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “Are you mad or do you just have a death wish?” Kar’niss spun around side eye him. “I could approach her right now and out your blasphemous tongue.” “You could. Then I’ll be flayed, put on display, and discarded like thousands before me. The Matron will find a new toy and the cycle repeats once more. Don’t think you’re safe just because you grovel. You are as much on the chopping block as I am.” “Bullshit,” Kar’niss scoffed, “I’ve served her for years. She may punish me but she knows few could withstand her cruelty as well as I can. I’m an asset, you are eye candy.” Xaros pushed away from the wall and marched over to Kar’niss. He planted one hand on the desk and leaned into his space, locking eye contact with his reluctant counterpart. “I’ve served four different households. I’ve watched fellow consorts castrated for the smallest infractions. Beaten, tortured, discarded like rotten meat, forgotten. I’m sick of the cycle, Kar’niss, and I won’t be played like a fiddle anymore.” Kar’niss clenched his teeth as his fingers curled to make two tense fists. His pending response was interrupted by Xaros grabbing his chin, forcing his head to turn so he could look up at the larger drow. “I saw it in your eyes the moment you appeared. The fear, the loneliness, hopelessness. We’re better than this. I hear on the surface it’s very different, that men are free.” Kar’niss jerked his head from Xaros’s grip. “They hate drow on the surface, man or woman. You’d be trading one slice of hell for a different one. At least down here drow have the chance to thrive, to become something great. You’re buying into human propaganda.” “It is not the humans that feed us propaganda, it comes from our own kind. Drow have an uneasy history with the surface, that is true. But Drizzt and Jarlaxle were not only accepted, they thrived.” “Oh please!” Kar’niss jumped out of his seat and gave Xaros a shove. “You don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t want to entertain this a moment longer. If you value your head then you won’t speak of this anymore, least of all with me. As a fellow consort, this is the only warning I’ll give you. As if you deserve that much to begin with.”

Xaros held up his hands in a defensive stance and took several steps back. “Alright, you win. If this is the life you prefer then I won’t disrupt the harmony.” Kar’niss’s face twisted. “I never said this is the life I prefer. It’s simply better than being dead. Things might change, plenty of consorts have risen above their station. If you spent more time serving and less dreaming about the surface then you could gain Lolth’s favor.” The other drow walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, sparing a glance over his shoulder at Kar’niss. “I’m not the only one with dreams of the surface though, am I?” Kar’niss squinted in confusion, his mouth opening to speak yet the words never came. “Nice music box.” Xaros said as he stepped out of the room.

He felt the color drain from his face, his body feeling as if it had been shoved by phantom hands. He clutched the collar of his shirt, a lump forming in his throat. He opened the desk drawer to peer at his prized possession, admiring the intricate swirling designs carved in the lid. He slid his fingertips over the surface while he shook his head, that bubble of denial expanding in the depths of his gut. “He’s wrong, wrong! Filthy heathen is going to lose his head and he’ll deserve it,” he hissed. His eyes lingered on the trinket, caressing the lid with a gentle touch.

“H-He’ll...deserve it.”

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #fanfic #karniss #headcanon origin story #my writing #drow #underdark #sfw

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tmntxthings · 1 year

Text

Σ一The Villainess, AKA: Cherrypie ‘A Cute-Meet’。・゜・

summary: way before the night of the ball, Y/n and Raph met under pretty average circumstances, if average includes testing out a prototype for a cloaking brooch & a certain special ring getting stolen

author’s note: this is first prequel to the ongoing collab with <3 @marwhoa <3 we have been contemplating more prequels to continue adding depth to the story and ofc the almighty ‘part two’

warnings: rise!raph x villain!reader, cloaking brooch au, secret identities, cute meet, fluff

〔you’re here〕 → next

—————————————————————————

Through one of the very few quiet streets of the city, a hand emerges from the wall. Around it glitters magenta sparks, twinkling as an entire body follows through it. As dazzling an entrance as that was, this particular stranger happened to be dressed simply. A plain, ruffled, scarlet dress with a billowing skirt, accented by the pair of matching sandals wrapping up her calves, and tied together by a red clutch-purse as its accentuating piece. ‘Plain-Jane’ blinked away a crackle of red magic that was quite literally drawn into a ring upon her finger. Small bits of arcane energy surged in, bouncing erratically beneath the clear film protecting ruby crystals inside—all until the last twinkle blipped into the vacuum.

With a few calming rotations of the ring around her digit and a tucking of stray hairs behind her ear, the silent street was filled by soft tmps of the mysterious newcomer’s light footsteps. Perpendicular to the alley she has appeared through, a sneaky peek was given before she stepped out the next pin-drop quiet street with sidewalks that likely experienced so little foot traffic that they just might be clean enough to eat on.

Luckily, this lass wasn’t here to dine on the sidewalk picnic style—no, no, she was here for a special café that was quite literally the hidden gem beaten off the path. Had it not been for her frequenting, it likely wouldn’t be able to stay open. THAT is just how out of the way it was. Alright, that may have been blown out of proportion, but Y/n couldn’t care less as she and her temporarily-inflated self-importance pushed through the doors. Immediately she was woken up by the soothing hold of coffee grinds and baked goods. They cradled her, placing energizing kisses upon both cheeks.

A barista greeted the door’s chiming bell with a cheerful good morning and “Welcome to Sugar n’Spice!”

Any sleepiness brave enough to stay in your system from a bright and early rise wouldn’t stand a chance in this quaint, domestic place and its enlivening, ambrosial scents as you approached the counter. A glance was passed to the occupants of the room—a man who looked like he just got out of the gym, two sickly looking old ladies by the window, a lady bouncing a kid on her hip, and a man in a suit who’s foot tapped in a ‘watching the clock closely’ fashion.

Giving a curt “Excuse me,” as you navigated around the impatient man, you swallowed the bitterness upon your tongue for these humans who had the privilege to be here, topside, all day, any day. Hold back that discontent, for there is one important rule! A personally appointed exception, specially made for Sugar n’Spice: this place was divine enough to escape your witchy wrath. Show utmost respect by refraining from the usual ‘Hidden City Dweller seething at the humans.’ You could do that anywhere but here. This place was the holy land. The heavenly pinnacle of coffee—the SACRED LAN—

“Ma’am …?”

The barista tilted their head towards you playfully as that increasingly bizarre inner monologue settled abruptly. The distractions were waved off by a shaking of your noggin and an apologetic smile. “Sorry! Caught up with something—could I get the spiced Red Velvet latte? Please.”

Your lips shifted into a patient smile as the barista practically sighed in relief, hand on their chest as they muttered, “..much more normal than that last customer,” under their breath. You quirked an eyebrow at this but quickly rested your features. Humans complained too much for folks that—no! No, no, Y/n, quit it. The rule, remember the rule!

“Oh! Also, can I do the student discount? I’m an Eastlaird student.”

There was a missed opportunity as three of the occupants in the room perked up upon hearing that name; alas, your attention was instead fixated on your red clutch. Swiftly unlatching it and digging out two cards: one to show to the barista, your ID, and the second, your debit card. The animated worker leaned in, nodded at the little plastic, and took off some of the charge via the ‘Sugar n’Spice’s Nice Discount.’ With just one swipe of a debit card and a little wave after the machine’s little ‘doot!’ , you were all ready to go and await your beloved order. Your seeking eyes gazed all around the room in search of a table to claim until landing fondly upon a small two-seater. There, in the corner opposite of the old ladies and other waiting humans, was a perfectly empty space. Morning sun rays seemed to illuminate a chair for you to sit in, whispering a ‘come here to enjoy the one thing humans were able to do right, dear!’

After a moment to place your things upon the uninhabited table, you then went over and leaned against the counter near where orders came out and scrolled nonchalantly through your cellular. A scoff or two may have escaped at whatever human news headlines caught your eyes, at least up until your expression glimmered with a split-second of trepidation as an instinctual swipe did away with an unwanted notification.

NOTIFICATION

You have one new message.

———————————————————

➤ MOTHER sent now

Where are you?

Not here, please, agonized the disguised witch silently. This was your one true escape—the one and only getaway from home that you had. Away from the mystic training, away from her, and into a place where you could be a normal... A normal what, human? Don’t even think about finishing that thought.

But, Sugar n’Spice cafe… this was one of the only human-made delights you had…

Surely that granted you one little ‘cross my heart’ secret kept, right?

Trapped in your chest was a deep sigh; you didn’t want to think about your mother. It felt like she had done nothing but push you to your limits as of lately. Constantly claiming that your magic “wasn’t performing at its peak.”, That you “should train more,” —no, even MORE than that, that you should only be training. The ever-lingering pressure to perform and perform well, lest you don’t come up to par with your mother’s expectations, it was starting to get ridiculous. “Seriously Y/n, are you even trying? If you don’t start taking training seriously—” You quickly shoved the memory away violently.

The little device was hastily shoved into your clutch, along with the unpleasant memory. Your eyes closed as the subconscious habit of twisting your ring came in full swing. You did it mostly when nervous, but every so often it would give off a calming effect—and per usual, it served to ground your racing heart in the here and now.

This place was your safe haven. You didn’t want to mar its charm by thinking of that hateful woman who did nothing but dampen your spirits. Just as you were opening your eyes after building up your resolve, one of the baristas called out, “Spiced Red Velvet latte!” Right on time, just the thing to completely nip these nerves in the bud as if clicking a ‘do not disturb for at least an hour’ switch.

You were so focused on your destination, hand reaching out for its prize. So focused in fact, your hand jolted and floated stiffly as your peripheral caught another hand closing in. Far closer than a stranger’s hand should be, and your eyes were blown wide, resting upon the intruder heading straight for the cup—your cup.

“Oh—”

Both of you stilled. You followed the hand up until you met the gaze of a culprit who dared to try and steal the drink you ordered every single visit! Just as quickly as you made eye contact with a pair of emerald eyes, the barista’s worried voice snagged your attention once more.

“—that’s right! Sorry, both of you ordered the spiced red velvet latte,” clarified the worker behind the counter, slowly, nervously, pulling their hand away from the fresh beverage. “The, uh, the next one will be out shortly!” They amended, turning back to concocting tasty drinks.

“Sorry! You can go ahead, I’m in no rush.”

Your gaze returned to those bright green irises. His voice was deep and soothing, offering a soft smile as he dipped his head towards your drink. Or rather, a drink whose fate laid in the hands of you both. A shared dilemma.

“Wait—wait what?”

Cue the double-take. From the drink, to those curious green eyes, right on back to the drink. Was this… Selflessness? Displayed by one who belonged to a selfish society? “You’re just letting me have it?”

Now, by no means would you ever forfeit something of yours to a human. Not even a drink mishap like this! But, what stopped you in your tracks was the lack of a rude ‘I’ll be taking this! You can wait for the next drink.’ from the stranger.

“Well, yeah, a’course. Raph prides ‘imself on bein’ respectful— ‘s good manners, too.” He was beaming with a proud grin, crossing his arms and standing with a stance that seemed all-too-heroic. The “amaze” factor of his pose was severely detracted by the gym clothes he wore. Basketball shorts and a tank top, sneakers—was this dude on a morning jog? Not the most heroic get-up.

“R.. Right..” Y/n’s eyes rested on the cup and its steam, lingering there for long enough that the drink’s twin had been completed and slid out on the counter, metaphorically framed by the worker chirping, “Another spiced red velvet latte, for here!”

