★ will only write for viktor/jayce from arcane
★ pairings i write for are jayce x viktor (jayvik), jayce x reader, viktor x reader, and jayvik x reader
★ include format (ex. headcanons) and type (ex. fluff) when sending a writing request
★ non-smut works will be gender neutral and smut works will be fem (afab/assigned female at birth) unless otherwise requested
★ i cannot warn for all triggers in my works, but will include warnings for things i deem needing one (ex. drugs, abuse)
★ be patient with me while i work on your request, i go to school and work part-time so posting will likely take 3-5 days
★ comments and reblogs are always appreciated xoxo :-]
INT. PARKING GARAGE - MIDWILSHIRE DIVISION - NIGHT
Smitty is sitting in his car in the precinct parking garage having just gotten back from In ‘n Out Burger. He’s bobbing his head along to Flex n' Flow and drinking his favorite soda through a straw. Across the way, he spots Officer Bradford and Lucy Chen walking. They pause in front of Bradford’s truck and look around the parking garage. Before Smitty realizes what’s happening, Lucy’s hands are on Bradford’s chest and he’s dipping his head to kiss her.
SMITTY
“Oh, this is going to be good.”
Smitty slurps the last drops of his soda. Tim holds the door open and Lucy climbs into the passenger side of his truck. They drive away. Smitty smiles mischievously.
INT. ROLL CALL - MIDWILSHIRE DIVISION - MORNING
Ten minutes before roll call, Smitty sees Lucy and Nolan chatting near the back of the room. He walks up to them with two takeaway coffees in hand.
SMITTY
“Lucy! Good morning. I picked up your favorite.”
LUCY
“What! Really? Why? Did you mess with it?“
She turns the cup in her hand, examining it for signs of tampering.
SMITTY
“Of course not, I would never do that to you.“
He places his palm over his heart and walks away.
NOLAN
“He actually brought you a latte?“
She takes a sip.
LUCY
“And it’s a Chai Tea Latte. How did he know—“
NOLAN
“He texted me this morning and asked.“
LUCY
“I don’t understand.“
NOLAN
“Me either.“
LUCY
“No, I mean why does Smitty have your cell phone number?“
Tim walks up with two coffees in hand.
TIM
“When did you go get coffee?“
Tim points to the cup in her hand. He hands his extra to Nolan who tastes it and cringes.
LUCY
“I didn’t. Smitty gave it to me.“
Lucy brings the cup to her mouth.
TIM
“Woah! Don’t drink that. What if he put a laxative in it?“
LUCY
“I asked him if he messed with it and he said no.“
TIM
“What if he lied?“
Lucy shrugs.
LUCY
“He wasn’t. He does this thing with his upper lip when he lies.“
Tim takes a step back.
TIM
“Why do you know so much about what Smitty’s lips are doing?“
NOLAN
“And, on that disturbing note, I’ve got a rookie to train. See ya.“
GREY
“Alright, everyone. Settle down.“
The officers all find seats. Smitty raises his hand.
GREY
“What is it, Smitty?“
SMITTY
“Can I ride with Chen today?“
TIM
“What? No.“
Grey gives Tim the side eye. Lucy turns in her chair and looks at Smitty with bewilderment. Nolan and Thorsen do the same.
GREY
“You’re out of luck. Officer Chen is on loan to the detective's table today.“
SMITTY
“Ah, bummer.“
Tim rolls his eyes and the corner of Grey’s mouth widens playfully.
GREY
“But check back tomorrow. Maybe our hot shot will be open then.“
Tim glares at Grey, who ignores him. They proceed with the rest of roll call.
Smitty, Webb and Bradford are standing in front of their lockers in plain clothes, getting ready to leave for the day. Smitty is humming a song.
WEBB
“What has gotten into you today?”
SMITTY
“What do you mean?”
WEBB
“I have known you for over a decade and not once in that time have you bought another officer coffee.”
SMITTY
“Maybe I’m just taking a page out of the Sarge’s book.”
