#arcane/reader

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Overlock Stitch Part 3/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 3,991

Read on AO3

She doesn't see Viktor for a few weeks after that, he came by to collect his uniform and allowed her to take her photos before offering little more than a curt 'thank you' and disappearing through the door. She tries her best not to be too hurt by this, after all, one forced, awkward interaction where she could accidentally stab him with a pin at any moment is not exactly the usual first step in making friends. Not that she has ever been good at following that particular rule-book anyway.

If she pokes her head out at the right time on Thursday she sometimes still catches him on his walk through the fine art wing. One time she was brave enough to wave at him, but he either didn't see her, or did and pretended he didn't. Regardless, she couldn't find the courage to try again. The few times she has seen him, she hasn't been able to resist admiring how utterly stunning he looks in his properly fitting uniform. She just hopes that is has helped somehow, that he gets fewer stares in the hallways and most importantly, that the alterations she made to his trousers make it easier for him to get ready in the mornings. Especially now that the cold outside is biting.

It's still another fortnight before her final assignment for the term is due and she has been working on cataloguing both photos and sketches for all the tailoring work she has done. It is mostly alterations made for her father, some fittings for classmates, one wedding dress alteration, and the work she did for Viktor. The photos of his uniform turned out nicely despite her difficulties getting the film into the camera. Her heart does perform a traitorous little flutter each time she glances at any of them, the photo of his waistline post-tailoring is especially perilous, she tries not to look at it.

It's early evening and the sun has already well set outside the academy, but she knows that she wont get any more work done if she goes back to her dorm. Her radiator has been playing up and she has been avoiding contacting academy maintenance about it for the last few months. She doesn't feel like she belongs here half the time already, the last thing she needs is the academy thinking she is some sort of nuisance. With how cold it is tonight, all she will manage to do back home is climb into bed. So she stays late in the warm textiles workshop, sketching and annotating in preparation for her assignment. It's also nice to have the place to herself, even for just a few hours. She is usually forced to engage in exhausting faux polite conversation with Eliza and her other classmates. It gives her a headache, makes her teeth hurt. She has grown quite comfortable in the silence, sitting in the low light of her worktable's lamp as she works to arrange her portfolio. So the sound of the door to the workshop opening has her yelping and knocking half her photos and sketches off the desk. She whips around, quickly trying to come up with a polite way to tell whatever classmate has interrupted her to get lost, only to freeze in place when she sees that it is Viktor lurking in the doorway.

"Hello!" She squeaks, immediately regretting everything about her delivery of the single word.

Viktor's brows draw together, "Hello. I-" His eyes dart down to the pile of photos at her feet, "I am sorry for startling you."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting an apology. A nervous giggle escapes her, "It's alright, really! I'm easily startled."

Viktor laughs too, it's warm and sounds surprisingly genuine, "Yes, you certainly are."

They both sit in a lingering, uncomfortable silence for a moment. She can't manage to figure out why exactly he is standing here in the workshop, can't think of what she is supposed to say, what he wants her to say.

"I'm-"

"You-"

They both laugh at the failed start, and the energy in the room feels suddenly lighter. Viktor inclines his head towards her, "You first."

"Oh, okay, um." She chews her lower lip, it had been easier to say when it was off the cuff, but now that she's had a moment to think about it, she suddenly feels like it is far too presumptuous, "I'm happy to see you again, that's all." she says quickly, picking at her cuticles.

Viktor hums, his intense eyes peeling back her layers again. It makes her hands grow clammy.

"You did an impressive job with my uniform. That is what I was going to say." He replies.

Her stomach flips and she clutches her hands tightly in her lap, "Th-Thank you, I'm glad." She's nervous and her mouth moves faster than her brain, "I've been thinking about you, I-I mean, your uniform and I was really hoping that it had helped. It means everything to me, it really does."

An almost smirk tugs at the corners of Viktor's mouth, "You have been thinking about me?"

Sudden heat rushes to her cheeks, "About you uniform! That's what I said!"

Viktor shrugs a shoulder, "Suit yourself." he takes a few steps forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him, "What are your going rates when it comes to favours?" He asks evenly.

She blinks at him, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"Topsiders rarely offer an act of kindness without a charge. The values and complicated, payment does not come back until months down the line when they need something from you." He steps over to her, ducking down and collecting her mess of photographs into a neat pile before handing it back to her, "One of my classmates gave me directions to my first lecture and then about two months later he all but ordered me to complete his assignment for him. I would not assign those two acts equal value, personally, though, maybe topsiders have found a way to charge interest on favours, it would not surprise me."

