sheriff-caitlyn

[sheriff-caitlyn]

//Look, if they have matching skins, it happened.

[sheriff-caitlyn]

//help I'm writing a script for what Arcane should have been

[sheriff-caitlyn]

oH noo

[sheriff-caitlyn]

                 don’t look back now   the past is where it belongs

[sheriff-caitlyn]

quite an unexpected commission :p

/Patreon/

[sheriff-caitlyn]

Blitzcrank and Viktor, illustration I did for @leagueofzines ‘s Rosaria!

[sheriff-caitlyn]

A Past, Apart

It was the duty of the novices of the previous seasons to welcome the new arrivals, but warmth was hard to come by in this season. Winter novices, brought in at the tail-end of the year, were children who had nowhere else to go. Too old for the orphanage but too young for the workhouse, when the temple had beds free before the new year they took in charity cases as the gods demanded.

Eirien had been a springtime novice last year, sponsored by her family, proud and warm and hopeful and eager to share her faith with others. She clutched her hands together tightly in her sleeves and watched the girls enter, wondering which she would be assigned to tutor. Girls her age, shivering in the same uniforms, soon to share the same dormitories and eating hall and time at prayer. Many were sullen, or too cold to find wonder in being welcomed to this holy place. 

But one of the Winter novices did not shiver. Her hair was long and dark, and she did not bow her head. Her eyes, bright and sharp, flicked over the building facade, over the empty flowerbeds, and then across the line of the welcoming priests and priestesses and novices and then, finally, locked on Eirien. And the Spring novice felt her breath seize in her chest, as though struck by lightning.

It was late that evening when Eirien had the chance to speak to that dark-haired Winter novice. She had come to prayer, alone, and had not expected to find anyone else in chapel. There shouldn’t have been anyone here. But the Winter novice was standing in the centre of the room, slowly turning to look at each and every alcove, giving each of the statues of the gods a silent - and judgemental? - stare. Candlelight made her hair seem darker, made her eyes seem brighter, gave a gleam of silver to the plain grey robes that she wore.

“You’re beautiful.” The words slipped out of Eirien’s mouth before she could stop herself. Truth did not sit silent on her tongue. That was her gift.

The Winter novice looked at Eirien, not in surprise or modest acceptance, but something like scorn. “That should not matter. The gods are all blind.”

Eirien was shocked by the blasphemy, too shocked for a moment to even speak.

The dark haired novice frowned, then reached out and took Eirien by the wrist, pulling her to stand beside her. “Look,” she said, pointing - pointing! Jabs of her index finger, careless and disrespectful! - at each of the statues that surrounded them, that looked down from their naves. “Each and every one of them is carved with their eyes closed, and those who are not? Look at their eyes. Blank and white and featureless. The gods are blind, all of them.”

Eirien was filled with terror. “That cannot be so!”

“Of course it is.” The Winter novice dropped Eirien’s wrist, slowly turning again, looking at each of the gods just as before. “In all the scriptures, it is said that the gods are pleased by the scent of the offerings and the sound of worship. They never say they are pleased by what they see… because they cannot.” The dark-haired girl gives a thoughtful hum, then looked back at Eirien. “So even if I am beautiful, the gods wouldn’t know, nor would they care. They cannot see me.” She shrugged.

Truth did not sit silent on her tongue. It was her gift. Eirien felt the words spill out again. “I care that you are beautiful.”

“You are strange,” the Winter novice said, unsmiling, but there was a light in her sharp eyes. “Alright, you may care, if you like. But no-one else may, I have now decided.”

Eirien huffed a small incredulous laugh, but the blood in her veins sang in unexpected joy.

The Winter novice’s name was Catriona. It took Eirien three days to learn this, and in that evening she whispered it amongst her prayers. Silly. Foolish. But she was grateful, and she was happy, and she was scared and compelled by this new novice in equal measures. Maybe, when the season changed, she would ask the High Priestess if she may become Catriona’s sister, and guide the new novice in proper responsibilities? The thought of being sisters with Catriona felt right. Felt almost like it would be enough.