TIM
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tim pulls out a bottle of cologne and twists off the top, patting a drop of it on the side of his neck. Smitty gets an idea and smiles.
SMITTY
“I’d love to stay and chat, boys, but I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
INT. FRAGRANCE COUNTER - NORDSTROM - EVENING
Smitty walks up to the counter and an eager sales clerk greets him.
SMITTY
“I’m looking for Bleu de Chanel.”
SALES CLERK
“Do you know which size you want? Here’s our price sheet.”
The clerk slides a card on the counter over to Smitty. He reviews the price sheet and lets out a low whistle. (The prank is fun, but not that much fun.)
SMITTY
“Do you have any samples? I’m not quite ready to commit.”
SALES CLERK
“Absolutely.”
The sales clerk squats down and pulls open a drawer. They stand and place a couple samples on the counter.
SALES CLERK (Cont.)
"This should be enough to let you try the cologne for a few days first.”
SMITTY
“Perfect.”
INT. HALLWAY NEAR KIT ROOM - MIDWILSHIRE DIVISION - MORNING
Smitty jogs over to Lucy to meet her at the kit counter where she's waiting for their war bags. He’s holding a yellow flower.
SMITTY
“I saw this on my way in and thought it would brighten up our shop for the day.”
Smitty hands the flower to Lucy. Tim is standing a few feet away, talking to Angela, and sees the exchange.
LUCY
“Okay… Sure. Why not?”
SMITTY
“Here. Let me grab one.”
Smitty hauls one of the war bags over his arm.
LUCY
“Thanks, Smitty.”
SMITTY
“Anytime. And please, call me Quigley.”
Tim crosses his arms.
LUCY
“I think I’ll stick with Smitty.”
Lucy bites back an amused grin.
SMITTY
“As you wish. Should we hit the streets and fight some crime?”
Smitty tosses the shop keys to Lucy. She catches them.
LUCY
“Sure.”
She glances at Tim and Angela over her shoulder and then follows Smitty to the garage. Shoulder to shoulder, they load the war bags into the back of the shop and Lucy shoots Smitty the side-eye.
SMITTY
“What?”
LUCY
“Are you wearing a new cologne?”
SMITTY
“I am. Do you like it?”
LUCY
“It smells familiar … Is that—”
Lucy doesn’t finish the sentence.
LUCY (cont.)
“Nevermind.”
Lucy rounds the corner to the driver's side of the shop and Smitty closes the trunk.
SMITTY
(under his breath)
“This is almost too easy.”
Smitty smiles on the way to the passenger seat.
EXT. FOOD TRUCKS - PATIO - NOON
Lucy and Smitty are finishing up lunch at one of the patio tables. Behind them, Tim and Thorsen arrive. Lucy waves as they’re approaching, tossing her napkin into her bowl after finishing her meal.
SMITTY
“Allow me.”
Smitty grabs her bowl and his own with a smile. He carries them over to the trash can and disposes of them.
Thorsen tracks the movement and then turns to Tim.
THORSEN
(points)
“Ok. That was weird, right? I’m not losing my mind?”
TIM
(squinting)
“Yeah … Something is definitely up with him.”
THORSEN
“But what? And why?”
TIM
“The man’s a mystery.”
THORSEN
“Don’t you want to know what he’s up to?”
TIM
(grumbles)
“He’s messing with me.”
Thorsen looks between Smitty and Tim.
THORSEN
“Uhh–”
TIM
“That’s all I’m going to say on the topic.”
Thorsen closes his mouth. They both watch as Smitty opens up the driver’s door for Lucy across the lot. She hops into the shop and he closes the door. He jogs around the front and waves at them before getting in the passenger side.
TIM
(shaking his head)
“Freaking Smitty…”
EXT. ALLEY - LA BREA - AFTERNOON
Lucy and Smitty show up at a restaurant on La Brea and 9th, parked in the alley. Tim and Thorsen are already there, parked at the opposite end. They meet in the middle.
