windcovet

[windcovet]

fuck this. fuck all of this. deep down vi hadn’t expected much from whatever these topsiders might’ve had in mind for silco—but alongside cupcake, it was hard not to hold out a little hope—however stupid that felt in hindsight. were vi that same, scrappy girl from those years ago, the pitying concern might’ve chipped at her ego. not anymore. stillwater beat that out of her. she finally looks up from her hood, hanging low and saturated from the downpour.

“thanks.” shes says, low and sullen. “it’s a new thing i’m tryin’. you were the first house on the street.” the joke is hollow, just something to fill the air because she doesn’t know what the hell else to say. when sheri responds, before the sentence is fully out of her mouth, vi's arms are around her, meeting her somewhere in the middle between the door and the pouring rain. when she steps inside (awkwardly), she's unsure where to go, where to stand and—she’s dripping like a damn dog too—fuckin’ hell.

“sorry for not showing up sooner... been busy.” hands stuff themselves back into cold, damp pockets, vi’s feet careful to not step past this landing area near the door. manners. vander drilled her about those. her head cocks over her shoulder, the motion knocking back her hood. “seems like you have been too, sheri.”

spontaneous starter for @windcovet

perhaps some things don't stay dead. sheri muses on this thought as she stares at vi, lingering in the doorway to her apartment. of course, she looks nothing like the scrappy teenager she remembers knowing seven years ago before she "died", but there yet remains a ghost of that person there. especially as she looks at sheri with a sheepishness she recalls from when they once sparred, so long ago. vi had punched sheri hard enough that she'd cut her lip open, giving her a fashionable wound that she showed off for some time. 

"you look like a kicked puppy, vi." oh fantastic start, grayson. great way to greet a childhood friend you thought was dead. 

sheri holds the door open wider, inviting violet to enter. "come on in, let's get you dried off. that rain is coming down like crazy..."

[windcovet]

grunting and sweating and hammering away at the forge for hours on end to produce a grilled cheese

[windcovet]

local lizard is dragged along to a library by a lizard who actually is able to read several languages fluently. napping was inevitable.

@likemosaic

[windcovet]

@windcovet

[windcovet]

tap. tap. tap. good morning. tap. tap. he could recognize that cadence anywhere, regardless of its seemingly accelerated tempo. jayce is immediately wrested away from whatever nonsense was keeping him entranced in his work, head shooting up as feet kick forward, scooting out his chair—his typical stammer sounding as the words fall from his mouth. “v-viktor! i had just—i… wasn’t expecting you, i’m so sorry.” now standing, jayce gets a better view of his partner, striding with an… unexpected speed and purpose… his mind is whirling from trying to rationalize why he’d be here of all places, and to have certainly walked his way here, in spite of his condition—why? had he forgotten something? had someone bothered viktor in trying to get in touch with him? all notions he’d not have the time to ponder, as viktor was gaining on him. stepping aside, jayce meets him a little under halfway, and inevitably councilor medarda’s chair is indeed turned towards viktor with the ease you'd expect from a man slinging around the mercury hammer like it's nothing. reaching over to his partner, slow and predictable, jayce offers him his hand. “what brings you all the way up here?” viktor will notice he literally swallows, having to choke himself before letting a term of endearment sneak past his lips. he knows viktor gets flighty when he gets affectionate, and the last thing he wants is to scare him off. he’s concerned... even if he’d admit, probably without cause. that hand hangs for only a moment, giving viktor the chance to take it before knowing better, and wrapping around his waist and support his lower back. a familiar feeling, he hopes. “you know this already, but i would’ve come running.” a half hearted thing, doing his best to conceal his concern.

viktor takes the opportunity before jayce looks up to study the other in all his councilman glory. the sun in his hair, the decor on his clothes; the golden boy indeed. it's...unsettling. viktor wishes he liked this version of him more, because it's clear jayce works hard to exude this aura. the image of jayce as an authoritarian maker of law is attractive to viktor on a primal level, certainly--but not on a logical level. it loses its charm when he's not embarrassingly aroused about it. and he's still sore about...everything. his body aches where he carved the runes into it. his eyes are swollen and sore from lack of sleep (or crying).

eight years is a long time to be together. it has to mean something. jayce may be a moron, but at his core, he is good. viktor knows that. and viktor knows that he doesn't deserve to...well. viktor's not cold-hearted enough to leave jayce in the lurch, should the worst happen. arrogant as he is, he knows it will destroy jayce to bury his partner. it will be worse if he thinks viktor doesn't care, that their relationship had fizzled at the end--never mind that it's simply not true. if viktor didn't care, he wouldn't be so angry about the mistakes. if he didn't care, he wouldn't be here, chest full of nervous fluttering wings, body sore from the trip.

he can't give jayce the truth, that's true. but he can at least make the transition a little easier; to try and give him a pleasant memory to recall when viktor is dead and gone.

viktor clears his throat to get jayce's attention, pretending he isnt out of breath from the walk from their apartment. he's also taking the opportunity to hobble as far into the room as he can get, before jayce inevitably does something well-meaning and infuriatingly patronizing. the crutch has had its grip recently changed, but it still makes noise in the quiet of the room as viktor crosses.

