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#shimmerson au
a-gal-with-taste · 1 year
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Yours | Chapter 2.1
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Or, a saga detailing the complex, and peculiarly prolonged courtship, between a Captain of Zaun, and his Lady of the Isle Promenade.
4707 WC - Silco X F!Reader - Regency AU
AO3 - Prev - Next
Warnings: Regency AU, arranged-marriage, slow-burn, romanticism, time-skip, love-letter, some humor, friendship, worldbuilding, Silco POV
A/N: Chapter 2 ended up being nearly 12k words in length, so it's getting cut into two parts on Tumblr, with the full-chapter posted on AO3. Part 2 posted on Tumblr tomorrow. Enjoy!
For, Solely, the Eyes and Acknowledgement of my Betrothed Voyaging Confidant,
Yet again, have I faltered. I ask that you not mock me-so for it, nor imagine your position has elevated in the time between your reply, and my own. Confidantes share matters of the private, occasional intimate natures, however I ask that you dare not to presume that this to be a position you might so-soon graduate from.
An acquaintance, a companion, and a sailor - promotion from this standing-status of your station is not likely to change in the form of simple letters, and so I urge your hopes to unarise from their confidence in the, entirely accidental, usage of betrothed.
Accidental, Captain S. Shimmerson. I urge you to remember that.
In addition to remembrance, in our prior correspondence, you inquired about the recollection of childhood. I daresay that it is in the best-interest of the inquiring-party to disclose their own experiences, prior to asking in-regards to another’s... I find that to be the fairer option, in the way of an exchanging, and ask that you give to me, what I desire to give to you.
Fairness and equality, S. Shimmerson, is such the nature of confidants, and those who wish to elevate their position in such a status.
Fairness and equality was also in such a way I was raised, benefitting the pastimes and education afforded in the art of diplomacy, literature, and equestrianism. My mother, bless her, desired the softer of my educational elements, yet it was my fathers wish to conduct the learning of my youth in equal factors as my brother. Who, though you have not inquired, does well, and actually has begun to succeed myself and our father in place of our work of trade and exports.
I daresay, his dip within treacherous waters may yet prove to be a baptismal of an experience, as the endurance has rid him, somewhat, of the boyish qualities. 
Regardless, my brother favored the physical arts of fencing and passtime other sports, whilst I found some proficiency in way of horseback. I envision such opportunity to ride upon horseback is not one common to those of the sailor-world, however, as one who has tentatively and proficiency hosted experiences on both ship and saddle, the sway that comes with riding Standardbred is not-so very different from riding sails. 
Isle Promenade is a fair island to traverse in such a way as horseback. The most iconic feature of our land comes in the form of the docks, yes, but the hills and cliffs in the lands around my family manner are truly a delight to spend an afternoon roaming. Often as a child, I would be as eager as my sibling to explore the grand wilds of the civilized isle in such a way... and admittedly, writing of past-experience has reminded me of how long-ago such a past was.
Mayhaps I'll reacquaint myself with the experience, if only to prove my prowess, should you ever choose to also indulge yourself with the joys of horseback. Quite different, would it be from striding on the sea, but with appropriate teachings, I imagine you could find a way to manage. As determination, and striving for self-satisfaction, seem to be key elements in your character, if my suspicions are to be believed from evidence provided in your correspondence.
There’s a pathway along the westernmost cliffside along the manor's property, where truly, sun meets the sea in perfect harmony as it falls from the grace of daytime sky. It is a sight not quite suited for that of a copy, in painting, only an image that is most-appropriately suited to be seen in-person along the Isle Promenade, preferably during the upcoming autumn season. The stars come out early then, sometimes at the height of the setting sun. 
Quite glorious, and truly an awe far greater than certainly any I have to offer onto, even by your presumptuous, flirtatious, previous claims.
In time of writing, I do believe I will venture to retake the reins, and set-upon myself the task of repeating to familiarize myself with the trail. It’s quite lovely, and gives full expanse of the ocean’s western horizon, a sight which you might be quite familiar with, as the Port Lanes reside in the south-western direction from my island. Far be it from the realm of possibility to imagine our sights would be set upon the same direction, in the space between sky and sea, and far impressive would it be to share the same view, would it not?
