I'm Matti and this is where I write and reblog things about my favorite vampire rouge (derogatory). I go by she/her and English in not my native language so bear with me.
If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to send me an ask anytime. Also, don’t be afraid to send me a message, I won’t bite :)
All of my smooth-brain-posts that are non-fics go under #MattiChronicles .
(I should have made this masterlist prettier but oh well)
PS! This is a safe space, come as you are <3 !!!
Ongoing series:
Spawn Astarion x Durge
If walls could talk - part 1 , part 2 , part 3
Summery: You awake from the crash, no memories of the life before. Not even a name to guide you in the right direction. However, there are two thing you do know. 1. You can handle a blade. 2. There is a strangely familiar voice echoing in your skull. With your newfound companions at your side, could anything possibly go wrong in your search for a cure and answers?
Spawn Astarion x Tav
Just Friends - part 1 ,
Summery: The hero of Baldur's Gate greatest battlefield is now drunkenly returning home from the tavern because your connection to the arcane world is dying, and it has been for months. Adding to it, is your unresolved feelings from a certain vampire you've sworn to forget.
Rolan and Lia, aiding you in your search for answers, are determined to divert your mind from troubles. Unbeknownst to you, this night is destined to change everything.
Upcoming:
Ascended Astarion x tav oneshot inspired by the song strangers
Note: So this is just a story I've kept to myself but then! I thought I'd share it because why not? I got obsessed with arcane a couple weeks ago and needed to explore my love - Viktor - more. Since we don't get a lot of human!Viktor in season 2 I wanted to explore what could have been. And I intend to expand on the political climate too since I thought the show kind of forgot about that lol.
Also this chapter is written in her pov and therefore some characters (Jayce) gets a whole lot of shit. I personally loooove Jayce's character so much, just wanted to make that clear.
Lastly, some parts are a little wild lmao but bear with me.
I hope you like it <3
Part 1/?
“Next!” the enforcer shouts as another grabs the woman before him. Pleading, she is dragged further back, along the line of people that stretched to the beginning of the bridge. The bridge is secured by metal pillars, occupied with a man or woman dressed in a blue uniform, buttoned to the top of their necks. The pillars cast long shadows as the merciless sun burned brightly in the blue sky – a beautiful day – any other day than today. Sweat beads had begun trickling down your forehead an hour ago. The heat was unbearable.
“Miss?” the enforcer called out, waving his hand before your eyes.
“Yes sir?” you answered, snapping back into reality.
“As I told you before, I require your identification and to state the purpose of your visit.”
Digging into your bag and shuffling its insides, your fingers graze the leather square and grab hold of it. You flip it open to reveal your identification and hand it over for the enforcer to grab. Closing one eye, he proceeds to hold it towards the sun.
“I’m here to deliver an art piece commissioned by the academy, sir” you say as you gesture at the wrapped-up canvas to your side.
“The academy you say?” he inquires as he squints his eyes at your identification once more, “it is rather unusual for such an article to be delivered by hand.”
You force a smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. “Well yes, this piece is too special to be trusted in any other hands in the ones that painted it. I care for it deeply, and the academy agreed that it should be delivered by me.”
Pulling up another item from your bag, you hand him a paper stating your business. He eyes the paper and lets his finger trace the sentences. Earning a satisfied hum from him, you retrieve the document and push it down into the bag.
His eyes shift between you and the wrapped-up canvas before he speaks, “alright, miss. You will need an escort until you reach the academy gates. Standard procedure. Can’t have stray deliveries wandering the promenade unsupervised.”
You nod and thank the enforcer as he waves over another officer, a much younger man that lacks the confidence of the one you’d been talking to.
This will be easy.
“Follow me, ma’am.”
You adjust the strap on your shoulder, grabbing the canvas by its twine-wrapped middle and step forward. The unjust heat presses on but at least you’re moving.
Piltover closes in - tall and pristine as the sunrays bounce of its tops. The path is lined by deliberate slabs of stone that show no signs of tear, luscious green grass cut exactly in line with the stone, framing it. It is perfect in every aspect.