He speaks clearly, succinctly, and she realises that this is the most he has ever said to her, by a wide margin.

She swallows, hoping that she knows the right way to respond, "Eliza, my classmate, brought me a pastry before the end of first semester last year. She still holds it over my head anytime she needs something from me. The funny thing is, had she just been genuinely friendly to me, I would have helped without the need for threatening pretence." She gains the confidence to meet Viktor's eyes and finds his appraising expression encouraging, "It's exhausting, playing these games every day. I'm just not cut out for it. So my going rates for favours is complimentary, as it should be."

Viktor's lips quirk up in a smile, wide enough that for the first time, she catches a glimpse of his teeth. They're crooked, lacking the benefits of modern Piltover dentistry and she is enchanted by them, can't help picturing the shape of the imprint his bite would leave behind

"That is good." He says with a nod, "Very good."

He leans against her worktable, peering down at where she still sits in her chair, she gulps, averting her eyes, "I take it you need something from me, then?"

Viktor turns his head and crosses his arms. His open, almost playful posture tightens into something far more self conscious.

"I meant what I said." he beings, rapping his fingers against his arm, "My uniform is far more comfortable now and those eh, alterations you made were very-" He brow creases, "Accommodating.'

She can feel herself relaxing, unfurling almost, hearing that her work had managed to help, that it had meant something to someone.

Viktor looks at her out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "I told you I was not interested in charity when we first spoke and that is still true, but I am hoping you might be interested in getting some more practice, as it were."

She smiles wide, she can't help it, "Do you want more alterations? Is that what you're saying?

Viktor's next smile is shockingly warm, "Ah, there is that spark of yours. Yes, the rest of my wardrobe now feels woefully inept."

She quickly darts her eyes up to the clock and back, "The wing is going to be closed in a few hours, it's probably not enough time…but I would love to! Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after?"

Viktor barks a laugh, "I did not mean now."

Her enthusiasm gets away from her, she can't help it, "But if you have time now, then we could, or I mean, you could always-" too familiar, too familiar by far, she freezes, staring down at her toes, "Sorry. Never mind, I'm just overexcited, forget all of that."

Viktor's brows draw together and his jaw tightens, "Stop doing that around me, I am not one of your Piltie classmates, I despise it just as much as you do." He spits, "Do not dissimulate, just tell me what you want, is it really so difficult?"

It is. It is. Every bone in her body tenses and panics and tells her that this is exactly the sort of thing that makes one a social pariah, that gets them ridiculed by classmates for seeing friendship where there is none. She balls her hands into fists, sucks in a deep breath and says, "I have sewing supplies in my dorm. If you would like me to do the alterations now, you can come back with me."

When Viktor doesn't immediately start laughing at her, she gains enough courage to look up at him. His expression is thoughtful and not at all mocking. At the sight of him, all the nervous, electric tension suddenly melts from her body. Unlearning years of Piltover fake politeness feels a bit like pulling out rotten teeth. Painful at first, but a relief afterwards.