TIM
“Harper will serve the warrant with SWAT from the front–”
Before he can finish, a man BURSTS through the back door of the restaurant.
SMITTY
(yells)
“GUN!”
Smitty dives in front of Lucy just in time to catch a bullet in his vest. He goes DOWN, hitting his head on the shop on the way to the ground. Lucy returns fire, hitting the suspect in the chest and knocking him off balance. Thorsen flies through the air and tackles the shooter. Lucy quickly pulls Smitty behind their shop to take cover in case more men come through the door.
TIM
(into radio)
“Officer down! Shots fired in the alley between La Brea and South Detroit Street.”
Tim keeps his gun trained on the back door while Thorsen tosses the suspect’s gun away and starts to apply pressure to the wound. The man is out cold.
JAN
(over the radio)
“All suspects are secure inside.”
Smitty regains consciousness and is disoriented. Tim and Lucy share a charged look.
SMITTY
“What happened?”
LUCY
(soothing tone)
“Take it easy. You hit your head pretty hard.”
Grey walks up. Thorsen checks the man’s pulse and shakes his head.
TIM
“Chen, go with Grey. I’ll stay with Smitty.”
Lucy’s eyes widen and she looks over at the shooter. Her face turns white but she nods and follows Grey down the alley. Tim motions to the paramedics arriving on the scene. They rush over and fit a neck brace on Smitty and then maneuver him onto the stretcher.
TIM
“Thorsen. Secure the scene and canvas for witness statements.”
THORSEN
"On it."
Tim lays his hand on Smitty’s shoulder.
TIM
“Smitty. I –”
Tim swallows, then clears his throat. His voice is thick with emotion.
TIM (cont.)
“Thank you for what you did. You saved Lucy’s life.”
Smitty blinks in surprise as he’s struck with a realization.
SMITTY
“You love her, don’t you?”
Tim nods and Smitty tries to sit up. The paramedic puts a hand on his shoulder to gently push him back down.
SMITTY (cont.)
“Well Jeez. I didn’t know you love each other. I was only messing with you because I thought it was a fling.”
TIM
(rolls eyes in annoyance)
“It’s not a fling.”
Realizing his voice may have carried, Tim looks around.
SMITTY
“Look … You don’t need to worry about anything. Your secret is safe with me.”
TIM
“Thanks.”
SMITTY
“Yeah, you got it.”
TIM
“Does that mean you’ll start acting normal again?”
SMITTY
“Pssh … I haven’t been normal a day in my life, Sarge.”
TIM
(chuckles)
“Yeah, that , I believe.”
FLASHBACK.
Cut to a reel of Smitty’s life throughout the decades. Focus on his brief acting stint before he joined the LAPD where he starred in the 1980’s action film Tuff Stuff alongside an emerging star that would soon become a household name: Madonna. Transition to a montage of photos of Smitty and Madonna during their summer fling and finally to Smitty waving her off at the airport.
The camera ends on Smitty laying in the hospital bed with a bandage on the side of his head (present day). There are flowers on the side table from Lucy and Tim. He pulls a photo out of his wallet and stares at it affectionately. He smiles, a little sad. He never forgot Madonna … the one that got away.
FADE OUT.
End.
Don't forget to comment on AO3 if you enjoyed this one!
LF Friends, Foes, Lovers, Plots, Asks, Work Mates, Street Vendors… It takes people of all kinds to build a world.
Léaina Thea (Lioness of the goddess)
Eyes: sea green
Height: 5′ 7″
Age: immortal - appears late twenties early thirties.
The immortal daughter of a Goddess of wealth and fertility. She is a physical manifestation of her mothers powers.
Now cast from grace her mother has left her to the mercy and whimsy of man to learn that they are unworthy of her gifts. She has been stripped to the very basics of her birthright being left with serious limitations. *See abilities*
She loves children, though she has none from her own body… yet. A lot of her energy she expends in their behalf. Spending large portions of her day and energy to help them. She is a well known long time volunteer at the local hospitals, especially in the children’s wing.
