independent, highly selective, dash-only roleplay blog for jayce talis of arcane. written by sammy (she/her; born 1994) ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ ✨
✧｡･🛠️ interaction memes (always open!)
⚠️ NOT SPOILER-FREE ⚠️
RULES – INFO – VERSES
Sammy's Blog Roll:
Vincent Charbonneau (Dead Plate) || Sasha (NIGHT/SHADE) || Martin Blackwood & Elias Bouchard (The Magnus Archives) || Ryunosuke Naruhodo (The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles) || Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows) || Leo Valdez (Heroes of Olympus)
No sooner had Viktor caved than his biggest fear regarding this whole farcical ordeal nearly came true. Just when it seemed they'd conquered the lengthy staircase without incident, Jayce's feet stumbled. The world pitched entirely out of his control. Despite himself, Viktor grabbed at Jayce's clothes again as if he could've somehow prevented their falling just by holding on tight enough.
Luckily, the scare was only that. A few native swears tumbled free, briefly thickening his accent until—finally—his partner came to his senses.
Viktor grumbled as he was set back on his feet, taking an extra few moments after they touched the ground to truly find his footing again. His heart still raced like a machine pushed into overdrive...the cause of which Viktor chose to believe was the near-disaster and nothing more. A few sharp tugs straightened the rumples in his waistcoat.
Meeting the other man's beaming with a fierce glare, Viktor barely restrained his strength when he whacked Jayce on the arm with the head of his cane. "Do not do that again." The reprimand was even sharper than the blow, and while he didn't voice as much, Viktor silently swore revenge. He may have been a fool to have dismissed Jayce's mothering threats, but Jayce would be the fool to not worry about the consequences of...that.
"You'd better," he said instead as he started to follow Jayce down the corridor. "In fact, since you're the one who's so insistent upon me eating a meal, it's only logical for it to be your treat." The zaunite's smirk was clear proof that this was punishment for Jayce's little stunt. Part one, at least. And while the rhythmic clack of his cane on the tile floor normally would have calmed his heartbeat, Jayce, like usual, worked against his efforts of composure without even trying.
'Somewhere he'd been wanting to take him'? Had he really thought about this? It shouldn't be surprising—that was simply the kind of person Jayce was: always considerate, always thinking of others (even when those thoughts led him to do ridiculous things). Yet Viktor still couldn't help being surprised to be on the receiving end, at times.
"Somehow, I'm not sure I trust your judgement at the moment," Viktor quipped dryly with a raised brow. "For all I know, your restaurant of choice will prove as threatening to my health as your ridiculous whims." Not that he could complain about the positives that had come out of this situation: spending additional time with his partner, yes, but most of all? He'd be able to hold this over the other's head for a good long time. The gleam in his eyes was equal parts mischief and genuine interest. "Is it somewhere you go frequently?"
He probably should have learned this a long time ago, but getting on Viktor’s bad side was not only . . . surprisingly easy in these parts, but maybe one of the worst places you could ever be. So, it’d certainly be intelligent to avoid it at all costs. And yet. Jayce pushed his luck a good ninety-nine percent of the time, having decided quite a while ago that he had some special privileges here, that he could get away with things no one else could. And when Viktor took this as the perfect offense to whack his cane against him, Jayce counted those “privileges.”
Because, really . . . the guy could do a lot worse.
(Oh, Jayce knew very well he was holding back.)
So—forgive him—but what were meant to be (partial) repercussions for his behavior actually found him laughing, and he only half-flinched away from the assault. “Sure. Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jayce said, seemingly compliant . . . if his tone didn’t take on the same cadence as a kid saying what was needed to get out of a scolding. “—just as long as you remember my threats aren’t a joke.” He highlighted that point again, one brow mischievously arched before he spun back around to face forward—and hopefully avoid more possible catastrophes.
Viktor’s words followed him out the doors and into the brisk night: the proposal that Jayce be the one treating him when all of this was entirely his idea. And as they moved along the lamplit streets, his smile never once left his face. Truly, now it never had a reason to. (He’d gotten what he wanted.) “Oh, yeah. That’s so preposterous of me, I know,” he drawled over his shoulder, catching the new playfulness in Viktor’s demeanor and running with it. “I can’t believe I want my partner to take care of himself and not starve. That’s my bad, Vik. You’re right.”
Briefly, Jayce paused.
Then, “It will happen again.”