The gears in your head were turning, still frozen by the smallest gesture, far too small for anyone else, but that meant so much more to you. This is a sign, echoed a thought. As he took his drink, you couldn’t have missed him doing a victorious fist to the air and muttering “You still got it, big guy! The precious drink has been secured.” The whimsical nature of the whole interaction had your hand moving before anything could be thought through enough, driven by a single fear. Pushing your hand, the fear begged you, as though letting this one leave here and now would become the biggest regret of your life.

“Wait,”

You nearly whispered the word, feeling an uncharacteristic thump in your chest as those same green hues turned and locked with your own shaky eyes.

“Someone who loves Sugar n’Spice’s spiced red velvet lattes as much as I do, th-that’s hard to find. ‘Cause, y’know what they say, it’s too much sugar and spice.”

“It’s too much sugar n’spice.”

Laughter brought the two together within seconds as the realization that they said the same thing at the same time set in. Y/n’s nerves dissolved—and to be frank, so did this particular stranger’s, not that you would know that.

A shaky invitation was proposed, asking him if he’d like to sit together and share company. With a toothy smile and a nod, the two sat at her claimed table, humming at the clinks the cups made when their bottoms met the polished redwood of the café tables. Just before either could start conversation, one of the old ladies across the room gasped dramatically loud. Y/n would have looked over, had it not been for the man in front of her quickly covering up the scene with a cough and interjection.

“So!”

His voice cracked, seeming to choke on a bit of unease as your eyes returned to him.

“Ya gotta be a regular, too, then?”

“Yes—what gave it away?”

Y/n inquired, taken aback by such a bizarre deduction. Seriously, what gave it away? She glanced at her drink, her seat, and then to the board. The evidence revealed itself before he continued.

“These drinks ‘ave long since been taken off the menu, but they still serve ‘em for the few regulars who knew about it.”

The happy trill he gave upon sipping the hot drink further lowered your guard as you leaned into your hand. The little voice in your head placed its imaginary hands on your shoulders, leaning into your ear with an ecstatic ‘maybe this one’s a good human? say, don’tcha think nice humans exist? there’s the owners of sugar n’spice, so can’t there be others !!?’

“Quite the observant eye you have, sirrrr… Raph” Dragging out the last word until the name came back to you, the same one he said earlier. You were banking on that having been a third-person-speaking moment as opposed to him giving the name of an absentee.

“Raph,” He nodded in confirmation, to which you dipped your head with him, copying his nod.

“And your name?”

“Oh, it’s Y/n.” Your voice spoke sheepishly, wondering why it had taken you so long to say so.

“Issa lovely name, and a pleasure to meet ‘cha!”His smile was so warm and comforting that you let go of the embarrassment swirling around your head, heating your cheeks. Play it off as being from your drink’s steam, that’ll work! Go on, a little ‘shoooo’ to the maroon-red liquid before taking the lightest sip. Ah, it’s still too hot.

“How long ‘ve you been a patron?”

The friendly human asked in order to continue the conversation. This had a tiny smile appearing on your face. You almost couldn’t remember the first time you stumbled into SnS. You blew out a winded raspberry.

“It’s been a good long while..” Pondering hums reverberated from within as your hands lifted the drink once more in a contemplative sip. This was your first year at Eastlaird, so that …plus a couple of years more, Ah!

“Around 3 or 4 years,”

The cup’s bottom tapped the tabletop with a light clink. Ever since you had found one of the more far-off gateways from the Hidden City to the topside, your nose had followed the sweet aroma of coffee. Now every time you snuck away from your mother, you made sure to squeeze a stop here into the schedule. Fortunately for you, sneaking away was one of your specialties, thus your regular status at said coffeehouse.

“Well Raphs been grabbin’ a drink here for 5 or so years!”

The huma— Raph, added after you finished. You wondered internally how miraculous it was that neither of you had run into each other before.

…

…….

Silence filled up the space around you both. Though the conversation had reached a momentary halt, Raph caught himself lingering on a potential topic. Should he bring up Eastlaird? It was an overheard tidbit from the exchange between you and the employee at the register. But, how could he phrase it without sounding like a bit of a creep for eavesdropping in the first place? He glanced up from his glass to find you staring out of the window. Head angled slightly upwards as though captivated by something, and so his own gaze curiously followed yours to the bright blue sky.

Nothing particularly interesting nor impressive stuck out to him. It was just an ordinary sky—not exactly a clear sky, an occasional cloud would make it’s gradual trek across the expanse—, but as his eyes came back to you, it seemed your eyes saw something else in the overhead canvas. A soft smile graced your lips as your eyes affectionately soaked up the view. Maybe it was the strokes of light morning pinks and golden yellows streaking across the canvas. Or it might have been the dashes of clouds, like stretched-out cotton clouds, pinned to the board for depth. Something about this thing that Raph had seen every day yet never truly seen, the twinkle in your eyes had him taking another look. The atmosphere between the two of you opened up to him as he began to realize the position he was in.

Here, at a table for two, with a lady as pretty as you. Deceiving you, disguised and still daring to watch fondly at this vulnerable smile you gave. You were the perfect picture of someone who saw a world he didn’t, and that very thing was leaving a sour pit in his chest. Raph immediately looked down at his drink, taking another swig, but this time the sweet drink left a bitter aftertaste. Everything he did sounded louder to his ears—picking the cup up, swallowing the latte, placing it back down. He was suddenly all too aware of every action he made. How couldn’t he be? Look at you, so well put-together and serene, and here he was making a blunder of the whole conversation. You went out of your way to invite him, and his thanks to that was uninteresting small-talk.

Raph suddenly felt…

Boring.

…

The gap in the conversation only seemed to widen as the two of you both scavenged for the next topic. It was an understatement to say it was humiliating to you—inviting a stranger, who was a human also, don’t forget that very important bit, and then proceeding to give them the driest conversation in existence?

You took the pause as a chance to take in your delightful beverage, and it seemed he had the same idea. As the rays of sunlight filtered in through the bay window beside your table, framed by decorative brown curtains made of the silkiest fabric and lined with gauzy trim, you both had your spirits raised as you bask in warmth and contentment brought at the sweet and refreshing sting of the beloved lattes. As true to their name, the delicate blend of sugar and spice displayed a masterful dance upon your tongue. It was just the kind of drink to set you at ease and clear your head entirely, so much so that you found yourself needing to place the glass down gently and excuse yourself to the bathroom.

A splash or two met your face, dragging you out of the vulnerable trance that the latte left you in.

Think about it, you are sharing a table with someone you hate. Well, not him personally, but his people! They treated your folks so poorly, shunning and belittling them. Don’t even think for a second that your community had forgotten the witch trials!

But, the little voice in your head interjected. This is someone showing us something different. Surely you see that, right? He is yet another example of a good human, and there has to be more, Y/n, you know it deep down!

And just like that, Y/n could feel herself slowly turning back to thoughts she once had as a child—all because of this, this!

This guy. Something about him was making her falter on the hatred her mother ingrained in her. Something about him was making this soldier fall out of line…

And back at the table, that someone was almost disturbing those around him with how his leg was bouncing. A ding from his phone made his knee instantly knock against the table, spilling some of the liquid in his drink-twin’s cup. Begin the panic! Napkin after wadded napkin built up on the table as Raph worked to clean up the spill as best as he could, almost going so far as to pour some of his in to make up for the bit lost. Alas, some restraint was exercised while checking the notification that started this whole debacle to begin with.

It was from a certain nosy brother, texting for “the deets“ of what was going on.

Agitated, he turned to the old ladies at the window who instantly—DESPERATELY—looked everywhere else, pretending they weren’t just boring holes into the back of his head.

“Knock it off, you two! I will not be giving you the ‘deets!‘ So stay out of it—you’re throwing me off”

Raph turned back after having whisper-shouted to the ‘ladies’. No, scratch that, to the not-so-dearest brothers clad in blue and purple who took to elderly human disguises. Why, you may ask? To keep an eye on their brother who was currently trying out a mystic cloaking prototype.

As he leaned into the palm of his hand, huffing and twiddling with the delicate chain around his neck, Raph thought back on what led up to him being here, his special café, with THEM, his meddling little brothers. His human thumb ran across the twinkling ruby as it gave off a magical glow.

So, roll back the cameras—back before you strolled through the door.

Raph had a rather awkward entrance. By no means had he fibbed about frequenting here for the past five years, but there was a crucial detail left out.

This was the first day that he came in with so little clothes.

Not like that, no, I mean that he usually only ventures into the human’s stores and public spaces in get-ups that had him sticking out like a sore thumb. Like seriously, who wears scarves, hats, masks, and coats in summer and spring? But today, clad with a magical item, he was just a normal human being. Normal humans had the privilege of not melting themselves under radiating suns from seasonally-inappropriate disguises. They also held the privilege of getting their drink ‘for here’ instead of ‘to-go.’

And boy was he grateful for that on this day specifically.

See, when he had his antsy, awkward encounter with the barista minutes before you came in, he had been all-too-prepared to grumpily seat himself with the odd old ladies. He had even encouraged himself, “Alright Raph, you got this!” before making a complete fool of himself.

“Raph would like to buy one spiced red velvet latte, thank you….”

He and the worker exchanged glances for a few moments. Nobody could miss the quirked eyebrow they gave at his approach. Recovering from the oddity, they typed away on their device then wordlessly stared up at him. Raph felt that there was something to be done now, as though their eyes were conveying a ‘Well? Go on?’ message. Come on, Raphie, you’ve done this a million times over, why now do you blank out?

“And uh… Where does he pay..?”

Raph added, giving an apologetic smile to the poor worker whose face almost read as ‘this isn’t the normalest customer service experience I’ve had, but it definitely isn’t the worst.’ They gestured to the card reader, adding a low, confused “here, sir.”

After he then fumbled with his card, Raph finally paid and made his way to the pick-up counter. Not so bad.. definitely could do better. Nonetheless, he was brimming with pride from configuring how to order, as a human. He rocked back n’forth on his heels, only coming to a standstill when his attention gravitated towards the baristas working fluidly. Down he came from all the jittery nerves of talking to a human, especially while in a rather comfortable outfit, perfected with the stylish mutant-cloaking necklace! Raph almost started fiddling with the golden chain yet again, this time out of grateful thank yous to the inanimate jewelry piece.

But he held himself back, hands shifting down into his pockets. Donnie had told him plenty of times to, “refrain from touching it.” Which, fair, it was a prototype, and Raph was sure he would need to permanently avoid this place if he shifted back in front of all these people! Or, well, all the workers. Not really a busy place when you’re quite literally a hidden gem. Needless to say, he was only halfway aware of his surroundings when the door chimed. A bell rang out and in walked a figure wearing his favorite color.

Now the color alone would always catch his eye, but the reason he lingered was solely because of her. First, he started at the sandals. Awfully pretty, especially with how they wrapped up and around her calves. Raph could never pull that off, he concluded mentally. Next, his gaze continued to climb, taking in the red dress. The way it—

He blinked and began chiding himself for staring so blatantly. It wasn’t polite! Raph’s eyes darted back to the front and center, aimlessly looking at the menu he may or may not have known well enough to not even look. Away his gaze went, searching for yet another sight to focus on. Ah, right, he noticed the baristas had yet to start on his drink, which he didn’t mind, he wasn’t in a rush for anything more than a normal thing to look at for as long as needed without being creepy. A sign, a table, even a chip in the floors! But all too quickly he found his eyes roaming back to her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail; although, a few pesky strands must have been bothering her because occasionally her swift hand moved to brush them right back behind her ear.

