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noredemptionhere · 1 month ago

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𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢𓍼ོ

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛: 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚔𝚊 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚊𝚓𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 [𝚘𝚌], 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 [𝚘𝚌 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍], 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖, 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚙.𝚜. “𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢” 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚙𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍/𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐. 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍.

you weren’t okay.

neither of you were.

you were dying.. slowly, cruelly. your body had turned against you in a way no one could undo. it was a quiet kind of betrayal, coded deep in your own cells, unfolding piece by piece as you faded. and sevika was dying too. just slower. just loud enough to scream every day and still be alive the next morning.

she had proposed to you three years ago, with trembling fingers and a heart too full to beat steady. those years that followed were the only ones she would ever call good. the world had collapsed to the size of your body in her arms. you were her home, her anchor, her peace. you were the only thing she had ever loved without fear, without restraint, without wondering if she was meant to.

she didn’t propose the way she’d first planned. the original idea had been… obscene. filthy, even. she had thought about slipping the ring into your mouth mid-rimming, letting you taste the weight of forever on her tongue before you ever saw it. she’d thought it was funny, honest. but she knew you. knew you would have killed her for ruining something sacred with something so vulgar. so instead, she swallowed the laugh, bent the knee, and offered you everything in the most clichéd way possible. it wasn’t what she wanted..

..but it made you say yes.

it was supposed to be your happy ending.

but six months ago, your body wrote its own ending instead.

your immune system began attacking you. your cells, the very things meant to protect you, no longer recognized you. they saw you as a threat. a stranger. an enemy. and so, they tore you apart. your liver was the first to go, eaten alive by the thing designed to save it. sevika—who’d once laughed in the face of fire, who’d spit blood and come out swinging—had no weapon for this. no fists could fix it.

because it was the cruelest thing she’d ever witnessed. and for the first time in her life, sevika knew that whatever was happening.. was bigger than her.

but if the sickness is bigger than her, then it isn’t for others who knew it. for doctors.

she poured every coin of brass she had into treatments, into comfort, into time. precious, dwindling time. but there was no cure. no relief. just the slow, suffocating reality of watching you slip through her fingers no matter how tightly she held on.

when science failed, she turned to violence. screamed at doctors until her throat bled. held every surgeon in zaun—and piltover—at gunpoint. demanded miracles, begged for anything that would buy her another day with you.

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

the hospital smelled like bleach and blood and plastic. too clean. too fake. like they were trying to cover up the rot of truth with chemicals and clipped voices. it was the most luxurious and groundbreaking medical institution in all of topside.

so if this failed.. something would break even more in her.

sevika stormed through the hall like a storm on two legs.

nurses moved out of her way before she even raised her voice. one look at her—the trembling jaw, the too wild eyes, the blood on her knuckles—and they didn’t ask questions. they just vanished behind swinging doors and flimsy curtains.

she found the head surgeon near the nurse’s station. some older man with tired eyes and a clipboard. he turned, startled, when she grabbed him by the front of his white coat.

“you’re not doing enough.”

his mouth opened, but she didn’t give him time.

“you told me she had weeks. it’s been days. she’s in pain. she’s getting worse, not better. and you’re sitting here filling fucking paperwork?!”

“miss—sevika, please—you have to understand, this disease isn’t cu-“

“that doesn’t matter.” her voice cracked. she wasn’t yelling anymore. she was begging through her teeth. “fix her. i don’t care what it takes. tell me what you need. a new fucking liver? organs? just say it.”

he hesitated.

and she saw it.

the pause. the flicker of defeat in his eyes.

and something inside her snapped.

she shoved him hard against the wall, her forearm pressing into his throat, the other hand already reaching under her coat for the cold weight of the pistol she hadn’t carried in years. not since she’d left the undercity behind.

“you don’t get to give up,” she hissed. “not when she’s still breathing. not when she still opens her eyes and looks for me.”

“call the security-” he shouted at the nurses.

“let them come,” she growled. “i’ll kill everyone in this building if i have to. just to buy her another fucking hour.”

the silence was sharp. ugly. one of the nurses had started crying.

the surgeon didn’t move. didn’t fight back.

because what could he say? what could he offer?

there were no miracles here.

only machines. beeping. slowing.

sevika’s hand trembled. she slammed the gun to the wall beside his head, metal clattering to the floor. her breath hitched. once. twice. then broke apart completely.

“please,” she whispered, chest heaving. “i’ll bring you anything..”

“please.. she doesn’t deserve to die like this.”

the surgeon swallowed, gently easing her back. “i’m sorry,” he said softly. “we’re doing everything we can.”

but it wasn’t enough

and she was getting scared.

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

the door slammed open.

sevika stumbled through, reeking of smoke and stale liquor, her steps uneven but somehow still deliberate. blood, dark and flaking, crusted her knuckles. her cloak hung crooked off one shoulder, dragging behind her like it had barely survived the night.

she kicked the door shut, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. her eyes swept the space. the couch, the kitchen, that corner where you sometimes curled beneath a blanket like a ghost too tired to move on.

“baby?” her voice cracked low, rough around the edges. shaky, like she wasn’t sure it still worked.

silence answered.

she stepped deeper inside. something cold and heavy coiled in her chest.

then, from the bedroom.. barely above a whisper

“sev..?”

she was already moving. “yeah. i’m here.”

you were sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, your hands trembling in your lap. but it was your eyes that stopped her in her tracks. wide. distant. not fixed on her.. but through her, like she wasn’t even there.

you blinked. once. twice. slow and uncertain, like you were trying to clear a fog that wouldn’t lift.

“i think.. i think something’s wrong,” you said, voice thin and distant, like it had wandered far from your body.

“everything’s dark.”

“what?”

you swallowed hard. “i can’t.. see.”

she crossed the room in two strides, dropping to her knees in front of you. her metal hand curled gently around your thigh while her other reached up to tilt your face toward her.

“baby,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “you’re lookin’ at me, right?”

a pause. “..no?”

her chest tightened. her hand shook as it traced your cheek, your jaw, then cradled the back of your head like you might shatter in her hands. “it’s okay,” she lied. her voice split open on the second word. “it’s just the meds. or your sugar. we’ll fix it. i swear.”

you didn’t even realize you were crying until your lips trembled and warm tears rolled soundlessly down your cheeks. “i don’t want to go blind, sev.”

she pulled you into her chest like she could hold your body together with pressure alone.

“you’re not,” she murmured into your hair. “you’re not. i won’t let it happen.”

“what if i-”

“don’t,” she cut in sharply. her voice fractured at the edges. “don’t you fuckin’ say it.”

she gripped you harder. her embrace was soft, too soft, meant for comfort— but her flesh hand was growing colder. colder than the metal one.

then she pulled back, just enough to take your hand and guide it to her face.

“memorize me.”

your heart clenched. your throat closed. you couldn’t even find the breath to speak.

“right now,” she whispered.

your fingertips brushed over her brow, slow and careful. down the slope of her cheek. across the scar that tugged her mouth into that permanent scowl. you touched her lips. she kissed your fingers as they passed, barely holding herself together.

“i got you,” she whispered. “i got you. i got you.”

over and over. like if she repeated it enough, the universe would have no choice but to obey.

and you believed her.

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

a few days later, it was gone.

..no flicker behind your eyelids. no shape. no shadow. just… nothing. a still, heavy black. like sinking into an ocean without a bottom.

you heard sevika sitting beside you.

she hadn’t left the house since. no drinks. no visits to the knuckleheads. she hadn’t been out to the harbor. hadn’t seen silco in almost six days.

you didn’t speak for a long while. just breathed. counted her exhales when your own turned shaky. listened to the soft scrape of her thumb dragging across your wrist.

“still with me?” she asked quietly.

you gave a slow nod.

“good.” a pause followed. “let’s talk.”

you furrowed your brow. “talk?”

“yeah,” she said, gently. “i’m gonna tell you everything in the room. everything you can’t see. and tomorrow, i’ll tell you about tomorrow. and the day after that. and every day after that too.”

“okay,” you whispered.

she adjusted on the mattress. you felt the shift in weight, the warmth of her body beside you.

“there’s a mug on the windowsill. the one with the chip on the handle. you made me keep it after i said i’d throw it out.”

you smiled, barely.

“there’s sunlight on the floor. it’s yellow. looks like a ribbon.”

a long silence stretched out between you.

“the sheets are blue,” she added, her voice quieter now. “they smell like you.”

your hand twitched under the blanket. she reached for it and held it in hers.

“i feel like you’re tired,” you murmured. “you sound tired.”

“yeah,” she breathed. “i’ll live.”

her thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and steady.

“you know what else?” she asked, leaning closer, her voice husky and low beside your ear. “you’re still the prettiest thing in this whole fucking room.”

you let out a broken laugh. then cried a little.

not because you were afraid. but because she made it okay to be.

sevika held you through it. she kissed your temple and rubbed slow circles into your back while your shoulders trembled.

“my angel,” she whispered, “..sent down just to save me.”

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

January Third.

the night was cold and quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against the windows and filled the corners of the room. shadows stretched long across the walls. outside, wind drifted slow over rooftops, soft and aimless.

you whispered her name.

“hold me.” your voice was faint, frayed at the edges, barely more than breath.

sevika stopped breathing. and not for just a second.

she knew then. in the weight of your whisper. in the silence that followed. it settled in her chest like a stone, that aching shift in gravity. like the world had tipped, like something irreversible had just happened and was still happening all at once.

she didn’t cry. didn’t scream. her body moved before her mind could catch up.

she gathered you into her lap with both arms, held you like a prayer, like something sacred. her forehead pressed against yours. she was trying to share breath, to push life back into your skin through closeness alone.

“you can rest.” she said.

the words tasted like blood. tar. poison.

it broke her, saying it. the hardest thing she ever let herself speak. a mercy, and a blade. but you needed it. needed to know it was safe to let go. that she would not hold it against you. that her love wouldn’t die with you, but stretch on, root deep, grow wild through every breath she took without you.

she didn’t know if you heard her.

but you smiled. Just barely.

you wanted to say thank you.

you wanted to tell her you loved her.

you wanted to promise that you’d find her again, in a gentler place. a softer world. one where you wouldn’t have to be sick. one where her hands could hold you without shaking.

but your body wouldn’t let you.

so instead, with the last ounce of strength left in you, you moved her hand from your cheek and brought it to your lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. It was soft. barely there. like something remembered more than felt.

you’d kissed her hand a thousand times. sometimes messy and loud, sometimes slow and reverent, but never like this. never like it was the last thing you had left to give. you always had more love in you. you always did.

but then you went still.

your chest stopped rising. your mouth didn’t move. your lashes didn’t flutter.

sevika didn’t understand, not at first. she sat there, still holding your body, still waiting for you to lift your head and say something sweet. some tired joke. some soft little, “i’m still here.”

but you didn’t.

the silence stretched. heavy. hollow.

