mouserthefirst

[mouserthefirst]

reblogging this here bc it's my writing??? not a fanfic this time ladies and gents and those whose gender is bent

@wolfthedrolf @ivorykiram + anybody else, here's the first chapter of my book! it's pretty long lmao so bare w me & feel free to roast me

tws are like a rly obscure panic attack and religious trauma in general ig

CHAPTER ONE - ROT

There is something rotten inside of me.     

     How small, how meaningless? It does not matter its size or its age or what it even is. It is there and it is spreading and I am supposed to be Holy but Holy Ones do not feel this greed, this rage, this envy. Not like I do.     

     It is burning like the fires of Hell, freezing like its depths. It is lifted up by wings like the Demons’ that fly down to Earth, it is ashy and charred and spreading, Oh my God, my great, good God, help me to find myself again. I am your son. I trust in you, I love you.         

     The rot has spread to my throat, my mouth, my tongue and my teeth. It makes me tell lies, it makes me snap and snarl. It grips ahold of my hands, and I cannot tell if it burns my skin or freezes it. It is resting on my shoulders, twin heavy weights, and God it feels like your hands. It is everywhere. The change is sickeningly slow and agonizingly painful and it is all I can feel and all I think I ever have.

     The Sisters will know what to do. But they will tell the Father. There is not a soul in this Sky that would not tell the Father anything.

***

God reads his second son’s words over and over. He knows things without anyone having to tell him, but sometimes he feels so very mortal in the way that he needs to see it to believe.

***

The Sisters are gathered by their pool - clear water like azurite and gold and aquamarine. The sun filters through the silvery leaves and dapples the pebbled ground as they sit on the high wall around the pool, dipping their hands into its cool water, laughter like tinkling bells.         

     Sister Uriel sees him first - the Second Son, the Fallacy. He is walking alone. That never changes.    

     His eyes seem to flash red and the Sisters stop, stare. They feel that old fear that the Father does not create but combats. But it does not matter how close they are to Him; even God cannot put an end to the Devil entirely.  

***

God and His Attendant, Eliora, sit in silence together. The air smells thickly of smoke, incense, dates and sweet fruits, myrrh and spice. It is not enough to cover the sick scent of unease.

***

Asael sits at the edge and peers down at the Earth. He can see patchwork cities, sprawling spaces of golden-sanded emptiness. The name for those places always changes. Asael wonders what it must be like to believe that you are inventing something when the only one behind it is God. Sometimes he laughs at their smallness, but the truth is that sometimes he tires of being so vast.

     He throws pebbles down at the Earth and pretends to be busy. His father and brother are speaking together in the Father’s jewel-toned tent of secrecy and sharp glares when Asael strays near. It is funny how suspicious people can be of a child.   

     He can hear their voices on the wind, just too quiet to understand. God’s deep, rich voice, like sunshine and thunder and rolling dunes of desert, then Jesus’s - Asael knows that voice in a way that makes bile creep up his throat. His brother is always preaching, always telling stories of being good and kind and peaceful. He comes up with the strangest metaphors that make Asael wonder what God sees in him. They always told Asael that his calling was to something different, but that did not reassure him when Jesus’s calling was to be glorified.

     He doesn’t need to hear what they are talking about to know that it is about Jesus’s righteous coming. It has been in the air for months, and no amount of sweet apricots and wine can distract from the scent of an impending reason to lose his slack grasp of sobriety. It has always lingered, that inherent knowledge that Asael can claw and scrape and keen and rage but will never amount to anything more than second best. But now the time has come and it isn’t hiding anymore, hanging back in the shadows where you can only feel it. Now it is everywhere and Asael is afraid that, even when Jesus has gone to Earth, it will stay.      

     There is a childish part of him that believes that once Jesus is out of sight, the Father will forget about him. But he knows that could never happen. Jesus could never be forgotten the way Asael would be.

     He focuses on the golden sands below and does not move until feet stop beside him. Jesus speaks. “Brother, why are you here when you could be with us near the fire?”   

     “It is not cold,” Asael manages after a moment. The wind is biting, but he can’t even feel it.  

     Jesus says nothing for a while before he deigns to sit beside Asael. “I will go soon, brother. Let us leave on good terms.”             

     It is less of a question and more of a warning - it is, after all, for-told that Jesus will leave with the good will of every soul in Heaven.

     “You will leave with my good will if you might leave me with yours,” says Asael neutrally.            

     Jesus replies instantly with an ardent, “Of course, brother. You know I would not resent you. But I sense something is uneasy within you. Might I ask what plagues you?”         

     Asael kicks at the clouds below. “You should know. You know everything.” It’s petulant and small and undignified of him, but that is all Asael has felt lately.   