His phone buzzed, bringing him back from his staring trance once again. It was the perfect opportunity to distract himself, and so when he glanced at the notification, the last thing he wanted to see was a notification from Leo. Raph held in an eye roll as he read, ‘Staring quite hard there, brother of mine’ He promptly let his phone slip back into the pockets of his basketball shorts, leaving the message on delivered.

Though he did lull his head towards the two elderly dressed women in one corner of the coffeehouse, giving the one clad in blue a hard stare that read his reply, Shut up. Raph knew full well he was guilty of the accused crime, staring. Didn’t mean he wanted or needed to be called out by his very annoying little brother, and it definitely didn’t help that Leo had a smug face despite the ridiculous amount of makeup he had on. “Gotta look the part!” Leo’s voice echoed in Raph’s head from earlier this morning, as Leo somehow forced Donnie to put on the makeup as well. They looked absurd, and Raph was thankful for the cloaking necklace now more than ever.

Still, Raph found his gaze trailing back to you so much that he dragged his hands down his face, stretching and groaning out, low and exhausted. It wasn’t till the call for a “Spiced red velvet latte!” broke his trance enough that he sluggishly moved over. Like a crescendo, his energy came back with each step until he reached for his drink with a polite nod to the barista. Their shocked look and follow-up sentence was what brought his eyes elsewhere. Down to the cup.

The hand he recognized much-too-quickly stiffly hovered near, and her gaze was a mixture of an unknown emotion and pure confusion. He, too, stiffened up as though meeting the eyes of Medusa herself. Gosh, she’s even prettier up close, a side-tracked thought said, only for him to recoil his rude hand and gesture to the drink. He was apologizing before your gaze could shift into anything that may have ached his heart, following it up with insisting you take the drink. He could wait! Whatever you were saying next was muffled as he found himself entirely entranced, answering in automated sentences that may or may not have been prepared, had he found himself locked in small talk with a human.

So, to break the trance, he accepted the next identical latte handed to him and turned, quick to flee the scene. That is, until the spell knocked up a notch with your hand on him, inviting him to sit.

And that is exactly how he got into this position: sipping his latte as he watched you come back over to your rightful seat, having left the lavatory. All while trying his best to look like a normal person who definitely did not make some of your drink rock out of its mug a second ago. No, not him. Totally. He’s innocent.

“Sorry! I was, er… Splashing my face. To do away with some sleepiness…”

Raph nodded, taking another sip of his drink that had since cooled down. Did he look guilty? Was he playing it off? He choked up on the sweet liquid upon your next statement.

“Whuh—it’s sticky, did you spill something?”

Curiosity and a bit of wariness swirled in your eyes as they bore through him, begging for an answer. He was caught red-handed, entirely so. All he could do was admit his crime, a sigh slipping his lips as he gave an ashamed look to the left like a regretful puppy-dog.

“I was hopin’ I’d cleaned up alla mess ‘fore ya got back. I had some nervous jitters and knocked the table.. Sorry, Y/n..”

There was yet another one of those uncharacteristic thumps in your chest when his eyes met yours, pleading forgiveness. Rather than the usual bitterness settling in your chest, you found yourself a tad bit more patient towards this special boy. Your cheeks flushed, emitting a heat soothed by the cool side of your hand pressing against it with an even more uncharacteristic stammering.

“Y-You’re fine.. Thank you, for the honesty and clearing the mess.”

The next bout of silence was less awkward and more-so dizzying—in a good way. It fluttered your heart and felt welcoming. As the last bit of your drink passed your lips and settled inside, filling you with blissful comfort, you held out a hand for his empty mug. Perhaps a change of heart would do you some good—a kind gesture returned for someone who truly deserved none of your hatred. His eyes met yours, quickly understanding as he stood and passed the cup to you. This moment was coming to an end, and somehow that made your eyes sting for a moment. It was almost as if a tear was threatening you to prolong it as the ceramics were placed upon their respective ‘for-washing’ pedestals at the disposal corner.

“Well, Raph… it was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.”

His smile had you considering an option you would never ever do. Your mind strayed to where your phone was, itching to ask this boy a certain question. Together, you both walked out of the café—and again, you missed how the two old ladies were practically becoming the window with how hard they pressed to the glass, nosily watching.

The morning sun was still bright in the sky, shining through clouds in a way that almost spotlighted you guys as you gathered the courage to ask! Turning to face him, you bit the bullet and opened your mouth!

“Could we exch—IRK!”

Y/n lurched forwards when someone knocked into her in a fashion that just couldn’t have been played off as an accident. Thankfully she had bumped straight into Raph (and tried desperately to ignore how nice his chest felt), but the draining, nauseating feeling that began quickly washing over was enough to raise alarms.

And she knew the exact cause. It wasn’t the closeness to a human or the lack of an “excuse me” or “sorry” for shoving her. No, there was another, far more important cause to the sickness tightening. Y/n raised her dominant hand, holding her clutch and finding that a special ring was no longer wrapped around her finger. Of the things to have taken, had this one thing seemed much more important than a literal wallet?!

“The nerve of some people! He totally meant th—Y/n, whoa, ya look pale! Are you okay?”

His hand instinctually made contact with you, brushing some stray hairs away from your face as you had done a few times earlier.

“Th-That guy, he—thief, he took my-my!”

You held your hand, twirling air around where a ring once was. Raph blanked for a second, thinking you had meant something to do with your clutch, but as his eyes zeroed in on the light prints of an absent ring, it suddenly all made sense to Raph. A rushed “What? Wait here,” was muttered before he was quickly pursuing the thief. All while leaving you against the outside walls of the café.

You watched Raph’s figure leave. A heavy exhale clawed itself from your chest. How foolish! You had been so caught up in thought—about asking for Raph’s number, that you had allowed someone to get so close. Too close, right into your personal space, and completely able to swipe your ring.

That small piece of jewelry was dearer to you than anything else you owned. It was what contained your power, or rather, what kept it in control. Without it, you were a hazard who started leaking mystic energy immediately. Red sparks crackling around your eyes when you were pushed.

Just seconds from a potential disaster, but somehow it was Raph’s voice that snapped you out of it. You couldn’t lose control here in front of the one place you swore to protect from your evil. You wouldn’t lose control in front of him. So when you barely explained with a shaky voice and he quickly sprung into action, leaving you, there was relief swirling around. This was a good thing. You’d rather him not be around to witness if you couldn’t maintain a firm grip on your power. Not him. Okay, try to distract yourself. Control, think about anything else, anything but your magic right now.

Oh, right! He had held you!

The thought struck you so fiercely your cheeks heated to the same shade as your dress. The warmth of his arms holding you lingered. Even just remembering the feel of his broad chest had you utterly distracted. And it hadn’t stopped there! He had brushed your hair away from your face, his fingers so careful and gentle. That type of touch was quite foreign to you. It had you blushing even more furiously than before—if that was even possible. Your eyes never left Raph’s back until he dashed out of view into an alleyway.

…

As soon as Raph had seen your expression twist and realized you had been wronged, it was like his body moved before his brain could catch up. The perpetrator had sped up into a jog, after hearing Y/n call out “thief.”

Luckily there weren't that many people crowding the sidewalks this morning. Especially since this part of the city wasn't as advertised. Raph’s green eyes tracked the punk as he dodged into an alleyway. He pushed himself faster, shrinking any chances of this guy getting away right on down to zero. Maybe even into the negatives if he tried hard enough,

Fate was on Raph’s side, as is befitting of the hero, because he slowed to a stop to find the petty criminal glaring at the dead end before him. The universe was practically handing this criminal over to Raph in a cute little red bow right now.

“Alright felon, hand back the stolen ring.”

His voice was rough and commanding. Above all else, he despised those who preyed on the weak. Criminal acts like these deserved a good beating, but Raph was willing to compromise on that if this perp coughed up the ring without making things difficult.

“Back up, hero!”

The cornered thief sneered as he brandished a knife, waving it threateningly.

Raph couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. If only this guy knew! Raph and his brothers faced weapons tenfold more menacing on every patrol. He doubted such a dull thing could even pierce his shell. For a second, he toyed with the thought of taking off the cloaking necklace. Showing his true form. This punk looked like the type to wet himself, and the slight trembling in his hand that wielded such a crude weapon didn’t go unnoticed by Big Raphie.

“They always wanna do it the hard way,”

Raph murmured, shaking his head as he moved forward. This guy was sorely underestimating him. It was comical! Raph ended up wondering if his human form, despite its size, just wasn’t all that intimidating. That would be new to him. So Raph opted for using this to his advantage. After all, he may look big, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fast, and what was more rewarding than proving wrong the criminal foolish enough to underestimate the Raphael Hamato?

The crook hardly got a second to blink before he was sprawled out on the ground, clutching his gut as he dragged in wounded breaths. Securely in Raph’s palm rested a wooden ring, Y/n’s ring. It had a band of red jewels inside that glimmered brightly even though the alleyway was covered in shadows. He smiled to himself, it seemed as though you really liked this color. His color.

Yet another thing the two of you had in common, other than drinks. How much more did the two of you share interest in?. He wanted—no, needed—to find out.

Now Raph was sure he had held back on his punches, but it was painfully obvious this culprit was struggling to even stand. I see no issue with him turning his back on a downed enemy, do you? Was that overkill? No? Maybe? Who’s here to judge him, honestly?

“Next time, think twice before stealing from a pretty lady.”

He growled over his shoulder before starting up a run back to you. Raph hoped he hadn’t taken too long as he tried to move just a little faster to get back to your side.

Since having been left by Raph, you were finding each second to be harder and harder to restrain the burst of overflowing magic. Thoughts and distractions could only take you so far before fizzling out. Just as you were your mother’s vessel for revenge, that ring was your vessel for magic—a conduit, even. Others would even call it your arcane focus.

Bottomline was, without it, you could barely handle the destructive force pinballing around within. It seems the state you were in was so worrying that the two elderly ladies from the cafe came out, frantically bickering in harsh whispers that were all too muffled in your ears.

Was it getting hot in here, or was it just you? Anyone else? Just you? Alright. Your body pressed harder into the cafe’s brick walls, soothed by the coolness they held. Your head was spinning, with worry and desperation. Was this area hidden enough to attract more danger? Had you really been so foolish as to leave yourself open in prime human territory? Hell, what if this was all an elaborate trick and that thief was actually in cahoots with Raph, and vice versa?

But, what if these are all just your delirious, panicked thoughts? Remember the little voice, the one beckoning hope. She wants to believe humans are good. She wants to believe Raph is good.

You want to believe humans are good, don’t you? How did that one saying go, the one about how even the smallest things can cause the biggest changes? However it went, it seemed this Raph human might have been your smallest thing, creating this ripple of thoughts in your head.

Or, again, maybe that’s the delirium.

You had almost entirely given up on the last bits of hope for Raph being good when finally you saw his silhouette running back to you. He had the widest grin on his face, waving your focus in the air and calling out “Y/n! I got it, ya don’t gotta worry!”

You weren’t sure when the ladies had left, but when he slowed down in front of you and took your hand, you couldn’t help but notice you were all alone.

Old humans were… strange.

Color returned to your skin, the plummeting left your chest, and your tremors ceased as the polished wooden ring slid back into its rightful place upon your hand.

