#How to Build a Metal Workshop

[catdia]

Arcane Characters with a Puerto Rican Fem S/O

Jayce, Viktor, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Ekko, Sevika, Vander (nsfw)

Jayce

I like the idea that he is also Latino/Hispanic

Maybe Brazilian or Colombian

My sexy Latin Papí

In Piltover there isn’t really a big Latin community, so when he heard that you were Puerto Rican he befriended you reallllll fast

You studied botany and tech ecology, while he engineering

You wanted to save your islands flora and fauna by incorporating advanced tech, while he wanted to improve lives with magic 

You believed his dream since the beginning, even if you looked at him sometimes like he was crazy

“You have no idea what these crystals are capable of! What if we combine those aqueducts you designed for plant growth with runes? We can triple food production by 110%!” Jayce wrote equations on the board, mind going miles per second

“You think it can regrow completely deforested areas in less than 40 years?” You humored him.

“What if we can do it in less than 10?! The possibilities are endless! I promise that when I crack this, I will paint the whole world green for you.” Did he know how to warm your heart…

Jayce is a super touchy person and always has to have skin to skin contact like a new born

You get mistaken for a couple a lot before you even officially started dating

Always kisses you on the cheek when you greet each other. A very Latino thing!

Piltover’s greetings are very cold, only handshakes and shoulder pats. So he was ecstatic to finally have someone to do it with outside his family

Viktor became a victim of your kisses. But he secretly enjoys it

Jayce always smells good! Ximena taught him good hygiene since he was little. Whenever he feels a light sweat coming on he immediately hits the showers

Has a gold chain! Never takes it off. It was originally his father’s.

Doesn’t speak very good Spanish, but you teach him in between Hextech protects and meetings

You guys talk endlessly about your backgrounds and even bring treats to each other

“Mmm— oh, fuck!” He moaned shoving another spoon full of food into his mouth. Eyes rolling to the back of his head

“Jayce it really isn’t that good.” You were blushing like crazy, completely forgetting the plate in front of you. You just wanted to do something nice for him

“What are you taking about?! It’s the best thing I’ve had in weeks!”

He had been working his ass off building the new Hextech towers and surviving on sandwiches for the past month

“I also brought dessert, if you are interested…”

Jayce looked at you with puppy dog eyes. Absolutely enamored. Cheeks full like a chipmunk

“I. Love. You. Soooo. Much.” Jayce said grabbing your face and kissing you all over

“Te amo, mi rey.” (I love you, my king.) You said while gently wiping the side of his lips with your thumb

Jayce can dance! And I mean really dance. Ximena put him in classes when he was little because she didn’t want him to forget his roots

Dancing with Jayce is about passion, making love on the dance floor. Bodies pressed against each other, hands running above hot pumping blood and flesh. Heavy eye contact that yells sex and pleasure

You guys have sex in the forge all the time, instead of pounding hot metal he pounds that wet pussy (hahaha!)

Watching him pull the chains of the fire pit just gets it going for you. Back sweaty from the flames and work. Tan skin so glossy like copper

From you just wanting some papers to be signed for an new upcoming project turned into you having him on the workshop table

“Just like that, mi reina (my queen ). Como me haces sentir tan bien.” (You make me feel so good.)”

Jayce was thrusting into your cunt, the wood of the desk rattleing with every give and take. Your hands on his bare ass and his bracing your sides

When Jayce found your cunt’s sweet spot, the one that made your head fall into his shoulder with your eyes rolling back; pornografic grunt on your lips, he found gold

“You like that?” He grinned, finding solace in pleasure he gave you. Amused at how his body served yours so well

“Mmmm— yeah…” You licked the sweat of his jaw, slight stubble rough against your tongue

You loved him so much. Him with his stupid little smiles and big hands. And oh those eyes that made you dream of a safer tomorrow

“Esos ojitos de miel son tan bonitos. Te quiero comer enterito, papí!” (Those honey eyes are so pretty. I want to eat you whole, love!) You were practically going feral at his grasp. Eating at his neck and chest, savoring the taste of ash on his skin

You leaned back on your elbows, breasts jumping at his thrusts. Grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand up to cup your tit. Watching his cock drill in and out of your pussy. He was close by the knit of his eyebrows. Hips becoming harsher and sloppy

Jayce teased your clit, moving his fingers in the way you liked. Loving the clench of your walls as you grained your pelvis on his dick

“Assssíííí, cabrón—”(jusssstt like that, fucker—)

You came together in a world wind of grunts and curses. You creaming on his cock. Jayce rested his body weight on you as he came undone. Easing his head from your collar bones and giving his lips a peck. You loved how disheveled he looked, all fucked out with empty watery eyes

“Want me to give you a blowjob as you sign these for me?” You said brushing the hair of his face. Thankful for the shower he had installed at your request

“I would be an idiot to say no!”

Jayce is the king of aftercare! He will always have a snack or even a little trinket to give you after sex

“Look, I made a little pendant of the PR map!” Jayce showed you the little piece of metal. White teeth glinting as he was so proud of his artistry

“Oh my God— it uhmm… It has character alright!”

It looked more like a disheveled bean but you wore it proudly everywhere! You love your man

When you start dating Jayce, Viktor became your much appreciated third wheel

You always pack extra goodies and food in Jayce’s lunch box so that he gets feed too

Getting sad when Jayce comes home with tears in his eyes because his friend doesn’t take good care in himself

You even go as far as bringing him homemade meal preps to his house so he always has a warm dinner

Jayce’s favorite dishes you make are anything meat based: Bistec encebollado (beef steak with grilled onions), pollo guisado (stewed chicken in red sauce served over white rice), and pernil (slow oven roasted pork with crispy skin)

Would never admit to his mamá that your cooking is better than hers

And his mom absolutely invites you over to cook with her

Saying that she needs to pass on her recipes to her future daughter-in-law

You like spending Christmas at the Talis residence. A big old family gathering with delicious food and music

Ximena was more than pleased knowing that Jayce got himself a Latin girl!

Get ready to pump out some big chunky babies! This man is a Latino at heart and that comes with a few kids running around

The first time you ever visited the Talis home, Ximena took out all of Jayce’s baby pictures

“Awww, look at your tushy! Plump as ever I see.”

Jayce put his head in his hands. Ears red from his naked baby photos that you were so entranced by

“Mamí, please for the love of God put them away!”

Ximena gave her wedding ring to Jayce shortly after you left. The ring was carved and made by Jayce’s late father

“Si te vas a casar con cualquier persona, Jayce, tiene que ser ella.” (If you’re going to marry someone, Jayce, it has to be her.)

You call Jayce cerebrito (little brain) and he loves calling you mi tesoro (my treasure)

Viktor

Viktor knows the struggles of making it in Piltover as an outsider, both being form the Undercity and physically disabled

And making it to the best academy in Piltover while being different was surely a merit on its own

From simple study buddies to lovers. You fell first, but he fell harder

You call him estrellita (little star) because of his many beauty marks

I’ve read that people like to headcanon him as Czech, and I like that…. I like at ALOT

Teaches your words in his language to talk shit behind Jayce’s back. And by shit I mean make fun of his failed prototypes

Viktor straight out asked you to teach him the dirties curse words PR has to offer. And oh boy, do you give him a colorful list—

Cabrón (bastard), puñeta (fuck), hijo de puta (son of a whore), me cago en tu madre (I shit on your mom), mama bicho (cock sucker) , me cago en na’ (I shit on nothing), vete pal carajo (go fuck yourself)—

One time he got pissed at Jayce for not doing an equation right that ended up with the lab half burned to the ground.

You just stood next to Viktor as you watched them bicker at each other like a married couple. Jayce cleaning up the ash of his failed work

“You should have run them by me or Sky first, Jayce! We are partners, not competitors!” Viktor threw his now burned lab coat at him, hitting Jayce in the chest

“Well you shouldn’t have been making improvements to the Hexcore without my knowledge then!” Jayce pointed at Viktor, nailing back the fallen boards with unnecessary force. Wow, grumpy Jayce never got old

“You know what, Jayce—” Viktor looked at you with a evil glint in his eyes. Oh, no… “¡Me cago en tu madre!”

Jayce gasped like an old woman seeing a half naked girl at church. Mama’s boy Talis was going out for blood today

“Don’t talk about my Mamí like that—” he pointed at Viktor, hammer in one hand ready to knock his brains out.

“Come here you fucker!” Jayce launched towards Viktor as he scrambled to the other side of the desk

“Jayce, please don’t strain him too much! I still would like him in one piece!”

You were caught in this mess trying not to laugh as Viktor ran away with a giggle from his soon to be killer

“Take it back or I’m going to take that leg brace I built off with the bone still attached!”

“Never!” Viktor yelled triumphantly

It ended with Jayce and Viktor on their ass thanks to a good back head slap on your part

Guava enthusiasts. You brought mantecaditos (short bread cookies with guava paste on top) one time to the lab and they were gone before Jayce could try them

“Seriously, Viktor you didn’t even save me one—“ Jayce was looking inside the tin box with sad puppy dog eyes. Only finding crumbs at the every bottom

“There weren’t that many in the box anyways, Jayce.” Viktor said hiding the last cookies in his desk drawer. You made over 40 cookies, but he was never going to tell Jayce that

He likes anything vinegar based and soups. Like guineitos en escabeche (boiled green bananas dressed in a vinegar sauce) and sancocho (a hearty stew with a bunch of meat and vegetables like cabbage and yams)

It’s so funny hearing him pronounce the foods he likes! Viktor is really good at rolling his r’s. His accent is just to cute!

“What did you want me to make you Viktor?” You tried to hide your laughter as you looked at a grumpy Viktor

“I told you that I want that dulce de lecussy. The one you made last week with pieces of cheese.” He huffed

“You mean dulce de LECHOSA!” (candied papaya in sweet syrup with firm cheese) You crackled with lungs on fire from laughing so hard

“And what did I say then?!” He sassed at you trying to dim his smile

“That you basically wanted dessert pussy!!”

“I would mind that either, actually.” You gave him a slap on his shoulder. The sheer perversion of this man!

“¡Fo, que puerco eres!” (Ew, you’re such a pig!)

“How dare you call me a pig—” he gasped as you ran away from his wrath

He chased you with his cane and you ran around giggling trying to escape him

Viktor definitely has put in some weight and looks so much healthier

“I’m blaming you for my favorite trousers not fitting anymore.”

Once you showing him how real Puerto Rican girls twerk you created a new type of man. You decided to surprise him with a naked lesson. Rewarding him for the success of the Hextech gates.

“And what exactly do you call this?” Viktor rasped out. One hand firmly placed on your right hip. As the other went white holding the handle off his cane. Voice heavy with the heat of pleasure

“Perreo” you looked back at Viktor, watching him savor the ripples of your skin as you shook your body to the lyrics of Ivy Queen

“Mmm perreo…” he repeated absentmindedly

Pressing the cusp of your cunt on his clothed bulge, ass cheeks consuming and spilling out from his pelvis. Shaking your hips at various speeds and rhythms

Alternating between having your hands on the floor with your legs spread wide, having your knees bent with your fits on them, taking an ass cheek and spreading it so Viktor can see your sloppy pussy

“Eres bella.” (You’re beautiful.) heavy tongued, loving that the phrases you taught him were finally doing their magic

“Take that cock out now, jodio cabrón (fucking bastard).” Fuck did Viktor make you horny

“So vulgar.” He slowly unzipped his pants. Torturing you. He released his beautiful long cock. Dripping lines of precum down his head to his shaft 

You moaned at the sight of his dick, ready to be stuffed full. Spreading your pussy lips as an invitation. “Put it in.”

“I didn’t know that just a little dance could make you so aroused. Tell me what other— ohhhh, Janna!” Viktor had the wind knocked out of his lungs. Mouth gapping in pleasure

Sinking down his length shut him up. Pressing your ass until your cunt was consuming Viktor in a tight hold. Pushing him deep into the concrete

You swiftly shaking your ass faster than ever before. Not letting a single inches of that glorious dick escape your needy walls. One hand on the cold lab floor and the other playing with your clit

Viktor was whining, overwhelmed by the heat of your body. Hand letting go of his cane, it hit the ground with a powerful thud. Bracing himself on your hips

“I’m going to c-cum, my love—”

“Hechame esa leche adentro— mmmmmm… ¡Que rico eres, mi blanquito lindo!” (Cum inside me— mmmmmm… You’re delicious, my pretty little white boy!”)

Viktor came with a silente scream coating the inside of your pussy. If it wasn’t for the wall supporting Viktor’s back he would be on the ground by now

“That was incredible.” He stated, eyes wide with wonder and face flushed

He certainly asked for perreo lessons later on

And Viktor surprisingly can shake his hips very well! Which comes in handy for more than just one thing…

Vi

When you told her you were Puerto Rican she definitely said: “A mi me gusta la chocha de Puerto Rico.” (I love Puerto Rican pussy.)

You introduced her to reggaeton and now there is no going back, her favorite artist is Daddy Yankee

She likes to dirty dance with you, having your ass pressed against her pelvis. Especially when she has Bacardi in her veins

Vi doesn’t care what you put in her plate as long as it’s fresh and delicious

She enjoyes rice based dishes the most, like arroz con calamares (rice with calamari) and arroz con salchicha (rice with cocktail weenies)

She once downed a full bottle of coquito (coconut eggnog) on her own

Vi’s favorite dessert is arroz con coco (a coconut rice pudding)

She definitely makes fun of you for not being able to say certain words right!

Don’t EVER make a Puerto Rican say “jewelry” or “burglary”. We are allergic to L’s and R’s and it will cause us to go into septic shock!

Likes being called gringa by you. Thinks it’s hot when you say it, especially when she annoys the crap out of you

Her favorite curse word is vete pal’ carajo (go fuck yourself). And when she gets into scuffles or fights she always tosses it around

And she’s like “yeah, my girlfriend taught me that. I’m a bilingual queen as well.” She low key embarrassed the fuck out of you when she says that

“Vi, I really don’t want to do this—” Vi was strapping a pair of boxing gloves to your hands. “What if I get hurt? What if I hurt you?”

“Don’t worry about me, cupcake! I can take a few punches just fine. I’ll go easy on you. And besides—” she slapped the side of your headbrace. “I’ve seen you practice with Powder before. Ehh, it’s kind of pathetic how you throw a fist to be honest.” She gave your nose a peck, turning around and taking her side of the ring

“Hey! I’m a great hit!” You sassed placing your gloved hands on your hips

It was ON. You definitely were out for blood

“Then prove it! The stage is yours!” She ran the little bell that was attached at the wall.

It been less than 6 minutes in and you were already panting

Vi was definitely going light on you. Not even taking the spots you intentionally let open for her. She only dodged your every attempt to get a hit in

Light on her feet as she tripped your leg, causing you to fall on the ropes of the ring.

You wanted to call it, but your pride was too strong. And you equally stupid

“When are you going to hit me for real?! I didn’t think the great Violet was just a pussyfoot!” Vi pushed your buttons the right way. She loved when you got bratty

“You can’t take this heat, cupcake. I’ll knock you out until next Monday and Vander will have my head on a stick if I do.” She was right, but God did you want to wipe that smug look of her face!

“Oh, yes I can!” Your fist had a mind of its own. Angry as she was so cocky

Before you could think you took the open spot on her face. Hitting her square in the jaw, knocking her back on the rubber ropes. Vi was in shock and whiplashed by the quickness of your punch

“¡Ay, puñeta! ¡¿Violet, estás bien?!” (Oh, fuck! Violet, are you okay?!) You desperately took your gloves and stupid helmet off. The Velcro fighting your desperate attempt to pull it off

A drop of blood escaped her lips, Vi’s thumb flicked at the side of her mouth. Eyes on the smear of red, then up to you. Smirking at the damaged you inflicted

Fuck did you just make her 100 times hornier than she already was

“That kind of hurt.” Translation: it hurt like hell!

By the fire in her eyes you knew that you were so screwed. Your belly grew warm, the hole between your legs clenching on nothing

“Vi, I’m s-so sorry! I told that this was a bad—”

In a swift play of time, she pinned you against the ground. Having her left arm around your neck in a headlock, her left hand on your shoulder. As her legs trapped yours under her thighs, having them spread out with your pelvis arching forward. Both of your arms crossed behind your back pinned by the weight of your body

You moaned at the discomfort. Muscles tired by the training, you tried your best to wiggle out. Only for Vi to hold you harder against herself

“What’s wrong, cupcake? Bit off more than you can chew?” You did answer her with words, but with that glint in your eyes that meant (Fuck me, you damned raspberry bitch)

She slithered your baggy pants past your knees. Your pantieless cunt up in the air. Vi loved how you were always easy to access. From fingering you in public to her eating you out in some random alley

“Naughty girl. Who knew decking me in the face could get your pussy so wet.” She dipped a finger in your folds. Scooping the wetness and pulling it out to watch it drip

She gave your cunt a slap and your clit fluttered at the assault. Pulsating for more

“You like that, uhh?”

“Y-yeah—”

Vi gave you a plethora of open palmed hits. Juices streaming down your ass. Yelping as your cunt was being abused. All swollen and red

Vi thrusted her fingers into your opening in a scissoring motion. Her bloody thumb circling your clit

“V-vi— ahhhhaaamm! No puedo ver másss.” (I cant see anymore) Gurgling on the spit of your throat. Ready to pass out any second

Your vision went white by the lack of oxygen and the way Vi’s fingers played with your cunt so deliciously. Hot tears burning your skin from the constant stimulation

You stuck your tongue out, spitting saliva out thanks to the lack of air in your lungs. Face ready to turn blue. But did it make your body feel good…

“Just a little more— alright?”

Vi curled the tips of her fingers on your g spot and digged them in far into your crevice. Shaking her wrist to send vibrations to your whole pussy

You bit her forearm, shocks of pleasure coursing out the inside of your walls. Your teeth broke the skin, tasting the blood of your lover

Squirting the liquid of your orgasm on the ring’s floor. Vi let your body go, your lungs reviving in painful gulps of air

Vi turned you on your side, massaging your ribs and sternum. Licking the spit around your temple. She kissed your lips, careful not to take more oxygen from your body

“Who is going to clean this up?” Voice hoarse. Your mouth tasted coppery

“Lick the floor clean, losers get janitor duty.” She slapped your ass, you groaned at the lack of humanity. Vi got up from the floor and headed to her water bottle. Instead of taking a drink she poured it on her chest and hair. Nipples highlighted through her white sports bra. She pushed her wet hair back arms flexing a she felt your gaze on her

“We don’t got all night, cupcake. Avanza (hurry up).”

What a tease

Caitlyn

This girl has never know flavor until you came around

You were the daughter of one of her mother’s tailors and stylist. Your mom always brought you along to see her clients because she wanted you to take over one day

When you first visited the Kiramman residence you were blown away by the beauty of the estate. Your mom told you that this client would take longer than the others because she ordered a whole custom made ball gown

“I have a daughter, Caitlyn, about your age as well! Maybe you ladies can be friends! God knows my girl needs a gal pal.” She said excitedly as she was getting fitted for her gown.

Mrs. Kiramman gave you the liberty to explore the gardens as your mother worked. And you sat down near the water fountain to have your snack

“Esta gente si que tiene chavos…” (These people sure do have money…)

As you were munching on your sandwiches you saw a head of indigo hair peeking out from the rose bushes. A young girl

“Caitlyn, right? Do you want one?” You ask stretching your arms with your lunch in your hands. She timidly walked towards you

“What are they?” The girl asked as she sat next to you

“Sandwiches de mezcla (spam and velvita sandwiches) and platanutres (thinly fried plantain chips) ! They are really good, I made them fresh this morning.”

Caitlyn looked at them, and gently picked up a sandwich. Slowly taking a bite as she looked at your happy face.

Her eyes sparkling at the soft bread and salty spread

“Mmmm— I’ve never had anything like this before!” She then picked up some plantain chips. Savoring the salty crunch of them.

You quickly become friends. Cait even convinced her mother that she liked wearing fancy clothes just so that she could she you more frequently

Mrs. Kiramman was ecstatic that her little girl was going to wear more dresses than only her school uniform

Cait even goes as far as to ask her mom to invite you to her birthday party. The only close friend she really had was Jayce. And there were only going to be adults from other houses and The Council

You also became friends with Jayce, you both taught Cait how to dance bachata and salsa

“Cait move your hips more! You are stiff as a board, mija (girl)!” You said guiding her feet to the music

“I don’t have hips to shake!” She said as her cheeks flushed

Cait knows only a few Spanish phrases thanks to Jayce. Girl can’t roll her r’s or say her l’s even to save her life

She is a sweets girl! Loves flan de queso (cream cheese flan) and flan de vanilla (vanilla flan)

When she finally confessed her love for you she did it in Spanish. She practiced with Jayce for almost a month to get the emotions right

“Me gustas mucho. Te adoro. ¿Quieres ser mi novia?” (I like you a lot. I adore you. Do you want to be my girlfriend?) She handed you a bouquet of lilacs. You were so excited that you knocked her on her ass! You hit your head on a table and both of you spend your commitment with ice on your limbs

You watched each other grow up, you becoming a seamstress like your mother. And Cait going against all Mrs. Kiramman’s wishes and graduating from the Enforcer Academy

You join Cait in the private shooting classes with Officer Grayson. Both excellent shoots, but you not so much. You’re better in close range with a handgun

She looks so sexy in her enforcer outfit!

Lost your virginities to other other! It was the day of her graduation of the academy. When everyone was clustered in the Kiramman estate celebrating her accomplishment

You sneaked away together to her bedroom. Stealing a tray of hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of wine. Wanting to get away from the elite of Piltover

You were on her bed, stuffing your mouth with cheese and crackers

“You’re going to get crumbs on my sheets.”

“Are you going to give me a ticket for it?” Caitlyn scoffed at you as you tentatively shoved another bite in your mouth

Caitlyn stood in front of the mirror. Fixing her medals and badges that hung on the fabric. You knew her too well, she was picking herself apart. Thinking that she only got in the academy because of her name only

“I think I would get used to calling you “Officer Kiramman” you said crawling to the edge of the bed, bottle of wine in your hand. Lying on your stomach with your palm under your chin. Looking at the pretty lady in blue

You patted the spot next to you, discarding the bottle to the floor. Crossing your legs on the mattress

She walked to the bed and sat next to you, leaving her top hat on her bedroom ottoman

“Caitlyn, you have to believe me when I say that you are so much more than your house” You held her temple in your palm, she held your wrist. Closing her eyes as she savored your compassion

“You are more talented than those silver spooned pricks out there! You may have the same money and influence, but they will never reach the level of talent you have. Because what is all this power for if you don’t have the heart to push change? You care, Cait! And I saw with my own eyes how you make others do as well. Like the time you told your mom to give a raise for her maids and workers! Remember that?”