Though there was no telling if it’d be visible in the gloom, he marked that phrase with a cheeky wink . . . which only seemed to greatly contrast the slight hesitation in his step when Viktor called his “judgment” into question. Slowing up to meet his friend’s stride (excitement had him blazing the trail ahead without fully realizing it), he searched Viktor’s face with the faintest stitch of concern. “Hey, c’mon. When have I ever steered you wrong? Except . . . right now. When I maybe almost dropped you. But before then.” Jayce gave him an encouraging nudge with his elbow despite that.
Then, folding his arms behind his head, “I haven’t been in a while, no. But Mom and I used to go all the time when I was a kid. We know the owners personally, so.” He cocked his head to one side, momentarily distracted wondering when was the last time he’d been. “I . . . think it’s still there. She would’ve told me if it wasn’t.”
having so much love in your heart is beautiful and amazing right up until you’re alone in your bedroom clutching at your chest and whimpering like a wounded dog
[on date] *winks flirtily* and btw i am soooo haunted by the ghosts of my past mistakes and how preventable their consequences were. do you want me carnally
I really needed to draw some lab partners shenanigans, so...
(Viktor might not be able to rely on his leg but he sure can rely on his abs woah, I wonder what kind of training he did)
A lull settled between them following heated commands: Jayce went abruptly still, and the pause allowed Viktor to refocus on the equation. His chalk scratched softly on the board, the sound melding with the tension already filling the room.
Despite being unable to see his partner's face, Viktor could imagine what it must look like: how deeply he must be regretting such a bold statement. Though his smirk remained in full force, otherwise Viktor was the picture of calm as he worked through a few more lines of calculations, unfazed by Piltover's Golden Boy clinging to him with so much yearning. (And oh, what a position to be in. He knew so many would make utter fools of themselves for a mere chance at the same; he would never take it for granted.)
Viktor worked, and he waited. Patient. Expectant. Hanging in that silent anticipation for the inevitable moment when his brilliantly foolish partner accepted the consequences of his own actions.
Finally Jayce exhaled—heavy and defeated, felt in Viktor's whole body from their proximity—but it was the whimper chasing at its heels that had Viktor huffing out a single breath of a laugh, for he was certain that pivotal moment had arrived. A miscalculation, he'd soon learn.
Even after so many years, he still failed to consider that Jayce was one of the only people who could surprise him.
Who was the brilliant fool, now?
The expected release of that building tension never came. Rather than obeying—rather than letting go so Viktor could cling to rationality for even a moment longer—his partner's refusal was earnest yet firm. It was Viktor's turn to go still, chalk halting midway through a stroke, drawn into words so low and sweet that they sparked electricity in his veins. All at once Jayce rediscovered his motor functions, and damn it all—this was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid.
Those hands resumed their wandering, not bothering to wait for permission when disobedience was already a first offence. A gentle touch caused the muscles of his abdomen to jump unbidden, and a fresh flood of desire surged through him as Jayce gripped his thigh and used the new leverage to fuse them impossibly closer.
He felt Jayce everywhere; surrounded entirely by his broader, taller frame, by his warmth and want. Valiantly, Viktor forced himself to concentrate through the heat ravaging him at every breathy sound from his partner's lips, forced himself to ignore every touch that was like a brand on his skin even through his clothing.
Lucky for Jayce (and unlucky for Viktor himself...) that he could never say no to him when he was like this.
Viktor's sigh was colored with more than one shade of frustration. Still, he gave a vague wave of his chalk. "Fine, fine," he relented, "but remember what I said about distracting me. The longer this takes—" a wave towards the board this time, "—the longer you will have to wait." After reaffirming the prior warning, he pointedly returned to the equation, the sounds of his writing echoing like an unspoken challenge.
Despite the dramatically revealing whine from mere moments ago, Jayce found himself smiling just then. At Viktor’s hesitation. At Viktor’s eventual compromise. Amusement trickled its way into veins that were already on fire, collecting to a pool of affectionate heat there in his chest—a sensation that softened him for a few lingering beats and had him nuzzling his face into Viktor’s nape. Honestly, he expected nothing less of him. It took the world ending (or maybe not even that) to drag this man away from his work, scarcely a thought spared to anything else when so deeply buried in the trenches of a problem.
And Jayce adored him for that.
Jayce loved him for that.
He’d never not admired the dedication . . .
—even in cases like this where he had to compete for his partner’s attention.
