#Young Viktor

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 19

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: Viktor senses something is off. Grayson touches base with Bone. The Children attempt their hiest!

Chapter CW: Canon typical violence. PTSD.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.5K

When Katya picked Viktor up on Friday, she barely acknowledged Ivy. Partly due to her anger, partly due to shame about her behavior the day before. She took the rucksack from the aide, her eyes downcast, hands reaching out to grab protectively at her brother’s shoulders once it was secure across her back.

Ivy watched the other woman sadly, wanting to say something, but not knowing what that would be; nor knowing if it would be wise to say anything in front of the boy.

“Have a good weekend, Viktor,” she said instead, a reassuring smile on her cherry-red lips.

“You, too, Miss – “

“Let’s go, Viktor,” Katya interjected, guiding him away.

Viktor’s brows furrowed as he began to awkwardly fall into step with her guided gait. He looked back at Ivy one last time before turning his attention toward the walk home.

He could sense something was wrong. It didn’t take an especially astute mind to see that Katya was in a foul mood. What was trickier for him was determining why. People had too many variables for his liking – it completely negated the scientific method. The backbone of chemical, biological, and physical theories and laws were their relatively controlled environments. If A, then B. If A, and C is present, then D; and so on.

People did not, as far as he could tell, live by such rules. Their feelings and actions could not be counted on to be consistent. And he found it vexing. And intimidating.

Viktor stuck close to Katya’s side as they made their way to the Bridge, his chin tucked in and eyes occasionally peering up at her, hoping he could glean any information from her stony profile.

“What is wrong?” he finally asked as they stepped into the Promenade.

Katya winced and chewed her lip. The pause scared him.

“Nothing,” she finally said, ushering him toward the Conveyor Car station. “I’ve just had a bad week.”

“Oh,” he murmured. He knew Katya didn’t lie to him, but he felt unconvinced.

“Come. Let’s get home.”

The weekend went by quickly, as it often did. But instead of feeling comforted and refreshed by time away from Piltover, he felt on edge and smothered. Whatever had happened during the week to his sister, clouded their home. It kept her irritable and clingy at the same time. She sat too close, touched him too much, didn’t really speak with him, and didn’t really listen. Despite her near-suffocating proximity, she seemed very far away, and he didn’t know how to call her back.

On Monday, when she dropped him off with Ivy, her fingers clawed at him when they hugged. Desperate and lonely.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy kindly said, “but we need to get going.”

Viktor made to pull away, ready to start his week. But Katya held on for a beat more. She touched him for as long as possible, letting her fingertips trail down his shoulders and arms as he stepped over to the aide.

“I love you, Viktor. I’ll see you Friday.”

Her voice was hollow and heavy. He didn’t understand. And he didn’t like it.

“I love you, too,” he replied. He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Grayson knocked on Councilor Bone’s office door and waited. Usually, Councilors had receptionists. Bone did not. Something the Captain took note now only because she wondered if this was another microaggression against an Undercity citizen.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside, removing her cap as she did. “Councilor, sir.”

“Ah, Captain Grayson,” Bone sighed, peering over his spectacles at her. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”

He gestured to the simple chair in front of his desk as he pocketed his glasses, and put the paper he was reading down. Grayson did as instructed, removing the folders from under her arm as she sat.

“I have looked through what you gave me,” she said heavily, placing a palm on the documents. His nod was equally somber, and he waited for her to continue. After a long moment, she added, “I see what you are saying.”

Bone nodded again, closing his eyes. He made to swallow and his throat hitched. He clasped a hand around his mouth as his lungs tried to push an angry retch up his trachea. His other hand fished out the handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. He covered his mouth, and swiveled away from Grayson. After a few more bone-rattling hacks, a warm, slimy wad crawled its way up Bone’s throat and mouth, and landed in the cloth. Very carefully, not wanting to disturb his guest, nor let on the severity of his condition, he coolly removed the handkerchief. Carefully pinching it to contain the bloody lump, he stowed it in his pocket and turned back to the captain.

“Apologies,” he rasped.

Grayson’s eyebrows creased in concern. She’d heard that the last Assembly had been cut short because of an acute health issue of Bone’s; now she wondered just how acute it was.

“I can come back another time, Councilor,” she offered. “Perhaps you ought to go home and rest.”

“No, no,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Rest will not help. I do not want to rest.”

That statement made the lines on Grayson’s face deepen. What he had said did not have the calming effect she suspected he wanted. However, she was not in a position to argue with a Councilor. No matter where he hailed from. Not if the work he wanted to do with her was on a time crunch.

“Thank you for taking the time to look over those files,” Bone said, genuine gratitude shining in his pale eyes. “Unfortunately, those are only a fraction of the cases – “

“I know.”

“ – and Enforcer brutality is ongoing.”

Grayson closed her eyes. “I know.”

She had never partaken, and she had never taken it as seriously as perhaps she should have, but she was well-aware of trainees and rookie Enforcers going into the Undercity and finding citizens to fight. In the name of tradition. For meaningless clout. She had recently reamed a trio for that very activity. Not only was it unprofessional and shameful, but they had had their asses handed to them by whoever they had tried to intimidate.

“I would like us to put the data together in a thorough and concise presentation format,” Bone said, “and present it at an Assembly.”

“Us?” Grayson gasped. “Shouldn’t we get LeDaird on board, too?”

“We will. Eventually.” He fixed her with a sly grin. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, yes?”

“I suppose,” she conceded, settling back into her seat.

She knew from experience (her own and her peers’) that sometimes bending or skirting protocol was the best way to get things done, to solve cases. Even LeDaird knew that. “Hopefully after that attempted robbery at the docks a couple weeks ago, things will be relatively quiet so we can work on this.”

The first step in stealing the money, Katya found out, was sneaking across the Pilt. The airship port was on Piltover’s side of the river; built into the cliff faces on the outskirts of the city. The captain Beckett worked for was also a part of the Children, and was allowing him to use a small dinghy to ferry himself, Silco, Katya, and Annie to the opposite shore.

The night of the job, Katya met Silco at The Last Drop’s backdoor. Vander and Enyd stood behind him; the barkeep looking hopeful, but stoic. Enyd was pale, her hands continually fretting with the dark clothes her son wore. Katya was wearing dark ones, too; something that he had suggested when they had met up with Annie and Beckett to go over the plan.

“We’re meeting Beckett and Annie there,” he said, stepping away from The Drop. Enyd followed and began to fuss over Katya.

She nodded, and asked, “Are we ready?”

“Wait a moment,” Enyd breathed, her hand snaking into her satchel. She pulled a small, folded pile of cloth out and handed it to Silco. “To cover your faces with,” she explained.

He nodded and handed one of the four handkerchiefs to Katya. Taking it, she unfolded it once, a glimmer against the pitch fabric catching her eye. She squinted in the low light, and saw that there was a small ‘Z’ stitched into the corner with silver thread.

“Be safe, yeah?” Vander said, shifting restlessly. While his strong jaw remained set, his eyes shone with worry.

Silco nodded. “We will be back in a few hours.”

Enyd threw herself into him, holding on tightly. He drew her close and reassured, “It will be uneventful. In and out.”

Katya nodded; so did Vander, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Reluctantly, Enyd pulled back from her son, only for her slim arms to reach for and hold on to the young woman. Thrown off, but grateful, Katya returned the embrace.

“In and out,” she repeated. “Like he said.”

Regardless, Enyd insisted, “Be careful.” She stepped back and gave the pair a warning look. They nodded and stole away down the alley. Vander placed a massive hand on Enyd’s shoulder as they watched them go.

Silco and Katya slipped silently through Zaun’s alleyways and to the docks. Annie and Beckett met them in the shadows of the Harbormaster’s hut, both looking uncharacteristically serious. In addition to their dark outfits, Beckett wore a black knit cap over his fire-red hair, and Annie had spun her own dark locks into a tight braid, instead of her usual loose pigtails. There were quick ‘hellos’ – Annie simply jutting her chin in Katya’s direction – and Silco handed the pair the remaining two masks.

The docks were dark and quiet as they strode for the small dinghy lazily bobbing in the water, waiting for them. Beckett took the back and readied the motor. Annie took the middle bench, while Katya and Silco sat hip-to-hip at the bow. Beckett untied the vessel and ripped the motor’s cord. It puttered to life and they began the short voyage to a small grotto just beneath the airship base. The boat would hide there while they executed their plan.

The water beneath the boat was so still; a smooth, black mirror of the sky. Beckett captained the vessel gently, leaving only a glossy ripple in their wake. None of them spoke. Katya’s knee bobbled nervously as they went. Eventually, Silco put a hand on her leg, keeping his touch light.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. He paused, and added in a quieter whisper, “I got you. I won’t let anything happen.”