She giggled, remembering that day she saw your mother counting her last few coins to afford a new pair a shoes for you. Cait yelled at Mrs. Kiramman for hours, until she finally gave into her mistake

Next time she saw you there was a brand new pair of shoes on your feet that had you running up to Cait to tell her all about

And that instance evolved into Cait wanting a better world for you. She wanted to change the concrete you walked on into fields of flowers

“Thank you, I really needed that…”

“It also helps that you have a nice pair of tits.” You joked as you pointed to her Enforcer jacket

“You minx!”

She slapped your shoulder and chuckled as you faked your hiss in pain. Rolling around the bed as you help your poor “broken” arm!

“Ohhh, I’ve been a victim of police brutality!”

“I’ll show you brutality, bebé (babe)!”

She climbed on top of you, tickling your sides

“¡Cait, para que no puedo respirar!” (Cait, stop I can’t breathe!) Cait stopped her attach, watching as your chest rose to catch the missing breaths. Your cheeks rosie in adrenaline

She wanted you there with her always. Your hair on her pillows and the smell of your skin lingering on the buttery covers

“Cait?” You asked as you calmed down. Looking at her in worry

“Fuck it” Cait thought, as her lips captured yours in an estranged kiss.

After years of ghostly touches, of lingering eyes, and Jayce calling your romance worse than nuns in love in a convent. She wanted to go the next level with you

You pulled her in, rolling yourself on top

“Are you sure?” You asked bracing her neck

“It would be my honor to have my first time with you.” And yours as well. You started to take layers of your bodies

You both laughed at your struggle to unclip her blouse. Her fingers guiding yours as she showed you the intricacy of the clasps

“I guess that “enforcement” also extends to your uniform.”

“That’s why I only let you make my garments—” Caitlyn kissed the corner of your eye. “They are much more second party friendly.” You pushed the shirt of her body, surprised at the nakedness of the chest

“No bra?” You cupped her breast, feeling the goose bumps of her skin. Her breath hitched at the coldness of your hands

“I didn’t just expect half ass handshakes and putrid marriage proposals as graduation presents.” Cait took charge, pinning you against the edge of the bed. Crawling downwards to your core

She raised your skirt, white sheer stockings held by a lacy garter around your waist. Her eyes widened at the lack of fabric covering your mound

“You weren’t the only one expecting more than just pat on the shoulder tonight.” You moaned as she spread apart your lips

Cait dove in between your legs. Hands in your hips as she guided her tongue along your folds. Nose resting on the shell of your clit

“I t-think, ahhh, you underestimate yourself too much, Cait.” She focused on your bud, rolling her lips on it. Then sucking ever so lightly to draw whimpers out of your vocal cords

“¡Ya no aguanto más! Yo creo que—” (I can’t bear it anymore! I think that—)

You came with a grunt, arching your back of the matters. Head filling with rushed blood as it hanged free of support from the mattress. As you were lost in your high, Cait placed her cunt on yours and rolled her hips. Feeling her clit make love to yours. Your previous orgasm used at oil to make her slip against your pleasures

“Ready for another round?” She whispered into your raised calf. Teeth ripping the material of your stockings. She will buy you new ones, better ones.

Caitlyn was born into wealth and privilege, but she is the most understanding girl you’ll ever met

When you pointed out the problem, she found a solution even if it meant going against her high society

You opened her eyes to the real world and she is so thankful for that

Mel

You were part of the council serving as an international ambassador like her

When Mel first saw what you brought to the council she wanted only to use you as a pawn

But she fell in love with your want for progress, one that actually breaks cycles and not just one that covers them with empty promises

She saw herself in you, a woman that wanted to break the bounds of her past convictions

Neither of you had houses in Piltover and shared different cultural backgrounds than the others

You secretly make fun of the culture shocks you experienced when first moving to Piltover

Both you and Mel HATE the cold that comes with Piltovan winters

She knew about your country and even speaks fluent Spanish thanks to her mother being a Noxian general.

Mel is a scholar, she read up on everything PR before ever making a move on you

Even if she already read up on everything she asks you questions just to hear you rant about your roots

“Is it true that Puerto Rico has the best coffee? I’ve been planning on investing in some companies, but I’m still on the fence…” Mel said in a quizzical tone. Tapping her pen to her chin

Your eyes sparkled. “We have the BEST coffee! Did you know that we have almost 3,000 coffee farms in all PR?! And we also have started to produce cacao as well. It’s incredible considering—” you ranted out

She zoned out, just appreciating the beauty of which you speak so lovingly about a simple thing as coffee beans

You teach her how to make homemade sofrito (a wet spice blend made with sweet peppers, cilantro, recao, and other herbs)

But your favorite memory is when you made dulce de leche together because Mel wanted to make a tiered cake for Alura’s birthday

“¿Quieres probar un poco?” (Want to try some?) You had already some on your index finger for yourself, but you were dipping the wooden spoon for Mel to taste

“Absolutely.” She took the spoon out of your hand and placed it back in the pot. Mel grabbed your wrist

She brought your finger to her mouth. Feeling the velvety muscle roll on your finger pad. Mel took your digit all the way to the knuckle. Slowly pulling her head back with a moan

“It could use some more vanilla.” Mel said dipping her finger back into the caramel. You were felt stunned, mouth gapping and your temple rose red

“What about the sugar?” You cringed as your voice broke. Screaming mentally about getting a grip. You literally have the prettiest woman in Piltover at your wake, and here you are speaking like a teen hitting puberty!

“Mmm, I can find another way to make it a little sweeter…”

“Strip for me, darling.” You did has she commanded. Shredding off the layers of clothing all to please her

You loved the way she looked at you, eyes of a lioness. They held a power over you, you ate from her hands

She took the pot by the handle and tilted it until syrup flowed out the metal. Pouring lukewarm dulce de leche on your skin. As if she was washing the body of a queen. It slowly dripping down your body. From your nipples to the crescents of your abdomen

Flicking her finger up the cusp of your breast to your nipple. Collecting the sugary treat only for her to give her finger to you. You repeating the same action she did moments before

She stared at the base of your neck, then at your chest. Occasionally, coming back to you and sticking out her tongue so you could eat it out of her mouth. You didn’t know who was sweeter. Mel or the candy you made together

Mel kittened licked your areolas clean, never breaking eye contact with you. As her hot tongue cleaned you off

Mel stripped shortly after. The gold birthmarks of her body reflecting in the light. She takes the spoon an and spreads the dulce de leche on her ass cheeks. Candy flowing down her thighs

“Eat up.”

You sat on the floor staring with the drizzle on her thighs, then raising to the globes of her ass. Licking the syrup of her smooth skin. Nibbling at the small golden freckles that decorated her dark skin

“Is it sweet enough now, darling?”

You ordered a cake from an expensive bakery in Piltover and called it a day. What Alura didn’t know won’t hurt her

She definitely stuffed your pussy with her paint brushes when she is working on a new project

Having your legs spread wide for her as he picks up a brush for your entrance, making sure she thrusts it in and out a few times to get a moan for you

Sucking the juices of the handle then dipping the bristles in red paint

And what about you eating her out in her office when she is working?! The possibilities are endless with Mel

For me she is the type to love anything you make her. There is so much diversity in Puerto Rican cuisine and her just picking one is impossible in her eyes.

But man does she appreciate a fresh mofongo relleno de camarones (smashed fried plantain topped with shrimp in a tomato sauce)

And you also teach her the basics of bomba (a tradicional African dance). Even gifting her a custom made traditional outfit to make your dance rehearsals all the more authentic

Mel takes you on lavish vacations to the island. Staying at the best hotels and you serve as a guide to her. Taking Mel to all your favorite local spots to eat pinchos (meat skewers) and drink Medallas (Puerto Rican beer)

You took her to your favorite archipelagos and little islands surrounding PR. And skinny dipped into the various bioluminescent bays at night. Mel had never had such a good time in her life

“Querida (love), I have a present for you.” Mel entered your shared living space. Medium canvas in hand

“Oh, Mel! You didn’t have to! Is there any special occasion that I forgot about?!” You got up from your stop on the couch, greeting her with a kiss

“No, love. I just wanted to do something special.” She turned the canvas around. You squealed at the art piece. She never disappoints!

“Mel! ¡Qué pintura más espectacular! (What an espectacular painting!) The water and sand look so life like! I can’t wait to hag this up in my office!”

“I painted it after we got back from holiday. It’s that big archipelago you took me at the end of your trip.” She circled your waist for behind, resting her chin on your shoulder

“Yes, Cayo Icacos! Oh my God, it even has the same dock and the coast line!” You said admiring the canvas

“There is also on more thing—” She walked over your wine cabinet, pouring two glasses of wine. “I bought Icacos for us. So we can spend your winter vacations there. Alone. Together.” She kissed your jaw, handing you the glass

“Oh like you rented it out for us?” You took a swig, moaning at the sweet undertones

“No, I got the government to officially sell it to me and put it under our names.” Mel said nonchalantly. You sip out your wine in shock

Yep, you definitely passed out shortly after

Ekko

You were one of the people that lost everything to Silco. Your community was slowly taken by Shimmer and gang wars

Ekko and the Firelights rescued you from Silco’s men. You didn’t want to join his web of crime and they proceeded to burn your shop with you inside

If it wasn’t for them being close by you would have lost more than just a few inches of healthy skin

Ekko teaches you how to fix things, how to clean and go at any loose cables their hover skateboards may have

You also picked up flying those boards pretty quickly, he made sure to make them as user friendly as possible

You were sitting on one of the many branches of the Tree, watching the children play and seeing the progress of the new faces in the mural. Fuck did it hurt seeing those paint brushes touch the trunk of the tree

The branch shook with the addition of a foreign weight

“Lost in thought, chica (girl).” You looked up at Ekko, still wearing his Firelight coat with his white owl mask hanging from his belt

“Tell me what’s your mind.” He sat next to you, bumping your shoulder playfully

“I fell like I’m not doing much— like I’m not doing anything. Like I-I’m a burden to this place.” You sighed, throat tight with anxiety. Eyes burning with hot tears

“And what do you want to do?” Ekko asked, holding your hand that was resting your lap. Shining brown eyes studying your features

God why was he so damn handsome when you are in the middle of a breakdown!

“I just d-don’t want to stand by— and — and watch my people be slaughtered…” You said between jagged lips

Ekko smirked at your answer, slowly pulling away from you and placing a box on your thighs

“What is it?” You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand

“Open.” Ekko leaned back on his palms, trying his best to keep his cool guy act even if he was nervous as hell inside

You opened the box, inside there was a Firelight mask. One shaped like the face of a bird like many others in group

Suddenly you remembered that faint pop of green in the sky from your childhood. Of a little green bird that would eat your grandmas tomatoes from her garden

Your eyes widened. What is this really what you think it is?

“Ekko— is this a cotorra puertorriqueña (PR’s national bird)?” You said in aw, lifting the mask and examining its details. Feeling the emotion Ekko put into carving it

“I’m sorry it took so long, but I wanted to make something that would represent you—” He took a small book from of his coat, falling apart by age. “And I landed on that. I found this book in one of the flee markets I went to.” He flipped the pages, letting you see the images and words on the pages. Everything from fauna to history was written on it

Ekko pointed at an image of the bird. “It just screamed you— beautiful and free. I-I mean also many other things like—”

You cut Ekko of with an embrace, holding the mask to your chest

“No sabes cuán agradecida estoy, Ekko. Gracias, gracias, gracias…” (You don’t know how grateful I am for this, Ekko. Thank you, thank you, thank you…) You sobbed on his shoulder, gripping him tightly as if something was going to take him away from you

“Por nada, chica (you’re welcome, girl).” Ekko whispered, arms circling your back

You cook for the Firelight community and when it’s your turn to serve your food the line triples with people more than other days

Ekko even made space for a little herb garden for you! And you have some plantain trees growing in

He likes helping you cook as well. His favorite thing to do is cut, mash, and fry tostones (plantain fritters)

Wouldn’t it be cool for Ekko to have some Caribbean background?! Like Jamaican, Trinidadian, or even Dominican

I can just see Ekko going ham on a pastelón de carne (a sweet plantain lasagna with ground beef and mozzarella cheese)

You give the kids and the adults Spanish lessons. And private ones to Ekko (wink wink)

I believe that the community has a beautiful shower pace! Filled with plants and vines that filter the water making it crystal clear. It’s almost like a never ending waterfall. And it’s especially breathtaking at night when the moon and fireflies light the place up

It was past midnight, and you just got back from other painstaking parole. Dirt coating your clothing and skin

You head straight to the showers. Discarding your clothes on the bench of the makeshift stall you were in.

The stream was cool to your skin, nursing those fresh bruises on your arms and thighs. Grateful for the fresh washcloths, liquid soap and towels that were replenished after every use

You turned around at the sound of an object falling. Ekko’s pupils wide at the sight of your bare breasts and ass. As his owl mask laid on the floor. Who long was he there looking? Did he like what he was looking at?

“S-shit I’m sorry! I thought that it was empty! I’m just gonna—”

“It’s okay— you can stay if you want, Ekko…” Did one of Silco’s goons hit you to hard on the head? Ekko hesitated at first, but when you gave him a nod

You saw him taking off his clothes. Body littered with old scars. He stepped into your space. Both you and him admiring your bodies, if it wasn’t for the cold water you would be in flames

Trying your best to not look at his cock. You started washing off the white paint, careful of not to get any in his eyes. And he did the same, washing your face and neck. A blush on your cheeks

“I believe that “Boy Savior” is an understatement—” Feeling his toned stomach under the soapy washcloth. “You are more of a man than a lot of people out there.”

“Can I kiss you?” He brushed his thumb along the curves your your lips

“Yes…”

Ekko leaned into your lips. He hungered you for a long time, scared that if he got to close you’ll disappear like all his past loved ones

He touched the purple bruise on your rib as he wanted to pull you in, you gasped in pain breaking the kiss. His touch recoiled, then slowly came back in feather like stokes

“You should have never gotten this hurt!” He was angry at himself, it should have been him getting hurt. Not you, never you!

“I shouldn’t have been so focused on destroying those Shimmer barrels…” He pressed his forehead on yours. Eyes crimson with hurt

“We signed up for this, I did too. And if making the Underground better means a few scrapes and headaches, then I’m more than happy to do so.” Thumb wiping away his stray tears

“What can I do to make this up to you?” He kissed the pulse of your wrist

“If you shut up and make love to me.”

He backed you against the rocky wall, water cascading in between your bodies. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Moans concealed by the rush of the water

Ekko’s hips meet yours as he dropped and lifted your body on his arms. Cock hitting you gummy walls and g-spot

“¡Clávame más fuerte! ¡Quiero que se te rompa el bicho de tan duro que me rócese!” (Fuck me harder! I want you to break your dick with how hard you give it to me!)

Nails scratching his back, adding to the multitude of wounds on his body. You both were going to hurt so bad in the morning

“You drive me crazy, chica (girl)!”

You came in his cock in the final thrust, body pulsating with the warmth of your orgasm and the ice of the water

He pulled out and came on your stomach, kissing your neck hard enough to leave traces of your escaped. Your legs jelly at the knees

You and Ekko spent the last hours of night in the streams. Basking in the freshness of your flesh. Having each other on every wall and surface possible

“You know what I’m feelin’ right now?”

“Like your cock is going to fall off?” You said into his chest as you laid back with him on the wooden bench looking at the moon. Ekko’s chest rumbled in a chuckle

“That, and a hot bowl of asopao de pollo (chiken and rice soup).”

Sevika

Sevika definitely has a thing for Latinas

You moved to Piltover a few years ago and started working at The Last Drop. There was an influx of Spanish speaking people and Vander was desperately looking for a bilingual server

He hired you on the spot not caring how many years of experience you had

She basically became your unofficial body guard. Scaring of creeps that got to friendly while you were working

You taught her how to play dominos and you still ended up losing! You had to make her sorullitos (fired cornmeal sticks) for a month

She helps you give out food to the kids and homeless people around the Undercity. It breaks her heart seeing you cry over the people that suffer thanks to Piltover

After she lost her arm you took care of her. Making her cope with a new life change and the challenges that came with it

And you best believe you chewed her ear off about the whole Vander and Silco situation. Refusing to work for Silco and running your own food business to get by

There aren’t many South East Asians in the Undercity or in Piltover, and you bonded because of the lack of a community.

I think you guys talk a lot about the men in your life, how they treated both of you with violence. How toxic males can be thanks to your cultures never giving them consequences for there actions

Talking about how unworthy Sevika felt for just being born a woman, and a queer woman at that. How she finally broke away from all the stereotypes and became a force to be reckoned with after the death of her father

You heal each others soul wounds by embracing the best of your heritage 

She knows all the Indian beauty secrets! She is the one that washes and oils your hair. Saying that “you don’t know how to take care your hair”

“Sevika, I feel like my scalp is about to start bleeding!” You wiggled away as the scalp massager dug into the sensitive parts of your head

“That means it’s working! Stop being a baby.” She poured more warm oil on your head and ignored your whining

She just wants to do something nice for you and loves your reaction as you see how long your hair as gotten since getting together

A lot of the spices that you both use for your cooking it basically nonexistent in the underground

And if they sell them, they go for an arm and a leg (hahaha amputation joke)

So Sevika makes sure that she puts special orders in the smuggling catalog for all the spices, herbs and produce that you both need to make delicious meals

You put her on to tropical fruits. From the massive avocados to the sweet and sour passion fruits

“So when I’m getting a taste of your papaya?” She is a massive flirt.

Sevika’s love language is making you a cup of chai every morning

She is mostly vegetarian, only occasionally eating meat. So her favorite food that you make is also a labor of love

So I just know she loves the pasteles you make. They literally take you a whole day to prepare. From cooking the pork or chicken, toasting the banana leaves on the stove, grading the plantains, making the red oil, and wrapping them up to look like a present

It was the holiday season and you sold almost 30 preorders of your 12 count pasteles. Making big bank, but losing your peace filling all these orders in time for Christmas Eve

She says that she will “help” but she stands leaning on the counter as you fold the banana leaves in place as she munches on plantain chips

Sevika thought you were the sexiest at home in your batas (old lady dresses or muumuus). She could clearly see the outline of your body thanks to the sheer fabric. Especially liking how your nipples got hard in the cold air and the fat mound of your hairy pussy when you didn’t wear panties with the nightgown

With a frustrated look on your face when the leaf doesn’t want to work with you

Cursing under your breath “Hijo de puta— yo te digo…” (“Son of a bitch— I’m telling you…”)

“You look so sexy when you’re frustrated, mamí…” Sevika cradled your hips from behind. Kissing the curve of your nec

“Was helping me all bullshit Sevika?”

“You forget that I only have one arm left?” She said patting her empty shoulder. Smirking at your eye roll

You weren’t amused at all at her joke. “Haha, very funny…”

“But I have other ways to help you at least…” Her hand slowly creeping under your dress strap

“Like what?” You questioned her, eyebrows raised

Sevika was in between your legs as you made the last batch of pasteles for the night

Nightgown discarded on the floor

Sucking on your clit each time you finished folding a pastel. Slowly pulling it away from her mouth and letting it go with a pop. Her two middle fingers thrusting in and out of your entrance

She watched from the kitchen floor as your breasts heaved at every lick of her tongue. Biting your outer lips when you didn’t fold the leaves fast enough

“¡Comeme la tota así mismoooo!” (Eat my pussy just like thatttt!) You made those pasteles as if you were on steroids

Her nose pressed against your mound breathing the smell of your cunt. The smell of a grown woman was intoxicating to her.

Sevika speed up her fingers and tongue, you wanted to come undone. But pushed through the last of them

Your hands braced the counter as your orgasm took over. Raising one of your legs of the ground so Sevika could drink your release fully. She groaned at the taste, vibrations sending heat through your overstimulated body

You sucked a breath, peering down your bottom half. Sevika resting her head on your inner thigh, sucking purple marks on your flesh. Jaw coated in your silk. Grey eyes drinking in your dazed face

“I believe I was more than enough help. Don’t you agree, muñeca (doll)?” She gave you clit a little kiss, pleasure running up your spine

“Eres terrible, ‘Vika—” (you’re terrible, ‘Vika—) you let out breathlessly. Ruining your fingers through her short hair

She took her fingers out of your pussy, and you leaned down to taste yourself on her. Indulging in the salty sweet flavor of your bodies. Lapping her fingers clean and then kissing Sevika. Her lips push against yours

“Mmm my compliments to the chef.” You had more than one good fuck that night on the floor with Sevika

Who knew that pasteles were such an aphrodisiac?

If they ask you why these were so delicious you just smile shyly and say: “I just put a little extra love (orgasm) into them.”

Vander

As a bartender he absolutely was inspired to make a cocktail menu for you. Makes you his official taste tester for any new drink he plans to put in the menu

You owned a small food stand in the Underground ever since he was working in the mines

And it was always packed with people in and out of work

You got together shortly after Vander stopped your shop from getting mugged by some punks

Vander is a coffee lover and always makes it a routine to get up early in the mornings just so that he can have a hot cup of Puerto Rican joe with fresh butter and bread on the side

Thankful that you always feed his kids when he doesn’t have time to cook for them, and free at charge with at that

But he always sneaks more than enough coin into your tip jar when he visits you after a rough day

“Does Vander ever feed you guys at all?” You asked serving another customer

“He does but he burns everything he cooks—” Vi said licking her fingers clean from the delicious poultry you made

“Can I have another piece of chicken, tití (auntie)?” Powder said holding her empty plate at you, big eyes looking at you with love. Mouth covered in red sauce

“Con esos ojitos (with those little eyes) who can say no to you Pow-Pow!”

Yes his kids call you auntie and I’ll take that to the grave!

