#tracked.

blackrosesmatron asked:

"When did you learn how to do that?"

"𝗜 𝗔𝗠 𝗔 𝗠𝗔𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦."

The Machine Herald turned, and barely flicked his wrist. The HexClaw blossomed to life, sending out a pulse of golden light, one that missed LeBlanc with precision. It instead fired over her left shoulder.

"I invented this device. Why so curious of it?"

shimmerbeasts asked:

✉ - push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed (perhaps involving illness, injury, or sleep deprivation) (Silco for Viktor, also just for emphasis he does that GENTLY!)

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗠-𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗘𝗡 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗟𝗘𝗚 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗛𝗜𝗠 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗, 𝗛𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗘'𝗗 𝗕𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗. The tunnels that ran through the undercity were vast, almost like catacombs. And that was what Tomo had intended them to be for Viktor: a final resting place. He'd planned to steal the inventor's work, use his invention to apply for the Academy in Piltover, and had hoped to destroy his father's burgeoning hold on the undercity in the process.

"Of course I didn't love you," comes the harsh whisper, fingers tangled in Viktor's hair. The brown wisps are pulled so tight that all he can do is yelp against the hard floor as he's yanked. He is face down, nose almost pressed to a puddle.

"Who could? You're weak. The only good thing about your is your brain, but don't worry, I'll put all of your inventions to good use. Blitzcrank will get me into the Academy."

Sudden pressure hits his right knee, jolting and preventing him from a response. A foot, pressing against the soft underside of the joint. Something starts to give way.

"No, please, no - " Viktor cries, struggles, but his cane is out of reach, and his trusting heart had made him carry no weapons. He'd even forgone the augments he'd installed in his cane, because he was in love. He was a fool. Such a fool.

A loud sound, between a crunch and a pop, reaches his ears. The pain that follows makes him moan brokenly, sweat breaking out all over his thin form. The sounds that leave his lips are almost inhuman. That is how much he hurt.

"Poor Viktor. You'll never be anything. You're useless. Hope you like it down here. This is where you'll die. I mean, weren't you going to, anyway?"

Something wet and sticky, a glob of spit, hit the back of his head. Viktor couldn't focus on anything else but the pain, and soon enough, when he took what he thought was his agonizing last breath, he faded into a swirling ink sea, Rio happily running behind him.

It was the scent of cigar smoke that woke him. His head was pounding, and suddenly, the floor was rushing to meet him, all of reality crumbling underneath his feet, though he stayed still. Viktor's golden eyes tried to find purchase on anything to soothe the spinning. Before he knew it, he was attempting to get out of bed, hoping that would make him feel better, and instead of getting out of bed as he expected, he felt a firm hand gently push him down.

His focus became a pinpoint from the action, and the pounding of his head faded to a gentle thud.

Viktor stared up at his father with a look of surprise. Silco was here. How long had he been at his bedside? Though his features were pale, paler than usual, and the young inventor regarded his father with bewilderment, a tender concern laid within the expression.

"Father? Are you well?"

His voice shook. Viktor clutched at his father's arm; oh, how silly it was for the sickly fifteen year old to ask Silco when he was not the one in the bed. And then, as if remembering everything that occured, more panic flashed upon his features.

"My lab. Blitzcrank. Are they - are they safe? How long was I out?"

He moved too quickly, and the pain of his leg shocked him. Ah, Tomo had broken that. The reminder made him wince. His voice was gruff, gruffer than he'd ever allowed himself to get before.

"I want to kill him. He left me. It wasn't genuine. He. Father, he didn't love me. It was a trick. I want to make him bleed. He wants to steal my work, take my interview at the Academy. It was all a ploy to - to. To leave me for dead."

@shimmerbeasts

↳ Silco, the Drop Off thread

𝗠𝗔𝗚𝗗𝗔 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗕𝗕𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗟𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗜𝗠 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗟. Such an inquistive mind to always look at the goods, but she was on a mission:

It had been the fourth time since Viktor had blown up their house, and she, frankly, had had enough of the boy for a lifetime. She loved him dearly, but she was only a fisherwoman in Zaun, and these boundless house repairs were putting her further into debt.