Such an invitation may be forwardly presented, however, it is only a natural occurrence that the language of words be evolved into sounds, and though your coarse differs from mine, with ship far differing from that of land, it cannot be denied, good captain, that it would be beneficiary in our status as confidentials, to gaze upon the same horizon together.
Perhaps, such a possibility would occur in no such time soon. However, the Isle Promenade is an unmoving location, and you certainly have the ship to travel. Bluntly, I would encourage you to someday use it, should your courses take charge and travel, entirely coincidental, to the general direction of my Isle.
Entirely coincidental, neutrally-couraged, and up to your discretion. I shall make no such pleas on your arrival, just as I have done in letters past.
In the other realms of matters upon wish to discuss, I trust your brother has recovered from the sea-bout you so previously mentioned. A pain we share, with the ailments of foolish brothers - as you can imagine, my own finds it incredibly harrowing to so much as board a carriage, the shaking sends him as green as the pastures in minutes. Well wishes must be shared, for the both of us, on the subject of brothers, and our entirely inevitable lifetime of annoyances at their hand.
I would also trust that you-yourself keep in well-health and well-spirits. My experience in voyaging begins and ends between Promenade and the outer districts of the Alcovite Key, however, I imagine even long-term sailors grow weary.
Take care of yourself. I daren't, and will not plea on your behalf, but for the sake of a continuation to engage in friendly-correspondence, I must insist that you not strain the body, for fear that you will leave damage to your mind - your mind, and all it’s words I've come to memorize by the beat of my heart.
They’re quite remarkable - I would be hard-pressed to forget a single stroke of your letters, S. Shimmerson. And as so I have come to treasure every one that has come into my hands, I so-do look forward to the next to read. 
With continued conscientiousness, care, and careful consideration,
A Continuing Correspondent...
Silco Shimmerson was not known to smile. 
Indulge others in only the most occasional of humored looks, dry-exasperation covering the faintest hints of amusement, and, far more often, smirks of triumph and self-satisfaction when smiles were all the more rarer.
At your scrawl, however, the smallest of grins has become nothing less than common on his face. Amusement flickering in his gaze as eyes the color of sea rove over the papers again, thumb stretching slightly to press delicately at the writing you had gifted him with - and truly, every time you did so, it was another gift to add onto his newly-found delights.
Indeed, within the passing of spring onto summer, and hot days cooling with the precursor to the season of autumn, you were quickly developing into a new delight onto his life. 
One unwanted, certainly unneeded, and yet a rare smile has become far more commonplace upon the young-man’s face despite it all, his previous fears proven correct, at the worry you would lead him to doom.
He is falling, but though it is not a descent into the abyss as he so-feared, Silco understands that where he falls, is a place escape is more than unlikely, but more of an impossibility than he’d ever expected possible.
Certainly so, when he never expected to fall in the first place - then came you.
“Devil unto my life, o’ where shall you lead me next...?” He muses, partially in form of prayer to the Gods, and an unheard question for  you as a hand comes to fiddle with the golden chain about his neck. 
Often tucked beneath tunic and collar during the daily rounds on deck- though, his crew shares the collective wisdom to avoid petty thievery on ship, and in particular, thievery of the gold Silco wears about the neck - but the rare occasions he spends within his determined-section of the main-cabin quarters, Silco spends with fingers often fiddling about the round, smooth gold piece he wears.
Much as he does now. By touch alone, sightless and perhaps unconscious as well, Silco could still find the exact curve and detail of the locket at his neck with ease, as familiar with the ornament as he was with the ship he jointly-commands.
There’s a nick in the southern-most angle of the piece, one a blunt thumbnail skitters upon briefly, before resuming the slow, caressing rounds along its polished surface. It’s not flawless, but there’s a certain uniqueness that comes with the discernible blemishes, the finer details that make up the piece in all its glory...
Much like you. Refined as you try to be, as poised and regal as you attempt to exhume, Silco smirks faintly at the challenge between your letters - it’s so very tempting to rise to the bait, however juvenile it was between the elegant turn of phrases, but patience is a virtue, though he may, fortunately, be no saint. 