Viktor thinks her offer over a little longer, casting a considering glance in the direction of the clock before returning his attention to her, "I would have to collect my things first. Give me your address, I'll meet you there."

~~~

Viktor barely understands why he agreed to this. Locking his door behind himself and preparing to navigate the maze-like block of dorms under the cover of darkness. It is a clear night, at least, the moon provides a good deal of light and like the rest of the Piltover's streets, the footpaths surrounding the dorms are lit with streetlights, casting a pale orange light across the ground. His leg complains when he starts walking in the cold air, less than it was complaining yesterday, if that was not the case he definitely would have turned her down. But it's a rare good day and so much of the student body seems to wish they were anywhere other than the academy that speaking with someone who actually cares about what they are studying is refreshing.

Her block of dorms actually ends up being quite a bit closer than the main academy buildings are, so Viktor is at least grateful for that despite the confusion he feels at his own sudden acquiescence. Agreeing to her first tailoring felt a lot like peeling back his fingernails, it was painful, it ached, it was shameful. So what changed, really? She doesn't have any sort of ill intent, that much is plain as day, but there is still no real reason for him to be trudging himself through the cold air in the dark of night. This could have been handled in the morning. It should have been, but when she smiles the way she does, the way that makes his cheeks hurt empathically, he finds it difficult not to keep that smile lit as long as possible. It's far realer than any of that achingly false pretence she slips in and out of, maybe her smile reminds him of home. Just a little.

The set of buttons she had affixed into the inseam of his trousers were another reason he agreed. It was a defensive mechanism, to far understate just how useful he had found them in even just the past few weeks. Despite her insistence that she doesn't charge for favours like so many Pilties do, he still can't shake the feeling that letting her know just how much he owes her would be dangerous. Because he does owe her, he owes her a great deal. Every evening when the cold has left his leg stiff and uncooperative, when he would usually need to spend almost half an hour massaging muscles before being able to undress for bed, he was instead able to unsnap the fasteners with one tug, and the trousers would slide right off. He had been fine without her help, he would have continued being fine without it. But now, he is more than fine, just a little bit, an almost inscrutable amount, a decimal place somewhere within the nebulous number defining just how bad a day can be. It is a small change, but it is one he has noticed and that is significant.

Her dorm is one of the street-facing buildings and on the ground floor, which makes it easy to find. The lights are on in the windows and as she had described very explicitly, there are several bunches of dried flowers hanging from the door frame. Viktor also almost knocks over a dish of water on the doorstep that he can only assume she has left out for the cats he sometimes sees roaming around the academy grounds. The groundskeepers are always trying to chase the cats off campus, but it's no wonder they keep coming back if she is doting on them the way he is certain she is.

She comes to the door just a few seconds after he knocks. He hears the sound of a chain-lock frantically undoing and then the door quickly swings open.

"Hello!" She exclaims in her usual rush, out of breath and smiling wide. Her hair is down, still awkwardly kinked from being in an up-do all day and kicking up around her collarbone. Viktor finds that he likes it a lot more this way and doesn't appreciate how that thought twists at his gut.

"Hello, yourself." He replies, peering past her into the softly lit room beyond.

She follows his line of sight with a whip of messy hair, laughing a little before turning back and chewing her lower lip, it's chapped and red in places, it gives the impression that she is nervously chewing more often than not, "I tidied before you got here. I don't really ever have people over"

He doesn't doubt it. She is dithering in the front door like she isn't even sure how to welcome him inside. Viktor saves her the trouble, taking another step closer and peering down at her. She blinks again, in that mousy way and he inclines his head towards the doorway, "May I come in?"

Her wide smile comes back, "Yes! Please do!" and she quickly presses herself against the wall, motioning for Viktor to walk in through the gap.

He had been hoping for her to vacate the doorway entirely, but the way she clings to the wall and sucks in all her vital organs does at least give him enough room to squeeze past her and into the dorm. From what he can see, it seems to be the same layout as his own room but in reverse, the small kitchenette is off to the left and there's a rickety looking wooden divider separating the small alcove where her bed is from the rest of the dorm. Viktor hears the door lock behind him and she darts out and around him, standing expectantly in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. She is especially nervous now, it's all over her face.

"Do, um-" her face pinches, it's as if she is trying to remember exactly what she has been taught to say when she has a guest over, "Do you want something to drink? I only have tea, unfortunately, coffee makes me nauseous."

"Tea would be fine." Viktor says, eyeing the large collection of dried flowers in various cups and vases throughout the room, "you don't keep any living plants?"

She blinks, "Um, no I don't. I always over water them and kill them."

Not forgetful, then. Viktor muses, just overly doting.

"I'll go brew the tea, then." She says quickly, "Take a seat on the sofa if you want, oh! and leave your clothes that need altering on the armchair, I'll get to them in a moment."

Viktor nods and watches as she darts her way over to the kitchenette and starts heating some water on the stove. She's still in her uniform, he can only assume that she was so busy tidying that she didn't have any time to change. He finds the armchair sitting by the radiator and removes the clothes from his bag, folding them over the armrest. Now that he is standing so close to it, he realises that there is no heat at all emanating from the radiator, the room is at least marginally warmer than outside, warm enough that he didn't notice anything was wrong at first. He peers over his shoulder, she is in the middle of reaching for a pair of matching teacups from the top shelf, he decides not to bother her. Instead he rests his cane against the armchair and crouches down, careful with the weight distribution on his right leg. It still hurts enough for him to wince involuntarily, but it could be far worse. He turns the valve carefully and finds no resistance.