Katya gave him a thankful smile, but her heart thundered on. It was a moment before Silco realized that he had left his hand on her thigh. Slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself, he drew his hand back. His fingers tingled and he flexed them, wondering why it suddenly felt difficult to breathe.

With the pace they kept, it took a little over an hour to reach the grotto. Beckett harbored the small boat just out of sight of any prying eyes. As they exited the vessel, both Beckett and Annie swung large, empty sacks over their shoulders and handed one each to Katya and Silco. They tucked Enyd’s masks up over their noses, and they ascended the steep cliff face. The climb became easier once the natural, jagged rock gave way to the smooth stone that built up the tower of the hanger. However, the biting wind off the Pilt stung their eyes and cheeks now that the extra rock cover was beneath them.

“The third hanger,” Annie whispered as they approached the first massive cavern in the cliffs. She pointed up for good measure.

While Katya had of course seen airships and blimps far up in the sky, it was very different seeing them up close, tethered and waiting in their bays. Impressive, hulking machines made from metal, wood, glass, and fabric. She didn’t know if it was because it was so late, but they did not have to dodge as many workers as she expected. The few she spied were lazily leaned against the iron gangways that bracketed each airship, smoking and distracted by conversations they were having with one another.

The ship in the third bay up was not as large as the one beneath, a fact Katya found comforting. Less room to have to search through, fewer crew members to have to avoid. The small group huddled together at the mouth of the cavern.

“The delivery from Clapper should already be aboard,” Silco said. “Stowed in the belly of the main cabin. Time?”

Beckett checked the chrono on his wrist. “It’s 9:30.”

“The ship is supposed to sail at 10:00,” Annie supplied.

Silco nodded. “Right. We sneak in, find the delivery, get the coin, and get out.”

Katya swallowed and set her jaw. Her heart tapped and she steeled her nerves. Stealing from the mines medical supplies seemed so much less risky compared to this.

They carefully crept onto the catwalks, mindful to keep their footsteps as soft as they could. They ducked behind crates and kept careful watch of the workers above and below them. They approached the ramp that led onto the ship and paused. Silco and Beckett looked to Annie, who skirted around them and sneaked up to the door, and silently slid it open. She peered inside, and after a beat, beckoned them to follow her.

The cabin was dimly lit and full of boxes. To their right there was a door and a brighter light spilled beneath it. Muffled voices murmured behind it. At once, Beckett began silently stacking boxes in front of the door. Katya joined in and set additional crates in front of that pile.

“Here,” Annie whispered. She handed each member a chem-torch from a nearby shelf. She flicked hers on and held it beneath her chin, making a twisted face.

“Not now, Annie,” Silco admonished, turning his own on.

Annie rolled her eyes at him and began looking absently around the cabin. “Oh! Look at this!”

The other three turned, expecting to see a crate with the Clapper insignia on it. Instead, Annie enthusiastically thrusted a small, metal and glass contraption towards them.

“It’s a camera! I think,” she said excitedly, spinning the object in her hands to look at it. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Put it back, Annie,” Katya hissed. “That is not what we’re here for.”

The other woman ignored her and stuck the camera in her bag.

“Come on,” Silco insisted. “There’s a door over here. It should take us below.”

Indeed, the door opened onto a short staircase that took them below the main cabin. Larger boxes were stowed there and the group dispersed, looking for their target.

“Here,” Katya called after a minute. Her torch’s beam shone over a large, squat box with Clapper’s logo stamped across the wood. The rest of the party gathered around, and Beckett withdrew a prybar from his sack and opened the crate. They pawed through the paper confetti cushioning the delivery until they finally uncovered the curtains beneath. “Nasha said the coin would be sewn into the hems.”

Silco and Annie reached in, feeling for the ends of the fabric.

“Here,” Silco said, lifting the end of one panel up. The fabric sagged and sifted over his hands, gently clinking as it moved. He withdrew the knife from his boot and slashed the hem open. Gold hexes fell out. Katya’s mouth went dry, both Beckett and Annie’s eyes went wide.

“Fuck,” Beckett breathed. “I’ve never seen so much coin.”

“And this is only a fraction of it,” Silco said, and Katya could hear the smile in his voice.

They filled Annie and Beckett’s bags first.

“Fuckin’ Janna,” Annie complained as she slung the pack over her shoulders. “This guy must be in deep shit if he owes this much coin.”

“It’s 9:45,” Beckett announced, adjusting his partner’s bag.

Silco nodded. “You two go. Start heading back down to the boat.”

“Be careful,” Katya implored as they crawled back up the stairs.

Together, she and Silco dug through and cut open the remaining curtains, emptying the gold into their bags. Once they got to the bottom of the crate, they carefully pawed through the panels again, making sure not a coin was left behind.

Above them, a door opened and loud footsteps stomped along the floor. Both Katya and Silco froze, bodies tense like springs, hearts thundering. There wasn’t another way out. Only up, back through the main cabin – where someone was traipsing about, entirely unbothered by the amount of noise they made.

They should’ve checked how many of the crew had been in the main bridge of the airship before boxing it up . . .

“What the fuck is this?” an unfamiliar gruff voice muttered. Then the sound of him shifting boxes around.

Silco turned to say something to Katya and she jumped, knocking into the crate’s lid, and toppling it over. It wasn’t a loud sound, but noisy and unsuspected enough that it alerted the crew member above them.

“Whose down there?”

“Hide!” Silco hissed, pushing Katya into a darkened corner.

No sooner had she stumbled behind another tower of crates, did the door at the top of the stairs open, a large shadow looming down the steps and into the cargo hold. She hurriedly turned her torch off, gulping down a scared gasp. Silco sprang for the shadows. But the light pouring in caught his boot before he could slip away entirely. His own chem-torch rattled and rolled away across the floor. The man grunted an amused tone and began down the steps, each footfall heavy. Meant to intimidate.

Katya pressed her back into the wall behind her, scarcely daring to breathe. This couldn’t be happening . . . This couldn’t be happening. This was supposed to be an in-and-out job. Her skeleton wanted to crumble to the floor; her meager supper threatened to make a reappearance. She shouldn’t have agreed to this; she hadn’t been in the right state of mind when she agreed. What had she been thinking?

She’d been thinking of her brother, she knew. Of how he deserved the world, and that this was supposed to be a way of giving it to him.

She bit her lip under her mask to keep from making a sound. She had also been thinking of herself, if she was honest. She was so angry with Piltover. So, so angry that they wanted to take another thing from her. Like she didn’t deserve it. Like Viktor would be better off without her. That she was nothing, and deserved to fall into soot-covered obscurity in the Sump and die.

“What’s this?”

The man spoke and Katya started, peering out from behind a tower of crates. Her stomach curdled. The crew member – a very large man with a sneer on his face and an iron bar in one hand – had pulled Silco out of the shadows and now stood over him. Silco glared up at him, his blue eyes shards of ice that cut between the space of his hair and the mask. Next to his side, the bag of coins was open, its golden belly glittering in the light.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling. The frame of the airship thrummed and vibrated. And then it jolted forward. Katya’s stomach tumbled. The ship was leaving port! Her mind raced. She couldn’t get caught. And she couldn’t be hauled off to Bilgewater. She couldn’t abandon Viktor. She had to figure out an escape. At this point, whether or not the money made it back to Zaun didn’t concern her.

“Thieving little Sumprat,” the crew member growled at Silco, taking another step towards him. The meaty fist that held the iron bar twitched.

Katya’s hand twitched too. Toward the small revolver tucked in her trouser pocket. She had debated leaving it at home, and was now glad she hadn’t. Before the man could raise the bar over his head, she took the gun out, aimed, and fired. The pop of the gun was sharp, and rang off the metal hull of the ship. The bullet lodged itself into the back of the crew member’s knee, and he howled in anguish, crumpling to the floor. Silco lurched forward and grabbed the iron bar, and cracked him across the head.

The Enforcer fell. Katya’s father stomped on his ankles.

Bones crushing. Hollow wails.

From the ground, the Enforcer delivered one blow of his baton to Katya’s father’s head.

Katya’s mind spun and her body froze, cold terror leaching out any warmth in her. Her vision began to white out around her periphery. Silco shouting her name, and reaching for her shook her out of the memory and back into her body.

“Kat! Are you okay?” He gripped her shoulders tightly as his eyes scoured her body. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Katya took a couple shaky breaths and shook her head. “No. Are you?”

“No. We need to get moving. The other crew members will have heard that – “

“The ship is moving!” Katya suddenly cried. The floor was softly rumbling beneath her feet.

“I know,” Silco said. His hands flew from her shoulders to cup her face. “We’re going to get back home. Okay? You hear me? I got you.”

She swallowed and nodded. Her eyes flicked over to the prone man behind him. “Is he . . .?”