Still, it was wise to wait. He had for so long - he could wait longer, before such an occasion came to pass...  Silco rather enjoyed the idea of you at the cliffside, atop a horse he wouldn’t even begin to have a clue on how to straddle, though the man would be a liar if he tried to claim his attention would be on the creature, and not the woman beside him...
Beside him, yes.
Such an image is clear, clearer than the one that Silco thumbs open the locket to gaze upon with smirk fading, eyes sharpening and attention fixated on more than the words he holds, treasured in hand. 
Instead, focus becomes entirely enraptured at the idea, one that dare-not to flee him, despite its absurdity and his, admittedly vague, attempts to shoo it away, the imagination is too rawly vivid, too perfectly constructed, for him to demolish the mental-image that comes at the thought of you being by his side.
In this moment, in this space, you are in truth a thousand and one leagues away, and in this moment, in this space, you are a fragment of his imagination as he images the warmth radiating from you as you lean against him. Softness greater than silk, consuming the entirety of his consciousness and raising every hair on his body at your mere touch... 
Gods, it wouldn't need to be in the act of the carnal, or in the ways of the most infamous of impurity.
Simply the sensation of you, physically and wholly at his side, is enough for the ever-sharp green gaze to grow with matte with scattering focus, before slipping close as a sigh escapes his lips, caught a moment later upon a the glittering golden surface he brings up to halt the dramatic exhale.
Dramatic, indeed. 
Were there any other in the cabin at this time, they’d no doubt cackle at the sight of Silco Shimmerson, feared and awed captain of The Children, a Man of Zaun, and one of the most notorious sailors traversing the waters of The Underground, abandoned sea of Piltover, bringing up a gold locket to his lips with all the wistfulness of a man halfway in love.
Perhaps, it would be foolish to assume he wasn’t already past the point of halfway.
Silco sighs, again a release that is captured in the form of a fogged-surface upon precious metal, before he straightens, eyes opening and sharpening. Tucking it gingerly beneath his tunic, with papers placed away beneath a locked-chest of his personals with equal-care, gone is a man partway in love, and overtaking his placement, is a Man of Zaun, and a co-Captain of The Children.
A free-sailor, in theory. 
A rebelling man, dabbling in the arts of revolution and independence amongst the abandoned Piltovian waters of The Underground, in truth.
Man on a mission as he was, Silco strode out from the cabin with quick steps, sea-green eyes only briefly glancing towards the nearby-shore. Home - or the sole thing in existence that could come close to such a faraway concept - lies only half a league from where the mighty ship of The Children docks, unearthly green lights highlighting the cloud of eternal pollution that stalks the air.
Clustered, would be the best way to describe the living-arrangements of the city-island. What wasn’t built atop another building, which resided atop another, was sectioned off into the underside caverns that hollowed out the island beneath its surface - the true source of the rather direct nickname of The Underground.
Hideous, shameful sight to those in the more glorious and thriving isles among these waters - perhaps that’s why they largely chose to ignore their own responsibility that created this isle, with their sanctions, restrictions, and, of course, their Naval Enforcers.
They ignore the dwellers of The Underground, but only so long as their dogs ensure they never see the light of day.
A rather tasteless tradition, one that Silco, and the crew of The Children, hope to put an end to. 
“... hence why, Old Hungry is where they would expect a strike,” He completes with a dignified flourish, raising chin to catch sight of somber silver, and hawkish hazel. Gathered about the map of the most local ocean, Silco pinches the small, thumb-sized piece of wood, and takes a heartbeat to study its microscopic features as a whittled piece, oddly reminiscent of their-ship itself. “That’s where they are braced for attack. Meaning, we must converge onto where they are not braced.”
“Ah, set a vile little surprise for them?” Vander’s silver glinted, brightening to a more jovial shade of the moon; though, like the round surface, there is always the dark side of an eclipse in his gaze. “How dreadful. I quite like the sound of it.”
“Quite a certainty that you would, considering your round with cabin-fever... and that swordfish,” Benzo teases, reaching over and giving a steady nudge onto Vander’s bandaged leg, much to his chagrin. “Think you’ll be spirited enough to fight when it comes? Or, at the very least, walk?”