"Are you having problems with your radiator?" He asks

He hears her squeak from across the room, followed by quick footsteps and the sound of her putting a jar of sugar down on the coffee table, "Yes, I'm sorry. Are you cold? I have blankets."

"No. No I am okay for the moment." He turns to look at her over his shoulder, her cheeks flush involuntarily at the attention, "How long have you been experiencing these issues?"

"Since it started getting cold this year, it hasn't been much of a problem until now because it hasn't been too chilly." She shrugs, "I just, I don't know, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Have you noticed anything strange when you try to turn it on?"

"Um, it sometimes makes sounds? Creaking or hissing. I was worried I might break it so I've mostly taken to leaving it off."

"Aha. You must have air in the pipes." He stands from the ground, "I can fix it."

"W-Wait! You don't-" She sputters, chasing after him as he heads over to her kitchen

"Your boiler should be in the bottom of the pantry, if your dorm is the same as mine." He says quickly, deciding that it's best to cut her polite refusal off at the root instead of entertaining it, "I'll need to turn it off for a moment"

She stares at him open mouthed for a moment, but then seems to decide pushing back isn't worth it and follows after him, dithering over his shoulder as he crouches down, using the second to last shelf in the pantry for balance and turning off the gas. His heart races when he realises that she is leaning in so close to him that he can feel her hair brushing against the side of his neck.

"Can I help somehow?" She asks quietly, he can feel her breath in his ear.

Viktor swallows, clenches and un-clenches his hands, "Do you have a Flathead screwdriver?"

She shifts backward, and he suddenly feels like he can breathe again, "I have a fork that works in a pinch! Let me see if I can find it."

He peers over his shoulder and waits until he can see that she is busy digging through the drawers before pulling himself back to his feet. His leg complains, a little worse than the first time, but only marginally. He is glad she wasn't watching. As he steps towards her, she whips around with one of her enormous smiles, clutching a fork in her hand.

"This should do the trick, I had to tighten the towel rack in my bathroom and it worked a charm."

Viktor feels that urge again, the one in the base of his stomach that wants him to soften in the warmth of her gaze. The same urge that begged him to call her Myšičko last time they spoke despite the cloying affection behind the diminutive word, "Thank you." He says instead, taking the fork from her outstretched hand and walking back over to the radiator. Resting a hand on it, he finds it quite cool, it must have been that way for a long time based on when she says it stopped working, but turning off the boiler practically negates the possibility of him burning his hands. Working quickly, Viktor sticks the square end of the fork into the screw keeping the bleed valve sealed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when he realises just how perfectly the fork fits.

"Well you were not kidding about this fork working in- what was it you said? A pinch?"

He hears a laugh from somewhere behind him, the teapot on the stove must have finished boiling because when he looks backward he sees her pouring tea at the kitchen bench, "I told you!"

He exhales an amused breath, "So you did."

It only takes a few turns to loosen the bleed valve enough for air to begin escaping, just as he has expected. After a few seconds a thin stream of water spills down from the valve and Viktor quickly re-tightens the screw before any further water gets lost. Easy.

He stands from the floor with a wince, using the armrest of the chair for balance, "That should work now. Give it a few minutes and then we can turn the boiler back on." He grabs his cane and readjusts himself, turning to see that she is crossing the room with both cups of tea, gently resting them on the coffee table.

"I-" She starts, eyes darting around the room skittishly, "Thank you. I didn't mean to invite you over to fix things for me."

"No." Viktor says, unable to help the smile climbing up his cheeks as he rounds the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa, crossing his right leg over his left, "In fact, I think you'll find I came around so you would fix something." He shrugs, "I suppose I was feeling generous."

Generous is too non-committal a term for how he is feeling. How he has been feeling all evening. Warm? Comfortable? Something in that realm. Something ill-advised and guaranteed to end in suffering, that's what the terrified voice in the back of his head says, the one that always hears alarm bells where there aren't any.

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry!" She says in a near panic, darting over to the desk up against the wall and grabbing an embroidered sewing kit, "I was so busy with the tea and being a good host and- wait, you don't have anywhere to be do you?" and then faster, almost out of breath, "You can leave if you need to! I can drop everything off at your dorm tomorrow!"

Viktor leans forward and scoops several spoons of sugar into one of the teacups before grabbing it by the handle and sinking backward into the sofa. He takes a sip and suddenly finds that he doesn't feel like going anywhere at all, "No rush." He says, surprised to realise he means it, "I am all yours."

[h2pinky]

i just read someone on twitter saying that sevika met silco because she thought he was a lesbian and tried to flirt with him at the last drop years ago i think im gonna piss myself

[voxslays]

[connorsui]

He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.

Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”

He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”

His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[charliepoopyfart]

They made having blue hair and pronouns illegal in piltover

[shlutmeow]

the way it is canon that caitlyn grew up with dobermans as it is shown in the kiramman family portraits, i love that caitlyn grew up with dogs. i love my dobermans. omg baby cait w the puppies is adorable im sobbing