It was a challenge as much as it was Jayce’s privilege, and when Viktor had the generosity of allowing him the right to stay here with him, Jayce might as well have been served every last wish of his on a silver platter. After being trapped in meetings a good majority of the day, this was a luxury. Being near Viktor was a luxury. He’d take it. Hell, he’d cherish it no differently than he cherished every piece of Viktor—even the pieces Viktor himself didn’t like—and he’d not squander the opportunity to run a mile with that one inch.
But for now, simultaneously a show of respect toward Viktor’s current obsession and Jayce’s own curiosity, he shifted his focus. His head canted sideways to peek at the calculations in front of them, scanning the strokes of Viktor’s writing with silent contemplation before his chin moved to rest on his shoulder. He blinked, eyes fixated even as he pressed another kiss there. “V,” Jayce uttered. “You forgot to carry the six over from the previous line.”
And then he was back to his current obsession. (“Current” as if that would ever change.)
He angled his head again to return to Viktor’s nape, mouth tracing a desirous path down the ridges of his spine—as far as he could get over his shirt collar. “What was that about me being a distraction?” Jayce teased lightly, huffs of a short laugh fanning heat across Viktor’s skin. His hands, momentarily still, moved to trace delicate patterns where they rested, the one at Viktor’s inner thigh creeping higher. “It’ll take longer if you aren’t even doing the calculations correctly.” Straightening up some, he placed a cheeky kiss to the crown of his head, smirking. “That couldn’t have already been my fault . . . now could it?”
very loud. very vocal. homeboy wears his heart on his sleeve in every way. i'd say it's purposeful and for the sake of riling up his partner, but it honestly isn't; he literally cannot help it. but he's also ??? shameless about it ??? like, yeah of course he wants you to know you make him feel this way. of course he's not going to hold back.
just, uh . . . be aware of the above if you're doing stuff in a place where you don't want to be caught—or, y'know, find a way to shut him up if so ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ )
predominantly focused on his partner's pleasure first and foremost. getting you off gets him off, so he will happily dote on you from start to finish (and then some) and have no qualms on his end.
so, yeah, duh, of course he has a praise kink.ヽ(ヅ)ノtell him he's treating you right. tell him he's doing a good job. call him a "good boy," lbr. he positively melts with that shit, and it only encourages him to keep pushing to do better, so. it's a win for you.
pretty much . . . "i'll try anything once"??? again, since he's mostly concerned with his partner's wants and needs, he will, by result of that, go along with their desires to the best of his ability. will absolutely ask you point-blank what you want from him. tell him anything. he'll bend over backwards to make it happen.
i use "pathetic" lovingly here: he's pathetic for you. so so so so SOOOOO pathetic for you. holy shit this man is pathetic. literally touch him once and he's putty in your hands. he whimpers and scampers.
yes, he would love to get on his knees for you. (and hey ! here's an idea for occupying his mouth and keeping those noises muffled ≖‿≖ take notes take notes) he'll stay down there as long as he needs to.
oh and he's more than willing to beg. in fact, he will whether you ask for it or not. he wants you so badly. please, please, please let him have you.
genuine enjoyer of all body types. all "imperfections" are fuckin gorgeous to him; he's going to be worshipping his partner's body so damn hard. let him kiss every part of you, even the parts you don't like. he loves them.
aftercare is a must. he's not going to leave you to clean up the mess; in fact, he'll want you to stay where you are, rest, and let him handle it. cuddles also a must. he will pout if you don't want them. (it'll feel like rejection, tbh; wtf do you mean he can't just hold you now and shower you with soft kisses ??? what)
sex is an act of love for him. it's intimacy, a way to show how much he cherishes you with every little thing, every little sound, every little word. and you will feel loved by the end of it; if you don't, then he's failed and he'll try again until you do.
The face of death merely stares, two empty eye sockets observing, a smile full of perfect teeth in pristine condition, and a mere reminder to the man before him that his fate is, eventually, like the figure before him.
"You're in a way between worlds. A world that is neither life, nor death. And as such, your state of existence can be said as such, too."
There's not much here, not initially, beyond the tree and the grass that stands at their feet. The energy exuded from it radiates otherworldly, similar to the sensation that the man would know from the hammer.
"In truth, I'm surprised to have seen you ended up here. I've not had visitors since... Well. A long time. And it most certainly wasn't uninvited like this is."
The skeletal hand remains outstretched towards the other.
"But it's not unwelcome."
It's a lonely existence out here.