“No, just knocked out. I think,” Silco assured. He stepped over and quickly assessed the man. “No. He’s breathing. Come on.”

As they scrambled up the stairs, the rest of the crew was shouting and ramming into the door Beckett and Katya had blocked off. A fair amount of boxes had been knocked away, the door open enough that one of them could shove his shoulder and arm out, trying to topple some of the crates just out of reach. His eyes bulged seeing the two stow-aways skitter to a stop.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

His outburst caused the other members behind him to scuffle and fight to get looks at who he was referring to.

“Thieves!” Someone yelled.

“Move!” Another screamed, knocking the man in front aside. A gun barrel appeared in the doorway, and it fired.

The shot was not aimed at anything, and Silco and Katya ducked as the bullet hit a crate. It exploded in a burst of splinters and paper. Another shot was fired; this one ricocheting off a metal pipe, causing sparks to rain down from the ceiling in a fine mist.

“Stop wasting bullets!” Someone yelled.

The distraction was enough to let Silco and Katya throw themselves into the door and crush the people behind it. The gun went off again as the nose of it was flung up by the impact. The bullet sliced through a tube slung on the ceiling, and fluid began spraying out of it in wide swaths.

Katya screamed and leapt back. She tripped over a crate and fell. Silco went after her, grabbing her arm. As he went to pull her onto her feet, he paused, sniffing. They both looked over to the decimated crate. It was smoking, orange embers slowly licking to life, eating away at the wood and paper. Growing bigger, stronger.

“Fuck,” he whispered. For the first time, he sounded uncertain. Scared.

Behind them, the door to the bridge finally burst open, the three remaining crew members tumbling out, ready to fight. Katya’s eyes immediately picked out the woman who held the gun – a rifle, judging by its long barrel. She pulled her own gun back out and fired at her shin. The woman screamed and collapsed to the floor. Silco tackled into the man that had been trying to wedge through the door earlier, bowling both of them over back into the airship’s bridge.

The second man eyed the growing fire behind Katya with big, terrified eyes. He froze up as his counterpart on the floor yelled at him to do something. So, he did. Wrenching open the sliding door on the ship’s hull, he let a huge gush of air into the cabin. The embers sucked the sudden onslaught of oxygen up in a mighty WHOOSH. The flames ate and grew, licking up the walls and lapping at the ceiling. All three screamed, Katya scrabbling away from the fire. The heat bit at the sliver of flesh visible between her bangs and nose bridge. The smell of burning chemicals, hair, and heat filled the air. The crew member who had opened the bay door looked out at the view below him, back at the fire, to the woman on the floor, to Katya, to the gun in her hand, and jumped out.

The woman on the floor screamed and thrashed, trying to grab Katya’s revolver. Panic sluiced over her body, taking control of her limbs, as her assailant grabbed at her pant leg and attempted to pull her down. Katya’s limbs locked up a moment before exploding into action. Her free leg swung, the toe of her boot connecting with the underside of her attacker’s jaw. There was a sickening crack! and a garbled, anguished howl as the crew member was flung to the side. When she didn’t move, Katya lurched forward and grabbed the rifle before running into the airship’s bridge.

Silco had taken care of the final crew member; the man was slouched against one of the seats, blood dribbling from his lips, one of his hands pierced to the floor by a knife. Silco himself was at the consol, frantically looking over all the levers and buttons.

“The fire is spreading!” Katya cried.

Silco looked over his shoulder at her, and saw the blaze in the other room. The sweat trickling down his back was not only from the heat. Above them, there was a loud metallic groan and crash as the flames began eating away at the frame around the canvas balloon. Katya shrieked and jumped to Silco’s side. His mind raced, but no idea landed. He stared out the windshield at the expanse of black in front of them. Below, he could see the stars reflected off the Pilt, the orange fireball he and Katya were now engulfed in.

“We need to jump!” she shouted. He looked at her, eyes wide. “It’s our only option! Jump and swim to shore!”

Behind them, another gust of wind fanned the fire, and it surged up and around. Each of them could feel the thread of their clothes beginning to burn, the buckles of their boots becoming blisteringly hot. Silco agreed with her: jumping would be their only chance. He grabbed the rifle in her hand and beat it against the airships windows until they shattered. They scrambled up onto the consol and peered down below. The cool, briny air was a welcome relief from the heat and smoke. Less appealing was the very large drop between them and the water. Katya felt Silco freeze next to her, his body going rigid with fear.

“Come on!” she screamed, grabbing his hand and knocking her shoulder roughly into his. “Please!”

Silco grit his teeth, his fingers clamping down around Katya’s. “I got you,” he promised.

Katya wasn’t sure what made her say it, but she nodded and replied, “You have me.”

Together, they leapt from the airship. Plummeting down, down, down to the water below.

Notes: Cliffhanger! Cliffhanger! Wuh-oh!!!!

Coming Up Next: The Children of Zaun make their prescense known.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dreamyonahill, @pinkrose1422, @altered-delta, @truthandadare. @sand-sea-and-fable

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #vander #viktor #original characters #young silco #young viktor #young vander #my writing #silco fanfic

[tweek-tweak22]

Viktor & Rio

#young viktor #viktor #baby viktor soo cute♡ #viktor arcane #league of legends #arcane #netflix arcane #arcane x reader

[conretewings]

The Paths We Cross

-Viktor, needing a part for his newest invention, seeks assistance from a shop of good reputation.

-Set a couple decades before the events of Arcane season one, a young Viktor and my oc Rosemary meet. Just a fun idea I had bouncing around in my head and decided to write for fun and as a gift to the lovely @grumpyoutlaw ❤️

Sticking close to the buildings for safety and an easy escape into a shop if needed was an essential lesson and skill Viktor had learned long ago, one that he was using again this day as he wove his way through the crowded, dank and damp streets. All around vendors hawked their wares from stalls, carts, or even from bulging bags, people milled in front of bars, brothels, or hurried on their way to whatever business they had and everywhere teemed the chaos of the Undercity.

Pausing to re-shoulder his bag to a more comfortable angle across his hip, one where it's weight helped steady his limping gait instead of worsening it, Viktor glanced up at a couple landmarks to note his location and which street to turn down next toward his own destination.

"Let's see...it was-"

Feeling a couple rapid taps on his shoulder, he instinctively clutched his bag and rotated his hand to grip his cane at the perfect angle to defend himself if need be; it wouldn't be the first time.

Whipping his head around at the same moment, he found himself face-to-face with a squat little man in patchwork garb and a seemingly friendly, yet too friendly, grin so wide his crooked teeth poked out. A well-worn bag nearly his size and adorned with various items was strapped to his back, and in his grubby hands something was concealed.

"Greetings, yes most welcome greetings this day young man!" he started in a likely well rehearsed speech, "Tell me yes, tell me, are you hungry? Does your stomach yearn for a tasty morsel? Yearn no more! I have here the solution yes! For a mere two coin I offer the finest fruit one can find!"

With a flourish he opened his hands to reveal an apple clearly past it's prime, brownish soft spots dotting it's surface. Viktor had his suspicions that it likely also housed an insect or two and not wanting to either waste his money, nor evict any possible tenants, he shook his head, managing a polite half smile.

"Thank you sir, but I already ate..."

The man's eye twitched, but maintained his salesman smile, "Goodness my boy but you're thin as that stick you're using yes, poor thing, so thin! Wouldn't a bit of extra food do you well yes? It's such a good deal! A bit of lunch!"

'I'm sure it is, if one wanted to lose their lunch' Viktor thought sarcastically, but carefully started to move away as he said again, "No, thank you, but I wish you luck..."

His smile finally dropping into a sour pout, and grumbling about how he's 'missing out' the man shoved the sad fruit into a pocket and turned to shuffle off. Releasing a sigh of relief, the man's words about his weight nonetheless echoed in Viktor's mind until he bitterly shoved them away and gripping his cane, felt a renewed sense of resolve to find the place he sought and finish the project currently residing in his bag. To that end he stood as tall as possible and went on his way.

A young woman leaned on a heavy, paper-strewn wooden counter with a gnawing sense of boredom, absentmindedly tapping a pencil as she stared at a broken clock she'd been planning to fix sitting next to her. It seemed to reflect and even mock her feeling that time was, in fact, at a standstill. Normally she was proud to be in charge of her family's business, yet today, all she wanted was escape. Looking around the rest of the packed shop with it's shelving and cases of mishmashed parts, half-finished mechanical items, and antiques, nothing sparked her interest. Perhaps she'd dig through the trash again for parts to weld together. That was usually fun. Usually...

Turning her head she shouted, "Dad! Can I shove off early?"

"Absolutely not!" came a bellowed reply from far behind a curtain that served as a divider between the shop and their living quarters, "Your brother has his shift 'n so do you!"