You begin to consider your options, eyes panning from the path to branching side alleys. There were two options. Number one: with the right timing and distraction, you’d be able to slip away seamlessly. Or option two, allowing the enforcer to guide you to the place you came to visit – the academy – and then shake him off.
Stepping forward into the heart of the city, an opportunity arises not long after the young enforcer adjusts his belt, mindlessly walking ahead of you. You begin to slow down your pace and direct your step towards a fountain nearby. Taking the second step, you catch the sight of an enormous air balloon drifting above, bold letters are painted across its side and there is portrait of the man you’ve come all the way from Zaun to know more about– Jayce Talis, the man of progress himself.
The chatter around you hums louder and the young enforcer joins in, just as distracted.
This is your last chance to step away.
You melt into the throng of people as they chant and clap, your heart picking up speed and as do your feet. Moving through the sea of people, you don’t dare look back as the feeling of his searching eyes gnaw at you. You reach the outskirt of the crowed, breath hitched in your throat and quickly turn northeast where the academy quarter is located.
The buildings grow impossibly taller as their shadow envelopes you. It is clear that Piltovers wealth and order are on display here, with gleaming windows and manicured gardens even in the off-branch streets where less people travel through. You could probably count the number of trees in Zaun on one hand. Probably less if any. The sun was much to scares and the people too poor for greenery to sprout.
You remember the undrinkable water in river back at home, the cracked dirt roads and the grey air. it’s not fair, is it? They will never know how the feeling of breathing air thick as water, to watch the people you love give in and suffocate in it. The fucking grass is more cared for than the thousands of people in the undercity. You force air to completely fill your lungs, holding it before letting it out.
With each step, the sound of your heartbeat drums louder, and at some point you’re certain that everyone else can hear it too. The feeling wraps it’s hands around your throat and – gods – you can’t breath can you? Slipping down, you press your back against a carriage door parked along the road as your chest rises and falls.
In and out. In and out. You can do this.
Whenever you get these episodes, as Sevika likes to call them, she’d say those exact words. It wasn’t necessarily the words that mattered but rather that someone cared enough to try and help you. A small smile begins to crack through your mental fog as you recall her typical frown but her big eyes betraying her, showing that there was a big heart beneath the hard exterior. However, were she here right now, she’d probably curse at you for stalling during such an important mission.
You get paid to follow orders. You don’t get paid to think.
Sighing, you force your legs to stretch beneath your body. Your hands have a slight tremor as you look down on them. Pushing yourself off the carriage door, you resume your steps towards the academy.
The distant hum of machinery grows ever louder as you reach the end of the street and, somehow, the streets seem cleaner than previously. You’ve reached a crossroad as clusters of students pass you by. Their uniforms are finely tailored, with a white collar peeking up at the top, paired with polished shoes that gleam in the blazing sun. You keep your head down, your pace steady as their chatter of experiments and theories fill the air.
Passing through a white arched gateway, you step onto a marble-paved courtyard. A large fountain gurgles in the center, its crystal-clear water shimmering. Had time not been more scares, you’d stayed a second longer. Refocusing, your boots click softly against the stone as you head for a more discreet and smaller building. A few careful turns down less-traveled paths and you spot it: a smaller brick structure tucked behind iron fence and half covered in ivy. You crouch by the side of the building and dig into your bag, pulling out a map. Tracing it, a vent marked with a small “X” should be close by. You scan the wall and spot a grate, hidden behind tangled vines.
You put the canvas to the wall and start tearing the vines to the side. You retrieve a tool from your bag and begin to pry the grate loose and try to keeping a eye on anyone that might pass you by. The opening is narrow, but you’ll fit. The metal is cold against your palms and knees as you crawl forward, and you must remind yourself not to think of the walls closing in as you travel further down the vent.
