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ornii · 10 months

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Hi again, first thank u for the response, second my arcane request/idea was male reader x Jinx where the male reader is a new rising hero in Zaun and even tho they are on opposite sides, he’s so into her and thinks she could do some real good and wants to help her. I know these are really loose details but I thought I’d leave it not to specific cause I’m curious (if you choose to use this) what u would make with this loose premise. Anyway thanks for ur time and have a nice day 😁

You Do Have a Heart Part 1

Note: Sorry i still don’t know how Tags work so, I apologize if you wanted to be tagged in my work and I don’t know how to do it lol, anyway. Here’s part 1

Stark, that last name spoke volumes though Piltover. The family had a single child, born with an intellect beyond the average human, with the endless amount of money on disposal, made a volatile combination.

“Master Stark…”

A Voice called out from the back door of his large room. It was messy, full of schematics of inventions riddled all over the ground. Rough sketches, drafts. A few gizmos left and right. The young genius was in his room, working on a device as he yells.

“It’s open.” The Youth said, and an elderly man enters, a servant for the family. He approached and gave a small bow.

“Master Stark, how are you this fine morning?” He asked, he turns to face the old man in his chair; showing the device he’s working on.

“I’m fine Jarvis.” He says and gleams. “Working on device to hold electric charges and expel them into explosions.” (Y/n) said, “It’ll be nice to Add something to the Stark Foundation..” he turns back to continue working, but Jarvis closes in.

“Sir, do you know what today is?” He asked.

“No, should I?” He replies and Jarvis nods.

“It’s Lady Kiramman’s Birthday..” He says with a soft huff. (Y/n) halted in his steps and cursed to himself, the fifteen year old stood up and turned to Jarvis.

“You’re a Life saver! I totally forgot! I’ll be back, I have to get something planned.” (Y/n) rose and rushes out of his room, the old man sadly smiled to himself as the young hero rushed down a flight of stairs to a main foyer, a beautiful lavish home all to, mostly himself. Rushing to the door he opens it and steps out, he spots the two guards on watch for his home, nearing the heart of Piltover, he wishes to keep it pristine and perfect. He snaps his fingers, they turn and face the young prodigy.

“You two, I’m heading out.” He puts his coat on and walks from his porch to the path, and the guards follow.

A gift for Caitlyn Kiramman. It was much harder than you expected, You and Caitlyn grew up together, merely by circumstance. Her Amazing mother and yours, Maria, we’re close friends who worked on the council together. The Stark Family and Kiramman Family were Allies due to Howard’s weaponry foundation funding the Piltovers army. It was by this chance you and Caitlyn became friends. Using your genius intelligence, you excelled in your scholarly studies with Caitlyn, her hunting and marksmanship skills effortlessly surpassed yours, it made a perfect dichotomy between you two. Unfortunately, that dichotomy was viewed by others as a romantic affection.

Approaching the Kiramman gates, you halted as the Guards follow suit. As you approached the door, you knocked gingerly. And a man opens the door, her father Tobias.

“Good afternoon Mr Kiramman. Is Caitlyn?…” he asks and Drones on, Tobias was a fit middle aged man, with dark blue hair and streaks of grey at the edges. “Ah. Sir Stark, Yes she’s here, I’ll fetch her.” He says and walks back, you await as you mentally compact everything.

“All things considered this is going well, she isn’t suspicious that I totally forgot about her birthday, and that I didn’t even send a letter. I have to consider a gift, actually.. why not everything?” You think to yourself. Your ear peeled up to the sound of walking and you quickly turned to the direction of the door, and you saw a faintly pale hand touch it and open, she steps to the porch, and Caitlyn stood there. Her long blue hair and piercing eyes.

“Cait!” He Said, The Girl approaches and (Y/n) gave her a hug.

“It’s good to see you well.” She says to you, you slyly grin and show off your expensive clothing.

“Nothing money can’t solve, speaking of money, come, it’s time to celebrate a certain girls birthday!” You say, and Cait sighs.

“You want to? You don’t have to.” She said, you took faux offense to it.

“Caitlyn, as your only friend—“

“Backhanded comments, as per usual.”

“As your only friend, it’s my obligation to make sure your birthdays are the absolute top quality, settle for nothing less.” You say. You walk off, Caitlyn couldn’t hide her small grin and follows. Walking though the city and enjoying the Shopping, treats, The enjoyable parts of Piltover was important for you, being the only child to an almighty fortune had refined your tastes. The guards carry the boxes of gifts for Caitlyn as you two walked forward, enjoying the cool winds of a soft autumn.

“Something is Bothering you.” You say to her, Caitlyn was not one to mince words, but was a bit uncomfortable about what she seems to be thinking about.

“It’s nothing.” She replies, and you turn your head towards her.

“You’re a fantastic Liar Caitlyn, but seriously.. what’s wrong?” You ask again, and Caitlyn informs you of a, less than suitable situation for you.

“I’ve decided to help Jayce with his research.” She utters, you almost wish to knock the webs out of your ears, but you knew you heard her correctly. Jayce Talis, the one sponsored by her family and a less than reputable man.

“Him? The one your family is sponsoring with his “inventions?” Which is just ridiculous to call them, what should be called inventions should be able to change the world! Nothing he has done proves that. Plus he’s kind of a jerk.” You explain, but Caitlyn sticks up for him.

“His work is important, I know it’ll be something amazing.” She said, with a hint of enthusiasm that you haven’t seen in her for a while.

“Well.. that’s unfortunate.” You say, “Ive been developing new technologies for Piltover and the armies. I wanted you to be there.” You say, biting your tongue before you say something to totally ruin the moment. Caitlyn looked a bit surprised by this response.

“You rarely let anyone help you..”

“You’re different.. you’ve always been different.” You reply sourly. After returning Caitlyn back to her family, you headed home, fuming. Aggressively opening the door you storm inside the workshop, looking at your creations, what you’ve built, how you’ve developed so much, and yet she went with Jayce? Your anger slowly simmers down and you sit down at the desk.

“Something has to change… I, I have to change..”

It was Nearing Six Years later after that interaction, perhaps you matured and let it all go, but though those sex years you devoted yourself to your work, to creating a new found weapon. The greatest creation in history. Of course you’ve kept it under wraps for the Three years of its production.

Music plays though the workshop as hot plasma burns into a new plate of steel, (Y/n), now in his early twenties removes his mask and scuffs off the dirt on his face. He prepares for the final run though. Flipping a few switches and turning knobs, steam emits from a shrouded invention, and a whir echoes from it, signaling his success. And coincidentally enough, today was Progress Day!

“Jayce Talis, eat your heart out.” you say. “Hextech, what a joke.” You confidently stood up to exit the workshop and head downstairs past Jarvis.

“Jarvis, please send the guards to prepare for Progress day, I have something to show.” He says, and heads out.

Sitting in the Enforcers office, Marcus sat at his desk, with oldies enforcers, Caitlyn included.

“So, you’ve already paid for a spot, we can have officers at the tent to avoid any issue. Your Project. Should we know anything about it?”

“Sorry, best kept secret, but I will need an officer to assist me in keeping the public away from it…” he says, and his eyes trail off to Caitlyn. She looks a bit shocked but quickly pieces together what he’s saying.

“You can’t he serious—“

“Kiramman, you’re on watch Duty for Stark Industrial. Keep the peace.” He said and she wants to groan, but reluctantly agrees.

“Miss Kiramman.” You say with a smug bow and she walks past, “this way.. Sir.” She says though her teeth, you two walk to the tent, and she’s less than enthusiastic.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” You say, and she turns to her.

“Oh, so this was to help me? How?” She said.

“Do you think your parents would have let you go anywhere? You would have stayed in Jayce’s tent.” You repeat, and Caitlyn thinks, and sighs.

“I hate it when you’re right…”

“Don’t worry, what I have built will amaze you, and blow Hextech out of the water.”

“Is this what it’s about? Jayce?” She says.

“Partly, and I want to show my Progress.” You give a wink and Caitlyn reaches the tent to show its fancy, a large stand to hold a crowd, a standing floor. With the hidden figure under the cloth. Across the event you can make out the Kiramman family and jayce giving the speech. (Y/n) stood on the pedestal and cracked his knuckles, he turns to Cait.

“Now, watch this.” You day, and speak a bit loudly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! The newest invention from Stark Industrial!” You say, you watch as citizens begins to gather and watch, slowly siphoning Jayce’s watchers, you smirk and step to the platform and walk around the shrouded thing.

“Ladies and gentlemen I would like to introduce you, to the future. To our future, the future of piltover, No, the future of the entire world! You see we as a people have evolved from primitive rocks and sticks, to bring the most advanced species in the entire world, and therefore we can only keep moving forward, and what is more forward, than this!” You snap your fingers and a few guards tear off the cloth to reveal it, a suit of armor, hooked up by tubes running form somewhere, it was mostly flaming red with accents of orange, people marvel at the device and you really begin to sell it.

“What we have here isn’t a robot, but it’s a suit of armor! A highly dense titanium suit of armor, built with interlocked systems and an array of weapons, able to withstand fire, electricity, the cold, I call it.. the Iron Man!” You Walk to the back of the suit and twist a handle near the palm of the suit, the suit slowly begins to Open and reveal the inter working compartments from gears to wires, you step up and clench the palm switch, the suit encapsulates your body, steam bellows from parts of the suit and you flex, showing the suit isn’t a stiff board, Caitlyn watches, seeing the genius of Stark at work.

“This suit is built for the upmost of situations. In fact, enforcers!” You say, two walk on stage and you turn to them. They aim their guns, a look of worry washes over Caitlyn and they open fire, the bullets hit the suit and collapse upon themselves. Showing zero damage.

“Did I mention is bulletproof?” You say sarcastically, and then show it’s weapons.