"But I just wanna scrounge up some parts-"

"Birdie, I really need ya to mind the shop. Ya can run about with your friends 'n that beau of yours later! Now lemme finish fixin' the stove please."

She exhaled in exasperation and lowered her head, wishing something, anything would happen. As if by some divine miracle, a few moments later she heard the creak of the heavy door mixed with the musical chime of the bell attached to it. Instantly she snapped into professional mode, standing up tall and putting on a welcoming grin.

"Good day! Wares and Repairs! You break it we can probably fix it! What can we help ya with?"

Using his shoulder to hold the door open while he awkwardly made his way through it, a teen who looked to be around fourteen, though with his prominent limp and slight build it was difficult to tell, let the door shut behind him as he paused to gaze around.

Viktor gaped at the sheer number and amount of items stuffed into the large room which, somehow, was clearly organized in it's own way. Yes, this was certainly the place he'd been told about. The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile, feeling a sense of hope and even excitement at the prospects; surely somewhere the treasure he sought lay waiting. So absorbed was he it took a moment for the greeting he'd received to register, and he snapped his attention back to the woman behind the counter.

"Ah, yes, hello," he started, shifting his bag again and approaching, "I've been told this place can fix anything and sells almost anything as well..." planting his good foot for leverage he carefully heaved the bag onto the counter, wincing when a dull metallic thud sounded, "So I would like to know if I could ask for some assistance with this."

"Oh? And what is this?" the woman inquired, her hazel eyes alight with an eager, inquisitive sparkle that somehow set Viktor more at ease. She looked to be somewhere in her mid twenties, with thick chocolate brown hair and clad in well-worn but sturdy looking work overalls, arms covered in bandage wrappings with canvas gloves. Something about her looked very familiar but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Undoing the snaps on the bag, Viktor carefully slid a metal box onto the counter in front of her, a gesture which only seemed to fan her curiosity's flame, as she leaned forward a degree. He turned it around and opened a lid to reveal a carefully painted bird made of tiny pieces of metal and wood atop a wire 'branch'. A hollow area in the center was lined with a worn but still soft piece of velvet.

"A music box!" she inhaled with delight, looking from it to Viktor, "It's lovely! Where did ya get it?"

He cracked another, more proud smile and stood a little straighter, "I made it. It's for my mother, but it's not working yet. Something's off with the gears, and the sound mechanism-"

The woman gaped at him, leaning closer, making to touch it but quickly pulled her hand back, "You-made it?! Freakin' hell lad! This is some sophisticated work!"

The angle at which she was now stooped over the counter accidentally gave Viktor the perfect view of her ample cleavage, an effect that in her enthusiasm she was evidently unaware of. Out of respect and to stop the threat of his cheeks growing warm he quickly flicked his gaze to her face, "Th-thank you. I was hoping you might have the parts and tools I need to complete it."

Grinning she stood, planted her hands on her hips and flicked a stray chunk of hair aside, "If we don't have what ya need, no one does! We've got this ummm," she tilted her head, "Sorry kid what's your name?"

"It's Viktor." he replied with another smile, her energy rubbing off a little, "And you?"

"Name's Rosemary! Now let's get this train movin'!"

It may have been mere minutes, it may have been hours that flew by, neither could truly say nor did they care as they worked together to tear through the shop's extensive collection. Gears and bits and bobs were selected then discarded, or placed on the counter for further inspection until they had a generous pile to work with as they carefully undid the music box's inner mechanisms to test them out.

As they worked they chatted, mostly about their mutual interests in creating or fixing things and experimentation. Rosemary told him the story of her family's business, how her great-grandfather had started it and, proudly, how eventually it would belong to her and her brother. Viktor shared his dreams of scientific discovery, of building new and innovative things to better people's lives.

"I guess we have that in common." said Rosemary softly during a slight lull in conversation.

Viktor lowered the screwdriver he held, "Hmm?"

She gently touched the tiny mechanical bird, "We want to make things better."

Eventually, after a generous amount of trial and error, Rosemary crossed her fingers as Viktor carefully opened the lid-and the bird came to life, spinning and making tinny 'chirping' sounds.

He grinned happily as she cheered with a loud 'woo hoo!' They watched it until the spring-loaded mechanism ran out of tension and the bird's movement ceased.

"Thank you so much for all your trouble," he paused, "And for talking with me. It...means a lot."

"Ya kiddin' me? I've been havin' a great time Viktor!" she chuckled, picking up tools and parts to start putting them away, "I love workin' on stuff! Plus, not everyday I meet someone clever as you!"

He gave a small, unsure laugh as he carefully slipped the box back into his bag and dug into a small coin pouch, counting out what he hoped would be adequate, "I suppose my projects aren't too bad."

Watching Rosemary practically dance about the room with graceful movements and singing softly, that familiarity he'd felt earlier came back, burning at the front of his brain but he still couldn't quite recall where he'd seen her. Shaking his head to focus he held out a hand to her, "Here is my payment. I realize we never discussed it, but this should be enough."

She took the coins, nodding as she counted, "Aye, this'll do..." then cleared her throat, "Actually, I'm not so sure."

Viktor clutched his bag and felt his stomach drop; surely it was adequate for what he'd needed! Was she really not as kind as he'd thought? He didn't really have any more to spare, what about the food he was supposed to pick up on the way home? What about-

Abruptly she snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth, "Ah no I-I was only messin' with ya! It was a joke this is fine! I'm so sorry oh your face lad you're pale as a ghost!"

Releasing the breath he'd been holding in a loud, shaking sigh, he dryly replied, "Yes, yes. Hilarious."

"Tell ya what. I'll make it up to ya; swing by anytime you're workin' on another project and I'll help...and give ya a steep discount. Deal?"

Viktor met her gaze, and seeing the remorse and sincerity there, cracked a slight smile again, "Deal."

"Well, in that case," Rosemary swept an arm around, gesturing to the room, "We thank you for visiting Wares and Repairs and I hope you'll visit us again for your fixin' needs! No guarantees."

He gave a brief laugh, "I'll keep that in mind. Farewell, and thank you again, Rosemary." Securing his bag and adjusting his cane to a more comfortable grip, he headed to the door, and was reaching for the handle-when it unexpectedly flew open, a mountain of a man taking up the entire doorway.

"Oy Rosie! I-oop!"

He skidded to a halt, having just about run smack into Viktor, who gasped sharply, moving quickly but ungracefully to one side before cautiously glancing up. The larger man, who seemed to be about the same age as Rosemary, was looking at him curiously but not unkindly with steel-blue eyes and his thick, muscular arm still held the heavy door open with no apparent effort. He also looked very familiar, but again Viktor couldn't quite place him.

He jerked his head in a 'go ahead' gesture, and Viktor mumbled thanks before quickly starting to walk out. The man was so tall Viktor passed easily under his raised arm.

Pausing in the doorway to readjust his load after that mishap, he watched Rosemary's face light up as the man strode up to her where she had retreated behind the counter and leaned an elbow on it opposite her, the pair engaging in rapid, hushed conversation.

Abruptly he realized where he'd seen the man before; a gathered crowd, indignant shouts, calls for change...and at the center, standing on a pile of crates and junk, there he was. He raised his fist high as his deep voice boomed off the surrounding buildings, two other men at his side. He spoke of pushing back, of standing up for themselves, of a more independent city. Viktor had paused briefly to watch and listen before his father had encouraged him to keep moving. As they left, Viktor heard applause and cheering before the noise faded entirely.

Unexpectedly he felt a seething, burning knot of jealous anger twisting in his gut; this man, with his sheer size and confident charm, probably didn't have to worry about constantly watching his back. He didn't have to hobble around, seeing everyone run about with ease while he was constantly left behind. He probably had lots of friends. He didn't have to hear the whispers, the cruel laughs, the insults. Viktor gripped his cane so hard he thought it may break and spun to leave.

Walking as fast as he could manage, the anger slowly petered out until he only felt a cold numbness where the rage had been, like a lead weight in his stomach. He paused to breathe, finding a relatively safe spot to do so as he gathered his thoughts and tried to calm himself. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair...

Self-pity was not something he normally indulged in, finding it pointless and unproductive, but for a miserable few minutes couldn't stop the racing thoughts. Why was he like this? Why couldn't he run and jump like others? Why was he always sick? Why had fate pointed it's cruel finger at him?

Looking up, he saw in the distance and high above, the proud spires of Piltover's Academy, the late afternoon sun shining off their facades. Slowly, the anger morphed into steely determination and he made a vow to himself-

Someday, somehow, despite his abilities, despite his origins, he would be in those rooms, gazing out over the city and feeling this same sunlight warming his face as he worked toward his dreams...

#arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane viktor #young viktor #arcane oc #arcane vander #young vander #hope you enjoy

[gabapple]

A Vitya from 2021 that I really like :')

#vitya #victor nikiforov #yoi #yuri on ice #young viktor

[ruby0403]

I did it bro. I give to you crown too.