Warm air flows past your face in irregular bursts at every junction as you pull out the map to control your location. One wrong turn could mean encountering an enforcer or you getting trapped in endless metal tunnels. Time seems to slow as you crawl even deeper into the center of the building but at last, you spot a sliver of light filtering through a grated opening ahead. Peering through the narrow slats, you spot brass fixtures, blueprints pinned to the walls and a sign that reads “Hextech”. This must be Jayce’s lab.
Holding your breath, you begin to work at the screws holding the grate in place. They are tightly secured on each side of the grate and you bite your lip as you gather strength to turn the screwdriver. With one screw left and a final twist, the grate comes free. You lower it and take one last look below before slipping through the opening. Your boots land softly on the lab fdoor and your inhale as a wave of fresh air hits you.
Like the streets outside the academy walls, the lab was unnervingly pristine. A metallic sheen glisten from the counters, freshly polished, not a hint of dust. Nothing was out of place, even the clutter was organized in stacks and colors. Your fingers skim the papers in one of the piles, each labeled with an all too familiar name - Jayce Talis.
Did he sign every single page?
Flipping through a deck of booklets, one of them catches your eye. It’s a drawing without Jayce’s usual branding in the corner, instead an attached note that reads – A rare sight of V! Allowing your thumb to glide over the text, your gaze falls on the drawing itself. The man in the sketch stands tall, poised in academy robes – classic white and red. His features are sharp, cheekbones high that contrast with a subtitle smile on his lips. You study the sketch closer and as you approach his eyes it finally clicks – it’s Viktor. Even on paper, those golden eyes, could not be mistaken for anyone but his.
Your breath catches, eyes glued to the image. The rapid beating of your heart travels to drum in your temples. Turning the page over there is but one sentence written, “Ask Viktor for a last name to sign on prototype #86, if he refuses (again), write Jayce and Viktor Talis”.
“New nickname and surname, aren’t you a lucky one V?” you mumble, almost spitting out his name, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.
Your jaw tightened as you slam the papers down on the counter, the sound echoing in the sterile space. As you continue your search through another pile of papers, the same name could be read across every corner, branded by the one and only, Jayce Talis.
Jayce Talis. Jayce Talis.
Your fingers itch with the need to move to hinder your mind from spiraling. Your eyes dart from shelf to shelf and scan the room, attempting to focus on the mission at hand – find more of the blue orbs Jinx had stolen. An organized mess of schematics and books catches your keen eye. One notebook is filled with pages covered in dense calculation and equations, some finished, and others left for imagination to fill in the blanks. The last page is covered in obsessive symbols – some look like a series of geometric shapes while others resemble a series of characters weaved together in a cryptic fashion.
This must be some sort of alphabet or code.
With a quick motion, you tuck the notebook into your bag and continue your search for other potential resources. Rummaging through the reminding papers and boxes you find nothing other than gadgets and useless tools.
Your eye catches something unusual tucked away in the far away corner of the counter. A small, intricately designed metal box sits there. Lifting it, you find that it requires a key to unlock. With a smirk, you reach into your satchel and pull out your very own gadget – a small unassuming key. What it lacks in appearance it makes up for in function. Pressing its switch as you put it into the lock, you manage to twist the lock open with a click.
Lifting the lid carefully, you reveal several blue glowing shards nestled in the velvet lining. It’s pieces of the crystals you look for. Carefully, you slip the shards into a much smaller box in your bag. You need to find more.
You move to the other side lined with metallic counters but unlike the first side, these ones have drawers that pique your interest. You pull a drawer open; it’s inside stuffed with more mechanical parts and screws. Pushing them aside, your hand finds purchase on something cold. There, at the bottom, is a small key with a tag attached that reads “Hextech storge room”.
A quiet scrape of footsteps reaches your ears as your fingers curl around the key. With a swift motion, you place the key back in the drawer and slide the drawer shut. Your eyes bounce of the room in search for any means of escape, the vent is located too far up for you to jump. The narrow passage between boxes jumbled in the left corner offers little chance of hiding, and the door – the door that hid you from the approaching footsteps – is the only way out.
As you start to move, the lock clicks, and you can feel a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through every artery in your body.
