#the sleuthing begins again

[rocketrouquine]

Am I crazy or is it the same coat ???

Don’t worry darling, you definitely wear it better if it is (I actually don’t think it is, but it looks too much like it to not be a coincidence)

Actually for those saying this « odd bird » is season 1 Stede, how dare you ? Stede never would have said something so dismissive as « these rubes »

#ofmd season 2 #ofmd #our flag means death #the coat #the twirling one #prince ricky #noseless #and coatless ? #the sleuthing begins again #ofmd spoilers #the vibe is immaculate on Stede though #not so much on you odd bird sorry to say #your little speech about these rubes made me realize immediatly the difference between you and season 1 Stede #our little honey never was a classist #he has too much class for that

[nevernonline]

✧.* grow as we go; smau masterlist

synopsis: over the past ten years you've fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it's clear things would ever be the same again.

𐦍 paring: svt members x afab! reader.

𐦍 feat: non-idol! svt, (g)-idle minnie&soyeon, oc's

𐦍 genre/s: reader is super angsty low-key, fluffy, sexual themes.

𐦍 content: swearing, bullying, crazy ex's, mentions of sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

𐦍 start date: october 2nd 2023

𐦍 updates: mainly mondays or thursdays.

𐦍 tag list - open

𐦍 note/s: a lot of what will be written is mainly as journal entries from the readers perspective!! in the beginning every other chapter or so will have a written entry. I'm mainly using ulzzang pictures for our main character. I'll be posting the profiles and introduction sometime tomorrow probably. the girlies love indie musicians & harry styles,srry.. I hope u enjoy, hehe. ily!

𐦍 chapters under the cut.

𐦍 profiles:

001 | 002 | 003

𐦍 journal entries:

00. introduction.

#1. super sleuths.

#2. the case of the cyberbullies.

#3. two robots fell in love.

#4 the fall of the empire.

#4.5 plan b?

#5. chronic memory keeper.

#6. quit!

#7 snake in the grass.

#8 not the bath mat.

#9 seeing red

#10 nerd heard?

#11 devil in disguise.

#12 stolen heart.

#13 gut feelings and emotional dealings.

#14 dressing for revenge.

#15 leave it to the cullens. (part 1)

#15 leave it to the cullens. (part 2)

#16 the part we play.

#17 happy trails

#18 damage control.

#19 anywhere you go.

#❃ - duffytalks #seventeen fluff #seventeen headcanons #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt fic #svt reactions #svt texts #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen smau #svt smau #svt social media au #seventeen soulmate au #seventeen social media au #seventeen soft hours #svt fanfic #svt x reader #svt fluff #seventeen x oc #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #svt x y/n #svt x you #svt x oc #seventeen fake texts #minghao x reader #mingyu x reader #joshua x reader

[rongzhi]

Hi! Love your TikTok translations, they help me learn so much. Sorry if you've answered this before already, but as a language student myself, I was just curious about how you got so good at Chinese - is it a native language for you, or what's your background in using/studying it? Thank you!

I think I answered this a long time ago (like 2021 maybe) so I will just tell it again. It's kind of a longwinded boring post that's very self-centric (😬) and also probably not going to have any helpful advice to the average language learner, so I'm going to put it under a read more!

Background

My family is Chinese so it's my heritage language. I did learn it before English as a baby but then forgot a lot of it. My parents speak Chinese at home but I always replied in English growing up. Part of this is because I have a twin sibling and because we spoke English at school, we also started speaking English to each other at home.

We went to Chinese school on Sundays growing up (this is like a community/cultural school; it included other courses like math, Chinese dance, art, pre-SATs (lol), etc, depending on who in the community was available to teach), but I didn't really pay attention so my Chinese was pretty shit for a long time—like broken conversational level shitty, although I have always had a strong comprehension ability. My dad's side is from Sichuan so I grew up understanding a bit of Sichuanese.

The beginning of my "studying"

I don't actually have much of a background studying Chinese in a formal setting. I took Chinese 101-103 in college as part of a language requirement (specifically chose to start with 101 so I could relearn basics, even though my teachers kept offering to place me in higher levels). I really credit my Chinese 101 prof who was also the college's calligraphy teacher for making us focus on brush stroke order and recognising characters and understanding semantic components, which is something other profs did not emphasise (they were more focused on building conversational skills).

Anyway, that was only my freshman year of college because I ended up changing majors and not having a language requirement anymore (boo). I continued studying a bit of Chinese in the intervening years, but I am not a very disciplined person when it comes to self-study, so much of it was just translating song lyrics for my own amusement. During this time, I also started watching some cdramas, but mostly just Chinese web shows, which maybe helped? (I don't think I was watching enough for it to really make a difference).

Fast forward a couple years to 2020 and I started watching more cdramas during lockdowns, including watching 成化十四年 (The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty), which I was super invested in for about two years (this used to be a fandom blog lol). Basically, hyperfixation led me to rapidly improve my Chinese; I started translating a few behind-the-scenes videos for fandom friends. In order to keep up with Chinese fans and gain access to more material about the show, I started venturing onto Chinese sites such as weibo, bilibili, and eventually, douyin, which I downloaded around October of 2020 (so this was 6 months into my increased interest into Chinese things). At first, I translated a couple of douyins to share with fandom friends as I had done with behind-the-scenes materials, but for whatever reason I felt like some of the videos I wanted to translate would just be annoying to spam into the chat... I couldn't figure out a way to connect them to the blorbos, but I still wanted to translate them, so I started posting them here on tumblr. That's how my douyin translations started out. This was the height of covid-19 related sinophobia, too, so at some point I started realising how important it was to continue translating douyins, and that motivated me to continue even beyond it just being a fun thing to do. On that topic, it was through this blog that I realised how poorly understood China and Chinese people are, specifically on this site. I feel like that has changed a lot, or maybe that's just a comment on insular online spaces, but I have to think not; since I started translating douyins, I've seen a noticeable decrease in sinophobic comments and messages (not that I don't still get them, but it's lessened), and I think that's also thanks in great part to other blogs on here that were posting/have started to post more content from China to help increase exposure to tumblr users.

Improving

In any case, in the beginning, I did a lot of translations mostly by ear rather than reading captions because my Chinese reading wasn't that good.

It's kind of slowly improved with time and repetitive reading, and over the last three years now, I've also gone through periods of taking notes and actively seeking out some vocab lists or grammar explanations... but it usually comes in the process of trying to translate something. My motivations in "studying" (it's more like "figuring out") Chinese is largely based on the simple desire to know what people are talking about... what they're joking about... what they're ranting about and roasting. Related: I also started reading fanfics in Chinese about a year ago. Some fics have been easier to read than others, but some of the best ones I've read were also the ones that challenged me the most, and which I had to take a lot of notes on while reading. I'll admit! There have been times where I just took a fic and dumped that sucker in google translate and have it read the Chinese to me, so I could just listen to it like a podfic. But even so, I would take notes, because I think my improvements in Chinese are heavily connected to my Chinese literacy.

Reading douyin comments and forums on douban or comment sections on bilibili has been one of the main ways that I've picked up on common phrases and characters. I often write things down but I do so more as a muscle memory practice, because I have never really been the sort of person who reads back notes (this was also how I studied in school, iirc). Branching out and translating things that are written in formal or non-colloquial styles is also a way I challenge myself from time to time, and I do like to look up the etymology of Chinese characters from time to time because it helps me pick up patterns of semantics and phonetic hints when I'm reading (this makes it easier to guess what a character might mean or sound like, even if you've never seen it before). Overall, translation has been the great learning tool for me. I think maybe it comes down to learning styles? I have always learned better from trying to teach others, and I feel like translation works a similar muscle in the mind; translation is about figuring out ways to efficiently communicate a message, and in order to do so, you must be able to grasp the essence of what it is you're relaying.

All this said... And to try and return to your original ask after all my usual Wawa rambling... I actually don't think my Chinese is that good, lol. In fact, there's probably people who follow this blog who are studying Chinese in a more conventional and methodical manner whose Chinese is objectively much better than mine 🤷🏻‍♂️ I mean, if you crunch the numbers, I have really only be self-"studying" for three years. Three years of what is really just vibe-based learning. There's a lot of vocab I still don't know (I mean my English vocab is pretty limited too, sooo.... 😭), a lot of areas that I can still improve on, and am improving on, and try to improve on... when the mood strikes. Again, I am not a very disciplined self-study type.

Maybe this will give any other Chinese diaspora hope, though. I feel like it's never too late for us to start learning. There is probably a seed or language foundation within you already which will make it easier for you to start, and then after that, I think it sort of comes down to finding what interests you and will keep you motivated.

Most of the stuff I talk about on here when it comes to culture or folk art or what have you, I did not know even five years ago! I learned about it because I was interested to find out more. (That's another reason I have to laugh when I get some of the asks I do in my inbox... The stuff I don't answer is dumbfounding at times. You translate a couple of funny videos and people think you're some kind of Tripadvisor cultural ambassador guy! I swear...)

The "study" resources I use regularly are the following:

Pleco

Zh-En browser extension

Yellowbridge (usually to check brush stroke order, since I have Pleco)

Baidu etymology pages / Chinese etymology dictionaries such as hanziyuan

#text #answered ask #about me

[theboombutton]

Bad Fictional Data vs Fictional Bad Data

WARNING: This post will include discussion of a name that might be Alice Dyer's deadname. I won't be calling Alice by this name or using it in the context of that name being a pointer to Alice, but I will be using the name, uncensored, when talking about where and why the name appeared in chdb.xls .

----

You may know that as part of the ARG, the sleuths on Statement Remains uncovered a document called chdb.xls, allegedly a list that has something to do with The Magnus Institute. There's a list of names, ID numbers, first and last names, dates of birth, and information apparently related to each person's "score" in an assortment of psychological/personality tests. Three of the names in particular have stood out in a lot of analyses: Samama Khalid, Gerard Kaey [sic], and Connor Dyer.

You likely don't know that the commonly linked version of the spreadsheet, ported to Google Docs and linked in the TMAGP ARG Masterdoc, is presented out of order. (I'm guessing they didn't lock down editing until it was already all out of order from various people messing with it - totally understandable, this is not a callout post, thank you for making this easily accessible to people.)

But let me tell you about something I discovered by looking at the spreadsheet in its original order, and the almost certainly incorrect rabbit hole of theorizing it has sent me down.

Bad Fictional Data

Until episode 2 I had the same thought about the Dyer listed in the spreadsheet that I think most people did: that it was Alice's deadname, and that she had therefore been one of the Institute's young subjects. But after Alice had absolutely no reaction when Sam mentioned the Magnus Institute to her in episode 2, I now think this is significantly less likely.

Don't get me wrong: it's still reasonable to think that the Dyer listed in chdb.xls is Alice. Maybe she had some kind of supernatural experience that wiped her memory. (It probably wasn't that Alice was too young to remember, as the Dyer on the spreadsheet is listed as being at Piaget Stage 3, which occurs from 7-11 years old; but it's always possible that the Magnus Institute was using the names of legitimate psychological tests to hide their tracks when recording more esoteric data.) The point is, this isn't hard evidence that Alice has no connection to the Magnus Institute; it just made me go looking for more evidence.

I went back to the spreadsheet to look for more clues about whether or not this was Alice's deadname. What I found instead was some extremely sloppy fake data at the bottom of the spreadsheet.

For context, here are first ten names in the spreadsheet:

Note how each ID begins with the name's first and last initial.

Now check out the last ten names:

Not only do these IDs no longer always match their subjects' names, they occur in order: CD, EF, GH, IJ, KL, MN, OP, QR, ST, UV. The first names of each pair match the first letter of each ID, but many, though not all, of the surnames don't match the second letter.

My first thought was that whoever Rusty Quill had contracted to generate these names had gotten sloppy at the end of the list, created the IDs all at once using this alphabetical pattern, and picked names to fill in that roughly matched the IDs. But hey, we could use this to our advantage! Any name that was filled in as part of a series of IDs with an alphabetical pattern like this could be removed from consideration for red string analysis - we'd know they were meaningless fakes added by a lazy contractor, and not clues or characters that might show up again later.

Scrolling back up the spreadsheet, we can see the person generating the data having more care the earlier we go. We find the beginning of the AA/BC/DE/FG/HI pattern at line 136, but at first, the names mostly conform to the initials they've been given. JK09874 "Josie Jordan" at line 154 is the first break from the "first two letters of the ID are their initials" pattern; and breaks occur more often the further you go down the sheet.

Scrolling up to before line 136 (AA09911 - Aaron Atkinson), while the pattern isn't yet at AB/CD/EF/GH levels of obviousness, the first initials are still in alphabetical order. Zoe Hart follows Yara Logan follows Xavier Freeman follows Wyatt Edwards. The data creator skips a few letters - for example Niamh Fenton is followed by Phoebe Emmett, and S and T are together in the same line in Skye Travers.

We can follow this less-obvious version of the alphabetical pattern up to an abrupt break right at line 118, above which the IDs don't follow an alphabetical pattern at all. (They might follow a different pattern, but it's not one that I've found yet.) So that means we can discount all the names in line 118 and below as purely fake, generated lazily by a contractor, and not worthy of our attention for the purposes of red-stringing. Right?

What the fuck?!

(highlight is my own, it is not present in the original document)

My first thought was that the sloppy data generator had done the funniest thing imaginable, sending everyone on a wild goose chase about Alice's deadname just by having the name "Dyer" on the brain while looking for a surname that started with D. This would be Very Funny. No plot relevance, no implications, just the brain fart that launched a thousand theories.

My second thought was that maybe Connor Dyer was the last legit name on the list, and whoever started filling the rest of the sheet in with alphabetical junk data was inspired by the "CD" initials in the first place - whoever it was went on from there.

These are both valid thoughts! But I prefer my third thought:

What if it's on purpose?

Fictional Bad Data

There is a very obvious break between the set of data that doesn't look obviously* fake, and the set of data that is immediately identifiable as such. If we assume that this was intentional - and I want to reiterate that it all being unintentional is still a very real possibility here - why would someone at Rusty Quill want the data to be structured like this?

If the sharp dividing line between reasonable-seeming data and obviously fake data is intentional on RQ's part, it would suggest that we should take the data above row 118 as in-universe real data, and the data below row 118 as in-universe falsified data. It suggests that someone, either at the Institute or after its demise, was adding nonexistent children to the roster of The Magnus Institute. Why would someone want to do that?

There are all kinds of possible reasons, but here are a few off the top of my and my theorizing buddies' heads:

Financial fraud (institutional edition). If the Magnus Institute received funding on a per-child basis, they'd have an incentive to inflate their numbers.

Financial fraud (researcher edition). One or more people on staff were blowing off their child-analysis sessions and recording fake numbers for fake children. This would be ballsy as hell if they could be fired for it, but it was the Magnus Institute, so there's decent odds they couldn't be.

Scientific fraud (faking conclusions edition). The Magnus Institute in the Protocolverse claimed to be doing research on giftedness in children, which is the kind of thing that you'd normally publish in a scientific journal. It's not unheard-of for dickhead academics to falsify data to generate statistically significant results, since statistically insignificant results aren't going to get you published.

Scientific fraud (obscuring paranormal bullshit edition). If the Magnus Institute was using legitimate psychological test names to record Fear-related test results, it's possible their results showed different patterns from what you would expect from the real tests. They could have added the fake children to balance out the dataset as a whole.

Pseudonyms. The children are all real, the Institute just started using fake names for them for privacy purposes. They couldn't go back and change the names they'd already written properly for some reason. Probably something paranormal.

Those are all pretty interesting possibilities, and if we could narrow them down, it might tell us something about what things were like at the Magnus Institute before it burned down!

And the other big question is: why did RQ make the dividing line between the two sections, the first likely-fake entry, Connor Dyer?

One straightforward reason could be as a troll, a red herring to watch fans get in a lather over. And once the community inevitably noticed all the obviously falsified entries, RQ could eat popcorn and watch us lose our minds over whether or not that's even a real entry! (That sounds really fun, I would absolutely do that.)

But let's dig a little deeper, and look at what Connor Dyer being on the border between the real and fake entries would mean in-universe. Because of its position as the border between real and fake, it would be very easy for that entry to be accidentally included in the wrong group - a real research subject discarded as fake, or perhaps more interestingly, a fake research subject accidentally reclassified as real.

Remember, if a name is fake in the context of the Magnus Institute's research, that doesn't mean that the name itself is made up. If I was trying to think of a name that fit the initials CD, and those were the initials of my next door neighbor's kid, I might just write their name in as a lark. Especially if it was my first time trying to get away with falsifying information: this is a kid that verifiably exists and lives in the area.

My theory, supported primarily by my love for The Implications instead of actual evidence

Twenty years on, after all institutional memory of the fraud was long gone, trans icon Alice Dyer applies to work for the OIAR - an institution that (according to this theory) has an unofficial preference for hiring former Magnus Institute kids.

They are very confused when Alice proceeds to act nothing like a former Magnus Institute kid. It doesn't occur to anyone that her entry might have been falsified. What reason would anyone have to do that?

----

* Of course people with a background in data analysis or statistics will see immediately that even above line 118 this is a wild-ass dataset that would raise red flags for falsification, but at least it's not "the alphabet over and over" levels of obvious.

#tmagp theory #alice dyer #tmagp arg #chdb.xls #tmagp speculation #tmagp #the magnus protocol #cw deadnaming

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 55

Part 1 Part 54

Alright, tell me what’s going on with you.” Dr. Owens says, smiling down at Will all genially. Steve doesn’t trust it. “Tell me about this episode you had?”

Will shifts his eyes over to Steve, looking guilty and small. Steve reaches out across his own bed to grab Will’s hand, squeezing lightly until he turns back to the doctor. “I was on Mirkwood–” he starts, shifting his eyes toward Steve guiltily before darting them back. “I heard this noise, and it was like I was back there.”