こっちの方が良かったのであげ直し。

#yoi #yoi fanart #yoi fanfic #yuri on ice #ユーリオンアイス #ユーリonice #digital fanart #ヴィクトル・ニキフォロフ #victor nikirofov #maccachin #makkachin #マッカチン #二次創作イラスト #yuri on ice fanart #yuri on ice fanfiction #yuri on ice fanfic #young victor #young viktor

[emlynphoenix]

I wonder if since we are getting the kid brellies back if we will see how young Viktor was feeling. When he doesn’t feel like the others, and not just because he was told he didn’t have a superpower

#lgbtqia+ #the umbrella academy #lgbtq positivity #tua #number seven #viktor hargreeves #viktor #the umbrella academy season 4 #TUA s4 #young brellies #young Viktor

[diamondri]

ok but Klaus and Five are Sirius and Regulus variants

#all the young dudes #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #diego hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves #allison hargreeves #marauders #marauders era #james potter #peter pettigrew #sirius black #sirius orion black #regulus black #regulus arcturus black #the black family #the black brothers #atyd #anything for our moony #wolfstar #jegulus #dead gay wizards from the 70s #gay dead wizards #dead gay wizards #incorrect marauders #marauders incorrect quotes #incorrect marauders quotes #james & peter & remus & sirius #james fleamont potter

[diioonysus]

winter + art

#no title but its by henry boughton #i cant find artist or title #winter sleigh ride by martha cahoon #evening skaters by trisha r omance #no title but its by julius von klever #no title but its by sergery ossuik #soon the new year by sergey sviridov #unknown artist #no title no artist #no artist + no title #promenade on a winter day by francois gailliard #bergkapelle in winter by ernst ferdinand oehme #cold winter day by linda jacobus #winter by paul gustav fischer #christmas night by viktor mikhailovich lukyanov #a winter's tale by tatiana yumashnova #the night train by abraham neumann #the north star by sydney laurence #young couple in winter by unknown #between friends by alan maley #no title but by gerald harvey jones #no title but its by richard savoie #no title by anastasiya okhrimemnko #by the quiet hearth by maximilian schaefer #the nutcracker by scott gustafson #no title but by frederik hendrik kaemmer #christmas eve story by johansen viggo #no title by toth gabor #no title by george sheridan knowles #a mansion in the winter by stanislav zhukovsky

[redgitanako]

Alternatively: the scene in Brooklyn Nine Nine where Rosa tells Holt him and his husband need to bone but its Jayce and Caitlyn

SOME YEARS LATER I FINALLY GOT TO THIS ONE, yk what they say better late than never hahaa..... ha...

#artists on tumblr #reg art #jayvik #arcane #jayce talis #caitlyn kiramman #sky young #vikjayce #viktor arcane #viktor the machine herald #I literally started watching b99 bc of this ask #love rosa btw

[alstanfordart]

Ghosts of Piltover

#arcane #arcane viktor #arcane fanart #piltover and zaun #fantasy art #machine herald viktor #sky young #jayce talis #heimerdinger

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 22

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Piltover makes initial decisions in response to the Children of Zaun claiming responsibility for the airship crash. The Undercity suffers at their response - unwittingly sending more Trenchers into the Children's ranks. Silco and Katya continue to flirt. Kells commits a horrific act, for which he is promptly punished.

Special Note: Many, many thanks to @sand-sea-and-fable for being my bestie and beta for this chapter!

Chapter CW: Sexual assault. The text right before and after this part with be in bold and will be colored red so you may choose to skip if that is safest for you ❤️

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 6.1K

“We have a problem,” Grayson announced, striding into Bone’s office.

The Councilor looked up from his desk, pen pausing in the middle of the sentence he was writing.

“What is that?”

The Captain sighed and sat down heavily in the chair in front of his desk. She fidgeted her hat between her fingers, spinning its stiff brim to and fro.

“Someone has laid claim to that airship crash.”

Bone blinked. Then set down his pen. “Who?”

The airship crash and subsequent arrest of a teller at Clockwork Vault had thrown Piltover into a tizzy. Not much information had been made available to the public yet, but it had kept Grayson busy; unable to commit to the work she had agreed to do with the Undercity Councilor.

“Some group in the Undercity. They are calling themselves the Children of Zaun.”

Bone stared at the young woman across from him, his gut growing heavy and sinking to his feet. He felt cold sweat begin to accumulate on the back of his neck. He could feel his dreams for the Undercity slipping away. It would have been one thing if the airship crash had been perpetrated by one or two people; but a group admitting responsibility for it?

“I have not heard of them.”

“Neither have we,” Grayson admitted.

“Why did they attack the ship?”

“To get the money. They sent LeDaird a note saying that it was the start of Piltover’s ‘reparations’.”

“When was this note sent?”

“Yesterday afternoon. Tubed from a public booth in the Undercity to the station. LeDaird has a meeting with Heimerdinger in an hour about it. I am to meet him there.” Grayson paused before saying, “I wanted to give you a heads up.”

Bone nodded, fingers drumming nervously on the desk. Heimerdinger would call Council to a private assembly upon hearing this news. He knew what the Council would say. That the airship attack was an act of terrorism. That these ‘Children of Zaun’ were terrorists and needed to be dealt with swiftly.

Not necessarily justly.

Justice couldn’t exist in a vacuum of panic.

Bone would not be able to work towards his goals of Undercity equality and equity with Piltover concerned and smarting from underground retaliations.

His access to Grayson would diminish, too. Their fragile olive branch already bending under the conflicting weight of her duties and his goals.

“LeDaird doesn’t know you’re here right now?”

Grayson shook her head. She ran a wide hand through her black hair and repeated, “I wanted to give you a heads up. This group is demanding secession from Piltover. At the risk of being crass, Councilor Bone, shit is going to hit the fan.”

“Indeed,” he muttered, mind whirring frantically.

The scandal of a Piltovan teller trying to fleece Topside families would be old news by suppertime tomorrow. All anyone would be concerned with was this burgeoning terrorist group and their divisive demands. His seat on Council would be met with more scrutiny. His goals for the Undercity completely undone and unjustified.

“I am going to do what I can,” Grayson said, placing a hand on the desk, “to keep helping you. This doesn’t change that. To be clear.”

Bone swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

Council met for an emergency assembly later that day. When Bone limped into the chamber, Sheriff LeDaird, Captain Grayson, and Heimerdinger were already present. The two Enforcers stood with rigid spines in the center of the floor; Piltover’s founder sat in his seat looking uncharacteristically grave.

Bone took his seat as the rest of his peers strode in. Each of their faces were variations of the same theme: exasperated. As if being called to action was a major inconvenience.

“Councilors,” Heimerdinger greeted. His tone was serious as his bright blue eyes flicked to each face seated around him. “Thank you for meeting here on such short notice. This call is in regards to the airship crash that happened earlier in the week. Sheriff LeDaird has come into some alarming evidence.”

All the Councilors – save for Bone – mumbled surprised sentiments, looking to one another. The sheriff took a step forward, folding his hands behind his back.

“I have alerted Professor Heimerdinger that a group has claimed responsibility for the crash.” He paused as he withdrew a weathered envelope from his inner-breast pocket, holding it up. “This arrived to the Enforcer Headquarters yesterday afternoon.” He took out the scrap of paper housed within the envelope and read, “We are the Children of Zaun. Consider the coin the beginning of your reparations. We are the Children of Zaun. We are The Storm’s Fury. And we demand freedom.”

LeDaird’s deep voice echoed through the deadly quiet chamber. Bone felt a chill go down his spine and a flame light in his belly.

“Zaun?” Xiu sniffed.

“It is a reference to Oshra Va’Zaun. Or Kha’Zaun. The true name has been lost to time,” Bone said, quietly annoyed that the other council members did not understand the connection. “The port city from whence Piltover rose.”

“So, this letter came from the Undercity,” Krum said.

“From a public booth in the Lanes,” LeDaird confirmed. “Enforcers are currently investigating these booths, asking questions to see if anyone recalls someone suspicious or out of place using them.”

“Who are they? These Children of Zaun?” Bolbok ground through his gears.

“We are investigating that as well,” LeDaird promised. “They are not a gang or terrorist group we are familiar with. Likely, they are a new development. We are doing our best to get an idea of their numbers – “

“What about the money they stole?” Hoskel voiced. “The families that odious teller stole from are upset enough already. Now, their money is in the hands of a terrorist group? Reparations, indeed.”

Bone’s fingers clawed slightly on the table, waiting for the inevitable.

“Councilor Bone,” Heimerdinger finally said. His tone was kind, but prompting. “You are our eyes and ears into the Undercity. Have you heard any rumblings amongst your constituents?”