Standing in the doorway, his presence cutting of any retreat, is no other than Viktor himself.
Your feel your feet morphing into the cold, grey floors. Rigidly placed as your form leans back onto the counter, grasping its edge in hopes of covering your tremor. He stretches, growing an inch taller as his knuckles shift color to a pale yellow.
“What are-”, he begins but his pupils grow into voids as they land on you, “you...What are you doing here?”
Your skin feels too tight at the question, and you force a breath into your lungs. Say something. Anything.
“Long time no see friend.” The words felt smoother than expected, a forced smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feigned a confidence you didn’t feel.
Allowing yourself to momentarily meet his eyes, your smirk falters, fingers tightening around the metal edge as if might anchor you. The silence is deafening as he continuous to dissects the situation. You can’t help but to feel like one of his projects.
“I don’t recall my friends ever showing up unannounced in my private lab,” he speaks up, shifting his weight forward.
“I suppose we have different views on friendship then,” you counter, tilting your head to look directly at him now whilst your heart threatened to leap out of your chest.
“Speaking of it, you look...“, you swallow, interrupted by your own thoughts. You took in his new form: taller, more refined and draped in the academy colors Jayce hade depicted in his sketch. The image had done him justice in form but not in presence. He is familiar, the Viktor whom you grew up on the same street as, yet, standing in the archway of the door – he is more alien than anything else. He’s changed so much since you last saw him.
“Different too,” you finish softly, words slipping out before you can stop them.
His knuckles unclench, allowing red to flow through them as he lift his chin up, ”I doubt you’ve gone through the trouble of infiltrating the academy to discuss my appearance.”
“Correct, I’ve come to discuss far more pressing matters” you soldier on, mind racing for a plausible explanation for why you’re in his and Jayce’s lab.
That’s it!
Jayce Talis.
Or rather, future counselor Jayce Talis.
For once, the thought of the man of progress brings a flicker of hope.
“Jayce Talis,” you say, the words coming out a little more eager than expected. “He is your partner, yes?”
Viktor’s posture stiffens, his eyes narrowing at the mention of Jayce, “stop deflecting. I will ask one more time before I call for assistance-”
“Wait,” you quickly blurt, “I came to ask a favor of someone who used to call me his friend too.”
Unlodging your feet, you tread carefully towards him as you raise your bare palms to show your cooperation.
Gods. You can’t tell if this will work or not.
Viktor doesn’t respond directly but for a moment he seems to entertain where the conversation has led. He closes the door entirely, the soft click puncturing the tension.
“Now why would you not ask – or at least write to me – before breaking in?” Viktor questions, tone hard but head tilting to his left. You could almost hear the cogs rotating in his head, trying to grasp the situation.
For the first time during your conversation your true emotions poured into your words, “and you think a letter from an unknown Zaunite would reach you or the golden boy for that matter?”
Viktor’s expression shifted. He broke eye contact and exhaled sharply as he glanced off to the side. “I’m a Zaunite-“
You inject, “please, it would have taken weeks for it to reach you at best. Most likely you’d never get it,” you finish as your gaze drops to the floor. Or he’d ignore it, forget it ever existed like he’d done with you, you think to yourself.
He begins to open his mouth to form a sentence, but your emotions mixed and bubbled inside your chest. One truth and it all broke loose, “do you even know what it’s like anymore? Hells, I waited in line for hours just to be allowed to grace the precious ground of Piltover. And then had an escort follow me, making sure I wouldn’t `cause any problems’.”
“I’m not blind to Piltovers doings, make no mistake,” he sneers, clenching his jaw.
You brush past Viktor’s excuse, “there are rumors of Jayce joining the council,” you pause, a flash of disappointment spreading on your face as you do, “and I thought, maybe, you could influence him?”
Brows furrowed and a down turned smile to pair it with, Viktor persists in his argument, “what are you implying? I’m a scientist not a politician.”
You didn’t even come here to talk to him, or Jayce, or the inequalities of your people.
You came to complete a mission, not to think.