“What were you doing on Mirkwood, honey?” Ms. Byers asks, eyebrows furrowed as she holds onto Will’s other hand.

Will’s eyes shift again, transparently guilty as he says, “I was just with Steve.” When Ms. Byers looks his way, Steve nods, and Will slumps bonelessly into his bed.

The doctor’s staring intently at Will’s face, like he’s trying to dissect every microexpression, looking for cracks. , the paper spitting out of Will’s machine, needle thing writing its squiggly lines at an alarming pace. “Did you see anything?”

Will looks down at his knees, bare beneath his tissue paper hospital gown. “No,” he says it quietly, almost ashamed. “I don’t think anything really happened. I was just scared.”

Steve squeezes his hand again. He lets his heart bloom when Will squeezes back.

“Alright,” Dr. Owens says, smiling that same untrustworthy smile, “thanks for sharing, kiddo.”

They’re shuffled out of the exam room in short order, left abandoned on benches in the hallway like children while Uncle Wayne and Ms. Byers have the adult conversations. Even though Eddie’s long learned Uncle Wayne will tell him word for word what he was told, Eddie’s still made a habit of pushing his ear against the door, catching snippets of conversation where he can while Steve and Eddie giggle at his antics.

This time, his face goes serious, dimples nonexistent with the straight slash of his mouth as he eyes the door like he’s going to wrench it open and start beating someone.

“Eddie?” Steve calls quietly, not wanting to draw attention to his sleuthing.

Eddie looks his way, face grim. He eavesdrops a few seconds more before slinking back over to Steve and Will, jamming his ass in the nonexistent space between them.

“What did they say?” Will says. Steve leans forward to look at him around Eddie’s big head. His eyes are big and wide. He looks scared.

“It’s all bullshit,” Eddie says, shifting on the hard bench. “I didn’t hear it all, but they said it’s gonna get worse because the anniversary of, uh, you know is coming up.”

He doesn’t look at Will when he says it, though. He’s looking directly at Steve, and Steve knows they’re both thinking of the same thing. The looming shadows, the thing he’s caught glimpses of, towering over buildings, eclipsing the sky. The way he’s there less and less as the days pass.

Eddie’d taken away his keys the week before, and it was supposed to get worse?

“–and we’re just supposed to pretend it’s not happening?”

Ms. Byers voice drifts through the door, high-pitched in her stress. Will’s shoulders hunch until Eddie wraps an arm around them and pulls him in. He holds his other arm open behind Steve’s back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively until Steve leans in with a roll of his eyes.

Eddie squeezes them both tight enough Steve can feel it in his deep tissue and begins shaking them around like a dog with his favorite toy. “There! One big happy family!”

When Will starts laughing, Steve does, too. He can’t help it. There’s just something about Eddie Munson that makes him feel like he swallowed fizzy lifting drink and can’t get off the ceiling of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

But then Uncle Wayne and Ms. Byers walk through the door. Uncle Wayne looks as deadpan as usual, but Ms. Byers looks one second away from her head exploding.

“Is he serious?” she asks, running her hand through her hair, yanking it the rest of the way through when it gets stuck on a knot. Steve winces, scalp tingling in sympathy.

“Anniversary affects a real thing,” he says, looking down at all three of them with pensive eyes that settle on Steve a little too long for him to be comfortable. “It’s as good a ‘planation as anything, ain’t it?”

Ms. Byers sighs. She sweeps her eyes over all three of them, looking remarkably like Jonathan in that moment with the way her eyes go intense and seem to look right through you to the secret heart of who you are.

Seeming to come back to life, she hops up to them and holds out two hands. “Come on, sweeties, up we go!”

Will and Eddie take her hands without hesitation, and she begins to pull them up. Eddie’s arm stays around Steve’s shoulders, so he’s pulled up along with them. Ms. Byers almost falls with the combined weight of three growing boys before Eddie drops her hand, laughing sheepishly as he stands on his own two feet.

“Come on, boys,” Uncle Wayne says, leading the way down the hallway. “Some of us have got places to be.”

They all fall in line, hurrying out of the building they all hate. Steve doesn’t breathe easy until they're all packed away into Wayne’s truck and well into the forest. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and all that other shit Eddie’s always spouting off that Steve only pretends to understand.

Eddie rubs the pulsepoint of Steve’s wrist gently enough to make him shiver before taking his hand and letting them settle in the cramped space between their legs.

And miles to go before he sleeps, Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand.

Part 56

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie upsidedown au #my fic

[lunargrapejuice]

nothing between us

aka skin to skin cuddling <3 ayatos kinda got away from me so sorry that it's longer than kaeyas glkshdl

kaeya alberich + kamisato ayato (seperate) x reader with no pronouns used

warnings: hurt/comfort themes, skinship, nudity but nothing sexual, needy kaeya, reader being injured (ayato), i don't think anything else but please let me know if i missed something!

kaeya

a hard knock followed by many softer ones against your apartment door pulls your attention away from the pages of your book. you might have been upset at the hour this visitor decided to stop by, late into the night long after the sun had set when only silver moonlight and golden flickers of flames are left to light your room, but if it was who you thought and wished it to be you could hardly find it in yourself to be angry. not when your heart longed to see him on his way home from the tavern and you wonder if somehow, in the tangle of your souls, he had heard your call for him.

the story you had been reading was once again hidden within the bound parchment as you lay it closed on your nightstand with the bookmark your knight had gifted you holding your place. sliding from the warm sheets of your bed and into the cooling evening air you don’t waste a moment hurrying to the door and can’t help but chuckle at his cute drunken pleas for you to let him in. 

“snowdrop, have you gone off without me?” he pouts while you unlock the door, a hint of.. actual sadness in his tone that you hadn’t expected to hear and question if you had imagined it in the first place.

“my sleuthing knight says as if he wouldn’t have already known had i ‘gone off,’” you smile and tease, opening the door to your beloved bathed in moonlight and resting against the doorframe looking as beautiful as an archon; hand crafted by celestia itself and smelling of sweet wine but still you felt that melancholy in the air around him. even through his soft skin and deep azure eyes he couldn’t hide what he normally kept so tucked away from others, not from you.  “and there is nowhere i am going without you my love.” 

without thinking your hand reaches for him, the pads of your fingers brushing along the tanned and heated skin of his cheek, his uncovered eye softening under your touch. even intoxicated he’s quick to react, his hand grabbing yours and skilled fingers curling into your palm before using his strength to pull you close, your cheek resting against his exposed chest, his other arm wrapped around your middle to keep you pressed so tightly against him. the suddenness of it steals your breath and has you clinging to him for stability.

“you also said you wouldn’t keep me waiting but here i was all alone in the cold,” he whispers quietly; almost as if you weren’t meant to hear it, like he had wanted to say more or perhaps something he couldn’t quite voice. he squeezes you hard, letting go of your hand and resting it against his chest so he can pull you closer into him, not even letting the wind between you.

you can feel the hard thumping of a heart, can hear it in your ears but there was no telling if it belonged to you or him.

“kae..”

with his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck that familiar flirty tone returns to him but his grip on you doesn’t lessen even a little. “aren’t you going to invite me in, dove?”

even though it’s only for a few moments you hate to part from him and he seems just as reluctant to let you go but with a loving smile that has his chest skipping far too many beats, melting the worries that he draped around his heart like frozen rain, you lead him by the hand through the door, down the hall and into the place kaeya had found himself constantly wanting to be; the room that held your trinkets, your favorite books, the blanket thats fibers lingered with your familiar scent and reminded of him of home.

he doesn’t speak a word as he follows at your heels, nor as he sits on the edge of your bed and begins to take off his boots. you watch with soft eyes, taking in your every inch of handsome knight, thinking about how he looks and smells like the normal kaeya you saw everyday, the kaeya he showed most people but still you couldn’t help that feeling that tugged at your soul and told you something was wrong or how badly you ached to take away every bit of his worries, his uncertainties.

resting on your shins you take a place next to him and stop his movements with a light tug to his sleeve, your fingers barely holding onto the fabric but he was always so focused on you the lightest of touches from you would have been enough to have his full attention.

“is everything okay?” you ask, your tender eyes full of love, your tone unwavering even though you’re unsure if he will let you in and allow you to share his burdens. you know it wasn’t like him to speak out his weakness, though you wouldn’t call them that but it would never stop you from offering to help in any way you can.

“now, now, you don’t need to worry about me doll,” he avoids your question with a smile and a bat of thick dark lashes that might have worked as they intended had you not been so determined to remind him that he was not alone in this world and never would be again.

“that doesn’t answer my question, you know.”

he gazes into your eyes and you swear you see the unease within him vanish the longer he looks at you, the closer it becomes to nothing being between you as he closes the distance. chilled fingers half goved reach out for you and still without answering your question he guides you into his lap with a quiet ‘come here’, your legs straddling his, his arms around your waist. once again he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he hesitates to speak.  

“.. everything is fine now,” he whispers and you can hear the truth behind his words, feel the way his body untenses under your touch. you feel his hands slide under your shirt to feel your bare skin against his hands and you lean into him to provide him with every bit of you. “can i.. just hold you for a while?”

“of course you can. you never need to ask,” you reply, your heart feeling as though it might burst right out of your chest at the shyness he hardly showed to anyone. you held him tighter then, the smell of his shampoo filling your senses, your nose tickling against his soft blue locks.

your chest immediately blossoms with heat when you feel the upward tug of your shirt and even though you aren’t entirely sure why he was undressing you when he asked such an innocent request, you easily follow his movements and lift your arms to let him take your oversized shirt off of you. 

“what ar-”

before you can say anything more his face is pressed against your exposed chest, the intoxicated heat of his cheeks making you feel like you might be seconds away from melting but his cold fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your back keep you from slipping from his grasp, freezing you in this moment and his next words, muffled against your skin like a child trying to subtly ask for help even though it is desperately needed, bends you to his will.

“.. want to be closer to you..” 

without asking or saying anything more, with loving and chaste touches, sweet kisses and fluttering eyes, you help each other out of your remaining clothes. your hands gently mapping out the scars on his skin as you unfasten the belts of his outfit, let your fingers slide against him when guiding off his shirt. his lips place the evidence of his love, his need, for you onto each place he uncovers, his skilled and calloused hands running over every dip and curve of your body until you’re both bare and your bodies are pressed impossible close under your duvet.

skin to skin. heart to heart. breaths as one.

his hands and lips never wander or ask for more than the feeling of your skin and they never once leave you. he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to share what weighed so heavily on him tonight but you didn’t need to know to give him every ounce of your deviation or truth of your feeling for him and you do just that, as you wanted to for the rest of your life. 

each moment that passes, the night growing darker, he returned to his smiling, teasing, slightly tipsy self and it isn’t long before you’re sharing giggles, deep kisses filled with the taste of the wine he drank at the tavern tonight and reminders of your love for one another until your words become slow, your breath fanning against him becomes deep and you drift to sleep in his arms. 

the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of your skin against his without a single barrier between you. the way you hold him, the smile on your sleeping lips. all of it solidifies in his weary mind that it truly wasn’t a lie when he told you everything was okay and without warning your sleeping visage begins to pull him into a sweet dreamland of a future filled with your boundless love for one another, a love that tonight he so deeply felt he didn’t deserve and nearly convinced himself it was slipping right through his fingers until he saw you smile at him, heard you call him yours.

in a tired voice he whispers against the crown of your head and closes his eyes, letting the last of his anxieties go, “as long as you are by my side it will always be okay..” 

ayato

the yashiro commissioner usually didn’t pay much mind to the late hour of the evening. it was pointless to watch the clock tick by slowly when there was so much paperwork to be done and he would be up late doing it regardless of how far the night drew on but today he could hardly keep his eyes off of the clock arms slowly moving to later and later hours without your return.

he wasn’t particularly fond of your plans today, going on a commission that would likely require you to fight simply because the requester asked for you by name. there was no need for you to work, not with ayato as your fiance and the thriving kamisato estate as your home but, in your spirit to explore and use your skills to help others, your thoughtfulness and splendor - which he loved so dearly about you - of course you agreed to take the commission. 

with his own duties it was near impossible for him to join you but that didn’t stop him from dispatching a top member of the shuumatsuban to go with you in his absence, even though you had argued that it was unnecessary. in the end you had wiggled your way from what you called ‘far too many ninjas’ following in your shadows to just the one, one ayato trusted very much but still, the longer time went by without word of your return, the more the unease began to bubble within him and eventually, as the sun began to set behind the waters that surrounded narukami island, he decided to take matters into his own hands. 

he was in the courtyard adjusting the strap on his shoulder plate, telling thoma and another retainer of his plans to head to the place you were commissioned to go when he heard a guard yell your name and saw a flurry of purple armor run towards the gates of the estate. the commissioner was quick to follow after them, looking so elegant and collected in each step he took as the guards parted for him but inside it felt as though he was moments from losing himself to the way his heart pounded so hard against his rib cage and his wandering mind bringing him to scenarios that were normally reserved for his dreams and yet were still so familiarly apart of his reality; where everyone he loves has and would be taken from him. where his power, his honed strength, his unmatched cunning, everything he ever has been and ever would be, would not be enough to save any of you.

you finally come into view, the dark armor of the shuumatsuban on your back nearly engulfing you as your tired legs struggled to keep you both upright, the ninjas larger motionless body weighing you down, his arms slung over your shoulders and ayato runs faster than any of the guards. if they had gotten a glimpse of his visage as he ran past they just might have seen his agony turning his violet eyes a deep royal purple.

he catches you both against his chest just as your legs give away, a mumble of his name falling from your chapped lips as your head meets his chest, relief and happiness behind your heavy breathes. his black dress shoes scrape against the carved path under the weight of you both against him but it’s only a split moment before the hands of the other guards are lifting the seemingly lifeless ninja off of your back and your beloved scoops you into his arms.

confirming words that the ninja was alive, that healers were on their way and that you had been secured by the commissioner all rattle loudly in front of ayato but he hardly hears any of it as he looks down at you, eyes hidden from the rest of the world by light blue bangs. they scan over every inch of you, noting every bruise, every cut, every patch of dirt on your sweat beaded skin. all while he lets his muscles still pulsing with adrenaline guide you both back to the safety of the estate.

“it’s okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him with a smile that meets your eyes, even though the constraint of speaking on your burning lungs makes it hurt to get the words out. ayatos tight and trembling grip on you isn’t helping the pressure against your aching body but you don’t ask him to stop, not when he’s looking at you like you might be leaving him behind in this world when in fact you were just exhausted beyond all belief. it hurts to lift your arm but you use the last bit of strength you have to do so and let your shaking fingers caress his cheek, finally bringing the violet eyes you love so much to look into your own. “i’m okay.”

“it appears our definitions of ‘okay’ are not quite the same my dear.” it’s the first words he’s spoken since he caught you; the only words he could find at your ridiculous notion of what ‘okay’ meant, at the relief within his own being at hearing the words despite not totally agreeing with them.

“alive and not seriously injured sounds pretty okay to me,” you say with a chuckle, trying to hide the way you wince at the pain of it. but you meant it, you really did, even if he didn’t believe you yet. 

with your head resting against his chest, his strong arms under your legs and at your back keeping you safe, the sleeves of his coat fluttering behind him, he makes his way through the doors of your home and down the hall to your shared bedroom with attendants at his heels awaiting orders.  

thoma disperse them the deeper into the estate you go, the man holding you never once taking his eyes off of you as the housekeeper delegating tasks to keep the estate running smoothly and soon, when the door to your bedroom closes quietly and thoma leads the remaining worried attendants away, you’re left in the care of your beloved.

he doesn’t miss a moment of your recount of the events that you tell while waiting for the healer, how everything had ended well but the fight to get home was overwhelming. you swore the amount of enemies was never ending and told him of how it had resulted in your ninja companion being knocked out cold. ayato holds you the entire time, piecing together every bit of information you provide him to ensure that one, this does not happen again and two, that those who laid their hands on you would be paid back tenfold.

he only lets you go, albeit reluctantly, once the trusted doctor of the kamisato estate arrives and begins to look you over. while the doctor does her work you watch ayato shed his gloves and see how his hands no longer shake but behind his eyes each time he glances back at you, you can still see his worry. you watched as he took off his coat that was now sullied with the same dirt on your own clothes. slowly, meticulously, he takes off the other many layers he wears until only his light purple undershirt remains and he rolls the expensive fabric up to his elbow before disappearing into the bathroom.

the doctor chuckles low hearing the noises coming from the other room; running water, the opening and closing of many drawers and different boxes, the tapping of ayatos shoes as he makes his way from place to place.

“lady kayo would fuss over their father just the same whenever he got hurt,” she says with a nostalgic smile but doesn’t make any further comments as the current lord of the estate returns to the room to hear confirmation of what you’ve been trying to tell him; you’re okay, just a bit, okay maybe more than a bit, beat up and in need of rest. 

you feel your chest warm at her words as she talks to ayato about your condition and for a moment you forget about your aching bones or dirt covered skin, all that lingers within you is your fluttering heart at the thought of the love he holds for you. 

ayato is attentive to every word the doctor says, every recommendation to help ease your discomfort, the information about the medicine she’ll prepare and have sent to your room, all the while his eyes are focused on you and you alone. eventually you have to look away from him, feeling your entire body grow weaker under his gaze and your breath become harder to catch. you swear you see a smirk on his lips the last moment before your eyes focus on other familiar fixtures and trinkets in your room.

when it’s just the two of you once more, he returns you to the place within his arms, strong muscles flexing underneath you as he effortlessly lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom that was steaming with hot water from the shower and smelling of sakura blossoms and a hint of tea tree coming from the open medical container. he sets up down on the counter next to the many supplies he had laid out and even though you swear your body aches in a different way than fro your wounds when he lets you go, you know he has important duties to return to.