“The suit is capable of high intensity blasts of energy from the palm. All powered by a single energy stone!” You aim upward and open one palm, the suit blasts a beam of high force light into the air.

“Even missiles!” You order a few Discs to be shot into the air, using nothing but your eyes you aim and a panel opens up in the shoulder compartment of the suit, they ignite and fly out, each explosion dancing in the air.

“But most importantly ladies and gentlemen, it had one ability only the animals with wings can partake in this.”

Switching to Flight nods the suits leg panels open to reveal thrusters, the armor makes a more aerodynamic look and steam bellows from it. The Suit begins to lift off and fly around the large celebratory area. Crowds watching in amazement of the Industrial Revolution, the suit then lands again, with another switch it opens, allowing (Y/n) to step out. Dusting himself off he drinks in the amazement of the crowd.

“You see, this is our future, this is the future I wish to cultivate! Stark Industrial will push Pullover into the era of Peace, and Prosperity!” With one final rousing speech, the crowd roses in applause of your creation, your work, your greatness. The only person less enthusiastic was Jayce. The Iron Man armor stood in the middle of the room, its ammunitions being refilled.

Inside the chambers of the Stark Building, you stood before Jayce, who was not as happy as you were, the young man whose calm demeanor similar made Jayce much more perturbed.

“You couldn’t allow Progress Day to just be about progress.. could you?” He says, and toy smugly turn around.

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean Jayce. My Iron Man is Progress, Progress Born from one mind.” You say, and offer a drink, Jayce calmly stood up and looked towards the window of the building out to the vast developing city.

“What you’re doing is Undermining the Hextech.”

“What I’m doing is showing my Stark Tech is just as good, even be than Hextech, don’t be upset I’m just better.”

“Better? Don’t make me laugh you’re a glorified Rich Kid.” Jayce turns to face you, much more accusingly.

“Yes because I didn’t grow up like you then my genius must be a fluke? You’re simply under your punching weight Mr Talis.” You reply in Jest, and Jayce takes the low blow.

“You see, this is why Howard wasn’t invited into the council, he valued his own ego over the importance of our future!—“

“That’s what you think?” You say, your anger boiling over. “My father didnt join your little club because he knew what the council does, halt any creativity that isn’t within what they value. I’d rather be alone than be a sellout.” You and Jayce are getting more and more hostile, until a flicker of red catches the corner of your eye, you turn to the direction, out the window you see flames blazing. Your eyes trail off and watch, seeing where it’s located.

“The Tents…” you say before rushing to the suit, jayce also watches and then turns to you.

“What are you doing?!”

“Saving Progress Day! Alert any police nearby! We have to do something!” You yell, opening the suit you step in and it powers on, activating the Rockets, you disregard anything and blast though the glass and fly off, your focus solely on Caitlyn, the humming of the machinery, the smell of steel in your nose. You land nearby and risk it all rushing into the fire, your eyes search as smoke and flames dance all around you. You scan the entire building and spot movement on the ground, rushing over your eyes catch blue hair and you immediately recognize who.

“Caitlyn!” You call out and pick the woman up, she’s unconscious, but alive. Her eyes open slowly and lock with yours.

“Don’t talk! It’ll be fine!” You reassure her and rush out of the building building, the suit taking whatever heat you would have, breaking through falling wood you safely get Caitlyn to safety, laying her down you turn to fly back in, but that was a fatal mistake, in a flash of light, it all went black.

It slowly became more clear, your vision in this horrid nightmare, your once great Suit Damaged to a heavy extent, the power on the suit was non existent, the explosion damaged the face plate, blowing half of it off. Your eye trailed over to the blue haired girl leaning over you, but it wasn’t Caitlyn it was, someone else. She hummed while she tore the crystal from your core, writing down in a small brown book, and you were too weak to stop her, she spots your eye and smiles. She looked, disturbed, definitely cute but still disturbed, like she was a power keg ready to blow.

“Oh, the Tin Mans awake… sorry, but I had to get this little thing from you.” She says, and successfully tears out the blue core, she oodles at it, there was a hint of joy in her eye.

“I gotta say, a suit like that? Pretty Badass. I would ask how you worked out the triggers for your missile launchers, but I’m a little late. See ya later, Tin Man.” The Girl stood up and walked away, you can only watch as she disappears into the smoke and darkness, most likely never to be seen again, but who knows what genius mind was behind those mad Eyes.

#netflix #male reader #arcane #jin x you #jinx x male reader #caitlyn kiramman #vi #powder #leauge of legends #jinx x y/n #jinx x reader

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ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 2 months

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The Living Sculptures

by Luna_Monroe

“Does the lady know Miss Kiramman?” Mrs. Reynolds' voice sounds so pleasantly surprised at the notion. Vi hums, her eyes never leaving the sculpture. She can imagine her now, her sharp cheekbones, full lips and the bluest eyes Vi had ever seen. In the privacy of her own mind, Vi wishes she could see her again. To apologize. To say thank you for sending Luxanna back to Zaun. Caitlyn hadn’t accompanied Luxanna, but Vi knew she was the culprit. Who else could it have been?

Looking at the statue now, Vi feels like she’s both gazing upon a stranger and a long lost friend. Someone she has admittedly found herself missing and thinking about constantly, wondering what her life would look like if she had answered differently all those months ago. The statue, while beautiful, doesn’t do Caitlyn justice. It doesn’t show the little furrow in her brow when she’s focused, the small, hard fought crinkles in her eyes when Vi had finally managed to get a laugh. It doesn’t show the lines of her face that scream nothing short of crestfallen heartbreak at Vi’s own hand.

“Only a little,” Vi finally replies.

“Do you not think she’s beautiful?” Mrs Reynolds asks.

Vi doesn’t look away from the statue. “She’s stunning.”

Words: 11196, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Luxanna "Lux" Crownguard, Cassandra Kiramman, Miss Sarah Fortune, Viktor (League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends), Claggor (Arcane: League of Legends), Mylo (Arcane: League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Luxanna "Lux" Crownguard/Jinx

Additional Tags: Inspired by Pride and Prejudice, Soft Caitlyn (League of Legends), POV Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn and Vi are in Love (League of Legends), Angst with a Happy Ending, 2005 pride and prejudice inspired, I saw fan art and here is the result, Vi Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Good Sibling Vi (League of Legends), Soft Vi (League of Legends), I can't stop seeing Cait/Vi in everything I love, Cait/Vi, Vicait

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

#ao3feed-piltovers-finest #a03feed-piltovers-finest #caitvi #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction

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illadvisedselfships · 3 months

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I'm here to cash in one of those gush tickets!! 🎫😌✌️ Here's an overview of notable F/Os past and present! Some of it might not mean anything to you if you don't know the fandom, and that's alright ^^ I never dreamed I'd share any of this, so I'm really grateful that you've made this little safe space here <333 And now that I've started, I can't stop! (Truly sorry I can't put this under a readmore… Large Poast incoming.) Chronologically:

First one I ever had has to be Mrs. Coulter from The Golden Compass/Northern Lights. I chose this book because it had a polar bear on the cover and I came out on the other side with… issues XD I even wrote a self-insert thing where my daemon gets severed from me and she comforts me through it (real healthy subject matter for an 11 year old ᕕ(ᐛ )ᕗ)

Lady Van Tassel from Sleepy Hollow. I traveled to Sleepy Hollow with Ichabod as his assistant or relative? And of course she corrupted me.

Now, this is the one I debated including due to the sheer goofiness 😅😅: Lily Gates from the Urbz: Sims in the City (handheld version). I liked imagining myself in the big city and being her personal assistant.

Claudia Wolf from Silent Hill 3. Ooh in this one I did something bad (unspecified) and found myself in Silent Hill with a guilty conscience. Alone and scared, I wandered through the foggy streets and ended up in the mall, and that's where I first encountered her. She took pity on me and I'll be honest, I don't really remember the rest XD idr if her being a priestess of a terrible cult factored in to this at all 😂

Actual light of my life forever: Julie Langford from Bioshock. My imagination was definitely at its best with her!! I had a really comprehensive storyline going on, starting from when I first traveled to Rapture in the bathysphere as a little girl with my family (not based on real family). Growing up and realizing I felt uncomfortable with boys, meeting Julie at a dinner party and feeling that spark but not really getting what it meant. Maybe I casually meet her another time or two after that. Coincidentally she asks me to be her assistant right as Rapture starts to fall. I see my first Splicer when I'm with her, my family also become Splicers, aaaand before long we're some of the only unspliced people left. We spend all our time together and I make her feel like she's responsible for me, we scrounge around for food and she protects me from Splicers and tenderly wipes the blood off my face and I help her out in her lab when we're not busy trying to survive, and still it feels like it takes the longest time for us to get together for real, but we do eventually. (side note: I am insane.) My daydreams have run their course I think but they were my favorite and the most vivid <333

Cersei from Game of Thrones. In this one, I'm the bastard daughter of Roose Bolton and I get sent to King's Landing for reasons unknown. Probably unrealistic! shrug I comfort her after her walk of shame and although our relationship is mildly antagonistic, she enlists me to help with, uh, the thing she does in season 6 episode 10 that involves wildfire. I am also obsessed with leech treatment in this one XD (in the books, Roose is known as the Leech Lord)(this is where the "leech" comes from on my other blog!) I got a lot of mileage from the Roose-Bolton's-bastard-daughter self insert XD In an alternate timeline, I have a thing for Lady Stoneheart (in extremely crude and basic terms, Catelyn Stark's sentient reanimated corpse), even though our families absolutely despise one another. Don't ask how I made that work, because I don't remember 💀 (A last-minute addition as I was proofreading this ask... I'm fully committing to the crazy.)

Cassandra Kiramman from Arcane. I'm actually not in the canon universe for this one. I had an AU where I was a ballet dancer and she was my instructor, haha. Also: Arcane was my introduction to x reader fic!! (though I'd been reading shipfic long before that.)