Whenever you call him “Hound” he blushes! And you make fun of him a lot for it as well. Calling him a dog as you catch him looking at your ass as you bend over to get plates and watching your tits jiggle as you make your fresh pressed juices.

Coquito (coconut eggnog) is his all time favorite drink, second to guarapo (sugar cane juice). And when you gave him a shot to try it solidifies his want to open a bar so he can make delicious drinks like this

When it’s the holidays Vander lets you have parrandas (live Puerto Rican music parade) at the bar. You introduced him to el guiro (a type of musical instrument) and la pandereta (small hand drum). And he plays them really well!

“Maybe those big hands are not just useful for punching things, huh Vander?” You played along side him as you watched the kids for a dance circle. Chuckling at Powder’s lack of feet coordination as she stepped on Mylo’s toes

“I will have to show you sometime. You will certainly be surprised, love.” You blushed, quickly going over the other musicians to sing your part of the chorus. You felt his eyes on you the whole time, loving the attention he gave you

The kids went to sleep as midnight approached. The adults enjoying their late drinking. Vander was leaning against the bar as you danced with Sevika. Watching you teach her the basics of bachata so that she could impress the girl she was pinning for

“You’re not so bad at this, Sevika!” She twirled you around

“Na, I’m better at the cards than all of this.” Sevika said, still looking at your feet as you guided her steps

In the corner of your eye you saw this other girl go up to Vander. You didn’t hear what they were thanks to the loud music. But you saw him shaking his head “no”. The girl turned around annoyed, flicking her wrist at him as dismissing a dog. Wishing her eyes found a brain in the back for her skull as she rolled them. You thought she finally back off. But you were wrong…

She pressed her ass against the front of his pants, shaking her flat flabby ass. Vander choking in his drink in pure shock. Trying to push the girl away

Before Sevika could stop you, you were already across the other side of the bar. Fist clenched, Vander making brief eye contact with you. His eyes widened at your wrath. Uh oh…

“¡Èl dijo que no jodia puta! ¡Te voy a romper la cara!” (He said no you fucking whore! I’m going to break your face in!) Grabbing her hair by the root and dragging her off to the bar floor. Her screaming and sinking her nails on your forearms, drawing blood. You screamed at her attach

You hear people cheer and yell at you to: “teach her to not touch anyone’s man again”.

Throwing your body weight back and making her crash into the round tables. Before the girl could even process the pain you straddled her stomach and punched her face in. The alcohol in your system making you rabid

“Love, that’s enough!” Vander pulled your fingers off the girls body. You were thrashing against his hold. Sevika hoisted the other woman taking her out of the bar.

“Everyone, out!” Vander yelled. You watched bodies move with blurry eyes. You still thirsty for blood.

“¡Déjame! (Let go!) ! Ugh, Vander!” He threw you over his shoulder. You punching his muscular back for him to let you go. He took you into the supply closet behind the bar. Dropping your feet on the floor.

“Let me out Vander! She is not getting off that easy for touch you like that!”

You wobbled like a new born fawn, holding the shelves for support. Vander locked the door and turned on the dim light abode your heads.

“Sit your ass down! I’m not tellin’ you twice…” Vander warned, pointing at the large empty barrel. You stared him down on your tippy toes. Blue eyes piercing yours.

“You really want to go there, sweetheart?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. Getting close enough to smell the whiskey and smoke on his breath. The smell of your man

You wanted those hands around your throat. You wanted him to fuck the brat out of you. Your fight for dominance was short lived

“Fine.” You caved in and sat down with an annoyed plop. Grumbling at him with your arms crossed

God, did you love the control he had over you. You loved a man that put you in your place, while still being caring and loyal

Vander turned his back to you while looking for the first aid kit. Admiring the thickness of his body. And those pants that made his ass and legs look so delectable

“If I wouldn’t have stopped you, you’ll be heading to Stillwater by the end of the night.” Vander stood in front of you, raising your head to meet his warm gaze

“I’m sorry—” You whispered as your eyes became teary

“Christ, love! You would have killed her!” He lifted your arms to see the damage. Cleaning your wounds with alcohol. You hissed at the burn. Vander slowly wrapping your forearms with white gauze

“I’ve never seen you act like that before—” Breaking the silence. “I didn’t think a lady such as yourself could be so violent, so jealous…”

Vander would never admit that he loved what you did to that girl. How sexy you were while beating the shit out of a stranger just for him. It made him feel loved in a fucked up way

He lifted your bandaged arms to his lips. Breathing the scent of your wounds

“Tell me, love. Are all Puerto Rican women like that?” He asked innocently, looking at your face with curiosity

“I’m not just a jealous woman, Vander… I’m going to tell you a little secret about us puertorriqueñas.” You said stroking his bearded cheek. “We are territorial. And we fight for what is ours, even if it means that I have to fucking sink my teeth into any whore that touches mi hombre (my man)” You said between your gritted teeth, pulling Vander towards you. Tongue sinking into his mouth tasting faint of whiskey

You pulled his belt, harshly tugging it open. Feeling his hard cock through the fabric. God, did you want to get that whore’s smell of him. Replace it with the scent of your cunt

“You are mine, Vander. And I am yours.”

His eyes dialed, pants ever so uncomfortable. Vander launched at you, lifting you by your legs and kissing your lips. Your back gently hitting against the liquor shelves

He quickly discarded your bottoms, you gave his length a few pumps then lined it up against your cunt. You could never get bored of the sight of his cock, or the hot stretch it gave you

“Choke me, Vander!” You yelled, pussy filled with him. His hand was placed in your neck in a moment. Fingers pressing your pulse points.

Vanders thrusting was meet with the sounds of clinking bottle and the rattling of the shelves. He was a beast, slapping your entrance at full force as moans were caught on your airway. Velvety walls sucking him in. Heavy balls knocking against the push of your cheeks.

“I’m gonna cum, lovie—” He let go of the hold on your throat. “Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth!” Vander dismounted you. Cock glossy from the slick of your pussy

You kneeled on the ground, fingers fucking your pussy. Taking that big veiny dick in one go, slurping your combined juices as his tip hit the back of your throat. Vander’s hand resting in your hair. Your other hand massaging his balls

Vander came with a grunt, back of his head hitting the wooden shelves. Gasping in surprise as it coated your mouth. He was going to need ice for that later, you thought, enjoying the creaminess of his cum

Sticking your tongue out to show him his release. Then moaning as you swallowed it

“You dirty girl.” Biting your lip as he cursed at your seduction

“My dirty dog.”

You licked his cock clean. Pulling his foreskin in between your lips. Kissing it all around and making out with his tip slit. You nibbled at his shaft, using a bit of teeth to draw gasps from Vander

You brought your mouth to his pubic bone. Biting his skin, hard enough to leave marks. And leaving hickeys on his stomach

Loving how your food left some extra pounds on him. Making his tummy all the more squishy and soft

“You’re eating me alive, love—” You giggled on his skin, slowly stroking his spent cock. “Mark your territory, mi loba (my she-wolf).”

“Con placer…” (With pleasure…) You gave his cock a final kiss. Long lasting, a little red bruise at the side of his shaft. Moaning at your work, eyes sparkling up at him

Vander helped you off your knees, and leaned you against his chest. You rested there for a while, calming down for your sex crazed high

“Do you want me to make you a passion fruit mock-tail, darlin’?” Vander rasped, hand soothing the pulse of your throat 

“Yesss please, and with extra—” Vander shushed you with a kiss

“And with extra ice and pineapple pieces. I know, amor (love), I know.” He pecked your forehead

[roseyodditea]

Sit Still! - Boothill x gn! Reader

Summary -> 1.1k words. You're a mechanic who's been forcibly given the impossible task of repairing Boothill, the most stubborn customer you've ever done (even if this wasn't the first time)

Warnings -> None

A/N -> Is it obvious that I like working on electronics? No? Not proofread because I work a 7-5 office job and I am tired <3

********

“Hey! HEY! you keep that fudgin’ thing away from me!” Boothill jumps over the workbench in the middle of your workshop, watching your movements carefully. He was quite agile for a man that was on death’s door when he stumbled in here a mere half hour ago. 

You put the hot soldering pen down on the table against the wall. “Boothill. Let me do what I need to do.” Boothill crouches down like a wild animal, practically growling, his jaw clenched tightly. “What are you planning on doin’ with that thing?” “How the hell have you gone this long without using a soldering iron? How do you keep your body functional?” You lunge and reach for the back of his jacket, grabbing him by the collar as he tries to skitter away, but his damaged systems cause him to be slower and weaker than normal. “Whatever that thing is, my sensors say it’s hot and it smells forkin’ awful!” He tries even harder to wiggle out of your grasp, but he doesn't want to hurt you. You were the only mechanic in this star system that still put up with his shit. “Normally they turn me off for repairs. I ain’t never been awake for one.”

“Yeah well. I need you conscious for this part.” You shove him towards the workbench and he obeys, sitting up on it. “Lay down, open up your chest panel.” You command and push him down. 

“What are you plannin’?” He bites back the distrust and decides to lie down on the bench. He opens up his chest panel and watches you closely, the targets in his pupils lock on like he was about to rip out your jugular with those sharp teeth of his. “I will explain everything I do before I do it. Will that make things better?” You muster a soft tone, trying not to show that you are annoyed at his behavior already. Sure you had the stubborn electronics and machines that made you lose sleep, but this is the first time the repair work was done on someone who could give you sass. You don’t have the bedside manners for this…

Boothill still watches wearily, but at this point, he has no choice, his systems are borderline critical. He had already ignored the warnings for this long. “Alright… yeah… that’ll make it better.” You pick back up the soldering iron and show it to him. “This is a soldering pen. I’m going to use it to melt this stuff,” you pick up the roll of the thin metal that was on the table next to it, “onto the contacts between your wires and your circuit boards. It’ll help make sure everything is secure and won’t wiggle out of place. I need you awake because I need you to tell me if I set off any alarms and sensors in your body. Just as a failsafe to make sure I don’t accidentally kill you”

“Kill me!?”

“It’s a joke. Now shut up and don’t move”

He nods, still weary as you reach both your hands into his chest compartment, where he can’t see. He tries to hold down the panic, the fear, the worry. This was the most vulnerable he has ever been. This is why he likes being powered down for repairs. This was hell. The smell of molten tin permeates the air, only stressing him out further. 

“Calm down.” You say without looking up. “You’re fidgeting and I’m trying not to burn either of us.” He doesn’t listen. Of course, he doesn’t listen. His legs still fidget, his hands still move around, gripping the table. “Kinda hard when you’re wrist deep in my body. It tickles.”

“Boothill. Hold still.” You growl out, frustration building in your chest. This was delicate work on a not-so-delicate man. “Next time you squirm, I swear to whatever Aeon you worship-” He twitched again and your hand slipped, the soldering pen touching his bare circuit board, causing him to yelp out in pain. “Goddammit Boothill!!”

He shrinks away, recoiling from pain and your frustration. “Ah, shirt! It feels weird and I-” His words are cut off as you move to straddle his thighs, pinning his fidgeting legs underneath you. You point the hot soldering iron at his face. “Move again, and I will turn you off and just pray I don’t mix up wires.”

“Yes, boss.” He says, stunned as his hands instinctively move to rest on your thighs. “Ya know, last time I had someone on me like this I-” “Don’t” You reply, your hands working on sorting out the mess of wires he had let his innards become. You solder another wire down and look up into his eyes. “Is that one in the wrong spot?” “No, that feels right. I forgot I had that sensor.” He chuckles, relaxing against the workbench. “This ain’t that bad.” His hands gently trace circles against the material of your pants in an attempt to soothe his own anxiety. He could feel every movement your fingers made in his chest compartment. 

“Yeah, and it only took me thirty fucking minutes to get you to sit still.” You finish soldering all the wires down, satisfied with your work. “Alright. All done.” You toss the hot iron onto the table across the workshop. “See? Not that bad. You’re just whiny.” You move to get up, only to have Boothill tug you back down onto his lap, sitting up so you both are face to face. 

“Thank you.” 

“Wow. I didn’t know you were capable of genuine gratitude.” You tease, grabbing his hat and putting it back on his head. 

He adjusts his hat into the proper place. “I know I owe you credits, but what can I do to thank you, sugar? This ain’t the first time I’ve stumbled into your workshop late at night, mostly dead.”

“Just come back alive again.” You knock his hat out of place on purpose, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “That’s good enough for me.” You hop off of the workbench. “Now get the hell out and let me go to sleep. It’s too late at night to be lookin’ at your face.” “Yes, boss.” 

“See ya next time.” “There won’t be a next time.” He tries to keep up his tough appearance as you roll your eyes and move to sort and put away your tools. He smiles to himself and purposefully takes his whip off his belt, tossing it on the table while your back is turned and he slips out. 

Once you knew he had fully slipped away, you rolled your eyes, grabbing the whip and hanging it up on the hook you installed on the wall just for this purpose. 

He always left a reason to come back, and you always pretended to be oblivious to it. 

**********

Super special super optional A/N -> someone sent me an anonymous message a couple days ago saying they like my writing and I CRIED. Turns out when you break out of your comfort zone and share a hobby you get support??? Odd.

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

4362 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴɪɴɢ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ/ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Jayce Talis was fresh-faced and full of ambition when he first arrived in Piltover. Accepted into the academy (19) as a promising young inventor, he was determined to make a name for himself. But ambition wasn’t enough to build the dreams he had in his mind. The academy had resources, yes, but they were cautious, slow-moving—bound by tradition. Jayce’s ideas demanded materials and ingenuity that Piltover wasn’t ready to supply.

That’s how he found himself wandering into the Undercity one fateful evening.

The narrow streets of Zaun were a stark contrast to the polished halls of the academy. Steam hissed from broken pipes, and the air smelled of oil and metal. Jayce clutched a hastily scribbled map in his hand, given to him by a fellow student who claimed there was a workshop deep in Zaun where you could find anything—if you were brave enough to look.

He nearly missed the place entirely, tucked away in a crooked alley. A flickering sign above the door read: “Y/N’s Fixes & Finds.”

Pushing the door open, Jayce was greeted by the faint hum of machinery and the clatter of tools. The workshop was a chaotic haven of gears, wires, and half-finished devices. At the centre of it all stood a young woman, roughly about the same age as him, goggles perched on their head, a smudge of grease streaked across their cheek as they worked on a mechanical contraption.

The sound of the door creaking drew their attention. They turned, narrowing their eyes at the well-dressed stranger. “Lost, academy boy?” they asked, their tone sharp but not unkind.

Jayce hesitated, taken aback by the directness. “Not lost,” he said, stepping further into the room. “Looking for something I can’t find in Piltover.”

Y/N leaned against the workbench, crossing their arms. “You’ve got the wrong place if you’re looking for shiny toys and fancy gadgets.”

“That’s not what I’m after,” Jayce replied earnestly. “I’m working on an idea—something that could change everything. But I need better materials, better tools. Someone told me you could help.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite themselves. “Big words for someone who doesn’t look like they’ve built anything that’s actually worked.”

Jayce smirked, feeling a flicker of determination. “I can prove it.”

They tossed him a battered device from the workbench—a mangled mess of gears and wires. “Fix that. If you’re half as smart as you think you are, it shouldn’t take you long.”

Jayce took the challenge without hesitation, sitting down at the workbench. The device was poorly assembled but fixable. With a few careful adjustments, he realigned the gears and connected the wires properly. Within minutes, the device clicked and whirred to life, emitting a faint pulse of light.

Y/N was impressed but tried not to show it. “Not bad, academy boy. Maybe you’re worth my time after all. Names Y/N” She holds her hand out to him.

"Jayce." He responded, shaking her hand.

They spent the next few hours talking, trading ideas and challenges. Y/N’s resourcefulness fascinated Jayce—they solved problems with a practicality born from necessity, creating brilliance out of scraps. In turn, Y/N couldn’t help but admire Jayce’s vision and his almost reckless drive to push boundaries.

When it was finally time for Jayce to leave, Y/N handed him a small pouch filled with rare components. “Call it a loan,” they said with a sly smile. “Don’t screw it up.”

Jayce smiled back, his grip tightening on the pouch. “I won’t,” he promised.

As he walked back to Piltover, the weight of the pouch felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just components—it was trust. And for the first time, Jayce felt like his dreams weren’t so far away. He didn’t know it yet, but this meeting was the start of something that would change not just his life, but the world.

VIKTOR

The halls of the academy were always bustling, students rushing between lectures, papers scattered across desks, and the constant hum of ambition hanging in the air. Y/N was no exception, constantly moving, juggling tasks, and brimming with ideas. It was her first semester, and she was already feeling the pressure of living up to the academy’s towering expectations.

Lost in her thoughts about an upcoming presentation, her arms full of papers and books, Y/N’s focus slipped for just a moment too long. Her foot caught on the corner of a rug, and the next thing she knew, her carefully organized notes and diagrams were flying out of her grasp, scattering like autumn leaves across the polished floor.

Before she could fully register what had happened, a soft but firm voice broke through her embarrassment. “Careful now. The floor may not be as forgiving as it looks.”

Startled, Y/N glanced up to see a young man crouched beside her, already gathering her scattered papers. His lean frame was accentuated by the slightly oversized academy uniform, his posture careful as he balanced against a sturdy cane. His unruly brown hair seemed perpetually at odds with the studious air he carried. Most striking, though, were his golden-brown eyes—intense and thoughtful, but not unkind.

“I—uh, thank you,” Y/N stammered, still flustered as she scrambled to pick up the rest of her notes.

“It happens,” the young man replied in a calm, measured tone, his Czech accent thick. He leaned slightly on his cane as he handed her a stack of neatly organized papers. “You’re not the first to underestimate how much these corridors demand your attention.”

She managed a sheepish smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah, I suppose balance isn’t my strong suit.”

“Balance,” he mused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His cane tapped lightly against the floor as he shifted his weight. “An elusive concept, especially here. The academy is good at keeping everyone on edge.”

Y/N accepted the papers, her initial embarrassment giving way to curiosity. “Thanks again. I guess I owe you one.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “No debt incurred,” he said with a faint chuckle. “Just… perhaps slow down a little next time. Rushing rarely yields the best results.”

As the weight of her papers settled back in her arms, Y/N hesitated. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Viktor,” he said simply, his cane tapping softly as he adjusted his stance. He offered a slight nod, polite but reserved. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” she replied, finally feeling steady on her feet. “First semester, and clearly still figuring out how to survive the academy.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Viktor said, his tone thoughtful as he studied her. “Even those of us who’ve been here longer still stumble now and then—metaphorically, of course.” A faint flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.

Y/N smiled, her initial awkwardness fading into warmth. “Well, Viktor, thanks for the save. I’ll try not to make this a habit.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “See that you don’t. But… if you do find yourself in need of assistance, you know where to find me.” With a slight dip of his head, Viktor turned and walked down the corridor, his cane tapping a quiet rhythm on the polished floor.

As Y/N watched him disappear into the crowd of students, she couldn’t help but feel that this brief encounter was the start of something far more meaningful than a simple rescue.

JAYVIK

The flickering fluorescent lights of the lab cast long shadows over the scattered blueprints, glowing crystals, and intricate machinery. It was late—most of the academy's halls were silent, the usual bustle of students and researchers replaced by an eerie stillness. Perfect timing for someone who didn’t belong.

Y/N moved carefully, her footsteps light as she navigated the sprawling lab. Her Zaunite instincts guided her, sharp and survival-driven. The tools and devices on the workbenches were unlike anything she had seen back home—polished, cutting-edge, and dripping with the wealth of Piltover’s privileged elite.

It wasn’t personal. She didn’t particularly want to steal from anyone. But things in Zaun had been dire lately, and every stolen blueprint or shard of hextech crystal could mean another week of food, another day of keeping her family afloat.

Her gloved hand reached for a shimmering blue crystal embedded in an ornate device when a sharp voice cut through the silence.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Y/N froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned slowly, her mind racing for an excuse. Behind her stood a tall man with broad shoulders, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. His piercing brown eyes bore into hers, his expression a mix of suspicion and annoyance.

“I—uh…” Y/N began, but another voice interrupted her.

“She doesn’t look like one of the academy staff,” Viktor said, stepping out from behind a stack of blueprints. He leaned on his cane, his golden-brown eyes sharp and calculating as they swept over her. “Too quiet. Too... resourceful.”

Y/N’s gaze darted between the two men. She was cornered. Jayce’s strong, commanding presence on one side, and Viktor’s sharp intellect on the other. Her hands instinctively tightened around the crystal, but she knew she wouldn’t get far if she tried to run.

“I can explain,” Y/N said quickly, raising her hands in mock surrender, the crystal still clutched in one fist. “I wasn’t going to take much, I swear. Just... borrowing.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, his skepticism evident. “Borrowing? From our lab?” His tone was incredulous. “You know, breaking in and stealing aren’t exactly the best ways to ask for a favor.”

Viktor tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You’re from Zaun, aren’t you?” he asked, his accent softening as he studied her.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

“Your tools,” Viktor interrupted, nodding toward the small pouch at her hip. “Zaunite make. Efficient but improvised. And your shoes—worn from the chemical streets.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re observant,” she muttered, uneasy under his scrutiny.

Jayce glanced at Viktor, his frustration softening slightly. “So, what now?” he asked, clearly deferring to his partner.

Viktor considered Y/N for a long moment before speaking. “Running won’t help you. Security will catch you before you leave the building. And if they don’t, Piltover’s lawkeepers will. But…” His gaze flicked to the device she had tried to steal. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

Y/N frowned, her suspicion evident. “An arrangement?”

“You’re resourceful,” Viktor said simply, his tone calm and measured. “And I assume you wouldn’t be risking your neck unless you truly needed to. If you’re willing to explain your situation, perhaps we can find a way to help each other.”

Jayce crossed his arms but nodded, his earlier irritation giving way to a grudging respect. “We’re not heartless. If there’s something you need, just tell us. Stealing isn’t the only way.”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes darting between the two of them. There was no malice in their words, only curiosity and... understanding? She wasn’t sure what she expected when she’d broken into this lab, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“Fine,” she said at last, lowering her hands and relinquishing the crystal. “I’ll talk. But don’t think for a second that I trust either of you.”

Jayce chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Trust takes time.”

Viktor gave a faint smile, his grip on his cane tightening as he gestured toward a nearby stool. “Then let’s start now. Sit. We’re listening.”