“no.”

it came out low, rough.

he pressed her fingers to your wrist.

her other hand shook as she touched your throat.

“no.”

louder now. almost a snarl.

her hands moved—shaking, frantic, useless—as she cradled your face.

“don’t fuckin’ do this.”

she was supposed to be prepared for this. but something cracked. something she’d been holding in the whole time you were sick.

she pressed her forehead to yours. her voice cracked. her whole chest heaved like it was too full of something she couldn’t swallow down.

“don’t fuckin’ do this to me, baby.”

she rocked you. once. twice. like movement could restart you.

your mouth hung open a little. your eyes, still closed, like you were just asleep.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t.

“no. no, no—no!”

the sound that tore out of her didn’t sound human. it was broken glass, and gravel, and something wounded beyond repair.

she held you tighter. clawed you against her chest like she could keep you in her arms forever if she just didn’t let go. her lips smashed against your temple—again and again—as if kissing you hard enough would make you come back.

“i told you,” she whispered. her voice was soaked in grief, barely a breath. “i told you i’d take it. whatever it was. give it to me instead. why didn’t you—why the fuck didn’t you-”

her breath hitched. her hands slipped from your back.

she couldn’t finish the sentence. couldn’t find a version of this that didn’t end in her alone.

sevika held you until her arms went numb.

held you until the light outside changed.

held you until she felt the weight of you shift—not because you moved, but because something final had passed between you.

held you like she was trying to mold you into her. so that whatever took you from her.. would see her a part of you and take her with you as well.

she stayed like that for hours, cheek pressed to yours, whispering all the things she hadn’t said

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

sevika stopped living.

she didn’t call it grief. it was something worse. something black and permanent. the people around her noticed. they moved out of her way, avoided her eyes, said her name like a warning.

she was colder now. less human. more monster. and she liked it that way.

she broke what didn’t need breaking. killed instead of capturing. drank until her throat was raw. slept on floors. woke up in alleyways.

and still, each morning, her chest split open all over again.

because you’d made her promise to keep living.

and she hated you for it.

really fucking hated you for it.

she wanted to take those words out of your mouth with her hands. crush them before they landed. pretend she’d never heard them. never nodded. never kissed your temple and said, “i will, baby. i promise.”

but here she was.

and sevika knew.. it was a matter of time before she breaks that promise.

April First.

she stumbled through the front door, half a bottle down and the other half clutched in her fist. her fingers were numb. her throat burned. her body ached with the kind of pain nothing could touch.

she didn’t plan to wake up again.

but she didn’t even make it to the couch.

she slid down the side of the kitchen counter. sat there, back against the cabinets. the cooler beside her was empty. always was.

and then the air changed.

warm. thick. familiar.

a smell.

soup.

yours.

her favorite.

the scent wound through the room like your arms used to. soft and quiet and filled with things she couldn’t name.

she didn’t breathe. didn’t blink.

not until she saw you.

at the stove.

stirring. humming.

healthy. not blind. and still the prettiest woman she has ever seen.

barefoot. in that stupid sweater she always said was too big. your hair pulled back. smiling to yourself like nothing in the world had ever hurt you.

and sevika didn’t hesitate.

she got up like it hurt.

walked straight to you like you were gravity.

her arms wrapped around your waist.

her face pressed into your neck.

and she breathed. for the first time in weeks, she breathed.

“hey,” you said softly.

your voice landed on her like mercy.

“don’t you think you drink too much-”

“no.” her voice cracked. “you shut up.”

her grip tightened.

“you shut your mouth and let me have this.”

you went quiet.

her hands slid under the hem of your sweater, palms flat against your stomach. just to feel. just to know.

and then her mouth was on your neck.

slow. starving.

a kiss, then another. then another.

down the column of your throat. up beneath your jaw.

she kissed you like she was trying to memorize you. like her mouth could map you back into existence.

“i love you,” she whispered against your skin.

one more kiss.

“i didn’t say it enough.”

another.

“i love you so much.”

you turned in her arms, soft hands cupping her face.

“i know,” you whispered, brushing your nose against hers. “i love you too.”

then you kissed her. gentle. warm. real.

and she whimpered. actually whimpered into your mouth.

because she missed this. missed you.

and she knew it couldn’t last.

you rested your forehead against hers.

“we need rosemary,” you said.

she smiled.

“yeah?”

“i wanted to make you rosemary bread,” you murmured, smiling. “it goes well with peach tea.”

and that’s when everything broke.

her dreams never remembered details like that.

not the bread, not the tea. not they your eyes shined with all the love in the world.

she opened her eyes.

you were gone.

the stove was still on.

the soup was still there.

the smell still clung to the air like your hands had clung to her face.

she moved. lifted the lid.

steam hit her cheeks.

it was hot.

it was real.

she dropped to her knees and ate straight from the pot, greedy and desperate. it burned her tongue. she didn’t care.

and when it was gone, when there was nothing left,

she reached for the bottle again.

because if drinking could make you come back,

she’d keep going.

until she could feel you again.

until she could smell rosemary again.

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x fem!reader #sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevika x you

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senascoop · 6 months ago

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☁︎ . , ONCE UPON A KISS , N.RK !

PAIRING: boyfriend ! riki × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: spending quality time with your boyfriend was good...until he suggested something that you clearly seemed hesitant about. GENRE: suggestive, passing chocolate thru kiss. WORD COUNT: 568. [LIBRARY]

The room was quiet, with only the faint hum of your phone playing some avant-garde foreign film. You both were hardly paying any attention to it. You pointed to the screen, where two actors were performing an overly theatrical kiss, exchanging a cube of chocolate between their lips. “Hmm, do you think that’s dirty?” you quirked an eyebrow at Riki.

You didn't much hope for a reaction-a quick jab, a laugh, or something overly dramatic. Instead, he merely stared at the ceiling for some time in thought.

Then again, his gaze turned to you, brilliant and sharp and eviling-something mischievous. “Don't know,” he said at long last, in a tone that was terribly casual. “Guess I'll have to test the hypothesis.”

Before you opened your mouth to ask him what hypothesis, to remind him he wasn't in science class, he gingerly grabbed a piece of chocolate from the table and gently shoved it into his mouth. You blinked, completely caught between confusion and amusement. “Riki, what-”

But you could hardly finish that because, within one fluid motion, he came worriedly close into your space. His lips met yours-warm, soft-sweet, chocolate-rich came blasting at you as he teasingly flicked his tongue over your lips.

All the connections within your brain seemed to short-circuit.

Was this even real? Were you sharing chocolate through a kiss, just like some tacky romcom couple? Your hands flew onto his shoulders for, well, probably a push-off, or to make sure he did not pull away before you could properly sort yourself out.

The kiss deepened, chocolate heating up between your mouths into a sweet, gluey warmth. Riki was going all off-the-wall, purposely savouring the moment, taking his time.

It was messy, sure, but it was also intoxicating—the combination of heat, sweetness, and the sheer audacity of the moment. You couldn’t help but grip him tighter as the world outside melted away, leaving only the faint hum of the movie and the wild thrum of your heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, you both gasped for air, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourself. His lips were smeared with chocolate, so were yours, but neither of you moved to clean up the evidence of your chaos. Instead, Riki leaned back slightly, his signature cocky grin spreading across his face.

“It’s not dirty,” he declared, his tone brimming with mock seriousness, as if he’d just made the most groundbreaking discovery in human history.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head as a laugh bubbled up from your chest. “Who even thinks to do that?”

“Geniuses,” he replied without hesitation, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie like this was just another Tuesday night activity. Then, with the same unshakable confidence, he added, “Also, that was a 10 out of 10 execution. You’re welcome.”

You groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. “You’re so annoying!”

He caught the pillow with one hand, still grinning as if you’d just handed him an award. “Annoyingly talented. And, admit it, unbelievably good at this.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your lips still tingled from the kiss betrayed you. Riki’s laugh filled the room, light and carefree, and you couldn’t help but join in despite yourself. In that moment, one thing became very clear: not only did your boyfriend match your freak — he might actually surpass it.

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ichorai · 2 months ago

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chiropterology — pinnochio.

drabble synopsis ; bruce wayne prepares to attend a gala alone. warnings ; sexually suggestive, some kisses :0

series masterlist.

You tossed Bruce’s silver cufflinks from one hand to another, watching him get dressed from the bed, lips curled into a coy grin. Bruce’s hair was slightly damp from the shower, but was quick to dry after a quick pass with a blow dryer and a swift comb through. His fingers deftly buttoned up the ironed dress shirt as his eyes met the reflection of your provocative, sultry gaze through the mirror. If there wasn’t a gala to attend in half an hour, Bruce would’ve been crawling over you again in an instant. Self restraint was, however, something he prided himself on.

Though, it was getting increasingly difficult to hold himself back when you slid out of the bed in all your naked glory, a light sheen of sweat still glossed over your skin from your prior… activities. You sidled up behind him, kissed his shoulder, and took one of his calloused hands to drop the cufflinks into them.

“Close your mouth,” you whispered with a laugh. “This is your fault, you know. I would’ve been happy to join you for tonight’s gala.”

Bruce sighed. “I love you, but I’ll be avoiding bringing you to public events for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t know what could possibly lead you to that decision,” you said, feigning innocence and batting your lashes at him in an exaggerated manner. Bruce scoffed at that.

“The people attending fundraising galas are not your lab rats to test your Pinocchio Serum.” Though Bruce was practically scolding you, his eyes were still soft and playful, despite his exasperated tone.

You held up a finger. “Mm, au contraire—everyone who attends galas are rich, and have plenty of disposable money to get reconstructive facial surgery—”

Bruce groaned out your name, face palming.

“—and their noses only grew if they lied! It’s not my fault every single one of them felt the need to lie about the sizes of their pools, or the number of companies they owned, or how badly they wanted to visit their estranged kids in Bulgaria, or—”

As you ranted about the groundbreaking outcomes of your experiment that he so clearly was not appreciating, he crossed the room to take a silken robe and drape it over your form, tying the soft sash over your hips with a faint blush. If he was going to listen to you talk about your science, he would prefer it if you didn’t do it naked. He had places to be in a few minutes after all.

“I can take you to the next gala. Just promise me—no serums.”

You thought about his offer for a second. “Fine.”

Bruce arched a brow. “No rays, no pills, no buzzers, none of your experiments.”

“Then what’s the point of going in the first place?” you lamented, tossing your hands up in the air. “It’s no wonder none of the kids want to go with you.”