But his disregard still stings. More than it should.
Biting your lip, you steel yourself once more, “Viktor,” you stare into his eyes, their color warm but none to feel, “we might be facing a civil war if no one stops Piltovers ruthlessness, yet we have not a single Zaunite speaking on our behalf!”
Leaning on his cane for support, he swings it forward to come closer, “my work is to help as a scientist,” he says firmly, “To utilize Hextech for good, not play into their… game.”
“And how has that worked out thus far?”
You are blinded by frustration but as the words leave your mouth, you immediately regretting them. Viktor looks away, clearly hurt.
“Viktor, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“, you scramble for the right thing to say but it gets lost along the way.
Viktor, still looking away to Jayce’s workspace, speaks with a low voice, “you have changed since I last saw you. We’re both different I suppose.”
“Yeah...” you respond, letting out a quiet sigh.
The room looks less sharp, wobbly even. It’s not until you blink that you notice that your eyes have turned wet. Victor still faces away from you and, hopefully, doesn’t notice you blinking away a tear threatening to fall.
Finally turning to look at you, Viktor has an expression you can’t make out, “what has remained the same is our cause – helping Zaun. To end suffering.”
You simply hum in response. It feels strange hearing him talk of aiding the undercity when he’s the one that left it to be in this very room with people who has, and never will, step a foot in the undercity.
He seems to notice your reluctance and speaks again, voice stronger than a minute ago, “I cannot control Jayce but he’s my partner for a reason. And if these rumors are indeed correct… Jayce is a good man.”
You look at him briefly, your thumb digging into the nail of your index finger. An anxious habit of yours. You wanted to believe him, to think that he was the same boy you shared a classroom with. The same boy you’d break in the science lab with to build one of his bizarre ideas. The same boy who breathed the same thick grey air. But how could you?
“Well, I shall have to take your word for it then,” you say. Why did you never write to me? Is what you really want to say. How could you just leave me without saying goodbye?
Your lungs filled, your mind a whirlwind. You weren’t supposed to feel like this. You weren’t supposed to feel at all. You don’t get paid to think, remember?
With his cane supporting his weight, Viktor draws closer making your heart pick up its speed. He walks past you, the perfect moment to escape emerging as he does, yet you stand completely still.
Viktor picks up a pen from the counter and rips out a piece of paper from a nearby notebook, messily scribbling something down, "Sky is mine and Jayce’s assistant,” he says, voice uneven at the edges. “And I will inform her on the difficulty getting your- all - mail through from Zaun.”
Carefully, he extends the note with her details toward you, the afternoon sun catching the amber in his eyes.
Those damn eyes.
You feel 14 again with how fast your heart’s beating. You are 14, building up the courage to knock on Viktors door to ask if he wants to work on the young innovators project together. You are 14, watching Viktor through your bedroom window, waiting to fall asleep until he’s blown out his nightstand candle. You are 14, going through the undercity tunnels to show him the glowing fungi you’ve found.
You take it hesitantly, fingers brushing against the jagged edge. You suppress a smile when you look at him through your lashes. “thank you,” is all you can muster in response.
Viktor opens his mouth to say something but instead coughs violently, his body wracked by its force, gripping his cane with both hands now. His face tightens and you can see the way his face seems to hollow, the gauntness in his cheeks striking you. The shadows under his eyes have deepened, the bags under them more apparent standing this close. He looks exactly like the neighbors you grew up beside, sick by the polluted air in the undercity.
Instinctively, you fumble in your bag in search of a glass vial. Feeling the familiar wood cork, you pull it up. It’s purple content gleams under the harsh light as you extend it towards him wordlessly.
He eyes the bottle and wrinkle forms in his forehead. He stares at it for a long, drawn-out moment. Then, with a mouth drawn into a line, his gaze finds yours.
“How did you get this?”
You swallow hard, “I was just- I’ve seen this before-“ your voice faltering, unsure how to explain without revealing too much.
Viktor’s eyes bores into you. “Do you work for him? For Silco?”