As Y/N sat down, her nerves still buzzing, she realized that she might have just stumbled into something far more complicated—and far more intriguing—than she’d anticipated.

VANDER

The Last Drop wasn’t much to look at back then. It wasn’t the thriving hub it would later become, but a small, rough-hewn bar tucked into the heart of Zaun’s chaos. The air inside carried a mix of sweat, cheap ale, and the faint metallic tang of machinery. It was a refuge for the weary and the desperate—a place where even the broken found a moment of peace.

Vander was behind the bar, as usual, wiping down the stained counter with a rag that had seen better days. He wasn’t much older than twenty, broad-shouldered and already carrying the weight of the Undercity on his back. Silco sat at a bar, drinking from a glass as he writes in a journal.

The door creaked open, and Vander glanced up out of habit. He expected another familiar face, maybe a regular, or some poor soul looking for a drink to drown their troubles. What he didn’t expect was her.

Felicia strode in first, her usual swagger in place, but behind her was someone new—a woman he’d never seen before. Y/N stepped into the dim light of the bar, and for a moment, Vander forgot how to breathe.

She didn’t belong here—not in the way most people did. Zaun had a way of dulling beauty, grinding it down with grime and despair, but she seemed untouched by it. Her eyes carried a spark of resilience, her posture a quiet defiance against the city that tried to break everyone. To Vander, she was a flower blooming in the middle of a wasteland.

“Oi, Vander!” Felicia’s voice snapped him out of his daze. “Quit staring and come over here.”

Silco smirked from his seat, clearly catching Vander’s momentary lapse. Vander muttered something under his breath and stepped around the bar, doing his best to play it cool as Felicia waved him over.

“This is Y/N,” Felicia said, gesturing toward her companion. “She’s new to this part of Zaun, figured I’d show her around. Thought it’d be good for her to meet the famous Vander.”

“Famous, huh?” Vander said, his voice gruff as he extended a hand.

Y/N smiled, and the warmth in it caught him off guard. She took his hand, her grip firm but gentle. “I’ve heard a bit about you,” she said. “Felicia talks like you’re some kind of legend.”

Vander chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Don’t believe everything she says. I’m just a guy with a bar.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Felicia chimed in, slapping Vander on the shoulder. “He’s got a heart as big as this place—and fists to match.”

Vander shot Felicia a warning look, but she only grinned. Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and melodic, and Vander felt something stir in his chest.

“Well,” Y/N said, her gaze meeting his, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Vander. This place has a charm to it.”

“Charm, huh?” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not a word I hear much around here.”

She shrugged. “It’s all in how you look at it.”

Vander nodded, his respect for her growing. It wasn’t often someone saw Zaun with anything other than disdain or despair. “Can I get you a drink?” he offered, his voice softening.

“Sure,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But only if you join me for one.”

For the first time in a long while, Vander felt a flicker of something he’d thought Zaun had taken from him—hope. He poured two drinks and joined her at the bar, Felicia smirking knowingly as she goes to Silco’s side, the two watching with a smirk

As the night went on, Vander found himself captivated by Y/N’s stories, her laughter, and the way she seemed to light up the dim room. In a city that thrived on shadows, she was a rare glimpse of light, and Vander couldn’t help but wonder if meeting her was the beginning of something he’d been waiting for his whole life.

SILCO

The night Vander betrayed him was etched into Silco’s mind like a blade carving into flesh. The cold waters of the canal still burned in his lungs, and the searing pain from his infected eye was a constant reminder of the man who had once called him brother.

He’d managed to escape, his hands slick with blood, the knife he used to fend off Vander still trembling in his grasp. Every step felt heavier than the last as he stumbled through the labyrinthine streets of Zaun, his vision blurring from pain and exhaustion.

When he finally collapsed in a dark, narrow alleyway, Silco wasn’t sure if he’d ever rise again. The city around him was a blur of muffled sounds and shifting shadows before everything went black.

==

Silco awoke with a start, his instincts kicking in before his body could fully respond. He bolted upright, only to be met with a sharp, stabbing pain radiating from his face and ribs. His hand instinctively reached for his eye, but a firm, unfamiliar voice cut through the haze.

“Don’t touch that.”

His head snapped toward the source, his remaining eye narrowing. A woman stood in the doorway, holding a small basin of water and a cloth. She looked calm, her expression unreadable, but there was an undeniable edge to her tone—a warning.

“Who are you?” Silco demanded, his voice rough, his body tense despite the obvious strain it was under.

“Someone who just saved your life,” Y/N replied, stepping closer and setting the basin down on a small, rickety table. “You were half-dead when I found you. If you move too much, you’ll tear the stitches I just put in.”

Silco’s gaze flickered to his arm, now wrapped tightly in makeshift bandages. His mind raced, trying to piece together how he’d ended up here. “Why?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his hostility. “Why what? Why did I help you?” She shrugged. “Let’s just say I don’t like seeing people bleed out in the streets, even in a place like this.”

“Charity is rare in Zaun,” Silco said, his suspicion evident.

She let out a dry laugh. “You don’t say.” Her tone softened slightly as she sat on a stool beside him, wringing out the cloth. “I’m no saint, but I couldn’t just leave you there. Now, sit still. Your eye’s infected, and if you want to keep what’s left of it, you’ll let me help.”

Silco hesitated, every muscle in his body screaming at him to leave, to get away from this stranger. But the throbbing in his eye and the sharp pain in his side were undeniable. Reluctantly, he leaned back against the wall, his remaining eye watching her every move.

Y/N worked in silence for a while, dabbing gently at his swollen, reddened eye. Her hands were steady, her touch careful despite the obvious discomfort it caused him.

“You’re lucky I found you when I did,” she said after a moment. “Another hour out there, and you’d have been done for.”

“Lucky,” Silco repeated bitterly, his jaw tightening. “That’s one way to put it.”

She paused, meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. But whatever it was, it left you in a bad way. You should rest.”

“I can’t stay here,” Silco said firmly, starting to rise again despite the pain.

Y/N placed a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down. “And go where? Back into the streets? You’ll be dead by morning.”

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, Silco found himself unable to argue. He hated the vulnerability, hated relying on someone else, but something about Y/N’s unwavering composure kept him from pushing her away.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, leaning back reluctantly.

She smirked, sitting back on her stool. “Takes one to know one.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Silco allowed himself to close his eye and let the tension in his body ease, if only slightly. The woman tending to him was a mystery, but as the night wore on, he couldn’t deny that her care was keeping him alive.

And in the shadows of Zaun, where trust was scarce and betrayal ran deep, that simple act of kindness was enough to plant the seed of something unexpected—something Silco would carry with him long after he left her care.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N once lived in Piltover with her mother, enjoying a modest but stable life. However, when her mother passed away unexpectedly, the weight of mounting bills and the high cost of living in the gilded city became too much for her to bear. With no other options, she made the difficult decision to move to Zaun, a place she had only heard about in whispers. The contrast was stark—Piltover's polished streets were replaced by Zaun's gritty alleys and thick, smoky air. Struggling to find her footing, she spent months navigating her new reality, unsure of where she belonged.

Fate intervened when Y/N stumbled across Silco in an alleyway, unconscious and wounded. Taking a risk, she helped him, unaware that this single act of compassion would alter the course of her life. (Silco's Part) After recovering, Silco saw something unique in Y/N—her resilience and resourcefulness—and offered her work. What began as a professional arrangement quickly deepened into a bond built on trust and mutual respect, a connection that only grew stronger over the years. Their dynamic shifted again one evening when Silco arrived at their base of operations with a new addition to their unnatural family.

Powder.

She was small, thin, with wild blue hair, and bruises marring her skin. But it wasn’t just the physical damage that caught your attention—it was the hurt in her eyes. The guilt. The grief. And something darker beneath the surface. You could see it clearly, even through the panic and shock she was clearly experiencing.

“She’s... she’s alive,” Silco muttered, almost to himself, as he carefully laid Powder down on a makeshift cot. His eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with soot and grime from the aftermath. “She needs care.”

You nodded silently, stepping forward with a calm that belied the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You were no stranger to pain, and you knew what needed to be done. You had seen plenty of broken souls, but something about this girl... something about her was different. She wasn’t just another casualty of Zaun’s brutality—she was a spark, a raw potential waiting to be shaped.

You crouched beside her, noting how tightly she was curled in on herself. She was trembling, hands clenched into fists at her sides as though bracing for something. Her wide eyes, still filled with fear, flickered to Silco’s figure, and you could see the tension in her shoulders, the uncertainty in her gaze.

“Powder,” you said gently, your voice soft but steady. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

She didn’t respond, but you saw her stiffen slightly at your words. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, and for a moment, the silence hung in the air between you both. You continued your work, not rushing, not pushing her to speak, only ensuring she was comfortable and that her injuries weren’t as severe as they seemed.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” You muttered, more to yourself than to her. “Zaun doesn’t make it easy for anyone.”

Silco stepped back, leaning against the wall. “She... doesn't talk. Hasn't since the explosion. Going to need a lot of patience with this one.”

“I can handle patience,” you said quietly, glancing at Silco with an understanding nod. There was something else there, though, that you could see behind his eyes—a recognition. Maybe even a kind of resignation. He had likely seen far too many broken people in his time, but for the first time, you saw a flicker of doubt in him. Whether it was for himself, for her, or both, you couldn’t be sure.

But the moment you looked back down at Powder, you knew she needed something more than just care. She needed someone who could see past the explosion, the destruction, and the chaos she had been a part of. She needed someone who could help her rebuild what had been torn apart—not just her body, but her heart.

“Hey,” you spoke again, this time more firmly. “You don’t have to carry this alone. I know it feels heavy right now, but you can’t carry it forever. It’s not all on you.”

The words didn’t seem to break through at first. Powder stayed silent, still as stone. But you could see the smallest tremor in her hands, the slight quiver in her lip.

The guilt was suffocating her.

"I'm a monster… A Jinx," Powder's voice was soft, barely a whisper, and laced with hesitation. "It's my fault."

You moved a little closer, sitting down beside her. You didn’t touch her, but you stayed there, just close enough for her to feel your presence, warm and steady. You understood what it was like to feel like the world was on your shoulders, to feel like you couldn’t make amends, but you knew one thing: she had to be given the chance to heal. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but it would happen.

“You're not a monster,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on the girl's knee. "And it's not your fault. You're just a very brave girl."

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the distant hum of Zaun’s underbelly and the faint sounds of Powder’s breath. Silco didn’t respond, but you saw the sharpness in his gaze soften, just a fraction. His stance relaxed, and his lips pressed into a thin line, contemplating your words.

Finally, Powder’s voice, quiet and small, cut through the stillness. “I... I didn’t mean to...”

“I know,” you said gently, offering her a small, comforting smile. “But it’s not about what happened. It’s about what you do next.”

The weight of her past might have been too heavy to erase, but there was still time for her to change. There was still time for healing. And in that moment, you knew: whatever happened next, you would be there to guide her through it.

A new chapter had begun for both you and Powder, one where she wouldn’t have to walk alone in the shadows of Zaun any longer.

[nikkeora]

High Enough (Without the Mary Jane)

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. you don't want to be a mary jane anymore.

or, in which you were the mindy s. mcpherson to miles's prowler

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x fem!reader, e-42! Miles Morales x fem!reader (r is referred to with she/her pronouns, no physical description.)

warning(s); fem spanish terms are used ('hermosa' etc.), reader’s hand is smaller than Miles’. author can’t write action sequences for shit.

may be ooc but we haven't seen a whole lot of p!miles yet so there isn’t really much to go off of

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

a/n; according to google the sinister 6 of e42 are doc oc, vulture, electro, rhino, sandman and scorpion, although i've seen some other ppl say that the eastereggs are vulture, rhino, scorpion, sandman, shocker, kraven and electro. i'm going w the google one, maybe kraven and shocker are their own thing. also they're prolly rich aholes since their signs are on buildings n stuff, so that's what i went with.

also reader was sent to earth 42, but like, a few days before 1610 miles arrives, kind of like how gwen was sent to 1610 a week before she found miles

Miles — or, who you assumed was Miles, anyway — took you back to his place, going out of his way to avoid alleys where there weren't many people around and sticking to the bigger streets. You found it kind of weird. Back home, you and Miles used to cut through backstreets and even some sketchy buildings all the time to make it home before curfew.

You felt him steal glances at you the whole walk, and you’d be lying if you didn’t do the same.

This version of him just felt so.. different.

Once the two of you reached your destination, he let you up the stairs first before quietly calling for you to stop once you reached his floor. You hesitated for a moment on the steps. It was a higher level than Miles’s flat back home, and the building had looked a lot different from what you’d seen just half an hour ago, even if it still felt familiar. You’d chalked it up to the multiverse doing multiverse things at first, but he was starting to act a little off.

Having been around your Miles for years, you knew all his tells. You could see how his weight shifted on his feet as he unlocked the door. You could see he was overall standing straighter and more tense. You could see the hesitation before he turned the key.

Miles was lying to you. And he felt guilty.

But what were you going to do?

This universe was new to you. Sure, everything seemed just about the same, but it was all so foreign at the same time. There where skyscrapers you’d never seen before, new graffiti on the streets of the same couple people over and over again - all of whom you were sure you’d seen somewhere before but couldn’t quite grasp where. The sight of buildings blocked by yellow tape and more in the process of repair after seemingly being burned down or blown up were common in this world, like it was an active war zone or something.

You really didn’t have a choice but to follow along.

He opened the door and waved you in, closing the door rather hastily after the both of you.

You took a glance around the room. There were metal bars on the windows, to keep people out or trap them in you couldn't quite figure. There was a DJ setup near them that looked awfully familiar. Hooks hung down from the unfinished ceiling, some holding chains and others oddly shaped items haphazardly wrapped with what looked like brown lunchbag paper. Wires and ventilation just about everywhere, most of the wires leading to either monitors or gadgets you assumed were in the progress of being built. An old, beat up couch and some gym gear by the wall, an open kitchen-slash-workshop area straight ahead.

The only source of light was the neon red from the signs outside the window, and even then the farther bits of the apartment remained a dark purple hue.

Then someone came out of the other room.

“What's this?”

The hell—?

From the shadows, Aaron Davis emerged.

His beard was more grown out then you'd ever seen, and his features looked sharper, almost rougher. His shoulders seemed more broad, though maybe that was the heavy jacket he wore making him look bigger than he actually was.

“¿Tío?”

Miles had taken you around to his uncle's a couple of times, which you now realized was why you recognized this place. Aaron raised an eyebrow at you, surprise flashing across his face before it was quickly wiped out. He looked over you, taling in your appearance.

“Miles.” He asked again.

“I dunno,” the boy replied, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets and avoiding his uncle's gaze. “Just found her on the way home.”

“Found her?”

Aaron glanced at you, then back to Miles, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowed in either confusion or frustration. He finally looked back at his nephew, the two of them having a silent conversation you couldn’t read.

“…Fine.” Aaron sighed, turning around—

You felt like you were dying, or being born, or possibly both at the same time. For a split second, you were nothing but particles, your skin and bones and just about everything being ripped apart then sewn back together. Your vision was a mix between TV static and rapid fire neon colors, and it was about the same deal with your hearing (which was concerning, since you couldn't usually hear colors).

Miles had taken a step forward, letting you grab his arms to keep you from falling over as he said something you couldn’t quite hear. Aaron had whipped around so fast you wondered how it didn’t give him whiplash, fists at the ready in case he needed them.

“What was that?” Miles’s voice finally got through to you, the high-pitched screaming in your ears dying down. You blinked at him as your mind went blank.

“I don’t—” You cut yourself off. Wait, was it..? Had you just..?

“Complete cellular decay.” You recalled Miles’s countless retellings of the multiversal mess that had happened just about two years ago. “I’m glitching, aren’t I?”

“Right, and you know this because..?” Aaron asked, his hands now at his sides but not eased yet. He eyed your face as if he was expecting you to grow a third eye or something. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, this might sound crazy,” You started, “but I’m from another dimension.

“We had something like this happen back home a while back — except, y’know, people came into our dimension rather than people from ours going somewhere else.

“The people that came, they were glitching, too. Their atoms were displaced and decaying.”

“So you’re saying,” Miles spoke up, his grip tightening around your forearms just slightly. “If you stay here too long—”

“I’ll die, yeah.” You said, the reality of the situation hitting you like a KTX. “Disintegrate, to be more accurate.”

Silence filled the flat as all three of you processed the information. Miles was frozen, his gaze fixated on the spot where your hands grabbed onto him as if he was scared you’d disappear if he looked away. Aaron crossed his arms, his eyes darting from left to right like he was reading some invisible text.

As for you, you felt unreal. Your body didn’t feel like your own anymore, your vision more like looking at the screen of a first-person shooter. Were you going to die here? You didn’t want to die yet. What would your dad think? Would he file a police report? Would Miles’s dad send out a search party to look for you? And Miles—

You hadn’t even said goodbye to him at the party.

You hadn’t said goodbye to anyone.

I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t—

“Hey,” Miles says, his voice softer than earlier, snapping you out of your spiral. His hands slide down your forearms and slip into your own, giving them a firm squeeze. “No vas a morir.”

You’re not gonna die.

“Te llevaré a casa.” The boy said, his deep brown eyes bore into yours, slowly bringing you back from feeling like you’re looking at a video game to feeling more like you’re lucid dreaming. It wasn’t a total fix, but it’s a start. “I’ll get you home, I promise.”

You took a deep breath, trying and failing to ground yourself more.

“What’s five things you hear?” Miles asked gently, tilting his head and leaning ever so slightly closer to you. You just blinked, overwhelmed with everything.

“Mi vida,” he said again. “Five things.”

You paused for a moment.

Sirens outside.

Yelling from the streets.

Chains clinking in the breeze from the open window.

Aaron shuffling around in the other room. When had he left?

The buzzing of the lights overhead.

“Good.” Miles said encouragingly. “Now, four things you see.”

Miles.

A pan on the kitchen stove.

The DJ table by the windows.

Tio Aaron pulling out the couch to make a sofa bed.

“Three things you can touch here.”

Miles.

The ground if you bent down, you guessed.

Some trinkets on the table just over there, but you’re not gonna touch that.

“Two you can smell?”

Rusted metal. There’s tons of it around; on the walls, the ceiling, tables, even on the shelves. What was that chest plate doing back there, anyway?

That pool smell, which is kinda gross since it came from the chlorine in pool water mixed with all the gross stuff that came from human bodies.

Miles smiled as you said that. “Vuelves a mí, mi sol.” He squeezed your hands again. “One thing you can taste.”

“I dunno, soda? We had a ton of it at the party.” You wiggled your fingers. It was like you were stepping into your body for the first time — nothing was a perfect fit just yet, like a pair of knitted gloves with too much room at the ends of the fingers. You’d have to get used to it again.

It’s then that Aaron called Miles over, the boy reluctantly leaving your side and following his uncle to the other room. He told you to make yourself comfortable on the couch before he went, though, so that’s exactly what you did. The spring cushions feel oddly comforting under you, the familiarity of home twisted just slightly out of proportion.

There’s really nothing to do alone here. You tapped your fingers on your leg. Thankfully, Miles and Aaron came back after just a few minutes.

The first thing the boy said to you, “I’m gonna get you home.” A firmer, more certain repetition of his promise from a minute ago, albeit there’s a bit of a strain in his voice as if it physically hurt him to say it. In a clumsy yet swift motion, he quickly leaned down and kissed your cheek before making his exit rather hurriedly.

You felt the heat rush to your face, your hand coming up almost immediately to touch the spot.

Aaron chuckled and shook his head.

“So,” he said. “You as smart as she was, too?”

-

You tinkered with the gauntlet of a prototype suit that Aaron had dug out of storage somewhere, the man himself working on the main body. The helmet — or was it more of a mask? It was a bit bulkier than Miles's Spider-Man mask, a bit more tech-y. Probably more similar to an Iron Man helmet, now that you think about it, albeit lower in its level of advancement — was plugged into one of the many monitors strewn about the flat.

You'd managed to pry a couple bits of information out of him for the past few hours (during which you hadn't glitched again, thankfully) in exchange for some of your own. So far you knew that this universe’s Jefferson Morales had passed away a few years ago, prompting Miles to take on the mantle of the Prowler to avenge his father’s death — the details of which he stayed frustratingly vague on — and, later on, to keep the city as safe as he could.

“Wait, wait, who’s your Spider-Man, then?”

“Who’s Spider-Man?”

You blinked in confusion. “What? You don’t have a Spider-Person?”

“What, like, a part-spider guy? Nah. Scorpion’s mostly bug though, that count?”

This dimension didn’t have a Spider-Man. That was why the city was so overrun with bad guys.

You gave him a general rundown of the whole ‘radioactive spider’ thing and moved on.

Your own variant, who was Miles’s best friend and had helped make a lot of his gear, had disappeared a while after the Prowler started taking out some bad guys that were a step above villain-of-the-week, the ones who had all sorts of shady connections. Hearing about your presumed death was a strange experience.

“We know they took her,” The older man had said, jamming his screwdriver into a faulty part of the suit. “But the cops are all in on it ever since the Cartel bought ‘em out. Declared her dead after less than 24 hours.”

Oh, speaking of, apparently there was a team of villains bringing Gotham to life in New York, Brooklyn being the heart of it all. How fun.

The Sinister Six Cartel, as the Bugel had dubbed them, was the one Aaron and Miles believed to be behind your variant’s disappearance. The two were certain that the Cartel had worked out a connection between you and the Prowler. The nail on the coffin was when they sent a body double of you in the Prowler’s direction to mess with his head just a couple months ago, complete with some sort of Face Off style mask that made it possible for the fake to look exactly like you. It was only a day or two before Miles figured out it was a setup, but it had shaken him up pretty bad.

“I thought you were another one.” He’d admitted. “But then you did the whole glitchy thing. Looked horrible, by the way, real nasty. It hurt much?”

“You have no idea.”

In return, you told him about home. You told him how Miles’s dad was up for a promotion, practically Captain already. You told him about your Miles’s art and how he made a mural of him after his death. You didn’t go into too much detail about the ‘death’ part, focusing more on the peaceful aspects since it was so clearly missing from his every day life. You couldn’t really read this Aaron Davis that well since he was more guarded than he had been back home, but you could tell he appreciated it; especially the parts about his brother.