beautiful art cr: 2rusty_wings2 on twt

[violetscowgirl]

BOOMHAHAHAHAHAH

artist -

@caitvi0lence - Twitter || @caitvi0lence - Tumblr

[skyrigel]

me: feels unloved *searches x reader tag*

[leiyanzyves]

Artist-@oililylou

[inknopewetrust]

[v1sexual]

whoever edited this needs their pussy ate

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Overlock Stitch Part 1/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 3,712

Read on AO3

The hallways of Piltover's prestigious academy are just as inhospitable as they have been the last eight months of Viktor's attendance. Far too many jostling students carrying loud and inconsequential conversations in the echoing hallways, ignoring him for the most part, which is preferred as he struggles to carry an armful of textbooks on one side and maneuver his cane with the other.

He bites back a curse, urging his expression to return to neutral when his left shoe slips on the tiles. He'd glued the loose sole back on last week, but years of wear has left the underside of the shoe entirely without grip. Not a big issue on rough cobblestones, but a recurring one on the well polished tile. Viktor breathes in deep through his nose, hiking his stack of books back up under his arm and continuing on. He has one class left for the day, then he can go back to his dorm and seethe however much he needs to, but he is here to learn and nothing is getting in the way of that.

It's an overcast day, the sun shining muted behind the clouds outside the academy windows. Filtering through in drips and drabs that catch on the well polished doorknobs and handrails. Viktor scoffs, long past the point of being shocked at Piltover's needless display of opulence, the feeling instead sitting bitterly in his stomach each time the loose fabric of his ill-fitting uniform rustles against itself, each time his shoe slips on the fucking tiles.

Class doesn't start for another two hours, but he has taken to walking the long way around, cutting through the fine arts wing and avoiding two sets of stairs, killing just over an hour in the library right across from the lecture hall and then taking his seat fifteen minutes (at minimum) before everyone else. Arriving early to class gets him dirty looks even now, but they aren't ones worth entertaining, even if he can feel them burning into the back of his head for the entire lecture.

Just as he reaches the end of the fine arts wing, he's startled by a voice behind him shouting. He almost moves to keep walking, assuming whatever outburst that was had nothing to do with him until the voice continues.

"Your uniform doesn't fit!"

Viktor's lip curls. He does not have time for this, but anyone with intention of talking down to the Zaunite will just follow him the rest of the way down the hall and waste even more of his time if he doesn't give them the attention they crave. So he schools his expression, raises his chin and turns.

It's a girl, standing halfway down the hall, hands balled at her sides, breath fast. She's mousy, with round cheeks and poorly styled hair. Viktor tilts his head, her expression seems more nervous than jeering. He straightens himself, "Really? I hadn't noticed."

She blinks at him with bright, confused eyes, "You're Viktor, right?"

"It seems my reputation proceeds me." He responds bitterly, trying his best not to wonder the circumstances under which this girl leaned his name.

Her mouth pulls in a tight line and she takes a few quick steps towards him. Those seem nervous too, "I can help." She blurts, avoiding his eyes.

Viktor appraises her some more, notices the glint of diamond studs in her ears, but the absence of any other jewellery. She is of some wealth, clearly, though nothing exceptional, at least not by academy standards. He also sees a pincushion tied to her wrist, "Ah, you are in the textiles course."

"Yes." She replies, nervous eyes darting around like some sort of prey animal.

Viktor just barely resists the urge to scoff, "Why are you acting like I might sink my teeth into you?"

She squeaks, eyes snapping up to his, "H-Huh?"

Viktor adjusts himself, taking a measured step towards her, "Do you think I am dangerous?"She blinks some more and Viktor finds himself quickly growing tired of her shivery little mousy behaviour, "I have places to be, if you need something from me you had best spit it out, unless of course it's another uninspired jab, I've heard them all before and it would just be a waste of both our times."

"Oh, no, nothing like that I um-"

She introduces herself, quickly and without any sort of proprietary. Viktor also notices that she doesn't bother offering a last name. Not from a house then. Not anyone of note at all. No Piltie worth their salt would introduce themselves without the needless gravitas of their surname. She must be here through patronage, which indicates at least some measure of expertise, however minor.

"I want to tailor your uniform for you." She says in what he can only interpret as her version of firm. Her voice still wavers on each word, but her hands are balled into fists again.

He scoffs, "I am not in the business of accepting charity from strangers."

"It wouldn't be charity!" She blurts, "I'm working on an assignment, I major in alterations instead of design. You get a uniform that fits and I would just need a few photographs, before and after, for my assignment." Then quietly, to herself, "provided someone will let me borrow a camera, of course."

Viktor had been nimble enough with a needle and thread to hem his trousers, but they barely hold up even with his belt done up to the tightest notch and both his shirt and vest hang loose around the barrel of his chest, dipping whenever he bends over his desk. He assesses her offer carefully, weighing the benefit of a better fitting uniform against the revulsion churning in his gut at the though of accepting some topsider's help. Charity or no.

"Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?"

Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?"

Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. It's as if her mouth is too big for the rest of her face, all white, straight teeth, "Yes! Yes I can be here, thank you!" She points behind herself to a half open door a little ways down the hall, "I'll just be in there! Morning would be best for me, but I can make afternoon work!"

Viktor doesn't have any classes tomorrow, it's usually valuable study time for him, but so long as it's only a few hours he's sure he will survive, "Morning is preferable."

Her smile doesn't wane, he wonders if her cheeks hurt, "perfect! I'll see you then!"