“thank you ayato, i’ve got it from h-  oh -,” you try to tell him you’ve got it but you are cut off when his pale gloveless fingers reach for your shirt and somehow he feels closer than he did when he was bringing you in here, his deep breaths fanning against your skin, the rise and fall of his chest almost deep enough to touch you, the heat of his entire body mixed with the steam from the shower making your mind fuzzy.

“am i not allowed to care for you now, hm?” you can hear the smile he wears even though there’s evidence of his unease behind his words.

“no! no, it's not that!” you protest all too quickly and imagine it likely made him smile. it did. and you get to see his pink lips and pearly whites showing in a tender yet teasing smirk when his index finger touches your jaw and pulls your gaze to meet his. you stutter under his unbridled, undivided attention, focusing on the mark resting below his lips rather than his eyes. “it’s just.. i.. you have more important things to attend to and i- i’ll be f-”

he interrupts you again but this time with his words and your heart stalls at the conviction behind them. “there is nothing in this world that is more important to me than you, my darling.” he thumb ghosts along your bottom lip and brings your eyes back to his, leaving you on bated breath, your hands reaching out to him to help keep you upright. “so i will not be going anywhere.”

it makes you want to cry, his words, the way he so tenderly removes every bit of your clothes and then his own before carrying you into the awaiting shower. its as if the events of the day were finally catching up to you and now that you were here, safely with the arms of ayato, warm water running through your dirty hair and over your bruised skin, his thoughtful hands cleaning every bit of you with the utmost care, you could finally let it all out.

“i’ve got you,” he hushes you sweetly when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, pressing your body closer to his so that not even the smallest droplets of water could get through, in a grasp that told you he needed it just as badly as you did.

you hold onto him, your arms painfully protesting from the force you put behind it but the pain is dull compared to the love that flows between you, like rain filling a once bare lake that held your two beating hearts within its now overflowing depths. 

and like the purest of rain water that he himself had created just for you, his love continued to pour over you, keep you cradled within its waters. he carried you from the shower and dried your body with such gentleness and the softest towel he could find, not letting you lift a muscle. his fingertips ran soothing ointment over every scratch and cut before wrapping them in soft cotton and placing loving kisses to every single injury.

your entire being was filled with comfort and rupture by the time he was finished and as he yet again scooped you into his arms, you melted into his exposed chest and traced the lines of ink on his skin with tired fingers, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your touch. 

“thank you ayato,” you whisper, feeling the sands of sleep lulling you in a welcoming embrace, the familiar scent of your beloved lingering within the threads of the bed sheets filling your nose. he might not have said it but you know how important the work he needed to attend to was and how much more work he would need to put in to catch up. all just so he could look after you.

“i was simply doing what i would alway do for you, my love. there’s no need to thank me,” he says earnestly, setting you into the plush sheets and following after you not a moment later, his touch unable to leave you and you’re thankful for that too. 

“no clothes?” you question when he pulls the covers over your both still naked bodies and presses himself flush against you, mindful of your injuries but still so incredibly close, like he knew it was exactly what you needed and craved. you didn’t mind of course, but it wasn’t what you had expected.

the smell of fresh sheets and your shampoo fill the space, warm and soft skin melting against your own, familiar but not something you get to feel nearly as much as either of you wanted, cradling you in the embrace of your beloved.

“not tonight,” not when i need to feel you against me. and though it wasn’t what he voiced, the emotions behind his words, the way his arms wrapped around you and held you against him, feeling every last bit of you, proof that you were okay and still beside him, said it all. 

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#kamisato ayato #kaeya alberich #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #ayato kamisato x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #ayato #kaeya

[djarinbabysnotes]

FIC IDEA

Matt Murdock falls in love with a detective.

Now, hear me out: Detective moves from a different state and is now being crucified by their new coworkers in the NYPD because they're brave enough to question certain abnormalities in how criminals are being processed. Wilson Fisk is behind the corruption part of the law, as always. Detective hates how things are in the workplace and is therefore very stressed.

Matt Murdock is called upon by an old friend who needs a lawyer. Matt arrives at the precinct and has a run-in with the Detective, and the Detective's sleuthing intuition tells them that this lawyer feels like he's full of secrets. The Detective then theorizes that this lawyer is somehow working for the corrupt man on top. Tension ensues.

A cocky defense attorney? Like who does he think he is? This isn't the Detective's first rodeo when it comes to overconfident men.

Here's where it gets interesting: First off, Lawyer/Cop relationships? Isn't that like, illegal in the laws of the universe? YUP! Both parties are CONFLICTED with their feelings and therefore WILL develop a hate-fueled acquaintanceship. Workplace Enemies to Potential Secret Lovers, if you will. During investigations, Detective will have run-ins with Daredevil and will find him very interesting, to say the least. Of course, Detective doesn't know that Daredevil is Matt, even while conducting a secret investigation on the mystery hot guy with a disturbingly sexy husk in his voice (Daredevil) while ALSO conducting a separate investigation on this random annoying lawyer who ruins everything every time he walks into their workplace. Foggy and Karen will ABSOLUTELY try their very fucking best to throw off the scent (e.g. "Yeah, I met the Devil of Hell's Kitchen a couple of times. He had blond hair. Saw it myself. He also talks like he's been in jail countless times. Definitely an ex-con. Loves breaking the law." and "He saved me from an attack at my apartment, yeah, he's left-handed.")

As the Detective keeps on having run-ins with Daredevil, the Detective begins to harbor an unwanted crush on the guy. Of course, right? I mean... A guy dressed as the devil pushes you out of the way before you get shot at by a random goon? Chivalry isn't dead. Also, he flirts but purposefully makes it slightly awkward because he knows how this game works. He likes to tease. He reads body language when he has to. He would pull out the 'I like listening to your voice' line (his signature line!) on the most quiet night just to hear nothing but the Detective's heart going bonkers.

And as Matt, being the Detective's biggest pain in the ass, he would randomly switch up on a random Monday. From being the most annoyingly confident lawyer who pulls out the 'not another word with my client, detective' line to the unexpected 'good morning' followed with a 'thank you, detective' after the Detective mindlessly points him to the direction of where he's supposed to go. And to top it all off, he smiles— but not with his usual sarcastic smirk followed with a huff— it's a first for him to smile with a gentle nod before lingering for a split second as if he wants to say more.

Like I said, he knows how this game works. He's a mastermind.

But then again, on paper, A lawyer isn't supposed to be falling in love with a cop and vice versa... But never say never, right?

Anyway! This is just a silly idiots-to-lovers idea that will probably take me eons to write if I even have the time to do so.

Potential starter playlist for this fic (because I love feeding my delusions, and peak delusion starts with Taylor Swift's discography):

"Mastermind" - Taylor Swift

"The Archer" - Taylor Swift

"I Can See You" - Taylor Swift

"gold rush" - Taylor Swift

"Slut!" - Taylor Swift

"willow" - Taylor Swift

"long story short" - Taylor Swift

#matt murdock #matt murdock fic #marvel fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #fic ideas #fanfic #fanfic authors #ao3 author #daredevil fanfiction #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #enemies to lovers #idiots to lovers

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Jayce Goes Sleuthing - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

In the wake of Vi's departure, and Viktor's defection, Jayce's life falls apart.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

"Consider carefully. The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit."

Snippet:

Caitlyn—

I got your message this morning. I'm sorry it's taken so long to write. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Not sure where to begin, so I guess I'll start with the most important thing:

I've resigned from the Council.

As of last week, I'm no longer a Councilor. Just a regular citizen. I know the news isn't official yet. There will be a special announcement later this week. It's pretty short-notice. I'm sure the media will have a field day.

Your Mother knows; I'm surprised she didn't tell you. Then again, the Council's been busy scrambling to find a replacement for Professor Heimerdinger. They've been hogtied in a bunch of other issues since Zaun's independence, too. There's been nothing but emergency sessions with the Zaunite Cabinet. So it's possible she didn't get a chance.

The motion for me to step down was unanimous. It's the right choice, and I'm at peace with it.

I'm sorry to hear about yours and Violet's split. It sounds like the two of you had a good thing going. She and I didn't really see eye to eye. But you seemed to care for her a lot. I had no idea there was a Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative happening—or that she'd been reassigned to Zaun. I saw no preliminary memos on the matter. If I had, maybe I could've done something to prevent it.

Then again, I've been so distracted lately. It wouldn't have surprised me if a hundred things slipped under my radar.

I understand you're concerned for her safety.  Near as my old contacts in the Council can tell me, her transfer has been approved. They've already conducted the ceremonial swearing-in, and the inaugural Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative has officially begun. They've been granted interim residency until the next rotation, six months from now.

There's not much that can be done to stop it. At least, not in the legal sense. My authority to intervene has run its course. And if the Council's being tightlipped, then Silco's people are pathologically silent.  The details of Violet's reassignment—where she'll stay, her duties, her work schedule—is all being kept private.  

I'm sorry, Cait. You're the last person who deserves this kind of heartbreak.

You've asked me to confront Mel. To convince her to stop Vi's transfer, or pull the plug on the whole project.

Sadly, I can't do either of those things.

Mel and I are no longer together. It was a mutual decision. She's no longer my mentor, and I'm no longer her protégé. She's made her position on forging diplomatic ties with Zaun's First Chancellor clear. I've made equally clear my distaste on trying to spin blood money into gold. We're both determined to follow through, and I don't see a way of changing that.

Guess it's heartbreaks all around, huh?

Maybe it's necessary. Maybe we're supposed to hurt so we can grow. I think I've gotten a little too comfortable in my cushy Council chair. It's high time I got back to the grind. I wanted to build a better world. That means I need to put the work in at HexCorp to make it happen.

We'll get through this, Cait. You and me. Let's meet up once things have calmed down. I miss our talks. I need some sane company after weeks of listening to politicians bicker.

If there's anything I can do, please let me know.

Fondly,

Jayce

*

Cait—

Viktor's gone.

He's been missing since last Wednesday. The reason the Enforcers haven't been informed yet is because the Council is keeping it under wraps. But they've alerted the Wardens, and they're conducting a private investigation. Viktor's notes are gone from the lab. His apartment has been ransacked. All the Hex-tech prototypes are missing. 

So is the Hexcore.

I'm worried. Not because the Hexcore could be turned into a weapon of mass destruction. Viktor's been under a great deal of strain. He's not well. I don't want him getting hurt. The fact that all his research has been taken—it makes no sense. He could've been abducted, but there's no ransom note. None of his assistants noticed any signs of foul play. 

There's also been no sightings of Sky Young. Or any traces of her remains.

Cait—I don't want to add to your troubles. But I don't know who else to share this with. I trust you. I value your insight.

And the truth is, I'm a little scared.

The Wardens are suggesting Viktor's gone rogue. More than that. They're speculating that he may be linked to Sky's disappearance. Their inquisitor told me that his behavior during their last interrogation was erratic. That he'd showed signs of paranoia. That he'd withheld key details about Sky's last hours, and lied about the last time he'd seen her.

They're considering the possibility that Viktor was involved in her disappearance.

Cait—I think it's bullshit. Viktor wouldn't harm a fly. He's one of the gentlest souls I've ever known. He's dedicated his life to serving Piltover, and making it a better place. And he’s known Sky since they were children. I never saw anything but respect between them. Her disappearance hit him hard. I was with him when the preliminary investigation was being conducted.

I can tell you: he wasn't faking his grief.

Something else is going on. I don't know what.

But I'm going to find out.

In the meantime, I'm sorry I can't be of more help with tracking down Violet. I don't have any pull with the Wardens, or Silco's administration. And my contacts on the Council won't talk.  Try reaching out to your mother. She's the only one I know who can reasonably intervene. At the very least, she can get her sources to conduct a quiet search.

I know it's not the solution you wanted. I know the stakes are high.

I just want you to know you're not alone.

Warm regards,

Jayce

*

Caitlyn—

It's late, and I know you're probably sleeping. Still, I had to write. Something happened tonight.

The Wardens found Viktor.

He's been located in Zaun. Specifically, at the headquarters of First Chancellor Silco. They're claiming he's defected. What's more, they're stating that he's in collaboration with a notorious chemist, formerly known as Colin Reveck, but currently known as "Singed." The doctor has a record for performing unethical experiments.

He's also rumored to be responsible for the creation of Shimmer.

The Wardens received clearance to access Viktor's medical records. They found traces of Shimmer in his blood samples. Apparently, Viktor's been on the drug for months. He's been hiding the side-effects. There is evidence that he's been taking massive doses. It's been compromising his mind.

And now, according to the Wardens, he's a wanted fugitive.

Sky Young's DNA has been found on his personal belongings.

I can't believe it, Cait. This isn't the man I know. Viktor would never harm Sky. Never. And with his medical condition, he'd be too weak to physically attack her. As for the Shimmer—he's always been adamant about never touching drugs. Or stimulants of any kind. One cup of caffeine was enough to get him buzzed.

He wouldn't take that poison, even in his darkest hours.

Something isn't adding up.

The Council are currently in talks with Zaun's Cabinet. They're demanding that Viktor and the Hexcore be handed over. The Wardens are pushing for extradition.  Mel has been trying—unsuccessfully—to reach First Chancellor Silco. He's been unavailable since last afternoon.

This is bad.

I've got a sinking feeling. Viktor's research—the Hexcore—it's the key to unlocking a whole stratum of potential weaponry. The fact that he's now in Zaun, under Silco’s aegis, isn't a coincidence. Silco's notoriously secretive, but we know that he has an extensive network of spies and informants. If he saw a chance to use Viktor's illness against him, and profit off his genius, he'd seize it without a second thought.

That's exactly what I think is happening.

Viktor's not a criminal. And he didn't disappear of his own volition. Silco must've had a hand in it.

I'm going to figure out how.

Take care of yourself, okay? Please. I've already lost my brother. I can't lose my best friend too.

Be safe. I'll keep in touch.

Jayce

*

Cait—

Sorry I took off so early yesterday. There was no time. The Council had an emergency meeting with HexCorp, and I was summoned as its representative.

Things have escalated. Zaun's Cabinet has denied extradition. They claim that Viktor's entry into Zaun was perfectly legal. What's more, they state that the Hexcore, as one of Viktor's primary inventions, is his to take wherever he chooses. They even claim that the Hexcore is a prototype and, therefore, not an official piece of HexCorp's patented technology.

I'd expected the Council to push back. Instead—and I can't believe I'm writing this—they've acquiesced.

I was speechless. 

The Council's position is that, as a scientist, Viktor has a right to his intellectual property. I argued that we'd both worked on the Hexcore as a team. Therefore, it was ours. They pointed to our original patent agreement, and the fine print that gives us equal, but not joint, ownership. They also reminded me that, as Viktor was from the Fissures, he was legally a foreigner under Piltover's laws.

I remember, during my tenure as a Councilor, pushing for months to get that stupid provision removed, and having my proposal shot down.

Now it's bit the entire city in the ass.

Cait—I'm ashamed to say it. But I lost my temper. In the middle of the meeting, I slammed my fist on the table and demanded to know why the hell they were backing down. Didn't we have the resources, and the right, to protect those who'd served us? Even if Viktor had exited under a cloud, didn't his deteriorating health and the danger the Hexcore posed justify both their retrieval?

Why, I wanted to know, weren't they summoning Silco here to account for his actions? Why weren't they threatening his administration with military force if he refused to cooperate? Didn't he owe us an explanation as to how our greatest innovator had come into contact with him?

It was Mel who answered. She explained that Silco's administration is a sovereign entity. We don't have the authority to demand an audience, nor the leverage to force his cooperation. We're not even legally bound to warn him. Zaun's Cabinet has the right to act independently of our influence. And, as for Silco's personal agenda, that is beyond the Council's purview. He's not obliged to share his secrets. It's his prerogative, not ours.

In other words, we don't have a leg to stand on.

I was so mad. So mad. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe them. It was the same shit I'd had to deal with when I'd first been nominated as Councilor. Except that time, it was the bureaucracy that was hamstringing me. This time, it's the people who I worked with. People who swore to protect our citizens. Who pledged to defend Piltover's principles.

And who are now acting like cowards, unwilling to do what's necessary.

I called them on it. In front of the entire assembly. I asked them where their courage had gone. Why they weren't fighting. Why they weren't even trying. Was this what Piltover was going to become? A society that allowed its greatest minds to be suborned? What the hell were they planning to do when the next inventor came under Silco's spell? Were they going to give up then, too?

The meeting ended shortly afterwards.

 Mel tried to catch me in the hallway, but I was having none of it. She cornered me by the stairs. She wanted to know if I'd reconsider resigning. If we could talk.

I'll admit I was tempted. I haven't seen her since our split, and it's been hard. I miss her. It'd be nice to just hold her, even for a few minutes. To feel sane again. Safe. I know we can't rekindle things. Not with her position, and mine. But a hug, a kiss, some conversation...anything would've been good.

I turned her down.

I said we had nothing to discuss. That she'd made her position clear, and it was not one I agreed with. I asked her what the point of continuing the conversation was if we couldn't agree on the most fundamental matters. If we'd end up arguing over the same things again. I didn't have time for it. My focus had to be on Viktor. On finding a way to bring him home. And if she wasn't willing to help, then we had nothing else to talk about.

She told me I was being foolish. That I'd let my emotions blind me. That my stubbornness was going to be the death of me.

I told her I was fine with that. Because the alternative would be dying inside. That I wasn't willing to let Silco's take everything from me.

Especially not Viktor. 

Cait, let's meet. Soon. We've got a lot to discuss. And I can't do this alone.

Jayce.

*

Cait— 

This is going to be a quick one.