When the spring came, Eirien’s family brought her honeycakes, and spent time in saying how proud they were of their daughter, and joined in singing carols and worship. Eirien did not see the Winter novice in the service, and was half afraid that there would be some repercussions, that Catriona’s furtive disrespect of the gods would see her removed from the temple. But she was in the garden, reading, when Eirien went to look for her. She did not seem happy. She did not seem like she had been anywhere else all day.

Eirien pulled apart a honeycake with her bare hands and held it out to Catriona. “My parents made these. Would you like to share?”

Catriona lifted her head, and blinked. There was something fiercely angry in the gesture, and it made Eirien freeze.

“In my next lives,” Catriona said, definitively, “My parents will not be so cruel to me.” She slammed her prayer book together and got to her feet. “They will not die before I have a chance to remember them.”

She stormed off, blinking hard. Eirien’s fingers were sticky; she washed off the honey, and threw the torn cake to the hounds. 

Catriona would continue to speak casual blasphemies in the year to come, backed by scripture and unnerving insight. Soon, she was found to speak prophecies. Soon, she was known to be a vessel for Divine Wisdom. Young and destined for greatness, and isolated further by it.

Eirien was named her Sister. Eirien was her only friend.

A night-terror washed through the temple, one unholy eve. Those who saw visions saw monsters, and dire portents, and glimpses of the future. Eirien found herself whimpering and whispering the words of madmen and tyrants, and her hands shook as she forced herself to commit them to parchment, the quill shaky in her hands. Across the room they shared, sitting on the other bed, Catriona’s face was lost in shadow where it was upturned towards the ceiling. She was not shaking. She was still, and calm, and hummed something low and pleased like a cat's purr. 

“Catriona,” Eirien whispered. “Help me. Comfort me. I am afraid.”

Her Winter Sister looked across the room, her eyes steady and sharp. “You and I will die together,” she said simply, “In each others’ arms.”

Eirien burst into tears. 

Catriona left her bed, taking aside her Sister’s paper and ink and quill, then climbed into bed with her.

“Like this,” she said, as she guided Eirien’s arms around her. “Like this,” she said, as she wrapped her arms around her in return. Winter and Spring together, close enough to breathe, forehead to forehead, pulses mingling skin on skin.

“I don’t want you to die,” Eirien sobbed.

Catriona only nodded, calm and unbothered and her eyes bright. “That is what you will say.”

The air was full of dark thoughts and dread and glimpses of the future. Eirien leaned towards the light, to the brightness in the Winter novice’s eyes, desperate and pleading. Catriona was surprised, and startled from her contemplation with the future. Lips met. Arms tightened. The unholy eve was forgotten. They stayed, together, the first night of many, the beginnings of a future together. Warm. Content. Whole. Complete.

All was well.

[sheriff-caitlyn]

League of legends Fallout AU——Detective Caitlyn. Solving cases and killing those dangerous things with her plasma sniper rifle.【and her partner Vi of course  

[sheriff-caitlyn]

Your art is so cute!

//Thankyou! I've been at this for a while... I'd love to get back into it. In the meantime, the glory days :D

[sheriff-caitlyn]

Blessed be the blasts from the past. Also hiss~

"Always important to remember the good times. And speaking of good times, please enjoy this." She presents him with a freshly-caught trout.

[sheriff-caitlyn]

“Chase me, sheriff~”

// I promised Singed and Caitlyn swapping outfits. I delivered.

[sheriff-caitlyn]

What if you found yourself in a alternate universe where you were a cupcake and every other cupcake was a little caitlyn

[sheriff-caitlyn]

for herojayce

[sheriff-caitlyn]

“Well, look at that. I found another knife. When I said you needed to disarm yourself at Customs, Mister du Couteau, I meant entirely disarmed. Now, if you’ll beg my pardon, I’ll be taking this… and that other weapon you’re trying to smuggle in down your trousers. … Oh, hold a moment. That one’s all yours. Hrmhrm.”

[sheriff-caitlyn]

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