~~~

The next morning she looks nervously at the clock on the wall for the fifth time, it's still another quarter hour before Viktor said he would arrive and she has already organised and re-organised her sewing kit in preparation. She sucks a breath in through her nose to calm herself, Viktor is just a person and she knows the rumours are all made up so there is no reason for her to be so skittish. She still can't stop her hands from shaking and it's making her current task difficult.

"I didn't realise we took in charity cases." One of her classmates calls suddenly from the other side of the room.

She startles, almost dropping film cartridge that she is struggling to insert into the camera she borrowed from one of the journalism students, "What?"

Her classmate turns from where she is working on pinning a piece of delicate lace to a dress form, offering a knowing smirk, "You're taking pity on the Undercity boy."

She frowns, still fighting with the camera, "It's not charity or pity, Eliza it's for my assignment."

Eliza titters with false politeness and answers, "You should be proud of your capacity to do a good deed," she carefully folds the fabric of the skirt she is working on, pinning the pleats in place, and adds, "Some of us are far too busy to entertain the notion."

She has been at the academy long enough to notice a politely wrapped jab when she hears one and resists the all too familiar urge to tell Eliza where she can stick it, "As much as I enjoy our chats, it would be best for you continue your work in one of the other rooms." She says, finally succeeding in loading the camera with film, relishing in the satisfying click, "It would be rude for the two of us to hold a private conversation with someone else present."

Eliza hums, peering at her with a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lip, "I see then," she finishes pinning her fabric and the quickly snaps her sewing kit shut, "I was thinking it was about time for brunch anyway. Would you like me to bring you anything? I know you haven't had the chance to try my usual cafe."

The unsubtle implication of you couldn't even afford the food there hangs heavy in the air, swinging back and forth. She has grown used to ignoring the pendulum, "No, thank you. Though I appreciate the offer."

Eliza gives her a pinched little smile before resting her hand on the doorknob, "Then I'll see you this afternoon," she opens the door a little and then whirls around as if she forgot something, "Oh and do try to keep an eye on his hands, I've had enough pins go missing this week as it is."

The door slams shut and she is left glaring at the wood. Now that Eliza can't see her, she thumbs her nose in her direction and curses under her breath, shaking away the itch of frustration in her hands before digging through her sewing kit for her set of pins. Just like Eliza's set, several of them are missing, but that's just because they are pins, exactly the sort of thing that goes missing every single day, like socks, or buttons. Plenty of her other classmates, including Eliza, love flaunting completely useless sets of luxury pins, with gemstones or pearls on the ends. Last year, she was the one that was blamed whenever they went missing, but these days their minds are otherwise occupied.