“I’ve got the spirit-”
“A fact that no-one doubts,” Silco says smoothly, rolling the wood between his fingers. “But Benzo, in a rarity, has made good-point. This is indeed a foul surprise we would be unveiling to our dearest officers of the sea... we need those that are able to stand on their own, and stand against those wretched Topsiders.”
Pursing lips, Vander’s eyes grew darker, more like a moonless gray sky than the celestial-body itself. He glared to Silco, an act of which he only gazed back, unperturbed and unshaken at such a look, not only for sake of the man still lying in-injury in order to lay even the smallest of blows, but for the fact that Silco knew this man.
This man, a brother in all but blood, would never raise a hand to him. Not in insult, not in injury, never. Though surely there came times where Silco desired nothing more than to strangle the fool, he-himself would never dare to griefen the man in such a way, nor as he would Silco.
As if remembering this, this bloodless-bond they shared since boyhood, Vander deflated somewhat, and looked rarely small against the threadbare cushioning of his seat.
“I can do it,” He insisted. “And you know that I must.”
“I do.”
Silco paused, then, in an action ever more rare than a smile, the man of Zaun spoke almost gently to his friend, “And though one may think it hypocritical, I know that it would be expected of yourself to halt my-own progress into battle, in fear of overexertion. Suffice to say, while no one harbors doubts of bravery and skills, my friend, ‘tis best you remove yourself from this ambush in particular.”
Vander, expectedly, was displeased with this sentencing. But at the current moment, there was little desire to commit treason - or, in less severe terms, quarreling - against his fellow captain, and so he merely sulked in a way that was more childish than his years, as was his jape. “It is understandable that you want the glory all heaved onto your own name... after-all, makes for good stories between the letters.”
Now, it is co-Captain Shimmerson’s turn to frown, tersely even as something akin to mischief glows in Houndsman’s eyes. “That is hardly the reason-”
“Wishing to look courageous and valiant? Oh, what bravery you shall tell-of, to your little lass...?”
“Aye, Benzo, ‘tis the real reason for his search of glory: freedom be damned, methinks the man is keen to have a lady swoon over his tales of valor...!”
“If you are both quite finished,” Silco interrupted with all the dryness he possessed in his being, somehow silencing those that were far from completed with their task of teasing him, but sombering nonetheless when he placed the wooden-model of their ship back down onto the map with a sharp, resounding clack. “Upon reflection, a direct raid onto Enforcer-controlled lands, or even singular vessels, would prove disastrous, if not outright suicidal.”
“Meaning,” He continued, slowly shifting the tiny model of The Children across the map, roving through the gray, brown or green splotches dictating land-masses, following through the deep teals and blues that represented the sea upon the map. “That we must go about this in roundabout fashion. Damned we be, to direct focus onto Enforcer-controlled... meaning, we need to seek out those controlled by more private institutions.”
The trading route was clearly defined, not by shades of water the map-colored beneath it, but by an organizing lining of equally-small ships, all uniformly fashioned in the gleaming white-coat of those in the trade-system.
Vander blinked, frowning deeply. “Attack a caravan? That makes us no different than pirates.”
“I would argue, Houndsman, that our persisting habit of redirecting items from exporting-plants to Zaun’s own supplies, would already make us more align with the likes of the buccaneer,” Pointing this out did little good in slacking at the prominent frown on Vander’s face, but his fellow free-sailor continued rationally regardless. “This would be targeting the source direct from where we smuggle - it’s not all that different from what we already do.”
“Fair,” Benzo coincided, albeit reluctant and with a frown only somewhat-lighter upon his face. “It would send a message none shan’t forget... publicly too, it would be a blow onto Piltover and Enforcer’s alike.”
“They couldn’t keep the stirrings of revolution under-wraps, not after a stunt such as this,” Silco states firmly. “It would present as a call-of-arms to all-those who suffer the same as ourselves. There is also consideration on the more practical... The iron and supplies of that ship can be forged as necessary.”
“You already have one in mind?” In response to Vander’s quizzical raised-brow, Silco brought up The Children’s model, and set it ‘round to a singular other model, last in the caravan’s formation.