✨ Current F/Os!! ✨ Foul that it's taken me this long to get here 😑 Unfortunately, I feel like my imagination has taken a nosedive lately. I don't have storylines for these, more like little snippets of scenes. I'm in the devouring all the writing I can get my hands on stage ♥️

Yuria from Dark Souls 3 and Rennala from Elden Ring. I basically picture myself in the role of the player character ^^

I'm very into Lady Tremaine, and the Nurse from Dead by Daylight atm. With Tremaine there's just something about a buttoned-up repressed domineering woman and being the one to crack that shell just a little 😳 And with the Nurse I love the contrast between the griminess and creepiness and her sweetness. And her mori where she caresses the survivor's face 🥺 (most of the "lore" I get comes from youtube videos and reader inserts 💀)

Finally, one where they're actually in the modern world with me, since I mentioned that in a previous comment ^^ I fell in love with Maria Doyle Kennedy as Mrs. S. in Orphan Black, and during the initial lockdown in 2020, my main daydream scenario was with me becoming a lodger in her house (she's just a random person in this, not an actress). We garden and raise chickens together 🥰

I think I just cashed in all of my tickets 🙈🙈🙈 Now you probably know more about me than you bargained for 😅 This was actually incredibly fun to write. You have a great imagination - it's awesome that you're able to imagine your F/Os in multiple different scenarios and universes!! I can't really do that. Absolutely no pressure to reply right away!! 💜

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I love all this!! You have some great ideas for your F/O's!!!

1. Omg that Mrs Coulter thing is e x c e l l e n t XDD So dark and oddly soft XD Hey- as girlies we made up some pretty awful things when we were little! XD If it wasn't Barbies in the mafia it was something else!

2. I too love Lady Van Tassle- I can understand completely XD And we love some corruption! 😅😅😅 Especially if it is by a pretty lady-

3. Omg I've never heard of Lily Gates! XD She definitely fits your theme though and I support you!

4. I haven't heard of Claudia Wolf either but as soon as I read your descript and looked her up I want OH. I get it XD Priestess?? Culty?? Scary old white haired woman? I am very very intrigued XD

5. HNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG your imagination really was clear on this one!! 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛 This whole storyline is so good, I love your brain XD Also to your 'i am insane' -- my love we all are, its okay XD

6 + 7. Cersei, huh? Absolutely cannot blame you XD And Lady Stoneheart is just s o 💗💗💗💗💗💗??????? I don't even know tis woman but 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 We love them decrepit babes.

8. Oh she's so pretty! She seems classy ^^ Thank you for your service ma'am (Introducing you to x reader fanfic XD ).

9+10. These videogame ladies look so lovely!! I cant stop thinking what amazing taste you have XD

11. LADY TREMAINE AND SALLY LADY TREMAINE AND SALLY LADY TREMAINE AND SALLY- I agree so heavily on them both, these are some great F/O's <3<3<3 Imagine Lady Tremaine using that evil eye of hers to make someone back off you or Sally touching you so so gently! <3

12. Ohhhh, thats so so so sweet!! I love this for you ^^

#and- you have n o t used up all your tickets! XDD you're welcome to come back any time ^^#i'm glad this is a safe place for you!! you deserve to love on you f/os somewhere XD

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matchamilkislover · 5 months

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In The Darkest Corners, 10.

pairing: vi x fem!oc (reader with a name)

warnings: mature themes, just an overall minors beware, violence, just general arcane-ness.

word count: 2,009

synopsis: the infamous council meeting - and the aftermath.

author’s note: it’s going down, i’m yelling timbeeeerrrrr

don’t forget to read the other parts first!!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ �� ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Olive and Vi were just leaving Olive’s old house when they heard running footsteps on the sidewalk, coming closer. Soon, Caitlyn came into view, and gestured for them to hurry up.

“The next council meeting. They moved it up. To tonight,” she said, opening the gate for them. “We need to be ready.”

Olive’s heart felt ready to beat out of her chest. She and Vi were waiting just beyond the doors to the Council’s meeting room, waiting for the signal for them to enter. Vi stood beside her, her face unreadable. The only hint Olive had to how she felt was the subtle sign of Vi’s clenched jaw that she could see out of her peripheral vision. Before she knew it, Cailtyn was leading them into the room where each council members’ eyes instantly latched onto the three of them. Olive could feel their eyes burning through her skin, reopening searing wounds that had barely healed. Vi’s hand suddenly clenched around hers for a moment, a reassurance Olive didn’t know she needed. Caitlyn introduced Vi but then trailed off as she turned to Vi.

“Olive Whitlock…” Salo murmured. His piercing eyes were slowly looking her and Vi up and down.

“This is ludicrous!” Hoskel suddenly thundered, pounding a fist on the table. “You have some nerve-”

“Excuse me!” Mrs. Kiramman cut him off with a sharp tone. “Calm your temper, Hoskel,” she hissed.

“Please, we just need your ears, only for a moment,” Caitlyn continued for her mother, stepping forward. She nodded towards Olive to signal that she should speak.

“I’m sure you’re all aware of the…events that took place a year ago. Or where I’ve been since then,” Olive began. “I would never believe it if I hadn’t experienced it for myself. But, the undercity…it's being ravaged. Its inhabitants, eaten alive by shimmer and fighting for their lives every day. They’re being run into the ground by violent crime lords, led by the puppeteer who rules over them all. Silco.” A quiet round of gasps left the councilors’ mouths.

“Silco? The industrialist? We’ve conducted investigations of him, there has been no sign of such organization.” Bolbok questioned.

“And who led these investigations?” Olive snapped, now glowering. She knew. They all knew. Marcus, the dirty police chief that raided her home and ended her life. Marcus, the one who had held her at gunpoint on the bridge before being blown to bits by firelights. Bolbok sighed.

“What does he even want from us?”

“Power. He believes the undercity should be independent. He calls it the Nation of Zaun.” Olive continued, knowing that she had the councilors wrapped in her words now. Jayce Talis suddenly cuts in, lifting a familiar object onto the table. One of Jinx’s bombs.

“And who is responsible for this?” He asks, returning Olive’s glower. Olive opened her mouth and glanced at Vi, but Vi nodded and stepped forward.

“Her name is Jinx,” Vi said, finally speaking.

“And this Jinx has the gemstone?” Jayce asked. Vi nodded. “Then we need to go in by force.”

“That could trigger war!” Another councilor protested.

“There are good people down there,” Olive joined in, not having expected this sudden turn. A different councilor grunted.

“Yeah, about as good as your mother,” The official muttered under his breath. Olive felt her swallowed anger flare inside of her.

“What the fuck did you just say?” She demanded, hurtling forward to where the offender was sitting. Caitlyn hurried forward to hold her back.

“Perhaps there is a diplomatic solution,” Mrs. Kiramman interjected, looking desperate to calm the fire that had been started.

“You don’t know war, Jayce. I do. It must be our last resort,” Councilor Merdarda continued for her. Jayce scoffed.

“What? You want to negotiate with the undercity? With this- Silco?” He demanded angrily. Vi cut in again.

“This is fucking insane- have you learned nothing? He won’t listen to you, you can’t just talk to him! He hates all of you, and everything you stand for!” Her aggressive stance and movements towards the councilors put the enforcers standing by the door on edge. Mrs. Kiramman’s face finally hardened.

“Enforcers, please escort them-” She was cut off by Vi.

“No need. I remember where your stupid fucking door is,” She spat before turning and leaving, Olive close behind.

When they finally exited the grand building, night had fallen, and rain was pounding down on them. Vi was moving so fast that Olive was struggling to keep up.

“Vi, wait!” She cried out, grasping onto her arm. Vi turned towards her but pulled her arm away.

“I never should’ve gotten you involved with this. I never should’ve…” Her voice trailed off.

“What are you talking about? We can fix this, we can still-” Olive didn’t even finish her sentence.

“No, we can’t. We tried, okay? But if I keep letting you get wrapped up in…all this, you’ll get hurt. Everyone always does,” she said, continuing to walk away. Olive’s frustration flashed.

“You can’t just walk away from me, after- after everything! We’re in this together.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes were red and she had to focus to keep her lip from trembling.

“It’s over, cupcake. I need to go back to where I came from, and you need to stay here, where you belong. You’ve got Caitlyn and a big, fancy house that you can fix up. You don’t need me.” Olive’s heart squeezed at the hurt in her voice.

“You’re wrong. I don’t belong here anymore. I- I don’t belong anywhere. But together, I know we could fix everything, I know we could find out what happened to my family and take down Silco and-”

“No, we can’t!” Vi’s voice came out harsher than Olive expected. “You’ll be better off if you stay here, with Caitlyn. If you forget me.” Her eyes were trained on the ground as the rain that soaked them dripped down her hair and face.

“But…what about us?” Olive asked, her voice finally shaking, the tears that had been threatening to spill pouring out of her eyes and down her cheeks like the rain that already streaked them.

“Like oil and water. It wasn’t meant to be.” Vi turned around and left, disappearing into the dark, rainy night.

Olive waited until she was completely out of view before she let herself fall against a light pole while her body was wracked with sobs, head in her hands. She forced herself to hold back the screams that threatened to burst from her throat. She couldn’t explain why it was suddenly hard to breathe, and why her heart felt like it was ripping apart inside her chest. It was a long time before she picked herself up and trudged towards Caitlyn’s house, soaked to her bones by the rain and her face wrecked by crying.

—

Before Vi had reached the edge of Piltover, a thought crossed her mind. That council member - Jayce, was it? - had been the first to suggest they fight by force. For the sake of her own heart, she knew she had to make sure Olive stayed away; especially if she was going to do what she thought she was going to do. She waited a bit longer until she was sure Olive would have left the council building by now, and then headed back, ducking in and out of dark corners to stay inconspicuous. She was sure the enforcers wouldn’t be too keen on letting her back in, and she liked doing things better this way anyways.