The Council and Zaun's Cabinet have arranged a summit. It's slated for next week. Silco is going to attend. We'll be discussing the terms for Viktor's return, and the repatriation of the Hexcore. Mel has been working to make it happen. It's the first sign of progress. It gives me hope. And it's a chance for me to confront Silco directly.

I'm not going to rest until Viktor's back where he belongs.

I'll ask Silco about Violet. I'll corner him in private, if I have to. I'm not sure how the two of them are connected. If they are, at all. But it can't hurt. And the more I can get him talking, the more opportunities I'll have to figure out what the hell is really going on. What he wants. And why.

I'll send a follow-up letter once I've got more information.

Stay strong. And, whatever happens, please don't lose faith. Piltover needs your courage. So do I.

Jayce.

*

Caitlyn,

I'm so sorry. I need to vent. Too much has happened.

Viktor's staying in Zaun. 

So is the Hexcore.

Negotiations fell through. I don't know why. Silco showed up, and he was civil. More than that, actually. He was polite. He shook hands. He thanked the Council for reaching out, and expressed his appreciation at their willingness to compromise. He'd brought along his Deputy and a few members his Cabinet. They were well-dressed, professional. I was impressed. I was relieved. I'd come prepared to do battle, but he seemed determined to cooperate.

Then it all went to shit.

Cait, I can't explain it. But the whole thing felt... staged. Like Silco already knew how it was going to end. Like the Council had already signed off on some private deal, and were simply going through the motions. Mel opened with the usual pleasantries. She asked Silco about his health. His administration. His relationship with Zaun's citizens.

The latter question was a nod to me. A subtle signal that she was leaving the floor open for me to address him.

I did. I'd been preparing for weeks. I'd even gone over my questions with some of the other Councilors. They'd all agreed that the issue had to be addressed. If the Council was serious about building diplomatic ties, and creating a sustainable rapport with Zaun, then Silco's conduct had to be taken seriously. And he couldn't be given an inch.

He needed to be confronted.

So, as soon as the pleasantries were finished, I asked him what his plans were for the Hexcore. For the Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative. Why, if he was a man of the people, was he taking a magical relic that was potentially volatile out of our control? How was it serving his citizens, or the people who'd been entrusted to his care? How was it serving his principles?

And, most importantly, where the hell was Viktor, and what the hell was his game?

Silco smiled.

The bastard actually smiled.

Then he showed me a letter, in Viktor's handwriting, addressed to the Council. It stated that, because of his deteriorating health, he'd chosen to relocate back home. He wrote that there was only so much treatment the doctors at Piltover could provide. Eventually, he'd need more intensive care. And, as a Zaunite, he was entitled access to the physician of his choosing.

His physician was Colin Reveck.

Singed.

Apparently, if Viktor's letter was to be believed, Singed had known Viktor for years. As a chemist, he had a keen understanding of the disease affecting Viktor's lungs. And he'd been working with him on an experimental treatment. That was the reason Shimmer was in Viktor's bloodstream.

It was an integral part of the therapy. Without it, he'd have died long ago.

Silco also presented records of his conversations with Viktor, during which Viktor had confessed to feeling ostracized in Piltover. To having been made to feel bypassed, not only by the Council, but by his own peers.

By me.

Sky's disappearance had hit him hard, and the strain of maintaining his career and his health had left him emotionally depleted. He'd been forced to make a choice, and he'd chosen life.

He'd chosen Zaun.

I demanded proof. I said there was no way Viktor would write a letter like that. That there was no way he'd willingly choose to work with someone like Singed. He'd always despised putting morality aside for progress. He'd never approved of using animals as test subjects. Or people. I accused Silco of lying. Of blackmailing Viktor, or worse.

Silco showed me a photo.

I'll spare you the worse details. It was Viktor, yes. Definitely him. But the man in the picture looked nothing like my friend. He was... augmented. All over. He had metal plates across his face. There are mechanical appendages in place of his hands. There's gears, and cogs, and wires, on his torso. His throat is encased in a tube, and there is an equalizer outfitted to his chest.

Even his eyes are different. They're no longer his natural color. They're yellow and black. Like hazard lights.

And they glow.

Cait, it was like something out of a nightmare. He looked—he looked like an automaton. Like a cyborg. It wasn't a person anymore. It was a machine. Something created by a mad scientist, and brought to life by evil sorcery.

The timestamp on the photo was two weeks ago. When Viktor was first reported missing. That meant that, between then and now, Viktor had undergone a terrible transformation.

He'd become something inhuman.

Cait, I've known Viktor for years. I've known him better than anyone. But right then, I didn't recognize him. Not even a little bit. And, when I looked up at Silco, I saw him watching me. Watching the horror in my face. Smiling.

Smiling like the Devil himself.

I could've hit him. I would've hit him. Right then and there. But the Councilors intervened. Their security pulled me back. Mel tried to talk me down, but I was too furious. I couldn't believe what I'd seen. I couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to show it. To shove it in our faces. I couldn't believe the Viktor he'd shown me was real.

But it was.

The photograph's been vetted. It's the real deal. So is Viktor's signature. His handwriting hasn't changed. It's been matched to several official documents. His letter, which was accompanied by a medical report from Singed, has also been examined. And, while we've been unable to corroborate its contents, the letter itself has passed a rigorous authenticity test.

Viktor is alive.

And he's staying in Zaun. Under Silco's care.

He's been provided an apartment, a generous stipend, and a state-of-the-art lab. He's been placed in charge of an expanding Hex and chem-tech research division, and given a team of assistants. He's been granted unrestricted access to Zaun's medical facilities for his treatment, and all the resources necessary to conduct his experiments.

All of which are in collaboration with Singed.

There's nothing we can do, Cait. Absolutely nothing. Silco's got him locked in a golden cage. He's using Viktor's genius to advance his agenda, and the fact that he's been augmented is proof that he's not above forcing him into compliance.

Viktor's a casualty. And we're the ones who lost him.

It's all my fault.

They've scheduled a forty-five-minute recess. We'll take a break, then resume for the next session. After that, there'll be a dinner. And more discussions. I can't. I just can't. This is all wrong. Everything. My best friend is gone. Mel and I are no longer together. And the Council. They've failed. Failed us. Failed the city. Failed Viktor.

And something tells me it's going to get a whole lot worse.

Cait, please be patient. I still need to ask Silco about Violet. And I'll do everything I can. You have my word.

Jayce.

*

Cait—

The summit's over. Silco and his people have left.

 And good riddance. I never want to see his rotten face again.

Cait, the whole thing was a sham. A total sham. From beginning to end. Nothing meaningful came out of the meetings. Silco didn't answer a single question. The Council wouldn't hold him to account.  Instead, they started discussing the crisis as if it was a business merger. As if it was some kind of deal to be brokered, and a mutually beneficial arrangement to be made.

Silco had the gall to suggest a compromise.  He said that Viktor, as a Zaunite, should be allowed to continue his research on the Hexcore. In return, the Council will be permitted to oversee his future Hextech projects. Both cities will collaborate to conduct a monthly audit via a joint Oversight Committee. They'd guarantee a set number of patents, and a share of the profits, and even provide funding for further innovations.

I argued that this was unacceptable. It would give the Council no actual leverage, and would only make them complicit in Viktor's subjugation. That they'd be signing a blank check. And that, by working with Silco, we'd be condoning his crimes.

The Council said nothing. They didn't support me. They didn't even try.

Mel agreed with Silco.

I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it, Cait. She sided with him. With him!

She said the Council had to think long-term, and that, if we wanted peace, we needed to start acting like the world leaders we claimed to be. She pointed to the economic benefits, and the opportunities the new alliance could create. She reminded everyone that Viktor was a free man, and that he was the one who'd made the decision.

As far as she was concerned, it was his right.

I was outraged. I told her this wasn't the time for political theater or corporate speak. This was a human being's life we were talking about. And Viktor wasn't free. He was a hostage. If the Council really wanted to serve their citizens, they'd stand up to Silco. They'd demand the repatriation of the Hexcore. Then they'd demand Viktor's release.

And they'd use every means possible to get him back.

Then Silco dropped a bombshell.

He said, as thanks for the Council's cooperation in facilitating Viktor's "return" to Zaun, he'd make a gesture of goodwill. He'd draft legislation to outlaw the production of Shimmer as a narcotic, and to ban its distribution for recreational purposes. And, to prove his intentions were sincere, he'd have the new law approved by a vote, and the legislation made public. Only medicinal uses, he stressed, would remain legal.

The Council, he went on to suggest, could enact a blanket embargo on Shimmer's importation. Points of entry would be monitored, and Piltover would take steps to crack down on illegal trafficking. It would send a message to Piltover's allies, that Zaun was serious about pursuing the path of legitimacy. And that its partnership with Piltover was a symbol of that intent.

I was shocked.

So was Mel. And the rest of the Council. This wasn't what anyone had been expecting. This wasn't the Silco we'd known. He was offering to put himself in our debt. To cut ties with the illegal drug trade, and to allow the Council the opportunity to enforce sanctions against bad actors.

It was a major concession.  It would effectively eliminate a key revenue stream in Silco's operation, and cripple the underworld's most valuable market.

Cait, I'll admit it.

I didn't see the trap until it was too late.

Silco doesn't need to distribute Shimmer within his city anymore. Because he's got the Hexcore. And it's capable of making breakthroughs in science and magic, beyond anything we've ever known. He's got some of the world's greatest innovators under his thumb. The only limits are their imaginations.

With the fruits of their labor—and the Council's backing—investors will flock to Zaun. Capital will pour in. The city will grow. Its economy will flourish.

No drugs needed.

I was the only one who spoke out against it. I felt like a complete jerk. But I had to state my case. I argued that the Council had to consider the risks. That we couldn't trust Silco, no matter how immaculately he dressed up his proposal. Who was to say he wouldn't take the Council's investment and put it into other ventures? What if he began funneling the investors' coin, and used it to finance bioweapons? What if he turned Zaun into an armory, right under Piltover's feet?

And, even if he did give up the drug trade, what about his human trafficking? His smuggling? The brothels, and the illegal casinos, and the underground fighting pits?

What about his ties to organized crime?

The Council dismissed my concerns.

They were eager. Eager to shake hands. Eager to sign on the dotted line. Eager to move forward.

The deal, Mel explained, would be the cornerstone of a lasting relationship between Zaun and Piltover. The Council's approval was vital. It would lend a stamp of legitimacy to Zaun's new order. And, she stated, it was the only way to avoid future conflict.

I was disgusted.

She was trying to sell the summit as a success. Like we hadn't given up a critical piece of our national defense, and put it into the hands of a foreign dictator. Like Silco hadn't blackmailed Viktor, or taken advantage of his illness, or exploited his vulnerability. Like he wasn't an abusive tyrant who ruled by fear, and murdered in cold blood.

Like he hadn't just gotten away with everything.

Cait, I can't tell you what happened. I don't have the words. I was angry. So, so angry. And disappointed. With the Council. With Mel. With myself. I couldn't stand to be there a moment longer.

So I walked out.

After the summit, I waited to catch Silco in the lobby. He was heading towards his limo. There were no security personnel. Just him and his Deputy Chancellor and a blackguard. He was smoking a cigar, and strolling like a man with all the time in the world.

I didn't say a word. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed him and pinned him against the wall.

I told him he had a choice. Either he could hand over Viktor and the Hexcore, or I'd beat the truth out of him.

The bastard smiled. He smiled at me.

Then he said, "Pet."

Someone grabbed me from behind. An arm went around my throat. A hand wrenched my elbow behind my back. I struggled, but couldn't break free. The grip was like iron.  I half-turned, expecting to see Silco's Deputy. It was the blackguard.

Cait...

It was Violet.

She was in a full-on bodyguard get-up. Black suit. Black shirt. Black visor. Black boots. Her was cropped short, and she'd gained muscle. She looked lean, and hard, and strong.

Like a soldier.

She didn't say a word. She kept me in a sleeper hold, until the Deputy arrived with security. I don't know how many Councilors saw me in that position. I don't know what they must've been thinking, or what they must’ve been saying.

I was seeing stars. I was dizzy. I could barely breathe.

Then Silco said, "Drop him."

Violet obeyed.

When I came to, I was on my knees. My neck hurt. My arm hurt. My head was pounding. It was hard to focus. Then two steel-tipped boots materialized in my line of sight. I looked up, and there was Silco, staring down at me.

He was calm. Collected. Completely at ease.

"You'll have to forgive her," he said. "She's still being trained."

Cait, he knew.

He knew I'd ask him about Violet. He knew you'd placed inquiries looking for her. He knew we were concerned for her wellbeing.

So he'd had her accompany him to the summit, as a deliberate provocation.

He was taunting us both.

"I'd advise you, as a personal favor, to not try this again," he said. "If you do, you may find the outcome... less forgiving."

I told him to go fuck himself.

I think he smiled. It's hard to remember.

With a fingertip, he gestured Violet over. She came. I'll never forget that. The way she obeyed. Without hesitation. Without question. Not once did she acknowledge my presence. I still remember when I'd drop by for tea sometimes at your flat, and she'd scowl when she saw me. Or roll her eyes. Or say, "Oh, look. Pretty-Boy's here."

There was none of that. Nothing. Just total silence.

Total obedience.

Then Silco took her by the chin.

"There's a good girl," he said, and stroked her cheek.

 It made my skin crawl.

I told myself it was because of Silco. Since the Siege, I'd been looking into his past, and there's enough material in the dossiers to turn your blood to icewater. I can't imagine the psychic price of serving that monster. I can't even imagine the pressure of being a blackguard at his beck-and-call.

I told myself it was the thought of Violet at his mercy, night after night. I told myself it was because she'd lost her autonomy. That she was trapped. That she was under duress.

I told myself that's why my gut was churning.

I'm sorry, Cait.

That's not the truth.

The truth is, I wasn't scared of Silco.

I was scared of Violet.

No—I was terrified.

Cait—there was a look in her eyes. I don't know how to describe it. A coldness, almost. Like she wasn't seeing me, or the Deputy, or anyone. Only Silco. She didn't flinch when he touched her. She didn't even blink. She was completely unmoved. Like a soldier on the parade ground.

Like a weapon waiting to open fire.

The limo pulled up. Silco and his Deputy got inside. I remember Vi holding the door open for them. And I remember her turning, one last time, to look at me.

There was nothing in her face. No emotion. No recognition. No regret.

Just empty.

Then she got inside, and the door swung shut. They drove off.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Cait, it's all I can think about. How different she looks. How hard she seems. And that stare. That terrifying, horrible stare.

What the hell did Silco do to her?

Cait, I'm coming to visit. We have a lot to talk about.

Jayce

*

Cait—

I have news.

Big news.

After I left your flat, I went straight home. A courier had just dropped a missive off at my place.

It was from the Wardens.

Their theory on Viktor being responsible for Sky's disappearance is crumbling. Despite their suspicions that Viktor was the last man to see her, their investigation has been unable to locate a single shred of evidence.

Viktor's laboratory is clean. No fingerprints, no signs of foul play, no indication of a struggle. Even the cameras, which the Wardens have accessed using a subpoena, showed no signs of her leaving with him. Her clothes, and belongings, were still inside the building. And her bike was still parked outside.

They're still not sure how she vanished. It's like she was swallowed up by a black hole.

As for the DNA—a secondary lab test revealed it was a mistake. Just a case of cross-contamination. They'd mistaken an old sample from a previous search in Sky's apartment. The report had gotten mixed up with Viktor's case file. The mistake had been made by an intern, who'd mislabeled a sample, and the senior investigators had simply repeated the error.

All in all, it was a complete botch-up.

The evidence is circumstantial. There's nothing that implicates Viktor.

For now, they've dropped charges.

I should be thankful. I know Viktor hasn't committed any crimes, and there's no concrete evidence of his guilt. It was a stretch to accuse him of involvement in Sky's disappearance.

But now there's a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The timing's too convenient.  First the Council caves to Zaun, and lets Viktor remain as Silco's prisoner. Now the Wardens have decided, of their own accord, not to press charges.

It makes no sense.

Worse, my own mind's playing tricks on me. I keep replaying the night Sky was reported missing. How distraught Viktor was. How he could barely speak. Barely look at me. He was a wreck, and I believed his distress was sincere. I'd told the Wardens, time and again, that there was no way Viktor had done anything to harm Sky.

I'd vouched for him.

Now, though...now, I'm not so sure.

The thing is, we still don't have all the facts from that night. Sky was last seen exiting her office at eight o' clock. The cameras see her walking down the main corridor. Then, at nine thirty, her assistant goes in to check on her, and finds her gone. Her bike's still there. Her street clothes are still on the rack. All her possessions are still inside.

But no Sky.

Where the hell did she go?

The cameras don't show her exiting the building. Which means she must still be in there. Except there's no trace of her. None. 

Then it hit me.

The Hex-lab—mine and Viktor's workspace—had no cameras. A security camera had been installed, but Viktor had requested it be removed. He'd said, and I quote, "We are scientists. Our work necessitates a degree of privacy." It was part of our terms with the Council, and an addendum to our patent agreement. The lab would be kept off-limits, except to those involved with the project.

Viktor, Sky, and I were the only one who had the keycard.

And Viktor was the only person in the lab that night.

Caitlyn—I'm worried. It's possible I've made a terrible mistake. I've been so fixated on finding Viktor, I haven't stopped to ask myself why. Why would Viktor disappear without a word? Why would he take all his notes, abandon his post, and go into hiding? Why wouldn't he ask me for help? Or at least leave a note?

I've been thinking—what if he doesn't want to be found?

What if something bad happened between him and Sky? Something so terrible, he had no choice but to run?

Cait, please—help me figure this out.

Your friend,

Jayce.

*

Cait,

I had a fight with Mel.