“Th-Thank you…”

You breathed out, allowing yourself to press into him once again with your senses returning faster than you were capable of handling with a straight face. Your forehead rested against his chest as the overflowing energy was being vacuumed right on back to the ring, leaving you far more winded than any training session with Mother had done.

“It’s no problem, Y/n… This ring must be really important to have you this… Upset…”

His voice was softer than it had been during your talks inside. There was obvious concern and worry laced in it. Such kindness was nearly unrecognizable to you, so forgive the temporary dependence on it.

“More than you know, Raph..”

You replied, rubbing the ring so that it twirled around your skin—a nervous habit that Raph took notice to almost immediately. Forgive him, as well, for the heightened attention he had on you right now. A fond smile settled upon his lips as something came back to him suddenly.

“About your question a moment ago, before… well, this. Sure.”

“What?”

You looked up, confused by what he meant. The smile he gave you was enough to put even more hope in your head, eroding the grime and muck that poisoned you, beckoning you deeper to the villainous pits.

“T’exchange numbers, right? That was what ya almost asked?”

Oh! You had completely forgotten that part. Straightening up and taking a coy step back from him, you pulled your cellular from a pocket in your dress (because, really, what villain wears a dress without pockets? never you, of course) and handed it to him with bashful joy.

After the exchange, you both waved your goodbyes, then turned your adoring gaze to the contact in your phone.

𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 (𝘚𝘙𝘝 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘯)

（1）𝘟𝘟𝘟－𝘟𝘟𝘟－𝘟𝘟𝘟𝘟

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palidoozy-art · 1 year

Text

Me and my group started a one-shot in Pathfinder 2E that might honestly transition to a full-fledged campaign. But because my work is never finished, I decided that for this campaign I'd try a "theme" of old jRPGs.

The tokens are heavily based off of Octopath Traveler's, and the portraits are heavily based off of the original Final Fantasy 7.

More of me rambling under the cut.

One of our players had a birthday and couldn't really make the session, so while they were absent my players wanted to try out more of Pathfinder 2e. I wanted to play more of Kjosev, so we decided we'd have a campaign set waaay the fuck back in time.

Almost 200 years ago in our weird CoS/homebrew world, there was an eclipse (caused by the Lord of Twilight Woods/Serafim) that lasted for an entire year. The world went from essentially quasi-industrial/advanced to early medieval, and roughly 75% of the population was killed off. When my players want to create new countries or races, one of the first things I ask them is "how did they survive the Eclipse?" -- because that's how impactful it was.

... so we decided: hey, wouldn't it be cool if we ran something set there? So that's how it started.

It'll also be one of the first time I get to be a full-fledged player in 3+ years, as Ellerian's player will be taking the reins and DMing (the concept interests him a lot). The Eclipse hasn't happened yet, and I don't know when it will. He's told me "I want you guys to fall in love with the world first, then I want to take that away."

The characters, from their portraits, left to right, top to bottom;

Calim (Chaotic Good Summoner) - A blind first quarter elunin (rabbitfolk/viera from my previous post) who can only 'see' through his summon, a shadow drake. He's a college dropout and constantly cracks jokes about being blind. Didn't even know he was a summoner until he finally managed to pull out an eidolon to save a slave girl.

Juno (Lawful Good Fighter) - A genderless waning gibbous elunin who serves as a member of the Night Watch. They take their job extremely seriously. The party hasn't gotten a chance to meet them much, sadly, but hopefully will get more interaction in the future.

Kjosev (Neutral Good Druid) - A dusk elf druid that I've rambled about extensively, but he's a druid of Twilight Woods. A former wizard and seer, he lost his ability to cast arcane spells after being tortured and paralyzed in parts of his hands. He adapted to druidic magic after isolating himself in the Woods. Left to try to warn people of a great calamity. He doesn't know what, specifically, is going to happen, just that it'll be bad.

Genrik (Lawful Evil Summoner) - A dusk elf who was a former teacher. He's a dusk elven supremacist, calling humans 'hairless apes' and insisting that the dusk elf kingdom will rise again. Eventually. It won't, but he seems pretty sure of himself. He only escaped the destruction by stealing a fiend (to enslave, of course) and fleeing when the armies came. He assumes everyone knows him (they don't).

So far they are extremely fun, and I am excited about it. The style also saves me a lot of time as we can just, uh. Borrow sprites from Octopath and other jRPGs.

#palidoozy arts #artists on tumblr #d&d #d&d art #ttrpg #pathfinder #look i literally don't know if i should tag this both as d&d and pathfinder #because the world involves both game systems #so fuck it it goes as both #there's also a chance we may switch to 5e again midway through depending on the group feel

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astudyincontrasts · 2 years

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Could we get a Viktor drabble where he’s doing that thing teenagers do when they written their name and your name in their journal to see how they sound with your last name?

And getting caught 👀

As you wish, anon. And if Viktor getting caught writing things about reader is your jam, might I suggest A Theory by @gaybybirth which is the fic that dragged me kicking and screaming back into writing on tumblr.

Round and around and around that long finger. How he could twirl chestnut strands so much and not have given himself a permanent little curl or even a tiny bald spot behind his ear was beyond you. As it was he had cowlick after wispy soft cowlick curling errantly in the mess of his hair. It was irritatingly endearing, terribly distracting. Had your own fingers itching every time he started up that bad habit to slap his hand gently aside and and rake your own fingers back down his scalp. Difficult not to think what it would feel like, the silk mess of that hair carded between fingers. To watch him tilt is head back, close those tired amber eyes slowly. Thick lashes dark against pale cheekbones. Let you kiss bruised, tired eyelids softly...

No.

No, thoughts ran away with you far too easily. Not even thoughts - silly fantasies. He was terribly busy, terribly important. Him and Mr. Talis. Busy building the future of Piltover and leashing the power of those terrifyingly unstable hex crystals to allow teleportation across continents, across worlds. And all you could think of was touching that babyfine soft hair that formed a v at the nape of his neck. About the way his voice was always so softly quiet, terribly gentle.

He'd let you hold one, once. A hex crystal. Dropped it into your palm and smiled at how you'd sucked breath in hard and fast as you cradled it like a live bomb. Closed your cupping palms around it with his own.

"Can you feel it?" He asked.

All you could do to swallow, throat sandpaper grit and eyes round saucers. You could feel his fingertips against the outside of your wrists, feel the brush of his thumbs against your own and the warm of his palms to your knuckles. And yes... the shallow pulsing electric vibration of the deadly dangerous crystal you held. Like licking a battery without the copper taste, and with the warning crackle through the whole of your forearms straight to spine.

Lightening in a stone, if not a bottle.

Blue luminescence reflected in gold eyes as he pulled the careful cup of your hands apart and took the stone back. Eyes only for one thing and it surely wasn't for the tech assistant in faded grey and tatty coveralls, constantly smeared in gear grease and always in the background; fixing all the little minor issues the new golden boys of Piltover managed to create with their unlimited intellect and vastly overestimated mechanical expertise.

Sure, they could both design the future, write complex mathematic and arcane problems as foreign to you as Noxian calculus... but ask either to find the actual source of a lack of power in a time train gear network they had designed? Forest for the trees, you supposed. It was fine, you were good with details, with the trees, if this metaphor held.

Details like that hair twirling. Like his shy smile. Like how you'd be under and deep in the guts of a piece of mech and fumbling blindly for a tool only to have him press it into your searching fingers. Never could figure out how he always knew exactly what you were looking for without even having been asked. Nine eighths spanner? In your fingers. Ten quarter allen wrench? Done. The finest pair of needle nose pliers? His fingertips soft against your grease stained palm as he pushed it there in silent passing. Reading your mind.

If only you could read his.

So nice then, that one night, when you’d dragged yourself out from under the guts of their latest prototype, to find him sat there alone, the only other living soul in the lab and shaking an empty pen between twirling the silk licks of his hair.

You rolled tired shoulders and unzipped coveralls to tie the arms round your waist over your sweated tank top. Wandered over to pull the pen from his fingers and put a fresh one in hand. So lost in thought he failed to notice. Went right back to scribbling. Curiosity had you glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of whatever incomprehensibly complex mathematics he was entrapped in.

And instead stared down at two open pages scrawled with your name. And his. And little rough sketches and doodles that had a heat rising under your skin with the searing intensity of a late summer sunburn. Under your lean over his shoulder Viktor had swam to the surface, fresh pen stilling its most recent scrawl of your name before it dropped and he scooped one elegant hand under the jacket of his notebook to slam it shut and spin on you. Luminous golden eyes wide.

Before you could stop yourself you’d reached past him fast as a striking snake and grabbed up the notebook. Back pedaled a few steps as you flipped through it. Your name, his name, doodles and drawings and.... oh. You turned that page sideways and squinted. OH.

“Wait. Please...” His voice was broken, begging. Mortified.

“Viktor. Do you...” You were going to tease him, grinning, delighted. Until you looked up and saw him wilt, the fine splay of one hand hiding half his face as he slumped back onto his lab stool. Oh no.

Still, you weren’t giving that book back. Yet. Tucked it behind the small of your back in the waistband of coveralls and closed in on him. Very much emboldened by all the scribbles on those pages, lovely spidery litany of your name over and over again intertwined with his. Had you slot yourself between the long spread of his lean thighs. Permanently stained and calloused hand tugging away the one that hid his face by the wrist.

He resisted, and for a strained second you felt sure he was going to rise, spindle legs carrying him backward off the stool and out of the lab. But instead he gave, and let his hand drop, heat burning fever under pale skin beneath. Hot as steam burnt steel under your fingers as you caught up the fine angles of his face. Glad he didn’t seem to mind the scent of gear grease and petrol on your skin. Or how rough your thumb was as you slid it over the little freckle under his eye.

“Have you settled on one?” You couldn’t help your teasing nature, had to ask. So pleased he would be so obsessed as to fill pages with your names together.

“Please.” Still pained, he tried to pull his face from the frame of your hands, tried to reach round you to grab the book back. Instead you caught his arm behind you and pressed it higher as you leaned in.

Took a chance and pushed your forehead to his temple. Watched him exhale a shiver and turn amber eyes up toward yours. So close you could see the flecks of brown and green imbedded in the gold depths. Unable to help yourself, you pressed him.

“What else have you written about us?”

#sfw #viktor x reader arcane #viktor #arcane #drabble #ty for this adorable prompt #love me some embarrassed Vitya #gn!reader #but if you think I based reader on Audrey from Atlantis?#you right #two for flinching

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queen-of-sand-castles · 26 days

Text

Gothic Chronicles: Midnight's Veiled Secrets

This is a collection of poems that explore themes of loss, love, and the supernatural. Each piece offers a unique perspective on the complex emotions that accompany these experiences. As you read through this anthology, you may find yourself connecting with the universal truths that resonate within these lines.

1st poem: **Crimson Manuscripts**

In ancient halls where silence reigns,

Dust-laden tomes breathe secrets, unrestrained.

I walk the edge of lore, long since forgotten,

My heart inscribed with desires begotten.

With quill in hand, my constant guide,

Into the well of night, I confide.

A scribe of echoes from the void,

Crafting words, in melancholy alloyed.

"Unveil your stories, O manuscripts of red,

Your vellum skin to my soul is wed.

A nomad I, charting celestial designs,

In the margins of sonnets, my spirit aligns."

Shadows dance in the candle's fickle glow,

Over leather-bound legacies of long ago.

My pen bleeds ink, as if it were life,

Carving my essence amidst existential strife.