Viktor's mind was quick, and though he had, at first, helped her with her fisher duties, his experiments soon became a liability. Magda knew the father of their child, Silco, had more resources. The man had been supporting Viktor's growth with money, but enough was enough: perhaps he could help the burgeoning prodigy grow.

"Love," she gently cooed, "I'm giving you a fiddle. Promise me you'll play it?"

The child's brow furrowed. Sometimes, his mother's emotions were more akin to a light switch than a spectrum of color.

"Why are you giving me a fiddle?"

Golden eyes, the color of fresh honey, stared up at her. Pangs of guilt rippled through her chest. Would she regret dropping him off? Her precious little boy - "You are going to live with your father, and I won't see you as often as I'll like."

Viktor blinked at that, the fact his mother had him pack all of his meager belongings into his rucksack finally clicking for him. He would never be sleeping on the rug by the fire again, nor would he help her with fish. He was to live with this unknown man, this absent father, instead of his mother.

"When you miss me, you can play it."

Magda gently ruffled that mess of chocolate curls and stooped down. Viktor balanced on his wooden stick, head tilting as she pulled a wrapped package off of her back.

"You've had your moments, love, but you've always tried your best. I can't help you now. Maybe he can."

She grabbed the letter out of her pocket, also, and gave both the wrapped fiddle and scribbled note to her son.

"He's a good man. He's kept you fed. But I don't have it in me to see him again. So you find a man in there, you say you're the son of Silco, and tell him that Magda wrote him a letter. He'll know what to do."

Viktor was shaking by the time she finished, his eyes darkened with anger. "You are leaving me?" his voice was incredulous, high and squeaky.

Magda nodded, "Yes, Vik, I am. Now, run along."

Her words made him flinch. Ever rough about his leg, she made him feel bad for it, because it made him a bad fisher. As he struggled to open his mouth, he blinked away tears, and when he looked back, his mother was gone.

Liquid gold snapped to the building in front of him. The building wasn't run down, but like all buildings in Zaun, it wasn't well-taken-care-of either. Boards were on the iron windows in the front of what appeared to be a warehouse.

He clutched his rucksack tight and the new fiddle that had been his mother's apology, and he grasped the letter in a shaky hand. By the time he had ambled to the door with his wooden stick, Viktor was tired and worn out. He opened the door and found the first man he could.

"I am Viktor, son of Silco, and my mother, Magda, left a note."

He held the note out in a trembling fist, the six year old's expression just devastated. Abandoned on the doorstep of a man he didn't even know. More tears started to spill, and when he offered the man the letter, all Viktor could do was sob, silently, into his hand.

@ferinehuntress, for Cait (because we discussed this and am feral)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗜𝗡 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗧, 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗦 𝗙𝗢𝗖𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗗 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗, 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗗 𝗚𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗘. The Midnight Masquerade, one of the many events that Piltover held to celebrate the changing seasons, was their festival for the Harvest, and Viktor always had a special role at them. Not only was his V Coils there for entertainment, often he and his adoptive sister, Caitlyn, would play with them. He with his cello, and her with her violin. It was a robust, delicate instrument: made of rare wood, a gift from Mel Medarda, his best friend. Like the bracelet on his wrist, the cello was a symbol of their friendship. And he adored it.

Instead of the raven outfit he wore, Viktor was dressed in a white, flowy shirt and matching trousers. The gray corset showed against his waist line, and his feet were decorated in just as muted boots. His hair, as usual, was unkempt and wild, dark curls upon dark curls.

In the spotlight, it was almost as if, he could, for a moment, believe that he wasn't from Zaun, that everyone seated didn't harbor some kind of hate for the trencher that had revolutionized their electricity, had brought a type of music to the City of Progress. He'd never speak in front of them, but he'd play - he'd get lost in the music like he got lost in the spirit of Invention.

With a lithe flick of the wrist, he threw the light colored rosin towards Cait and took out his dark one. The bow rested against his bad leg as he drew the rosin across the strings: just enough for that rich, low, and tantalizing sound.