     Jesus takes longer to marinate in the querulous tone of his voice. “Perhaps I do. But I do not know everything. And I want to hear it from your lips.”           

     Asael gives him a look from the corner of his eye. “You want to know if I would lie to you.”        

      His brother sighs and looks out over God’s kingdom. “Why must you doubt everything I do? Can I not come to you with pure intentions? Is it so hard for you to believe that I may not share the ill-will you have for me?”        

     “Perhaps it is,” Asael snaps back. “Perhaps you have been born, bred, and bled to turn a blind eye to the worst of intentions!”       

     Jesus remains unimpressed. “I will take your words with me, brother. It is in your nature to distrust. That may be good among men, but it has no place beside God.”                    

     As he always does when he thought he had said something meaningful, Jesus drifts away with the next gust of wind like a washed-up butterfly. Asael cannot find it in himself to miss him.

     He spends the rest of the day brooding until the dinner bell goes, a sweet sound like honey and silk. Heaven is caught in that state of grace just before the sun sets, soaked in gold, birds whistling though the air, clouds on fire.

     Asael creeps through the lengthening shadows to the center pavilions where the Holy Ones eat. There are five long tables set before the largest one - three for the Angels, one for the Sisters, another for the Brothers. Asael has no place among any of them; he does not have the wings of an Angel, nor is he patient enough to be a Brother. Instead he must pretend to be content with their stares and murmurs and their silent wondering of what his place in Heaven is even meant to be. As far as Asael can see, it is merely out of the Father’s masochistic greed for stress whenever Asael does wrong.      

     Asael’s place is more duty than anything. It would be a disgrace to make him eat in the fields with the other Holy Ones, the Angels and Brothers and Sisters who do God’s work rather than languidly question their existence. Instead, he sits to the left, as far away from the Right Hand of God as one can get. He slinks into his place, curved into a C as though he could curl up on himself and disappear. He wishes he was alone. He always feels better when no one’s eyes are on him.         

     He watches as Jesus takes his spot to the right of the Father. Asael has never been able to look directly at his brother or his father - he has never been given the privilege. He hears from the Sisters and Brothers that his family are the most beautiful beings they have ever set their eyes upon, but all Asael can see when he looks at them is a blinding, blinding light.          

     Now, he can sense Jesus’s discordance from across the room. He is sure his brother’s face would be troubled if he could see it. He watches as Jesus leans in, closer than any Holy One would dare, to whisper to God. Even the shadows slanting over Asael’s seat cannot shelter him from the piercing sting of the Father’s eyes.           

     He picks through dinner with half a heart, barely paying attention to the courses, lavish though they may be. There are murmurs of assent as roasted pigs and sweet fruits and smoky, honey-glazed meat and good whole bread and the finest fish are spread out over the tables. Rich wine is poured, cheeks grow rosy. Asael keeps his head down as though it is his God-given purpose.  

     Finally, as forks cease scraping and the wine starts flowing in earnest, God stands and brings all of Heaven’s attention to him with a single gesture.           

     He waits for an unnecessary moment, despite the fact that no soul dares break his blessed silence. Finally, he speaks.   

     “There is not a Holy One here who does not know of the legacy of my First Son Jesus. I do not need to remind you of it. We have all held hope of my son for an eternity - the righteous in the limbus partum - Limbo of the Fathers - the Angels doing my good work, the Brothers and Sisters who pray for the mortals. If it were not for you, heaven would be a meaningless mortal dream.” 

     This gleans a satisfactorily disagreeing murmur from the Holy Ones. Everyone knows that without God there would be nothing, not the other way around. It seems that even gods need to be assured of their godliness once in a blue moon.       

     “We have sat passive since the Creation,” continues God. “But no longer. Now you will see what you have waited for.”             

     He extends a hand to his right and Jesus stands, face beaming golden white. “My son, a holy victim, a spotless victim!” He cries. “You will bring glory to my name, mercy to the people, and salvation to us all. You are my son, and I have chosen you. Now, let us eat this bread and drink this wine in Jesus’s name, for by sunset this coming morning he will be brought down to Earth!”            

     The applause that follows is congruous and clean, God and his Son standing like statues with the last rays of the sun kissing their bright faces and kneeling at their feet. Asael watches; it has never been hard for him to know of the Father’s power, but there is something mortal and small in him that wonders how something so grand could be real. He does not know how he has lived with God all his life and still does not believe in him, not even now when even those mighty Earthen kings he watches like ants would cower before this God with his shepherd and sheep. Perhaps belief is something to be won; perhaps God already has.            

     The stars begin to show their small pale faces and God looks on as the Holy Ones thank Jesus, who mingles among them and smiles graciously when they bow and kiss his hand and foot. At least, Asael imagines he does. All he can see is a blinding white blur he is supposed to believe will be his savior.