Epochs lost, their essence I distill,

In a whirlwind of memories that time can't kill.

An alchemist of words, in the arcane I delve,

Turning longing into verses, transiently shelved.

"Speak, O crimson tomes, your veins wide spread,

Upon your pages, my yearnings are said.

A wanderer am I, through constellations I roam,

In the forgotten verses, I find my home."

Gargoyles stand guard, stoic and grim,

At the gates of forever, their visages dim.

Their stone-cast gaze, the moon's sorrow reflects,

As I seek comfort in ancient dialects.

The piano's lament, the violin's cry,

And the cello's deep thrum under centuries lie.

On the brink of the void, I dance alone,

My steps resounding in a timeless tone.

"Reveal your depths, O manuscripts of hue,

My longing etched on your surface true.

A traveler of the stars, in your words I'm dressed,

In the forgotten poetry, my journey's expressed."

As the last note into silence wanes,

Within these lines, my spirit remains.

A ghostly minstrel serenading the night,

On eternity's parchment, my soul takes flight.

2nd poem: **Eternal Shadows**

In this manor, I wander, through silence and gloom,

Footsteps echo softly in each abandoned room.

Moonlight bathes me gently, as I softly tread,

Among the living's memories, I whisper with the dead.

In the moon's soft glow, my secrets unfold,

A phantom in the night, a story left untold.

Eternal shadows, where I roam free,

In this house of spirits, it's just the ghosts and me.

Through halls of mystery, where silent echoes play,

We're the souls of forever, in the night we stay.

Dust dances in the beam, time seems to freeze,

In this place of stillness, where moments cease.

Portraits watch silently, as I pass them by,

In the manor's heart, where old secrets lie.

Shadows cling to my steps, as I tiptoe through time,

In this spectral dance, where memories chime.

In this realm of silence, where I drift unseen,

Amongst the echoes, a solitary queen.

In the mansion of whispers, where secrets sway,

We're the timeless wanderers, in the shadows we play.

Feel the past's chill, as it draws near?

In the wind's whisper, it's our voices you hear.

Shadows stretch eternal, in this spectral ballet,

With the phantoms, my companions, in the night we sway.

Through corridors of enigma, where muted stories say,

We're the everlasting echoes, in the twilight's gray.

In the moon’s waning light, I catch a fleeting glimpse—a face unfamiliar, yet tethered to my soul.

The manor murmurs secrets, and I am but an echo, lost in its labyrinth of forgotten moments.

3rd poem: **The Raven's Whisper**

Beneath the silver veil of moonlight's kiss,

Where shadows merge and secrets intertwine,

I wander through the garden of forgotten dreams,

Seeking solace in the petals of night-blooming flowers.

The moon, a silent witness to my yearning,

Whispers ancient verses to the restless wind.

Its luminescent fingers trace delicate patterns,

Weaving tales of love and loss across the sky.

In this nocturnal sanctuary, memories bloom,

Each petal a fragment of a fractured heart.

I pluck them one by one, like fragile confessions,

And scatter them upon the dew-kissed grass.

The nightingale, perched upon a moonbeam,

Sings a requiem for love's ephemeral dance.

Its melody weaves through the jasmine vines,

Echoing the ache of longing in every note.

I trace the constellations with trembling fingers,

Mapping out our celestial rendezvous.

Did you once stand here, beneath this same moon,

Whispering promises that time has now erased?

The night wears on, and I become a ghost,

Drunk on moonlight and the fragrance of roses.

Perhaps, in this enchanted hour, you'll return,

And we'll dance once more in moonlit reverie.

4th poem: **Whispers from the Veil**

Beneath the moon's soft veil, we gather,

In the dim-lit chamber, secrets tethered.

A séance of souls, both lost and found,

Where spectral echoes dance, unbound.

The crystal ball, a portal spun,

Holds reflections of lives undone.

Its facets catch the flicker of stars,

As we seek communion beyond the bars.

The medium's breath, a whispered plea,

Invites the unseen to speak with glee.

Their voices rise from shadowed past,

A chorus of memories that forever last.

"Tell us," we implore, "of love's sweet pain,

Of promises broken, of longing's refrain."

And the room trembles with their reply,

A symphony of whispers, reaching sky-high.

The air thickens, charged with their essence,

As they recount tales of love's evanescence.

Their fingers brush ours, a spectral touch,

And we glimpse eternity in moments such.

The séance chamber hums with cosmic threads,

Binding us to realms where time unweds.

In this dance of spirits, we find solace anew,

As moonlight weaves stories, both old and true.

5th poem: **Portrait Of Despair**

Whispers haunt the hallowed space,

A gallery where time's embrace

Has left a mark on every face,

Each portrait tells of sorrow's trace.

A viscountess, her gaze so stern,

Her lover's touch she did spurn.

Now in her eyes, the cold fires burn,

For his return, she'll always yearn.

A captain, lost to ocean's wrath,

His ship did stray from charted path.

In stormy seas, he met his fate,

His portrait speaks of storms innate.

A child, with eyes so wide and clear,

His innocence was held so dear.

Yet fate was cruel, the night unkind,

His story leaves tears behind.

A maiden fair, with golden hair,

Once danced with grace, a pair so rare.

But love was lost, the dance did end,

Her silent song, it does transcend.

A poet's quill, now still and broke,

His verses lost, like vanished smoke.

The inkwell dry, the parchment torn,

For his muse, forever mourn.

A duelist with rapier drawn,

Stands proud and fierce, yet all forlorn.

His honor kept, his life forsworn,

In morning's light, he lies forlorn.

A widow's veil, her somber shroud,

Her whispered grief, it speaks aloud.

Her heart entombed, her love enshrined,

In painted form, her woes confined.

A jester's laugh, forever mute,

His mirthful mask, a grim dispute.

Behind the paint, the tears dilute,

His joy's facade, now destitute.

Each frame, a window to the past,

Holds echoes of a spell once cast.

The gallery, a somber host,

To each despairing, silent ghost.

So tread with care through memory's lane,

Where painted eyes live on in pain.

For every tale the portraits share,

Reflects a soul once trapped in despair.

The gallery grows, the walls extend,

New portraits join, old stories blend.

In this domain where spirits send

Their silent pleas, their hearts to mend.

Here, time stands still, the world outside

Fades to a whisper, hushed and wide.

Each canvas breathes, each shade confide,

The depths of pain they cannot hide.

So linger long, and gaze upon

The faces here, not truly gone.

Their silent mouths may yet respond,

In this gallery, they live beyond.

6th poem: **Cryptic Alchemy**

Shadowed chambers, whispers weave,

A blend of dark synth and mysterious chants,

Forbidden knowledge etched in cryptic runes,

Where secrets stir and ancient echoes dance.

No sun's embrace, no moon's soft kiss,

Only shadows' veiled embrace and moonless nights,

The alchemist, a weaver of enigma, chants,

Arcane melodies that pierce the void's veil.

Ebon potions simmer in onyx cauldrons,

Their essence distilled from forgotten realms,

Each drop a tincture of forgotten memories,

A concoction of lost dreams and starlight's breath.

The astral symphony crescendos, spiraling,

As darkness and light entwine, seeking balance,

The alchemist, eyes ablaze with ancient fire,

Unravels the cosmic threads, seeking truth.

Glyphs etched on obsidian tablets sing,

Their meaning veiled, yet yearning to be known,

For Cryptic Alchemy weaves the fabric of existence,

Where shadows birth illumination, and silence speaks.

So listen, mortal seeker, to the whispers of the void,

For within their echoes lie the keys, the ciphered codes,

Unlock the gates, step beyond the mundane,

And become the alchemist, weaver of mysteries.

7th poem: **Whispers from the Attic**

Creaking floorboards, distant voices,

A symphony of past choices,

Echoes of steps that once did pace,

Through corridors of time and space.

Above, where dust motes dance in light,

The attic holds its court at night,

A realm of silence, still and deep,

Where secrets their sacred vigil keep.

What tales are etched within these walls?

Of grandeur's rise and empire's falls,

The gentle touch of a lover's hand,

A sailor's journey to distant lands.

Here, the whispers are not of dread,

But of life's tapestry, finely thread,

A dressmaker's needle, a writer's pen,

Moments captured, again and again.

The attic, with its musty scent,

Is a treasure trove of times spent,

A chest of memories, locked away,

Awaiting the light of day.

Photographs in sepia tones,

Love letters in heartfelt overtones,

A child's toy, long forgotten,

In this space, nothing is rotten.

Each creak a word, each shadow a story,

A chronicle of both joy and worry,

The attic speaks to those who hear,

Its whispers clear, its message dear.

So venture forth, if you dare,

To uncover the mysteries waiting there,

For in the whispers from the attic's heart,

Lies a world set apart.

8th poem: **Gargoyle's Serenade**

I was supposed to be sent away,

To lands where stone figures don't sway,

But here I stand, a guardian grim,

Upon the cathedral's highest rim.

Carved from the earth's own rugged bone,

I watch the city, silent and alone,

A sentinel in the sky's expanse,

Overseeing the human dance.

My gaze is fixed, my purpose clear,

To ward off evil, to calm the fear,

With guitar in hand, I play my part,

A serenade from the stone heart.

The melody weaves through spire and stone,

A song of ages, through winds blown,

It tells of battles, of love, of strife,

Of the endless ebb and flow of life.

The chords resonate, deep and profound,

In every corner, the notes resound,

A testament to the watch I keep,

While the city below lies in sleep.

By day, I'm still, a figure austere,

By night, my music, the heavens hear,

A symphony for the stars above,

Played with a touch of eternal love.

The moon bathes me in silver light,

As I play on through the quiet night,

A gargoyle's serenade, pure and true,

For the cathedral and for you.

So let the guitar's voice rise and swell,

Let it break the night's silent spell,

For in this song, you'll find ensnared,

The spirit of the guardians paired.

And when the dawn paints the sky anew,

And the city stirs, life to pursue,

Remember the music that filled the air,

From the gargoyle's perch, high up there.

9th poem: ** Midnight Masquerade **

Under the moon's silver gaze, the night unfurls its cape,

A ballroom emerges in the forest's embrace.

"Midnight Masquerade," whispers the wind's soft escape,

Where shadows and starlight waltz in silent grace.

Masked figures glide, their steps a silent plea,

To the rhythm of hearts, to the pulse of the night.

Each turn, a story, a hidden fantasy,

Faces veiled in mystery, souls alight.

The moonlit sky, a witness to their dance,

Casts a glow on masks of velvet and lace.

In the masquerade's enchanting trance,

Time dissolves in the dancers' harmonious space.

A clock strikes twelve, the spell gently breaks,

But the dance lives on in dreams it awakes.

For in the night's tender, fleeting sweep,

The masquerade's magic is ours to keep.

10th poem: ** Fading Candlelight **

Quiet whispers linger in the room's embrace,

Where the last candle's flame begins its trace.

"Fading Candlelight," it hums with grace,

A tale of twilight, in the evening's chase.

Its flame dances with a tender, wistful air,

A ballet of shadows in the dimming lair.

Each flicker, a memory, each spark, a sigh,

A symphony of moments, as time ticks by.

The wax drips slowly, a river of tears,

For the passing days, the fleeting years.

The light wanes gently, a golden hue,

A silent sentinel in the dusk's purview.

Around the flame, the darkness creeps,

A cloak of obsidian, where daylight sleeps.

Yet in its warm embrace, the candle stands,

A beacon of hope in the night's vast lands.