The question hits you like a punch, head buzzing, every cell in your body screaming that you’ve made a mistake. You let your guard down for a second, letting your stupid feelings get in the way.
You take a shaky step back, trying to escape somehow.
He continuous his scrutiny, “You come in here, talking about the suffering of our people,” he says, voice growing cold, “when you work for people like Silco who profits on misery.”
He’s nothing but a wannabe-Piltie now. how could you forget so easily?
You clench around the glass vial and straighten your back, “it must be nice living in this pretty illusion you created,” you say, voice rising in pitch, “Hextech is nothing but another way to make Pilties even richer. So don’t act all righteous because the fact is, you don’t help Zaun. And most importantly, we don’t want your help.” Venom dripping, seeing red as you shake with the final blow. Then-
A voice approaching fast, shouts from outside the lab, “Viktor! Viktor!”
Bursting through the door, clutching a big folder, is none other than Jayce Talis, “Viktor! I just talked to Cait, it’s not just Jinx it’s also her! The robots being reprogrammed, the crystal, the one you talked about-“
The he says it. Your name.
Time seems to slow, slamming into you like cold water.
Viktor whips his head around, lips parting slightly as if to say something. His eyes snap back to you, Jayce’s gaze follows, landing on your face with dawning realization.
You can feel it before you decide it – fight. You pop the cork of the vial and down it in one desperate gulp. It feels like swallowing pure lightning. Igniting ever nerve ending in its path. Your chest seizes, lungs fighting for air and you vison fractures into sharp edges, blinding light.
“Wait!” Viktor’s voice crack through the fog of your mind, hauntingly laced with what must be disappointment. More probably anger.
Jayce lunges forward as you shove past Viktor, your shoulder brushing his frame making him stumble against his cane. Jayce’s hand reaches you, locking around your arm. But even though Jayce is double your size, it feels like nothing. His grip is paper-thin against the shimmer pumping through your veins. One swift motion is all it takes, and his fingers lose their grip.
You’re at the door in two strides, heart hammering like a war drum. Grabbing the door, you slam it shut, Jayce and Viktor frantically calling your name on the other side. Adrenaline makes your hands tremble as you dive into your satchel. Where the hell is it? Jerky and erratic, you find it at last at the bottom of the bag – A spherical contraption, crudely soldered metal, uneven wires and – of course – Jinx has painted a pink monkey on it.
“Please work,” you mutter under your breath before hurling it to the ground.
Click, Clang, Click and it burst open with a hiss and thick green smoke floods the hallway. The smoke rolls out in clouds, twisting into tendrils. Your chest heaves, allowing the smoke to coat your lungs. It burns. The world shift into outlines but the shimmer allows you to make out just enough detail to know your location.
The fog reaches the ceiling and a deafening alarm sets off. You need to run and get out before the place gets packed with enforcers. Not wasting a second more, you take off down the hall, legs sprinting faster than you can control.
You’ve studied the ventilation a million times, know it by heart – there’s supposed to be vent right around the corner. Getting closer, passing each door in the corridor, you ignore the voices calling out your name.
Don’t look back. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Don’t.
The corner approaches and you’re running so fast, pure energy fulling every step, that you grab hold of wall and slide into its curve. The vent is right ahead but there’s no time to fidget with screws. You will have to rely on the sheer force of your being to break the grate. Closing your eyes, you pray that it will be enough. With a thud, you slam your shoulder into the vent cover and the metal groans under the pressure. Your shoulder burns at the collision but before it intensifies, you throw your weight into it again – this time It gives away. As the vent cover pops loose, the sound of footsteps gets louder. Without missing a beat, you dive into the narrow ventilation shaft, your body scraping against the metal as you twist your way inside.
You push through the darkness, hands bracing against the cool metal walls, the skin of your knees scarping against the rough floors. You’re bleeding. But you push on, knees and hands burning with each motion. You breathing is sharp and ragged, and your lungs fight to clear themselves from the green smog.
Eventually, the shaft slopes downward and the faint slats of a nearby grate, you spot the familiar afternoon sun.