Vi slinked through the hallways of the dark building, searching for a sign of the council member. She eventually heard sounds of deep clanging and saw a faint light emanating from the bottom of a door. Bingo.

It took less convincing than Vi expected for Jayce to give in to her plan. This dude really is bloodthirsty. For what they were about to do, the more so, the better. The gauntlets felt so natural in her hands that she had to push away thoughts of the last time she had held something similar. Her focus stayed trained on Jayce as she leaned on one leg and reached out a gauntlet covered hand to him.

“We got a deal, pretty boy?”

—

Olive had nearly shocked Caitlyn to death when she showed back up at her door, soaked and still teary. The blue haired girl shushed her and led her inside, keeping an eye out to make sure no one saw the two of them.

“My mother really isn’t pleased with the stunt you and Vi pulled at the council meeting today,” she warned, making stern eye contact with Olive as she handed her a towel to dry off.

“I know, I- I’m sorry,” Olive replied with a sigh. It was hard enough to face Caitlyn now as is, and this had only made it worse. “I’d just like to stay one more night. Please.” Her eyes cautiously lifted to Caitlyn’s, trying to read her old friend’s expression.

“Oh Olive, of course you can stay,” Caitlyn replied breathlessly as she scooped her into a hug, ignoring that Olive’s clothes were wet enough to get her soaked as well. “But…where’s Vi?”

Olive felt her tears build up again. She pulled away from Caitlyn. “She left me. I couldn’t stop her. She said it was for the better.” Olive choked out the last few words, her face falling into her hands again as tears streamed down her face once more. Caitlyn seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Olive, I-...stay as long as you need. I’m so sorry,” Olive shook her head and cleared her throat.

“I can’t stay long. It doesn’t feel right for me to be here anymore. And I can’t keep piling this on you,” she replied softly. “Piltover is no longer my home.”

The next morning, Olive woke early and got ready quickly. It broke her heart, but she knew she had to leave before Caitlyn could stop her and try to convince her to stay again. Olive knew that she wouldn’t be able to say no this time. With one last longing look at her childhood home, Olive leapt off of Caitlyn’s balcony and made her way towards the total nightmare that was now her life. Even if Vi wouldn’t help her, Olive knew she couldn’t give up on finding her mother. On finding the truth. So back she went to her grubby shack of an apartment, to working odd questionable jobs here and there to support herself, to saving bits of food for days on end when money was tight. At least there, she knew she could do something.

—

Vi could hardly hold herself back from racing into the facility they were headed for and getting the siege over with herself. She and Jayce were loaded with a whole command of enforcers, everyone itching to take down what they now knew as the source of Piltover’s greatest headaches. If only she had known the dark turn this fight was about to take.

The attack on the shimmer facility was a blur of gunshots and bloodshed. Vi used the anger coursing through her to mercilessly take down any and all who crossed her path, ignoring the trail of those around her who had fallen. Finally, there was only one person left. A young boy that seemed oddly forceful in his determination to protect the facility. Vi recognized him as the one who had pushed the alarm in the building that alerted everyone of their presence and released the defense creatures. Vi knew that she had no choice in killing him. Apparently Jayce didn’t have the same opinion. She had hardly caught her breath when enforcers descended upon her, holding her down to clamp handcuffs on her. She growled and shouted shocked protests, shoving whatever body parts she could into them to try and overtake them.

“What the fuck!” she growled, still fighting. Jayce’s face was dark and overcast.

“Perhaps some time in Stillwater will teach you a well deserved lesson.”

8 notes · View notes

ocd-character-polls · 1 year

Text

Honorary mentions bracket!

Sorry it took so long but! the honorary mentions bracket for completion 1.5

I think there is 48 people? I didnt count tbh-

Polls begin Tomorrow, Sunday EST (maybe around 3?)

Like last time, Propaganda is both allowed and encouraged! just tage me

I fuckedup so bad jurogiri was in the main competition this is a disaster. Replaceing him with petunia from happy tree friends

I forget to put who's going against Kurt and Beau in the bracket, which I am realizes as I make this post, there is no more characters left so uhhhh, Kurt will go against Amir from the two princes podcast, sure (I made this up on the spot) and Beau will go aganst Warren Godby from Red valley

there where two characters I did not include due to personal discomforts I had including them, so sorry :(

I also added 4 characters, as I forgot I had an automatic nominate I allowed myself last round, and I figured I would also get 1 this round, so. Then I needed an extra 2 because i messed up my counting

So! Competitors and their media under cut

Boober Fraggle from Fraggle rock vs Mr. Oshiro from Celeste

L from Death Note vs Caitlyn Kiramman From Arcane

Kurt Hammel from Glee vs Amir from The two princes podcast

Hercule Poirot from Agatha Christie books vs Shang Qinghua from The scum villains self-saving system

Puss and boots from Puss and boots vs The day care attendant from fnaf

Spock from star trek vs The Phantom from phanathan of the opera

Risu Kageyama from Mob pyscho 100 vs Mayoi ayase from Ensemble Star

Sir nighteye from BNHA vs The narrator from The Stanley Parble

Batman from Batman vs Tony Stark from MCU

Sayaka from Madoka Magica vs Petunia from Happy tree friends

Garmadon from Ninjago vs Alzura from ATLA

Sheldon from Big bang vs Chara from undertale

Adora from She-ra vs Konan from Naruto

Aza from Turtles all the way down vs Griffin from Silverwing Books

Beau Finado from CSI: Vegas vs Warren Godby from red valley

Ultra Magnus from transformers vs Sindari from God of war

Silver from Sonic vs Marinette from Miraculous ladybug

Mary Katerin from We have always lived in the castle vs The Spy from Fortess 2

Homura Akemi from Madoka Magica vs Dottore from gensin Impact

Evey Elsen from OFF vs Zane Ro'meave from Mystreet

Yoshikage Kira from Jojo vs Alhaitham from gensin Impact

Double Dee from Ed, edd and Eddy vs The riddler from batman

Arnold Rimmer from Red Dwarf vs Arron from CSI

Harrowhark Nongesimus from the locked tomb series vs Yanfer from Gensin Impact

29 notes · View notes

balsamfir-fics · 2 years

Text

a hope at risk (part 4) [FINAL]

Genres: angst, 99% canon (eps 6-9), more angst, eventual smut, established childhood crushes to strangers to lovers, post-pining, becoming machine herald (sort of)

Pairing: Viktor/Female Reader

Warnings: Near character death (episode 9 fishbones scenes), mentions of injury

Summary: For nearly two decades after you waltzed out of Viktor’s life as the childhood friend who broke his heart, he hoped to forget you. Now that you’re back, firmly settled in his life and his arms, he wants nothing more than to live, to love, to dream. With a terminal diagnosis you’ve yet to learn about in a city waiting to erupt into war, however, Viktor realizes this is a fight for survival against all odds. But he can’t lose you again. He won’t. He hopes.

Chapters: Prelude | Part 1 | Part 2 [M] | Part 3 | Part 4 [FINAL]

Chapter Word Count: ~8.8k

Author Notes: Unedited. Sequel to a hope never forgotten. This work can be read independently of its predecessor – though reading that first will more thoroughly contextualize Viktor and YN’s relationship. Prequel summarized below for those who don’t have time to read it!

Prequel summary: If you are reading this without having seen the previous work, this is the debrief: YN is Heimerdinger’s adopted daughter; YN and Viktor are childhood friends who grew up together between the ages of 10-16 and separated at 16 immediately after an unspoken confession of love. The uncertainty and cowardice of youth prevent YN from keeping contact until twelve years pass. Over the next five years the two keep orbiting each other, gravity pulling them closer, until Viktor’s hospital stint as per Episode 5 forces YN to reckon with their lifetime of love. The end of A Hope Never Forgotten sees Viktor’s seventeen-year-long hope and longing fulfilled.

A Hope Never Forgotten follows Arcane canon up to Episode 5; this work will follow Arcane canon until the end of all currently available content (Episode 9). This piece borrows themes from prior League of Legends lore, but following the events of Episode 9 it will become an imagined ‘what comes next’ as we wait for the events of Season 2.

The prior work deals primarily with holding onto hope; this one deals with themes of loss and survival. Both are about decisions made and avoided.