The room breathes softly, a lullaby's tune,

As the candle's aura fills the cocoon.

Stories unfold in its radiant bloom,

A dance of life in the encroaching gloom.

The flame leans low, a lover's caress,

Against the night, a silent confess.

Its brilliance wavers, a faltering heart,

A sign that soon, it must depart.

But oh, the tales it could tell,

Of love and loss, of heaven and hell.

In its light, life found a stage,

A book of hours on an ephemeral page.

Now the candle's breath grows thin,

A final flicker from within.

The shadows lengthen, reaching out,

Embracing all in a silent shout.

And as the last ember takes its bow,

The room is shrouded in the now.

"Fading Candlelight," a whisper's trace,

Leaves behind a darkened space.

Yet in the black, a new day stirs,

For life persists, it still endures.

The candle's gone, but in its wake,

A new dawn blooms, for us to take.

So let the night claim its due,

For with the morn, we start anew.

In the heart of darkness, find the light,

And hold it close, through the longest night.

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blysse-and-blunder · 6 months

Text

in lieu of a rainy day

10pm, sunday, nov 26, 2023

went to a gig for a friend's band last night, but otherwise it's been an extremely lowkey and indoor weekend. living that housecat lifestyle. aside from the sunday scaries (but, like, for the semester....for the year....) all in all the past week+ has been Okay. whoever is in charge of my calendar (which is me) made a pretty big gamble booking three-four medical-esque appointments back-to-back-to-back this week, but it paid off, we got through it, and the decks are cleared (so to speak) for writing between now and the holidays.

reading i got briefly very into freya marske's books a marvellous light and now a restless truth, though i will admit to having calmed (slowed) down a lot in reading the sequel, after tearing through the first one like there was a deadline. the world building and magic system are very fun, i am a big fan of the aesthetic; they're extremely sexy but not at the expense of plot or dialogue or characters' having their own real personalities, flaws and hobbies and all. excited to read the third one.

listening a quick skim of the previous few ilcb entries (have there really only been three all fall, dear me) to check i hadn't already posted this, and it doesn't seem like it? so, gregory alan isakov with the colorado symphony. the additional strings, the additional brass, it adds such a gorgeous dimension to this already pretty good song; the way things build from 1:20 on or so, to burst into full color and light from 1:59 to 2:14.... i've turned a few afternoons around lately just leaning into that orchestra swell in my headphones. wish it lasted a full 10 minutes, wish it had multiple movements.

youtube

watching more burrow's end; finished arcane season 1 with @hematiterings and began watching the first season of stranger things since she's never seen it; the nostalgia and affection i feel! the real satisfaction in how good season 1 is, how young they all are!! also started season 2 of slings and arrows with the housemates, which is new territory for me and which is similarly filling me with affection for characters i've known a long time, and fascination at seeing them doing new things and making new bad decisions. also started the second season of wheel of time on my own, as background while doing some unpaid graphic design/newsletter prep; my gratitude for this show making something so rich and visually interesting and real out of the books is unabated, even though i'm not feeling anyone's storyline very intensely at the moment. rand meeting logain was cool; perrin has been captured and that's bad; mat is now traveling with min, which is also cool because it's probably a set-up; i'm sorry that nynaeve had such a hard time in the arches but her romance subplot with lan has always left me extremely cold; moiraine is being frustrating! the show has a nice way of showing us other characters, minor characters, too-- moiraine's sister, for one, and starting that encounter by showing us her sister's morning routine, clarifying the difference in their ages where one is aes sedai and aging very, very differently. egwene and the daughter heir are in a magical boarding school subplot which is surprisingly delightful.

playing dnd campaign a had a session for the first time in aaaaages not too long ago, and it was good. spoke to the gods briefly, got started trying to appease them with sports as opposed to human sacrifice, and ended the night beta testing a phone-based game a friend of the dm's wanted us to try which involved a lot of bluffing and bs and laughter. campaign b, meanwhile, is in combat with some were creatures; @dimir-charmer's character has maintained this whole time that she is Not a Werewolf but circumstances may be, in fact, conspiring against her...... worrying!

making not a whole lot. i bought a box of cards since the closest thing i've come to a hobby recently has been sending a few cards (well, one and a half); i feel the pull of stickers and sealing wax and stamps.... wandered through an art supply store only a little while ago and came so close to buying the vinyl stamp making kit, but the only paint i could find to go with vinyl stamps was metallic so i decided to wait. contemplating making potato stamps, like i do every year around this time, but again the ink or paint or whatever is the limiting factor there.

working on taught my second and final guest lecture of the semester! read back through the written feedback on my conference paper! have started to look at integrating said paper back into the chapter whence it came, and had to have a little lie-down, but that's the big project remaining. at the same time, the running commentary at the back of my brain is about lecture prep for the course i'm teaching in the spring, specifically, what i'll say to situate/contextualize/prepare students to handle the material, how i'll thread various needles, which texts i'm going to ultimately assign, and on and on. i've started trying to turn this background noise into brainstorming/writing/limited, focused bursts of work on said course, in the hopes that getting a little of it out of the way will let me brain settle back in to other projects afterwards. i've also realized i've started doing the Discretionary stuff first, i.e. the reading extra articles, the looking at post docs or awards or things to apply for, the stuff that won't happen if i don't allow myself 15 min to look into it, because the Actual Work will be enforced, it will have to happen eventually, and the discretionary stuff won't. jury's very much out as to whether this will pay off, especially when it's not discretionary work at all, but discretionary attending-a-lecture time, or -coffee-with-a-friend time, or discretionary-at-the-gym time. time spent with the cat, of course, is non-discretionary.

#ilcb #in lieu of a commonplace book #a few spoilers for some early episodes of s2 wheel of time #not as long a post this time #i was quite restrained really! until the work section #Youtube

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frankendykes-monster · 7 months

Text

Countdown to Halloween 2023, Ranked

43. Swamp Thing (1982)

42. Curse of Bigfoot (1975)

41. The Haunting (1999)

40. Orca (1977)

39. Teenagers Battle The Thing (1958)

38. The Beast (1975)

37. Don't Go in The House (1979)

36. Countess Dracula (1971)

35. Hillbillys in a Haunted House (1967)

34. Beware! The Blob (1972)

33. Alien Space Avenger (1989)

32. Baby Blood (1990)

31. Shriek of The Mutilated (1974)

30. The Mutations (1974)

29. Phase IV (1974)

28. Curse of The Faceless Man (1958)

27. The Sadist (1963)

26. Jennifer (1978)

25. The Wasp Woman (1959)

24. Noroi: The Curse (2005)

23. Girls Nite Out (1982)

22. The Monster of Piedras Blancas (1959)

21. The Cat and The Canary (1927)

20. Tell Your Children (Reefer Madness, 1936)

19. The Company of Wolves (1984)

18. It's Alive (1974)

17. The Wolf House (2018)

16. Michael Jackson's Halloween (2017)

15. The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963)

14. The Omega Man (1971)

13. Gamera: Rebirth (2023)

12. Student Bodies (1981)

11. Night Caller From Outer Space (1965)

10. Inhumanoids (episodes 1 - 5, 1986)

9. Blind Woman's Curse (1970)

8. Maniac (1980)

7. The Child (1977)

6. Zombie 3 (1988)

5. Return of The Living Dead (1985)

4. Spider Baby (1967)

3. Basket Case (1982)

2. Messiah of Evil (1973)

Godzilla (1954)

Woof. Okay. This has been a mostly disappointing viewing experience.

Critical difference between this year's countdown and the past two is that now that I have stable employment, there is far less time to be watching horror films. I normally begin the countdown in September but we started in July of this year and still barely managed to crack 40, with my original goal being a full 100 this year. Timing. As such a lot of my plans and possible viewings were cut short and compared to last year specifically we fell back on a lot of "seen it already" at least for the top of the list.

This year's batch of viewings were largely blah, but a step up from the shitshow I put myself through last year (watching nearly every Texas Chainsaw sequel does things to a person). As such it'll be difficult to conjure up words for a decent chunk of these mostly because yes, these movies exist, I watched them, I would not recommend that you yourself watch them. That is all. If I write briefly on a given film that's not necessarily an indictment of its quality as there a decent number of these that I saw and enjoyed it's just their impact might be a bit fleeting. You will know which ones I actively disliked. I mostly just want to write about the top five or so but I will play fair.

Our grand loser this year is Swamp Thing, the DC Comics adaptation by Wes Craven. I watched this pretty much entirely because I finally got the Alan Moore Swamp Thing run in paperback this year after quite some time of having it on my to-buy list. Longtime Rachael/Ray/Ratchet fans may recall me reading it in early 2019 alongside [REDACTED]. Still one of the best Moore comics, and a second volume of Swamp Thing wouldn't have been possible without the success of this film. For context I did read the early Swampies by Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson and my general reaction to those was a'ight but there was definitely material for a serviceable film adaptation there. This is not that serviceable film adaptation. I'm not hung up on details like how Abigail has no connection to Arcane now despite being his niece in the comics, but this film is just kind of painful in how relatively unambitious it is which is saying something for Swamp Thing sword fighting another human mutation at the end of this. It's just silly and stupid and not scary or awe inspiring or anything, the Swamp Thing suit sucks, the action sucks, any sense of pathos is not there or gone, it stretches for 30 minutes too long like it's a padded TV pilot, the only highlight is being able to see Adrienne Barbeau's breasts. Fuck this it's a miserable experience to sit through. My mistake for watching a Wes Craven film that doesn't have "Scream" in the title.

Our next shitter is the two-for-one abomination that is Teenagers Battle The Thing (1958) and Curse of Bigfoot (1975); these are the same movie except Curse of Bigfoot has a 25 minute opening scene framing device that is bizarre given that "The Thing" of the original film is a Native American mummy of some sort unearthed by a group of white high school students. It's the rare personal pet project movie made for fun by some locals but the only highlights are the occasional kill scene, Curse of Bigfoot ranks lower just for making me sit through it longer. Blah.

Speedrunning through a bunch of these because theyre all varying degrees of bad and I don't want to spend any longer writing about these than you probably do reading about them: The Haunting is awful and I don't even super care for the original film so adding shitty CGI monsters and a moral lesson of "it's about family!" doesn't help. Orca is a shitty Jaws cash-in that's like a reverse Moby Dick where the sea animal hunts down the human, nice finale where the orca and shitty poacher guy are fighting it out in the Arctic but otherwise avoid. Don't Go in The House is a mysoginistic torture porn movie that really doesn't sell the "seemingly normal guy is a closet nutcase" thing even though movies made before and after have done it well (see Maniac several paragraphs below). The Beast is advertised as this really scandalous porno film but most of it is French aristocrats sitting around in stuffy rooms arguing about real estate. I think I only watched Countess Dracula for its inclusion in the "if this is her vibe I would fucking cum" meme and it's barely worth bringing up at all. Hillbillys in a Haunted House has an absolutely lovely Tennessee country soundtrack that I wish I could listen to without having to watch the actual movie which is devoid of both scares and laughs. Beware! The Blob gives off the feeling of sitting at a funeral for a family member that was just distant enough for you to be aware of them but not actually be upset but it's still a funeral so it's not like you're smiling, stick with the 1988 Blob film. Alien Space Avenger has some decent gore effects but that's all I can recall from it. Shriek of The Mutilated has one of the best titles for an otherwise uninspired yeti movie that has a needless third act twist about it being a cover for a cult and blah blah blah fuck you. Baby Blood has an alien mutant whatever crawl up a woman's vagina into her womb and she has to eat people to feed it and yeah I'm actually struggling to remember what happens here. The Mutations has a scene where a guy cuts into a tree and it bleeds, I think he's played by Donald Pleasance. Yeah, it's like Freaks except it plays to the freak show straight so you get to laugh at all the outcasts of society, no thank you.