Bone closed his eyes, felt the drag and scrape of breath down his throat. His very being thrummed as years of tamped down distrust pulled at his bones. There had always, always been rumblings of secession in the Lanes. Fissurefolk grumbling and dreaming of a better life. But those moans and wishes fell by the wayside when mouths needed to be fed, and housing needed to be maintained. At the end of the day, they were too tired to rail and fight against their overlords.

Independence was too lofty and unrealistic a goal. Even Bone knew that. That was why he was on Council, why he had reached out to Captain Grayson; to try and bridge the gap. And what these people – these Children – were demanding, what they had done, would jeopardize that.

“I do not know them,” he promised.

“Are these the same individuals who attempted to rob that shipment for the Enforcer Headquarters a few weeks ago?” Councilor Thornenburg asked, stepping over Bone’s answer.

“At this point there is no evidence to suggest a connection,” LeDaird explained, “but we are looking at it as a possibility.”

“Councilors,” Heimerdinger interjected, his bright tone sharp and grabbing. “I called you here today because as the leaders of Piltover, we must decide how to move forward with the information we have. The safety of our citizens takes the utmost priority. We cannot tolerate anything that stagnates our great nation’s progress.”

Bone pursed his lips together. His eyes flicked over to Grayson, who exchanged his gaze with one of careful aloofness; but in the depths of her brown eyes, he saw a flash of concern, a muscle in her jaw flexed. Around him, his Councilor peers nodded and got to work.

Katya rifled through the shipment that had just been delivered to the clinic, carefully stocking the product while internally making note of which items would be stowed away in her coat later.

She felt . . . strange. A confluence of feelings had taken root within her over the past several days, and most of the time she couldn’t make heads or tails of them. The past two weeks had been very eventful – both broadly and intimately.

In the days following the Children’s letter, Council published a very scant bulletin about the airship crash and the Children’s involvement. She heard rebellion members and other Zaunites alike scoff and roll their eyes at Topside’s carefully crafted announcement. About how, suddenly, disdain and interest in the crooked Clockwork Vault teller was no longer anywhere to be found. The attention and fault fully shifted to the Undercity. As unsurprising as it was, the benefit of Topside’s compulsory prejudice resulted in the Children’s numbers growing again; now knowing that there was a cause to funnel that ire into, that there were likeminded citizens actively pushing for change, more and more Trenchers showed up. Sick and tired of being blamed and persecuted.

And persecuted they were.

Despite Council insisting that the actions they were taking were for the benefit of the entire Piltovan city-state, their solutions only negatively affected the Undercity. Registrations for Bridge passes was put on hold; those – like Katya – who already had Bridge passes were temporarily denied entry onto Piltover’s side of the river. Exemption was made for Viktor, Heimerdinger had seen to that. But Katya now passed him off to Ivy at the attendant’s hut on Piltover’s side of the Bridge, as oppose to meeting on campus.

The day those actions were put into effect, Viktor had limped toward the Bridge’s gate, Ivy at his side, with an expression that both cracked Katya’s heart and set it aflame in righteous indignation. He looked scared and confused. She had twisted the thread inside her coat sleeve tightly around her finger and bit the inside of her cheek.

I am doing this for us.

She felt more certain about that sentiment now. More solid. More sure. Her and the Children’s efforts would wipe away the concern from her brother’s face; from the faces of Lanes’ children across Zaun. It was an emotion they should not have to experience. Certainly not at the hands of their government.

As the attendant lifted the barricade, Ivy had ducked to protect her hair and Viktor limped toward his sister.

“Hello, Katya,” Ivy had said, her signature kind smile setting her face aglow. She unshouldered the bag on her back and held it out.

Katya took it without greeting in kind.

“Let’s go home, Viktor.”

At home, she explained what Council had done, why she couldn’t pick him up in Piltover anymore. She left out her involvement with the Children of Zaun; she still wasn’t ready for him to know. She didn’t want him to worry about her. Nor did she want him to have to carry that knowledge and navigate his way through Piltover every week. Not until he absolutely had to.

“Why did those people steal? Why is Topside closing the gates, though?” He had asked.

Katya looked at him intensely, every cell of her body vibrating with a sense of injustice. She pet a hand through his thick hair, hoping the touch would ground her. It didn’t. She felt more agitated.

“Those people – The Children of Zaun – are trying to right the wrongs Piltover has done to the Undercity,” she had told him. “Remember how you noticed your professor taught history differently than Papa did?” Viktor nodded. “Topside is in power. Wants to remain in power. So, they teach their lessons differently. So, they do not have to change. They punish us so they don’t have to change.”

Viktor’s eyebrows creased. “Then why do I go?”

“You know why – “

“I mean, besides the clean air – “

Katya had taken her brother’s face into her hands and said, “Because you deserve to be there, Viktor. You deserve the clean air and the opportunities the Academy will afford you. You do not need to give that up. These people – the Children – are working to make sure that others may have the same chances, too. We are not less because we are from this side of the river. That’s why they are doing what they are doing. That is why Piltover is doing what they are doing.” She sighed, and loosened her hold on his cheeks. “Do your best not to worry about this, Viktor. You will go to school. You will breathe clean air. And, hopefully, someday soon, you’ll walk across the Bridge home to a free nation.”

Viktor’s small bud of a mouth thinned, but he did not broach the subject again.

When Katya walked him to Piltover’s side of the Bridge the following Monday, Ivy had been waiting for them. As on Friday, Katya did not acknowledge her beyond handing off her brother’s bag.

She’d drawn Viktor in close, as she always did when they parted. But this time, she whispered in a voice that sent shivers down his spine, “You deserve to be here, Viktor.”

They parted, Katya dragging her hand through his hair and down his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he had replied, and, despite everything, concern shimmered in his eyes.

Katya’s lips pursed at the memory, and brushed her fingers along the neatly packed glass vials tucked securely in the box she was unloading. For the last supply order, her request for larger vials of medicine was approved. She had managed to convince the mine’s board that it was more economically feasible to order certain items in bulk – the high-strength decongestant among them. It was a maneuver that ended up being additionally helpful since supplies to Zaun were being bottle-necked by Piltover. Shipments on everything destined for the Lanes were delayed by thorough screenings, and, in a place that already had so little, Zaunites felt this transgression acutely. Businesses suffered, food on dinner tables became more meager.

The Children did their best to counteract this by greasing the wheels and lining the pockets of the few traders who dealt with Zaunite businesses directly. They were mostly morally grey types, whose scruples laid less with loyalty, and more with extra coin. Which the Children paid to get extra food and weapons into the city.

Katya had met Silco and Sevika one of the nights a trader from Bilgewater was due to deliver a few small packages of food, a case of liquor, and a roll of leather that held a few worn sabers. The meet up location was an inconvenient distance from anything, but that was the point. It was easier to do the hand off several klicks down Zaun’s shoreline, away from the docks that faced Piltover.

In the dark, only the glow of purple algae beneath their feet, Silco and Sevika had gathered the goods into their arms. Katya handed the trader – a bent and crooked old Yordle with leathered skin, no teeth, and ears with so many holes in them that they looked moth-bitten – the clutch of agreed upon coins and stowed the rolls of knives in her coat.

“Remember us,” Silco had said gravely, fixing the trader with intense eyes, “and we will remember you.”

The Yordle chuckled – a sound more akin to a rattling motor – and returned to his small boat, carefully moored against the rocky shoreline. He had not responded to Silco with words, but he nodded. Deftly, he navigated his vessel away from the shore.

They watched him go, before Katya had said, “Let’s get this back to The Drop.”

Silco nodded and led the way. Katya at his shoulder.

She had been concerned the night after she pleasured herself to thoughts of him, that things would be inexplicably awkward between them. As she arrived at work that following day, lead-heavy regret settled in her stomach. She was certain she ruined it – whatever it was.

Her fears were dashed later that day when Silco appeared in the clinic to tell her how sore he was, and to ask questions about the lesson that had blossomed in his head over night. Warm relief melted the despair in her gut. She looked up into his pink-tinged face delighted that he had sought her out. They talked until Will showed up. Like last time, he fixed Silco with a disapproving, questioning look that had the young man skittering from the clinic. Katya was close behind. They laughed together about how uptight her clinic co-worker was.

Katya plucked two of the larger glass vials from the lineup, and set them aside, intending on giving them to Enyd. The medic had suggested to her that she may want to up her daily doses of medicine through the cold season, to see if that brought her any additional relief. It meant she’d go through the decongestant faster, which is what prompted Katya to fight for the larger bottles.

Since the airship crash, Katya had shared supper with Silco and Enyd a few more times. The older woman showed her several, easy kitchen tricks and recipes that would be simple to replicate back in her own home. In exchange, Katya shared with Enyd her attempt to cook the tentacles with herbs a couple weeks prior.