You also told him how Miles and the other Spider-People who were sent to your dimension had worked out a solution to fix their situation, and gave him a brief summary of the whole ordeal, the details of which he texted Miles since he hadn’t given you a chance to tell him about it when he left so hastily. He said something you couldn’t quite make out as he did — you caught the words ‘lab’ and ‘property’, but that was pretty much it. He only waved it off as nothing when you asked him about it.

“How’s my dad?” You asked, pushing your hand into the gauntlet to test if it worked right. It was a near perfect fit, which made you wonder who exactly it was for, since Miles’s hand was bigger than yours. “Is he doing okay? After the whole ‘declared dead’ thing?”

“He’s holding up, just like the rest of us,” Aaron replied, checking on the monitor. “Your mom — her mom’s been sticking around. Grief brings people together and all that. They’re trying therapy.”

A weird feeling bubbled up inside. While it was good to know at least one version of your parents were trying to reconcile, it bothered you that your absence had prompted it. Was that what was happening right now back home? Had your disappearance magically brought your parents back together? Had it even been long enough for that to happen, or did time flow equally throughout the multiverse?

…

Would it be better for them if you just didn’t go back at all?

“Oh.” You said, nodding slightly as you flexed and wiggled your fingers in the gauntlet, watching the way it moved. It was a lot thinner than the claws that adorned the Prowler’s hands from what you’d spotted here and there in the flat, built to be stealthier in the way it functioned. There were no clunks or clinks, just soft whirring noises that sounded almost like a cat’s purr. “That’s good, I guess.”

It was worse this time around, which you didn’t even know was possible. You felt yourself being split in a billion different directions, parts of you re-atomizing not quite in the right places. You’d never known the feeling of having space between where all your joints were supposed to connect, but now you did, and it honestly made you want to die. Not really. Well…

-

Miles came back sometime before dawn. You heard the door opening slowly, almost like he was trying not to wake his parents up as he was sneaking in past curfew. Not that he used the door ever since he could climb walls, but still.

He crept into his uncle’s flat, even leaving his shoes at the door so he wouldn’t make too much noise. He was making his way to the other room when he looked at you on the couch, only to flinch in surprise when he saw your eyes were open.

“¿Qué haces despierto?” He whispered, his shoulders tenser than earlier from the split second of adrenaline. “It’s late.”

“What are you doing that you have to sneak in?” You whispered back. The boy just shrugged.

“Oh, you know…” He trailed off, looking around to avoid your questioning gaze. “…Stuff.”

You rolled your eyes. “That has gotta be the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Miles huffed, shuffling over to you and sitting down on the floor in front of the couch, facing you. “Yeah, well, I asked you first. Why’re you up, hermosa?”

You sighed. “Can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the thought of my impending doom, maybe.”

A couple beats passed by without a word from either of you, a bit of awkwardness hanging in the air, though it was accompanied by a familiar sense of comfort.

“Do you trust me?” Miles asked, his hand reaching out to gently grab a corner of the blanket draped over you.

“Probably.” You replied. You hadn’t known him long enough to trust him just yet, as much as you wanted to. The corners of his lips tilted up just a bit in an almost smile.

“Then trust that I’ll do whatever it takes to get you home.” He said. “I already lost you once, I’m not letting that happen again.”

-

The next day was pretty uneventful. For the most part, anyway, if you don’t count the random glitching throughout. You were advised heavily against going outside since the Cartel had eyes everywhere, so your area of activity was limited to the flat. Miles had evidently snuck back out after your little talk the night before, which made you feel a tinge disappointed since you wanted to get to know him better. Fortunately, Aaron said you could help with the suit again.

The TV played in the background as you tapped on the keyboard, giving the helmet a few final touch-ups as the sun set outside the window. J. Jonah Jameson jabbered on about this week’s biggest disasters and lamented about how ‘if only there was a hero to save this city’, which made you snort.

“He’s gonna switch up real quick if a hero does show up,” You remarked to Aaron, who looked at you questioningly. “The guy hates Spider-Man back home.”

“What, Jameson?” He said, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, he’s the biggest Captain America fanboy out there. Loves heroes an’ all that.”

He thought for a moment. “Pretty sure Miles saw him at Comicon that one time too.”

“What’s a Comicon?”

Unfortunately, you never got the answer as you heard the lock on the door slide open. You spun around in your chair to greet Miles as you knew he was supposed to be coming by sometime in the evening, but your friendly smile quickly faded as his expression turned to one of shock, catching a glimpse of what the two of you were working on.

The boy froze as he stared, wide-eyed, at the suit. “Tio,” He said, looking at Aaron as he clenched his jaw. “What’s that doing out?”

“She needs a suit.” The older man answered simply.

“What?” Both you and Miles asked, though you could tell it was for vastly different reasons.

“We need to get into Alchemax to get her home, and we can’t do that unless she has protection.”

“Which is why I came here to make a plan!” Miles shouted, his hands moving animatedly, the way your Miles's always did when he got upset. “Eso, eso no le pertenece. ¡No es para ella!”

They had a back and forth as the pieces came together as to why Miles was so upset.

The suit was supposed to be for you.

His you.

You were, essentially, fixing up a dead girl's clothes to wear.

“The Cartel isn't stupid, Miles,” Aaron tried to make the boy see his point. “Even if we somehow made a distraction big enough for the big ones to leave base, there's still gonna be someone left to guard it. Would you be able to live with yourself if she got hurt? Or worse—”

“Don't.” Miles's nails dug into his palms, leaving dark cresent moons in their wake. Aaron sighed.

“If she got hurt, you'd feel like that's on you. If you got hurt protecting her 'cause she doesn't have anything to protect herelf with, then I'd feel like that's on me.” He said, his features softening as he reasoned with his nephew. “This is the best bet.”

“We could build her a new suit—”

“And take what? Couple days? A week? Two weeks?”

He glanced at you, Miles following his gaze towards you as well. You knew what was implied. The only people you knew this happened to had gone maybe over a week before the glitching became a real problem, and they were superhuman. Who knew how long you had?

“She can wear mine. We have a ton of old ones, I'll just take one of those—”

“I'm not gonna let you get hurt for her, kid.”

“Don't call me that.”

They went back and forth for a while, and eventually Miles went to the other room to cool off and think things through. Aaron sighed, wiping a hand across his face.

“No offense.” He said to you.

“None taken.” You replied, not really knowing what to do. It felt wrong for you to be tinkering with something that was so clearly not meant for you, even if it was for a variant of yourself.

You could hear Miles pacing the other room, muttering to himself.

“Maybe I could...” You trailed off.

“You could try talking him into it,” He suggested. “He'll listen to you more than me right now.”

“...Should I, though?” You couldn't even begin to imagine what Miles was feeling. All this multiverse shit was too damn complicated.

“Look, kid, I know it's weird.” Aaron said, shoulders sagging just a bit. “But this—” he pointed to the suit— “is the best way to make sure no one gets hurt. Trust me.”

There was something he wasn't telling you, but he didn't have to for you to know what it was. Miles thought you were alive, somewhere out there. You knew it was entirely possible that he blamed himself for your disappearance, as it was your own version of him's go-to for anything and everything that went wrong. The shadows under his eyes, that look whenever he saw you... you wondered how many nights he'd spent outside, looking for some trace of you, a new lead to follow. Especially since your arrival.

Aaron thought this was the best chance Miles would ever get to let go of you. To get some sort of closure by sending you home.

“…I'll try.” You finally agreed, getting up from your seat and shuffling to the other room. You hesitated before going in, but the lack of a door made it awkward to linger, so you just bit the bullet and walked inside.

The room in question was more of a faux-veranda (which explained the no-door thing); a long, narrow space separated from the main living area by a sheet of drywall, with one of the wider walls filled with shelves of CDs and albums and the other decorated sparingly with old band and movie posters along with Miles-brand stickers.

“So...” You said, fiddling with your hands as you took a look around the area. You gestured at one of the stickers on the wall. “Did you make that?”

Slowing to a stop to face you, Miles nodded, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“Cool.”

You both stood there in silence for a moment, you working out what to say and Miles trying to come up with some other solution to the problem. The boy had an unhealthy obsession, that much he knew, but he just couldn't bring himself to let go of it. Not when you could be out there, just waiting for him to find you.

“I don't want to push you,” You started hesitantly. “But.. I think your tìo may be right.”

“I know that.” He looked at his feet as if the dirt on his shoes was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, the sight of him reminisent of a little kid getting scolded by his mother. “I know that.”

“I can't say I understand.. whatever's going through your head right now,” You said, taking a step towards him. “But he just wants what's best for you.”

“What's best for me is finding—” He cut himself off when his eyes met yours, frustration and confusion and stubbornness and sadness and who knows what else all mixing into a big mish-mash of conflicting thoughts inside of him. He clenched his fists, tilting his head up as he tried to think clearly. To his dismay, his throat closed up, the familiar sting of tears pricking at his eyes.

“I need to find her.” He muttered, putting a hand over his eyes in an attempt to stop his tears from falling. It didn't work. “I need to find you.”

“And you will.” You were sure of it. Aaron and Miles were both so sure that their you was alive... she had to be. “But right now? Right now, I need you to help me out.”

He looked at you, his gaze almost spaced out for a moment. You wondered if he saw her in you — if she had the same haircut, the same eyes, the same accent...

You could tell he was frustrated by the way that the scrunch above his nose wouldn’t go away. Hesitantly, you reached out, wiping away the tracks stray tears had left on his cheeks. He stiffened for a moment.

“...Fine.” He finally muttered, a hand coming up to grab your arm, though he seemed unsure if he wanted to push it away or pull it closer. So he just held it in place, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist, the edge of your palm. His posture relaxed, just a bit. “Okay.”

-

Two days later, it wasn't too dark when the plan set into action.

Security at Alchemax — once belonging to Kingpin, now in posession of the Sinister Six Cartel — was thinnest sometime around six to seven pm, when dinner breaks, shift changes and the checkout of regular scientists were prominent.

Miles and Aaron had each set up time bombs at multiple smaller warehouses the Cartel used for storage, each coordinated to go off within minutes of each other. With little to no heroes or police in the way, the Cartel had no reason to keep their lesser important stocks well-guarded, which made it easy to sneak explosives into some of the shipments, support beams and pipes.

Once the explosions were set off, Aaron would use some rip-off Mysterio tech to make projections of some new vigilante gang, with each fake member leading the forces of the Cartel away from Alchemax. During this went on, Miles would sneak you in and to the Super Collider (which, surprisingly, had not been scrapped since its change of ownership) through the vents—

“Wait, wait, isn’t there like, a tunnel that can get us directly to the Collider?” You’d asked, remembering what Miles had told you when he first told you how he became Spider-Man.

“It got sealed off.” Aaron had said. “Some sort of supercharged electromagnetic thing. They did that with all the major underground entry points. Can’t shut it off without blacking out half of Brooklyn.”

“Or getting fried.” Miles had said. “The generators powering each point are all hooked up together a single system, como una mente colmena. You attack one of ‘em directly, all the others shoot a billion bolts of energy into you. And we don’t have time to hack into and get past the firewall to shut the thing down.”

—which you would navigate by memorizing a blueprint of Alchemax that had been conveniently leaked in a mass Cartel server leak a couple months ago. Miles would then plug in the goober he, Aaron and you had made using information gathered via Aaron's 'friends', and send you home.

It was a simple mission. Maybe a bit too simple, but you didn't really have much a choice when you were on a time crunch with limited information. Besides, Occam's razor.

“Copy?” Aaron's voice asked from your earpiece.

“Copy.” You answered, followed by Miles from his own communicator.

“A-6 is a go in 3.. 2...”

Boom.

A couple blocks away, a cloud of dust shot into the air. The building you and Miles were on the roof of shivered slightly as storage unit A-6 blew up.

“A-27.”

Boom.

“C-15.”

Boom.

From your vantage point, you had a clear view of what was going on at Alchemax without the risk of anyone down there catching a glimpse of you. You could see the non-combat scientists scrambling to get to their cars and the armed guards being led by weirdly dressed villains in the direction of the explosions. Although you supposed you weren't quite qualified to comment on the 'weirdly dressed' part at the moment, since you and Miles weren't much better in your respective suits.

Speaking of, Miles hadn't talked much ever since he first saw you wearing the suit. His responses were short if he even gave one, although you could feel him sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren't looking.

Miles fixed the gauntlet on his hand one last time before shuffling closer to you. “Ready?”

His voice sounded strange to you, his actual voice coming through your earpiece overlapping with the voice coming through his modulator.

“Mhm.”

“Going in.”

You hooked your arms around his shoulders and his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight as a grapple shot out of his gauntlet. He used it almost exactly like how Miles used his webshooters, although his actions were a bit more... forceful? Rougher around the edges, if that made sense.

As your feet left solid concrete, the city sped by underneath the both of you, a pretty blend of neon and gray. Your suit prevented you from actually feeling the air whipping by, but a fraction of the wind managed to seep through the cracks, sending a chill down your spine as your stomach dropped at the sudden decline.

For a moment, gravity seemed to disappear. The laws of physics no longer felt like they effected you in any meaningful way. Anything and everything that had been weighing down on you — this whole situation, Miles, demanding schoolwork at Visions, your parents and their myriad of problems — no longer held you down.

It was exhilarating.

Your 'flight', so to speak, was over almost as soon as it started. You tucked your legs as you reached the roof of the Alchemax building, separating from Miles and rolling to lessen the impact. Surprisingly, the move came quite naturally to you, even without practice. You chalked it off as something you'd learned when you were a toddler, when your mom used to sign you up for all sorts of extracurriculars. You were pretty sure martial arts or something had been one of them; maybe you'd learned it there.

Your heart pounded as the sudden rush of adrenaline faded away, and you found yourself wishing it didn't. The thrill was addicting, as was the freedom that came with it. It was like a rollercoaster, or watching How to Train Your Dragon in 4D for the first time, only a hundred times better.

Miles had never taken you swinging. He'd never exactly told you why, always brushing off your request with something like a 'maybe later' or 'I can't right now', but you knew why.

Swinging together was a him and Gwen thing.

And you were fine with that.

What, like you were gonna be jealous about something as small as that? Pfft. No way. Nope. Nada.

“¿Estás bien?” Miles asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You nodded in confirmation.

The two of you pried open a vent using the gloves of your suit, which was easier than you’d expected it to be. To your surprise, the claws that extended from them were very useful.

“We’re in.” You muttered as you crawled into the duct, hoping Aaron wasn’t having any trouble on his end. He’d been awful quiet… Then again, no news is good news on a mission, right?

Miles crawled in after you. “You remember the way?”

“Yeah.”

Together you made your way to the underground levels of the building, miraculously avoiding any possible dead ends or mouse traps. That musty smell of mold and concrete reached your senses as you reached the deeper parts.

There weren’t many people at the Super Collider, thanks to the diversion and timing. Miles gestured for you to stay put as he swiftly dropped out of the vents, knocking out the few guards there one by one with relative ease. It was strange seeing him fight; so similar to yet completely different from him. You were doing as told and observing from the vents until you saw one of the last three people — a scientist, by the looks of it — sneaking up on Miles from behind while he was preoccupied with the two other guards.

You quickly dropped down from your spot, landing behind the guard and catching him by surprise as he whirled around with his weird-techy-science gun. Dropping to the ground, you swept your leg under his, toppling him over and knocking the weapon out of his hands. You were about to knock him out when—

“Peter Parker?”

Are you kidding me?

You were certain it was him. This Peter was scrawnier, his hair more sandy blond than Peter Parker’s back home (before he passed, anyway), and he wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that perched awkwardly on his slightly crooked nose. But the ID that read ‘Peter Parker’ in big bold letters around his neck was a pretty solid indicator.

“…Yes?” He almost squeaked out.

Meanwhile, Miles had dealt with the two guards, stepping over them to get to the console. “Sácalo y entra ahí.” He called, fumbling a little as he tried to figure out which buttons to push to fire up the Collider.

“We have a bit of a situation..” You said, pulling Peter up by his arm and dragging him to the console as well.

You gave him a hushed explanation of your unwillingness to hurt the guy, and how you believed he was genuinely a good person. After all, this universe was almost the same as yours, right? Peter Parker couldn’t be that different here…

“And besides, he probably knows how to work this thing. It’d be helpful.”

Miles sighed. “…Fine, I won’t knock him out,” He agreed. Turning to Peter, he asked, “How do you start the Collider?”

Peter gulped, everything in his body language screaming ‘I want to run away’. “You- you need codes,” He stammered out. “Approval codes, from—”

“Don’t care.” Miles cut him off, giving him a brief glance at the goober. “Just start it. ¿Lo pilla?”

Peter nodded hastily and got to work, pressing buttons and switching levers as you made your way down to the Super Collider. There was a catwalk that ran from one side of the machine to the other, connecting the two mechanisms. If you got to the middle of it, you could jump off and into the portal once the Collider was at full output. Sure enough, its huge metal plates clinked and clattered as they slowly sprung to life.

This was it. You were finally going home.

Just then, you heard a thunk along with some choice words in Spanish, and looked over to the source to see Peter out cold on the ground.

“He got to the panic button!” Miles said, scowling to himself as he plugged in the goober, praying that this plan would work out in the next minute or so. Bubble-like particles appeared at the two points of the machine that faced each other, the noise it emitted now making it so that you could only properly make out what Miles was saying through your earpiece.

The Collider whirred and sputtered as the bubbles grew bigger and brighter, eventually bursting into two beams of light that met each other in the middle, creating one big sphere with a bunch of little bubbles going in and out of it and surrounding it. The sphere grew larger and larger until it collapsed in on itself, sprouting thin, curvy lines.

The thing grew bigger and bigger until it was about the size of a person, you could feel it starting to pull you in. You just had to wait for Miles’s go ahead—

Ow.

What the hell?

You were suddenly sprawled on the ground, something having tackled you at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. That something — or rather, someone — skid to a halt just a few feet away from you, dragging a hand across the tiled floor and leaving… scratch marks?

Scrambling to your feet, you crouched in a defensive stance as you looked over the newcomer.

There wasn’t a single inch of skin showing, their suit covering the whole of their person. The suit in question was mostly white, with some gray sprinkled in here and there. It reminded you of Eve from Wall-E or a Stormtrooper, maybe a mix of both. Strangely enough, the mask was just a blank slate; a sleek, white panel with no features or details, kind of like one of those LED face masks.

Overall it was kind of… boring? It didn’t inspire fear nor did it seem very imposing or something of the sort, which you’d think would be a priority for a villain organization. If anything it was bland, the only thing that stood out from the suit being its hands which donned gauntlets that looked similar to yours, but slimmer and more polished, more accurately described as gloves rather than gauntlets. They had claws just like yours, albeit they looked sharper, a bit more gnarled.

“Miles?” You called, your heartbeat quickening. “What’s going on?”

You heard a grunt from his end. You didn’t look to see what was happening, not daring to take your eyes off of your attacker, but you guessed that backup from Peter’s panic signal had arrived.

“What’s going on?” Aaron echoed, his voice slightly fuzzy. Before you could answer, your attacker lunged. You managed to doge a full on body slam, but they grabbed your arm instead, using it to flip you over their body and knocking the wind out of you.

You writhed as you hit the ground, managing to rip your arm out of their grasp and landing a kick on their ankle, causing them to stumble. You took the opportunity to get up and put some distance between the two of you, though you didn’t get far before the lunatic started chasing you. They jumped at you again but you turned around at the last second, and as you were pushed back with their claws digging into your shoulders you kicked both of your legs out into their stomach just as your back hit the ground, sending them straight over your head.

“Tìo, get your nephew, now!” You shouted, rolling away just in time to avoid a punch that landed on the floor where your head had been just a second ago. “It all went to shit, get him out!”

The pull from the Collider was getting stronger, tiny scraps like bolts and papers flying through the air and towards the beam of light. You raced back to the catwalk but were once again stopped by the 29th century Stormtrooper. You yelped as you felt something grab the back of your neck, sharp claws piercing through your suit and digging into your skin as your head was thrown harshly against a metal beam.

And just like that, you were on the ground. Again. What was this, like, the third time? Fourth? Great. Just fantastic.

I’m not even supposed to be here, you thought, grabbing at your opponent’s wrists as their hands wrapped around your neck, slowly choking you. They were stronger than you were, faster, clearly more skilled. What were you thinking? You’re not a fighter — you couldn’t beat them, not like this.

Why was the universe so intent on making you miserable? You were just trying to get home, maybe not die. Not dying would be nice. But no. You couldn’t have nice things, could you? Not your own life, not Miles, your own damn parents were happier in a reality where you weren’t in the picture—

A sudden surge of anger made you lash out. The universe could go fuck itself. You weren’t dying like this. Not when your ticket home was right in front of you.

Your gauntlet caught your attacker’s mask, knocking it off.

You knew that face.

It was the same face that looked back at you every time you looked at a mirror.

Well, not exactly, you supposed. There was a certain roughness in her features, the same as how Miles looked different from Miles. But you’d know those eyes anywhere. But they were… what’s the word, fuzzy? Unfocused? It was like her body was on autopilot while her brain was off in Hawaii or something.

The thing you did next could’ve won you the prize for ‘smartest dumb decision of the year’.

In all your oxygen-deprivated brilliance, you retracted your mask.

It might shake her, was your reasoning. It would confuse anyone to see a doppelgänger in a fight.

Or, you know, it could go totally wrong and she could punch your face in. But you were already getting choked, so, what was there to lose?

And it worked.

Her eyes shifted back into focus as her grip slackened, and you quickly shoved her — or is it you? yourself? — off, gasping for air. You could vaguely make out the outline of a giant scorpion-guy going one-on-one with Miles, who seemed to be holding out pretty well. He was favoring his left hand though, when usually he used his right.

“I— wha—? Where—” You heard from your left. Your alternate universe counterpart looked around the lab, her eyes wide and movements jerky like a wild animal on drugs.

You were about to say something when a loud buzzing came through your comm, which had evidently been damaged in the whole head-beam connection thing. Miles’s voice came through in broken pieces.

“Col— get..t— ov-rload—”

The Collider. The goober could only force an incomplete system to run for so long. Your time was up.

Wonderful.

A flash of blinding light came from the machine as it malfunctioned. The goober could only make an incomplete system work for so long. You were just able to get your helmet back on before everyone in the vicinity was pushed back in an explosion. Was that Aaron—?