——————————————————-

There’s a sharp ringing in Jayce’ head. Everything else is muffled. He thinks he hears screaming, but it sounds like he’s underwater. Still, the noise reverberates off his skull and he winces at the pain that sears through his head. He staggers off of the table—huh? Off of the table? Why was he— Flashes of memory burst through his aching mind. “Jayce has brokered… a peace… with Silco, in exchange for the Undercity’s independence.” Jayce hears a woman—Mrs. Kiramman, he thinks—exclaim in protest. The room bursts into sound, Councilmembers shouting over each other, papers being thrown, and fists banging on the table. He glances at Mel, who wears a mix of expressions across her delicate features. He and Viktor are immovable; they allow the room to clamor and clash. They’d made their decision to be steadfast. His eyes scan the room as angry life flares around him, but his heart is solely attuned to Mel. She is surprisingly quiet, eyes downcast as she fiddles with the ring she always wears; a memento from her youth in Noxus. In a rare lull of heavily-breathed quiet, she interjects. She raises one regal hand, then votes with him. Her seat is lit, and she levels her Councilmates with an even, steady gaze. One by one, the votes are cast. The others know their hands are tied; Piltover is out of other options besides all-out-war. This is what’s best. The room lights up with every passing vote, and as a unanimity is reached, Jayce allows himself another glance at his lover. She smiles encouragingly at him, and he returns it with a hopeful gaze of his own. Behind him, Viktor leans on his crutch as he struggles to straighten in celebration. Mel’s spine straightens. She turns her head to the side. And then everything disappears. There’s crying. Screeching. Lamenting. Images start to finally make sense to his brain—must be concussed, he thinks. When pixels sort themselves in his mind, he sees the light first, then registers the heat from the flames. It’s chaos—chaos everywhere, a thousandfold times worse than the fateful explosion in his apartment a decade before. Mel, his brain gasps, and he staggers to his right where she should have been. His eyes move faster than the camera-feed they provide to his brain, and the image lags. She finally comes into focus, slumped over the table with her arms reached out. “MEL!” Jayce roars, clumsily lunging towards her. She doesn’t stir, doesn’t react. He shakes her, harder than he probably should, but she doesn’t respond. He raises trembling fingers to check for a pulse; it’s there, it’s faint, but she’s alive. Only later does he remember that she looks wholly unharmed, and only later do they realize that she’s the reason they’re not all dead. Some people carrying stretchers rush past him; Jayce wonders how long he’s been unconscious. He watches in a dissociative state as they load Mel onto one and take her away. A medic tries to talk to him but all he hears is gibberish; he waves them off and stumbles towards his left, where he thinks Viktor was. A limp, mangled mess of thin limbs twitches on the floor. Broken shards of glass are scattered all around it, as are shredded pieces of wooden chair. A puddle of molten plastic and aluminum wilts nearby, partly draped over the figure’s arm. No. A medic grabs at his arm, but Jayce rips himself free and drops to his knees. Glass pierces through his clothing and digs into his skin, but he can’t feel it. He tries his best to scrape off the molten materials, but the figure twitches again. This time, it moans, a wretched sound of pain. “Viktor?” “Jayce?” Viktor’s familiar rasp is barely audible above the din of disaster. “OVER HERE!” Jayce bellows, ordering the medics closer to Viktor. The rest of it is a blur; the form that is supposedly his best friend gets hauled onto a stretcher and taken away. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You sit by Viktor’s side, listening to the beep of his monitoring devices as you reread his letter again and again into the dark of the night. The beeps remind you that he is still alive; you will the machine to give him just one more beep, then another, then just one more. How many more beeps will he have? How many beeps have you already used up, living in the dark about his condition when it seemed like so many others knew? (Heimerdinger came with you to the hospital and was surprised to see the look of horror on your face when Viktor’s doctor gave you his full prognosis). “I’m surprised he’s even alive,” the exhausted doctor had sighed. “He’s a very lucky man. Councilwoman Medarda’s defenses certainly shielded him from the brunt of the impact, but as you know, Viktor was already on his way out. If injuries don’t get him, then the smoke from the resulting fires might. We’re doing our best to keep him oxygenated, but we were already surprised that he woke up the last time. We’ll do what we can for palliative care, but we suggest you execute any of his wishes soon.” Heimerdinger made a sad noise of agreement, and you’d whirled on your father. How was he not surprised? Had he known Viktor was already near death? The guilt across your father’s features had said enough. The sheets of parchment crumple in your fist; some pages are already fraying at the edges, softened by the moisture of your tears. You fade in and out of restless sleep, your body aching from the irregular positions. But each time you wake, you listen intently for another beep. Each time you wake, your mind is pulled to Viktor’s words; the second experiment would have worked. It could save him. A tiny fragment of your brain whispers to you that Viktor wanted the Hexcore destroyed, that the guilt had consumed him. But the rest of your thoughts are louder, consumed with the possibility that this may not be the end for him. It didn’t have to be the end. A nurse comes into the room to change his IV; she returns shortly after to give you a small cup of chamomile tea. You drink it without registering any flavors before drifting back into cyclically poor sleep, your fingers laced into Viktor’s. —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As a councilman, victim, lover, and friend, Jayce finds himself wrapped up in a whirlwind of disaster recovery tasks. Pulled in a million directions, he wants nothing more than to scream into the void, stop his work, and retreat—never did he imagine he would be asked this many questions, witness this much pain and suffering (of his closest friends and colleagues, no less), be tasked with saving and rebuilding a hurting government, all the while trying desperately to maintain a shred of hope that peace might still be reached between Piltover and the Undercity. It had been so close to being brokered, with the Council agreeing with his proposal to give Zaun its independence without violence — until all hell broke loose. Naturally, the upper-city folk and his people condemn the act of terrorism and chomp at the bit to be up at arms. As he listens in on loud, heated council meetings, he clenches his fists in his lap. He can feel a ghost of the bite of cold metal in his palms from the ‘Mercury Hammer’ (as Mel jokingly called it once), and every time he closes his fingers and squeezes he can feel the hammer taking that child’s life. Again, and again, and again. Open, close. Open, close. His breath shallows and his sight narrows as the arguments in this council session become rowdy. Around him, wind whips against the makeshift tarpauline ‘windows’ strung to the charred metal frame of the council room wall; most of the jagged glass has been cleared away, but other evidence of destruction still remains. Jayce sees it most in the bandages covering starting-to-heal wounds from his fellow council folk, but he feels it best from the sting of his own scars as he flexes the muscles in his fists. Thin, jagged cuts pepper his hands and his face (the few parts of skin that had been exposed to the blast); part of his eyebrow is missing, and a piece of gauze above his left eyelid makes it still-uncomfortable to blink. He hadn’t wanted this. All he and Viktor aimed to do was use Hextech for the betterment of society, to invent, to create, and to live. He wasn’t a politician by nature the way Mel was, and Jayce is all the more aware of it as he sits among the broken remains of the Council without her. She’d offered to come to session, of course, being in considerably better shape than someone sitting in direct line of the rocket should have. But having borne the brunt of the explosion, she wasn’t in perfect condition, and Jayce fought her until she agreed to rest. (He promised to have a council scribe bring a transcript of the session immediately after). Jayce’ thoughts are everywhere but the actual Council discussion, but he forces himself to shut everything out and make it through. Once another inconclusive and incendiary session ends, he remains in his seat even after most of the lights are turned off and everyone else leaves. Eventually, he becomes uncomfortable staying in such an unlucky room, and leaves for the familiar halls of the laboratory. There, the quiet tinkering noises of equipment are the same as they’ve always been. Looking for answers, he slumps into Viktor’s stool; the older man had always been the smarter one, more reserved and less headstrong. Perhaps sitting in his place would bring some ideas to the Councilman. The Hexcore hisses, shivering a little as Jayce gives it a sidelong glance. The purple light it casts catches on a few sheets of paper, fluttering in a stale breeze. Jayce follows the movement, noticing loose paper tucked into a worn leather-bound notebook. He tilts his head, angling for a better look. Then he reaches for it. The Hexcore glows a deeper shade of purple in response. It seems... pleased. In front of him lies Viktor’s notebook. It challenges him, goads him, taunts him to open its pages and witness what lies within. This has never once occurred in their long years inventing together; Viktor shares some of his other notes, certainly, but never this notebook. Never the leather-bound tome of scrap paper he scribbles in furiously and protects with private passion. In recent weeks, as Jayce came to the lab less and less, he’d noticed Viktor mostly working in this notebook—the chalkboard and lab desks hadn’t been piled upon with other sheets of his scribblings. Whatever was within this book doubled as the reason Viktor adamantly wanted the Hexcore destroyed. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jayce shuts the door to Viktor’s hospital room behind him as quietly as he can, but your head shoots up at the slightest sound of his shoes against the linoleum. Hot tears streaming down your cheeks and blurring your vision, you run towards Jayce with a strangled sob. When you reach him, you beat your fists against his chest; above you, he looks miserable and doesn’t make any attempt to stop you – you’re too fraught and not strong enough to hurt him, and truth be told he wishes you might be able to do some damage. Perhaps it would then count as penance for him allowing his mentor, his friend, his partner to die far too early. “You have to save him, Jayce,” you sob, clutching now at the lapels of his jacket. “Please. It’s the only way. I can’t lose him again – I can’t – I–” You shove the pages of Viktor’s letter against him, and he takes them from you to quickly scan. His eyes widen as Viktor’s confession unlocks the mysteries behind Viktor’s notes; he know knows exactly how to interpret the scribblings in Viktor’s notebooks and Sky’s supplemented suggestions. Jayce wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tight as his heart seizes in his chest. His stomach sinks impossibly low, churning in his torso with the strong discomfort of unwise decisions. There have only been a few times he’s felt this poorly; the first was when his mother was near-death; another was seconds after he said to Viktor’s face that the Zaunites were dangerous threats to his Piltovan world. The next was when he saw the light leave the little Zaunite boy’s eyes in Silco’s facility. He hadn’t anticipated experiencing it for a fourth time, but here he was, forced to make yet another decision he was underprepared for. Above your head, Jayce curses aloud. His voice comes out mangled, and it’s only then that he realizes he, too, is crying. Through the glossy sheen of his tears, his gaze lifts to the vibrating purple light of the Hexcore. His eyes narrow; it’s different. The runes are gone and in their place are gaping holes