     Asael considers leaving this party, this farewell. He does not know where he will go, but he does know that anywhere would be better than this. He feels hot and suffocating, and that sweet smell of rot is back, that putrid warmth on the horizon, that buzzing of flies. He is a shadow and he is a fixture and he is invisible and he is dissolving into a thousand shards of crawling skin and twisting stomach and shaking hands. Would God pity him if he left now? Would God pity him if he never saw him again? 

     Asael stumbles through the crowd, brushing past Angels, Sisters, Brothers – their faces are all the same to him now, and they are laughing at him –          

     Someone, an Angel, lays a hand on his arm, concern in their blurry bright face, and he reacts without the knowledge or meaning to – they stumble back, they fall, and Asael sees a horrible piece of himself in the Angel falling from Heaven, sprawling, wings out to catch themselves. There are shocked faces and Angels hurrying to help their kin and the crowd is parting and oh God the Father, Asael is dead to them now, banished like Adam and Eve, do not speak their names, boy!

     Asael opens his eyes. He is standing with the Father on the great grand deck overlooking Heaven, made of pearl and gold, defying what those mortals would someday call gravity. Both of his hands are resting on the smooth cool curve of the banister; when he looks up, he can see the Father’s lovely, terrible tower piercing the night, glowing like a halo around the greatest Angel of all.    

     “Rage is a foul thing,” says God. “It will consume you from your core to your heart. It will take your mind and grip it. You may not want it to, but you may let it all the same. I have seen it, but do not fear. You love me, and I know that.”           

(knowthatbelievethatwantthatyou’rewrongYOU’REWRONG)

     “My name is Asael,” Asael says, steady and quiet and calm, even when he can feel fingers up his spine, around his neck. “You know that, do you not, Father?”    

     The Father looks at him, and Asael can feel the surprise. “Yes. I named you.”      

     “Then why does it pain you so to say my name?” He asks it like a child, naive and small, curious, toddling from adult to adult who wants to see what new stupidity the child can become?           

     “There is pain in you,” the Father says. “I know that. I know everything, child. Do not be mistaken; fear is powerful, and the bravery of the fearful will only do harm.”            

     “My name is Asael,” Asael says.         

     God is gone.

[mouserthefirst]

HELLO DARLINGS i'm back after god knows how long for a very late valentine's day fic for you!!! it's currently almost 12 a.m. for me but WHATEVER anyway i hope you enjoy this, i was literally screaming while i wrote it teehehe (also this is my gift to you in apology for the evilness i'm cooking up rn this is as sweet as you get for a while /j)

word count: 1.5k unedited 🤍

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

Caitlyn Kiramman prided herself on being observant – she was the Sheriff, after all, and even her punch first think later cop instincts had yet to wash out her detective roots. Separating work from life was something foreign to Caitlyn; her work was her life and her life was her work except for the few things close to her, a list that some people would find miserably short:

1. Violet          2. Violet’s scrappy cat Ripper 3. Violet.

She was of the opinion that those things were all she really needed in life. She liked keeping her life as simple as possible; it made it easier to keep an eye on things. One person can only notice so much, even if that person is the Sheriff of Piltover.

It makes sense, therefore, that Caitlyn is currently at her limit. There is simply too much work to go around – no one has been particularly difficult in either Piltover or Zaun, and yet the reports are piling up and Cait finds herself fretting over even the mere idea of tackling the small mountain on her desk. Still, she wasn’t made Sheriff for nothing, so she cracks down on it as hard as she is able.

It’s the long days and nights spent at the station that Caitlyn blames for the fact that she hasn’t noticed a significant lack of Violet – no more fresh tea when she comes home, no warm grey eyes and rough hands with bruises that are tattooed into worn knuckles at this point. She dismisses it at first; Vi is just as stressed with work as Caitlyn is, perhaps more so with her hands-on role on the streets, roughing up whoever doesn’t listen to the Sheriff. Still, she misses it and cannot help but wonder if it’s something she’s done. Perhaps she forgot Violet’s birthday or a date they had planned or-

But no, when Caitlyn hurriedly flips through her planner in between interviews with a new batch of prisoners, there is no such forgotten event anywhere near the date. Just Valentine’s Day the next day, which Violet has never expressed an interest in. Perhaps Zaun doesn’t even have a Valentine’s Day; Caitlyn never thought to ask.