Keep moving. Don’t stop.
You crawl out of the vent, knees buckling as you struggle to breath. Fresh air fills your lungs but it’s fleeting – you’re not alone. Four enforces are stationed and armed outside the academy entrance. Spotting you, they raise their weapons.
“There! Don’t let her get away!”
Shimmer sings in your veins as you lunge forward, drawing your own gun from your bag.
The first enforcer swings his baton but you duck low, sweeping his legs out from under him. Hitting the ground hard, your boot connects with his helmet before he can rise.
The second charges, rifle raised. You pivot, grabbing the barrel and yanking it aside as it fires – the shot goes wide, shattering a lamppost. With swift kick to his stomach, he stumbles back, and swinging your gun to his temple his instantly falls to the ground.
Two down, two to go.
The third hesitates, fear flickering in his eyes. That second costs him dearly – you slam the butt of your gun in his face and he crumples.
When you turn to face the last enforcer, he’s already thrown down his weapon, hands raised in surrender. He stumbles back a step, fear etched into every line of his face.
“Please…I don’t want to die,” he pleads, tears running down his face.
Your chest heaves as you stare him down, your gun aimed right at him. He’s young, a few years older than yourself. All it would take is one pull on the trigger and he’s out. Dead. The shimmer buzzes through your system, electrical and wild. Looking at him, all you can feel is pure anger. You hate him. You hate them all. But you’re no executioner.
Slowly, you lower the gun and command him, “stay.”
You back away, returning to the vent. Just beside it, hidden in the shadows and half-buried under debris, is the wrapped canvas you left earlier. You grab it, your bloody fingers searing across the fabric as you tear the wrapping apart.
Your throat starts to tight, like hands wrapping around it. You want to scream. You hate them. They hate you. And before giving it a second thought, you smear your bloodied palms against the canvas, dragging them downward and red drips everywhere.
You whirl back to the enforcer, thrusting the bloody canvas into his trembling hands.
“Take this to the council,” your voice shakes, “tell them…tell them I poured my heart into this one,” you end, offering him a smile.
He nods frantically, clutching the canvas as if it’s made of glass.
“Go.”
The enforcer stumbles backward before turning and bolting into the academy. You stand there for a moment, blood dripping from your hands, feeling the shimmer wearing off.
With one last glance at the towering academy, you vanish into the maze of Piltovers alleys in search for the one place they won’t look – the sewers.
You reek of decay, hands and knees covered in coagulated blood, as you reach the lanes. The street is awfully quiet and that could only mean one thing – the word of your theatrics had already reached Silco. The door to the rundown fabric is creaks open, an invitation of sorts. You carefully tread inside, finding Selvika standing right at the entrence, arms crossed, her gaze colder than the air around you.
“He’s upstairs,” she says coldly.
“Let’s get on with it then,” you sneer, a slight twitch in lip.
Sevika grabs hold of your hand, turning your body to hers and presses a finger to your chest.
“Don’t give me that, you fucked up. You lost control again. I can’t keep making excuses for you.”
You grab her hand, pushing it off to the side, “Don’t touch me.”
Her frown deepens as she now takes your wrist in a steady grip, dragging you behind her. Your boots scrape the floor, trying to lose her iron grip but you’re too tired from the mission to put in a real effort, “let go!”
Unfaced by your meek attempts to lose her grip, she drags you up the stairs. You stumble on the last step, knees nearly buckling but Sevika doesn’t slow. The hallway feels colder as you inch closer to Silcos office.
The door creaks as Selvika shoves it open and pushed you inside. You barley catch yourself before falling flat on the floor.
Dressed in black and red, Silco is seated behind his desk, half shrouded in shadows. He doesn’t speak right away but simply stares, fingers steepled under his chin. Selvika moves past you, standing by the wall and blows a stray hair away from her face.
Two of Silco’s men are already waiting—sharp-eyed and silent. They don’t move as you enter, but their presence alone is enough to remind you that you’re not walking out of this room until Silco allows it.