“Northern Forgemage Trading Co. is in the market for expanding their exportation,” The wiry man comments, almost idly. “They have several reaching out to ports across the seas, each vessel bearing samples, prototypes of their metal-work... be of such-shame, would it not, for one of their ships to come so-suddenly to new management, and the wares redirected to a newer, more rebellious cause?”
At last, the frown begins to slacken off-of Vander’s face. Though not entirely pleased, there was some satisfaction as the formation of a plan was made more-clearer to him. “Huh. Appears your love-sickness hasn’t made you lacking in cleverness after-all, my old friend.”
“I am not...” Silco swallowed back the indignation, even if it was rightfully-given at such an absurd assumption, and returned his sharp-eyed attention back down onto the map of the seas. “Regardless, a fortnight of preparation, and an additional eve to properly chart the course of this ship, and it can be taken-over in a single day, mark me.” Eyes flick up, catching Vander’s and cooling the bright, joking light in them with the stern-note in his baritone voice. “Without your help, old friend. You require the rest, and this requires no mark of error.”
It wasn’t an order - never before, would neither Shimmerson nor Houndsman attempt to give one to their-other - but it was still a stern-enough request to make the larger-man stiffen.
For a moment, only heartbeats, the sway of the ship in port-waters, and the stars in the night-sky existed... and after that moment, so did the brief, stubborn challenge exist in Vander’s stormy-gray eyes. 
But then, as a roll of fog overtook the sky, so did the look of reluctant acceptance cloak the momentary-defiance in his friend’s gaze, and acceptance came in raised-palms, hands rising in mock-surrender. “As the captain-commands.”
“As the captain agrees,” Silco amended, the familiar quirk upon his lips depicting a smirk that was soon shared, albeit smaller, as the peculiar tension melted away into youthful anticipation at the excitement ahead, rousing more tremendously as he turned to their first-mate. “Bloodshed is unavoidable, but I trust you to instruct the crew to strive in avoiding it, nonetheless?”
“Trust that shan’t be misplaced, I can promise you that,” Benzo said with a salute, taking the nod that followed as his dismissal. Offering a pat on the shoulder as he passed, hazel eyes flicked sharply between his two oldest companions - though the relationships’ longevity did not exceed that between the two captains themselves - and, though recalling the odd tension in the room, chose to leave it to rest in his exiting.
Leaving the two alone, and leaving the choice to revive the strain in the air solely in their hands.
Silco, as he often did, was careful in his way of approaching the issue at-hand. “You know why I must ask you to stand-aside? Tis not for pride, nor for sake of glory-”
“- tis to avoid mishap and mistake,” Likewise, Vander approached danger head-on, without delay, and without subtly. Apparently, if by his tired smile, also without much-remaining frustration. “I understand. Happy, I am not, but I understand. Never would I want you on the battle-deck, if you were caught in similar misfortune.”
“A fact I imagine I would find equal annoyance with,” Silco acknowledged, taking seat beside his friend along the other-side of the table. “This... this will change much, you realize.”
“Aye, I do.”
“This will change it all,” Silco reaffirms, a brightness taking place in his teal-eyes, of excitement and anticipation, yes, but also in the color of elation. “Think of it, my friend. The beginning of the revolution, the battle for the Isles of Zaun, the very search of our freedom, could begin with this. Brother... Our dream could be in reach.”
“Then I shan’t hope to ever wake,” Vander leaned back, swallowing the grunt of pain that came in-time with shifting his thigh too quickly, the ache that came with an unfortunately stumble off a fishing-deck still too-fresh. “Quite like the sound of it. Freedom... ‘tis a beauty of a word. More pretty than what I inspire to do, once I’ve got it.”
“And what shall you do?” Silco almost regretted asking, particularly when Vander grinned toothily. 
“Never-forgot the dream of our freedom from Piltover... nor have I forgotten our dream of that pub on the Lanes.”
Indeed, Silco’s long, deep sigh introduced a long-standing regret at asking, growing louder with Vander’s volume-increasing chuckles at his expense. When the humor passed, there came a silence much like the one that had come before it, but this one wasn’t a quiet-charged by a silent defiance. It was the quiet that came with the peace of fellowship, of brotherhood - not by blood, not in this life, but still forged stronger than any storm, than any force, and able to withstand any outside-force that dared try to destroy such a bond.