Regardless, she feels rather rotten for being relieved that she has no obligations with Vi. She loves her, of course, more than life itself, but there is just so much to do and so little time…

Still, when she arrives back home that night with a hopeful smile and three of the largest containers Jericho had available, Caitlyn is horribly disappointed to find a note in Vi’s rough-and-tumble handwriting saying simply,

Still out, be back by 10:00      - Vi

After Caitlyn has changed into a lacy, silky purple nightdress, she curls up on the couch and stares at the fire, trying to remember the last time they went out together. Surely it wasn’t that long ago; Caitlyn prides herself on being someone who does not let her relationships fall to the side (ignoring the majority of said relationships). She digs contemplatively into one of the takeout containers, sloppily filled with something Caitlyn would prefer to go unnamed. There was that time Violet brought them to a flower market she had thought Cait would like; and the time Violet brought her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant. That had been several months ago, before Caitlyn and then Vi had been swamped by work. Still, no matter how hard she tries, Cait can’t remember the last time she brought Vi somewhere.

How could she have forgotten such a thing? She prides herself on being observant, on never forgetting a thing, and yet something so important as Violet absolutely slipped her mind.

Caitlyn jabs her fork conspiratorially at her food. It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and whether it’s a Zaunite holiday or not, Violet would appreciate it, she knows. Cait grins. If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s making plans.

♡

When Vi walks back home, it’s dark. It took her ages to get back to the station and even longer than usual to peel off her uniform and get back to Caitlyn’s penthouse. Vi knows Enforcer blues are better accepted in Piltover, maybe even liked, but she still doesn’t like strutting around in them. Makes her feel sort of like she doesn’t deserve them either way.

She gets back later than anticipated; when Vi ran back to the penthouse for lunch, she left a note for Cait that turns out being three hours off on her return time, give or take a few minutes. Vi’s not entirely sure Caitlyn is even home yet – after all, she could still be at the station, lording over her little flock of rookie recruits and sifting through paperwork for something meaningful.

Vi doesn’t like to begrudge her girlfriend of anything, but there’s something distinctly tired about them now. Vi’s been trying, but every day she has to put on her gauntlets means another day she has to focus on criminals rather than the one person who never treated her like one.

She slips as quietly as she can into the penthouse and locks the door, knowing Caitlyn is probably asleep. She always has atrociously early bedtimes, Vi thinks fondly.

Vi creeps up to their shared room and sets aside her bag, knowing Cait would probably shout at her for not putting it away. She’s too tired, so she merely tugs off her boots, jacket, and shirt and slips into bed beside Caitlyn’s immobile form.

She settles her arm around Caitlyn’s waist and wonders selfishly for a moment if she went to bed missing her. What kind of stupid question is that? Caitlyn’s said multiple times, made a point out of it, even, that the Kirammans aren’t sentimental people. But Vi isn’t a Kiramman, not yet and maybe not ever, fully, at least. And she’s nothing if not sentimental; sentimental like a sinking ship, she always said.

♡

Caitlyn spends the next day full of nervous anticipation. She’s excited in a way she hasn’t been in quite some time; it seems that she needed an excuse to spend time with Vi in more ways than one.

She knows Vi would insist that she needs no excuse; they are dating, after all. The way she says that kind of thing so easily makes Caitlyn’s stomach get all fluttery, always said in the same warm, proud tone as when she calls Cait her girl. Even now as she sits in her obnoxiously opulent office, she feels like a little girl with her cheeks flushed and her heart close to bursting out of her chest.

But duty calls, and today Caitlyn’s duty is to make Violet’s Valentine’s Day her most special yet. She places calls and walks to stores in between her shifts, and soon she’s booked a fancy restaurant (rather self-indulgent since Vi couldn’t care less about propriety and second salad forks), placed an order for a towering stack of gifts to arrive after they return to the penthouse, and of course purchased a large box of premium Zaunite chocolate. Caitlyn considers her job fairly well done.

She manages to get Vi to walk home with her at the end of the day. Violet seems unusually smiley and nervous, but that might be the twisting in Caitlyn’s own stomach. She twists her hands together and tucks them behind her back. “So, how was Zaun today?”

“Good,” Vi says. “Good. Very, um…yeah. Good.”

“Did you catch the criminal?” Caitlyn asks, attempting to make a joke but just succeeding in sounding horribly nervous.

Still, Vi has the decency to laugh. “Not yet, but we will.”

“Well, I suppose I will have to take your word for that,” Caitlyn says, a little lighter this time.

They stay quiet the rest of the way, though it’s not uncomfortable. Silence never is with Violet; Caitlyn is willing to bet that it’s a struggle for the girl to make anyone ill at ease – unless she’s waving her fists at them, that is.

They get back to the penthouse and Violet shifts away to put away her coat; Cait pulls out her neatly wrapped box of chocolate and sidles over.

When Caitlyn works up the nerve to go over (there’s really nothing to be worried about, Kiramman, she’s your girlfriend already, what is she going to say, no? Well, quite possibly), she finds Vi blushing furiously with a messy little bouquet clenched in one fist.