that light radiates through. The core is alive, very much so, and it doesn’t take any effort to understand that there is something wicked about it. This feels like bargaining with evil, and Jayce thought brokering a deal with his Undercity rival Silco had been the true form of it. Now he knows that Silco, like him, is a man born and bred of circumstance; someone forced to make decisions that others couldn’t or wouldn’t – someone simply trying to survive. None of this was supposed to happen. The deal should have gone through, despite Council objections – the Zaunites would be free, and the Piltovans left to re-negotiating access to the resources in the fissures, new trade deals to be created. “Jayce,” your voice is muffled against his chest. “Please. Save him. Only you can.” He pulls away at that, his hands firmly grasping your shoulders. Jayce’ eyes bear into yours, searching for confirmation that this is the right thing, that this should be done. What he finds, however, is a dangerous blend of uncertainty and worry – but above all, desperation. It’s the same he feels in his own heart and soul. Jayce swallows, hard, his own gaze extremely unsure. But he takes your hands in his and makes a promise to you that breaks the one he made to Viktor. He’ll understand, Jayce tries to convince himself. Viktor wanted to build out his life, in love. He’ll forgive me for this. Then he leans down to kiss gently at your hairline – the consolation of a brother. With slow, deliberate steps, he strides to Viktor’s workbench and faces the Hexcore. He doesn’t turn towards you when he speaks, but merely tilts his face towards his shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s hiding his face in shame, or guilt, or the weight of his decisions. “You should go home,” Jayce says quietly. “If you could just check on Mel before you leave, I’ll take care of everything else.” You nod, not that he can see – and you quickly scurry out of the lab, wiping your eyes with your sleeve and trying your best to choke down your sobs. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You sit on the grand staircase at the Heimderdinger Estate, letting the cold of the cavernous room seep into your bones. Your gaze falls absently on the tiled patterns in the floor; a flicker of lamplight catches the corners of the glaze and dances back and forth. A warmth suddenly surrounds your shoulders and you start, glancing around you for the source of the change. One step above you, your father looks at you with a sad, affectionate smile. “All will be alright in due time, my love,” he says, voice small and rueful. He doesn’t know the half of it. He’s aware you’re distressed over the attack on the Academy, and even more so worried about Viktor’s comatose state in the hospital. But you and Jayce carefully agreed to keep mum about Viktor’s notes and the clandestine effort to leverage the Hexcore against the strings of fate. You know full well how furious your father would be if he found out what you had chosen to do, and to his protege of an almost-adopted son, no less. It’s not like you can’t understand the sentiment; you also wanted nothing to do with the arcane, but when given the choice between your morality and your last hope to save the love of your life who you’d nearly lost twice, it was a simple decision to make. No; Heimerdinger thinks you are simply waiting for news that Viktor moved on to the next life, mourning your love in advance. He sits down on the step above, you, pulling at your shoulder to tuck you into his very small embrace. “We must have hope,” his voice falters, his words failing to be convincing. He’s a Yordle of science; one look at Viktor’s charts would be more than enough to write him off as a dead man walking. You hum sadly into his harms, electing not to say a word of agreement—you know that you have one last thread of real, not platitudinal, hope. But even with the potential of Viktor’s impeccable notes working out, and even with Jayce successfully restoring his lab-mate from the brink of death, you can’t help but feel the cold fingers of fear grip at your heart. Heimerdinger’s feeble attempts at comforting you through his own preemptive and misplaced mourning do, somehow, help. A small hand rubs tender circles into your back, reminding you of the warmth from the shawl he draped over you not minutes ago. Hope. What a useless currency, and yet sometimes it could be more valuable than gold. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Caitlyn Kiramman comes calling a few days later, her lips pressed into a tight line of disapproval. It’s odd for her; you’d gotten closer to her as you’d gotten closer to both Viktor and Jayce, and you’d certainly seen her and her parents at the many galas you either ran or attended. It’s even odder knowing that her mother is in a similar state to Viktor; while her health had been impeccably managed, she was no longer the spring chicken she used to be and recovery from the blast had been painful from what you’d heard. Thus you were surprised to see Caitlin at the front door of the Heimerdinger Estate; this was the last place you expected to see her that wasn’t her mother’s private hospital bedside. “I don’t know what you and Jayce were planning—” Caitlin raises a perfectly poised hand to stop you as you begin to open your mouth to explain. “— And I don’t want to know, either. But whatever it is you needed Zaunite contraband for, Jayce wanted me to tell you that it worked. Whatever it is.” You blink at her, mouth agape. Thoughts fly through your head before you finally put them in order and deduce what you need to. You’d read Viktor’s notes in excruciating detail before passing his journal to Jayce, and as you squinted at his scrawl you made out a few references (in discreet code) to the Undercity’s Shimmer. Perhaps you didn’t exactly want to know those particulars of Viktor’s survival, but you quickly understand that Jayce sacrificed his own moral code to save his friend. It must have taken deep humility and shame to ask Caitlyn, of all people, to help him procure some of the illicit drug, knowing that Caitlyn would be his best chance at getting any in the midst of the two-city turmoil. “…Thank you,” you can only say. Your hand reaches for Caitlyn’s before she can turn on her heel and make a speedy exit; her gentle but keen gaze catches yours and she softens as she notices the undertones in your gratitude. She recognizes at once that you realized she supplied the Shimmer, and the tight muscles around her lips relax somewhat. “Whatever it was, it must have been worth it,” she murmurs, pulling you close to her for a quick, tight hug. “Otherwise Jayce would never have asked me, begging him to keep this a secret from Mel.” “It was,” you reply, eyes misty. “I know it was.” “However, don’t make him ever do that again,” Caitlyn sighs, her tone sharp nonetheless. Your spine straightens and you nod—you don’t want to have to go through this ordeal once more, either, and the last thing you want to do is jeopardize Jayce’ reputation among his closest friends. This was a one-time thing, and you know it. Caitlyn’s eyes burn into yours, fiery with the fierce devotion of best friendship. You recognize that look; it’s the same fervor that lives within your own eyes whenever anyone thinks about crossing Viktor. With a curt nod in recognition of your silent agreement, Caitlyn briskly makes her exit. As she retreats, your legs fail you and you slump against the grand doorway, trying to catch your breath as your brain screams ‘VIKTOR IS ALIVE!’ —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jayce grinds in his teeth, slumped over in the uncomfortably small chair with his head hung in his hands. Whatever coffee he drank hours ago has long worn off, and it’s only the gentle bubbling of the various medical devices attached to Viktor that keep him awake. The bubbling is a vast improvement from the alarmed screeching that rang from Viktor’s hospital room for days as Jayce, still mildly concussed from the blast, puttered around the room with the door locked and Viktor’s notes strewn over the hospital bed. He’d figured out the last of Viktor’s notes the evening prior—the Hexcore needed more than just bio-organic material to bond with — he realized, only after taking a frustrated coffee break in the hospital hallway and overhearing nurses talking about illegal painkillers, that the undercity’s drug of choice may be Viktor’s only chance at surviving an such an ordeal. Only then, so belatedly, did Jayce understand what quandary Viktor had been consulting about that fateful day on the bridge. A horrible cough rises from the center of the room, honing all of Jayce’ senses onto it. His head snaps up and he takes the two strides to Viktor’s side. He’s only felt this much adrenaline coursing through him a small handful of times in his life; the first when discovering the crystals, the second when they proved Hextech worked, and the third when Mel Medarda leveled a sharp gaze of approval at him. “Viktor?” Jayce asks, voice tentative. He leans over the hospital bed, straining to inspect Viktor’s face for any signs of cognition. Another cough wracks Viktor’s lungs, jerking his torso off of the cushions, before he pulls his eyelids open with bleary effort. His eyes canvas his surroundings, noting the drab ceiling of the hospital room and the tanned expanse of Jayce’ face above his own. Viktor blinks again, feeling something in his stomach turn to heavy lead. The last thing he remembered was a bright flash of light, and then pain, and then— He feels fine now. Whatever pain was there in his last known memory was gone. But more concerningly, so was the rest of his pain—the dull ache that had been with him since childhood, the frailty that had just another fact of his life. Viktor tries to sit up unsuccessfully; the motion sends him into another fit of painful, wet coughs before Jayce pushes him back down into the cushions in concern. No, no, he strains against Jayce’ grasp, surprised at his own strength as he counters the force, but even with his strange new vigor he is no match for even an injured Jayce. “What day is it?” Viktor snaps, a sharp amber glare slicing into Jayce’ own concerned irises. Startled by the roughness in Viktor’s voice coupled with the intensity behind it, Jayce answers at once: two weeks. Viktor swings himself out of the hospital bed and collapses to the floor. Jayce darts around the bed to help lift him up, but Viktor swats him away and uses the hospital bed to prop himself up. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. For most people, getting up out of a hospital bed after two weeks of unconsciousness would normally result in the newborn-giraffe display of shaking limbs he just exhibited — but not Viktor. Plagued with chronic fatigue and his aching leg, even the attempt to climb out of bed after a virus-induced fever would have been near-impossible, and when he first fainted and woke up presumably in this very same room, he needed several days to even remotely feel like he could sit upright. He doesn’t feel great, but this is what his normal feels like. And coming out of a comatose state should be nothing but normal — he should be lying in that bed, barely able to converse, and not staggering around his room within minutes of waking. “What did you do?” Viktor whispers, hand gripping the footboard so hard his knuckles are moon-white. “What did you do to me?” He repeats the question, and Jayce goes pale. When Jayce doesn’t respond, Viktor lifts his gaze. The fear in Jayce’s eyes must mirror his own. In them, he finds clues to answer his question; as he flicks his eyes towards the sheets of parchment lying haphazardly on hospital furniture, it all begins to click. “You didn’t,” Viktor says, his voice low and aghast. His mind screams at him. You didn’t use the accursed Hexcore I asked you to destroy, to save me! You can’t have! But another, foreign portion of his brain roars for his conscience to be silent; his head pounds with the loudness of his internal battle. Jayce swallows thickly. “I did. We… we couldn’t lose you.” Viktor’s ears catch one pivotal word. “We?” Jayce wonders where things went so wrong; he’s torn between being elated that Viktor seems in good health and severely spooked by the haunted disappointment in Viktor’s voice. He nods, knowing that this is the worst possible time to lie. “She brought me your notes,” Jayce explains lamely as he gestures at some of the papers. Viktor goes incredibly still. Both men