I'm ashamed to say it. To be honest, it's embarrassing. I've never raised my voice at her before. Or sworn at her. Or, frankly, behaved like such a prick.

Here's what happened.

After my talk with you, I went straight to her penthouse. I was in a bad place. I'd hit the bar—awful idea, I know—and then gone for a walk. It was raining. I ended up in one of the city's parks. It's near her place. I sat on a bench and tried to get my thoughts together. Everything—why Viktor could've left, why Sky might've disappeared, why  the Council were so willing to negotiate with Silco—was running through my head.

I just wanted to talk. I wanted a friend. I wanted her.

Cait—you told me how hard it's been since Violet left. How much you've been hurting. Not the everyday stuff. I know about that. But it's the other things, too. Like how you don't feel like yourself anymore. Like there's something hollow in you, that only she can fill. And nights are the worst. You miss the closeness. You miss the warmth.

And, Gods help me, the sex.

That's the part I miss the most. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up at night, dreaming about Mel, and I've had to stop myself from calling her up at four o'clock in the morning.

It's hard, Cait. Being apart. It's really hard.

I know how you feel. So you'll understand perfectly why I went to see Mel. I know we broke things off. I know it was my decision. And, no, I didn't expect us to pick up where we'd left off.

I just wanted someone to talk to.

Before I knew it, I was at her penthouse. I was soaked, and cold, and drunk. It was the middle of the night. But the doorman recognized me. He let me in, and called ahead to let her know.

She was waiting for me.

I'll never forget how she looked, Cait. She was wearing a silk robe.  One of my favorites: all white lace and gold brocade. Her hair was loose, and it smelled like hyacinths. You know, I've never told you this, but I used to comb Mel's hair before bed. I wasn't very good at it. Sometimes I'd end up pulling too hard. But she'd smile, each time, and show me the trick to gently working through the knots. She'd kiss my hands. Then she'd kiss me.

Then—

Well, I think you know.

Seeing her again. Seeing her so soft, and warm, and lovely. It took my breath away.

It took everything.

Cait, I'm not going to lie. We ended up in bed. She said she'd missed me. And, damn it, I'd missed her. So much.

So very, very much.

I can't say I don't love her. How can I not? She's smart, and gorgeous, and funny. She's passionate. She's fearless. And I admire her. She has a way of commanding a room, but also of making every single person feel heard. She makes me feel heard. When I talk to her, I feel like I can say anything. Do anything. Be anything.

I needed that. I needed her.

She felt the same.

It was beautiful. Intimate. Wonderful. Sure at first, we were both a little awkward, and clumsy, and I'd forgotten to shave the past few days. But, after a few minutes, we were like two people who'd never left each other. Two people who'd never been apart.

Two people in love.

When we finished, we held each other. Then she kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear, "Jayce, darling... you're home."

And, Cait, it felt like it. Like I'd finally come home.

It's not until after I'd showered, and was heading back into the bedroom, that the doubts crept in. Those nagging little doubts. Things I'd pushed down. Things I didn't want to confront. Like how the Council and Silco seemed to be on the same page in advance.  Like how they were giving him carte blanche to exploit a man's genius, and use it for their own gains.

Like how Mel, out of everyone, seemed to know exactly what Silco was thinking.

Like she was expecting it.

I slipped back into bed with Mel, and I held her. Still, the questions came in my head. They came quietly, at first. Softly. Then, as the silence between us grew, they began to gain volume. Until I was sure she could hear them too.

Then I asked her the question.

"Why didn't you fight?"

At first, she pretended not to understand. So I said it again, louder.

"Why didn't you fight, Mel? Why didn't the Council?"

She turned. She was looking at me. Searching my face.

"You had a chance," I told her. "You could've fought for Viktor. You could've fought for me. Why didn't you?"

There was a long silence.

"I didn't have a choice," she said.

"Bullshit."

"It's the truth. I didn't. Jayce—you don't understand. There's more at stake than just the Hexcore. It's a small piece of a bigger issue. That issue being—how can we maintain our peace with Zaun. You have to understand. It's not only about your friend."

"Viktor. His name is Viktor."

"Viktor, yes. But we need to think of the whole picture. It's not just him. It's our trade agreements. It's our economic stability. It's our reputation as a city. As the City of Progress."

"So it's not important, what's happening to him. Because he's not a Piltovan, he's expendable."

"That's not what I'm saying. Please. Don't twist my words."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that a single man, or his personal rights, cannot eclipse the good of a city. You've been obsessed. You've been chasing shadows, instead of addressing the real problems."

"Like the Council selling out their best innovator to a dictator."

For the first time, her eyes disconnected from mine. "He isn't a dictator."

"Isn't he? What do you call someone who murders his way to the top, and uses his power to enslave his citizens?"

"We've held discussions, Silco and I. He wants prosperity for his city. Freedom for his people. I want the same for ours. To achieve that, we must compromise on certain issues. He's no model of merciful leadership, I grant you. But he's a pragmatic man. A visionary. Someone who can bring lasting change."

"He's a monster."

"Jayce. Darling. Your anger blinds you. I know he's committed terrible crimes. And yes, we've made deals that neither of us is pleased with. But, in the end, the outcome is worth the price. Our cities will grow together. We'll create a lasting, sustainable peace."

"At the cost of my best friend'."

"Viktor chose to leave. It's his right."

"Only because he had no choice. He couldn't stay in Piltover. Not with the Wardens falsely accusing him."

"Jayce—" A shadow fell across her face. "Please. Stop. This isn't getting us anywhere. Can't you see that? If you keep on fighting, you're only going to make things worse."

"Worse for who? The Council?"

"For Viktor. And... for you."

There was something in her eyes. Something... dark. Almost desperate.

"Please, Jayce. You need to trust me. I have your best interests at heart. I've been working to protect you. You've no idea the things I've—" She cut herself off.

I asked her what she was talking about. I asked her what the hell was going on.

That's when she told me.

Cait, the Warden's investigation? Mel is the one who called it off. Not because of inconclusive evidence. Not because of the waste of resources. Not because the security camera footage was inconclusive.

She called it off, because the Wardens had irrefutable proof that Viktor had killed Sky.

It wasn't just the fact that he was the last man to see Sky alive. Or the fact that she was last seen near the corridor to the Hex-lab. 

It was the fact that, in the lab itself, they found Sky.

Or rather, her bone dust.

It was everywhere. Motes of it, on the floor. On the chairs. On the workbench. Someone had tried to clean it up, but not thoroughly. Not enough to remove the residue. And the forensics team had been able to confirm, using chemical analysis, that the samples were mixed with Viktor's DNA.

His, and no one else's.

The Wardens were set to launch an arrest warrant. Then Mel had intervened.

"It would've been a disaster," she told me. "A disaster for him. A disaster for Zaun. And for us. I had no choice, Jayce. None."

I was shocked. My brain couldn't comprehend what she was saying. It was impossible. Viktor wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be. He just couldn't.

I asked her if Silco knew.

She admitted that he did. He was the one, in fact, who'd tipped the Wardens off. Apparently, a remark Viktor had made during a conversation with his Deputy Chancellor had caught Silco's attention. He'd sent a blackguard to Viktor's lab, on the pretext of collecting leftover notes. During a search, the blackguard found traces of bone dust. He collected the sample and turned it over to the Wardens.

There were no signs of tampering. The evidence was months old.  And it was damning.

"I can't believe this." I whispered.

Mel put her arms around me. She held me tight.

"Jayce," she said. "I'm sorry. Silco and I—we decided that the best thing would be for Viktor to remain in Zaun. For the charges to be dropped. So long as he confines his work to the Fissures, he'll have complete freedom. But should he return to Piltover..."

She didn't finish.

She didn't need to.

Cait, the Council and Silco. They've conspired against Viktor. Against both of us. They're letting him remain in Zaun, so that he can continue his research on the Hexcore. But, should he return, he'll be arrested.

And I'll be forced to testify.

It was too much. The idea that my best friend could be a killer. The fact that Mel knew. That she'd been complicit. The betrayal, by the Council, who'd gone along with it all. The duplicity. The corruption.

It was just too much.

I couldn't stop myself. I lost control. I leapt out of bed. I shouted. I called her a liar. I asked her how she could do it. How she could let him stay, and put him in danger. How she could be so calculating. So cold.

So much like... Silco.

She didn't answer. She was crying. I've never seen Mel cry. Never.

And, Gods help me, I didn't care.

Cait, I stormed out of her flat. I left her there, in tears.

I can't go back. I can't forgive her. I can't forgive myself.

I'm writing you now from a bar. It's three o' clock in the morning. I can't go home. I can't bear to sleep. I can't stop thinking. About the summit. About Mel. About Viktor.

About the future.

Cait, please help.

I'm lost.

Jayce

*

Jayce—

Destroy this message the minute you read it. You're being monitored.

Your apartment is being watched.

Your office, too.

I know, because so is mine.

Silco knows you're trying to make contact with Viktor. He knows I'm trying to reach out to Vi. The only reason he's permitted you to communicate with me is to bait a trap. I've gone back and deleted every missive I've written to you. Do the same. You need to watch your back. If the Wardens find out you've been trying to make contact with a suspected killer, it's not just your career.

It's your freedom.

You're a private citizen now. They won't hesitate to arrest you. And I won't be able to stop them.

Jayce, this is serious.

You're a hero. You're the face of Hextech. You've changed the world. You can't afford to throw it away. If you get caught, it'll be catastrophic.

Please. I'm begging you. You have to stop.

We can't contact each other via missive. Not until I can figure a way out of this.

Caitlyn

*

Caitlyn,

Don't worry. I won't put you in danger. I've found a workaround. I've created a secure channel, which will allow us to correspond without being intercepted. I've also modified the pneumatic tubes. It will take some time, but I can rig a system, which will ensure the messages are delivered directly to your desk.

I need a favor.

Your department has access to the Warden's database. How high is your clearance? Can you get access to their records on Sky? I'd like to have a look at their files.

I'll explain when I see you.

Jayce

*

Jayce,

I got in.

Here are the files.

Hurry. I don't know how long the clearance will last.

Cait

*

Cait—

Thank you.

This is incredible. You're amazing.

I've been reading through the records. It's difficult, because a lot of stuff has been redacted. But I've managed to piece together the timeline of Sky's disappearance. It's hard to believe, but the case has been open since the day she went missing. It's bigger than the Wardens let on to the Council.

There's more here than I expected.

According to the records, the Wardens were already investigating Viktor.  He'd been placed on their Watch List, under suspicion of having ties with the Undercity's chemists. It was a flimsy pretext, and he wasn't a suspect. Just a person of interest.

They were tracking his movements, to see if he had any known associates belowground.

Then Sky was killed.

By now, I know she was killed. It's hard to watch. There's security footage, from the night she went missing. It's in black-and-white, and it's grainy. You can see Sky, exiting her office, and walking down the main hall. She's still in her lab coat, with her notes under her arm. Her hair's up, but her ponytail's slipping. She's got a smile on her face, and a spring in her step.

It's strange, Cait. But I can tell, even though she's just a shadow on the screen… she's happy.

She's going to see Viktor.

I know she's going to see Viktor, because the security cameras are tracking her movements. And they show her walking down the main hallway, past my office, and into the stairwell. From there, she goes to the third floor. The cameras lose her there. There's no coverage inside the Hex-lab.

It has no cameras, remember.

But something happens six minutes later. There's a—a fluctuation, almost. In the video. The image blurs. It's like the camera's glitching.

Except it's not the camera.

Cait, I've seen that fluctuation before.

It's a Hex-field.

I can tell because, while the image distorts, the edges of the hallway remain sharp. Which means the field's expanding outward, in a dome pattern, from a central source. The source, in question, is the Hexcore.

It's been activated.

I've checked the timeline. The hex-field is only active for a few seconds. Then it's gone.

But Sky never returns.

I've been over the footage a hundred times. And the conclusion's always the same.

Sky entered the lab. She met Viktor. Then he killed her.

Why, I can't say.  Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was something else. The point is, her remains were never found. Only traces of her bones.

I've got to find him, Cait. I've got to talk to him.

I've got to understand what happened.

Jayce

*

Cait—

It's a trap.

You were right.

I did something stupid. I didn't think. I took a risk, and it's backfired. 

I went into Zaun. I had no formal dispensation; no notarized travel pass; no clearance from the Council. I was, effectively, trespassing on foreign soil.

I didn't care.

I was going to find Viktor. I needed answers on what had happened. I wasn't going to let him stay down there, hiding from what he'd done. I was going to make him tell the truth. Then, maybe, we could figure out how to fix this mess.

So, in the middle of the night, I armed myself with my hammer. I went down to the harbor. I was careful to avoid the usual checkpoints you'd told me about. I headed for a small, out-of-the-way pier, where the patrols were less frequent. I'd borrowed a friend's boat. It was small, and not the fastest, but it's quiet. I managed to sneak past the harbor's first buoys.

Then, I crossed the border.

 Zaun's different now.

I remember the last time I was in the Fissures to get supplies. Back before the Siege. It was rundown. It was rancid. The streets were in disrepair. The people were sullen. There was poverty and sickness, and a sense of despair.

Things have changed.

The Promenade's undergone a transformation. It's like a state-of-the-art motherboard framed in multicolored neon. They've repaired the streets, and the buildings are lit up like stars. They're clean. Pristine. Even the air smells different. Less acrid.

It's almost... pleasant.

It was late, but the shops were open. The crowds were out in full-force. They were mingling in the plazas, drinking at the bars, dancing in the squares. I passed an upscale club, and there was a line snaking all the way around the block. There were people of all classes and creeds, and they were dressed up, and celebrating.

Like it was a holiday.

I couldn't believe it. After everything that monster's done, the people of Zaun are out, and living it up, like it's the greatest carnival in the world. Like they're grateful. Grateful to have Silco in charge.

Cait, it's surreal.

It's as if, after years of fear, they're finally free. Not only free from Piltover's control—from its judgment, its oppression, its prejudice. It's like they're free in their souls. They're happy. Joyous.

But I can't shake the feeling that they're in a trance. As if, with the bright lights and poppy colors, Silco is hypnotizing them. He'd holding them in thrall, so they'll worship him, and not notice the bodies he's left in his wake.

That's how I felt, walking through the Promenade. Like I was following a parade of automatons, fueled on sensory ecstasy.

I tried talking to a few passersby, and they seemed nice. Friendly.

Some of them, too friendly.

I'm not sure how, but they knew I was a Topsider. A couple of them offered to give me directions. Others were eager to buy me drinks. A few asked if I'd like a dance.

One thing's for certain: they're much more welcoming now. Like, now that Zaun's nearabouts Piltover's equal, bygones can be bygones, and no one cares about a bit of old history.

I wasn't there to debate history, though. I was there to find Viktor.

I asked a few of the locals if they'd heard of him. It didn't seem to ring any bells, though a few said he sounded familiar. Then I mentioned he'd worked on Hex-tech, and a chorus rose up.

"Oh! The Machinist!"

That's what they call him in Zaun. They've forgotten his name. Or maybe they don't care.

What matters is that he's terraforming the urban landscape. Changing the city. Bringing the Fissures up to par. Creating a new Zaun, and building it up from ground-zero

I was shocked. He's already begun work? It's only been a few weeks.

But it's true. Apparently, Silco has put him in charge of a full-scale revitalization project. He's using the Hexcore to create new infrastructural designs. Changing the way the city is laid out, and making the Fissures over from a mud-hole into a metropolis. He has a whole team of engineers, and an entourage of blackguards. Every week, they're working on a new layer of the city.

A fresh coat of paint, if you will.

This week, they were overhauling the turbines. The next, the power grid. The one after that, the sewage system. By the time the Expo's begun, Zaun will be a chromed-up paradise.

And Silco will be lauded as its liberator.

The irony.

I was told he'd be working on the turbines this week, and to head toward the eastside. So, that's where I went.

The zone was a hive of activity. Tremors from power-drills under my feet; sparks from welding torches in the air; bodies swarming over scaffoldings. It looked like a small army had been drafted, and was working their hands to the bone. The entire sector had been cordoned off. 

The turbines stood on platforms, towering over the street. They were colossal works-in-progress: rivets the size of hubcaps, steel girders dense as concrete blocks, pistons the width of my chest. They were astonishing, Cait. The scale of them was unreal. Their alloy-shelled interiors seemed to be a combination of metallurgical compounds and Fissure-seam crystals, the two meshed together into a seamless matrix with a shimmery-green tint.

There were runes, too.

Hex-runes.

They were inscribed all over the turbines. And, judging by the way the technicians were treating them, they weren't simply decorative. They were a critical component of the new design.

I'd never seen anything like it.

I couldn't help but admire Viktor's work. He'd done all this in less than a month. Except it wasn't just him. Here and there, I saw a familiar monkey motif scrawled into the blueprints, or decorating the turbine's frame.

It was Jinx's signature.

It hit me, then, like a gut punch. Viktor hadn't done this alone. Jinx was collaborating with him. Her notes were scattered throughout the designs. This wasn't a solitary operation with a spur-of-the-moment breakthrough. This was a joint venture, between two rogue agents. One that must have been in the works for months.

Or longer.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

Silco had likely planned this—this coup—from the moment of the Peace Treaty.

And there was no telling what he had planned next.

Cait, I had to stop him. I had to find Viktor.

I asked a few technicians if they'd seen him. I was directed to the south end. I didn't have a plan. All I knew was that I had to find him. Confront him. Demand an explanation.

Then I saw him.

He stood in the middle of the mayhem, directing the crew.  At first glance, he seemed the same. Same height. Same build. Same accent. But that was a trick of the eye. Like my memory was a distorting medium, and my mind had supplanted an old image onto a new reality.

Because, when he turned, it was like he'd been replaced by someone else.

Someone I barely recognized.