“Um,” says Vi. “I know today is a Piltie holiday, so I…” She gestures with the bouquet. “Will you be my valentine, cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s heart seems to melt out of her chest. “Yes, I – yes, Violet.”

Vi grins. “Good. That would be really awkward. I’m sorry, I planned for this to go a lot smoother – ”

“It’s all right,” says Caitlyn. “And I was going to ask you, as well, actually.”

She laughs. “Beat you to the punch, huh? Well, here – sorry they’re a bit sweaty.”

They are, but Caitlyn can’t find it in herself to mind. She doesn’t mind anything that night; all she can focus on is Violet’s luminous grin and stupid jokes and ridiculous hair. That’s all that ever matters, and Caitlyn was a fool to forget it. But she swears to Vi that she’ll never forget it again, and she means it more than she has ever meant anything in her life.

[mouserthefirst]

sevika fluff for @sapph0ediva! if this isn't quite what you wanted, feel free to lmk :) this is my first time writing sevika so i hope you enjoy <3

word count: 819 ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

When Sevika woke up from losing her fucking arm, she was expecting…well, maybe not an apology from Silco, but maybe a few day’s leave or something. Maybe a get well soon card from one of Silco’s henchmen which they would be predictably too scared to give to Sevika. She was certainly not expecting the Eye of Zaun himself to have adopted a goddamn child.

     But a child is what she finds sitting in Silco’s office, face covered in snot, hair in a ratty braid. Sevika’s still a little off-balance – losing an arm will do that to you, asshole – but she feels like falling over when she sees this snotty, raggedy little kid wearing Silco’s jacket around her thin shoulders, sniffling into the collar.  

     “The hell is this?” she rasps. God, she needs a cigarette. It’s too early in the day to deal with more of Silco’s bullshit.

     The kid looks up, eyes giant and glassy with tears. “I-I—”

     Sevika moves to put her hands on her hips, and when only one actually does so, she feels a pang of annoyance. It’s going to take a while to get used to this. “I just lost my arm, kid. Don’t make me lose my patience too.”    

     That seems to make the kid even worse. “I’m, sniff, sorry.”

     Sevika rolls her eyes and stalks past the kid to the cigar box on the desk. She intends to ignore it until the kid’s watery eyes on her back get too annoying to overlook. “Look, if you want to stare at someone, go bother somebody else.”   

     The kid just lets out a little sob.

     Sevika’s fingers tighten around her cigar. She’s been on her last straw for a while now, but this takes the cake in terms of the shit she lets Silco get up to. Still, there’s something in her, something she’d never admit exists, that wants to comfort the kid. She’s sure it’s nothing. “What’s your name then, kid?”

     “Pow – Jinx,” the kid says quietly, then repeats a little firmer, “it’s Jinx.”

     “’Kay then,” says Sevika. Weird ass name, but who’s she to judge? “Jinx. What’re you doing here?” 

     “S-Silco found me,” Jinx sniffles. “He said I could stay.”

     Sevika scoffs and shakes her head as she lights up. “Of course.”

     “Did I say something wrong?” Jinx asks, eyes big.

     “Nah, it’s not you,” Sevika says. “Just…fucking bosses, y’know?”

     “Not really,” Jinx snivels.

     Sevika shrugs – the kid’s probably got a point, what would she know about bosses? – but before she can think of what to say next, Jinx is back to crying.  

     The kid’s covered in snot and looks like she hasn’t slept or washed up in a few days. Sevika’s seen some nasty stuff in her time, but seeing a kid like this never brings her pleasure. “Listen, I’m sure everything’s gonna be fine. Always is.”

     Jinx lets out a muffled sob and before Sevika can blink, the kid’s throwing her small body across the room at her. Thin arms wrap around her waist and Jinx’s head leans against Sevika’s stomach as she cries. Sevika awkwardly reaches up to pat the kid’s blue hair, hand running over her short, stubby little braid. Her sobs make Sevika feel a flash of pity, just for a second.

     “Hey, what did I say?” she says gruffly. “Everything’s good. I’ve just gotta clean up Silco’s messes like always. And you’ll, uh, do whatever you do. Just like always, yeah?”

     The kid’s arms tighten around her waist. She can’t be older than twelve, but she’s got some strength in her, somewhere in that little body.

     They stay like that for a while, and Sevika swears she’s gonna rip Silco a new one for this. But when Jinx falls asleep on the couch, some ratty toy bunny in her thin arms, Sevika can’t help but let a bit of her anger go. It’s not that she likes the kid – in fact, Jinx is really goddamn annoying – but a part of her feels sort of bad for her. She hates to see it, but she can see why Silco decided to keep her. He probably sees a piece of himself in the girl or something dramatic like that. 