A cautious determined soul who believes every day is new and with it new chances and opportunities. Despite the bad she has met and sometimes endured she refuses to see everyone as an enemy. She tries hard to balance her positive outlook with a healthy dose of realism bordering pessimistic on bad days.
She is often reserved and quiet, trying to get a feel for the people around her. She has had a long time to read people and is pretty good at it though this is nothing more than training. She feels deeply, and often finds it difficult to express those feelings because you need trust to express them. While she hopes every day for the good in mankind to present itself to her she realizes that it is not something that happens every day. At some points she stops believing in the good one might reach for and realizes what a truly terrible soul some people are.
If interested more beneath the cut. Thank you.
• Designed to be played in any world
Fandoms welcome. (More will be added)
Final Fantasy 14
Mass Effect 1, 2 ,3
XWP
• Any time throughout history.
• The RP can be something light or dark.
• I believe in relationship building.
• Mature rp is possible but there are limits.
No incest, no sex w/ minors (Im sure there is a whole list more to be added if necessary)
• Femslash for romance is desired.
I am not against some knowing her secrets, but remember with her abilities, it is very dangerous to be known. So its not everyday knowledge.
Since her healing leaves a mark, this mark manifests as a gilding of the entire spine the heavier the heal the more visible it becomes. Over time this fades as does the bond created with it. (The bond’s side effects can be your decision if you like)
Writing Abilities (example here)
Semi to full para. I can be known to write a wall depending on the situation.
I am no snob you don’t have to mirror, but i do need posts of substance i can work with. When i pull the whole rp load i feel uninspired and often quit.
Share your ideas with me. Let’s build together.
(One of my favorite posts ever made with this character. Its big…)
Possible Starting Places
Hospitals, Coffee Shops, Museums, Animal shelters, Public Transportation, Market Place like a farmers market, or an artisans craft fair. Parks, Fountains, Places of great beauty in art and architect.
I am over 30 and would like my partners 21 or over.
If you made it this far, I have discord if you like. Or even google
The braziers hummed in the tavern, as the fire crackled and men drank to their merry. The brothel women swung and danced around the soldiers – corporals, privates, and sergeants for a night had no ranking. They were simply men, indulging in the pleasures of the world. The music was a soothing hymn played upon a harp, a light drum beat followed with it. Adorned above the fireplace was the Kingdoms sigil: The Honorable Blue Ram
Curnalyn put one leg on the bench and his posterior on the table. He began to tell one of his famous stories; his accent was rough, much like his red head, and stout short beard; “So there I was the other day when I came into the stable. I went to the stable boy, and so I told him. ‘Give me a ram I need to ride north.’ The stable boy looked at me and said, ‘The masters said there’d be no more men traveling north.’So, I told that stable boy as I took one of his rams, ‘You can tell those masters to put their mouths right ‘ere!’,” Curnalyn chuckled, grabbing his pelvis.
The men all about the wooden table in the tavern laughed with glee and joy. Pounding their tankards down, shaking the table. They all cheered and clanked their tankards together for a round. Ale spilled across the table, as the men talked drunkenly, hugged, or punched another other across the face.
Curnalyn scrunched his mouthed- swiping his drink. He stood, treading over to the only member of the Black Estate in the tavern. His footsteps hesitant, while two men brawled he grabbed a tankard from their seat; holding two in hand. The man of the Black Estate was oddly well clothed for his homeland, not rags but smooth black linen was across his body and legs. Looking as tightly woven bandages,
“You mind for a drink, brother?” Curnalyn inquired, he strayed back as though approaching a ravenous dog.
“I don’t drink.” The man of the black estate responded, crossed armed. He was dressed in rams’ fur stitched together making a fine cloak, and blade in scabbard dangled at his side. Weaving designs of rams fighting one another, engraved deeply into the leather.