After your temporary blindness wore off, you made out the aftermath, a high-pitched ringing in your ear as you dazedly looked around. The glass that separated the control area from the Collider had been shattered, the Scorpion twitching as he tried to get to his feet — did he have feet? Now’s really not the time — There was no sign of Miles or Aaron anywhere, which was either very good or very bad. You decided to believe it was the former for your own sake. A short distance away from you was another you, that one unconscious but still breathing, from the looks of it.

Grabbing your variant, you ripped open a vent on the wall before the Scorpion could take notice of either of you, shoving her in before following suit and placing the vent cover back on. You had to get out of here. Fast.

[thatbugkidd]

Cyn and Uzi have a particularly.. interesting relationship in this AU

Their dynamic is a tedious journey of manipulation, mistrust, and gradual vulnerability with one another!! In the beginning their relationship is definitely very tense, with Uzi suspicious of any of Abso's subordinates and Cyn very manipulative and demeaning. Despite this, they do have a deep rooted respect for each other, not that either of them would admit it. It is a bit overshadowed by Cyn's manipulative tendencies and uzi's defensive hostility. Its.. not super healthy. But they still have an undeniable attraction to each other. Cyn admires Uzi's bite, and willingness to talk back to her, something few others do.

And Uzi might oddly admire Cyn's confidence, her ability to turn any situation to her advantage. She's quick on her feet and has wits, Uzi can respect that.

Uzumi, more generally known as Uzi, is quietly renowned for her innovation and knack for building weapons, which catches the attention of the head crime lord, Abso. Cyn is tasked with keeping an eye on Uzi to make sure she doesn't become a threat and is kept underway. here's a little snippet i planned for their first meeting hehe

Cyn enters the tattered workshop uninvited, leaning casually against the doorframe, smirking as she takes in the scattered tools and half-finished contraptions.

"So this is where the magic happens. I expected something... less chaotic. But then again, chaos has its charm."

Uzi, without looking up, coldly responds "If you’re here to buy, I don’t sell to Abso’s lackeys."

A harsh scoff was heard, Cyn exaggerating faux offense, "Lackey? Ouch. I like to think of myself as... freelance talent. Though, I do have a certain reputation to uphold."

Finally looking at her, unimpressed, Uzi snarls her nose "Yeah, I’ve heard. ‘Queen of Cyn.’ What, did you come up with that yourself, or was that Abso’s idea?”

Cyn chuckles, moving closer to inspect one of Uzi’s gadgets.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue, I’ll give you that. But I’m not here to pick a fight. I’m here to talk business. You and I—we’re not so different, you know." She trailed off, tracing the rough metal of the gadget, "we're both just trying to get by."

Uzi snatched the gadget out of Cyn’s hands, glaring at her, "We’re nothing alike. Now, leave before I show you how fast this thing can melt through steel."

Cyn grinned, leaning in closer "Oh, I like you."

The arcane au has been a lot of fun so far, I'm enjoying giving it its own story. >:3

Unfortunately small little update!! My mental health has been taking quite a dip and with holidays coming round, I'm just really stressed out as of late so activity may drop for a bit while I focus on myself. I got some art backed up that I'll try to be posting :3 but I'm gonna spend a couple weeks taking it slow and doing some art studies, games, etc bc my art has just been frustrating me so much!! If it had a physical vessel I'd beat the shit out of it rn tbh BUT just wanted to give a little heads up

[ericshoney]

Breaking Point ~ Tony Stark

Summary: Tony seems to spend more time inventing rather than being a dad.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending.

Reader's Age: 15

The metallic scent of palladium and burnt circuits was practically my perfume these days. It clung to my clothes, permeated my hair, and was the constant backdrop to my life at Avengers Tower. Dad, or Tony Stark, Iron Man – whichever persona he happened to be sporting at any given moment – was MIA again, lost in the labyrinth of his workshop.

He used to be different. Used to make time for movie nights, even if he spent half the movie tinkering with his arc reactor. He used to help me with my calculus homework, even if his solutions were… unconventional. He used to see me.

Now? I was practically a ghost. He was always down there, hunched over a new suit, muttering to himself about algorithms and repulsor technology. I’d try to talk to him, ask him about his day, about the new Stark Industries initiative, but he’d just offer a distracted “That’s great, honey,” without ever looking up.

It’s not like I needed him to hold my hand or anything. I was fifteen, practically an adult in the accelerated world of the Avengers. But a girl still needs her dad, right? Even if that dad is a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

The simmering frustration finally boiled over one Tuesday afternoon. I'd spent the morning acing my physics test (thanks, Dad, for the inherited brainpower), and I wanted to share the good news. I found him in his usual spot, surrounded by blueprints and half-assembled robotic arms.

"Hey, Dad," I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

He grunted, eyes glued to a holographic display. "Yeah, Y/n? What's up?"

"I got an A on my physics test."

Another grunt. "Good for you."

"That's it? 'Good for you'?" I crossed my arms, tapping my foot. "I thought you'd be happy."

He sighed, finally turning around. The fatigue etched on his face made me feel guilty for a fraction of a second. "Look, sweetie, I'm a little busy right now. I'm trying to crack this new energy source. It could revolutionise everything."

"So, your metal suits are more important than your own daughter?" The words were out before I could stop them, laced with a bitterness that surprised even me.

His eyes narrowed. "Don't be dramatic, Y/n. You know that's not true."

"Then show me! Act like you care! You're always down here, building more and more suits. Are you trying to replace us all with robots too?" My voice cracked, and I hated how close I was to crying.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He stood up, his voice rising to match mine.

"It means you're never around! It means I feel like I'm talking to a wall! It means…" I choked on the words, tears blurring my vision. "It means I miss you."

The silence that followed was deafening. He stared at me, his expression unreadable. I turned to leave, humiliation burning in my cheeks.

"Y/n, wait."

I didn't stop. I ran. I ran to my room, slammed the door, and collapsed on my bed, letting the sobs wrack my body. I felt utterly alone, lost in the cold, metal fortress my father had built.

Hours later, a soft knock echoed through my room. I ignored it, burying my face in my pillow. The door creaked open.

"Y/n?"

I didn't answer. I just squeezed my eyes shut tighter.

He sat on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The familiar scent of his cologne, mixed with the metallic tang of his workshop, filled my senses.

"I heard what you said." His voice was soft, almost hesitant. "About missing me."

I stayed silent, refusing to look at him.

"You're right," he continued. "I haven't been around. I've been… consumed. This energy source… it's been an obsession."

He paused, and I could feel his gaze on my back. "I messed up, Y/n. And I'm sorry."

The apology, so rare and genuine, cracked through the wall I’d built around my heart. I turned over, tears still streaming down my face.

"Why, Dad?" I whispered. "Why are the suits so important?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because… because I'm scared, Y/n. Scared of not being able to protect you." He looked at me, his eyes filled with a vulnerability I rarely saw. "These suits, they're my way of coping. Of trying to control the chaos."

"But you can't control everything," I said, my voice trembling. "And you don't have to do it alone."

He smiled, a small, sad smile. "I know. It's just… hard to remember sometimes."

He reached out and gently wiped away a tear with his thumb. "How about we ditch the suits for tonight? Order some pizza, watch a terrible movie, and you can tell me all about this physics test you aced."

I sniffled, a watery smile spreading across my face. "Deal. But you have to promise to actually watch the movie this time."

"Scout's honor." He stood up, pulling me up with him. "And maybe, just maybe, we can sneak a peek at Pepper's new project. She has been working on something big."

As we walked out of my room, the metallic scent of the tower didn't seem so oppressive anymore. It was still there, a reminder of the chaos and danger that lurked in the world, but it was also a reminder of the father who was trying, in his own flawed, genius way, to protect me. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough. For now.

Tags:

@riowritesitall @mandmilovehim @lgbtq-girl @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @parkjihoonsnudes

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[peekofhistory]

Making Guqin - part 0 (preparing lumber)

My Guqin teacher usually buys pre-cut wood but a few days ago he took us to see how they cut everything.

Nowadays, most handmade Guqin are made using wood from old buildings that have been taken down or are being renovated. The wood needs to be fully dried to prevent shape changes (even with old wood it will still sometimes change shape but not to the degree of new wood), so these lumber pieces from old buildings that have been shade-dried (not set out under direct sunlight which can cause cracks) are perfect. China has a lot of older buildings that are hundreds of years old.

(Two pieces of wood from a temple that was being renovated)

My teacher and us along with 3 other Guqin makers loaded up a rental truck with the lumber and headed to the lumber workshop (video start).

Before sawing, all the pieces need to be checked over for any metal nails and removed. The lumber seller was supposed to have removed them, but we still found a lot so it took several hours with hammers and pliers to get it all done.

Then the lumber is loaded onto the sawing machine and secured. Each piece can be cut into about 2-4 pieces depending on its thickness. My teacher says you never know exactly what the wood is like inside until you actually cut it open, so buying lumber is a bit like a guessing game. Some you open it and there's worm holes all over (not a big deal), or knots, some can be completely hollowed out inside, others don't look great on the outside but when you open it it's beautiful.

(Worm holes left, knots right)

Knots in the wood make it difficult to carve or shave, so we need to cut them out then fill the hole up using lacquer mixed with a special paste. It's more time-consuming than if the wood is completely without them.

We left at 1pm and worked until 6pm before we got back to the Guqin studio. Now my teacher's storage room has enough wood for 2-3 years 🤣

[ineffably-queer-book-lover]

Memory

"I have always felt it is my destiny to build a machine that would allow man to fly."

Leonardo da Vinci ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please enjoy this fill for a really old IPAT prompt: Memory. Sorry, no limerick this time, because I spent so many hours on putting together this little diorama for a HAPPY MEMORY from our Ineffables' shared history.

Please feel free to take this picture as a prompt to write your own fanfiction or create some fanart! 😘

For more ramblings and credits...

The above Da Vinci diorama was heavily inspired by this beautiful canon piece of art that was brought back to my attention a couple of weeks ago:

(Credit goes to Paul Kidby. You can read more about it here).

To me the fact that Leonardo Da Vinci created this lovely double portrait of Aziraphale and Crowley in the canon GO universe is a strong indicator that they all knew each other well (you get to decide how well). So in my headcanon they might have spent some time together having fun, "sciencing out" in Leonardo's workshop. The idea is not too far-fetched, right?

While Crowley surely must have gotten a blast out of humans trying to invent clever machines that let them fly and testing them himself of course, Aziraphale would surely have appreciated all the marvelous scientific papers!

My LEGO Ineffables' hairstyles are strongly inspired by Paul Kidby's (fake) historical drawing, but I decided to go with less formal outfits here, since I really wanted to show a fun and informal meeting of friends rather than anyone dressing up to have their portrait painted!

Honestly, I can't believe how crammed this set ended up! There are so many little gimmicks hidden (some in plain sight, but out of focus, and some pretty much invisible) that I just gave up catching it all in one picture.

No, I don't expect anyone to admire the stained glass window or the bloody whimsical staircase, but please take a closer look at the piece of art Leonardo is currently working on; you might have seen it elsewhere on the show! Well, Leonard is trying to work on it... guess it's hard to get anything done while a demon is zooming through your workshop with a flying machine! 😉

It took quite a lot of fiddling to get the wings positioned like that, but I really wanted Crowley to stretch a wing over Aziraphale's head for reasons. 🥹

A huge shout-of goes to AREA-X (SEMBO) for providing their wonderful INSPIRATION FROM ART - GREAT ARTIST DIORAMA SERIES, feat. this Leonardo Da Vinci set I used to 'Good Omify' (that's not a word, but it should be) his space!

It was great fun to build, even if the staircase must have been designed in hell! The rest of it, though, feels and looks heavenly! There are so many gorgeous prints, awesome custom pieces, and teeny-tiny details that are barely visible once everything is fully assembled! A Metallic Gold frog sitting below the staircase and looking out the stained glass window? Sure, why not? I love it! 😂

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ineffablyruined I hope you enjoy this little interpretation of a happy memory that surely must exist in the canon Good Omens universe, even if we haven't seen it on the show! 🥰

[sirfrogsworth]

We moved into this house back in the early 90s. We bought it from an old man named Fred Salmo. As we began living in the home every once in a while we'd discover some weird new thing wrong with it. Never anything catastrophic, but small frustrations that my dad had to deal with all the same.

Fred thought himself quite the handyman.

He was not.

He was a union sheet metal worker and I guess he thought that translated to home repair. But in actuality he would usually try to fix things with sheet metal even when that was not an appropriate solution.

And so whenever we'd find one of these issues we'd joke that we got "Salmo'd" again.

Almost all of the electrical outlets were wired backwards. "Looks like we got Salmo'd again."

A heating duct would have some terrible patchwork (with sheet metal). "He really Salmo'd this."

There was a bedroom ceiling fan that was not securely attached to said ceiling. "He's going to Salmo us to death in our sleep."

We kept finding these inept fixes for many years. One by one, my dad (who was an actual handyman) would properly fix them.

Eventually, we were pretty certain all of the Salmo'd shit had been addressed.

Until last night.

I noticed something looked off about the big light on our garage workshop on the back of the property.

It was... lower... somehow.

I walked back to figure out what was wrong and discovered this.

The wind was blowing pretty hard and the light fell off of its mount and was dangling by the electrical wiring.

Upon closer inspection I noticed something.

It was mounted to a piece of thin metal decorative trim. I could see nothing structural it could have been attached to. No stud or beam. Just that trim.

That light was here before we moved in. Which means it has lasted over 30 years without falling down. And knowing how it was mounted, that is kind of incredible.

But it definitely feels strange getting Salmo'd again after all this time.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this yet. My brother took our only ladder a long time ago and never returned it. I'm not even sure how to power off the light without turning off all the power to that building. But I guess I should make that a priority today and go from there.

Replacing that light is one of the first things I wanted to do if I got some money to fix up the house. It has a horrible green tint and for as big as it is, it only lights up a small area. Hopefully that won't be a super costly repair.

Fucking Fred Salmo.

[dixonsdarkelf]

Pink In The Cheeks, Red In The Sheets Part II: Scud Frohmeyer & Fem!Reader

Summary: It had been a long week at the workshop, and you & your partner decided to unwind between the sheets. You’d had your turn. Now, it was his, and by the grace of one accidental movement, you both discover something new that you’re into.

Part 1

Main masterlist Scud x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Genre: Smut

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: MDNI, smut, blowjob, making out, grinding, hair pulling, face-fucking, praise kink, masturbation, swallowing, pet names (babygirl, angel, babe, etc.), Reader takes his whole dick down her throat

A/N: Part 2 is here, and idk how I feel about it. No matter how many edits I make, how many times I look it over, how many reworks I give it, it doesn’t feel good enough, so I’m saying fuck it & am posting it. This is also my first time writing face-fucking, so plz be gentle. I hope it’s at least semi-decent & you enjoy it nonetheless 🖤

His tongue tickled the edge of your mouth, silently begging for entrance as his hand slid around to the back of your neck. You giggled softly, lips parting just enough to let him in. His fingers threaded up into your hair, pulling you in to close the sliver of space that remained.

He shifted to lay on top of you, his weight pinning you to the bed. The tent in his jeans rested between your legs, twitching against you, your slick coating the denim as his hips moved in a subtle, unconscious rhythm. You swallowed each other’s moans, yours growing louder as the rough texture of his jeans against your clit made you shiver. He chuckled into the kiss, amused by how easily aroused you’d always been. How it didn’t take much—a little making out and some bumping & grinding—to get you worked up again.

“Christ,” he groaned, resting his forehead against yours, panting in an effort to catch his breath. Beads of sweat were already forming on his brow, and the delirious smile on his face as he looked down at you was enough to have you dripping all over again.

Your eyes flutter closed as you savored the moment and the heat building between you two. A minuscule grin tugged at the corners of your mouth, another string of salacious giggles slipping out. You could bask there—under him—forever.

“I think someone’s itching for their turn,” you teased, ensuring you strung the words out, your voice low and sensuous—just low enough to drive him wild.

With a smirk, he captured you for one last quick kiss before pushing himself off, resting back on your legs. He reached for his belt, the clink of the metallic buckle like music to your ears.

“On your knees, babygirl.” He slipped his belt out of thee loops, blindly tossing it to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. His zipper came next, exposing his plaid boxers and his ever-growing erection, all while maintaining eye contact.

He climbed off of you, shifting to slide his jeans off and tossing them behind him. His boxers came next, and you watched as he sprung free, small drops of pre-cum already beginning to leak out.

You lowered yourself to the floor, settling between his legs as he shifts to the edge of the bed. You shifted closer to allow your knees to rest on the rug beneath your bed—y’know, for cushioning purposes.

His eyes trail to your chest, to the lace bra he’d gifted you for your birthday last year. It was a baby pink shade, adorned with some stitched flowers. The cups were mostly sheer, giving him an eyeful of your hardened nipples.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he coos, a hand brushing through your hair. “The pink matches that sexy lil’ blush you got goin’ on.”

The sweet heat on your cheeks intensified, that “lil’ blush” quickly escalating from pale pink to ruby red. He tugged gently at your hair, encouraging you lean into him as he aligned himself with your mouth. You took just the tip first, sliding your tongue along the underside and sucking gently, tauntingly slow—because what was good oral without a little teasing?

“That’s it…” he moaned through gritted teeth, his voice strained as he attempted to maintain his composure long enough for you to get situated.

As you took him inch-by-inch, you hollowed your cheeks to squeeze him. You sucked as you worked your way down, moving at a snail’s pace to draw it out for as long as possible. Every one of his senses was in overdrive, every cell in his body singing your praises as you worked your magic.

“Fuck, just like that.” He used his grip on your hair to guide your movements, coaxing you up and down him at the perfect pace—not too slow. not too fast. Enough to get him riled up, but not enough to make him come too soon and have it be over. But this was you, and merely the sight of kneeling there, eager to please, had him bricked. “Not coming too soon” required some restraint.

This was almost just as much for you as it was for him, though. You loved the way he took control, how he moved you at the pace he wanted, all while making sure you were comfortable. You loved how full you felt with the weight of him on your tongue, how being on the floor nestled between his legs felt like the most natural place on Earth. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment and the feeling of him, the tingle in your core quickly escalating into an ache.

And then, he thrusted.

Just once at first. Entirely unintentional.

It caught you by surprise, and you gagged, saliva dribbling from the corners of your mouth. Your eyes were wide, but not because you wanted him to stop. Not because you didn’t want more—but because you were surprised.

Surprised by how much you liked it.

Scud paused his movements, and he looked down at you, his hand in your hair relaxing, uncurling from the fist it had evolved into. Even he looked stunned by what had just happened. “You okay, baby?”

But when he went to pull out, you stopped him with a hand on his thigh, ensuring he would keep himself in your mouth. All you could do was nod, your cheeks flushing darker as seconds of silence ticked by. You were definitely okay. Hell, you were more than okay. You were fantastic. And that damn blush was a dead giveaway.

“You like that?” he teased, and his length quivered between your lips. More droplets of pre-cum trickled out, his saltiness coating your tongue.

You nod again, more timid this time. Your cheeks grew hotter, and the blush crept down your neck to your chest. He laughed, amused, his free hand reaching up to cup your face, delicately stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. “So beautiful,” he murmured. He waited until you formed a smile—what semblance of a smile you were capable of, given the circumstances—before shifting his hips, pushing himself further into you.

And then he thrusted again. And again. And again.

It wasn’t rough, not intense, not enough to hurt you. But it was enough to hit the back of your throat, enough to make your eyes water, enough to make you wonder why the hell you’d never encouraged him to do this before.

The rhythm was consistent, steady. His whole length disappeared into your mouth with each thrust, spit continuing to drip out around him. His head fell back, eyes shut tight, and your name trickled off his tongue between moans and groans and sighs.

“So good,” he praised, his voice soft. “Such a good girl.”

You hollowed your cheeks again, your mouth like a vice on his trembling cock. You worked your tongue up and down and back and forth over every inch of him, giving extra love to that sensitive tip. Scud’s fists in your hair tightened, pulling harder as he continued to lose himself in the euphoria coursing through his veins.

It was overwhelming, but in the best way.

Through it all, arousal continued to pool between your thighs. It was ache now—a deep need. You needed relief, needed friction to ease the ever-building pressure.

You needed to be touched.

Now.

You were desperate for another round of relief.

One hand remained on his leg to steady yourself, and the other dipped between your folds. Two fingers circled your clit, matching the rhythm of his shaft hitting the back of your throat, each pass over your swollen nub easing some of the pressure. Despite your best efforts to keep it subdued, a moan escaped your throat, the vibrations shooting up his cock.

And that caught his attention.

His gaze jerked down to you, those gorgeous blue eyes carefully scanning every feature of your face. At first, he worried you were hurt, that maybe he’d been too rough & you needed a break or to stop.

But then, he spotted your hand at work.

The furrow between his brows settled, and that concerned frown quickly warped into his quintessential smirk. You didn’t stop, didn’t look up, but you could feel his gaze on you—and you knew he knew just how much you liked this.

“Shit, are you touchin’ yourself right now?” His eyes were dark, glossed over with lust and pupils blown so wide, you’d think he was high. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

You blushed harder, the praise shooting straight to your core, but still, you didn’t look up, didn’t even open your eyes. Your fingers swirled faster, heart rate escalating as you grew closer and closer to orgasmic bliss. You were laser-focused on pleasure, not giving a second thought to how pink or red you might be or what faces and noises you were making.

You were close. And so was he.

With a few more passes over your clit, you reached your peak, your moans and whimpers still loud despite being muffled by his cock. Every cell in your body tingled, ignited, the pleasure like an inferno, warming you from the inside out. Your hips bucked against your hand, needing more. You worked yourself through it, not stopping those circular motions until the aftershocks subsided.

He watched you intently—how your face contoured, how your eyes squeezed shut, how your chest rose and fell faster in an effort to catch your breath. Listened to your whines strained against his cock, watched you come apart with his dick in your mouth. All that, and knowing you’d been so turned on by getting face-fucked that you just had to relieve yourself…

That pushed him over the edge.

As his head fell back again, his cock spasmed, coating the inside of your mouth and throat with his release. His body rocked, and he held your head to keep himself steady. He continued to thrust, the motions smaller now, just enough to keep the sensation going as he spilled into you.