     After that, Sevika sort of takes care of Jinx. She swears she’s just doing her job, and they both hate each other equally, but she’d be lying if she said a part of her doesn’t feel like the kid is someone she’s supposed to protect. She’s fought out of obligation her whole life – it feels sort of nice to be fighting for someone just because she wants to.

     And sure, they don’t have anything in common. Sevika’d rather turn bluebelly than spend an hour with Jinx, and she’s pretty sure the kid feels the same way. But that doesn’t mean Sevika privately thinks Jinx isn’t too bad at all – it’s just that she’d never tell a soul about it.

[mouserthefirst]

this is my first fic so please be nice! i'm not sure if i'm fully happy with the ending but i hope ya'll enjoy!

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

When Vi wakes up, Caitlyn isn’t in bed. She never is—it’s a fact Vi has been trying to accept that Caitlyn is always Piltover’s before Violet’s.      

     She gets out of bed after only a moment of stalling. Sleeping in is still something foreign to her, and there will always be a part of her that feels guilty for not waking up early to take care of Powder. Even seven years in prison, a year of getting her face smashed in, and four years of following Cait around like a dog have yet to wash out Vi’s baser instincts.

     Her uniform is still lying where it fell after she tore it off last night with that old tickle of nausea she can’t quite get rid of. But it’s all alright: Caitlyn thinks Vi looks good in blue.           

     She dresses and tries to smooth out the wrinkles, knowing Cait won’t like it if she looks like she just rolled out of bed (even if that’s exactly what she did). Once everything is in place just like Caitlyn showed her, Vi looks into the mirror for the briefest second, allowing herself a bit of vanity even if it feels rancid. She looks even more like a dog than ever, big dutiful blue eyes and a shiny brass badge. She looks away.

     Caitlyn is already in the sitting room with a cup of tea and a thick stack of reports she's organizing on the coffee table. Vi gives her a warm smile. "Morning, cupcake."

     "Hmm, morning," she hums absently. Whatever is on those reports must be more interesting than Vi, so she wanders over to the kitchen and picks up an apple for breakfast.

     The silence is awkward, at least for Vi. Caitlyn seems so distracted with her work that she doesn't even notice the world around her, which Vi thinks is sort of cute.

     Before long, it's time to leave. Caitlyn strides in front of Vi, long navy ponytail swinging, outfit smoothed and perfect as always. Piltover looks like it always has, robin's egg blue and fluffy clouds. Vi thinks about what this morning looks like in Zaun, all smoky haze and vaporous green smog. You can't even see the sky, down there.

     Vi follows Caitlyn like an obedient puppy as she weaves through the crowd with a kind of grace Vi has never managed. When it comes to crowds in Zaun, it's always pushing and shoving and rage; here it's just stiff propriety and offended glances if you trip over their stupid skirts or shiny shoes. It makes Vi want to scream, sometimes.

     But she manages to keep it down as Caitlyn stops at a corner coffeeshop, then sweeps into the station a tidy ten minutes early. Instantly, she's swept away in a tide of overnight reports and panicky deputies losing their shit beneath Caitlyn's practiced calm. Vi slouches away to her desk, where she suspects she'll wait until noon to go on another mission.

     Surprise surprise, she's right. Again.

     She lets her thoughts drift to the missions Caitlyn's been leading into Zaun for the past three months or so. They've been hunting down a Zaunite gang that got ahold of some abandoned Hextech, which Cait has been eradicating under order of the Council. After Jayce and Viktor, Piltover and Zaun agreed on one thing: Hextech wouldn't do any good to anybody involved.

     That makes Vi feel a bit sad. She didn't know Jayce too well, but she'd feel better he was here now. And it's hard to miss the way Cait looks at the statue in the square of pretty boy's chiseled iron jaw and cheerful, boyish grin. Vi wonders how long it will take for it to rust.

     She doesn't like it when her thoughts go free like this, not at all. Lately the station's gym has been pretty empty, so she wanders down there and tries to ignore the sickening worry of what would happen if Caitlyn came to her office and found her gone.

     The punching bag is a little stiffer than Vi's past ones--the one she had in her old apartment when Cait was gone, the one she had as a kid. She doesn't really like the firmness of it. It's unrealistic; real bodies are horrifyingly soft.

     It doesn't matter, though. Nothing matters, not the way her knuckles and wrists start to ache, sending sparks of pain through her forearms, not the way her breath stutters and catches, not even the way her lungs burn in the thick Piltovan air. Vi's always been tough. She can handle a little pain.

     Or maybe she can't. Before long she's collapsed in the gym bathroom and she can't breathe and all she wants is Caitlyn's touch, Caitlyn's warm voice, Caitlyn's stupid face before it got hard with pain. Vi doesn't want to hurt anymore, but she knows she'd take all of Caitlyn's pain in a heartbeat if it meant things could be like they were.