“I see you are more decorated than your brethren.” Curnalyn smiled
The man stayed silent – observing the other estates
“Have a drink with me, brother?” Curnalyn said raising his tankard. The man of the black estate just gave Curnalyn a glare. “Ahhh, right. I’ll just have one for you as well then.” Curnalyn sat down next to him. He sipped the drink he brought over for his new-found friend. “Not much of a talker are ye’– hmph, neither am I. You just need enough to drink to open up. These men aren’t all bad, some from the Yellow estate, some of the Green estate, some of the Red estate –”
“Like yourself.” The man of the Black estate responded.
“Yes, like myself.”
“You call me brother, but I am no brother to you.”
“We share barracks, we share beds, we share drinks, and we share women.” Curnalyn pointed outward, he swung another gulp.
“Do not try to fool me with your diplomacy, Red Estate warrior. My estate since our kingdom has existed has shoveled the other estates shit and whores they were bored of off the streets.” The man in black raised his voice; the tavern began to come to a halt. Women stopped dancing and seducing men, and men stopped fist fighting with one another. The fire crackles could be heard. The harp began to play slower – the winter winds whipped outside the tavern.
“Easy now brothers,” Curnalyn warned.
Some men rose to their feet with hands on their blades. “We don’ need to fight; we are all brothers within these walls, else the winters would eat us whole.”
“Shut it, Curnalyn.” One of the men that listened to his story stood the hilt of his blade in hand. Curnalyn stood, scowling at him.
“I best hope that wasn’t towards me; pup.” Curnalyn threatened whipping his axe off his back, cracking his shoulders side to side.
“You’re good for nothing but, fucking whores, and drinking the ale. When was even the last time you killed a barbarian? Or went on an expedition?”
“Let me tell you something, ye’ son of a whore – before I cut you down in-front of our brethren. When you get good at fightin’, it becomes a myth. I go on missions with Bolvar that you don’t have the balls for!”
The two men locked eyes; the air grew dry with tension. The sound of the fire was crackling, the harp playing slowly and hilts being gripped tightly; was all that could be heard. The man laughed with glee; the whole tavern followed suite. Curnalyn gave out a drunken laugh too, as his belly danced with jolly. He walked to his brethren with open arms they hugged each-other, tight in merry.
“I am sorry Curnalyn. I don’t know what came over me.”
Curnalyn smiled, “It’s quite all right, ale is a good drink. But it does terrible things to a lightweight.”
“Wait, a wha –”
Curnalyn struck him clear across the face. The drunkard fell to the ground as Curnalyn spotted his tankard. Finishing off any remaining ale, he thought to himself, just because a loose lipped light-weight can’t hold down his ale, doesn’ mean it needs to go to waste.
Before Curnalyn could see straight enough to walk back over to the man of the Black Estate. The horn bellowed into the night air, once, then twice, then three times. All the men scrambled, the tune played over and over again. Curnalyn dropped the tankard, clattering across the floor. No, he thought to himself, he sprinted outside. With axe in hand, he saw the barbarians set ablaze the walls of the keeps.
The savages rushed in, charging towards the soldiers in arms. Fortunate enough, one of the soldiers had their wits enough to release the rams into the fray. Rams charged forward, clearing columns of the barbarians giving time to the militia force of the soldier’s; time enough to wake their brothers. Drunken men pounded through the snow, banging on doors. Curnalyn picked up a tankard before leaving the tavern; he took a giant gulp, before tossing it to the ground. He belched, and he thought to himself, Bolvar… We need Major Bolvar.
Curnalyn’s loyalties laid with Bolvar, of the White Estate. Not many members from the White Estate had come to the Crown of the World. In-fact not many at all indeed; there was the magistrate, the alchemist, Bolvar, and General Lavosh. Bolvar and Lavosh being the only two warriors of the white estate.