Some odds and ends that I'd say are decent-to-pretty-good: Phase IV has some footage of ants and synth music. All you need is some footage of ants and synth music. Curse of The Faceless Man employs a rarely seen archetype of the living statue monster, it's cute. The Sadist is another starring vehicle for Arch Hall Jr., who was also the star of last Halloween's Eegah! (1962), though this film is a bold trendsetter for the 1960's with Hall being a unhinged killer holding people for ransom until they can fix his car and he can make a getaway. The film lives and dies by Hall's performance and it's mostly the latter until we get to an absolutely superb final act with him hunting down his remaining victims, it makes the whole film worth seeing. Jennifer is an oddball that plays out mostly like a character drama ("It wasn't my fault Daddy it was that stupid hillbilly bitch Jennifer") that suddenly remembers that it's supposed to be a cash-in of Carrie (1976) in the last 20 minutes and cue our titular character being able to summon and control snakes to send after her tormentors. Girls Nite Out is a plodding meandering slasher that's oddly hypnotizing considering so much of it takes place in pitch-black night and the killer is wearing a bear mascot costume with serrated knives hidden under the glove, not sure what fully to make of it. The Monster of Piedras Blancas is made up of leftover parts from the Gillman, Mole People, and Metaluna Mutant, but still manages to star in a decent enough film that gives a sense of what a series of monster attacks would do to a small seaside community. The Cat and The Canary is "cute" for lack of a better term being a horror comedy before the former genre had fully crystalized. Reefer Madness is horror adjacent more than anything but a hilariously good time about how the use of "marihuana" will drive today's youth into becoming crazed fiends and get involved in organized crime.

We can do this.

The Company of Wolves has an excellent story book like setting an atmosphere that you can't get in films nowadays and it's a shame that it's mostly remembered for its transformation sequences. it's Alive is the best Larry Cohen film by default of not sucking but it's still not "great", genius however for playing the concept of mutant newborn killer baby completely seriously without any sense of humor to the proceedings. The Girl Who Knew Too Much is almost a parody of giallo films which is interesting given those hadn't fully sprang up in 1963; absolute highlight is the main character being interviewed in bed by doctors and reporters and the like that yes she did see a murder and no she doesn't drink. I've always been fascinated and haunted by I Am Legend and while The Omega Man doesn't really capture the novel to a superb degree it's so beautifully shot that it lands high in the rankings for that alone. Night Caller From Outer Space is hilarious to me because of how it shifts halfway through from a Hammer-esque mystery about a meteorite with radioactive properties to a film about an alien that lures women in through a modeling advertisement. Blind Woman's Curse I've mentally confused with Irezumi for a while now (haha all 1960's Japanese genre films where woman have large animal tattoos on their backs are the saaame), and it's one I mostly watched for being directed by Teruo Ishii, but there's enough bloody yakuza fights and cats licking up blood for me to stick around; not the strongest Meiko Kaiji vehicle compared to Female Prisoner Scorpion or Lady Snowblood. Maniac I find mostly interesting as a precursor to American Psycho (2000) but also it's probably the only serious film to successfully pull off it's ending trope (which I will not spoil here). The Child is an absolutely lovely 1970's only-a-dozen-people-made-this-and-not-much-more-watched-it horror that oozes atmosphere, I could watch stuff like this all day. Aaand Zombie 3 is far and away the best film that Lucio Fulci has been involved with that I've ever seen. I love random scenes and set pieces of ghouls just massacring people that are shit out out of luck.

Okay, now for the ones I actually want to write about.

The Wasp Woman is one that sticks in my head way more than any other random monster movie that Roger Corman directed in the latw 1950's. I've said on here and Letterboxd that it could have served as a standard pop-feminist piece about how the cosmetology industry is built on misogyny and invariably a monster is accidentally created because of that, but this most recent viewing has made me sort of "get it" because that might be what the film is going for considering Susan Cabot's performance leads me to believe that she is aware that she is becoming a homicidal wasp monster but views it as a tragic means to an end where she still has the ability to have a new advertising campaign with her as the star. Tragic. This is why you don't wear make up.

Both Noroi: The Curse and The Wolf House are ones I didn't care for whatsoever but I put them in places on the ranking that I thought were fair given that people should probably watch them regardless of my personal thoughts. Noroi's format didn't really lend itself to the escalation of tension and reveal of information that the plot demanded and I found myself thinking it meanders quite a bit. The Wolf House was an odd one where everything that was happening onscreen bounced off of me mostly because I felt intimately aware that I was watching a movie, that someone had made something and that I was now being shown it. Blah. People like these so don't let me stop you.

Our animated offerings this year...

Michael Jackson's Halloween more than anything feels like an unlicensed creation that later had an English fan dub commissioned, not something that actually aired on CBS twice. Any laughs that I found in this thing were the unintentional type as we open up with Bubbles talking and being Jackson's chauffeur; you know exactly what you're getting into. Very little of the plot is explained but I'm assuming Jackson (who has no lines given this was made posthumously) orchestrates a dark fantasy adventure to hook two...teenagers? People in their late 20's? And convince them to follow their dreams of performing instead of working a deadend dayjob. I'm not sure who the actual audience for this was given it feels like so much of it was made for children but I will say anything that has this much of Michael Jackson's music in it can't be all bad, though I'm not sure why they didn't largely stick with tracks from the album Thriller (in the contention for best album ever, I don't care).

Gamera: Rebirth is one I feel like I'm on the outside on compared to most other tokusatsu fans because I didn't really *love* to a serious degree even though, yes, Gamera is finally back. The first three episodes are mostly just kind of a slog for me with the backhalf not doing enough to retroactively make me think highly of it, though giving off End of Evangelion vibes may make me consider that a second viewing must be in order down the line. Rebirth's strongest attribute is that it feels like it takes into consideration and influence from every prior era of Gamera, no stone is left unturned, and it's a marked contrast from how every recent Godzilla property only captures a single facet of their respective character. But that also creates unique issues like how a lot of criticism of ongoing US military presence in Japan is undercut so there can be a white kid in the main cast (because white children were always present in half of the Showa series) or having the ancient civilization that genetically engineered the kaiju now being malicious and actively sacrificing children as a means of reshaping the world gives me vaguely anti-semitic tones, I don't know, Gamera is still here, I guess.

"I was just a little twerp who liked Scooby-Doo and Smurfs, now I was viewing Cthulhu mutants ruin the Earth."

Everyday that we have Inhumanoids is a gift. Inhumanoids is another Hasbro/Sunbow production like G. I. Joe, Transformers, or Jem and The Holograms, and it is truly tragic that it never got anywhere near that level of attention compared to its siblings. The fact that a 1980's action figure tie-in cartoon is named for its antagonists is only the start; the series follows a small paramilitary outfit of scientists named Earth Core that are tasked with more or less saving the world alongside the Mutores, elemental beings, when the Inhumanoids, eldritch abominations, are unleashed. The degree of world-building beyond your typical "good guys vs. bad guys" affair is astounding with villainous humans and virtuous monsters abounding, but Inhumanoids is mostly magical and remembered for saying fuck all to any type of broadcast standards. Seeing giant monsters destroy cities, undead armies, and spelunking deep into the Earth (where nightmares begin...) are just standard fair here, as are witnessing the actual Inhumanoids such as Metlar (basically the devil) or D'Compose (giant undead entity that can zombify people by touching them and uses his ribcage like a jail cell) in action. The first five episodes here are the pilot movie of sorts for the series which only lasted thirteen overall, and they get more grissly from here on out, but maybe it's best that Inhumanoids is the short lived cartoon and no the cartoon that went soft as early as its second season. I will never not love this show, to this day it's one of my favorite animated series from any decade, much less the 1980's.

Back to our regularly scheduled live-action programming...

Student Bodies is a fascinating film for a myriad of reasons the first of which is that there were somehow enough slasher films by 1981 for there to be a comedy poking fun at all the already established genre-cliches. It's essentially Scary Movie (2000) a full 20 years ahead of the curve only actually funny in spite of the subject matter frequently being as juvenile and prejudiced; but it also reminds me quite a bit of Scream (1996) with stuff like two killers working together. All I know is I was in for a decent time when the film opens with three identical shots of a house just with different framing text: "HALLOWEEN," "FRIDAY THE 13TH," "JAMIE LEE CURTIS' BIRTHDAY" and then the killer, The Breather, calls the opening kill girl doing nothing but breathing heavily, she hangs up, he calls back with "I SAID [heavy breathing]."

Return of The Living Dead is one of those films that should have destroyed the any artifically-imposed boundaries between "high" and "low" art. Every aspect of this film is brilliantly made, it just so happens to be made for stuff like Scooby-Doo music overlaid on top of thunderstorms over graveyards where one female character is stripping to the concept of dying. Media involving ghouls is incredibly oversaturated, and this was still the case in the 1980's where a film like this had to redefine the rules to make it so killing ghouls was basically a non-option. It only recently struck me on this viewing that that's the whole purpose of removing virtually all weaknesses they have, to keep the characters as the nail instead of the hammer. Compared to the Romero films, there's never a point where anyone is in control of the situation, it just escalates further and further until there is literally no way out. Taking that into consideration, there's no way this film couldn't have been a comedy that frames people getting swarmed and eaten by ghouls as hilarious.

The soundtrack and the faux-punk sensibilities lend this a daft feeling of "you shouldn't be watching this" in spite of it not being one of the MOST gory horror films of the 1980's. I still don't get how this never broke into the mainstream. I mean somehow people know that ghouls (in this film) speak and only eat brains but I can't go down to Target and get a Tarman action figure like I can one of Michael Myers. As such Return of The Living Dead remains a criminally overlooked film regardless of its subject matter. It's made me laugh and cringe and feel disgusted and revolt at the concept at dying but mostly it's made me feel a delicious sense of joy at seeing corpses rise out of the ground to the tune of "Do you wanna party? IT'S PARTY TIIIME!" Some of you need to sit in the corner and think about your life choices for making stupid shit like Re-Animator (1985) or fucking Shaun of The Dead (2004) more popular than this, fuck you.

The act of watching Spider Baby is like discovering the missing link. For as much as 1960 gave us an explosion of horror (Eyes Without a Face, The Ship of Monsters, Psycho, Jigoku, Black Sunday, etc.) and Night of The Living Dead (1968) reins as the perennial transition point of the genre, Spider Baby is the road by which we go from The Cat and The Canary and The Old Dark House to the likes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Eraserhead, it's magical finding an essential piece of a genre you love so much. Both the former and latter points of comparison are apt as a family of now only children [and their butler] suffering from Poe-esque hereditary illness have their condemned house set upon by distant relatives and everything slowly unravels.

Lon Chaney Jr. is an actor who for the longest time I felt never got a proper chance to shine wherein the last 25 years or so of his career was spent playing as side character actor in independent films. Spider Baby is his crowning achievement. Seeing him smile through almost tears on several occasions as he has to play bridge between worlds of sanity and madness and lie to everyone that he has some sense of control over the situation is brilliant in ways I always knew he was capable of but had never seen before this point. Bravo.