The peace was broken, though not ferociously, but rather curiously, with Vander’s question. “And with your freedom, brother? What shall you do with it?” Before a reply could be offered, one promising a continuing-servitude in the establishment of independence or the like, Vander asked, “Shall you go to her?”
Silco blinked. Unsurprised, but unprepared for such a question nonetheless. 
“Shall you?” Vander continued, uncharastically lacking his teasing-tone, serious and almost curious in his inquiry. “There is little doubt of your interest... and, if she writes to you-still, after almost a half-year’s time, there’s certainly some interest on her end as well. Mayhaps you go to her, in the interest of both of you?”
“I...” Interested was too-tame of a word to describe S. Shimmerson’s exact feelings in regards to you, his land-locked correspondent, but to have it's potential end-point so plainly, so earnestly laid-out before his eyes... “I... I truly do not know. Mayhaps that is only a more idyllic conclusion, than that which reality shall allow.”
“And perhaps you’re more foolish than I have ever known.” Vander’s voice lost its dry age, as he looked to his friend, contemplative in all the ways that, impossibly, made Silco shift under such a look. “Never, before, have you expressed such desire before, not for another person, at the very least.” None could deny that the majority of the co-Captain’s passion lay not in a person, or even a tangible thing fixed within reality, but rather the dream itself, of freedom, unity, of a united nation...
The Nation of Zaun.
“And yet, here you are. Spending part-way of your days mooning-”
“I am not mooning.”
“You’re in love, brother.” Vander said, firmly and unhumored at the continuously weak attempts Silco made to deny it, indeed losing strength every time he said it. “Lie not to me, nor to oneself... you love her, and you wish to go to her.”
... Denial flees, and Silco must sit back in his chair with a sigh and, much to his damnation, finds his hand traveling past his sternum, and resting upon a familiar oval shape beneath his fingers. “Am I a fool, brother?” He wonders allowed, somehow already resigned to the shameful answer. “A fool to fall for things beyond reach, beyond sight and reason... I long for a nation, and I love a stranger beyond the sea. Is it foolish, to do both in a single lifetime?”
Regret was not on the co-Captain of The Children’s mind, but that did not mean he was utterly shameless of his emotional endeavors, either.
You were not supposed to happen. If he could be so bold as to plan his life, it had not been lived with the idea of romance, of love in mind. Silco had lived for the sea, and for many, many years, had been content to commit his life to such - saltwater upon lips, blade in hand, freedom in mind and a dream in his heart, or whatever remained of it.
You were not planned to lay claim upon his heart. Yet you have, and despite feeling the court’s jester, regret is not the emotion Silco Shimmerson feels at the thought of the placement you have, unwittily and unwantedly taken within him.
You have taken his heart, and Silco cannot bring himself to regret it.
Perhaps his friend knows, and sympathizes with the plight. As, for once, he doesn’t tease nor does he jokes at the expense of a man so hopelessly in-love, that he registers the gentle-placement of a large hand upon his knee as fantasy, until Vander speaks, and rouses him from his thoughts with gruff, but honest encouragement. “I would only consider you the fool, my friend, if you do not seek what you wish for so dearly. Be it your freedom, or your landresiding lass.”
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Requested Tags: @writingmysanity​ @medivalpersephone​ @spaceythangs​ 
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skullywullypully · 2 years
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I was inspired by @decydoodles Shimmerson AU (which I still need to read) I think the science bros take Heimerdinger’s class and I thought of spongebob and patrick taking Miss Puff’s class, so I decided to make a weird joke out of it.
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vikki-tikki-tavii · 2 years
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Viktor and Jinx’s relationship in @decydoodles Shimmerson AU reminds me of this vine
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jinxisperfect · 2 years
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me with a mighty need to know what Vi is doing in the Shimmerson au but also happy that i’m not stuck with her self-important ass
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vikki-tikki-tavii · 2 years
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Viktor: What is your biggest weakness?
Jinx: I can be uncooperative.
Viktor: Okay, can you give me an example?
Jinx: No! >:3
Prompt generator
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skullywullypully · 2 years
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More stuff I thought of for @decydoodles Shimmerson AU. I’m hooked on the science bros thanks to you.
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