"I'm Connor. And it seems as if you've stumbled into my own personal paradise. One that I've forged by my own hand only after I became strong enough to harness the very arcane that sustains me."
A magical paradise, but one all the same. One that can be extended and molded, as the place where they stand begins to expand outward, with a forest slowly manifesting behind the skeletal figure.
"Perhaps you should stay and rest before you go back, at the very least."
He wondered if he should have felt ashamed, or at the very least leaned into that as a singular emotion among the amalgamation twisting and writhing in both heart and mind; as the stranger made quick note that this was not the world with which Jayce was familiar, panic didn’t seize him, no. The same unrelenting despair and near-hopelessness of his situation didn’t buckle his knees, drag him down further with a weight that only seemed to grow heavier— No. No, no . . . all of that was tucked away, compartmentalized, saved for later beneath a different realization, and perhaps one that steered him forward against all odds:
This isn’t home.
I still have time. I can still fix things.
And he would. With or without the choice, he would. Currently, Jayce made the subconscious decision not to dwell on whether this particular interaction was a step in the right direction or the very wrong one. Between. Between. Between. . . . He could work with this. He’d already worked with far less.
Half a mind almost persuaded him to confirm that the skeletal presence was something of life and death himself, for the barest moment before some frayed string of logic informed him there could be no other explanation. Jayce followed what explanations came next. Ever so gradually, that rabbiting pulse in his chest began to slow just enough for his lungs to find time to breathe.
“I take it you forgive the intrusion, then,” he broached on a loud exhale, thereafter perking a bit as the forest seemed to all but materialize even further beyond them. A nonetheless wary eye grazed the stranger’s—Connor, allegedly—welcoming hand as he regathered his balance, moved a step forward, and still without accepting the gesture. Sluggishly, he caught up to the implications of what else was said.
—even if that meant entirely ignoring the part about resting.
“‘Back’? You could . . . ? Do you mean you could get me back? You . . . know of the arcane— You harness it,” Jayce observed, again looking the other up and down before firmly meeting the voids of where eyes would be. “I— Would you help me?”
ㅤ“eh, juuust a few toes when i inevitably step on your good ones.” hiccup’s shrug was theatrical, grin crooked; too wide and open for any proper hall. he tipped back the last of his mug: a final sip of courage as the ale burned his throat going down. he glanced back down at the open palm still extended to him and shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging against the weight of his role. he wasn’t supposed to dance. during farmers’ festivities, chieftains only watched and nodded from the firelight’s edge. but tonight the sky was starry, the ale warm, and there was company.
ㅤhe gestured toward the fires, where the music hung in the air like incense to the lazy rising smoke. “but if you’re feeling brave…” he took the offering at last, and it felt smooth. there was no soot beneath the nails, only a few calluses along the knuckles: hands of a ‘scientist’—the chieftain remembered this was how jayce had introduced himself when he first came to berk. håkan still didn’t know what the word meant, but he recognised the vestiges left behind by brass gears on naked palms. his leg whined at the weight shift when he stood at last, but the hand in his own steadied him more than expected. “... well, can’t really deny you a taste of the berkian spirit, can i?”
ㅤthe music was already rising again, a fast tune plucked by younger bards too drunk to slow down. somewhere behind them, laughter broke out over a spilled barrel. a dragon yawned on a thatched roof, stretching a lazy wing as if to stir the wind into dancing, too. they fell into the old steps, arms looping, turning in half-circles, a clumsy pair, going slower than the rhythm so their legs wouldn't ache. they looked like two grandpas, a kid said. still, the two nearly tripped. or, well, hiccup almost did: his leg clanked too close to jayce’s only good foot. håkan let out a snort, half laughter, half apology. luckily, it was just a scare. “so,” he called over the riot of drums during a mid-turn, breathless, flushed from ale, movement and laughter, “how’ve you been finding your stay?” the beats were getting chaotic, reverberating against their chests. “loud bunch, huh?”
Which someone might claim could be said in poor taste, comically accurate of an observation for the two of them—and likely the reason it was so easy to joke about. Despite lacking the necessity, Jayce still finished that dismissive statement with a conclusive, “I think I’ll survive,” and he waited patiently with the energy of someone who so rarely was refused. Cocky, confident—who knew? But once the chieftain had downed the rest of his drink in one swift swig and took up the offer, Jayce showed no sign of being remotely surprised. He’d only put Hiccup on the spot because he’d seen the longing fires in his gaze . . . and, well, if anyone between them was going to look like a complete fool, it’d be the foreigner who had no idea what he was doing—
So, once more: What could possibly go wrong?