“Hn. It’s more the opposite,” Bruce objected. “It’s best for everyone if the kids don’t attend galas with me anymore.”

Damian was very close to murdering an old woman with a butter knife for pinching his cheeks, and Jason wasn’t any better—he ended up in a screaming match with a high-profile politician. Tim was so sleep-deprived the last time he was forced to go to a gala that he passed out into a plate of mashed potatoes while a senator was speaking to him about some sort of tax law. Cassandra escaped onto the rooftop after two seconds of socializing, and Dick ended up swinging on a crystal chandelier the last time he attended one. You were so proud of all of them.

“You could ask Alfred?” you suggested.

With a sulky huff, Bruce said, “Alfred said I don’t pay him nearly enough for that.”

“Woe is you,” you snorted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, have fun at the gala, hon. I’m taking a shower, then checking up on Duke and Damian, and then I promised Tim we’d start a new show together. Oh, and let me know if you need a quick escape! I’ve been testing out a new kind of smoke bomb that releases—”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Bruce reassured. Every day of his life he found himself grateful you weren’t a supervillain. With a hum, he swept you into his arms and caught your lips in a passionate kiss, effectively shutting you up before you could insist on him trying out the smoke bombs. It was near painful when he forced himself to pull away, relishing the way you chased after his lips just a little. “You’re too much for me, woman,” he grumbled, as if it were your fault that he had to leave.

“You’re the one who put a ring on it,” you retorted, before giving him a light shove towards the door. “Now go! Alfred’s probably been waiting to see you off for ages now!”

#bruce wayne x reader #batfamily x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne fluff #batfamily fluff #batfamily #batman x batmom #batfamily headcanons #batmom x batfamily #bruce wayne

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aspenmissing · 4 months ago

Note

hellohello!! i hope your doing well, and i just wanna say im a HUGE fan of your work, especially your arcane oneshots!!

I was wondering if you could write oneshots for arcane characters dating a socialite!reader? for most of my life, my dad has been a popular businessman and entrepreneur with a lot of influence in my area, and I often attend social gatherings and parties with him to build connections with well-known people, which has led me to have a reputation of being my fathers daughter at every event.

i love to see all the different characters you write for, but i especially love the way you write jayce and viktor!! i can imagine a scenario where jayce asks the reader for help and tips for talking to investors once hextech is about to be/was released to the public and wnjsbjdbbfk

if you do choose to write this, thank you so much!! make sure your taking breaks and getting plenty of rest ❤️

ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟɪᴛᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6877 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ!! ɪ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ ꜱᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ!! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪꜱ!!! <3 <3

JAYCE

It was a bright morning in Piltover, the kind where the sun's rays pierced through the towering spires of the city and reflected off the newly polished streets. The air was filled with anticipation, not just for the day ahead but for what was about to unfold—the public release of Hextech, a revolution Jayce had dreamed of for years. But as much as he had poured his heart and soul into the creation of this groundbreaking technology, there was something weighing heavily on him.

As the inventor leaned over his desk, carefully inspecting the designs for the Hextech prototype, he sighed. It wasn’t the invention that bothered him, nor the mechanics behind it. It was the next step—the investors. Hextech would change everything, and the financial support needed to make it a reality on a global scale was crucial.

That’s when he heard the soft click of heels on the stone floor of his workshop.

“Still lost in thought, Jayce?” a teasing voice echoed, warm and confident. Y/N, his beloved, strode in with the poise of someone born into the highest circles of society. As a socialite, she had mastered the art of public relations, charming everyone from the wealthy elite to the diplomats with a mere smile. And though her upbringing might have seemed like a world away from Jayce's scientific endeavors, their bond was undeniable.

Jayce glanced up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I think I’m going to need your help more than I thought.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her delicate gloves aside and walking closer to his workstation. “Help? With what? You’re the genius here.”

He sighed again, rubbing his temple. “Well, that’s the thing. I’ve created Hextech, but now it’s time to present it to the investors. It’s not just about the technology. It’s about selling them on the vision, making them believe in it—making them believe in me. I know the science, but... I’m not exactly a charmer when it comes to high society. I need tips, advice, someone who knows how to get their attention.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “So, you want the socialite’s guide to winning over Piltover’s elite?”

Jayce hesitated, but then nodded. “Exactly. I’ve read the books, but I’m not sure I can pull it off without you.”

Y/N’s confidence was a calm anchor in the midst of Jayce’s whirlwind of nerves. She walked around to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder, offering a comforting touch. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this. But let’s break it down.”

She paused, making sure she had his full attention before continuing. “The first thing is to walk in there with confidence. You’ve built something monumental, and they need to know that. Don’t just show them the device—show them your passion for it. The moment you stop believing in it, they’ll stop believing in it.”

Jayce straightened up, nodding. “I can do that.”

“Good,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. “Now, remember, they’re not just buying a product. They’re buying into you as the inventor. The way you present yourself, the way you speak, it all matters. So, get rid of the technical jargon. They’re not looking for someone to speak in equations. You need to be persuasive, not confusing.”

Jayce chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s definitely something I’ll need to work on.”

Y/N smiled knowingly. “I’ll help with that, too. Focus on the future. Talk about how Hextech will change the world—their world. How it will open new avenues of profit, how it will secure Piltover’s place in history. But never forget to make them feel like they’re part of it. Everyone loves to feel included.”

Jayce felt a sense of reassurance wash over him as she spoke. She had an uncanny way of making the seemingly insurmountable seem achievable.

“And one last thing,” Y/N added with a wink. “Dress the part. When you walk into that room, make them see you not just as a scientist, but as someone with vision, someone who belongs in their world. You can’t just be a man of inventions—you have to be a man of influence, too.”

Jayce’s eyes softened with appreciation as he looked at her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving him a playful smirk. “You’d probably fumble through it and still somehow manage to charm them. But lucky for you, I’m here to help.”

Jayce chuckled, stepping closer to her. “Maybe I do need a little bit of luck.”

“You’ve got more than luck on your side, Jayce,” she said, her gaze softening. “You’ve got your talent, your vision, and... well, you’ve got me.”

And with that, they stood together in the workshop, surrounded by the hum of the Hextech prototypes, ready to face the challenges ahead, knowing that with each other’s support, they could conquer anything—even the boardrooms of Piltover’s most powerful investors.

The night before the big presentation, Y/N had one more idea to help Jayce. She knew how overwhelming it could be to stand before a room full of powerful people and try to sell not only an invention but a dream. So, she pulled out her personal stationery and carefully crafted a set of flashcards, each one containing key points she had drilled into his head that day: confidence, vision, inclusivity.

Each card had a simple, elegant note on it—just enough to jog his memory. She even added a few motivational words like “You’ve got this!” or “This is your future!” with a small sketch of a Hextech device on the back. Her handwriting was immaculate, the neat, flowing strokes giving him the comfort he needed in times of doubt. When she handed the stack to him, her eyes softened with affection.

“I’m going to make sure you’re ready,” Y/N said with a smile. “Use these if you need them. But I know you’ll do just fine without them.”

Jayce stared at the stack, the simple act of her preparing these cards made his heart swell. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Y/N shrugged, a playful gleam in her eye. “You don’t need to. Just come back to me with success in your hands, and we’ll have more than enough to celebrate.”

VIKTOR

The room was alight with the clinking of glasses, the soft murmur of conversations, and the elegant waltz of socialites in the grand hall. Y/N, with her presence marked by the subtle yet undeniable confidence that came from growing up in the heart of high society, was the shining star of the gathering. She glided through the crowd effortlessly, a vision in her gown as her laughter rang like chimes in the air.

But amidst the sea of people, there was one constant that stood by her side—Viktor. He leaned on his cane, the polished metal clicking softly against the marble floor as he walked beside her, his usually stern and thoughtful expression softened by the comfort of her presence. Viktor had never been one for crowds, preferring the quiet solace of his work, but when it came to Y/N, he didn’t mind these gatherings as much. Her gentle smile and the way she quietly brought warmth to him in the midst of a bustling world made it bearable. But still, Viktor’s discomfort was evident in the subtle stiffness of his posture, the way his eyes kept darting to the exit as if ready to leave at any moment.

“You know, you don’t have to stand so stiffly,” Y/N murmured, noticing the tension in his frame. She gently nudged his side with her elbow, flashing him a reassuring smile. “I know these events aren’t exactly your cup of tea, but... it’s not so bad, right?”

Viktor gave her a small, tight-lipped smile, though his gaze remained fixed ahead, scanning the crowd. “It’s not the event. It’s... the crowd,” he admitted quietly. “I’m more used to the solitude of my work. This is... overwhelming.”

Y/N’s eyes softened with understanding, but a playful spark lit up in them as she grasped his arm a little tighter, guiding him through the crowd. “Well, you’re in luck,” she said brightly, her voice carrying just enough enthusiasm to pull him from his thoughts. “Because I’m about to give you an insider’s tour of this gathering. You might find some of these people a bit... amusing.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Amusing?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she replied, her smile wide and mischievous. “For instance, you see Lord Gresham’s wife over there?” She gestured discreetly across the room. “She’s convinced her husband is secretly a war hero. The man attended a battle once, but only for an hour, and he didn’t even get close to the front lines.”

Viktor’s lips quirked up into a slight smirk. “How... inspiring,” he said dryly, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I take it she hasn’t learned the truth yet?”

“Of course not,” Y/N whispered, her voice full of mischief. “He tells her the same stories every year, and she believes him each time. It’s honestly impressive how long he’s been able to keep up the ruse.”

Viktor chuckled quietly, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. She had a way of making the absurdities of this world sound so light-hearted, so funny, that it made even the most uncomfortable of moments seem bearable. As they continued walking, she leaned in just a little closer, her voice low enough to keep their conversation private.

“And over there,” she nodded towards another figure, “you see Lady Lila? The one in the pale blue gown? She’s the woman who insists that no one should ever wear the color blue because it 'steals the soul from the eyes.' She told me that the first time I wore a sapphire dress to one of these events. Can you imagine?”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the rarest of smiles forming at the absurdity of it all. He glanced at Lady Lila, a serious-looking woman with an exaggerated air of refinement, and then back at Y/N, whose eyes sparkled with the mischief of knowing such peculiar details.

“And here I thought the blue of the sky and the sea stole souls,” he remarked dryly, his voice carrying a faint warmth that only she could bring out in him.