Rumours spread fast in the academy, they always have. She's been studying here for almost two years now and fluidity of the rumour mill is sometimes more difficult to stay on top of than her classes are. Truthfully though, there was never something or someone that generated rumours quite like Viktor. She's heard practically everything since he quietly slid into the academy at the beginning of the year, all of it a nebulous web of half-truths that the rest of the student body seems exhilarated to become tangled in.

Some students postulated that he wasn't from the Undercity at all, that it was an elaborate sting operation by the council. But to what possible end? Nobody seemed to have an answer.

One afternoon in the cafeteria she heard some biology students speaking in hushed voices at the table next to her. They seemed to believe that he wasn't even here to study, that he was collecting intel to take back to the slums in preparation for a full scale invasion. That's just silly. She catches his walk through the fine arts wing every Thursday afternoon and only someone truly passionate about their studies would move the way he does, determined and with purpose, clutching tightly to his textbooks like they are worth their weight in gold.

The most ridiculous rumour was started by one of her own classmates, made as if anyone in the textiles course could possibly know anything of consequence about a student from a completely different field of study. They said that Viktor hadn't even been officially enrolled, that he gutted a student on their first day at the beginning of the year and stole their place. That's why his uniform doesn't fit, they had whispered gleefully, failing to put their own textiles knowledge to use. His uniform is at least five years old, she can tell by the older button design, and the sharper lines on the piping.

So she knows that none of it is true, at least none of the truly awful parts. That's why she feels a little guilty at how relieved she was when the rest of the textiles students found someone new to spread lies about in her place. She at least has the guise of propriety to hide behind, but he doesn't have even that. Truthfully, thinking too much about him makes her feel cowardly, spineless.

She sighs, taking a seat on a low stool in the corner of the room, thumbing awkwardly at the camera she borrowed and trying to resist the urge to look up at the clock again, knowing that it can't have been more than five minutes since she last looked. This was a good idea, she tries to reason, she is going to help someone who actually needs it instead of catering to the whims and fancies of the rest of the student body who only ever ask for their waistlines cinched, or thigh-seams tightened.