“Well, you could,” Jayce chased his partner’s words on “Berkian spirit” as they maneuvered their way out of the cluster of tables, “but you don’t want your hospitality in question, do you?” Playfulness continued to hum noticeably beneath the steady flow of music, pulling on both one brow and the corners of his lips while they found a proper place to be properly judged. He didn’t know these steps any better than he knew this entire world, but he’d been doing plenty of hands-on learning for the majority of his life—and especially recently; what was one more thing?
The first almost-stumble was met with quick correction, Jayce’s posture instinctively shifting to better shoulder the chief’s weight if—no, when—the next slip came. Up close and personal with this aforementioned infectious energy, he found himself sporting a light chuckle at their own expense. It felt good, too . . . and almost like he shouldn’t have the right to it. “Very. But that just means they’re happy, due in no small part to your efforts, I’ve gathered,” he answered, matching Hiccup’s volume with a slight crack in his voice. (Still from disuse, perhaps.) “That might sound like flattery, but it’s not. I mean, I already got what I wanted out of you.”
A short tug to bring the other closer communicated what he meant. And there, miraculously again, he barked a laugh. “Consider this somewhat of a ‘thank you,’ if you want. Could’ve easily turned me away when I showed up . . . both, uh, the first time and just now.”
ㅤbraids flying, cloaks spinning, boots pounding soft rhythms into the earth—that is to say, berk was alive in loud festival cheer. laughter clung to the rafters; the skalds worked their strings like fishermen pulling nets, loud, prideful and old songs, drawing everyone closer into the whirl of it while the flames from the pyres painted every face in gold and crimson. the scent of roasted yak made kids and dragons alike hungry, and the village’s cauldrons would soon go empty. he watched as a gronckle, barely past three moons of its hatching, devoured a farmer’s plate when it thought no one was looking. the chief of berk would keep its secret, if only to laugh in lonelier moments.
ㅤhåkan sat on the far back tables, ale sloshing lazily in his mug, peg leg tapping once, twice, with a blacksmith’s absent precision. hiccup watched his tribe waltz like a man might watch birds at a beach: awed, distant, happy, but slightly envious. he was in the middle of humming something when the hand appeared before him, open-palmed: a gesture of invitation, maybe even mischief.
ㅤthe first rider blinked at it, swallowed his next note, and laughed a bit more youthful than the black mantle of chiefdom generally allowed. “me? are you asking me for a dance?” he questioned, eyeing their fingers like one might do a clever trap, but way too warm to be seriously suspicious. for now, at least. gods knew the followers of loki were growing in size thanks to the twins. “you do know someone with two left feet is already a bad dancer, right? a guy with only one is even worse.”
The way people celebrated on Berk was an almost night-and-day difference from the parties Jayce was unfortunately accustomed to in Piltover.
It was pure merriment: every face radiant with a grin and laugh (even the dragons themselves [yes, Jayce was finally getting accustomed to reading their expressions, too]); a friendly warmth of cheer permeating the air with an infectious delight. No political undertones (or overtones). No ulterior motives masked behind a saccharine smile, honeying every word. Everything was genuine, from the heart, and for the first time in . . . he’d lost track, Jayce felt an ease that almost made him want to stay in this moment forever—
Or at least make it last.
He’d come close to sitting this one out, holing himself away in the accommodations provided for him to continue more or less beating his head against a rock in hopes that he’d make some sort of breakthrough. But he’d grown affectionate for this community, found them a breath of fresh air in what had been an endless nightmare, and maybe for the sake of not being a complete hypocrite about taking breaks . . . took a break. Which had him lounging at one of the now-empty tables, utilizing the space to stretch out his bad leg while passively absorbing the scene.
Only when his gaze swept over the chief did his interest shift; curiosity held his focus, surveying the way the man wistfully watched the twirl of garments, the rhythmic patter of feet. It had been some streak of cheekiness, some reawakening of youthful mirth that steered him to make his next decision: practically past the point of What’ve I got left to lose?, as if inviting Hiccup out of his wallflower status was anything short of a pleasure.
He’d approached him with a faint smile initially, one that bloomed into amusement at the chief’s response. “Great. So, between us, we have two-and-a-half feet to work with,” he observed, his head tilting into one shoulder both as a shrug and an inviting gesture to complement his outstretched hand. “What could possibly go wrong?”