Y/N laughed softly, her fingers gently tapping his arm as she guided him through the crowd with newfound ease. “You’d be surprised. She’s very serious about it. And there’s more—Lady Montclair, the one over by the window? She once asked me if my earrings would predict the future. Her exact words were, 'Will they reveal how your evening will unfold?' Like they were some sort of mystical artifact.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to Y/N’s simple yet elegant diamond earrings, then back at her, his amusement barely contained. “And what did you tell her? That they were more interested in the present than the future?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a sly grin. “Exactly. I told her that these little gems are more concerned with the sparkle of the moment than with making any grand predictions about the night.” She gave a small laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Sometimes, I think people here would believe anything if you say it with enough conviction.”

Viktor couldn’t help but laugh at that, a low, quiet sound that was genuine and free of his usual restraint. His grip on his cane had relaxed slightly, and the stiffness in his posture was no longer as noticeable. He was starting to enjoy himself, despite his natural aversion to these gatherings. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t so bad, especially when Y/N was by his side.

“Do you make a habit of learning all of these little... secrets?” Viktor asked, his voice softer now, filled with a touch of wonder.

Y/N smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling as she shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, I’ve had years to observe and pick up on them. It’s practically a skill at this point. You’d be amazed how many oddities exist beneath all the polished façades of these people.”

“I’m sure I would,” Viktor replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They paused for a moment near the edge of the ballroom, watching the others as they mingled and danced. The noise of the gathering seemed to fade, the murmur of voices and clinking glasses becoming distant as Y/N turned to Viktor, her expression softening.

“I’m really glad you’re here with me,” she said quietly, her voice sincere. “I know you’d probably prefer the quiet of your lab or the comfort of solitude, but... it means a lot that you’re here, standing in this sea of people just for me.”

Viktor’s gaze softened, his blue eyes meeting hers with an intensity that only grew stronger with every passing moment they spent together. His voice was low and warm when he spoke. “I’m here because you’re here, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection. In that moment, the entire room seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them—her with her bright smile and sparkling eyes, and him, the brilliant but often misunderstood man, wrapped in their own world of quiet humor and shared moments.

She looped her arm through his, resting her shoulder lightly against his. “Well, I’m glad, because I’m never letting you go.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and soothing. “And I wouldn’t want you to.”

With Viktor by her side, the noise of the gathering, the strange and absurd people, and the weight of her family’s expectations faded into the background. For her, the evening was already perfect. And for Viktor, it was no longer a room full of strangers—it was a night spent with the one person who could turn a world of noise into a place of peace.

JAYVIK

It was an evening draped in elegance, with chandeliers casting their golden glow upon the extravagant ballroom. The air was filled with the soft murmurs of high society—an endless sea of tailored suits, silk dresses, and the subtle clink of fine glassware. This was the world Y/N had known for most of her life, yet it always felt like a cage. Her parents, as ever, had dragged her here tonight with the same tired excuse: to meet the right people, to build connections, to secure her future. They’d never seen her as anything but an extension of their own social ladder, a tool to climb higher.

She stood at the edge of the room, trying her best to blend into the crowd of strangers, her mother already deep in conversation with a group of important figures. Y/N had been introduced as nothing more than "Mr. ___ daughter"—her name scarcely mentioned. It was always like that. It stung every time, but she had long learned to swallow her bitterness and play the role of the perfect daughter.

It had been hours since the gala began, and Y/N was already exhausted. Every moment seemed to blur into the next as her father pulled her from one conversation to the next. Each time, it was the same. A well-placed compliment about her family's wealth, a brief mention of her accomplishments—none of it felt real. None of it felt like her. Her mother, too, had taken the opportunity to introduce her to all the right people, each person a potential business partner or connection. Y/N felt like a puppet on a string, her every move directed by the expectations of others. There was no space for her to breathe, no room to escape.

The whispers of "Mr. ___ daughter" followed her like a shadow. Her name was never spoken. She was a tool, a symbol of their success, nothing more.

As her father dragged her yet again to another conversation, Y/N could feel her patience wearing thin. Her smile was starting to feel strained, her energy ebbing away like the fading echoes of the orchestra’s soft lullaby. She excused herself with a polite, practiced smile and tried to slip away from the crowd. The ballroom seemed to close in around her, and the weight of the evening’s obligations made her feel smaller and smaller. Her thoughts were a swirling mess of frustration and resignation. She didn’t want to be here, caught in a world where she was a mere pawn in her family's social game.

But then, she felt a hand on her arm—light but firm—and turned to find Viktor standing beside her. His gaze was steady, the ever-present calmness of his demeanor a sharp contrast to the chaotic whirlwind of the gala. His eyes, always perceptive, took in the subtle signs of her exhaustion.

"Are you all right?" Viktor asked quietly, his voice soft but cutting through the noise of the room like a lifeline.

She let out a small, tired laugh. "I’m fine, just... a little tired of being 'Mr. ___ daughter.'" She gave him a knowing glance, grateful for his understanding.

Before Viktor could respond, the sharp, confident voice of Jayce cut through the hum of conversation. "I think our dear Y/N is in need of a break." Jayce’s easy smile appeared as he slid in next to her, his presence offering a certain lightness amidst the suffocating formality of the event. "What do you say we make our own escape?"

Y/N’s heart felt a flutter of relief at the thought. Jayce’s smile always made her feel at ease, a sharp contrast to the cold, calculated world she often found herself trapped in. She looked between him and Viktor, silently thankful that they knew exactly how she was feeling without needing to say a word.

Before she could say anything, Jayce turned, his eyes locking onto her father, who had been scanning the room, no doubt looking for his next opportunity. With the same casual charm he always exuded, Jayce made his way over to Mr. ___.

"Ah, Mr. ___!" Jayce greeted him with a broad grin. "I hope the evening has been treating you well. I was just telling your daughter how wonderful it’s been to catch up with her." He paused for effect, giving Mr. ___ a slight wink. "But I think it’s time we ‘borrow’ her for a bit, if you don’t mind. She’s been such a delightful guest, and I’d love to give her a little more... personal attention for the rest of the evening."

Mr. ___ , caught slightly off guard, blinked for a moment before his expression softened into one of polite acceptance. He nodded, too accustomed to Jayce’s charisma to put up much of a fight. "Well, of course. I suppose I can spare her for a little while longer, Mr. Talis" He gave Y/N a knowing smile, one that carried the silent message of don’t be too long before he turned back to his next conversation.

Y/N suppressed a sigh of relief. She gave Jayce a grateful smile as he turned back to her.

"Shall we?" Jayce said, his voice filled with a lightness that felt like the first breath of fresh air. He placed his hand gently at the small of her back, guiding her away from the crowd. Viktor, already a step ahead, led the way, his eyes meeting hers with that familiar, understanding gaze. She felt herself relax as they walked away from the chaos, the weight of the evening slowly lifting.

They moved through the ballroom, dodging the glances and murmurs of people who seemed far too interested in who was with whom and what they were doing. But all of that faded away as they found a quiet alcove, tucked far from the noise and the expectations. The lights here were dimmer, the atmosphere far more intimate, and for the first time that night, Y/N felt like she could breathe.

Viktor stood close to her, the air between them calm and filled with understanding. "Better?" he asked softly, his hand brushing against hers in a quiet gesture of reassurance.

"Much better," she replied, her voice filled with gratitude. The weight of the evening’s obligations seemed to melt away as she sank into the comfort of their company.

Jayce leaned casually against the wall, his smile never fading. "I think that’s enough ‘business’ for tonight, don’t you? You don’t have to be anyone but yourself here, Y/N."

Viktor nodded in agreement, his gaze soft but unwavering. "You don’t owe anyone anything. Not here. Not now."

Y/N’s heart swelled with warmth. She had spent so long being shaped by the expectations of her family and society, trying to fit into the mold of Mr. ___ daughter, but here, with Viktor and Jayce, she didn’t need to pretend. There were no titles to live up to. There was just Y/N.

"I think I might just be the happiest I’ve been all night," she said, her voice sincere as she looked at the two of them.

Viktor offered her a small, rare smile, one that warmed her from the inside. "Then let’s make sure the rest of this night is about you."

Jayce grinned mischievously. "And if we happen to stir up a little chaos? All the better."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and genuine, free of any strain. For the first time in hours, she felt like herself. There were no expectations. No weighty legacy. Just the two people who truly understood her, who saw her for who she really was, not just the name she carried.

With Viktor and Jayce by her side, she was no longer just Mr. ___ daughter. She was Y/N.

As they stayed in the alcove, Y/N felt time slow down, the world outside muffled by the intimate, quiet space they’d created together. No longer confined to the duties of her family's expectations, she found herself finally able to think for herself, to laugh without hesitation. Tonight was for her—no performances, no obligations. Just the freedom to exist as she was, with the people who accepted her without the need for approval. And for once, that felt like everything.

VANDER

The city of Zaun was a place of contradictions—dark alleys where deals were made in the shadows, and bright, polished surfaces that hinted at wealth and power. Among the elite who resided above, far from the grime of the undercity, there was Y/N. A socialite, a name whispered in high society, known for both her charm and the influence she wielded. She moved through the glittering circles of wealth and power like a dancer, graceful and calculated, never too far from the pulse of Zaun’s more dangerous undercurrents. Her world was Piltover—a world of high society, fine art, grand estates, and people who looked down their noses at the undercity, the very place where her heart secretly resided.

Y/N had connections that most would kill for, and while the gleaming streets of Piltover offered their own kind of thrill, it was the chaos, the vibrancy, and the raw energy of Zaun that always called to her. It was in the undercity that she found something more real, more untamed. And it was there, in the spaces between the glittering lights and the darkness, that she met Vander.

Vander was different from the men of her world. Rugged, imposing, yet carrying an unspoken kindness beneath the hardened exterior of a man who had lived a life fighting for survival. While Y/N had her connections, Vander had his street-fighting roots, his loyalty to the children of the undercity, and an honor that ran deeper than any riches or titles.

Vander’s fight was always one of survival, of keeping his family safe in a world that was determined to leave them in the dust. He’d built something in the undercity—something that meant more to him than anything else. It was his people, the kids, and the promise he’d made to protect them. And when the tension between Vander’s crew and the Enforcers escalated, it was only a matter of time before violence would erupt.

But Y/N had never been one to shy away from danger. She knew Grayson, after all. Grayson, the woman who ruled the Enforcers with a sharp mind and an even sharper edge. She wasn’t the kind of person Y/N would cross unless she was certain of her ground. Thankfully, Y/N knew how to play the game better than anyone. Her relationships with Piltover’s elite, her ability to manipulate the right strings in the right ears, made her invaluable.

The tension between Vander’s crew and the Enforcers had been rising, and the last thing the city needed was another bloodbath. So, Y/N did what she did best—she made a deal.