"good morning," he says, aware he's on limited time before jayce tries to make him sit down. viktor's currently aiming to be the fastest cripple alive. like a turtle crossing a busy street. don't stop him now!

[windcovet]

Have you aught to say for yourself? For what you have done to our people - your people?

[windcovet]

@likemosaic — for viktor. the acoustics of piltover’s council chambers are nothing short of exquisite. whispers can carry from yards away, which jayce imagines was much the intent in its construction. however, when vacant of occupants, it’s as if you could hear the dust settle in the air, dancing in the warm rays of the rising sun. it makes for a very effective working environment. typically, jayce can be found readying himself for his day of councilor duties at home. his mutual apartment with viktor has plenty of space for either of them to work— separately or in tandem—however... as of late, viktor has needed more quality rest than usual. uninterrupted. as such, jayce has taken it upon himself to gather up his notes and work from here, his council chair—leaving no possible risk of disturbing his ailing roommate. his love. awash with the gentle morning glow, jayce is steadily working through the stack of manifests and reports from the previous day’s work. his quill has a satisfying rhythm to it, each stroke purposed and succinct. it's interrupted by the sound of a humming noise coming from the entrance. the elevator. a visitor. as quickly as he’d paused, he resumes his work, gaze downcast. he’s expecting marcus again. perhaps an update on the on-going blockage, or—ideally—the firelights. maybe it's mel. though, is it typically she who calls upon him, not the other way around. regardless, he awaits their approach as the elevator sounds. ding! a middling, conversational volume, assured there's no need to project his voice here of all places. "good morning." he says, expression pleasant, but visibly focused.

[windcovet]

The name of our beautiful reward is not profit. Its name is freedom. — Ursula K. Le Guin

[windcovet]

hi im still kinda resting but you should all interact with @snowmelts / @glacierfront / @cardstocke / @yetsave because syrin(x) is really cool and one of my favorite writers ever and also so funny and nice out of character. one of my best friends fr. youre really missing out by not interacting with at least one of their blogs, her humor and writing is unmatched

[windcovet]

i’m soooo normal

[windcovet]

Hien Loves Revolution

I'm not the hero the fandom needs, but I am the one it deserves.

[windcovet]

He has reached lvl 100 <3

[windcovet]

pov,,,

[windcovet]

Thank you to everyone for your continued support this past year! 💖

I hope you all have a warm holiday season, filled with light and love, and spent with those most precious to you <3

❄️ Happy Longest Night ❄️

[windcovet]

there is nothing casual about me pleaseee let me see your organs 😭😭😭😭

[windcovet]

@magicxecustos : sheri's long ears twitch as she hears rapidly approaching footsteps from behind her. red lips curve into a smile as she hears the miqo'te teen leap into the air. she widens her stance and moves her arms, catching j'tanga on her back (with only a stumble or two!) in a piggyback hold. "hello tanga," she chuckles, feeling her nuzzle into the crook of her neck. "good visit with your father?"

“toto—toto please!” said with a warm and boisterous laugh, as his daughter’s strained arms hold fast against his torso, lifting him some few ilms off the ground, if only for a moment. j’tanga strains and grunts with her controlled might, pressing her cheek into her father’s chest as she returns him to the earth. with a small sigh, feigning annoyance, the older miqo’te ruffles his daughter’s coarse hair, mindful of her precious ears. “i must be off, my dear. and so should you! i would hate to keep your friends awaiting the life of the party.” he bends at the knees, squatting to place a kiss to the girl’s forehead, meeting bright, purple eyes—near to bursting with contented love. “yes yes baba, i know…” said with a rare meekness, hands clasping behind her, near the base her slashing tail. playful. “tell lyse and widargelt i said hi—and give ‘em HELL in training!” she giggles out, hips swaying with delight and eagerness. with another, smaller hug, rhalgr’s liberator is off to rendezvous with her party (or prey, depending). of which, as she spies on the other side of rhalgr’s reach. sheri. stompstompstompstomp. to the layman, it’d be hard to tell whether it was j'tanga herself, or kuku approaching from the sound alone… but sheri likely had taken one too many tackles to the floor of the rising stones to be caught off guard this time. a leap, an oof, and a smile. “hi sheri!” with all the glee one can expect from the beloved runt of the scions of the seventh dawn. she nuzzles into her neck, basking in the familiar smell of her friend’s hair. her limbs hold fast as the miqo’te climbs her willowy friend, adjusting her thighs and arms for a more comfortable cling, and mindful of her shoes, dusted with sand as they are! she wouldn’t want to dirty sheri’s ensemble… unnecessarily, atleast. hehe. she parks her chin on sheri’s shoulder, purple orbs darting around the reach in search for their mutual quarry. “now!” said with a sudden, emphatic severity before immediately turning back to her customary cheery lilt, “arenvald said he’d be around here shortly… but i don’t see him. short or tall.”