I will never not love Basket Case with everything I've got. This is the epitome of 1980's horror and my clear pick for best of the decade. It has everything from being a grungy putrid grindhouse spectacle to being an intimate character drama to everything presented through a wry ironic lense where you can't tell if any "bad" performances are all done on purpose. Between this, Brain Damage (1988), and Frankenhooker (1990), there is literally absolutely no reason why Frank Henenlotter shouldn't be more popular than Stuart Gordon, Brian Yuzna, and Lloyd Kaufman *combined*. It's tragic that the world of cinema being enclosed and captured by studios again in the late 1980's prevented us from getting more from him, but realistically could we ask anymore than what we already got from Basket Case? I could watch this every day and never grow tired of it. I will never stop making more and more people watch this.

If Basket Case is the apex of 1980's horror, then Messiah of Evil is the same for 1970's horror. This is one of the most efficient horror films ever made in how not a single frame is wasted, the opening scene is literally a guy running from unseen force, seeking refuge, getting his throat slit, cue title card with synth music that then leads us to a sunburnt hallway as our narrator descends into acceptance of complete lack of control of the situation. Every night shot in this film must be 50 - 75% completely black with whatever headlight or store front there is just making the scenery look like a dollhouse that our characters are trapped inside. There's so many shots of people running away or walking down streets that make them look tiny as the camera is so far.

Every scene is an exercise in building up dread. There's no point where the film relents, something awful is not only coming, it's already here and there's nothing anyone can do. What I love particularly is that the mystery being laid out doesn't offer any answers because there's another mystery on top of what our characters find out only too late. Layers upon layers of dread that even the titular Messiah of Evil isn't the center of. The world is a cruel fucking place where this film languishes in obscurity whilst shit like The Exorcist enjoys mainstream attention. A lot of my taste amounts to "why isn't this thing I like more popular" and cases like Messiah of Evil vindicate me.

"Godzilla is the son of the atomic bomb. He is a nightmare created out of the darkness of the human soul. He is the sacred beast of the apocalypse." - Tomoyuki Tanaka

Generally a yearly trend is that a #1 pick for Halloween is self-evident to me and this year it was Basket Case for all of 30 seconds until I picked Godzilla back up.

There's something to be said how Godzilla isn't quite a horror monster? Terrifying but not necessarily creepy, but what power do things that go bump in the night have against the destruction of everything you know? Everytime I watch Godzilla is like the very first time, when flashing lights out at sea destroy fishing ships I have no idea what happened, or at least any much of a clue as anyone in film does when we're told that the entire ocean exploded.

Godzilla is a reptile, but lacks scales and its entire body is coated in keloid scars. In 1954 Godzilla must have been the largest monster every committed to film, trains are derailed from running against its ankle and bell and radio towers are throttled for being a sensory inconvenience. Godzilla's first on-screen appearance on Odo Island is obscured by a hurricane but the impression is clear; you can't fight Godzilla in the same way you can't fight a natural disaster. When Tokyo is reduced to complete ruin amidst a sea of flames, it's an onslaught of destruction never before seen in a film of this genre. Survivors being afflicted with radiation poisoning shows that Godzilla will claim victims long after being driven back to sea.

There's a sheer apocalyptic dread to all of this sensed by all the characters. Love tries to exist on the edge of annihilation. There's nothing that can be done but persevere and maybe hope tomorrow will be better. A scene that always strikes me is when Serizawa is adamant about not using the Oxygen Destroyer until forcibly confronted with the results of one night of Godzilla making landfall in Japan. The absolute pain felt by everyone in the finale starts here, things couldn't play out any differently as the "scientist of the century" can't join in and celebrate his victory.

Godzilla is a rare perfect film. I will never tire of it.

#long post

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kurozu501 · 7 months

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finally finished watching amphibia last night! what a really excellent cartoon. over the years ive realized anew just how important ending your story right can be. a story can be absolutely fantastic and then have a terrible ending that ruins it in retrospect or a superb ending that elevates a just ok show to new heights. Amphibia is definitely the latter.

It felt like it dragged a bit here and there as i was watching it. There were plenty of times where i felt impatient with yet another small wacky adventure that didn't advance the plot. Plenty of times where i felt like skipping to whatever episode next featured sasha and marcy. But im glad i didn't do that. Not only because a lot of stuff set up in those small throwaway episodes came back in the final season, but because looking back those smaller episodes went a long way to fleshing out the world and making you care about it in the end. Anne declaring that the magic stones are not amphibia's greatest treasure and then cutting to a big image of all the friends she's made along the way felt earned. We really did see her take the time to connect deeply to this world and its people. When she and the plantars call each other family it feels real.

If the choice is between a show like this, which takes its time to flesh everything out while feeling a bit slow in places or a show like arcane which, while good, is so rushed that even its finale is yet another cliffhanger in a world we've barely explored, then i definitely prefer the first option. Even if im occasionally impatient, i prefer the story's pacing to be able to breathe and take its time.

#amphibia #the ending really tied everything together so nicely #even some of the nitpicks and quibbles i had with the show feel sort of unimportant now #i just feel satisfied #i wish owl house had been able to have a third season like this

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princesssmars · 1 year

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in love with the piltover enforcer

some thoughts about your relationship with vi through the years

contains : fluff. reader is an orphan taken in by benzo and described as ekkos older (adoptive) sister. feels like most of this isn't even relationship headcanons but reader in arcane headcanons but whatever.

a/n : we loveee starting this in march 2022 and releasing it when the vi x reader tag is dead ass <3. anyway big shout out to @jackdrawsjunk and @kittyt-hexxed for feeding us black girls in love with vi <3333 anyway lets get into this shit.

there was one thing that kept you alive in the lanes: family. it was an unforgiving city, the complete opposite of the polished and pristine piltover beside it. the people were rough, and you'd be lucky if some punk only tried to rob you once a week. most loners only lasted a few days.

which is why every night you thanked the gods for your family. it felt silly considering that you were an orphan, but most ended up falling into gangs or worse to protect themselves. you were lucky that before they passed your parents were great friends with the local pawn shop owner, benzo, the man taking you and another boy named ekko under his wings.

because of him, you met vander, the large man who seemed intimidating actually being one of the nicest adults you've ever met in the lanes. when you first met ekko was slightly scared, hiding behind you as you tried to protect him. vander said he admired your protectiveness, and how you reminded him of someone who he thought you would get along with.

when you meet vi for the first time it just…clicks. vander wasn't wrong, the two of you more alike than you would have thought, most notably in the way you were protective over your siblings. they got along wonderfully, unable to spot one without the other. their closeness resulted in yours and you found yourself growing feelings for the pink-haired girl.

thinking back on your pining you laugh, how you refrained from telling vi about your feelings worried you would ruin the relationship if she didn't return your feelings, not knowing that she had a massive crush on you as well. vander pushed her to confess once he noticed, giving her good advice compared to mylo’s “stop being a pussy.”

it’s during one of your usual hangouts sitting on the rooftop of the shop and gazing out at your crappy home and beyond, at the gleaming buildings of piltover and fantasizing about what your life could be like that she stood up and took your hands in hers, telling you shed do whatever it took to give you the life you wanted because she wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you asked her what she meant, and the look in her eyes told it all.

after that, your relationship was relatively easy. the both of you still hung out often, just with the added bonus of longer hugs and kisses when the others weren't watching so you wouldn't be bombarded with “ew!”s.

unfortunately, there weren't that many romantic spots for private dates, but vi having been ever the persistent made a way. she took on more chores helping vander at the bar, getting some money in return to save up, and buying you some expensive snack from piltover you wanted to try while talking and laughing on the roof.

but things started to go downhill with growing tensions between the two cities, coming to a head with the failed heist. vi hadn't told you much, not wanting you to worry and slightly forgetting when she saw the way you reaffirmed powder that she would do great on their “little adventure”.

it’s safe to say when they got back you were livid. of course, you were thankful that they were ok but vi could admit she was slightly scared at the way you glared holes into her head when vander was criticizing her. she had apologized, and you were still upset but felt better.

but it didn't help, because, in the next few days, your life was ruined.

enforcers stormed the lanes. your father figure and most of your friends were murdered. and you were left with a broken home, a devastated brother, the sister of your best friend lost and left with only a memory of the girl you used to love.

but ekko needed you, and you had to stay strong. for him, for powder who was on the brink of losing herself for good, and for the voice of vi in your dreams who told you to keep going no matter what.

and so you had worked together with ekko to build the firelights, a new community to help uplift people who had been in similar situations to you and take out the drug that had helped to make everything worse.

you were doing good work so far, thankful that you and your brother were geniuses and had created the hoverboards and many other devices to keep you safe and help your mission. life was getting better, even if you still caught yourself sitting at the memorial wall late at night thinking of what your life could've been like if you would have pushed more and never let vi and the others go on that heist.

it seems like the gods in a sick trick may have heard your thoughts. after going out to do some scouting after a tip, ekko headed back to the hideout with two captives in tow, refusing to tell you what was going on until later. you understand why he didn't because if he told you your girlfriend who had been dead for six years had been found walking through the lanes with an enforcer you might have smacked him.

she was standing and looking at the memorial wall when he brought you to her, looking just as beautiful as the day you lost her. her hair was still focused to one side while shaved on the other, bringing up the memory of how her face had reddened when you told her she looked hotter that way. you don't get time to dwell when she’s running up to you and squeezing you into her arms.

you tried to stay strong, but she burrowed her nose into your neck and whispered “god, did I miss you, muffin,” you couldn't help but crumple into her arms.

you took her back to your room and she explained everything, the factory, silco, stillwater. it broke your heart a little to realize you thought she was gone when she was actually so close. you'd never wanted to kill the sheriff more than you did in that moment.

when she told you she was going to go after jinx you were divided. you had encountered your childhood friend, who at some points felt more like a little sister, multiple times over the years. sometimes you'd be able to see glimpses of the girl underneath when you snuck into her place with silco and held her so the voices would be quieter. but you also had seen how much she deteriorated, and as much as you didn't want to admit it you knew powder was gone.

but you believed in vi, and told her as much. it was hard to send her off to the bridge, much less with an enforcer, but you knew it had to be done. but it felt like what happened six years ago happened again, you staying behind and everything going wrong. vi and the enforcer had fled to who knows where and there was no sign of ekko until he popped up with a former council member?

vi popped up a few days later, looking defeated and craving comfort. she didn't need to be invited but you do anyway, telling her she may stay with the firelights for as long as she needed.

vi had been eager to make up for lost time, following you around almost like a puppy when you were showing her the ins and outs of the hideout. despite the stress of the things going on in your lives, it was so easy to fall back into a friendly and romantic relationship with her.

it became strained however when she was offered the job to be an enforcer, helping manage the tense relationship between zaun and piltover. she was excited about the opportunity, ready to help her community in any way how. but you couldn't help but be scared of how it might change her to be around the people who took part in making your life worse.

but you believed in vi, and knew she’d do everything she could to make your home better.

she had already started beforehand by helping with some firefly runs, it being easier to clean up the mess of shimmer left with silco’s death. it warmed your heart to see her coming back from a run laughing and joking with the other firelights.

she continued your beloved tradition, taking you up with her to the top of the tree to observe the stars together. you both didn't speak much, the comfort of each other enough for this moment.

#arcane #arcane 2021 #arcane x reader #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #jinx #ekko #caitlyn kiramman

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