Y/N arranged a meeting with Grayson, in the polished boardrooms far above the grime of the streets. She’d crossed paths with her many times before, her dealings with Grayson always keeping a delicate balance. Both women were aware of the power they held in different ways, but Y/N knew how to speak Grayson’s language—power, control, and profit. In Grayson’s eyes, Y/N was no different from the powerful elite of Piltover, and perhaps that’s why she was able to broker such a deal.

It wasn’t easy, but Y/N knew the price. She’d asked for the one thing that would keep Vander’s streets safe—Grayson’s agreement to hold her Enforcers back from Vander’s turf in exchange for a subtle understanding: Vander would keep his operations on the up-and-up, pay his dues, and avoid creating any more headaches for the Enforcers. It was a delicate negotiation, but Y/N had made it work.

Before Y/N left Grayson’s office, she made sure to slip in a few more words for good measure. “You know Marcus is getting a little too bold lately,” she said, eyes narrowing with a glimmer of humor. “I’d suggest knocking him down a few pegs, or you might find him a little too comfortable in your shadow. You might want to remind him who calls the shots here.”

Grayson’s icy demeanor faltered for the briefest of moments, and Y/N caught the faintest flash of approval in her eyes. Grayson didn’t let many people speak to her that way—but Y/N knew how to push the right buttons.

By the time Y/N returned to Vander, her deal was sealed, and Grayson was bound by her word. It was strange, working with someone like Grayson, but in a city where power played its own dangerous game, sometimes alliances were necessary. Y/N had gotten what she needed, and more importantly, she’d kept Vander—and his ragtag group of kids—safe.

As Y/N entered the small bar where Vander had made his home, the warmth of the place felt like a contrast to the cold elegance of Piltover’s high halls. It was a space carved from the undercity’s heart, a place where Vander had built not just a safe haven, but a family. When his eyes caught hers, they softened, the harshness of the world outside slipping away. Y/N had kept her promise, and in the way he looked at her, she could see the gratitude, the respect, and something deeper that had grown over time.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Vander’s voice was low, but there was a warmth in it that made her chest tighten. His usual gruffness softened as he walked toward her, the tension of the last few days seemingly vanishing in an instant.

Y/N smiled, her heart racing as she walked into his embrace. "I made sure Grayson would keep her Enforcers off your streets, and in return, you would do the same. The deal’s done."

His rough fingers brushed against the back of her hand, a tender gesture that betrayed his usual tough exterior. "I don’t know how you do it," he murmured, leaning closer. “But I’m grateful. We owe you more than we can ever repay.”

There was something in his eyes then—something Y/N hadn’t seen before. A look that said more than words could ever convey. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them both and kissed him. The kiss was soft, tentative, but it spoke volumes about everything that had been growing between them. They weren’t just allies, they weren’t just partners—they were more than that. They shared a bond forged not only through deals and whispered promises but through a shared understanding of what it meant to fight for something—someone—worth protecting.

Vander’s arms wrapped around her, his warmth enveloping her as he pulled her closer. "You’re not just a pretty face in Piltover’s high circles, Y/N," he murmured against her ear, his breath warm and comforting. “You’re the heart of it all. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Those words hit Y/N in a way she hadn’t expected. His rough exterior hid a heart that was as loyal as they came, and for the first time, she allowed herself to truly believe that she, too, was part of something bigger—something that could make a difference in this world of light and shadows.

The city outside was full of danger, and there was no telling what tomorrow would bring, but for now, in the warmth of Vander’s embrace, Y/N knew that this fight—this love, this shared vision—was something worth continuing. Two people from vastly different worlds, bound together not by circumstance, but by choice. In this city of contradictions, the one thing that was certain was that they would continue to fight for each other, for these streets, and for the people they both loved.

SILCO

The city of Zaun was always dark, but it was a kind of darkness that felt like home for Y/N. She stood by the window of the luxurious apartment she had arranged for herself, a place where opulence met the underbelly of the city she loved. Beyond the glass, the haze of the polluted air mingled with the glow of the industrial lights from Piltover. The rhythmic hum of the machines below felt like a heartbeat, steady and constant, much like the world she had come to dominate in her own way.

The apartment itself was a reflection of her duality—rich velvet curtains alongside sleek, modern furniture, all bathed in the dim glow of carefully placed lights. It was a place of refuge for Y/N, and though it was filled with the trappings of wealth, there was always something raw about it, something unpolished. A perfect blend of beauty and danger, much like its owner.

A soft knock came at the door before it opened, and in walked Silco, his presence as commanding as ever. He wore that familiar tight-lipped smile, a contrast to the deep intensity in his eyes. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, his steps deliberate, measured.

Y/N didn’t turn to greet him right away. Instead, she took another slow sip of her drink, savoring the taste of fine whiskey as the amber liquid slid down her throat. Her eyes stayed on the skyline outside, pretending to focus on the world that lay beyond her reach, though it was only Silco she cared for in that moment. Silco’s eyes flickered over to her glass, then back to her face, a silent acknowledgment of the shared intimacy between them.

“You’ve been drinking alone,” he remarked, his tone a mixture of amusement and curiosity, his voice as smooth as silk, but edged with something darker.

Y/N’s lips curled into a faint smile, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. “Not alone, Silco,” she said, voice soft yet steady, “not when you’re always with me.”

She finally turned to face him, allowing her eyes to linger on him, meeting his gaze with a knowing intensity. Her beauty was undeniable, a polished elegance that stood in stark contrast to the grime of the city. Yet it was that very world that had drawn her to him—the grit, the fight, the power. Silco had never been one for the glittering balls or social events she thrived in, but he understood the power of connections and influence—something she had plenty of.

She took a step toward him, her heels clicking against the marble floor with every movement, the sound deliberate, like a promise. The room was filled with that electric tension between them, a current neither could deny.

“I’ve spoken to my contacts,” Y/N said, her eyes gleaming with a hidden satisfaction as she stood just inches from him now. “The shipment you were waiting for—your new supply of shimmer—will arrive ahead of schedule. They’ll get it to you safely, no questions asked.”

Silco’s lips twitched upward, a rare moment of appreciation for the socialite in front of him. His eyes softened, just for a moment, before he regained his usual icy composure. “You’ve done well, darling,” he said, his voice smooth and low. “I always knew I could count on you.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled, the edge of triumph evident in her gaze. It was a rare moment where Silco allowed himself to acknowledge the strength of her work. She was a force of her own, and he couldn’t help but respect her for it. But there was also something more between them—something unspoken, a bond they’d forged over time, despite the differences in their worlds.

Y/N took another step forward, her body almost pressing against his. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with anticipation. She let her hand trail along the back of his neck, the touch light, yet possessing a sense of ownership. Her fingers grazed the fine line of his jaw, a subtle reminder of how far she could reach into his world.

“Of course, Silco. Anything for you,” she whispered, her voice low and breathless.

There was a moment of silence, heavy and thick, where the weight of their connection hung in the air. Y/N felt it—the way the room seemed to shrink around them, as though the entire world outside disappeared the moment their eyes locked. Slowly, she stepped even closer, her heart pounding in her chest.

She raised her hand to touch his face, her fingers brushing against the scar that marred his once-perfect visage. It was a reminder of everything he had fought for, everything he had become. She didn’t flinch from it, though. She understood it, better than most. Her hand slid to the back of his head, pulling him in slightly, as she tilted her head to meet his lips with hers.

The kiss was slow at first—lingering, soft, a dance of control and surrender. But soon, it deepened, growing more insistent as their bodies pressed closer. Silco’s hands found her waist, gripping her firmly as if to remind her that, even in the comfort of her world, he was the one who held the power.

When they finally broke apart, the air between them crackled, but neither seemed willing to fully let go. Silco’s lips curled into a wry, knowing smile. His voice was low, almost a growl as he whispered against her ear. “You are a dangerous woman, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “You know that?”

Y/N chuckled softly, her fingers threading through his hair as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “I know,” she whispered back, her voice laden with something deeper, darker. “But I think you like it.”

A fire sparked in Silco’s eyes, the raw intensity that had always been there, hidden beneath the cool exterior. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her even closer until there was no space left between them. Before she could say anything more, he pulled her into a deeper kiss, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that left no room for doubt. In that moment, the world outside seemed irrelevant—nothing mattered except the two of them, tangled in a web of power, passion, and everything they had built together.

In his world, power was everything. But in this moment, with Y/N in his arms, the world of influence and wealth she inhabited seemed like nothing more than a shadow. They were together, and that was all that mattered.

MEL

It was another night of glittering chandeliers, laughter echoing through the halls of the grand estate, and conversations dripping with carefully concealed motives. The gathering had been long—everyone playing their part, exchanging pleasantries, and using their charm to win favor. But as the evening drew to a close, you and Mel finally slipped away from the crowd. The two of you, never far from each other, made your way back to your shared apartment.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and instantly, the weight of the night began to lift. You both had been on your best behavior all night—smiling, nodding, keeping up with the latest gossip, but now, in the quiet of your home, you could finally drop the masks.

Mel sighed and slung her coat over the back of the couch, her usual graceful composure softening into something more comfortable, more real. "I swear, if I hear about Lord Di'ana's 'new invention' one more time..." she muttered, shaking her head. "The man’s been talking about it for months. I’m starting to think it’s just an elaborate excuse to sell overpriced scraps."

You couldn't help but laugh. "I overheard someone say his invention was meant to 'revolutionize' transportation. But after seeing his demonstration, I’d say it was more of a fire hazard than anything else." You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. "I also heard someone whispering that his wife is... shall we say, 'entertained' by a few more guests than she lets on."

Mel snorted, her lips curling into an amused grin. "Oh, I’m sure that’s true. Everyone knows she's always had an eye for the finer things in life. But a few guests? I’d say it’s a lot more than that." She winked, and the playful sparkle in her eyes made your heart skip a beat.

You stepped into the living room, taking a seat next to her on the couch. "And what about Lady Sevrin? I overheard her telling people that you were ‘on her list’ of ‘troublesome’ women to keep an eye on," you said, your tone teasing. "I have to say, I feel rather honoured to be included in such illustrious company."

Mel rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the amused smile tugging at her lips. "As if she could do anything about it. She’s too busy gossiping about anyone with power to actually keep up with them. And don’t even get me started on her newest ‘business ventures.’ That woman’s completely delusional." She paused, her voice lowering, as if she were revealing a well-kept secret. "But here's the funniest part: I overheard one of the servants whispering that she’s secretly in debt up to her eyeballs. All those ‘business ventures’ are just to keep up the facade of success. She’s one bad investment away from losing it all."

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "Now that's a bit of juicy gossip. I’ll be sure to keep that one in my back pocket for the next time she gives me that look of hers."

Mel leaned back, her arm brushing against yours, and sighed contentedly. "It’s always amusing what people will reveal when they think no one's listening. It’s a game, really—pretend to be someone else, hide your true intentions, all while trying to figure out everyone else’s secrets."