Your attention is drawn back by Silco clearing his throat before he speaks “sit,”. He leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, “you must be tried after such an adventurous day.”
You hesitate for a moment. One of the men behind you shifts, signaling that if you don’t comply he’ll make you. Unwillingly, you drop into the chair, the cold wood biting through your exhaustion.
Silcos eyes lock on your – one human and the other glowing faintly with shimmer, “do you know the price of this – of everything we’ve built – is?”
You open your mouth to retort, tell him that everything you do is for his dream to come true, but the words stick in your throat.
“Do you?” he presses, voice sharper this time.
“Yes,” you gather the strength to answer.
There is a faint hum of a distant pipe dripping somewhere in the corner. Silco rises and steps around the desk, beginning to circle you like a predator sizing up weakened prey.
“You had a simple mission,” he begins. “Retrieve more crystals. Gather intel. And get out.”
He stops behind you, leaning back on the desk.
“What part of that implies fighting enforcers and having them deliver a bloody canvas to the council?”
You look down at your hands, even the creaks of your hands are covered in blood.
“Your recklessness—your stupidity—might have planted the seeds of rebellion in Zaun’s soil. One we are not prepared to nurture.”
There’s a heavy pause as you search for an excuse or explanation but there isn’t any. There is only frustration and that’s exactly what you offer him.
“Will we ever be prepared?” you bite back, your voice raising in pitch. “When is enough truly enough?”
Silco leans forward, towering over you now. His lips curl into something between a sneer and smirk, voice dropping to an icy growl.
“When I tell you.”
A venomous retort lies on the tip of your tounge, ready to sink its teeth into him- but he moves faster.
Crack!
The sharp slap echoes through the room, snapping your head to the side. Your cheek stings, heart blooming under the skin, and for a moment, the only sound is your breathing.
Silco straightens his back, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate precision as he exhales slowly.
“You will clean up this mess,” he pauses and looks out the window behind his chair, “and then I will consider if you’re worth the trouble.”
“Do I make myself clear?”
You swallow hard, tasting copper on your tounge, “yes.”
“Good” he replies, turning back to you with his hand clasp behind him, “Now, get out.”
You push yourself up from the chair, your body aching but you refuse to let them get the satisfaction of seeing any of it. Selvika uncrosses her arms and opens the door for you, her big brown eyes scanning you over.
You should get out but there is heat sizzling in your chest. Your fingers reach into your satchel and with a swift motion you place the small, battered box onto Silcos desk.
“I did gather intel,” you mutter, lifting your gaze to meet his, “they’re onto us. Me and Jinx.”
You can see the faintest twitch at the corner of Silcos eye- a crack in the polished mask he wears so well.
Satisfied or as close to it as you’ll allow yourself, you turn on your heel and stride out the door.
Every limb feel excruciating heavy as you drop into the sagging mattress. Your hands and legs pulsate with the rhythm of your heart and you stare at the ceiling. The room creaks as a wind blows by. it’s so cold now. And in your solitude with only the walls bearing witness, you let out a pathetic wail. Tears streaming down and your chest heaving.
The mission was simple. Get in. Get the crystals. Get out. Still, you managed to fuck it up and for what?
Your fingers claw at the thin fabric beneath you, nails biting into your palms as sobs turn into ragged gasps.
And in the midst of tears pouring into your pillow, you feel 15 again. You are 15, hearing the dean over the speakers congratulate Viktor on his transfer to Piltover Academy and it’s the last time you hear of him. You are 15, working on your first invention without him. You are 15, forced to leave school due to safety risks no one explains. You are 15, when your friends introduce you to shimmer at a party. You are 15, pleading that your mother will come home. You are 15, getting caught stealing. You are 15, and you can’t walk outside without a weapon in case the enforcers having a bad day. You are 15 and you can’t sleep because you’re afraid raiders or enforcers will break in.
So I haven't really touched anything fandom-related in a while now but I absolutely loved arcane season 2!! and I wrote something out on my main :) that's all! <3