Bolvar breathed heavy; he was in his village once more, the land was a tundra, the houses being carved from the ice itself. The tip of the tallest mountain peaked into the clouds. War has ravaged this land. Fireballs cracked down from the sky, melting the tundra. Bolvar saw himself melting as his body began to immobilize. Bolvar could peak forward, all his vision could see now was hazy, blurred objects. He heard a faint shriek, “Father, Father, Fath –”
“Bolvar, Bolvar, Bolvar!”, Curnalyn spat forth onto Bolvars’ forehead. His breath reeked of ale and whores. Bolvar awoke with sweat upon his brow; it dripped through his long black hair and beard. He awoke breathing heavy. Bolvar’s brown eyes sat deep. His face wrinkled with the ages, looking like old leather. His teeth half rotten from time, and cracked from how he regularly spoke with in murmurs. His body built like a warrior, peak condition. Sweat dripped onto the floor.
Bolvar streaked his hands across his face. Curnalyn continued to bellow in a tipsy stutter, “Bolvar, the barbarians. They struck before morn’! We need you commander, someone to lead the men.” The bed creaked as Bolvar stood up, only trousers on. He prepared his tunic.
“My blade.” Bolvar spoke abruptly, throwing his tunic over his large frame.
“Which one?”
“Ish-nu.” With that said Curnalyn wasted no more time, hurrying to the weapon rack. He threw Bolvar his blade in scabbard. Bolvar caught his blade back handed. Then quickly tied it around his waist, securing his boots.
“Your cloak?” Curnalyn pondered.
“Don’t need it, men are dying.” Bolvar marched out of the barracks.
His brethren in arms fought all about the keep; men fell dying to the snow. Bolvar quickly drew his blade Ish-nu from its sheath. No one knew why Bolvar had named his blade this. Curnalyn named his axe “Red Curn,” after his first born. Curnalyn the II, of the Red Estate. Generally a soldier would name his preferred blade after their first-born son. Bolvar swung his blade over his head; roaring. He shoved it completely through a barbarian’s rib cage – preoccupied by one of his brethren in arms. Blood surged down the blackened blade, as Bolvar cracked the barbarian’s ribs he tore his blade downward – ripping it out of the barbarians back. Bolvar splattered the blood onto the snow – he continued his charge.
He spun, relentlessly attacking forward; he gutted all those whom wished to take his life. He spun in a circle of death; attacking brutally. Bolvar was not known for his graceful fighting style; he had in-human strength some would say. Once, he split a man in half rumor has it. Bolvar met with his warriors, directing their flanks, and commanding catapults to fire.
“Spill the oil down –now!” Bolvar commanded; jabbing his blade forward. With the command given, the front of the keep was nearly, but all cut off. The rangers poured oil from the lamps down, the opening the barbarians made –engulfed in flames. The oil and flame burned as one- Bolvar grinned grimily. Curnalyn stood next to his commander, blood stained. The cold air rushed into their faces, all that was left was the band of barbarians in Serrian Keep.
“Curnalyn, tend to the others.”
“I will not leave you!”
“That was a command, Sergeant.”
“No.” Curnalyn objected. “Fuck yer command.”
A barbarian leapt at Curnalyn, Bolvar struck him dead in the nose.
“Curnalyn, I said now!” He grunted.
Curnalyn puffed his nostrils, “As you command.”
Read the rest here-- > https://alexanderjbones.com/ruler-of-the-seven-clans-sample/
I live for the moments where my heart was fully open to unconditional love. I reminisce on those feelings after 2AM but before the sun rises on a new day.
Content. Swelling up from my core, traveling to my heart and sending vibrations throughout my entire solar system. Happiness. Peace. Pure, unfiltered love. To Persons. Places or Things. I remember, I feel, and I cherish ...
4:04AM:
Time is fluid here. These thoughts are fluid. These feelings are raw. I can’t tell if it’s butterflies or anxiety at the end. I wonder if it’s because I know that real love can only be felt in those moments. In that time. Locked in those spaces of the past.
Crushing. Awakening to reality of The World. I live for the moments where my heart was fully open to unconditional affection.
Where I didn’t have to fight myself to be in a state of being without limits ... without infinite Possibilities. Of joy, Harmony, and absolute attachment.
4:20AM:
Nothingness consumes me. And just like that the nostalgia is lost.