You smiled softly, glancing over at her. "Speaking of secrets... how are you feeling about all of this? The masks, the games, the endless performances?"

Mel’s expression softened, her eyes thoughtful for a moment before she spoke, her voice quieter now. "I’m fine. It’s... what I’m good at. It’s who I am, at least in this world. But sometimes, I wish things were simpler. That we could just—" She stopped, and when she looked at you again, there was a rare vulnerability in her gaze. "That I could just be with you without the constant weight of all this. Without needing to be someone else."

You reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "You don’t need to be anyone else with me, Mel. I love you for who you are—behind the masks, behind all the roles you play. And you’re not alone in this. We both have to play these games, but we don’t have to play them alone."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know? You make all of this feel... bearable."

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. "Same here. We’re in this together, Mel. Always."

As the city buzzed outside your windows, the two of you sat in the quiet of your apartment, the secrets of the evening forgotten for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence. The masks, for now, could wait.

#arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #mel x reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce x y/n #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #vander x reader #vander x y/n #vander x you #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #jayvik x reader #jayce x reader x viktor

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crazedbluette · 16 days ago

Text

Whisking Hearts: Prologue

A JayVik x Baker!Male Reader

1.8k Words.

TW: emotional distress, academic pressure, imposter syndrome, homophobia, classism, ableism, verbal abuse from authority figures, identity suppression, and moments of depressive ideation.

Author Notes at the end!

Not proof read.

FDNI!!!!!

Masterlist

Your Dreams Were Supposed to Rise Like Bread

Piltover University was supposed to be where your dreams took shape. It was where you thought you’d finally soar. Where you could make your parents proud.

The brochures had shown students with eyes full of fire and passion, creating groundbreaking, unique inventions with their blood, sweat, and tears. The buildings themselves were grand and luxurious with marble halls with walls that seemed to hum with the promise of creating outstanding members of society. Students climbed those steps with the weight of ambition on their shoulders, and you’d been one of them: nervous, hopeful, tightly clutching your satchel with a single item inside of it: a worn, leather-bound notebook.

But what they never tell you is that some dreams demand more than you’re able—or willing—to give.

Your first few weeks were a blur of pressure, panic, sweat, and stress. Lectures were relentless. Complex theories thrown at you like daggers trying to destroy you and find weakness within you. Endless equations written in chalk on towering, intimidating blackboards. Professors spoke fancy and excruciatingly long words, their minds and words three steps ahead of your comprehension. And the students, oh god, you couldn't even begin to explain how inferior you felt to them. They moved like they were born for this, this life of sweat and stress, like each cog and circuit was a familiar friend.

You tried. You tried so hard.

You stayed up late, eyes burning from studying and eyelids heavy from sleepless nights. You nodded along in lab groups, forcing yourself to understand the words people around you were saying, your tired brain couldn't keep up. You copied down everything, read beyond the syllabus, skipped meals, and skipped sleep. You asked questions at first, worried that if you didn't you would fall behind. But soon, your voice grew quieter, you didn't want to seem like a dumb himbo to the other great minds in your university. You learned quickly that passion without precision was a liability here.

And you had passion, but not for arcane equations or chemical bonds.

Your notebooks, while filled with blueprints like the others, also hid something else:

Drawings of éclairs and tart shells. Notes on dough ratios. Rough sketches of braided bread and sweet glazes. Ideas for new pastries, some flavored with the fruits your mother used to sneak home from the edge of the market in Zaun. The margins were dusted in the memories of a childhood defined by scarcity, made sweeter only by what your mother could make rise with her hands and heart.

You remembered the way she sung Zaunite songs while kneading dough. The way she always said that food—real food—could be magic if it came from the right place in your heart.

You’d brought those memories with you. You’d come to Piltover with the idea that maybe you could merge two worlds: the innovation of Piltover with the warmth of Zaun. Baking as science. Baking as invention. A different kind of magic from the kind of magic everyone around you had known.

But every time you tried to bring that part of yourself into the light, it felt like you were dragging something fragile into a storm.

One student from your innovation class had scoffed when he caught sight of your sketches of baked goods. A professor dismissed your baking analogies as “wasting your potential on a domestic hobby.” And once—just once—you overheard someone call you the little queer baker boy when they thought you weren’t around.

After that, you stopped sharing.

You closed your notebook.

You shrank.

You blended into the background.

That night, the professor said your focus was “disappointing,” that you “lacked the vision” that Piltover demanded. That maybe this wasn’t the place for you, that maybe you should go back to the "filthy place" you had come from. You despised him, you despised the words he had called the place where you had grown up, the place you called home. He had just insulted your family, your friends, and your home.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just nodded, gathered your notes, and walked away.

Your calm walking had erupted into erratic running, your eyes red from the tears that are trickling down your face.

The sky was already dark by the time you reached the rooftop—high above the university's grand halls and glowing lamps. The city below was stunning, its glittering skyline promising so much yet provided so little. Piltover looked like opportunity incarnate. But you… you felt like a ghost drifting through it.

The wind was sharp. You sat with your back against the cold stone wall, pulling your knees close to your chest. And then—almost without thinking— you wiped your eyes and you reached into your satchel and pulled out a small glass jar.

Vanilla bean paste.

A gift from your mother the day you were accepted. "For the first dessert you bake in your own kitchen," she’d said, her voice filled with emotion and her choked cries muffled by the handkerchief she had broughtup to the lower half of her face. You’d tucked it away, meaning to use it for a special day. But this wasn’t special. It was something else. Something breaking.

You opened it anyway.

The moment the scent hit your nose, your eyes burned again.

It smelled like home.

Like warmth and joy and safety.

Like everything you hadn’t felt in months.

And in that moment, something inside you snapped—not like a bone, but like a chain.

You didn’t belong here—not because you weren’t smart, but because you’d been trying to be someone you weren’t. You had been folding yourself into shapes that didn’t fit, hoping one day you’d feel whole again.

You didn’t want to make weapons, or machines that outpaced the heart.

You wanted to make something that healed.

Something that comforted.

Something that fed people—in every way that mattered.

The next morning, you rose before dawn.

You didn’t leave a dramatic letter. You didn’t try to explain it to anyone (not like you knew anyone that would have cared anyways). You simply packed your belongings, closed your notebook, and walked out of Piltover University without looking back.

You left behind the blueprints you had convinced yourself didnt matter. You left the biting comments, the sleepless nights, and most importantly; the silence. You left the version of yourself who had tried so hard to be accepted.

Ahead of you, the bakery waited.

You could almost see it when you closed your eyes: you imagined the countertop dusted in flour, the brass oven handles glowing in the morning light, the little bell above the door that always rang sharply whenever someone entered. You remembered the exact curve of the mixing bowls, the chipped corner of the old recipe book on the shelf.

And you remembered something else—something more important than any invention you'd ever sketched.

You remembered how it felt to pull a loaf of bread from the oven and watch someone’s face light up. How food could make love visible. How a tart, a bun, or a soft, cinnamon-swirled roll could do what machines and politics never could: bring people back to themselves.

You didn’t need a degree to do that.

You didn’t need Piltover’s approval.

You just needed your hands, your ingredients, your fire.

The bakery welcomed you like it was an old friend.

The first loaf you baked looked.... clumsy and interesting to say the least. The oven ran too hot, and the crust was tougher than it should’ve been. But when you bit into it—tears stinging your eyes—you knew that this was right. This was you.

You rose each morning with the sun, sometimes in the afternoon if you had spent all night baking and creating new recipes. You shaped dough with your gloved hands. You reclaimed your joy, one croissant, one cake, one steaming cup of Zaun styled tea at a time.

And one day—soon, but not yet—two men will walk through your door.

One brilliant and bold, with strong shoulders and a tired heart. One sharp and soft-spoken, with eyes that have seen too much and still search for wonder.

They’ll smell the bread. They’ll taste something that makes them pause. And you’ll meet eyes across the counter, unsure what this feeling is.

But it will rise—just like your dough.

Not all at once.

Not as perfect as you may want.

But slowly, warmly.

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! This is my first ever series and I'm so excited to write it! If this flops im jumping off. JKJK!!! I'll have chapter 1 ready in 2 and a half weeks! The jayvik graphics and coffee bean dividers can be found on the masterlist of this series. If there are ajy missing trigger warnings or any spelling/grammatical errors please tell me! English isn't my first language so im sorry about that.. Please comment and reblog, it helps keep me motivated!

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princesssmars · 10 months ago

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victoria with lab tech reader…nsfw.

when you were approached at your basic post-grad biomedical science research program with the opportunity to "study and develop a potentially groundbreaking medication", you immediately, but politely, called bullshit. but your boss and coworkers encouraged you once they heard the pay, so you accepted.

it was…challenging to say the least.

the lab and the workers were shady as hell, not telling you any details about the company you were working for, if you were even working for a company, what exactly this medication was for, etc etc. but the pay really was good, enough to help you splurge on yourself while also saving and paying off your student loans, so you couldn’t really complain.

after about two months of great work and progress on your tasks, the leads of your team told you that one of the head donors would like to “talk about utilizing your full potential”. you were expecting further praise for your work and maybe a pay boost, not to walk into an office with the super attractive congresswoman you’d seen on tv sitting at the desk.

she has just as much mysterious charisma as she had then, keeping eye contact as she pulls out your chair, waiting for you to sit before she places herself on top of the desk, pantsuit-covered leg only a few inches from yours. she gives you a mini rundown of why she personally picked you out from your university and she's been keeping a close eye on your personal progress to develop a cure for an unknown but deadly disease you had been keeping track of.

"so that's why im here? we're working on a disease?"

"yeah, you could say that."

her smile unnerves you but you don't mention it. nor do you bring up how weird it feels that a congresswoman would be following your manic studies over a disease that only ten thousand people in the world had. you do have to reel in your ego slightly, figuring this meant that your theories were legitimate.

things are weird after that. now that you have some more hints about what you are actually doing your work starts to move along slowly, even impressing your lead with the progress you started to make.

ok, maybe a tiny little part of it was so that when victoria came in on her weekly walk-throughs she'd observe your work and give you that pretty smile of hers, maybe even a 'great job, hun' if you were lucky.

as the weeks went by and the medication came along her affection only grew in intensity, from leaving coffee at your workstation to inviting you to take lunch breaks with her. it was odd and completely unprofessional, but when those slender fingers would move one of your stray hairs back in place while telling a story you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

but then it happens - that dreaded period in any medical science where just one stupid little thing stumps you for a week. you should be used to it at this point, having been through this process since you bought your first microscope in middle school. it doesn't make it any easier to power through though, especially when you know everyone on your team is depending on you to finish up your labs.

so now you've resorted to this, three red bulls and a heap of paperwork around you while you frantically rework the math on some of the work you need to turn in. you're a few minutes away from slumping over when a loud door slam forces you upright, looking to the entryway to make eye contact with victoria.

you dont know how it happens but you go from hunched over in your chair to lying on the comfy couch in her office, a short blanket draped over your body as you drowsily explain your conundrum to the older woman. she nods along the entire time, a soft hand rubbing up and down the bare expanse of your arm while she listens to your rambling.