stay locked in the other’s intense gaze, carrying out a multitude of conversation in perfect silence. Then Viktor’s brows furrow, his expression hardens. “Get out.” “What? I’m here to help you, you need food and water and I have to contact her—“ “GET OUT!” Viktor roars. From the way Jayce nearly jumps out of his skin, Viktor can tell that his mentee and friend is as surprised by the strength in Viktor’s voice as he is. But to his credit, Jayce — this time — complies with the command and sees himself out. In the quiet that settles in Jayce’ wake, Viktor slowly walks towards the small side table where his worn leather notebook lies open to his last scribblings. The pages don’t tell the story of Sky’s death. The scrawl doesn’t document the pain he endured as she tore him from the Hexcore’s insidious grasp. He turns a page with one finger, flipping it over to expose the blank sheets that remain. He had resigned himself to his death, willing to take upon himself the guilt of having a friend’s blood stain his hands in the name of his research. He had been prepared to give his near-final goodbyes to you and to hope his scientific legacy was otherwise kept pure. But now he can hear the whisperings of corruption in his ear, feel the allure of strength and vitality that he’d never been privileged to have. The voice is greedy; it stirs memories of jealousy and wistfulness in him that he has taken decades to suppress and overcome. Viktor had wanted none of this, preferring to leave this world steadfast to his convictions, values, and his commitment to do good for the least of these. Now, his convictions are called into question. But he knows what this all means. He knows, in the least, his life has been extended, his final deadline pushed back for now—for good and for bad, from pure or impure motivations. Back turned to the dim overhead light, Viktor stands alone in his hospital gown. He stares down at his hand, experimentally stretching his palm open before squeezing his fist shut. A shiver of his previous muscoskeletal weakness ripples through his nervous system; it’s a familiar sensation that almost feels like an old, tired friend. It serves as a reminder that he is still himself despite this cursed strength now living inside him. Bolstered by this recognition, he silently vows to himself any improbable deity who may be listening that he will not draw upon the Hexcore’s power for anything but necessary sustenance of his life. He flips pulls out a loose sheet from the notebook, recognizing Sky’s handwriting. Viktor crushes the paper into his palm, promising a dead friend that he wouldn’t succumb to the very thing that destroyed her. He would not let the Hexcore control him. Everything is changed. Viktor knows he must do the same in order to adapt to the new lease on life he’s been given. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Viktor refuses to allow you back into his hospital room. He doesn’t scream at you, he doesn’t throw anything at you — no, he is ever the picture of politeness and gentleness with you as he always has been. Instead, he very quietly instructs you to leave him be in a voice so low and tested that you know not to push your concerns further. When he’s given the all-clear to return home by a very surprised and somewhat fearful doctor, Viktor elects to sleep on the couch (against your protests). Considering the span of your relationship, you’re physically the closest you’ve been for the majority of your lives, and yet Viktor feels more distant than he has ever been before. He is still kind and ever-so-polite, but a line between you has been firmly drawn and Viktor shows no intentions of crossing it. You ask him a timid question once in the first few days of his silence: whether he still loves you. He visibly flinches at your request, but calmly reassures you that his feelings have not changed. It is, in fact, the truth. But he refrains from answering your other questions with real answers, and you soon leave him be. You communicate in other ways; in sandwiches left out and dishes cleaned afterward—in coffee brewed before you wake, in laundry neatly folded. Sometimes Viktor wakes up from a midday nap with a blanket tucked around him; other times you come back home to an empty apartment and a still-warm dinner on the stove. You carry on in this loving, yet quiet detente until one day you return to see Viktor leaning against the kitchen counter, packed bags at his feet. “What is going on?” You ask, slowing your pace and eyeing his suitcases suspiciously. “I’m moving out,” he says matter-of-factly, tugging on the glove he uses to hide his metal hand. “It’s not fair for you to live like this, tip-toeing around me.” “I’m not tip-toeing,” you interject quickly, alarm bells going off in your head. “I’m just being patient; I’ve been waiting for you to open up and talk to me whenever you were ready!” He pushes off the counter, straightens his back, and dusts the front of his jacket. “Well, I’m not ready. I need time and space to think.” “I could just move back to Father’s—” “Do that,” he hisses, voice tight. “It’s where you belong. I… I don’t belong here. Not anymore.” “Viktor!” Your voice pitches higher, scolding with the use of his full name. “You belong with me, where else would you go?” He looks dismayed, but resolute. “Somewhere. Anywhere. A place that isn’t here; a place that isn’t Piltover. Sparrow, I’m not meant to be alive right now, much less augmented to high heavens with a magical metallic energy I haven’t begun to understand.” He gestures at his body, pulls off his glove, and raps his metal knuckles on the granite counter. A loud clang fills the space between you, and you wince at the sharp sound. Viktor watches as you react to his display of aberration, and it only cements his plans in his mind. Against his better judgment, he steps forward, as compelled by you as he always has been. He reaches up to your face quickly as he notices tears start to fall; you hadn’t even noticed them yourself in the midst of your rising internal panic. Viktor cups your cheeks; one side is distinctly colder and harder than the other, and the sensation is jarring. “Sparrow,” Viktor exhales, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes flutter shut. “I can’t be with you until I can figure out who I am with all of this. I won’t risk endangering you when I’m not confident I can control what feels like corruption inside me, much less so when it’s this corruption that keeps me alive. And I can’t be with you if I haven’t yet settled how I feel about the fact that you and Jayce both went behind my back and my ethical code to give me another chance at life.” His words settle in your intermingled breaths. Not sure how to respond, you lift your head just a few millimeters, indicating your attempts to understand him while giving him the space to determine what to do next. You want to ask him to stay. No—you want to beg him to stay, because you can’t go on like this, waiting to lose him again and again and again. But this time, letting him go is a distinct choice. This time, it’s not you leaving him without a backward glance; it’s not two teenagers scared of their feelings and their futures, and it’s not a dying man waiting out his last days. Viktor’s breath is warm on your lips, while half of his torso is cool to your touch. His nose bumps into yours as he sways where he stands. You instinctually reach out to steady him, but Viktor, in his renewed body, rights himself. Then he pulls you the last few millimeters into him, his lips soft on yours as he tries to communicate a multitude of emotions in a single gesture. Something feral in his brain purrs; he tries to stifle the immediate attraction that he’s always had to you, especially considering that arousal would be highly inappropriate at the moment. With much mental effort, the stimulated presence in his brain recedes and shrinks back, dormant but ever-present. Whatever energy the Hexcore gave him, it was a dangerous, wild one. Yes, this is the right decision for the time being. His physical salvation had changed everything, and if he wanted to live the rest of his borrowed time with you, then he needed to be damn sure that he was capable of doing so safely. He’d already hurt you before with his secrecy and he’d already taken a life, and Viktor could not in good conscience continue living the same way he had before. “I will return to you, Sparrow,” he says gently, stroking his flesh-and-blood thumb over the curve of your cheek. “I simply do not know when.” His eyes gaze fondly, softly into yours with a questioning expression; you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe deeply before nodding once to indicate your acceptance. You keep your eyes closed as he presses his lips to your forehead, takes his bags, and leaves. You only open them once you hear his footsteps receded down the hallway, before you slide to the floor and allow yourself to cry into your arms without fear of anyone witnessing your misery. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Viktor jogs up the front steps of the Heimerdinger Estate, knowing that you are still back at the apartment trying to pack up your affairs. It’s a small window for opportunity for him; he needs to speak to your father, privately. Staff open the door before Viktor so much as reaches the top step; he gives them a sheepish, guarded smile as he passes over the threshold. He’s taken back to Heimerdinger’s home office, a stylishly quaint room that’s seen many of the pair’s lengthy discussions from years prior. “Viktor, my boy,” Heimerdingers sighs, peering down his glasses at his protégé. Viktor settles into the same chair he always rents when visiting the office; the desk itself, and Heimerdinger’s modified seating, looms over him even with his own human height. “You have always been like a son to me.” The professor’s double meaning of Viktor as surrogate son and Viktor as virtual son-in-law is not lost on the younger scientist. He knows what this means; if the Yordle opens any meeting with sentimentality, the meeting is likely to end with difficult news. “I am… sorry, my boy, that the events in our world have transpired in this fashion.” “I should have heeded your warning,” Viktor chuckles dryly. “But I only did so too late.” Heimerdinger is silent for a spell, thinking about how Viktor indeed tried to correct his path and how it was your decision to push your lover past the point of no return in exchange for his life. It was easy to understand why you did it despite the questionable ethics, but it was difficult for Heimerdinger as a father to watch his children stand on the precipice of tearing themselves apart. “All water under the bridge now, I’m afraid. There are more pressing matters to attend to.” Viktor nods. Heimderdinger continues. “I’ve taken your proposal back to Jayce and Councilwoman Medarda privately, considering so few know about the … peculiar circumstances behind your remarkable recovery. They have agreed with our position that your affiliation with the Academy laboratory is now a liability; warmongering factions in our neighbors’ borders would not be pleased to hear that the City of Progress conducted deadly biological experiments with Hextechnology, and whisperings of international war are proving to be just as probable, if not as likely, as continued conflict between Zaun and Piltover. Even now we are struggling to patch together agreements between our cities; many people are scared and hurt by the attack on the Council, and public sentiment in both areas is low.” Viktor wonders where Heimerdinger gets his Zaunite intel from, but thinks against asking. If he needs to know, he will be told in due time. “I understand. I am very sorry to leave your daughter, sir, but I fully intend to ensure that my life, in whatever sinful contract I have entered into to retain it, does not interfere with hers. I’ve already decided to leave Hextech behind and focus on finding another occupation somewhere in Zaun.” Heimerdinger merely raises a small hand and glances down at the papers on his desk. “I wasn’t finished.” He squints, reads over a line or two while muttering under his breath, then glances back up at Viktor. “It would be a travesty to waste your brilliance with your new lease on life, and Zaun will have need for a motivated man of science more than ever before. We have decided to split the laboratory, sending half the resources and annual budget to a small workshop in Zaun, where you may continue your work in partnership