He flashed a smile towards his sister and sought after Mel in the crowd, giving a nod when he finally saw her. Eyes snapped back to Little Bird.

"Let us do a great show, yes?"

@blackrosesmatron asked:

[quiet jealousy] - Your muse (senders) becomes jealous over my muse (receiver) for whatever reason, and expresses it non-verbally, lingering closer to my muse than usual, touching them casually, etc. (Program!LB)

𝗩𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗚𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗟𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗖'𝗦 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔 𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗥. Golden eyes suddenly lock onto that beautifully-crafted hand that skims along the front of his shirt - it moves slowly to adjust his crimson cravat - and a dark blush paints his cheeks almost as red as the silk around his neck.

"LeBlanc," he stutters, turning to face her fully now, one pale countenance looking right back into her green features, "you - you do not have to do that."

The inventor's mouth waters and somehow goes dry, all at once, and all he can do is stand there, lips pressed into a flustered smile. More pressure. More adjusting of the cravat.

Viktor is almost buzzing right out of his skin from the attention.

Near the pair, Jayce works in his part of the lab, busily constructing Atlas gauntlets, unaware that his chatter with Viktor had caused LeBlanc to get jealous. He hums as he works -

The Zaunite feels her finger hook under his lapel, and he actually shudders in delight.

Viktor stares at her, embarrassed that her closeness could cause him to react so much. Letting the moment hang between them, begging to cross the distance, he watches her just stay ever-close and then his metallic eyes flick down to her lips. As if being caught by her, he guiltily looks up, and leans against the lab bench.

"I - eh, I - "

A soft, airy laugh leaves the back of his throat.

"Did I make you upset?"

@ferallfemmes AM SO DAMN EXCITED AM SHAKING LMFAO

𝗩𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗦 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗬 𝗥𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗡'𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗞. It is his third Midnight Masquerade, and it still feels so new to him. He is so used to the storytelling in front of the fire and blood-wearing of Zaun, that the candies, games, and fact his V Coils will perform at the end of the night... unnerves him.

Mel is a welcome presence. She always has been. His closest friend and confidant: an outsider, like him.

It was her idea, after all, to dress as a raven, and he'd stuck to the idea every year. It was comforting that Mel did the same thing, too.

"Any requests for the V Coils this year, M?" he says, gliding over to her with his cane announcing his presence. On his wrist lies the bracelet he has of their matching set, and his black outfit accentuates it.

On his breast pocket lies a reminder of Zaun's festivities, a splotch of beaded blood that was embellished there by his father. A necklace showcasing blood seeping down in red, glass beads and orange pearls, makes him appear paler. Some of Entropy's actual feathers decorate his costume near the shoulders, the black, loose shirt flaring out until it reaches his corset. The raven-feathered corset straightens his posture, and the inventor wears dark pants and boots. Dark wings decorate his back. Entropy also sits on his shoulder, squawking away.

"You look wonderful, as usual."

@shimmerbeasts (from what I remember of your reply before you moved blogs)

𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗞𝗔'𝗦 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗩𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛. In one second, a hiss breaks the air as the mask retracts, and the inventor looks back at the lieutenant who had protected him so long ago. From his time, Sevika was a memory. A fond one, of when his father still ruled the undercity, of the HexTech dream he helped Jayce with...

Gone was the sickly look to his features from his once-incurable illness. Instead, his eyes shine brightly. The outcropping of hair is wild and curly, a reflection of his fisher mother, but those eyes... are Silco's golden color. Viktor actually looks rosy and well, unlike how he looks in the past, well, in the current time -

"Let me speak to my father at once," comes the voice, head tilting to the side, "I have traversed the very fabric of time to see him. I appreciate your concern for him, and have always valued your loyalty, but this is imperative. He must see that his sickly son did not die. His son found a way to be... immortal."

A few automatons filter in, making it clear that if Viktor must fight in, he will. He taps his staff against the ground as more silver creations flank him. Its V Coil sparkles bright blue in the light.

"If you require proof - ask me whatever you desire. But I must see him."