'what on earth are you doing?' your brain asks yourself when you shift closer to her body that's sitting next to you, head delicately resting in her lap. 'are you really going to jeopardize your career like this?' when your eyes flutter when she runs her hand over your cheek and down your neck. she leans her head down ever so slowly until her lips are just barely pressing into yours, corners pulling up when she sees you arch your back in wait for her neck action.

"but you'll figure it out for me, won't you smart girl?"

you solved the problem the next morning.

i dont even wanna write for her GIVE HER BACK TO ME

#this was gonna be a lot h0rnier but I'm really tired so #the boys #gen v #the boys x reader #gen v x reader #victoria #victoria neuman #victoria x reader #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman fluff

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sskepticmedia · 3 months ago

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Soldier Boy's suit colors and Destiel | Debunked

Ah, yes. The sacred science of color theory, where every shade carries deep, cosmic meaning—especially when it can be twisted into ship evidence. Today’s case? Soldier Boy’s suit, which, according to some, features the divinely ordained hues of "Angel Blue" and "Hunter Green," therefore proving it’s a Destiel reference. Groundbreaking.

Unfortunately for this theory, color names are marketing decisions, not divine prophecies. So let’s take a step back from the paint swatches and actually look at what’s going on here.

⚠️Spoiler alert: It’s not Destiel.

Color names are conspiracy fluff, not hidden lore. Let’s unpack this reach.

To burst your bubble, these colors don't really prove a fictional ship from a show and they are in fact inaccurate.

Color names are marketing decisions, not divine prophecies. So let’s take a step back from the paint swatches and actually look at what’s going on here. First of all, the suit in The Boys doesn't really have any shades of blue, if anything it was the lighting casting a little bit of Teal/bluish hues on this specific photo and some others, It is in fact shades of green from a different material... unless the man has a color changing suit which I doubt 🤔🫢

I tried using the same photo with Pantone Extract and most shades it got out were greys and blacks with Teal, it didn't even recognize the greens! so I wonder really... did the OP fake their results? because as far as I can see the same site isn't giving me the same results. 🤔

Here, be my guest to prove me wrong.

Here is the correct colors extracted using photoshop (the green was the closest correct shade but the blue one is nowhere to be found, oh I wonder why?)

To me it looks like a very hardcore fan just wanted to prove their ship to be righteous but ended up looking like a conspiracy theorist.

It is not even able to recognize colors the OP has posted or the ones I've extracted using Photoshop without using a single filter on the image! It is not reliable at all! this and the OP's words.

Guess Angel Blue has always been Cyan Sea in disguise. It was obvious without all of this that Angel Blue was never the lighting shade on his suit.

and now some cockles tin hatters are running wild with their imaginations since then! claiming stuff like Jensen asked for those colors on his suit! wow for real?!

Sure Jane, whatever makes you able to sleep at night.

Having fun as a fan is one thing but this level of obsession to make everything about Destiel is really unhealthy.

#sskepticmedia #spndebunk #spn #supernatural #spnfandom #destiel #the boys #the boys amazon #soldier boy #the colors means nothing ya all #please let the man act in other shows without reducing him to a fictional ship #jensen ackles

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r473n · 3 months ago

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KUROTSUCHI WEEK DAY 1

Medicine for the brain/12th division/gadgets and body modifications

Here we go folks!!

Interview with Mayuri Kurotsuchi? Yes, please!!

___________ >.< ___________

HELLO! My name is Hisagi Shuhei and this is “Meet your Heroes”!

Today, we have an interesting guest! None other than our very own Kurotsuchi Mayuri!

When I became Editor in Chief of Seretei Communication, I was a little shocked to see that amongst all the many contributors of our dear magazine, Kurotsuchi taichou's column “Medicine for the Brain” was so popular!

Today we ask the man himself to answer some hot questions that I'm sure you all are very excited to know!

S: Thank you very much for taking the time out of your very busy schedule to do this interview with us, Kurotsuchi taichou.

M: I was advised there would be sweet mochi.

S: Um... yes, sorry, they’ll be bringing some tea and biscuits soon...

So, you are one of the most mysterious captains of the Gotei 13 and your fans desperately want to know a little more about you, what would you say is your favourite time of day?

M: my fans want to know that? What a stupid question. Next.

S: uh... Kurotsuchi taichou, please, you promised you'd answer...

M: alright then, my favourite time of the day is whenever this interview stops boring me. Soon, let's hope... for your sake, Hisagi san.

S: *gulps* erm... yeah, well, we can skip to the next one, no harm in that... ah, yes! What would you say it’s your biggest weakness?

M: weakness? Who says I have any? Are you plotting against me? Is this some kind of trap?

S: w-what? No! Of course not! Uh... let- let’s see, what about... what is something you regret?

M: leaving my lab this morning...

S: oh... I don’t- uh... ok, ok, let’s try again. What is your biggest strength?

M: Ah, yes, of those I have many. I guess if I had to choose one it would be... my humility.

S: hah-hah... uh... great answer! Some of our readers are interested in what makes Kurotsuchi taichou excited. What makes you drop everything at once and come running, Kurotsuchi sama?

M: that’s easy - a good dissection, of course! There’s nothing quite like the thrill of a shredding, nothing quite as refreshing as sinking my hands into a new specimen and make it spills its guts and secrets, hahaha!

S: sounds... lovely... *cough* You’re a very driven individual, what is the source of your inspiration?

M: another easy one - the pursue of knowledge, that is clear. Science is everything.

S: Fantastic response, sir. Now for a more personal touch... what do you favour, sweet or savory?

M: um... I’d have to choose sweet. By the way where’s my mochi?

S: oh, just arriving, I'm sure. We all know you have one of the most dashing smiles of the entire Seretei...

M: oh, stop it, Hisagi san, you’re going to make me blush under my paint...

S: haha... I'm merely transmitting our reader’s sentiment. So, taichou, what makes you smile the most?

M: nothing brings me more joy than a nice, juicy discovery. Finding a new and intriguing subject to experiment on, to cut up and sample and learn some groundbreaking data.

S: I see... I'm sure your fans will love that answer. What would you say it’s something you could never live without? Science?

M: well, don’t you go answering for me, Hisagi san, you’re taking the fun out of it. Yes, science. But I will let you in on a secret, I couldn’t live without my paint either. Not even in prison did I go without it for a single day.

S: oh, wow! How did you manage that?

M: let’s say I can be very persuasive.

S: I believe that! I don't think I want to make any follow up questions... Would you share one of you pet peeves?

M: those phoney scientists who seek perfection. I abhor perfection.

S: Interesting. Now, we all know you like to change your appearance very frequently and impress us with your fabulous designs... if you have to choose, would you go for diamonds or pearls?

M: Neither, I'm more of a 24 carat gold kinda girl, you see?

S: and it looks so good on you, sir!

M: here we go with more praise, Hisagi...

S: I mean it!

M: I’m going to start getting my hopes high... perhaps you should pop by my lab later on? I have a feeling that you’d be perfect for one of my new experiments...

S: oh, I-I’m very sorry, Captain but I- um... already have plans.

M: Shame... well, my door is always open, and there’s always a free operating table in my personal lab, so just keep it in mind!

S: will-will do. So... uh... yeah, for out last question – please tell us, Kurotsuchi taichou, what's your guilty pleasure?

M: oh... well, I love listening to my test subjects scream, especially the women. There is something about how shrill their voices get when they’re in pain... It does things to me.

S: uh... things?

M: things...

S: uh... ok. So, um, this is the end of the interview... any last pearls of wisdom you would wish to share with your fans?

M: *clears throat* my dear fans, I’d like to inform you that there are some open spots in my division begging to be filled. Whether you are strong or weak, a master of kidou or zanjutsu, smart or dumber than Zaraki... I welcome you all.

S: wow, Captain, that’s so kind of you. I thought there would be very strict requirements to joint the 12th?

M: No! We are open to any and all candidates, whether you’re healthy or ill, whole or maimed. I used up most of my explosives and shields fighting against those damned Quincies, I can’t get very picky, you see?

S: sir, are you... are you turning division members into weapons?

M: my, my... look at the time! I'm afraid I must go, Hisagi san, I'm a very busy man, as you know. This was lovely, let’s never do it again!

Oh! And send those mochi to my office, I'll be waiting!

---.---

This was “Meet your Heroes” with Kurotsuchi Mayuri. Tune in next week for our next episode!

#DAY 1 KUROTSUCHI WEEK #mayuri kurotsuchi #kurotsuchi mayuri #Kurotsuchi taichou #captain kurotsuchi #hisagi shuhei #shuhei hisagi #sereitei communication #medicine for the brain #bleach #bleach fanart #bleach fanfiction #kurotsuchiweek2025 #ravenart

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ghostface-knight · 2 years ago

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After years of seeing "I'm very disappointed" on report cards, and hearing "Thank God your dad can just buy your way into college" from classmates, Stephanie Lauter had accepted that she was not smart.

It wasn't that she didn't like to learn -- when she was young, she loved school. Her favorite class of science. She loved learning about the world around her, and how it worked.

Miss Tessburger would pick her up after school in her dad's black Porsche, and Steph would immediately start explaining the things she had picked up from class that day.

"Did you know that insects make up half the world's known species?" She'd recite.

And each time, she'd be met with something along of the lines of, "Stephanie, your father is very busy today, so don't bother him with this nonsense."

She thought it was the fact itself. Maybe Miss Tessburger just didn't like insects! Steph knew her father was a very busy man, and so it made sense that she shouldn't bother him unless the fact was really worth it. So she'd try history facts. She'd tell Miss Tessburger about weather phenomena. She'd explain mathematical equations which, although not groundbreaking for an adult, were quite impressive for a child of eight years old. Each time, she watched for the hint that this time, it was worth telling her dad. And each time, she recieved the same, disinterested responses.

So, eventually, she came to the conclusion that the things she was learning in school where not important. Her father was very successful, and he didn't want to hear the things she was learning, so who was to say she needed to know them?

And so she stopped telling Miss Tessburger facts on the way home from school. She stopped reading for fun. She stopped paying attention in class.