Enyd chortled upon hearing that Katya had attempted to eat the wilted plants.

“That was good instinct,” Enyd had said, “to infuse the fat with the flavor of the herbs. But, as you experienced, once the herbs have imparted their flavor to the dish, they have little use.”

“Very brave of you to test it out on yourself instead of Viktor,” Silco had snickered from his seat at the table. “Big sister, indeed.”

Katya playfully flicked her napkin at him, and he laughed.

One evening, Enyd’s cough was particularly bad, and both Katya and Silco insisted that she not cook and exert herself further. Instead, the matriarch directed the pair from the kitchen table on how to make that night’s meal. Between Katya and Silco continually messing up and laughing, the process took much longer than usual. However, Katya found the end result to be even more delicious than normal.

Katya smiled to herself at the memory of that night, closing the lid of the crate and carrying it to the supply closet. She put away the vials of medicine in neat lines on the shelf, their arrangement reminding her of the neat rows Enforcers marched in.

An unsurprising result of the airship crash and the Children’s letter was increased Enforcer presence throughout the Lanes. It was inevitable, predictable. As such, Trenchers – whether they were among the Children or not – were prepared to deal with pushy questions and accusations. And knew to protect each other.

Something that was a surprise to the Children, as well as the Enforcers, was the development of someone graffitiing ‘Zs’ throughout the Undercity. After Council had released their statement, someone – perhaps the same person – painted FREE ZAUN across the face of an abandoned Promenade shop that faced Piltover. Council had it painted over, only for it to reappear a couple days later.

No one in the revolution admitted to the tagging, even amongst themselves. Tongue-in-cheek rumors about the spirit of Janna doing it whispered through the ranks. Some Children, bolstered by the secrecy of the original artist, joined in. Soon, it was difficult to walk anywhere in the Undercity without seeing nods to Zaun and their right to freedom. Small, artfully-minded ‘Zs’ were drawn in chalk on the sides of buildings. Bluebirds cut from paper hung on clotheslines and lampposts. ‘We are the storm’s fury’ etched into metal handrails.

The Undercity was embroiled in the cause, the notion of their freedom brightening their eyes and lightening their souls. A ticking clock ready to ring in a new era.

The next box was stuffed with soft bandages and gauze. She carefully thumbed through them, checking the invoice as she went. The speaker on the desk crackled to life, causing Katya to jump and curse. She cursed again, realizing she had lost her place.

“Foreman Baz to medical.”

Katya groaned, staggered to her feet, and over to the desk, pressing the speaker’s button.

“Go ahead, Baz. This is medical.”

“There’s been an accident in Fissure 27. Kid from Unit 88 got his leg caught between the track n’ a mine cart. We got the cart off ‘em, but he’s not calmin’ down ‘nough to stand. Can you come n’ give him something? Check ‘em over?”

Katya eyed the clock above the door. Her shift was due to end within the hour, but she did not want to leave this miner waiting for Will. That, and, if the boy was in Unit 88, that meant Unit 90 – Silco and Sevika’s Unit – would be nearby. It would be nice to see them, if only for a moment.

“Fissure 27? I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Fissure 27 was in the northern section of the mine, the oldest part of it. The tunnels there were large, having been carved out multiple times over the mine’s life. They were some of the first tunnels that became fitted with giant turbines, great fans that had drilled deeper and deeper into the terra. Most of the rock here had long since been squeezed of its main resources, those turbines now sitting eerily still in great, deep shafts.

However, per Piltover’s insatiable appetite for progress and productivity, some of these ancient tunnels were retrofitted to become storage space and garages for mining equipment. Others were further exploited for their resources; miners there were given orders to chip and pulverize the already dead stone to create gravel.

Grave robbers desecrating a corpse.

Since the collapse of the western mine tunnels, the units that had been working that rock were moved here until the board either found something else for them to do, or until the collapsed tunnels were excavated and rebuilt.

Katya walked the north end main vein from which the fissures branched out, clinic-issued medical bag bouncing at her hip. The foreman she passed paid her no mind, most of the miners did as well – too focused, too tired, or too hollow to acknowledge her. A few miners did catch her eye though. She recognized them as members of the Children. She nodded at them, and they nodded back. A quick, curt, but meaningful recognition.

She strode past Fissure 26, a small child accidently bumping into her. They murmured an apology and kept their eyes to the ground. Katya’s voice caught in her throat, recognizing him as the boy with the jaw injury she’d treated some weeks back. He was too quick for her to get a decent look, but the flesh around his neck and lower cheek was beginning to discolor, the sweet smell of rot gently wafting off him.

Her heart cracked and ached as she watched him scurry back into the fissure. This one – and she was guessing the same for 27 – were some of the tunnels that had been converted into equipment repair and holding space. She craned her neck a bit, glancing at the heads, faces, and bodies. Finally, spied Sevika’s tall form near the back end of an old excavator. She was holding the engine hood open with one powerful arm while a slim frame she recognized as Silco’s was half way in the machine, head first.

Sensing eyes on her, Sevika glanced up, and cracked a wide smile at the sight of Katya. She jerked her chin in greeting, and then looked at her questioningly. Katya playfully rolled her eyes and held up the bag slung over her shoulder. Sevika’s eyebrows lifted and made an ‘oh’ shape with her dark lips, nodding her head in understanding.

Her silver eyes then fell onto Silco’s back, his head still stuck in the machine’s engine. She swatted his behind with her free hand. Silco yelped and jolted, the excavator clanging as he hit something inside. He ripped himself from his work and spun on Sevika, his face contorted with disbelief and anger.

Sevika winced as his headlamp blinded her. She gripped the light with her hand, blotting it out, and jerked her head toward the fissure’s entrance. He flicked his headlamp off and turned. The glower on his face melted into an expression that tugged at Katya’s heart. His eyes brightened, a pleasantly surprised lopsided grin pulling one half of his mouth up. Then, like Sevika, his brows pinched quizzically, and she jostled the medical bag again and pointed a finger to her left, indicating the next fissure over. She waved at the pair, and continued toward her destination.

As Katya entered Fissure 27, she was displeased to see that apparently Kells was a member of Unit 88. He seemed to be expecting her, as he put himself right in her path as she entered the wide, yawning mouth of the tunnel.

“Hey, Nurse.”

She frowned. “I was called about an accident.”

“Hey! Hey!”

Both Kells and Katya spun to see a tall, scarred man in dirty overalls and headlamp waving her over.

Foreman Baz.

Without another word, she shouldered past Kells and made for the foreman. He led her to a small, dark crack in the tunnel wall, an annex of sorts. Before entering, she noted one of those humongous, inoperable turbines nearby, nestled in the deep, dark mine shaft it had once created. Katya was not naïve, but nevertheless felt claustrophobic at the thought of the near-infinite plummet that awaited some careless miner off the edge of one of those mighty blades.

She shook the thought from her mind and the shiver from her body, and followed Baz into the small tunnel.

Katya assumed that back in these tunnels’ most lucrative days, miners had followed a vein of precious minerals here, only to have it quickly run out and abandoned. Now, it was used to store small carts and a few lengths of track. A small group of young teens were gathered around a sobbing and shaking peer who was propped against one of the walls.

They parted, eyes wide and worried as Katya and Baz approached. The young teen against the wall was shaking, skin sallow, tears and snot running down his face. Katya knelt beside him and unslung the bag from her shoulder. She murmured reassuring things to the frightened boy as she pulled out a small chem-torch and turned it on. Flicking the small, tight beam of light over the patient, she assessed his injuries, and was pleased to discover that they weren’t too bad. There was a large tear down the length of his left trouser leg, the skin beneath scraped and badly bruised. There was one bleeding gash down his shin, but it wasn’t so deep that muscle and bone peeked through. The boy was mostly in shock and scared.

Katya began her work, gently asking him what had happened, what his name was, how old he was, what he did in the mines, if he had any activities outside of work he enjoyed; all questions to ground, sooth, and reassure him.

Thankfully, the wound required no stitches – it would’ve been challenging in the low light of the space. Katya cleaned and packed the injury, gently wrapping his shin with gauze and gave him a few pills of antibiotics and a small tube of salve.

“He can get back to work?” Baz gruffed behind her.

Katya pursed her lips, hating the answer she had to give him.

“He can.”

The boy should’ve been allowed to go home and rest. The boy shouldn’t have needed to work in a dangerous mine in the first place. The best she could do was give him a regretful and sympathetic look; he returned it with one of hollow understanding, the tear tracks down his sooty cheeks finally drying.

Baz ordered two of his peers to help him up and carry him over to their work area. They did so, and once they staggered from the small crevasse, Baz thanked Katya and followed them out. She nodded her head, lips sealed tight in displeasure.