     She lies there and chokes on her tears and lets herself stop breathing for awhile. It feels horrible, but there's a part of Vi that just wants to let go and spend the rest of her life on this fancy floor in a puddle of her own tears.

     So fuckin' dramatic, Vander would say. Get your ass up, kiddo.

     So Vi does. She wipes her face off with a thick stack of soft towels, washes off the last of her panic, messes with her hair until it looks presentable, smooths out her uniform. Her face is still blotchy and red, but it's not noticeable if she keeps her head down like everyone wants.

     She picks her way back to her office and is met with Caitlyn leaning against the desk, arms crossed and a frown on her face. "Where were you?" she asks, before Vi gets a chance to explain.

     "Working out," says Vi, and she's pretty proud of the steadiness of her voice, even if her hands are shaking. Oh well. Not much you can do about that.

     Caitlyn just hums like she doesn't believe her. "We were waiting for you. Come on, get dressed."

     She holds out Vi's impact armor and Vi gives her a smile back, pretending not to notice that her frown is set in stone.

Before they head out of the station, Caitlyn pulls Vi aside, rifle in one hand, the other firmly on Vi's forearm. "I need you to promise me something, when we get out there," Cait says, just as intensely as always.

"Yeah, sure," says Vi, like she could say no.

"There's a new girl. Ivy." Caitlyn bites her lip, watching the rest of the team prepare. "I'm worried about her. She seems ready, but..."

Vi catches on after only a few awkward seconds of silence. "Okay. I can cover her."

"You would?" Cait says, and Vi's reminded of the girl that she first met. "Thank you, darling."

Then she kisses her, and Vi'd be lying if she said she didn't like it.

     Once her armor's in place, heavy and familiar, Vi follows Caitlyn and the rest of her team through the back roads to Zaun. It would scare the citizens if they saw a strike team wandering through Piltover, Caitlyn said once.   She didn't mention how Zaun would feel, and Vi figured she knew better than Cait did about that.

     Vi can feel the rest of the team's unease from a mile away. The most experienced one, a hulking man named Bain, has been under Caitlyn's command for only five months.

But Caitlyn knows what she's doing--Vi can trust in that, at least. So she doesn't worry when they strut into the worst part of Zaun with their heads held high, jumping away from puddles of filth. She doesn't worry when they slip into an abandoned warehouse (pointedly ignoring the way her heart stutters even though this warehouse looks nothing like that one). Maybe she starts to worry a bit when they're surrounded by Zaunite sumprats from balcony to exit.

Normally, this isn't a problem. Normally, Vi loves the thrill of adrenaline from facing an 'impossible' enemy; she loves seeing the looks on the newbies' faces when she smashes through the threat like they're cardboard cutouts. But something feels wrong--Vi's stumbling, she's making weak punches and taking way more than she usually does, which is saying something. Her hands and forearms ache like hell, and she swears her gauntlets aren't normally this heavy.

She can feel Caitlyn's eyes on her from the balcony where she'd carved out a spot to pick off sumprats one by one with her rifle. Vi knows she looks like a fucking rookie, stumbling around and taking ten times the punches she throws, but she can't catch her breath and Janna, there's Zaunites everywhere.

Vi narrowly ducks a tall woman's swing with a pair of nasty brass knuckles. Normally she'd laugh; brass knuckles are nothing against hextech gauntlets, but she doesn't have the breath for that right now. A giant man comes at her and she ducks his punch, throws one at his ribs, jabs blindly up with her knee, ducks--

Someone screams to her distant right. It's high and girlish and for a moment Vi's heart sinks, every inch of her shouting Powder even though she knows that's impossible. Instead, it's the new recruit to the strike team--Ivy, Vi thinks, the newbie Caitlyn told her to cover. She doesn't really care what the kid's name is, she's already running.

Vi gains speed and forces herself to jump. Her gauntlet's slamming into someone's face, a Zaunite goes flying, and she's moving again before she even lands.

There's exhaustion settling into her bones and her knuckles ache with each residual impact from the gauntlets, but Vi moves just about as fast as she always has. She can't spare a glance for Ivy, but out of the corner of her eye, Vi can see that the newbie hasn't moved from a heap on the floor.

When Vi finally looks up from the bright blue glow of her gauntlets, there are no more Zaunites left to fight, just a few knocked out on the floor, a lot of blood, and a muddy purple Piltover uniform with a sprout of blonde hair which Vi realizes is Ivy.

She drops the gauntlets and leaves them where they fall, half-limps over to the newbie, drops to her knees beside her. The uniform that she thought was purple is actually soaked through with blood. It smears over Vi's hands as she flips Ivy onto her back, throat choked up. This is too goddamn familiar.