Her work has to mean something, or she will have failed completely.

~~~

Somewhere across campus, Viktor is regretting his decision to leave his dorm this morning. The autumn chill bites through him as he crosses the open courtyard that separates the dorms from the academy proper, the cold has left his leg stiff and even more frustrating to work with than usual. He has a bag slung over his right shoulder, a spare set of clothes to change into after he forfeits his uniform over to that girl.

That thought alone nearly makes him want to turn back, he knows that he only needs to hold out for a few more months before he can request his own official uniform in the correct size, but the idea of getting tangled in his own pant legs for even a few more months has him gnashing his teeth. It's difficult to ignore the alarm bells, he hears them constantly, sometimes they are correct and the students around him want nothing more than to lie and deceive, to exclude him in any way possible. Sometimes, however, they are wrong. The first time a professor kept him back after class to congratulate him on a perfect assignment, that had not been a trick. When the dean of the academy summoned him to his office with a promise of official enrollment instead of the expulsion and banishment he had been expecting, that hadn't been a trick either.

And now, this girl is offering to tailor his uniform and every muscle in his body wants to tense at the thought, his gut churns at even the suggestion of giving up his uniform for her to alter however she sees fit. So he tries in vain to ignore the alarm bells, because while they do quiet, they never fully come to a stop. It's exhausting being always on edge, but he doesn't know any other way to be, even if it means he returns to his dorm each night with a migraine, the result of grinding teeth and a tightness in his jaw that he cannot do away with.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally reaches the large double doors of the fine arts wing, grunting as he pushes one of the doors open with his shoulder and feeling the warm air inside curling down into his bones. The wing is mostly empty today, there are very few classes running the last day of the week, it's mostly students work-shopping their own projects and Viktor's teeth grit again at the thought of how much it must cost to heat this whole building for the scarce few students inside. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder and winces as he begins walking over to the textiles rooms, trying to ignore the ache as his stiff leg adjusts to the change in temperature. He really should have just stayed in his dorm, this whole excursion cannot possibly be worth it.

There is no one else in the hall as he walks, the sound of his cane echos off the tiles and down the empty corridor. He isn't sure if he is supposed to knock when he reaches the girl's classroom, in the end he decides not to, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open before he can change his mind.

The girl is the only one in there, and she yelps when she sees him standing in the doorway. Quickly rising from the low stool she is sitting on with not an ounce of grace or poise, she stumbles, laughing nervously as she finds her footing.

"You're here!" She exclaims, almost as though she doesn't quite believe it.

Viktor is exhausted already, but tries not to let it show on his face, "Yes. I am."

"That's um-" she sounds almost out of breath, "That's so great, I'm glad you decided to come."

He doesn't have time for pointless platitudes, "Yes, you're welcome. What exactly do you need from me?"

Her bright eyes blink quickly at him again, processing. She lacks any of the uptight perfection of her Piltie counterparts, but exhibits none of the straightforward single-mindedness he aches for from Zaun. He misses it, when people would just fucking tell him what they wanted and why. Her tight pose and the way she clutches her hands behind her back exhibits an attempt to fit in, and on second assessment Viktor realises that her poorly styled hair is a failed imitation of the popular style he sees most of the other girls wearing these days.

"Yes! Sorry!" She says quickly, gesturing to a raised platform in the middle of the room, about half a foot or so off the ground, "If you could just stand up there for me, it will make it easier for me to take my first set of photos, and to pin your trousers, when we get to that."

Viktor eyes the platform, it does at least seem wide enough to accommodate his cane. So he does as asked without acknowledgement, stepping quietly up onto the platform, left leg taking the brunt of his weight.

"Oh! That was fast, thank you!" She replies and Viktor is growing tired of every one of her responses being an overenthusiastic exclamation. He watches quietly as she darts back to the stool she had been sitting on when he entered the room, grabbing one of the new cameras he has seen around the academy, a recent invention, capable of developing an image without the need of a dark room.

"Like I said yesterday, I just need some before and after photos of the areas I will be altering, just ah, just try to stay still and it should only take a second."

"I know how a camera works." Viktor responds.

She blinks at him again, "I-I… Yes, sorry. I'm not very familiar with them so I thought-" she shakes her head, "It doesn't matter. Sorry. I'll start now."

Viktor straightens himself, trying to ignore the way his heart pounds at even the thought of being photographed. He carefully adjusts his weight to mostly rest on his left leg, holding his breath in an endeavour to stay completely still. She chews on her lower lip, ducking down a little to get the baggy ankles of his trousers into frame. Viktor flinches at the sounds of the click and curses himself for it, raising his head and hoping she didn't notice.

"Hm? Oh." She mutters and he hears the click again, then three more times, "What- Why?"

Viktor peers at her, she's squatting down now, the camera held between two hands as she rotates it around, "Is something wrong?" He offers.

She looks up at him, appearing especially mousy from so low down. Her brow crinkles with confusion, "The camera isn't working and I don't-"

"Give it to me, I'll fix it."

Her breath hitches a little and he notices a blush blooming on her upper cheeks, "No, no, it's okay, I'll-"

Viktor huffs, ducking down and holding his hand out to her, "I am an engineering student, give me the camera."

"Okay!" she squeaks, handing it over. Her hand brushes his, it's sweaty.

"See? That was much easier than talking around in circles for hours." He stands back up, quickly assessing the device, "I do not understand you topsiders and your rituals. Never asking for anything unless indirectly and then declining it when it is offered, how do you ever get anything done?"

She wrings her hands together, "It's polite, I guess."

Viktor briefly lowers the camera so he can look at her, "What it is, is a waste of everyone's time."

She doesn't respond, adjusting herself to sit cross-legged on the floor as Viktor pops open the back of the camera. He sighs, "You have inserted the film in upside down."

"What? How? It clicked in and everything."

"Yes." He responds, sliding a fingernail down the side of the film cartridge and carefully wriggling it out of the camera, "You have certainly jammed it in there, in fact, you are lucky it did not break anything."

She whines, crossing her arms over her knees and burying her face in them, "I'm so sorry, I've used a camera before but it was a different kind and I thought I could just, I don't know, figure it out?"

Viktor nearly wants to roll his eyes at the sight of her, but instead finds himself feeling oddly solicitous. Maybe the sight of a Piltie on the floor at his feet is appealing, or maybe she is just so sufficiently pathetic that he can't help craving any way to make her self-effacing stop, "Look at me."

Her head lifts up from her arms, paying him great attention as he removes the film and inserts it back in the correct way.

"This is exactly what I was talking about." He says quickly, gesturing to her with the camera, "Stop standing on needless principle, or you will never get anything done."

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