And you swallowed every last drop. Just like the good girl you were.

After several moments, his entire body relaxed, his fists uncurling from your hair. They fell around the sides of your neck, caressing your jawline, the tenderness a stark contrast to the debauchery you’d just partaken in. He slowly blinked his eyes open, and the lust and desire that was present before was gone, replaced with adoration and admiration. He guided your head back, maintaining eye contact as he carefully eased you off of him.

“You did so good, angel.” Scud leaned down to kiss your forehead, and you giggled. Oh, how he loved that sound—the sweet, shy giggles you always made after the naughtiest of activities.

As he smiled down at you, you rested your head on his thigh, and you let out a small yawn, as if the whole experience had worn you out. “Did you like it?”

He chuckled, as if you were asking a silly question, like you should’ve already known the answer. “Like it? Y/N, I loved it.” He took a moment to look over you—tear-stained face from your eyes watering, saliva already beginning to dry at the corners of your mouth, lips slightly swollen and red from taking him—and he was already beginning to twitch again. “Think it’s somethin’ I can get more often?”

“Of course.”

“And I’d get to watch you do that again?”

You laughed at his enthusiasm and leaned further into his leg, your small smile growing until it was nearly ear-to-ear. “I think that can be arranged.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @stellar-waves @chateaujoon @mediocrxtes @angelsanarchy @dixonsbridexx

Hit me up if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist 🖤

Collage banner (though I do not own the pictures--those were found on Google), 'you are responsible' banner, and © below were made by me. Sparkle & 'sexual content below' dividers are by @/anitalenia

[asteroidtroglodyte]

I just spent so long trying to understand that post about glass. As somebody who thinks glass is extremely cool but doesn't know a whole lot about how it's made, we're you saying that clear glass is entirely colorless by definition? Also do you have a good resource to learn out clear glass being invented in the 15th century? If not I'll Google it. I'm a history nerd so this is right up my ally. Thanks for reading all that I hope to hear back from you if it's not too much trouble.

So, for clarity’s sake (heh), I’ll start off by pointing out that photons of Visible Light do not go through glass in the same way that Radio or Microwave photons do. The scale of Visible Light is small enough to meaningfully interact with the crystalline lattice of most stones, glass included. In order to be optically clear, a piece of glass must transmit the signal coherently through its bulk mass, and emit an image out the other side. Clear glass, in response to Visible Light, behaves more akin to how an electrical conductor (like wire) interacts with electricity than an absence or void would. This is, incidentally, why we can make optical devices like lenses and glasses and telescopes out of clear glass.

Glassmaking in the Mediterranean owes much to a few key events. Firstly, there was a tradition of artistic glass working in Byzantium many centuries ago, a descendant of Glassmaking traditions from Rome and the Levant, which peaked in the 10th century.

Many families knowledgeable in such things would eventually flee the fall of that empire west, into Venetian territory. Unfortunately for the wood-framed-building-inhabiting people of Venice, the glassworks would often spark municipal fires, so in the 13th century the Doge of Venice banished them to a mist-shrouded island prison set them all up on the island of Murano, under guard, creating an Artist’s Colony of Glassmaking families.

This arrangement worked out well for all involved for several centuries. Although the Glassmakers were not permitted to leave, they had access to all the raw materials of a far-flung trade network, state protection, wealth, and prestige; and Venice had an in-house luxury export that constantly evolved as the various families of craftsmen flexed on each other, trying to one-up each other with innovations in color, hardness, and form.

The far-flung trade network was important, as it allowed for very pure samples of a wide variety of chemically active minerals to be made available to these workshops. Critically, these ingredients included pebbles of very pure quartz, and Alume Catino, a form of soda ash from the Levant.

Ultimately this culminated in the 15th century invention of Venetian Cristallo: a perfectly clear synthetic Rock Crystal Glass. This cemented Murano as center of the Glass-making world in the west for 2 centuries, until the English discovered that adding Lead Oxide to the process also produced a clear glass that was cheaper to make and easier to work.

The ability of these, and later, clear glasses to be ground into optical lenses, and the resultant invention of telescope and microscopes, would kick-start scientific elements of the Renaissance, and the relatively inexpensive and high-quality mirrors and spectacles produced would kick-start the symmetrical Renaissance in Philosophy and Moral Theory.

To circle back to your question:

Glass is a transmitter of light. A photon hits a spot in the crystalline lattice and sets off a chain reaction of vibrations in the atomic lattice of the glass, which, upon reaching the far side of the glass bulk, release an equivalent photon. In optically clear glasses, this is done in such an orderly and coherent manner that actual resolvable images emerge. That said, I reiterate for clarity: photons are destroyed and created by this process. What emerges is not what went in.

The inclusion of metal oxides such as Soda Ash and Lead oxide is necessary to furnish particular metallic ingredients into the crystalline lattice of the glass. This provides forms of long-range order conducive to signal transmission. Remember, glassy materials are defined by a variable degree of long-range order in their lattice structure. No order; you get scattering; and the light that emerges is a hazy white color. Choose particular metals to also dope your molten glass with, and the glass will emit particular frequencies: this is what we call colored glass, or stained glass. The reasons those dopants resonate at those frequencies of light are Electro-Chemical and Quantum, and beyond the scope of this post.

Glass is one of the Foundation Stones of modern, technologically advanced Civilization. Modern glass is nothing less than a Miracle of Artifice, crafted by skilled hands across dozens of generations. Our Ancestors worked very hard to give us this. It is good for us to tell their stories.

Hope that gave you a good place to start! Enjoy your journey! There is much still to learn!

[guttednights]

(𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻) 𝓫𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓷

warnings: none, just older boyfriend Simon, being older boyfriend Simon.

I can't stop thinking about older boyfriend Simon being like, a dad in the way that he LOVES to craft. Like when you guys bought a new house together he literally told you "It has to have a garage". hell, you didn't complain. whatever kept him busy and happy while he's home on missions is fine with you. And besides it was kinda fun watching him make the garage into some kinda little workshop, with all his expensive tools, toolboxes, saws, woods, metals, honestly whatever was hanging out at his dad's place from when he was younger he was putting in this damn garage. give it 2 days after being home from and mission and he's already having to fix something (which he acts grumpy about it, but he loves doing it). Like most recently when you realized that your favorite shelf in the bathroom had split in half :(. you told him when he came home and a day later he was in the bathroom taking the shelf off the wall and walking to the garage to fix it. he put some wood glue on it, held it in place, and waited a day or so, then boom looks like brand new as he drills it back into place in your bathroom a day later. Fuck if you complain, you think it's hot, the way he can just fix almost anything, and not only that will build almost anything you ask him. And I like to think he is also good with lighting and plumbing, maybe his dad was a plumber and electrician and just taught Simon how to do everything in case one day he has "a pretty little wife to keep care of", and well be it, he did, he had you. One day after he came home, literally was home for like 4- hours before the sink in the bathroom started to flood. you were simply washing your hands when water was everywhere, you panicked and ran to Simon. Hands still sopping from washing them "Baby! The sinks flooding!" of course his natural protective instincts kick in, immediately drying you off first, and pulling you away from the bathroom. he then ran outside and got his wrench and other things to fix the bathroom. fast forward 20 minutes later and he's laying on the wet floor, wrench in hand tightening the faulty tube that has come loose under the sink. "all okay now doll, m'fixed it" *he said getting up and putting his tools back in his small toolbox. he helped you clean up the water with some towels and kissed your head lightly. And of course, on Valentine's Day, he brings you a rose bouquet and hand-built shelves (or whatever you want).

I dont know where this thought came from but I just had to write about it

(PS) i do not know anything about plumbing so please don't roast me if it is not correct thanks

[aspenmissing]

I have a small Arcane request: Could you write Reader as the younger sister of the characters with an age gap like the one between Jinx and Isha? 👉👈 (Including Ekko, Caitlyn and Mel)

I just loved the sibling like relationship between Isha and Jinx and I think it'll be cute, seeing the characters interact with a much younger sister.

Maybe Reader visits them at work or gets help with her homework and the Arcane character is always in awe with his / her sister.

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴇᴋᴋᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ | ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4256 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴ/ᴀ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ!!! ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ!!! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴇᴋᴋᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ | ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ

JAYCE

The sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows of Jayce’s workshop in Piltover, spilling warm golden light over the room like a spotlight on his latest inventions. The air smelled faintly of metal and oil, mingling with the faint scent of worn leather from Jayce’s work apron. Scattered across the large oak tables were blueprints, loose gears, coils of wire, and half-finished mechanical devices—evidence of Jayce’s tireless tinkering.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the cool wooden floor, her small feet swinging just above the floorboards. Her wide eyes followed Jayce’s precise movements as he carefully soldered two tiny wires onto a miniature mechanical piece the size of her thumb. The soft hiss of the soldering iron was the only sound besides the occasional clink of tools.

“Hey, Jay-Jay, can I try?” Y/N’s voice was a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She didn’t want to accidentally ruin the delicate piece he was working on.

Jayce glanced up from his workbench and smiled warmly, his expression softening when he saw the hopeful look on her face. “Careful, alright?” he warned gently. “This isn’t one of your toy robots.”

Y/N nodded, clutching a small screwdriver Jayce handed her. He demonstrated slowly how to hold it properly, steadying her small fingers with his own large hand. “Like this.”

Y/N mimicked him with careful concentration, her tongue peeking out between her lips as she focused. “Like this?”

“Exactly.” Jayce’s voice was encouraging, proud. “You’ve got the knack for this, you know. Maybe one day you’ll build something even cooler than me.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a shy grin, a rosy blush rising in her cheeks. “Promise?”

Jayce chuckled softly and gave her a gentle nod. “Promise.”

She beamed, her confidence soaring, and eagerly picked up a tiny gear, ready to give it a try under his watchful eye.

=

Later that afternoon, the two of them wandered outside into the garden behind their modest home in Piltover. The garden was small but carefully tended—a splash of green and color amidst the city’s stone and metal.

Jayce knelt beside a cluster of vibrant purple flowers, brushing one lightly with a finger. “This one here is lavender. It’s great for calming nerves,” he explained, his voice patient and calm.

Y/N bent down and inhaled deeply, her nose nearly brushing the petals. The scent was soothing, gentle. Just as she smiled, a tiny bee buzzed past her face, making her giggle and pull back in surprise.

“I don’t think I’m nervous when I’m with you,” she said softly, her eyes shining.

Jayce reached over and ruffled her hair with a fond grin, his heart swelling in the warmth of the moment. “Good,” he said quietly, “’cause I’m always gonna watch out for you.”

=

A few days later, the sky had turned a soft gray and rain pattered steadily against the windows. Y/N and Jayce were curled up on the couch inside, wrapped in a thick, woolen blanket that smelled faintly of Jayce’s cologne. Y/N rested her head against Jayce’s shoulder as he read aloud from a large, dusty tome about the history of Piltover.

“You’re boring me, Jayce,” she said suddenly, poking his ribs with a small finger.

Jayce laughed—a deep, genuine sound that made Y/N smile. “Only you can get away with saying that,” he teased, tightening the blanket around them.

She yawned, her eyelids fluttering sleepily, and murmured, “You’re the best big brother ever.”

Jayce’s hand moved automatically to brush her hair back from her forehead, his lips pressing softly against her temple. “And you’re the best little sister. Don’t ever forget that.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s presence, the rain providing a gentle soundtrack to their quiet afternoon.

VIKTOR

Y/N pushed open the heavy iron door to Viktor’s workshop, her small fingers gripping a stack of papers and a pencil behind her back. The familiar scent of oil, metal, and warm light greeted her like a quiet hug.

“Viktor, I’m stuck on this math problem,” she said, voice a little sheepish as she stepped inside. Her eyes flicked nervously toward the intricate blueprints and inventions scattered around. “Can you help me?”

Viktor looked up from the delicate schematics spread before him, adjusting his glasses with one hand while his other tapped the floor softly with his cane. His sharp eyes softened instantly the moment they met hers, and a gentle smile curved his lips.

“Of course, malý,” he said, setting down his drafting tools and patting the empty space beside him on the workbench. “Show me what’s troubling you.” (Little one)

Y/N climbed up onto the bench carefully, sliding her homework toward him with a hopeful smile. Viktor leaned in slowly, careful not to disturb any delicate equipment, resting his cane against the edge of the bench. His voice was calm and patient as he began to explain, breaking down the problem step by step.

Every so often, his hand would reach out, lightly brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Y/N giggled softly at the gentle touch, feeling the warmth of his presence like a protective shield around her.

The golden afternoon light filtered through the dusty windows, casting a soft glow over the two of them — a quiet moment suspended in time, where the noise of the outside world faded away, leaving only Viktor’s steady voice and the gentle tapping of his cane.

=

Later that evening, Viktor sat resting in his sitting room, the soft amber glow of the lanterns casting long shadows on the walls. His cane leaned against the armchair, within easy reach but momentarily forgotten.

The door burst open suddenly, and Y/N came rushing in, clutching a small wooden stick she’d carefully carved earlier that day.

“Viktor! Look! I made a sword like yours!” she announced proudly, eyes shining with excitement.

Viktor’s usual reserved expression softened into a rare chuckle, warm and full of affection. “A sword, hmm? Shall we duel, then?”

Y/N’s grin grew wide as she brandished her wooden stick, rushing forward with all the enthusiasm of a young warrior. Viktor rose slowly, gripping his cane firmly with both hands, steadying himself before stepping into the playful duel.

There was a mischievous sparkle in Viktor’s eye as he tapped her wooden stick lightly with the tip of his cane. Y/N squealed and dodged nimbly, laughter bubbling from her lips as she parried and lunged, her stick tapping against Viktor’s cane in a clack that echoed softly through the room.

When Viktor accidentally tapped her stick a little too hard, he winced and leaned back onto his cane, the movement slow but careful. Y/N didn’t mind — instead, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

“You’re the best big brother,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his cane.

Viktor smiled down at her, a warmth flooding his chest that had little to do with the evening firelight. “And you, are my greatest joy.”

=

In the late afternoon, Viktor sat by the window of their modest home, the last rays of sunlight spilling across his worn coat and casting a golden frame around his figure. His cane rested gently against the chair’s leg.

Y/N was curled up on the floor nearby, her favorite book splayed open but forgotten. She traced the illustrations with a dreamy expression, lost in her own world.

Viktor noticed her quiet stillness and patted the floor beside him, inviting her to come closer.

“Come here,” he said softly, voice calm and warm. “I’ll read to you.”

Y/N scooted over, settling herself beside him and resting her head gently on his knee. Viktor’s fingers brushed softly through her hair, careful to avoid his cane resting beside him.

He began to read aloud, his voice low and soothing — a gentle cadence that made the world outside the window seem far away. The room was silent but for his words, the soft rustling of pages, and the occasional tapping of his cane.

Every so often, Viktor would lean down to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, fingers gentle and sure. Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of his presence, a quiet anchor in the uncertain world they lived in.

They sat like that for a long time — Viktor reading, Y/N listening, two siblings wrapped in the tender warmth of home and each other.

EKKO

Ekko sat hunched over his cluttered workbench in the dim light of his Zaun workshop, carefully soldering a small device. The faint hiss of his soldering iron mixed with the occasional clink of metal pieces and the hum of nearby machines. Scattered around him on the floor were bits of scrap metal, colourful wires, and tiny tools—a chaotic playground for a curious mind.

Nearby, Y/N sat cross-legged, trying her best to imitate Ekko. She held a tiny screwdriver in her chubby fingers, but it was upside down. Her tongue poked out in fierce concentration, lips pressed tight as she attempted to twist a screw the way she’d seen Ekko do it countless times. Every so often, her fingers wiggled as if to coax the stubborn screw loose, but mostly, she just looked adorable trying.

Ekko glanced up from his workbench, his sharp eyes catching the sight of Y/N’s serious little face. A warm grin spread across his features as he set down the soldering iron and leaned forward, reaching out to ruffle her tangled hair.

“Hey, Y/N, careful with that,” he said, his voice playful but gentle. “You’ll poke your eye out if you keep messing around like that.”

Y/N giggled, flashing a toothy smile and wriggling her fingers in mock surrender. “I’m helping, Ekko! I wanna be like you.”

Ekko’s smile softened into something almost tender. He scooped her up into a quick hug, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility and affection for his little sister.

“You’re already the best helper I’ve got,” he murmured, resting his cheek against her messy curls. “One day, you’ll be out here fixing things better than me, and I’ll be the one asking you for help.”

Y/N beamed, hugging him back tight, her eyes shining with pride and love. Around them, the workshop hummed with the promise of endless possibilities—just like the bond they shared.

=

The late afternoon sun cast a warm golden glow over the jagged rooftops of Zaun, bathing the city in soft light that made the grime and rust seem almost beautiful. Ekko and Y/N sat side by side on a worn-out crate, their legs swinging freely over the edge. The air smelled faintly of oil and metal, mixed with the distant hum of Zaun’s ever-busy streets below.

Y/N clutched a small slingshot tightly in her hands—the one Ekko had painstakingly made for her from scraps he’d scavenged earlier that week. She fiddled nervously with the leather strap, her fingers twitching as she tried to steady herself.

Ekko glanced over, his eyes warm but serious. “Don’t worry, Y/N. If anything tries to mess with you, I’ll be right here.”

She looked down, biting her lip in hesitation before shyly meeting his gaze. “Promise you won’t leave me?”

Without missing a beat, Ekko nudged her shoulder gently. “Never. You’re stuck with me.”

A small, teasing grin flickered across his face as he caught her hand in his, fingers curling around hers protectively. “You’re my little star, alright? Brightest thing in all of Zaun.”

Y/N’s breath caught, her eyes glimmering like the sunset itself. She squeezed his hand back, feeling safe and cherished in a way the city rarely allowed.

For a long moment, they just sat there—two siblings sharing a quiet pause above the chaos, the golden light wrapping them in a fragile bubble of calm.

=

Late at night, the shadows in the small Zaun hideout seemed to creep a little closer, the sounds of distant machinery and dripping pipes echoing through the silence. Y/N stirred awake, heart pounding from a nightmare she couldn’t quite shake—a dark, tangled mess of frightening shapes and rushing noises.

Quietly, so as not to wake anyone else, she slipped out from under her thin blanket and padded softly across the creaky wooden floor. The chill in the air made her shiver, but she didn’t hesitate. Her footsteps were careful and light as she found her way to Ekko’s room.

She gently pushed open the door, which creaked just enough to echo in the quiet space. Ekko was already asleep, his breathing steady. Without a word, Y/N slipped under his blanket and curled up close beside him, seeking the comfort only her big brother could give.

Ekko’s eyes fluttered open at the soft movement, and when he realized it was Y/N, he immediately wrapped an arm around her small frame, pulling her close. His voice was low and soothing, a steady anchor in the night’s uncertainty.

“You’re safe here. I’ve got you,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

Y/N let out a slow, shaky sigh, pressing her cheek against his chest. The steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body, and the softness of his voice wrapped around her like a shield.

For a moment, the harsh, unforgiving streets of Zaun felt a little less scary—because no matter what, she knew Ekko would always be there to keep her safe.

MEL

Mel had brought Y/N to her council chamber for the day — just once, just to see how it would go. It wasn’t proper, not really. She could already hear her mother scoffing about appearances and decorum. But the chamber was quieter in the morning, the light slanted just right through the stained glass, and Mel thought… perhaps it wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps it would even be fun to show off the chair no one dared interrupt her in.

Y/N padded in on socked feet, eyes wide, her hand loosely clinging to Mel’s. They looked around slowly, taking in the grand ceiling, the polished marble floors, the echo of their footsteps — and tilted her head, clearly underwhelmed.

“There are no golden dragons,” she whispered, slightly disappointed.

Mel’s lips twitched. “No dragons, no,” she said, leading them toward the front. “But it does have something better.”

Y/N perked up, intrigued, as Mel swept an arm toward the high-backed opulent chair at the end of the chamber. Cushioned, carved, unmistakably hers.

“Go on then,” Mel said, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Sit. Rule the world.”

Y/N lit up, eyes gleaming like they’d just been handed a crown. They scrambled up into the chair with a grunt and a determined wriggle, finally settling with their legs swinging a good foot above the floor. They squinted forward, crossed their arms, and drew their face into a serious, no-nonsense expression—one clearly copied from Mel’s own moments of council silence.

Mel folded her arms and leaned on the side of the dais, resting her chin in one hand, fully amused.

“Tell me, counsellor,” she purred, voice rich with play. “What decree shall we pass today?”

Y/N considered with the gravity of a monarch. “Cookies,” they declared. “For breakfast. Forever.”

Mel let out a peal of laughter, warm and delighted. “A bold policy. The bakers of Piltover will curse your name.”

She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s temple, brushing a strand of hair aside. “But I’ll vote yes.”

=

Mel had a habit of keeping Y/N close on evenings she worked late — not always directly beside her, but somewhere in the room, curled up in a corner with a blanket and book, or humming while they sketched on the floor by the fire. The presence of the child softened the weight of the city pressing in on her shoulders. Their small, steady rhythm grounded her.

One such night, after a marathon of council minutes and policy drafts, Mel finally leaned back and stretched, joints popping as she rotated her shoulders. She turned her head, meaning to tell Y/N it was time to wind down.

But the child was seated at her low table, hunched intently over a page. Their tongue poked from the corner of their mouth in focus, brow furrowed in concentration. Pencils and scraps of paper were scattered like petals around them.

“What are you making, darling?” Mel asked, voice still husky from hours of disuse.

“Shhh,” Y/N replied, not looking up. “Hold still.”

Mel blinked, both brows arching. “I beg your pardon?”

“You moved,” Y/N said with a gentle pout. “I was drawing your earrings.”

Mel paused, caught off guard by the specificity — and the care. She straightened slightly. “You’re drawing me?”

Y/N gave a little nod but didn’t look up. “Mm-hmm. You’re very sparkly. I needed the light just right.”

Mel smiled, caught somewhere between flattered and touched. She sat silently for a moment, letting Y/N finish.

After a few more strokes, the child finally turned the sketchbook around and held it up. “Ta-da.”

Mel reached out gently to take it. There she was — in graphite and gold crayon, eyes dark and thoughtful, lashes long, her earrings almost comically oversized. They’d even added a tiara that didn’t exist, nestled in her hair like it belonged.