[windcovet]

the cloying stench of smoke and ash. the dust that had choked him and clouded his eyes. the ceaseless ringing in his ears, the drowned voices of those yet clinging to life strewn around like ripped fibers of a cloth. mel. cassandra. viktor. a gasp for air—shocked straight as the tinnitus dulls again, replaced by the rhythmic beeping of viktor’s vital monitors and the gentle hum of the overhead lights. everytime he closed his eyes, he was there again. hot and breathless and afraid, the only world he knew burning around him, and all whom he loved smouldering beneath its ruin. the time was lost to him, only quantified by how many times he was plucked back from that moment, hunched over his seat and leaning against his partner’s crutch like he needed it more than him. his throat was seared from the smoke inhalation, eyes shot red with blood, hands calloused from throwing boulders and rubble with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed as he, perhaps literally, dug viktor from his grave. viktor’s chest rose and fell in steady measure, his pulse consistent—but jayce could hear how he wheezed. how his body continued to strain against the inevitability of its deterioration. or, its newfound… augmentation. it’s all he could focus on now, in the clinical perpetuity of their surroundings. the sound of the door opening doesn’t stir jayce from his slump. golden irides slow to meet the figure that strides in, as if there would be any doubt to who it was. he had met mel outside the practice when she had come to check in, and elinor had made it clear only himself and jayce were permitted to this patient. you should eat something. he doesn’t have a reply, just an idle shrug as his hands hang limp, crossed over arms and viktor’s crutch. he matches her gaze to the monitors, correcting his posture a measure as she makes for the seat beside him.

“you should sit down.” stubborn as ever, plucking some few of the bags of snacks and moving them to the nearby counter. he leaves one to humor the nurse. “you’ve done as much as you can for as many as you could. it isn’t your sole duty to mitigate this disaster.” his voice is low and strained. an arm wraps around his waist, offering him his support, hand resting on his waist.

he lets the silent hang around them, the pair’s eyes trained on viktor as he sleeps. if you could call it sleep. his opposite hand, still gripping viktor’s crutch, tightens around it, his chest twitching as he heaves a deep breath.

“it should be me in that bed, not him, elinor.” the next breath, shallow and rushed. “how—why is it that those least deserving of mercy are granted it. i let this all happen on my time, on my watch… and in some cruel irony i’m the one who remains standing above the rubble…”

he turns to him, reddened eyes wet with guilt. “i’m sorry i failed him, elinor. i’m sorry.”

🕊️ – @windcovet

infirmaries were never the quiet places people assumed them to be, and while many people had died, plenty others were injured and needed medical care. ellie hadn't been the only one who hadn't stopped since the attack on the council building, but then, they hadn't experienced each and every death either. she couldn't bring herself to stop now, even after she knew the rest of her patients were well taken care of - she had a good team here and she had to delegate - but other people's needs were the only thing tethering her to herself. well, aside from the persistent, familiar but completely foreign pain that told her viktor was dying. had died. wasn't dead. 

she had to find jayce. he'd likely be at viktor's side, where she had left him after doing everything in her mundane medical power to keep him comfortable until he woke up. because he had to wake up. armed with a hasty collection of snacks rummaged from the kitchen, ellie pushed the door to viktor's private room open with her shoulder, letting it close behind her. 

"you should eat something." eyes glanced over the machinery, a quick assessment of viktor's status before setting the food in jayce's lap, giving him no option to push it away. then her attention turned to him. he had seen so much today. too much. even as she had felt it, elinor knows that seeing tragedy scars you, too. what did he see when he closed his eyes? she knew he'd caught the end of her empathy attack, knew that she couldn't keep that close to her chest. remembered the look on sheri's face as she watched him live death countless times over, and that jayce should know. "please." she remembered her manners as she sat beside him, close, not realising that she was leaning against him to keep herself upright.