That was when her grades started getting worse, but the school didn't notify her father unless she failed a class, and he couldn't be bothered to check each time Steph brought home a report card.

In a way, it was easier to slack off. She didn't have to consider the complex concepts she used to seek out. Pretty soon, she forgot the rush of exhilaration she used to get from learning. Pretty soon, it was like she had never cared in the first place.

So no, Stephanie Lauter was not smart.

And yet, when Peter Spankoffski tutored her, he treated her like she was Albert Fucking Einstein.

"So, the domain of f(x) cannot be zero." She worked out, scribbling on her loose leaf. She looked up at Pete, expecting him to correct her. Instead, he broke into a goody grin.

"You got it Steph! Composite functions have nothing on you." He looked over her work with admiration. "I'm not sure you even need me anymore. You know all this stuff."

Steph smirked. "Maybe, but I think I'll keep you around."

She turned back to her paper, but could clearly see Pete turning bright red out of the corner of her eye.

"Ah, see, I do need you. Because I have no idea what the hell this one is asking me to do." She pointed to an equation.

Pete leaned over, and read the equation out loud. "Find the inverse of f(x) = (x/2) + 7. Oh, this one's easy." He said, grabbing a pencil and starting to write.

"Easy for you to say." Steph mumbled. "You're in the hardest math class this shit-hole offers."

Pete looked up at her. "Not true! I'm in AP Calculus, and they offer Linear Algebra." He sighed, noting Steph's unamused expression. "Look, I only said that cause I know you know this."

"I don't though!" She groaned in exasperation.

"Yes you do! How do you find the inverse of a function?"

"I don't know!" She exclaimed.

"Steph, look at me." Reluctantly, Steph obliged.

Pete took her hand, and looked into her eyes with his own deep brown ones. She softened.

"Take a breath. You know how to do this, I promise. How do you find the inverse of a function?"

Steph took a breath and closed her eyes. "You- you switch x and y, then solve for x."

Pete's smile was the only confirmation she needed. "I told you that you don't need me." He said softly as she got to work solving the equation.

Steph considered it. "Either way, can you stay?"

And the doe eyes strike again. "Of course, Steph." He paused. "I'll always stay."

#npmd #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #nerdy prudes must die #starkid #steph lauter #stephanie lauter #peter spankoffski #pete spankoffski #lautski #do you see my vision?#first time writing fanfic im kinda nervous #my writing

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datapilled · 2 months ago

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Going to go on a little rant but my god I'm sick of how undervalued maths is. I hate that for the past 10 years, including primary school, whenever I tell people I like maths I get asked if I'm insane. I hate that in a country that has made major contributions to maths, there's barely any effort to keep up that history and support new mathematicians.

I hate that I can't criticise people who also do stem that go on and on about how everything relating to maths is stupid and useless because "that's just how they feel"...Even when they're doing computer science. And said computer scientists complain every. Single. Time. When a maths equation appears.

I hate that I can't point out how it's weird how people demonize mathematics itself instead of how it's taught, which is where the problem usually lies. I hate that I'm expected to drop mathematics entirely to go into a "proper" job like programming instead of research into population models and simulations. I hate how maths is being co-opted by people making points about "how simple the world is" when maths is nothing like they portray it to be. I hate that maths is seen as a field only of white, cishet men when there's been so many women, poc and queer people that have done groundbreaking work.

I hate that we're in a world where mathematics is so important to everyday life, and yet the idea of actually studying maths and continuing research into it is frowned upon.

#feeling things today don't mind me #I'm not saying people can't like maths #we're just no where near “done” with mathematics research and pretending we are and limiting people's access is going to bite us #stem #mathematics #maths #mathblr #half the arguments I see just come down to the way schools teach maths across the world which is fair except for the fact it goes with ever #subject and not just maths #anyway I wrote this instead of computing a FS lmao #also I'm a applied maths/cs major that's why i including the bit about cs students because oh my god they hate me for not hating maths #daimian.txt

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 5 months ago

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tuesday again 1/21/2025

hey it's fucking snowing here in houston texas! what the fuck!

listening: toes by the glass animals

reading: the steerswoman series by rosemary kirstein, and the gay and lesbian erotica book of the week, candidate by tracey richardson

watching: various david attenborough documentaries

playing: brief genshin impact report

making: banana bread

listening

glass animals' toes: my best friend's husband and i were chatting about music my best friend introduced us to, and my god there's been so much! i remember back in 2018 i did not expect to like them bc we had wildly diverging indie rock tastes at the time, but they really do scratch something in my brain. very good writing music, bc each album has such a tightly curated vibe and the words are recognizable english but so poetic as to be mostly nonsense. this song is loosely about The Island of Dr Moreau. my best friend has described this song as "like listening to crayons melt"

I'm a man, I'm a twisted fool My hands are twisted too Five fingers, two black hooves I'm a man, don't spin me a lie Got toes, and I can smile I'm crooked but upright

youtube

a song for very few blorbos but when it hits for a blorbo it Hits yanno

reading

im having a brain time that is favorable to reading many books in one week. we're going to start with some i loved and then go to the gay and lesbian erotica, which i did not love and did not finish.

talking about which post led me to this series would give you an enormous spoiler for the book. we're going to yoink the Setting from wikipedia:

A Steerswoman is a traveling scholar, required to answer any question asked of them, as long as the asker answers truthfully in return. Anyone refusing to answer a Steerswoman's question is placed under a ban, and no Steerswoman will answer their questions in future. Only wizards do not respect the Steerswomen, maintaining intense secrecy around their magic. Kirstein's work is often characterized as science fantasy. Jo Walton describes the Steerswoman series as "not only science fiction, but more science fictional than anything else."[1] Cory Doctorow says of The Steerswoman, "even the book's genre is a riddle that you'll have enormous great fun solving."[2] The Steerswoman series addresses themes of technological development, inter-species interaction, and distribution of knowledge.[4]

i ADORED these. i did basically nothing for two days except apply to jobs and read these books. these are physics brain books. these are Science Fiction with the capitals on books. the first chapter has someone derive a bit of orbital mechanics from first principles by making logical inferences from a chart she drew in the dirt about distribution of certain jewels. despite that, it's never boring! sometimes the steerswoman Rowan will puzzle over something for several chapters before something finally clicks for both you and her. the books are one big nested riddle, and you have all the pieces from the beginning! it just looks so strange from Rowan's eyes that you don't figure it out until she does! and even when you figure out one bit you just have more questions!!! and despite knowing a huge spoiler going in, part of it really blindsided me! it was a very clever bit of writing! good job rosemary!!!

and now for the gay and lesbian erotica book, which again has a 3.8 on goodreads and again i have no idea why. published in 2008 by Bella Press in a very indifferent perfect-bound ~250p softcover with the most creasable cover imaginable, our author Tracey Richardson is a Canadian writing about an American presidential candidate. from what i read, the political speeches were the best part of the book. this was genuinely groundbreaking and revolutionary in 2008 for a Democratic presidential candidate to openly support the LGBTQ+ community! i think Tracey put a more progressive veneer on some of JFK's speeches but that's okay they still hit! that man did have some talented staff members and a great stage presence!

i tortured my best friend by reading snippets of this aloud and removing her toddler daughter from various mischief as she cooked, and we got really stuck on the presidential candidate Jane's age. she is forty three. she is a medical doctor. she lost her husband ten years ago when she had her own private medical practice at THIRTY THREE. she left for a year to do Doctors Without Borders, started a nonprofit in America about healthcare access, and is now a second term senator. this had my bestie and i doing back of the envelope math and we can only conclude she never slept or went on vacation.

i have many beefs with this book, both petty and with regards to construction. my best friend got extremely peeved at the description of someone's accent as "a well heeled eastern seaboard accent". WHAT the fuck does that mean. WHERE on the eastern seaboard??? the standard American Newscaster Accent is faintly midwestern. did they have a sort of bland tidewater politician faint drawl? who knows! this canadian author cannot tell us :(

Tracey is a big fan of dropping details very late. eg we only find out on page 8 after a lot of dialogue that love interest/Secret Service agent Alex has a southern accent. Five pages into a party scene we find out she’s wearing a hawaiian shirt. i had to go back and reread the entire party scene with that in mind. on page 42 we find out Alex is an Olympic gold medal hockey player in the first year women were allowed to play Olympic hockey. earlier in the book we see her playing hockey for funsies with her rec league and we also go over her dossier in detail with Jane. either place would have been a great place to bring this up!!!

this book is also very reverent of the office of usa politicians in a way i find strange for a canadian. and for alex, a somewhat jaded civil servant. alex!!! she’s just a rich nepo baby and has good stage presence!!!! stop falling for it!!!

as a bisexual, novels about straight widows turning lesbian really bother me sometimes. this was one of the ones that really bothered me. it's kind of insane how little bisexual fiction there is compared to the strongly represented pan and poly communities. this was 2008 though so pansexuality wasn't really as mainstream, i don't remember hearing much about it until i went to college in western massachusetts in 2013.

i had to stop reading this book bc it hit me with the following:

these are both cis women. does she have an infection??????? is she okay???? the book is not going to get better from here. books rarely start out bad and then improve. i have only a limited amount of time here on god's green earth and i want to read the thirteenth volume of witch hat atelier instead. gentle reader, i hope you understand.

watching

again if i could log individual children's tv show episodes i would be winning letterboxd. i half-watched a lot of david attenborough docs in the background and fell asleep on a couch to his soothing voice. there are some fucked up little guys on this planet.

youtube

playing

good fucking riddance, even though this is basically a slap on the wrist. the multiple-step in-game currency exchanges in order to get the main in-game currency for pulling for characters is one of the more underhanded gacha systems. gambling is an ancient human activity, it is not instantly harmful or instantly addictive, and there will never be a good way to legislate it out of existence, but i do think some more predatory practices (like this one!) should be legislated.

nothing to report about actually playing genshin this week. a big yearly event approacheth, however. excited to bring you news of the new four-star character, a basket weaver

making

banana bread embarrassment. i hate my kitchen so fucking much. my fridge and oven both need to be replaced but will my landlord do that???? no. this oven is from 2007 and does not hold a consistent temp, which is fine if im roasting chicken thighs and it randomly spikes the temp and doesn't heat in one quadrant, but it makes it Very Difficult to bake. i think this was a combo of an inconsistent inner temp and forming a slightly burnt crust that did not want to pull out of the perhaps undergreased pans. fuck an aldi nonstick spray i guess. i SLATHERED that thing and it still had to be persuaded out of the pan.

i consistently forget that martha stewart consistently produces baked goods that are just a touch oilier than i like. you could lose a good two tablespoons of butter in this and not notice it much, i think. a very wet recipe. added in one orange's worth of zest bc i like it.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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