He seemed taller, somehow. His movements were more fluid; his stiffness less pronounced. He didn't walk. He glided. The balls of his feet seemed to float a bare millimeter above the ground, as if the air itself was propelling him forward. And the way he carried himself, with such confident assurance—it was like his world had expanded, in the span of a few weeks, from a sickbed to a stage.

That's when I noticed his cane was different.

It wasn't the ergonomic model he'd designed for himself, as his mobility declined. This was a prong-tipped rod, polished black, with a barb at the base. Like a javelin. It was a definite case of function over form. No aesthetic appeal. No concession to comfort.

Just a weapon.

But, Cait, that's not what unnerved me the most.

That was Viktor himself.

Because he wasn't Viktor. He was some unnervingly close approximation dressed in patches of Viktor's skin, with steel seams running through the missing spots. His skull, torso and limbs are half-cybernetic. The right leg—the one that 'never behaved' as he'd sometimes put it—has been replaced with a mechanical prosthesis. It's got a titanium exoskeleton, and a carbon-fiber frame, and a hydraulic heel. The knee's a ball joint. The thigh's an articulated piston. It's like a work of art. The most horrifying work of art you could imagine.

But it's not just his leg.

His right hand—the one he'd taken to wearing a glove on—is now a four-fingered steel claw. It's hinged at the wrist, and the phalanges are articulated, and the palm's been fitted with a projectile port.

I know, because I watched him fire it.

It was a blackguard, one of the many onsite. The guy was being a dick. He was bullying some of the workers, and shouting at them, and generally harassing everyone within earshot.

Then Viktor walked up, and calmly ordered him to stand down.

The blackguard laughed.

Viktor didn't hesitate. He didn't say a word. He lifted a hand. The steel palm opened, and the projectile port spun, and the muzzle flared, and a blast of hot green light shot out, and blasted a hole straight through the guy's sleeve. It must have singed his skin, too, because the blackguard let out a howl.

Then he fell to his knees, groveling apologies.

Viktor, with terse instructions to the rest of the crew, turned, and left.

I couldn't believe it.

He'd shot at a man.

Without flinching. Without pausing to consider the consequences. Without even acknowledging the guy's pain.

He'd changed, Cait.

The Viktor I knew was gentle. He had a self-effacing slouch, an earnest smile, and an uncanny ability to see the best in people. He was always questioning, always second-guessing, always willing to learn. 

This man was nothing like that.

This man was... hard.

As if the softness had been drained from him.

Just like Violet.

As he strode off, I was able to catch strains of conversation. Cait—his voice has changed completely.  He's got an equalizer attached to his mouth, which runs on a small internal pump, and has an integrated voice modulator. It's the reason his accent's less pronounced. His tone's deeper, too. It's more authoritative. More commanding.

Less human.

The rest of his face is the same as the photograph. There are sensors on his cheeks, and his jaw is augmented with a cybernetic clamp. Then there's the eyes. The sockets are lined with a copper alloy, and the lenses are bionic. No pupils; no sclera. Just two reflective orbs with a glowing core.

Golden and black. Like looking into a pair of glowing embers.

Except they're cold.

I followed him. He wasn't going far. There was a trailer nearby, where blueprints were spread out over a makeshift table. He stepped inside. I'd expected to see Jinx. I was sure she'd be there. After all, she was collaborating with him. She'd drawn up half the diagrams, and, by the looks of things, had helped him implement them, too.

But the trailer was empty.

Viktor was alone.

Then I realized Viktor knew I was there.

"Jayce," he said, without turning around. "You are trespassing."

His voice, even through the equalizer, was the same.

Except it wasn't.

It was cold, too.

"Viktor," I said. "We need to talk."

He still didn't turn. "If the blackguards find you, they will arrest you. And, should they do so, I cannot guarantee your safety."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I know what happened to Sky."

There was a prolonged silence punctuated by the distant sound of power tools. Then, very slowly, he turned. Our eyes met, and even though every muscle and nerve ending in my body fought it, I couldn't stop myself from flinching at the totality of his transformation.

At the eerieness of it.

"Sky," he said, at last, "is gone"

"I know.  She's dead. The Wardens found her bone-dust in your lab. You killed her."

"Jayce, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I didn't kill her. Not in the way you think."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Viktor, you were the last person to see her alive. She was last seen near the Hex-lab. There are traces of her DNA mixed in with your own. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"

He said nothing. His breathing rasped like an iron file through the air. It was a strange, grating sound. His lungs, I understood, had been augmented, too. The extent of the mechanization, in such short a time-frame, couldn't be man-made.

Then I understood.

"Magic," I said.

He didn't answer.

"That's what happened, didn't it? You were using the Hexcore's magic. Not on tools. On yourself. And you didn't want anyone to know."

Still he said nothing.

"But it went wrong, didn't it? The Hexcore did something to her. She was in the lab, and something happened, and she got hurt. Badly. So badly that you had to dispose of her. And you thought, if you were careful, no one would ever find out. That you'd get away with it."

"Jayce—"

"Is that why you left? Because you were afraid of being caught? Dammit, Viktor, answer me!"

He looked at me, and the stare was preternaturally calm. But I could feel an intense heat cooking the air around him. He didn't raise his voice, or gesticulate, or make any move against me.

He kept on staring.

"Jayce," he said at last, "before I left Piltover, I was working on a theory. One involving the Hexcore. I had discovered that, with the right runic sequence, it was possible to channel its subatomic energies into living flesh. Through an organic compound as the catalyst, and the correct sequence as a stabilizer, the Hexcore's powers would no longer be tied to its physical matrix. We'd use it to augment living things. Restore damaged muscle. Heal sick tissue. Repair a faulty organ. Even..."

"What?"

"Prolong life."

Dazed, I shook my head. "Viktor, that's impossible. That level of transfiguration—"

"Can be achieved. All that's necessary is for the Hexcore to sustain the right frequency, at the correct resonance. A harmonic pattern, if you will."

"We tried, remember? We tried, with plants and fungi. We couldn't even manage to make a weed grow. The results crumbled, or rotted, or—"

"—died. Yes." His breath shivered like a metal grate in a storm. "That is because the runic sequence is incomplete. To channel the Hexcore's power, a keystone rune is needed. Something to anchor the harmonics. Act as the focus. Without it—"

"Viktor, please. You're not making any sense—"

"I was trying to extend life, Jayce!"

For the first time, the flat dial tone of his voice shifted. I heard, subaudible but discernible, a quaver of grief.

"Extend life," he whispered. "Not take it."

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. My breath came hot, nauseous. "You messed up. Didn't you?"

"Jayce—"

"You screwed up. Something went wrong. You did something to Sky. You killed her."

He gave a single jerky nod.

My guts turned over. The fear had been replaced with disgust. With anger. I couldn't stand to look at him. To see what he'd done.

What he'd become.

"Where's her body?" I demanded.

"It's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

He rubbed his jaw, the bones grinding side-to-side. It was old gesture. The one he'd make, whenever he was uncomfortable. Or guilty.

"It was consumed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jayce, please. You must believe me. I—I did not intend for her to die. I did not even realize she was there until after—"

"After?"

The glow in his bionic eyes dimmed. "The Hexcore, when it opened, created a feedback loop.  The catalyst in my blood was to be the sensor, absorbing the concentration of the energy's signals. The runes on my body were the integrating centers, the medium through which the feedback would be channelled.  But—but there was not enough of one to balance the other."

I understood. "The Shimmer. That's why it was in your bloodstream. It interacts with the Hexcore's harmonics. Instead of destabilizing the resonance, it amplifies the feedback. It's what allows you to maintain a stable connection."

"Yes."

"And the runes. They're not for stabilization. They're for augmentation. For transmutation."

"Yes."

"And Sky? Where did she fit into all this?"

 A strange darkness filmed Viktor's bionic eyes. "She was not meant to be there. I should have—should have locked the door. Should have—but no, I did not think. It was too much, the moment. The chance, too great. If it had worked—" He broke off. His head drooped, slowly, as if his neck was made of wires stretched too taut. "She was there. The Hexcore's field was activated. It took her."

"Took her."

"Blindly. As a mouth takes in food. She was trying to pull me away. She was saying my name. Viktor. Viktor. She did not understand." His cybernetic fingers flexed around his cane. "I could not stop it. Could not shut down the Hexcore. The energy—it was too strong. Too much."

"You're saying the Hexcore absorbed her?"

"Her flesh. Then her bones. Then her essence. Until nothing remained." His chest vibrated, like an engine winding down. "Nothing but dust."

A cold fist gripped my heart. I thought of the security footage. The fluctuation, and the blur. It hadn't been a camera glitch.

It had been the Hexcore.

"Viktor," I breathed. "My Gods."

His head remained bowed.

"This is why, isn't it? Why you asked me to destroy the Hexcore. You knew, then. Knew how powerful it was. How dangerous. You wanted me to shut it down."

"Destroy it," he whispered. "Yes. But that was before—"

"Before, what?"

"Sky. In her notes. She'd left me a—a message. Only, it was never intended for my eyes."  He unstuck his jaw with effort, as if his teeth were glued together. As if the words themselves were too heavy to shape. "Sky was working on a project. One I'd encouraged. Every week, she would show me her findings. I would provide suggestions, or offer assistance, as needed. She was a brilliant researcher, Jayce. And unlike myself... she never forgot her roots."

I swallowed. It was hard, around the knot in my throat. "What—what was her project?"

"Life." The word was soft, almost reverent. "Here, in Zaun. She'd designed blueprints for a Hex-filtration plant. Something to purify the water. Sewage removal. Runoff collection. All to make the streets where she—where we both—grew up, safer. A habitable home for the people who needed it most."

"And now... you're building it."

"Yes."

"With Silco's blood money."

He lifted his head. The contours of his expression iced over; robotic, remote. "The blood money is the Council's. Silco is only the siphon."

"What—?"

"Or do you not hold the Councilors complicit in the Undercity's degradation?"

"That's not—"

"Not the same?" Something in his bionic eyes crackled. It could've been anger, or amusement, or a thousand other emotions, and I wouldn't have known the difference. "Tell me, Jayce. Why are you here?"

I was taken aback. "Because—because I needed to know the truth."

"You know the truth." The last humanity dissolved out of his voice, leaving a mechanical buzz. "You wanted to hold me accountable."

"If you'd killed Sky—"

"You've killed too, Jayce."

A stone lodged in my chest. It was cold. It was hard.

It was the truth.

Cait—only you, Violet and Mel know what I did. That night, at Silco's Shimmer factory. The boy caught in the crossfire. The boy who'd died because of my recklessness.  I've lived with the memory of his face ever since. It's haunted me. Night and day. No matter how much I've tried to justify it. No matter how many good deeds I've done.

The fact is, I took a life.

And Viktor knew.

For so long, I'd kept it from him, out of shame but also fear. The fear of him judging me, as no different from the other Topsiders. The same ones who'd mistreated him as a boy; who'd buried his city under their refuse and left the people to rot. I was afraid, Cait, of him hating me. Of him realizing how little I deserved his friendship.

And now he did.

 Silco, I thought, icy splinters of rage in my gut. He knew too.

He knew—and he'd used the knowledge to turn Viktor against me.

"Viktor," I began.

"Jayce." His voice was dead as the grave. "Do not."

"Look, please, I—"

"You should not have come. Your presence will be construed as hostile. There will be consequences."

"Then let's leave. Come back with me. I can protect you. The Council, they'll—"

"Forgive me?" His lips approximated a smile. "No. That, I think, will not happen."

"You can't stay here. Not under Silco's thumb. He's using you, Viktor. Using the Hexcore. You can't trust him. Can't you see?"

"I can. You cannot."

 "Viktor—"

"I cannot return to Piltover, Jayce.  My mistakes have made it impossible. I understand that." The mechanical ruthlessness returned to his voice. "You, in turn, must understand. I will not return, because of your own."

My entire axis tilted. I couldn't believe my ears. I was reeling.

"You—you don't mean that."

"I do."

"You'd really choose Silco, over Piltover?"

"I choose neither."

"But—HexCorp. Our research. Me. Us."

"I am sorry, Jayce."

And for the barest moment, the briefest heartbeat, his bionic eyes seemed wetly sheened. As if he was still human.

Then it was gone.

His cane tapped, twice.

A heartbeat later, blackguards melted from the darkest corners.

I counted four. They'd been posted all around. In the shadows.

Waiting for him to give the signal.

I knew, then, that I'd been set up.

Silco had goaded me into coming. He'd known I'd confront Viktor, and Viktor would reveal what had happened to Sky. Then the blackguards would appear, and there'd be arrest warrants. Public censure. Tarnished reputations.

All the while, Viktor would remain in Zaun, free to pursue his work.

I'd played right into his hands.

"Viktor," I said. "Please. Don't do this."

"Goodbye, Jayce." He turned. "You must not return."

"Viktor—"

"Take him."

Cait, I barely had time to react. The blackguards closed in, and my hammer was out, and the energy pulsed, and I managed to get off a shot, and send two of the men flying back, until—

A blow to the back of my skull.

The ground rose up, and slammed into my face.

The world went dark.

When I woke, I was in a holding cell. A dank, cramped space, with a barred door and a cot, and a bucket in the corner.  My head throbbed. My hammer had been confiscated. My wrists were chafed from old shackles.

But, other than that, I was unharmed.

I wasn't sure how long I was kept there. Time passed strangely, in a fog of disorientation. It felt like days, but couldn't have been more than a few hours. Finally, a guard appeared. He escorted me out. We took a lift down to an underground garage, where a limousine was waiting. He shoved me in, and I braced myself for the worst.

Maybe Silco would have me strangled. Maybe they'd put a bullet through my skull. Maybe they'd dump me in the river.

I had a dozen scenarios running through my head. None of them ended well.

None of them came close to reality.

Mel was sitting inside.

Silco had informed her, via a confidential courier, of my entry into Zaun. That I'd gone across the border, unsupervised, armed, with no clearance. That I'd trespassed, and threatened Viktor. And that, in doing so, I'd violated the terms of the Peace Treaty.

Politically, it could've been catastrophic. Months of negotiations—the careful cultivation of trust, the fragile bonds of diplomacy—all put at risk. If Silco had decided to press charges, to use the incident as leverage against Piltover, or retaliation for a perceived slight, the Council would've been hard-pressed to respond.

But he hadn't.

Mel told me, afterward, that the crisis had been resolved behind closed doors. She'd taken the ferry to Zaun, requested a private meeting, and met with Silco in his office. There, after some back-and-forth, she had convinced him to drop the charges. In exchange, the Wardens had agreed to a temporary suspension of my duties at HexCorp. It was, in effect, a forced sabbatical. One I was to spend, for three months, under house-arrest.

During that time, I was forbidden from entering Zaun.

Mel told me all this later. In that moment, sitting beside her in the car, I couldn't bring myself to speak. I was too ashamed—too overwhelmed—to say a word.

We rode in silence.

Cait—I've been such an idiot.

I've gambled high, and I've lost. And because of that, Piltover had nearly lost, too. I'd put myself before my city. Before the safety, the security, the future of our people. I thought of how I'd exploded at Mel, that night in her flat. How I'd left her there, in tears. How I'd jeopardized everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. Everything I'd fought so hard to create.

All because of my own blind, selfish, outsized ego.

All because I thought I could swoop in and save the day.

Gods, what an ass I've been.

Throughout the ride, I kept looking sidelong at Mel. She sat, straight-backed, her hands in her lap, her eyes cast forward. Her dress was pristine, her hair was coiffed, her makeup was impeccable. To the untrained eye, she looked flawless.

I knew her better.

I saw the way her hands were a white-knuckled twist. I saw the subtle quiver of her lower lip. I saw the lavender shadows under her eyes.

The guilt was suffocating.

She'd saved me. She's always saved me. And how have I repaid her? With scorn. With mistrust. With disrespect.

I wanted to fall at her feet. Beg her forgiveness. Tell her how sorry I was, and how stupid I'd been, and how wrong.

I didn't.

Instead, I sat there. Staring at my shoes.

We pulled into her driveway.

"Jayce," she said. "Go. Rest in the guestroom. I'll have the maids send up some tea."

Her tone was polite, but distant. Reserved.

I nodded. "Thanks."

"Jayce?"

I paused, halfway out of the car. "Yes?"

She turned, at last, and met my stare. Her eyes were dark, and sad, and tired.

"I'm glad you're safe," she said simply.

Cait, I couldn't say a word. I could barely breathe. I hesitated for just a second, then pulled her across and into my arms. She embraced me, and as soon as I felt her warmth, smelled her perfume, I couldn't stop myself.  The past few weeks—Viktor's departure, the truth of Sky's death, the realization that I'd nearly ruined everything—everything came rushing back.

I broke down.

I was crying, Cait. Crying in her arms. Like a child. She held me. She didn't say anything. Just held me.

I don't deserve her.

I truly don't. But having her close, and knowing she cared, was a lifeline. Since the Siege, it's like I've lost a tiny bit of my reality. My grasp on the world. Every day, it's been a little harder. Then Viktor left, and Sky died, and the pieces of my world started falling apart.

Mel is the one of the few pieces still anchoring me.

I wanted to tell her this, Cait. I wanted to tell her, how much she means to me, and how sorry I was, and how grateful. I wanted to tell her, over and over, that I didn't deserve her, and how, despite it all, I was never going to leave her side.

I didn't, though.

I kissed her.

It wasn't planned. It just... happened. I kissed her. She was still in my arms. We were still in the car. I was still crying.

Then I was kissing her.

She let me, for a little bit. Then she broke, gently, and turned her head. Putting a palm on my chest, she nudged me back.

"No, Jayce."

"Mel..."

"You need to rest. We'll talk, later."

"Mel, I..."

"Later," she said softly.