“Oh,” Mel murmured. Her chest gave a quiet squeeze. “You’ve made me far more regal than I am.”

Y/N shook their head. “Nope. That’s how you look to me.”

Later that night, while the room darkened and the lamps were dimmed, that drawing found a place beside her stack of documents. Mel set her pen down beside it, just for a moment, and smiled softly to herself. She made a mental note to have it framed in gold.

=

On a lazy Piltover morning, with fog still clinging to the windows and the household in a hush, Y/N wandered into Mel’s private dressing room. The scent of jasmine oil and candle wax hung in the air, soft and heady.

Mel was seated at her vanity, her robe cinched loosely around her waist, gold leaf palettes open like petals on the tray beside her. She was dabbing color onto her lips — rich and regal, her practiced hands graceful in their ritual.

Without a word, Y/N padded over and climbed into her lap, careful not to knock over any jars. They nestled against her like they belonged there, small arms wrapping loosely around her waist.

“Well, hello,” Mel murmured, pausing mid-application. She ran a hand down the back of their hair. “Did you want something, my heart?”

Y/N looked up at her reflection in the mirror, studying the shimmer on her cheeks and the elegant tilt of her brow.

“Can I be fancy too?” Y/N asked, pointing a tiny finger at the golden pigment tray.

Mel smiled and turned her chair slightly, facing them more fully. “Of course,” she said, voice soft as sunrise.

She dipped the tip of her finger into the gold and gently dabbed a bright speck onto Y/N’s nose — then two delicate lines across each cheek. The child giggled and scrunched up their face, eyes squeezed shut.

When they peeked at themselves in the mirror, they gasped softly, delighted. “I look shiny!”

“You look like a sun warrior,” Mel said, running her thumb gently along their jaw. “Fierce and radiant.”

Y/N looked up at her, eyes shining like coins in the morning light. “Just like you?”

Mel tilted her head, heart full, and pressed a kiss to their cheek where the gold shimmered faintly against their skin.

“Exactly like me,” she said. “Only better.”

CAITLYN

Caitlyn had just returned home after a long patrol, her coat slung over one shoulder, boots still dusted with soot from the edges of Zaun. The late afternoon light streamed through the tall windows of the Kiramman estate, painting warm gold across the marble floors. She barely stepped into the foyer before she was tackled—well, more like mildly bumped—by a small, eager force of nature in the form of her younger sister, Y/N.

“Caitlyn!” the little girl squealed, arms outstretched like a charging hawk.

She caught her effortlessly, spinning her once before pulling her close into a tight hug. The scent of chamomile shampoo and crayons clung to Y/N’s sweater, and Caitlyn buried her nose into her sister’s hair for a beat longer than usual.

“There’s my little cadet,” she teased fondly, ruffling Y/N’s already-messy hair until it stuck up in soft tufts.

“You said I could try on your helmet today!” Y/N reminded her with wide, excited eyes.

Caitlyn gave a dramatic gasp, clutching at her chest. “Did I? Oh, heavens, I hope the Enforcer Council doesn’t find out I’ve been training an undercover agent in secret. I might lose my badge!”

“I won’t tell,” Y/N whispered, grinning. “I’m very sneaky.”

“In that case,” Caitlyn said with a wink, “follow me to headquarters.”

In her room, she knelt down beside her wardrobe and carefully retrieved the gleaming, regulation-grade helmet. She lowered it gently onto Y/N’s head, only for the visor to dip down too far and cover her eyes completely.

“It’s too big!” Y/N giggled from beneath the heavy headgear, wobbling slightly.

“Hmm… maybe by your next birthday,” Caitlyn mused, tipping it back just enough to reveal her sister’s bright, scrunched-up face. She gave the side a gentle tap. “Still, you look ready to interrogate suspects and uphold justice.”

Y/N stood tall—well, as tall as she could manage—and gave a serious salute. “Only if they stole cookies.”

Caitlyn burst into laughter. “Then I’ll leave the kitchen cases to you, Officer Cookie.”

=

The family garden was Caitlyn’s quiet retreat after long days—well-tended hedges, wildflowers spilling over stone borders, and a tangle of blooming wisteria that formed a fragrant canopy overhead. Recently, though, it had been repurposed by a certain small sibling into their shared “secret clubhouse.”

Beneath the arch of blossoms, they'd assembled a makeshift tea table: an overturned wooden crate, a picnic blanket, and several mismatched cups Caitlyn had let Y/N “borrow” from the kitchen. Today, the cups were filled with cooled chamomile tea, with a few petals floating in each like accidental decorations.

Caitlyn sat cross-legged in uniform, her boots removed and set aside, sipping pretend tea with all the practiced grace of a noblewoman at a gala.

Y/N, dressed in her favourite overalls and a pink jumper with a bear on it, poured carefully from a chipped teapot. “One sugar cube or two?”

Caitlyn held up two fingers, her pinkie raised. “Let’s make it a sweet one.”

With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Y/N plopped in three, stirring dramatically.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “You trying to give me a sugar crash before patrol?”

Y/N shrugged innocently. “Then you have to stay here forever.”

Caitlyn paused, her smile softening. The breeze rustled the leaves overhead, making the wisteria sway gently like a curtain.

“I can’t stay forever,” she said quietly, reaching out to adjust the collar of Y/N’s sweater, tucking it into place. “But I’ll always come back.”

Y/N nodded, small fingers fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. She pulled a blueberry muffin from her backpack—slightly squashed and crumbled around the edges—and offered it with both hands. Caitlyn accepted it with exaggerated ceremony and took a big, theatrical bite.

“Exquisite,” she declared. “You’re officially promoted to Head Baker of the Enforcer’s Guild.”

Y/N lit up like a lantern, pride radiating off her in waves.

=

Late at night, when the lights of Piltover twinkled like grounded stars and the house had settled into a hush, Caitlyn often tiptoed into Y/N’s room after long shifts. Some nights it was just to check that her sister was still tucked in, blanket pulled over her shoulders. Other nights—like this one—she lingered.

She found Y/N already in bed, curled up beneath her favorite blanket, clinging tightly to a tiny plush hound with one ear flopped sideways. It was the Wintersday gift Caitlyn had given her last year, and it had clearly been loved nearly to bits.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Caitlyn whispered from the doorway, arms crossed, voice laced with affection.

“You’re supposed to be home earlier,” Y/N shot back sleepily, not even opening her eyes all the way.

Caitlyn chuckled and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing some hair from her sister’s cheek. “Touché, officer.”

Y/N yawned and reached for her hand with clumsy fingers. “Did you catch any bad guys?”

“A few,” Caitlyn replied. “But only the really silly ones. One tried to hide in a pipe while wearing a top hat.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s dumb.”

“Very dumb,” Caitlyn agreed, smiling as she gently traced circles on the back of Y/N’s hand. “Good thing I’ve got a little sister who’s much smarter than that.”

Y/N mumbled, already halfway asleep, “I’d wear a disguise…”

“Oh?” Caitlyn tilted her head. “What kind of disguise?”

“A big mustache…” she yawned, words slurring, “and a fake name. Like… Mustachio Bluecoat…”

Caitlyn tried not to laugh too loudly. “Sounds very undercover. You’ll blend right in.”

She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her sister’s temple, the smell of sugar and shampoo still clinging to her hair. “Sweet dreams, Agent Mustachio.”

As she stood and began to turn off the light, she heard a sleepy murmur behind her.

“Love you, Cait…”

She paused, warmth blooming in her chest, and turned back just enough to whisper, “Love you too, little bird.”

And then, in the hush of the room, she closed the door with a quiet click, leaving her sister safe in the starlight.

[thesassymarquess]

Playing Dwarf Fortress, and so are a few of my friends now, so I figured I’d document some common pitfalls I know of, and how to avoid them.

Strange Moods:

-Best way to handle these?

First, build one of each of the following workshops: Craftsdwarfshop, Carpenter’s, Stoneworker’s, forge (either kind), jewelers, glass kiln (any kind), kiln (any kind), bowyers, mechanics, leatherworks, & clothiers. This is all the different types of workshops a dwarf may claim. Don’t worry about fueling a workshop, moods don’t need fuel.

Second, ideally try to keep a supply of at least one of the following items: A boulder, a log, a block, a bone, a cloth, metal bar, an uncut gem, a tanned hide, raw glass, and a cut gem. This is roughly all materials a dwarf may demand for their artifact. Tbh, you *can* cut gems (or polish stones) when a mood occurs, but it’s easier to keep a few on hand prior. Generally they need one item based off the workshop type they claim, then the rest seems to be somewhat random/based on their likes. Each time they collect an item for their artifact, it resets the timer for insanity. Generally in my experience dwarves really tend to grab boulders a LOT. But that’s based off my total experience, my recent experience has been a lot of bars, so it depends on what the dwarf’s workshop chosen is. I’ve been having a lot more metal required because most of my artifacts have come from my metalsmiths

If they’ve been standing at the workshop for a while, bring up their menu and see if they’re crafting the object, or shouting. If they’re shouting, it will cycle through hints or outright stating what the dwarf wants for their artifact. Generally artifacts are WORTH getting a hold of because it gives the dwarf a significant skill boost & a high value item. Worst case you put it in a display case somewhere to boost room value

Animals:

-My animal starved to death!

This only happens to grazers. You need to set up a pasture somewhere with some kind of growth on the soil. At the beginning you’re going to be limited to the green surface grass. If you want to keep them underground, you’re going to have to dig into one of the caverns, which will trigger some sort of fungal growth on underground natural tiles within your fort. Surprisingly as it may seem, this is perfectly safe for your farm animals to eat. Generally a rule of thumb is, if it is egg laying, or smaller than a dog, it is not a grazer, and does not need soil/some grass like substance to survive.

-My animal starved to death in a cage. Why won’t my dwarves move it!

So, going with the above, a pasture zone must be marked, and then animals must be assigned to those areas. After setting up a pasture, click the icon with a plus over a horse to assign animals to it. Any semi-domesticated animal can be assigned to a pasture.

-Why won’t my chickens lay eggs

They need a nest box to lay eggs in. Generally place a pasture somewhere (I like to do it underground as I have yet to find a grazing egg-layer) and build nest boxes there. Dwarves will automatically harvest eggs from the boxes, including fertile ones which may make farming for leather/meat harder. You can seal the room and forbid entry until the eggs hatch, and then forbid them, or have no stockpiles accepting eggs. Then eggs will only be taken by cooks, and only when they’re cooking.

Migrants:

If you are struggling attracting migrants, a major factor is your exports. Basically fortress wealth, and wealth exported are two of the factors that determine your migrant waves, the last factor is the health of your civilization, which is basically just the population. Weirdly enough, migrants are built different, as I’ve played in dying civs (one SURFACE fort with 20 dwarves, this was the only NPC settlement for my Civ) and had migrant waves of 30+ dwarves. Basically the more high value goods you make, and the more you trade them, particularly with the home caravan, the more migrants you’ll get.

Children:

Dwarves only produce children if they’re married, and the parents have time to… get intimate. Fortunately the getting intimate is more “having idle time in a bedroom together” at which point, if it’s a married male/female pair, the female will become pregnant. The game does not display information on pregnancy at all, and all pregnant creatures will just carry on their normal business until they give birth, at which point a dwarf will abandon her current task to “seek infant” at which point they will pop out a baby, you will get a notification of this, and they will pick the child up and go back to doing tasks. Dwarves are capable of having multiples, and I have seen twins, triplets, and even a very weird case of quadruplets… which is its own story.

Trading:

Of the four types of civilizations that exist, you can trade with 3 of them. Elves trade in the spring, humans in the summer, and dwarves in the autumn. Each offer different advantages… mostly… to trading with them.

-Elves:

Generally the most annoying and least useful trading partners. Trading them anything made from wood or an animal product upsets them, instantly ending the trades, and sending them home. If this happens enough, they will declare war and begin sieging your fort. Generally elves are great for selling low-quality stone, (green) glass, or metal objects to. Silk and cloth can be safely traded, but yarn cannot. Generally it’s best practice to only trade rock, green glass, and metal objects to avoid offending them. Due to elves not sending merchant nobles to negotiate, they have no export requests for better trading, and you cannot request imports from them. Despite this, they can make an excellent source of exotic animals, cheap barrels, or offer a way to trade rock crafts for food.

-Humans

Humans know a good deal, and actually care about trade. Humans tend to reach out among the first outsider civs to trade with you. They don’t always send a merchant nobles, but once you have a baron or higher, they tend to much more frequently. Humans are amazing trading partners as they offer unique trading resources from dwarves. They have no offendable rules either, but they actually do defend their goods. They can be reliable for exporting in rare crops, seeds, or other materials, and they will happily trade you pretty much anything they have access to. So while you can’t get steel from them, you can get surface crops, more varied animals, and bladeweed dye and other fabrics.

-Dwarves

Without player intervention, you will only usually receive a Dwarven caravan from your home Civ. You can by contacting other Dwarven civs get other civs to send merchants to your fort as well. Dwarven caravans are much like human caravans, but carry steel. They also only carry crops and items unique to their Civ, which is usually pretty much exactly the same as yours. Dwarves do also send merchants to negotiate import/export deals as well, notably the outpost liaison being your factions representative.

-Getting new trading partners

Send a squad out to an uncontacted Civ and set the mission to “demand one-time tribute” civs either pay the tribute, or reject it, and it seems to have little impact on the civ’s opinion of you/your fort. Once this is done, they can start, and often do, sending caravans your way when the correct season starts.

-Getting better trade goods/merchant nobles

Traders bring more goods the more profitable trading was with you historically. So the more you trade, the more they bring. So if a trader brings nothing of interest to you, you buy nothing, and they leave, next year, they are likely to bring even LESS. So to prevent this, it can be a good idea to buy things even if they aren’t that useful. I commonly try to buy all the food I can from the merchants, as I can usually use it, and it encourages the merchants to take more items, which can end up being items like codexes/scrolls that I really want. Likewise the more successful the trades are, the more likely they are to send a noble for trade agreements. They don’t always send them though, so it is possible to miss them for a few years, even when trading seems to be going fine.

Hospitals:

-You will need a hospital before you think you do. But you do not need a Good one really. A basic hospital is something like a few beds & tables in a room together. You should also have a water source, some buckets, a textile industry, and some splints/canes. The only specialty thing you really need is a single traction bench. Just make a table, rope and mechanism, and combine them for a traction bench at a mechanics. Soap isn’t strictly necessary early on, nor is having security in the hospital. Bleeding out on the hospital floor is a major improvement to bleeding out anywhere else.

-Soap

It reduces infections and will lower mortality rates, but generally a hospital itself will do a more significant job at that. Still if you need to make it, you need at least 5 buildings roughly. Soap needs lye, which needs ash and needs to be made in an Ashery and a wood furnace respectively. Soap also needs either an oil, or a tallow. Oil is made at a screw press from certain plants, tallow is made at a kitchen from roasting fat. Fat is gathered at a butcher from butchering (animal) corpses

This is it for part 1. If there’s other questions or tips, I can do a part 2

[satan-offical]

Hate mail/ Rant

Okay, Satan, Lucifer, Morningstar, Big Red Cheese – whatever you’re calling yourself these days, we NEED to have a serious conversation. And no, this isn't a "wow, you're so edgy and misunderstood" post. This is a dissertation of pure, unadulterated Tumblr rage aimed directly at your pointy little head.

First of all, the aesthetic. Let's be real, the whole hellfire and brimstone thing is tired. It's been done. We're in the 21st century, Satan. Get with the program! I'm talking, like, pastel goth hell. Think lava lamps, but filled with glitter. Think demons in ripped fishnets and platform boots. Think a color palette that's less "burning souls" and more "strawberry shortcake meets the apocalypse." You're a fallen angel, not a grandpa!

And speaking of fallen, what about your social media presence? It's abysmal. You're supposed to be the ultimate influencer of evil, and yet your tumblr feed is just you sibling for jesus and begging for attention. Where's the relatable content? The "tag a friend who's definitely going to hell" memes? The aesthetic vision boards for different levels of eternal damnation? You're missing out on a HUGE opportunity to corner the market on edgy teens.

Don't even get me STARTED on your employee benefits. I heard that soul-crushing paperwork is the only thing that hasn't been automated. The lack of dental is appalling. I mean, seriously, how are your minions supposed to maintain their terrifying grins without a good dental plan? Not to mention the work-life balance. Burning in hell for eternity? That's not sustainable, dude! We need mandatory vacation days and a healthy demon union.

And the music? Oh, GOD, the music. Heavy metal? Really? That’s, like, so 1980s. Step up your game. I’m talking lo-fi beats to suffer to. I’m talking ambient sounds of existential dread. Think Grimes meets Nine Inch Nails meets the sound of a dial-up modem failing. That’s the kind of auditory torture we need in 2025.

Also, can we talk about the patriarchy? Like, seriously, Satan. You're literally running a system based on punishment and hierarchy. It's problematic, to say the least. We need to dismantle hell and rebuild it as a cooperative collective of tormented souls who work together to achieve… I don’t know... ultimate existential peace through crafting personalized torture devices for problematic billionaires? We can workshop it.

In conclusion, Satan, you're failing. You're stuck in the past, your aesthetic is outdated, your employee benefits are garbage, and your entire operation is fundamentally flawed. I'm not saying you need to completely overhaul everything, BUT WE’RE LOW-KEY SAYING YOU NEED TO COMPLETELY OVERHAUL EVERYTHING.

(Lots of love, from-@askangie)

OK HONEY LISTEN UP

1.) really? Pastel goth aesthetics? It's hell, not your hello kitty hot topic fantasies. We aren't making people feel welcome, and your pretty princess vibes won't help with the fear factor.

2.) Says the person currently on Tumblr. Shitty posts and begging for attention? Yeah, do I see you with 1000+ followers? I give my audience what they want, and if you don't like that start your own blog.

3.) "Soul crushing paperwork?" If you're calling two pages daily on the torment done to our citizens soul crushing, I can imagine how you are at work. Get a life and figure out how to properly have a business before you come complaining to me

4.) So you're hating on heavy metal now? Boo hoo, cry me a river. Oh, you don't like the music? Cry about it and live a good life if you want lofi vibes.

5.) Patriarchy? Really? How long have you been following me? Not long enough to know that ONE: I'm a girl and TWO: most of my staff and heads are women. Get a life and wake the fuck up

Before you come complaining to me about my way of business: become an angel, betray god, fall from heaven, start building up a literal society of evil-doers and then we'll talk.

Mic drop.

[tinyraptorhands]

Logan awoke that balmy summer night to the sounds of a hammer on iron, and the smelting furnace being turned on in the workshop adjacent to his and his wife's lovely home. He sat up, running a hand over his tired eyes.

"Peach, have mercy..." he mumbled, his sandrock drawl thick with sleep. "Not again..."

He threw the covers off his body, swinging his feet over the bed and onto the cool wood floor. He threw on some pants and some old boots, not even lacing them up as he scratched his stubble, walking down the stairs to the front door.

He walked outside, eyes roamed over to the larger shed, where he saw the lights on. "Dammit, woman..." he huffed, walking over.

He leaned on the doorframe, arms folded. There you were- his wife, Sandrock's best builder this side of the Eufala, 8 months pregnant and building a large steel frame for a commission.

At 2 am.

"Darlin'." He called out, rubbing his jaw. You didn't notice him as you welded the steel frame, soldering the metal together. The torch roared as you worked expertly. "...Darlin'!!" He called again.

You turned, looking ridiculous-your hair a birds nest, barely held back with a drafting pencil stuck in it, face covered in a welders mask. Your nightgown was now smudged with oil from one of the recycling machines, and on your feet were one of his boots, too big on you. Your arm length gloves looked too big on you as well, and it just made you look more ridiculous. "Uh?" You made a noise of acknowledgement, or rather, confusion.

"...What the hell're ya doing out here??" Logan deadpanned. You took off your welding mask, and you were smiling dumbly.

"Finishing this commission! I couldn't wait till morning once I remembered that I actually *did* have enough steel to-"

Logan interrupted you, "Darlin', honey, love of my life-it is two AM. You are 8 months pregnant and you are literally playing with fire!" He said, exasperated. You blinked.

"...I mean, I wouldn't consider this *playing*-"

"Not-not my point!" He huffed, "you need all the rest you can get! I thought we agreed you were gonna go on maternity leave for a spell, not...doing this!" He gestured to the large frame, studs still glowing hot from your welding.

You whined. "But it's so BORING! And baby woke me up anyways! So I snuck a commission in! And it's not that bad anyways, not a huge project at all-"

"That is a *huge* frame!! How are you gonna-" He let out an exasperated noise. "...Okay. Level with me here, master Builder. This. This is the *last* project. And when it's done, you are gonna have me and a few men get this outta here, and you are gonna sit that pretty behind down, and continue baking our baby. You get me?"

You pursed your lips. "...I mean, can we tweak our rules here-"

"No. Or I get Dr. Fang to babysit you."

"Damn!" You cussed, sucking your teeth. The doctor may look weak, but he also knew how to make you feel guilty for neglecting your health. (You wouldn't forget the time you passed out in the desert only to see his dissapointed face hovering over you the next day.) You hated making people disappointed. "Ffffiiiiinneee!" You whined dramatically, throwing your arms up in defeat.

"And you're coming inside, finish this tomorrow. You look a sight." He added.

"But I'm on a roll!!" You continued to pout, but didn't fight as he took your gloves off and welding mask off your head, setting then on your work table.

"Two. AM." He repeated. You groused, mocking him under your breath as he scooped you up-bridal style. He just chuckled as he walked out with you in his arms. You reached over him, shutting the light off, still pouting.

"You know I love you, my crazy builder?" He smirked down at you, using his hip to close the workshop door. You rolled your eyes, and smiled fondly.

"Yes, yes. And I love you too, my handsome yakboy." You sighed, leaning your head against his chest.

"Hey, now. That's daddy yakboy, to you." He teased back.

...

"...Actually, that was a bit weird to say, let's stick with the handsome yakboy thing." He said, rethinking it. You nodded.

"Yeah, lets." You deadpanned.

((I just imagine female builder being an absolute gremlin workaholic, even while heavily pregnant and Logan, being the best husband ever, just being like..."ma'am, I adore you but please, stop it." And builder is like, "lol no." ))