The other members of the team, Bain and Steb (Vi still doesn't know how he found it in himself to stay after the first mess), drop to their knees beside Ivy and push Vi out of the way. Caitlyn strides purposefully up to her and ups her cheek; her sharpshooting gloves are cool to the touch.

"Vi, darling?" she says so softly, like she's afraid of upsetting some delicate balance. "Are you all right?"

Vi just nods and lets out a shaky breath. "We still need to search the warehouse, right? I'm sure the hextech's here somewhere..."

Caitlyn ignores that. "You're not all right. Don't lie to me, Violet."

"I just--" Vi stammers. She cuts herself off so she doesn't sound like an idiot and looks over Caitlyn's shoulder at Ivy. Steb's staunching the stab wound in her side, and logically Vi knows the newbie will be alright, but her heart really isn't listening to logic at the moment. "You told me to cover her," she manages. "And I messed that up."

Caitlyn's face softens. "No, darling, you didn't. I shouldn't have asked you, and I didn't know what we would be facing. If anyone is to blame, it's me."

Vi opens her mouth to protest, but Caitlyn's firm glance shuts her right up. "You did nothing wrong, Violet," she says, tone somehow forceful and gentle all at once. "Do you understand?"

"I understand," Vi says, then adds with a feeble smile, "cupcake."

Caitlyn gives her a warm, soft smile and makes Vi stay put as she helps Bain and Steb with Ivy. Vi watches her and wonders if she was wrong. Maybe Caitlyn hasn't changed so much after all.

♡

One month later…

When Vi wakes up, Caitlyn is still in bed. They've been taking one day a week off, since Caitlyn doesn't like to sleep in on work days. It turns out, however, that she does like sleeping in.

Vi just lies there for a moment, watching Caitlyn's chest rise and fall. The sunlight makes her smooth skin glow, and Vi thinks she looks sort of like a goddess, or something.

Things have been good this past month. It was a rocky start, Caitlyn prodding Vi to open up and Vi insisting she was fine even though she obviously wasn't. But things smoothed out eventually--Caitlyn was patient, and Vi would make it fit, no matter what.

Of course, things weren't perfect. Caitlyn was still annoyingly particular about the way Vi put on her uniform or made a mess in the kitchen or smooshed their enemies, and Vi couldn't quite shake the Grey from her lungs, but at least she wasn't crying on gym floors anymore. In her humble opinion, that was pretty good.

And maybe Vi hasn't quite figured out how to tell Caitlyn what she feels, but Caitlyn's started telling Vi about her mother and Jayce and her childhood in Piltover. Vi tells her stories about Powder, even mentions Mylo and Claggor sometimes. Neither of them are very good with words, but they're trying, and that's enough.

Vi's startled back into reality, still jumpy from her prison days, by Caitlyn flipping over and blinking awake. In the quiet, the sound of sheets rustling sounds like a gunshot, but Cait's pleasantly warm hand on Vi's forearm slows her heart down enough to breathe.

"Morning," Vi says evenly, like she didn't just lose her shit.

Caitlyn frowns but doesn't press--Vi knows she'll ask about it later, but for now they can both agree to set it aside. "Good morning," she says. "How did you sleep, darling?"

"Good," Vi says, and she isn't lying. She never has nightmares when she's in Cait's arms.

That morning is sleepy and warm. Caitlyn orders fancy Piltovan pasteries and tea, and they eat in the living room while Vi props up her dirty shoes on the coffee table and makes fun of Caitlyn's family portrait. They go to a market and Caitlyn buys strawberries and Vi gets a cupcake, of course.

Things aren't perfect, of course they aren't. But as Vi licks frosting off her fingers and watches Caitlyn, she thinks that it's pretty goddamn close.

[mouserthefirst]

this is my blog for writing fanfiction! my first blog is @angry-oil-slick11

🤍 she/her, minor 🤍

𝘪 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘪𝘥𝘬)! 𝘪 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘷𝘪, 𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘢, 𝘫𝘪𝘯𝘹, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪, 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘤 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷 𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘷𝘪 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘢𝘺𝘤𝘦 :)

𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬! 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘭𝘺

𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘮𝘦/𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨!

𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴, 𝘷𝘪 𝘹 𝘫𝘪𝘯𝘹, 𝘫𝘪𝘯𝘹 𝘹 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘤𝘰, 𝘦𝘵𝘤. 𝘪 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 (𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘷𝘪) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 (𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰!) ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡ 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵) ♡ 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 ♡ 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 (𝘦𝘨: 𝘫𝘪𝘯𝘹 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦) ♡ 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘤/𝘢𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮, 𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 (𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘮𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘶 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵) ♡ 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 (𝘦𝘨: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘫𝘢𝘺𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘺𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥) 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵! 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 <3