It wasn't a request.

And so, I let her go. I walked into the penthouse, and was escorted upstairs. But, Cait—it was the loneliest walk of my life. Because I realized why, when I'd kissed her, she'd withdrawn.

Not because it was the wrong time.

Not because I was in shock.

Not because she was mad.

Cait, she's seeing someone else. I can't say how I know. Just that I can sense it. And, the worst part is, I can't blame her. After the way I've treated her—blowing hot, then cold; pushing her away, then pulling her close; accusing her of things she'd never do, then expecting her to help me when the shit hits the fan—it's no surprise she's moved on.

And how can I expect this gorgeous, sophisticated, brilliant woman, with her head screwed on straight, and her heart in the right place, and the courage to speak truth into power, to stick around?

Especially when I'm acting like a spoiled, sulky, immature, selfish asshole.

She's better off.

But not me.

I've fucked up, Cait. I've hurt people. I've hurt my friends. I've endangered Piltover. All because I've been too caught up in myself. Because I've let my pride run wild.

Because, at the end of the day, maybe I'm still just a boy meddling with things I don't understand.

I think it's time that boy grew up.

It's time he made the world a better place.

P.S.

This will be my last correspondence for a little while. I'll be going upcity to my mother's place.  I've got a few projects in mind, and if I'm going to be under house-arrest, might as well put my time to good use.

Before I go, though, I want to thank you.

For your support. Your honesty. Your friendship.

For everything.

Cait, you're the best.

Your friend, always,

Jayce

*

 To Jayce Talis, Esq.

Sir,

You will oblige me to ask the following: Are you out of your fucking mind?

First, you attack the First Chancellor in plain view of half the Council. Then, you decide it would be a good idea to traipse across the border, unescorted and armed with Hex-tech, without a notarized travel pass. Then, not satisfied with having broken one law, you have the gall to threaten one of our citizens—our brightest minds—with abduction and bodily harm. Then you injure two blackguards, and thereby put yourself, and the integrity of the Peace Treaty, at risk.

Now, you have the balls to write to me—demanding an audience with the First Chancellor, once your house-arrest has expired.

Your arrogance knows no bounds.

Read carefully, sir. Because I will only say this once:

No.

No, you will not have an audience with the First Chancellor. No, we will not divulge the address of the Machinist, Viktor. No, we will not disclose blackguard Violet's current location. And no, you will not be given leave to enter the Fissures, unsupervised and with your hammer.

That is final.

Your last letter, demanding a 'sit-down' (you have, evidently, been reading too many tabloids) is not only a grave presumption. It is also a threat against the integrity of this office. Your future letters, from here on out, will be marked as "Return to Sender." The prior ones, we've already compiled and forwarded to the Council, who have assured us will investigate.

I trust they will take the proper disciplinary actions.

Janna knows, you deserve a slap on the rear. A hard one.

Given your tenure as a former Councilor, we are prepared to show a degree of leniency. You are a prominent figure in the public eye. We recognize the emotional impact of your mentor, Dr. Heimerdinger's, passing. We also know that you have suffered the loss of Viktor's partnership, and are under intense strain in your private life. 

In light of these facts, the First Chancellor has agreed to overlook your invective. We will not press charges, and will not seek punitive action, so long as you cease any and all communication with the First Chancellor. You are also instructed to desist any further inquiries into the whereabouts of the Hexcore.

If you continue to persist in your obstinate line of inquiry, the First Chancellor will no longer be inclined to clemency. You will find yourself facing multiple felony charges, which may carry a term of imprisonment.

Consider carefully.

The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit.

Kindly refrain from further correspondence. Unless it’s in the form of an apology. A similar letter of warning has been forwarded to Enforcer Caitlyn Kiramman. In light of your close personal relationship, we request you relay the message next time you meet.

Regards,

Sevika M.

P.S.

The First Chancellor has also requested we share the following message:

"The boy's letters are charmingly feisty. The girl's, surpassingly eloquent. I am delighted to know that two such exceptional individuals are among our neighbors. My only regret is that they spend more time throwing rocks, and less time building bridges."

"When their aim improves, they will be welcome to visit. Until then, they are advised to keep their distance."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane viktor #viktor #arcane jayce #jayce talis #arcane caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #arcane mel #mel medarda #arcane sky #sky young #meljay #mel x jayce #jayvik #jayce x viktor #arcane vi #vi #caitvi #violyn #caitlyn x vi #vi x caitlyn #arcane zaun #arcane piltover

[aceofnace]

Nancy’s Feelings for Ace

Nancy told Ace that the first time she realized she had feelings for him was during the dreamscape with the wraith, because that was her official “oh” moment, but as a viewer we know she had feelings for him long before that, even if she didn’t know it. The first real signs for us were her obvious jelly feelings as she watched Ace flirt with Amanda in 2x07 and her mind immediately jumping to Ace when she heard the sentence “the one with the pretty eyes” in 2x08. But really, it goes even further back than that.

Nick asking Ace in the last episode if it was ever really only friendship and nothing more between him and Nancy got me thinking back to the very beginning. And to be honest, I don’t think it ever was only friendship. For either one of them.

We know now that Ace had a crush on Nancy in high school. So naturally, when she started working at The Claw, that crush returned right away (even if he also had a crush on Bess at the time). And we know Nancy met Nick and it was lust at first sight and she immediately embarked on a physical relationship with him soon after. This all happened before the show began. What else happened before the show began and it’s one of the first things Nancy tells us about Ace when her narration introduces us to him?

The smoke break.

Upon first viewing, it feels like an unimportant throwaway line. A piece of information that could just as easily have been left out. But it wasn’t. Why? Because I think that smoke break, a moment we’ve never gotten to see, was when Nancy’s feelings for Ace actually started.

Think about it for a second. We know that Nancy has always found Ace attractive. When she hears the term “pretty eyes”, she’s like “Who, Ace?” When she’s under the spell of a lust dress, she lets it slip out that she’s always imagined how soft his hair would be. In as early as episode 1x02, she’s placing a hand on his shoulder for no reason while she talks and she doesn’t let go until she’s done. He may not have necessarily been on her radar in high school like she was on his, but he certainly was as soon as she started working at The Claw.

So, now that we have obvious physical attraction out of the way, that smoke break. We know very little about it. The most of what we do know about it is made up from the minds of countless fans who’ve written their own fan fic version of it (myself included). But the one canon thing about it, the thing Nancy told us herself, was that he didn’t judge her for tanking her grades after her mom died. And how did he even know about that? Because she told him.

Nancy Drew, who at the start of the show was the queen of high emotional walls who didn’t like divulging personal information to anyone, divulged some pretty personal information to this boy she barely knew (and even though it’s never discussed again, there’s a pretty good chance that wasn’t the only smoke break they ever spent together). Meanwhile, she was hooking up with Nick and even sorta calling herself his girlfriend, but any time he tried to get her to open up and talk about anything, she shut him down immediately.

I feel like this is something that should be discussed more. The fact that she was able to so quickly and comfortably share stuff like this with Ace and nobody else is a huge deal. And in the beginning, it’s completely overlooked because Nancy’s love interest was Nick, and then after they broke up, Owen was next in line. For most of season one, she did not outwardly show any significant interest in Ace as anything more than a stranger–turned–co-worker–turned–sleuthing buddy–turned–close friend. But that interest was there.

And why wouldn’t it be? As I already mentioned, Nancy was always physically attracted to Ace. She knew from before the show began that he was a good listener and easy to talk to. And then early on when she learned about his hacking abilities, she saw how smart he was. Soon after that, she learned how loyal and dedicated he was. The boy risked his entire future to break her father out of prison, and he did so without her even asking him to. He willingly drank what could’ve been poison to prove she was right and to keep her from getting arrested. Every time she called, he answered. Every time she needed help or needed a favor, he delivered. How could she not possibly fall for him?

So, she did fall for him. Most likely even in season one. It was evident during the library scene where they were reading Ryan and Lucy’s emails out loud. Hearing Ace say things like “I think I love you too” and “I want to be with you, I don’t care what anyone else says” made her feel something, hence the look the two of them share afterward. But here’s the thing: if Nancy recognized that feeling at all, she would have shoved it down so far and so fast because that feeling was something real. Something more than she was used to feeling. And that scared her.

Nick was a distraction from the grief over her mother’s death. Owen was also a distraction from that grief, as well as from her break-up with Nick. Ace wasn’t a distraction. He was a friend. A confidant. Someone she could rely on. Someone she could count on under any circumstances. This kind of relationship with a guy was one she wasn’t accustomed to. And she knew that it could someday lead to something more serious—something she most definitely wasn’t ready for.

In 2x10, while under the spell of the lust dress, Nancy theorized out loud that perhaps the dress was intensifying feelings of attraction she already had but was repressing, and she said it while turning and looking directly at Ace. Keep in mind that (somehow) 2x10 in the timeline is not that far from where they were in season one, so to assume those repressed feelings started in season one is not that much of a stretch. And looking back, even starting within the first few episodes of the series, you can clearly see she has always been drawn to him in a very subconscious way. She would always stand so close their arms would almost touch. She would lean closely over his shoulder when he was on his laptop, their faces sometimes only mere inches apart. She would practically bump into him while walking side-by-side. She’s always had this unrealized need to be near him. To be close to him. And he’s the only one. I challenge anyone to find scenes that show her casually existing so closely next to Nick, Owen, Gil, Park or even now Tristan. You can’t. Because they don’t exist.

And this makes sense. Canonically, they are soulmates. And that would explain why Ace could simply see her make a volcano erupt in high school and develop feelings for her. It would explain why since day one, Nancy has had a bond with Ace that she’s never had with anyone else. And I know the writers say that Nace wasn’t the plan from the beginning, and I do believe that, but somehow, they inadvertently set it up perfectly for these characters to end up in the situation they’re in right now: desperately in love and desperate to be together. They are each other’s person. And they always have been from the very start.

To go back to what they were before would just be staying the same. They’ve never been just friends. And the sooner Ace can admit that to himself, the sooner they can get back to trying to break that curse and securing their future together.

#nace #nancy x ace #ace x nancy #nancy drew cw #cw nancy drew

[sgiandubh]

You know nothing, Jon Snow

It's been a short night and a hot summer day in here. But I just received the last of the goods in my secondary inbox and am still unpacking, pondering and putting the data into context.

Work with me:

To begin somewhere, this is the exact content of the (in)famous Shamrock Anon submission to this blog, as delivered almost 23 hours ago:

Put yourselves in my shoes and read with me: "the Irish based drinks company (not the one accessible to fans) is solely owned by him and DF".

An Irish company? "Not accessible to fans?" Owned only by these two people and not her, on her turf? Now that could have been a nuke, because hello, where is the logic in all this, and who does that, and yes, why?

By the time I wrote my brief Shamrock Anon post, in the hope of luring this person to share more, the same message had already been delivered to at least two other shipper blogs. That would make three of us: the controversial newbie (I am not blind, but I am not cantankerous either), the respected veteran sleuth and Super Dispatch, with what I believe to be the intent of pushing an agenda of sorts. I chose not to publish Anon, because: 1) I needed more and yes, I needed to check and 2) I felt there was something bizarre with all this.

@luhafraser published it and I am truly relieved they did. I posted an update that apparently got even more people confused, and carried on with it. It did not take off the pressure (Anons begging, pleading and taunting went straight to the bin), but it gave me time to start looking.

It took me exactly two minutes and a half to find the Irish company's name and registration number, as visible and published on the FMN gin webpage (https://www.forgetmenot.com/ and always, always read the small print).

So long for "not accessible to fans", BS Anon:

Next stop, the Irish Company Registration Office's website (https://core.cro.ie/), where things went impeccably smooth. FMN Drinks is an Irish company, registered as "Limited", which would translate as Public Limited Company (plc) in the UK:

Getting more data required a paid search and I stopped to ponder. Really did. Price was a trifle, but that was not really my problem. So I sat on it during the night: it is something I always do when I find myself uneasy or unsure about something.

By noon today, local time, I mumbled "oh, what the hell", crossed myself and pushed send:

It took 15 minutes to get five of the documents and two more hours and 45 minutes to get the Letter of Status, certified by a living, breathing Irish public servant in that inbox:

So (in)famous Shamrock Anon, here is my answer to you:

If you think a company specialized in the distilling and rectifying of spirits, with 100 (one hundred) issued shares, worth 1 euro each and with a zero euro declared account balance since last December is proof of capitalist world domination, you are an idiot, Anon. You lured me down that rabbit hole with the preposterous idea that C was not a part of this PO box company - which she is, as one of its four appointed Directors - to try and prove shippers are stupid. Which we aren't.

At face value, this is nothing to write home about. But I said yesterday the devil is in the details and was not disappointed, because you clearly are sloppy (again?) Anon and boy, you do have an untrained eye. It's almost like me when prompted to read somebody's blood test results, you know?

I am now faced with a dilemma: I either buy a cork board, thread and pins and start a trip to Cuckooland, trying to navigate my way across trademarks and trails of companies, and such other niceties that are boring as death. Or, I look at this completely uncalled for embarrassment of riches and let the dots connect themselves, in time.

I always steered my course according to this French proverb: dans le doute, s'abstenir. When in doubt, do nothing. Making sense of a document posted on a real estate company website is one thing. Publishing such documents, which are readily available for the private use of anyone with a credit card, and prematurely discussing them is a personal red line I am not willing to cross.

It would be pushing an agenda and, especially right now (*promo*), writing the script. Circus might be in town, but I am not one of the clowns.

Oh, and Anon: a company is an evolving entity people get into, then get out of and even maybe get back to, at some point in time. A business project is by no means any sort of evidence of relationship/marital status.

#Anon

[historysurvivalguide]

Debugging Code 15 Billion Miles Away

NASA’s Voyager 1 Resumes Sending Engineering Updates to Earth

For the first time since November, NASA’s Voyager 1 spacecraft is returning usable data about the health and status of its onboard engineering systems. The next step is to enable the spacecraft to begin returning science data again. The probe and its twin, Voyager 2, are the only spacecraft to ever fly in interstellar space (the space between stars).

Voyager 1 stopped sending readable science and engineering data back to Earth on Nov. 14, 2023, even though mission controllers could tell the spacecraft was still receiving their commands and otherwise operating normally. In March, the Voyager engineering team at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California confirmed that the issue was tied to one of the spacecraft’s three onboard computers, called the flight data subsystem (FDS). The FDS is responsible for packaging the science and engineering data before it’s sent to Earth.

The team discovered that a single chip responsible for storing a portion of the FDS memory — including some of the FDS computer’s software code — isn’t working. The loss of that code rendered the science and engineering data unusable. Unable to repair the chip, the team decided to place the affected code elsewhere in the FDS memory. But no single location is large enough to hold the section of code in its entirety.

So they devised a plan to divide the affected code into sections and store those sections in different places in the FDS. To make this plan work, they also needed to adjust those code sections to ensure, for example, that they all still function as a whole. Any references to the location of that code in other parts of the FDS memory needed to be updated as well.

The team started by singling out the code responsible for packaging the spacecraft’s engineering data. They sent it to its new location in the FDS memory on April 18. A radio signal takes about 22 ½ hours to reach Voyager 1, which is over 15 billion miles (24 billion kilometers) from Earth, and another 22 ½ hours for a signal to come back to Earth. When the mission flight team heard back from the spacecraft on April 20, they saw that the modification worked: For the first time in five months, they have been able to check the health and status of the spacecraft.

#voyager #voyager 1 #voyager 2 #nasa #nasa JPL #JPL #astronomy

[daisynik7]

A Bento for Kento

Chapter 3: Love Language

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: none, just fluff and delicious food

Summary: You do some internet sleuthing. Ren visits Jujutsu High for the first time. Nanami keeps a secret in his pocket. And a wild Gojo appears!

Notes: This chapter’s bento is inspired by this recipe: Chicken Meatballs. Thanks for all those that have read, reblogged, liked, and/or commented so far, hope you’re enjoying it!

Previous Chapter | ao3 | Next Chapter

A Bento for Kento Masterlist

If you want to join the taglist, let me know in the comments, or interact with the post A Bento for Kento Taglist!

--------------------

This week’s bento features teriyaki chicken meatballs over a bed of white rice with a side of steamed broccoli. You elegantly drizzle teriyaki sauce on the top, the finishing touch is a sprinkle of sesame seeds. Aesthetics matter, you think to yourself, impressed by your arrangement. You repeat the meticulous process inside the Hello Kitty bento box.

When you’re done, you admire your creation. An idea pops in your head, inspired by the many viral videos you’ve watched. As a cute, personal touch, a small note can be included in the meal. It’s usually words of affirmation, sometimes even a funny joke. You take two sticky notes from your desk and write a different message on each, smiling proudly as you insert each one inside the cover of the containers.

Ren comes out of his room, ready for his Monday lesson. He joins you at the table to eat breakfast. “Morning, sis!”

“Morning! Are you excited for your lessons this week?” you ask, taking a bite out of your toast.

“Yeah! We might do one of our lessons out of the office. Nanami said he wants to show me around the school. I’m excited.” He takes a forkful of eggs into his mouth, grinning. 

“That sounds fun. It’s nice to change scenery once in a while.” You take a sip of coffee. “So do you like your mentor? Nanami, right?”

“Yup, he’s pretty cool. At first, he seems super serious, which he totally is. But I think we’re getting along well. He knows I’m taking these lessons seriously. I think that’s why he likes me.”

“Is he the grumpy old teacher type?” you ask, jokingly.

He chuckles. “He’s definitely grumpy. But he’s not old. He’s probably your age.”

This sparks your curiosity. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, just to put a face to a name.

Ren continues. “Anyways, we’re making a lot of progress together. He’s a really good teacher. He’s opened my eyes to a lot of things.”