Once they were gone, she took a moment to let the feelings of injustice and rage wash their way through her body. They passed, as feelings do, and she began cleaning up her equipment.

Katya started at the sound of rock beneath boots and jumped when Kells suddenly dropped down beside her. He leered at her in the low light.

“Need help?”

He reached for the partially unrolled length of gauze, and she snatched it up, shoving it into the bag.

“I am fine.”

She sloppily threw the rest of her equipment back into the bag, not even sparing Kells a glance, before standing a making for the main fissure. But a mighty, painful yank on her ponytail stopped her, pulling a surprised yelp from her throat. Her legs tangled and the medical bag tumbled to the ground. Before Katya could respond or cry out, Kells deepened the grip he had on her hair to the roots of it, slamming her front against the rocky wall. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. Her mind spun and body went cold. She didn’t understand what was happening . . . and did at the same time.

Kells pressed his body against hers, pinning her in place. The hand gripping her hair pressed her face into the wall, while the other had snatched her left wrist and jerked it behind her back, her shoulder barking in protest.

“You’re an uppity bitch, you know that?” Kells hissed into her ear, spittle landing on her exposed cheek. “And I’m fucking sick of it.”

Katya choked on her voice. She willed a scream to tear from her throat, but none came. She lost access to her body, limbs freezing in terror. Kells pressed further against her, using all his weight to press her against the wall. She felt his hardness against her backside and gasped in distress. The hand that had held her wrist snaked around her front, and grabbed her sex. Her mind screamed for her body to do something, to fight back somehow.

Her bladder loosened and freed its contents all over Kells’ palm. He made a disgusted grunt and smashed her face into the rock further.

“You’re supposed to pee after, dumbass. Don’t you know that, nurse?”

Undeterred, his hand reached a little higher and pulled apart the buttons on Katya’s fly. She whimpered when he kicked her stance wider and began attempting to shuck her trousers down her legs.

Finally, she found her voice. It was painful to speak, the sound sharp and brittle against her tight throat.

“Please – “

“Don’t worry,” he cooed wickedly, grinding against her. “You’re gonna get it – “

Then Kells gasped, grunted and cried out in frustration as his weight was flung from Katya’s body. She sobbed in relief and slid down the wall, looking over her shoulder to see what had happened. Her heart leapt into her throat. Overwhelming gratitude and shame coursed through her body. Silco was standing between her and Kells. Why was he here? How had he known to come? He’d thrown her attacker against a broken down mine cart, and Kells was trying to gasp air back into his lungs.

Silco glanced over his shoulder at Katya and growled, “Are you okay?”

His eyes were blazing beneath the light of his headlamp. The fierceness of his face enthralled and scared her all at once. She wanted to cry. Wanted to rage. Wanted to melt away and disappear. Before Katya could say anything, Kells staggered to his feet and lunged at Silco.

Silco barked in surprised as he was bowled back, grunted as he hit the hard ground. Kells straddled him and landed a couple messy punches to his face. One hit landed on the headlamp, and it shattered the glass and snuffed out the light. Kells yelped in pain as glass shards embedded themselves in his knuckles, as the hot filaments of the bulb burned his skin.

It was enough of a distraction that he didn’t sense Katya springing up. She grabbed the medical bag and hit him in the head with it. Kells grunted and Silco rolled them over. Now on top, he laid a few sharp jabs to Kells’ head. After his opponent stopped grappling for his face, Silco hopped to his feet and stomped on Kells’ groin twice. The man on the ground screamed and reflexively pulled in on himself, rolling onto his side in the fetal position.

Silco would’ve liked to take things farther, but as he turned to Katya – saw her hunkered on the mine floor in a trembling heap – he knew he had to put his own personal rage aside. For the moment, he just had to be grateful that he had bowed to the will of his infatuated heart and sought her out. He had to be thankful that his need to say ‘hello’ while she was near, had allowed him to interrupt her from suffering an abuse akin to his mother’s.

His focus was on her. Her need mattered more right now than his own to kill the piece of garbage a few feet away.

“Come on,” he said, reaching out for her. “I got you.”

Breath coming out in hyperventilating huffs, she took his hand and stood. She hurriedly fastened her trouser buttons as Silco picked up the medical bag. He began guiding her out of the small crevasse, his hand a grounding, protective presence on the small of her back.

Just as they were about to re-enter the main fissure, the sound of gravel shifting under boots and a low growl were all the warning they received before Kells launched at them, this time armed with a short length of mine cart track in one hand. As he swung at them, Silco shoved Katya to one side. She tripped to the ground as the metal track collided into Silco’s face with a sickening crack. He wailed and stumbled back. The outcry alerted the rest of the unit in the Fissure, and nearly everyone looked up from their tasks.

Silco couldn’t feel the pain, only the numbing vibrations that were rattling his skull. He sensed wetness pouring down the lower half of his face, and he knew it was blood. He could taste the metal of it on his tongue. The blind rage he had reined in at the sight of Kells assaulting Kat became untethered, and he rushed at the other man, lifting his weapon back, preparing for another swing.

Silco snarled as he ducked under the track – heard it whistle over his head – and grabbed Kells by the neck, punching him in the jaw. Kells dropped his weapon in surprise, but recovered quickly, charging forward, grabbing at Silco’s back and kneeing him in the stomach. Silco grunted and doubled over. His arms dropped from Kells’ neck to wrap around his waist, and tackled forward. Both men lost their footing and rolled across the floor. And onto one of the turbine’s blades.

Blood rushed in Silco’s ears as he rolled on top of Kells, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him multiple times into the metal. He heard nothing but the rage in his head. Saw nothing but the man – the monster – beneath his hands. Silco was unaware that the rest of the miners were shouting and yelling, some egging the young men on, others calling for them to stop. Katya screamed for him, and pushed her way through the riotous crowd until she stepped onto the turbine.

Only she permeated the rageful haze of Silco’s mind. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and failed to see Kells reach for a rock that was sitting a couple feet away. He smashed it against Silco’s temple, causing him to choke in pain. The force of the blow dislodged Silco from his position on Kells, and was knocked to the side. Kells rolled over and scrabbled towards Silco, the rock still clutched in his hand.

Silco’s head throbbed, and he didn’t see Kells advancing on him. Kells’ free hand gripped at Silco’s throat and he raised the rock above his head.

Kat yelled and ran for the pair. She threw herself into Kells’ body before he could strike down. In her fear, in her anger, she failed to notice how the turbine’s blade narrowed as it approached the giant shaft of the mechanism. She failed to realize her own strength and power as she bowled her attacker over. And off the turbine blade.

Katya managed to catch herself before she followed Kells over the edge. Between her breaths and the pounding of her heart in her ears, she heard Kells’ body break and shatter as he hit the blades beneath them. Then there was one final, stomach-turning CRUNCH as his body reached the pit floor hundreds of feet below. Then there was silence.

Notes: Woof. That was . . . a lot. At least Kells got his. Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts with a comment, and please reblog! Y'all are the best!

Coming Up Next: Katya patches Silco up. Enyd is very distaught when her son comes home with a battered face. She becomes even more upset when she hears why, and decides to pay Katya a visit.

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #grayson #professor heimerdinger #heimerdinger #viktor #young viktor #silco #young silco #sevika #young sevika #original characters #silco x oc #silco x katya #silkat #sa tw

[tweek-tweak22]

I'll probably stop posting for a while because I don't have enough time to blog(｡•́︿•̀｡)

#young viktor #viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #netflix arcane #arcane x reader #league of legends

[skatik]

she will always be somewhere nearby

#Arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #skyvik #sky young #arcane netflix #arcane fanart #arcane fandom #arcane lol #arcane league of legends #arcane sky #arcane series

[arom-antix]

The brainrot continues

Finished work here

#yes young viktor needs to be wearing the junior worlds costume at all times #every time i say something like that the next drawing proves me wrong #but i do really love the costume #im so happy yuuri chose it for eros #i will probably draw viktors other costumes some time but the brainrot decides #im being held hostage by it #arom antix art #my art #art #artists on tumblr #yoi #yoi fanart #yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanart #viktor nikiforov #victor nikiforov #arom antix

[exhausted-undead]

hmm. he's a sickly guy and she's a girl with self esteem issues - what could go wrong (too much) (someone get sky a tissue)

also viktor my love I figured out your face and im so proud (I'm evolving somewhat)

#so this took me eighty seven hours and im too demotivated to make more art for a bit #so anything poto might have to wait for a bit #BUT I'LL BE BACK ON IT SOON!!! promise #just feeling a bit deppressive #anyway please don't let this flop #i aged like fifty years trying to figured out the lighting #art #digital artist #artists on tumblr #my art #arcane #viktor arcane #league of legends #sky young #viktor

[thealienrumi]

Arcane + text posts

#arcane league of legends #viktor #sky young #jayce talis #arcane netflix