with the Piltovan Academy.” Heimerdinger sighs again, burdened by years of knowledge. “I should have fought for independence long ago,” he says regretfully. “So much pain, so many lives lost.” Then he returns to himself. “Even as both cities continue to fight, I believe that such a partnership in scholarship may act as a beacon of hope, especially for the young and visionary folk among our two cities. You may be uniquely positioned to be a herald of peace, as a Zaunite who can relate to the experiences of your peers. A visiting professor may journey back and forth between the labs easily, and Zaunite children need someone to look up to.” Viktor shuts his mouth after belatedly realizing it had fallen agape. “But—” This was more than he ever bargained for; hell, his life was more than he’d expected to have. Though his science now scared him, he knows that there are few other purposes in life that sustain and motivate him; this, he realizes, is a second chance to do better than the mistakes of the past few years. “I--” His mentor fixes him with a piercing sky-blue stare. “Innovation and collaboration between the future generation of our people is the only way to shared success,” Heimerdinger warns. “Shying away from the world and wasting your talents out of fear and regret does everyone, and especially yourself, a disservice. We all still need you, Viktor, even with your augments and even as you change.” Then the Yordle hops off of his chair and steps around his desk, taking flurried steps towards the boy he helped raise into a man. “My boy,” he places Viktor’s hand—his metallic hand—between two smaller ones. “My daughter and I still need you, too.” He squeezes Viktor’s hands gently, then vacates his office. Viktor sits by himself in the room, turning over his surrogate father’s words, until a member of the Estate staff arrives to say that Heimerdinger has arranged for a vehicle that will take Viktor to the location of the Zaunite laboratory. Nearly an hour later, he is deposited (with his luggage) in front of a quiet, foggy side-street. He glances down the road at the street corner sign; Emberflit Alley, it reads. He chuckles to himself, recognizing the care that went into the selection of this location: somewhere quiet, somewhere mildly secluded, and yet somewhere where similarly curious minds could explore the the world of science in solitude, away from the typical stressors of Zaunite life. He takes his luggage up to the roomy-for-Zaun laboratory apartment a few floors up with relative ease; his newfound slightly-more-ablebodied-ness still startles him, but he is grateful to have parted with the intensity of pain he would normally have had while exerting half of the effort. The apartment is simply furnished, but it will suffice. He tucks away most of his things, for now, but takes care to unpack a small box full of letters, paper, and ink. Viktor sits at the small workbench in the living room, noting that Jayce sent over his own worn stool from the Academy lab. He allows himself an indulgent read of three letters, then pulls a fresh sheet from the stack of paper and begins to write. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It takes a few weeks before Viktor sends you a letter; you otherwise receive updates through Caitlin and Vi’s network of whisperers. Most updates are fairly normal; you hear about Viktor’s lab equipment deliveries and of the educational proposals he’s already submitted to a freshly sworn-in joint board of Piltovan and Zaunite schooling directors (for now, the board skews heavily towards Piltovans, but you expect this to change over time as Zaun builds its economic prosperity). You’ve written your own but have yet to send them. You’re afraid to overwhelm him as he works through his new life with Hexcore energy surging through his neurons and infiltrating his brain. It’s been long since you vacated Viktor’s old apartment; there were too many bittersweet memories there for you to remain a second longer than necessary. Thus, back in your Heimerdinger Estate you were, refusing to visit your childhood bedroom and trying your best to not be haunted by echoing of your past all over the estate. If Runeterra had been peaceful, you’d have likely lost your mind with little work to do, but the stirrings of war overseas and constant skirmishes between the Piltovan and Zaunite kept you busy because conflict kept the least privileged in suffering. Travel kept you out of the house as much as possible, even taking you to some parts of Zaun, but you maintained a respectful distance from Viktor no matter how much you longed to run to him. You had to trust his words and trust his process, as difficult as it was. (That being said, you gave yourself a cutoff of three months; one fiscal quarter seemed a good enough time to go without so much as a single check-in). Thus you were surprised to see a letter on your desk after returning from a rather harrowing aide trip to Noxus, written on in Viktor’s familiar and warm scrawl. You tear the envelope open immediately and quickly drop into your seat (you’re not sure if your legs might handle whatever the letter’s contents might say). Dearest, You are missed. Sorely. I hope you know that. I am apologetic that this first communication comes after weeks of silence. I, of course, wanted to reach out to you sooner, but felt it was… premature. I’ve made what I consider to be good progress with the Zaun School, though I regret to admit that I’ve been making more headway with formal work projects than with my own metaphysical learnings. But I’ve not been idle on that front, either; the more I experiment with myself and with both Hextech and the Hexcore, the more I begin to understand it and build firm boundaries between myself as part machine and part magic, and myself as the Viktor you’ve always known. What I believe is that I am reaching the limits of what I can uncover and remediate on my own. I yearn for you much in the same fashion as I have for decades now, but I would like to be careful not only with my own feelings, but with your safety. If possible, I would love to see you soon; to hear your voice and see you smile, and to perhaps start over from the beginning (for I feel as though I am a new person). Our decisions in this fraught time have changed us all, but the Viktor I am today would like to meet the Sparrow you are now. If you’ll have me, I’d like to love and learn together once more, though perhaps at a slower pace than our first reunion was like. I will warn you, however, that this road will be difficult. I will understand if you’d prefer not to attempt to rekindle what we might have otherwise lost; while I may have a stronger grasp of what the Hexcore is doing to my brain and body in isolation, I will be learning just as you are how this energy inside me reacts to powerful emotions and sensations—around you, all my senses are acute. Your safety, emotionally and physically, has always been my priority, and I will not hesitate to separate myself from you if ever I feel I’m endangering you. But I’ve been told by your father that I should be more forthcoming with my own desires rather than bottling them up to be known by myself alone, especially when they come to you. He said… that you might need me. And I have long needed you. I will make every accommodation necessary to make it easier for us to be together, if you’re willing to try again. I’ve packed other unsent letters from the past few weeks with this one if it helps provide insight into my…learnings. I hope they don’t scare you off. In your love, Vitya You pen your response immediately. My love, Patience has never been my strong suit, but I wouldn’t have waited so quietly if I was looking to go down an easy path. We’ve gone through hell and back several times now, Vik, and it would be more surprising if either of us didn’t have anything to process. None of us made it out unscathed. I’m scared. You should know that. You’re probably scared, too. You briefly mentioned that the Hexcore is a greedy thing, that you could feel it trying to consume you. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to fuse with a primordial energy, let alone survive the process. But whatever happens to you, you’re still you, Viktor, and I am in love with you. I started packing my things but Father said I probably shouldn’t move in with you just yet. I nearly fought him on it, but I imagined what you might say and imaginary-Viktor echoed his sentiment. Taking things slow will be hard; as you know, I either avoid things outright or dive head-first into them, and only my travel schedule set the pace of our first reunion. What matters is that we figure all of this out together. I can wait a little longer for that. We have the rest of our lives to live out. Yours, Sparrow —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Viktor fiddles with the Hexclaw at his desk, testing out minute movements when he hears the chime of the doorbell several floors below. He opens a window and peers down into the alley; a cheeky, soot-covered boy waves up at him with a toothsome smile. Viktor waves back with his mechanical arm, letting the narrow rays of filtered sunlight catch a glint. A pressurized system brings up the mail from the first floor to his apartment, and he rushes over to the bin to check. Your letter sits at the top of the pile, and he eagerly reads your hurried response. He smiles, a wide grin that threatens to stretch all the way across his face, but he can’t help it. For the first time since he first received his terminal prognosis, he feels real hope, free of desperation and anguish. He feels… liberated. The doorbell rings again and he pokes his head out of the window in mild concern. Had the mailbox forgotten something? But he sees something else entirely; a fish out of water in these parts of the city, and yet someone who has never cared about those kinds of socioeconomic divides. He dashes down several flights of stairs with a limber ease he’s never felt before even in the past few weeks of getting acquainted with his augmented body. Parts of him still act up every so often; he’s learned that some pains are psychosomatic whereas others are part of his unique inherited myalgia, but Viktor has lived a long life of pain management and finds these flare-ups bearable. Stopping short in front of his door, he clears his throat, dusts off his vest, and tries vainly to fix his always-unruly hair in the reflection of a small, darkened window. Then he opens the door only to be accosted in a warm hug that feels like strong Piltovan sunshine. He laughs as he thinks about that day all those years ago, when you'd surprised him on a very different doorstep just to waltz back into his life. Some habits didn't change, and he revels in the familiarity. He pulls back, gazing down at you fondly—though you can still see an undercurrent of worry flickering through his amber irises. You can’t say you aren’t anxious, yourself, but the joy of seeing Viktor again trumps all other emotions at present. “I’d only just opened your letter,” he wheezes as you squeeze him tightly around the ribs; even with the metal augments, you have a knack for leaving him breathless. “Patience truly isn’t your strong suit, hm?” “No, it isn't,” you smile shyly, reaching up to tuck an errant strand of hair up into the goggles he has pushed into his hair as a makeshift hairband. Viktor wants nothing more than to kiss you silly, but he surveys you for a few beats more before leaning down to press a chaste peck to your cheek. You look up at him, noting the slight flush in his face from his trip down the stairs and the vitality in his stature. At least it looks like he’s eating well, his cheeks filling in when months before they’d been hollowing out and wasting away. You bask in each other’s presence, charged with equal parts excitement and nervous trepidation. But above all, you bask in a shared optimism that despite the odds, and despite the challenges that would pave the road ahead, you would endure it all, together. “Well,” Viktor exhales, allowing his lips to curve into a smile. His eyes sparkle with the joy of a child on a Yuletide morning. “Would you like to see my laboratory?” He says the possessive word with pride, his posture perfecting itself as he flourishes under this marker. You laugh. “I’d love a tour of your new place,” you reply, and Viktor gives your cheek another excited kiss as he closes the door to Emberflit Alley behind you.

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