Part of your smile fades as you say, “Well, it sounds like you’re learning a lot from this Nanami guy. I hope you’re not planning on replacing me with him.” You’re kidding, of course, though there is a hint of actual jealously there. 

Smirking, he reassures, “Don’t be jealous, sis! He’s not as fun as you are, trust me. I told you, he’s super serious. Sometimes I wonder what he does fun. He probably reads.”

“Hey, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that!” you exclaim, throwing a grape at him. “He sounds interesting. I should meet him one day, just to size him up.”

In all seriousness, you actually want to check this guy out, confirm that this man isn’t negatively influencing your sibling in any way. You still have no idea what these “lessons” consist of, or what this Jujutsu High is. This creep could be teaching your baby brother how to be a deviant.

Finished with breakfast, he gets up to retrieve his backpack, bentos packed securely in place. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s a good guy.” He pats you affectionately on the shoulder before leaving.

You sit at the table for a little while longer, contemplating while you play with the stray crumbs on your plate. Minutes later, you text Ren:

You: What’s your mentor’s full name again?

Ren: Kento Nanami

Ren: why?

You: just curious, thanks!

Let the internet sleuthing begin.

~~~

This week, Nanami plans to take Ren on a tour of Jujutsu High. He insisted Gojo visit sometime on Monday to give Ren an overview of the rules and general layout, hoping to prepare his student before he first steps foot on campus. It can be overwhelming for a first timer, he’s well aware of that.

As expected, Gojo does not give him an exact time for when he’ll arrive. Nanami’s attempts at extracting an answer from his flake of a friend are useless. I’ll get there when I get there, Nanamin! I’m a busy man! is all Gojo texts him, after being pestered for the third time about his current location.

The day isn’t wasted, however. In typical fashion, Nanami planned accordingly with some new material to teach Ren, already predicting this type of behavior from Gojo. Lunch time approaches and he still hasn’t shown up. Growing impatient, Nanami decides to take their break now. If Gojo pops in while they’re eating, he’ll just have to wait.

Ren hands the Hello Kitty bento box to Nanami, this gesture becoming a small tradition between them. “Thank you, Nakamura,” he says, walking over to his desk. “I’m going to the break room to make my tea. Would you like anything from the vending machine?”

“Hm, maybe a Pocari Sweat?” 

After Nanami brews his tea and a purchases Ren’s beverage, he returns to the room, ready for another delicious treat courtesy of the older sister. As he sets the drink on Ren’s desk, he sneaks a peek at his open container, spotting meatballs and some type of glaze over a bed of rice. The smell is intoxicating, his mouth watering from the inviting aroma.

Surprisingly, the food is untouched. Usually, when Nanami comes back from the breakroom, his student is halfway finished with his meal. He glances over at Ren to see what’s distracting him. He is staring at the inside cover of his bento box, a warm smile spread across his face.

Curious, Nanami asks, “Is everything alright?”

He looks at Nanami and answers, “My sister left me a note.” He flips over the cover to show it. In neat handwriting, the memo reads:

Happy Monday, booger! Have the best day ever!

A little heart and smiley face are scribbled at the end.

Nanami raises a brow, amused. “Booger?”

Ren chuckles. “Just a little nickname she calls me sometimes. Maybe there’s another one for me in your box! Can you tell me what it says when you see it?”

Agreeing, Nanami sits at his desk. For some reason, he’s nervous to open it. As if he’s intruding on something intimate, something personal. He uncovers it slowly, examining the top for a note. In the same handwriting as the other, a message is displayed:

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

There’s strange tightness in his chest upon reading those words. He glances at Ren, who is now his normal self, devouring his meatballs whole. Focused back on his desk, he quietly takes the note off the cover and pockets it.

Ren, mouth full, asks, “Is there anything?”

Nanami contemplates for a few seconds, then responds, “No, there isn’t.” He starts eating a meatball, which tastes even better than he imagined. Though, his mind is distracted by the fact that he just lied about something so trivial, so insignificant. Why?

“Ah, okay.” Observing his own note again, Ren laughs. “Can’t believe she��s still calling me booger! Ha!” He takes a sip of Pocari Sweat and continues to eat, blissfully unaware that his own mentor is hiding a secret in his pants pocket.

Nanami stuffs more food into his mouth in silence, questioning his own motives regarding this damn piece of paper. His hand slides into his pocket, feeling for it, remembering the words scrawled over it.

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

He knows it wasn’t written for him. Of course he knows that.

However, there’s an odd sensation coursing through his being. An unusual tightness in his chest spurred by a simple statement attached to the back of Hello Kitty’s face. Whatever this sensation is, Nanami reasons that this is what compelled him to lie about the note. 

A few more moments of contemplation, he realizes something as he finishes his last meatball. The true reason why he is acting this way.

He wants to pretend it’s for him.

Gojo finally arrives as soon as Ren and Nanami are finished with their food. “Hello, my dear friends!” he greets happily.

Nanami wipes his mouth with a napkin and closes the box. Just as he’s about to hand the empty container to Ren, his friend squeals, “Nanamin, wait. What is that?!” Even behind the blindfold, it’s obvious that Gojo’s eyes are filled with glee.

“It was my lunch,” he answers, nonchalant.

Gojo’s grin widens, as he squeals again. “I need to take a picture of this! You and Hello Kitty! Nanamin, this is just adorable.” He takes his phone out and starts snapping away before Nanami can hide his face behind his hand.

“Stop it. You are awful.” He slides the bento over to Ren, still trying to conceal himself from his annoying friend’s ridicule.

Gojo turns to Ren, showing him what he captured. “Isn’t this so precious? Little Nanami with Hello Kitty. This day can’t get any better.”

They giggle with each other while Nanami sighs heavily, palm pressed against his forehead in aggravation. “Can we just get on with this, Gojo? And delete those photos immediately.”

“No way. The world is better a place now because of these,” Gojo teases, swiping through his phone, a smug grin plastered on his face.

Nanami begins to blush, remembering the note. He sticks his hand in his pocket and feels for it again, making sure it’s still there. He clears his throat, speaking a bit louder. “Okay, enough. Let’s move on.”

After more snickering between Gojo and Ren, they finally get back on track. As Gojo introduces Jujutsu High to Ren, Nanami takes this opportunity to zone out. He stares at his desk, thinking of food, Hello Kitty, and his dumb friend taking those incriminating photos. Occasionally, he brushes his hand over his pants, rubbing the outline of the note. The one that is not his. What’s the harm in pretending? It makes him feel good. It makes him feel appreciated.

He slyly removes it out of his pocket and sets it inside his suitcase, where it’s safe. The last thing he needs is Gojo having any more leverage against him than he already has. If it accidentally falls into the wrong hands, specifically Gojo’s, he’d never hear the end of it.

~~~

During your break, you decide to investigate Ren’s teacher. You type the name “Kento Nanami” into the search bar. The top result is a blog post from a finance company you’ve never heard of. Clicking on it, you notice the article is a few years old. It features five different employees from the company, each one having a picture with a small blurb beside it. You scroll towards the middle of the page and find what you’re looking for.

Name: Kento Nanami

Age: 23

Position: Senior Stockbroker

About: Kento Nanami is one of our youngest and most successful stockbrokers. He started working for our company straight out of high school and has excelled ever since. Hobbies include eating, drinking, cooking, and reading. He enjoys helping others and has been an asset to us during the onboarding process for new employees. His favorite part of working for this company is the salary because it helps him fund his addiction to bread.

You laugh out loud at the last part. Then, you notice his picture. It’s a professional headshot, probably taken in the office for the purpose of this post. His blond hair is parted on the side with loose strands falling over his forehead. He has a sharp nose and cheeks that are slightly sunken, maybe due to the stress of being a stockbroker. The spotted tie he’s wearing over his navy-blue button up stands out. It’s an interesting pattern, but for some reason, it works. His expression is neutral, neither smiling, nor frowning. He looks serious, just as Ren described him. 

You stare at him a bit longer and you smile to yourself.

He is handsome.

But why the sudden change in career? Based on his description, he was doing well as a stockbroker. Why would he leave? And what exactly is he teaching your younger brother? Surely it isn’t lessons on stockbroking. Or is it? Is this some sort of pyramid scheme? They have their lessons in an office building, which is very suspicious to begin with. 

You continue your web search and find nothing else outside of his previous occupation in finance. He doesn’t have any public social media pages and there is nothing mentioning current employment. Curious, you search Jujutsu High, only to be redirected to pages related to Jiu Jitsu, the Brazilian martial art. Anything related to Jujutsu doesn’t exist on public record.

Your inner alarm bells are ringing. This is strange. You’ve made it almost a month blindly trusting your brother, not asking too many questions. How much longer can you hold out for? You have no clue what Ren has gotten himself into and the constant mystery surrounding it has you worried.

Also, you know nothing about this Nanami fellow. He could be a creepy cult leader or a shady ex-stockbroker roping innocent youths into a Ponzi scheme, hiding behind an attractive suit and a pretty face. Either way, it’s suspicious. 

Retrieving a small journal from your drawer, you jot down questions you want to ask Ren. You need answers to give you peace of mind. The rest of the summer can’t go on like this. If something terrible were to happen to him, you will never be able to forgive yourself. You have to know the truth. 

~~~

On Wednesday, Nanami brings Ren to Jujutsu High. He can tell that Ren’s mind is blown as soon as he steps foot through the protective barrier, jaw dropping and examining the campus, speechless. 

They walk through the training grounds, watching students spar with each other. Ren observes them carefully, looking away briefly only to scribble notes. They watch for nearly an hour, Nanami explaining their moves and typical training regiments that are expected of first years. 

Their tour through campus continues. Ren gazes up at the buildings, appreciating the architecture. It reminds Nanami of his experience as a Jujutsu High student. He doesn’t dwell on the past all too often but being here makes him reminisce, as if he never left. 

Currently, there are no classes in session, so they take this opportunity to peek into each of the empty classrooms, ending with Gojo’s. There are plenty of windows, a sparse number of desks, and one big blackboard, displaying the remnants of whatever was taught in the most recent lesson. Nanami takes a couple of minutes to go over this with Ren.

Afterwards, they decide to take their break in one of the courtyards. Nanami is handed his usual bento box with Hello Kitty. He looks around to make sure Gojo isn’t nearby to tease him. With the coast clear, he uncovers the container, finding a note attached to the inside again. He purposefully positions himself across from Ren so that he can read the message in secret. Glancing over at his student, who is distracted by his own meal, Nanami focuses on the familiar handwriting:

Have the best day ever! I love you!

Followed by three hand drawn hearts in a row.

His lip twitches into a small smile, admiring the words in front of him. Once again, he removes it and secures it in his pocket. He’s not exactly sure why he’s keeping them. Maybe he likes having it within reach for a quick pick-me-up. Yesterday, he met with Gojo to exorcise a low-grade curse, and when he was home, he took Monday’s note out of his briefcase to read it again: The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

The words replayed in his head as he soaked in the bath that night. It lingered in his mind as he prepared dinner, even when he was in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. That message gives him validation. What he’s doing now as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, and even as a mentor, makes a difference in the world. He is important.

However, this new note offers a different reaction, right in the pit of his stomach. A strange, fluttering feeling. He can’t remember the last time someone told him, “I love you.” In fact, he’s barely heard that phrase throughout his entire adult life.

Is he this desperate for affection? Enough to pretend that these words are actually for him? He’s actually envious of Ren for having someone like this in his life. A person who constantly reminds him how much he is loved, how special he is to this world. When will Nanami experience this for himself? He wonders if that will ever happen. 

He catches himself, scoffing as he continues to eat. It’s silly, sentimental, and immature for him to be feeling this way. This is unlike him. 

Ren breaks the silence, bringing Nanami back from his deep thoughts. “Hey Nanami, words of wisdom from my sister. ‘In life, we should all aim to be like meatballs: Well-seasoned and well-rounded.’” He flashes a smirk as he lets the joke sink in.

Nanami genuinely chuckles at the corny pun. “Clever.”

“She made huge ones today, just for fun. Wanna see?” Ren offers, scrolling through his phone. He faces his screen towards Nanami, showing a picture of a woman around Nanami’s age, wearing a black apron over pajamas. She smiles brightly at the camera, holding two massive meatballs in her hands, like trophies.

“She was so proud of them she had me take a picture,” Ren laughs, pulling his phone away.  

It isn’t the giant hunks of meat that captures Nanami’s attention. It’s her smile, bright and endearing. Inviting and welcoming. The second thing he notices are her pajamas, obscured partially by the apron she wears over it. They are wasabi green in color with different types of sushi as the pattern. It’s cute. As much as Nanami despises using that word, there’s no other way to describe it.

And it’s not just the pajamas. She is cute. 

He almost chokes on his meatball upon this revelation. Guilt sweeps over his body, ashamed that such a thought comes to his mind in front of his student. In front of her brother. He doesn’t even know this woman. One picture and he’s already thinking she’s cute.

A blush creeps up on his cheeks as he clenches his jaw, uncomfortable with the flurry of thoughts rushing into his head. He tries his hardest to stop thinking of her, but it’s too late. He imagines her standing in front of him smiling, holding out the Hello Kitty bento box filled with glorious food, reciting the words she scrawled on those pieces of paper. 

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that. I love you, Nanami.

His entire face is hot, certain that it’s red all over. Thankfully, Ren is distracted by his phone as he munches on a piece of broccoli lazily.

Nanami can’t believe himself. He’s making up scenarios in his head about a woman he’s never even met before. No one should see him like this, so it takes all his willpower to calm down and remove all these ridiculous thoughts from his head.

With perfect timing, Gojo joins them in the courtyard, eating an apple and chatting with Ren. He takes a moment to tease Nanami, Hello Kitty still in front of him, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he’s focused on appearing calm and stoic.

He decides for himself that he wants to know more about Ren’s sister, mentally noting what type of questions to ask without giving his true intentions away. Ren constantly praises his sister, it’s only natural for Nanami to wonder what she’s really like. The woman behind the bento. 

It’s just curiosity, Nanami tells himself. That’s all it is. Nothing more.

~~~

Friday arrives and you send your brother off with his two bentos. Tonight, you’re going to demand the truth. Not every single detail, but anything to put your mind at ease. You plan to butter him up first by going to the local street food fair and buying him all the Yakitori he desires. Then, maybe after some delicious soft serve, you’ll ambush him.

The best plans begin with food, right?

~~~

Gojo suggests taking Ren on a low-risk mission, which Nanami hesitantly agrees to. He’s aware his pupil will not be the one fighting; he’s only there to observe. Still, he’s nervous. Although more mature than some other kids his age, he is a child that Nanami has temporarily taken under his wing.

On Friday, they stay in the office for the first half of the day, going over every possible detail he can about this mission. They agree to eat before heading out, following their usual routine: Ren distributes the bentos, Nanami heads down the hall to brew his tea and grab a drink from the vending machine for Ren. The two of them sit at their desks, eating their lunch while exchanging casual conversation. 

Today, Nanami’s note says: Can’t wait to spend this weekend watching movies and baking cookies with you!There’s a doodle of the Cookie Monster surrounded by chocolate chip cookies. He takes it, sliding it into his briefcase, wondering what movies they enjoy watching together. He smiles thinking of the cookies, how wonderful their house will smell as they bake in the oven.

He looks over at Ren. “Any words of wisdom today?”

Ren shakes his head and responds, “Nope. All she said was ‘Happy Friday to the best brother ever.’” He stares at the note with a small frown.

“What’s wrong, Nakamura?”

He sighs, setting his fork down. “I don’t know. I feel guilty. I haven’t told my sister anything, and she’s been so great and supportive, but I just…” He stops, unsure what to say next.

“I understand where you’re coming from. What we do...well, it’s not easy to explain.”  

“Exactly. Like, what do I even tell her? Hey sis, I think my biological parents were involved with some curse users and killed. Then I somehow inherited these strange powers and now I can see curses. How crazy would she think I am?!”

“Well, that is the truth, isn’t it?”

Ren scratches his head anxiously, not responding. Then, Nanami says, “You always talk about how supportive your sister is. Don’t you think you should give her some credit? She might be more understanding than you think.”

Still frowning, Ren replies, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I just have to tell it to her straight and hope for the best. I mean, we’re going on a small mission today, right? We might be going on bigger ones in the future. What if something happens to me? She’s gonna see my mangled body and not even know what happened. I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her.” He goes back to eating his meatball, brows knit in deep thought.

Nanami is honestly impressed. Ren is a teenager, but he’s surprisingly mature and responsible. “So, do you think you’ll tell your sister tonight?”

“I think so. We’re planning to go to this street food festival nearby. Once we’re full of Takoyaki, I’ll tell her.”

Sounds fun, Nanami muses. “I hope your talk goes well.” He gives Ren a small smile, then returns to his lunch.

“Do you like street food, mentor?” Ren wonders, sipping on his drink.

“I do. I like Takoyaki as much as anyone, but I’m partial towards Taiyaki.” Pancake batter filled with sweetened red bean paste and shaped like a fish. Of course it’s Nanami’s favorite.

“Ha, you’re the same as my sister. She loves Taiyaki.”

Grinning, he wonders what other foods she might like. What other things they have in common with each other. Trying to play it cool, Nanami asks, “What’s your favorite, Nakamura?”

“Oh, it’s definitely Yakitori. I love meat!” Ren exclaims. He turns to face Nanami. “Hey, do you want to go to the festival with us? I’m sure my sister wouldn’t mind.”

Nanami’s heart thumps, actually considering it. Street food on a Friday night sounds amazing, but he should decline the offer. Tonight will be important for both Ren and his sister. The last thing they need is a gloomy Nanami hovering over them like a rain cloud.

“That’s alright. You have important matters to discuss, so I don’t want to intrude.” He pauses for a few seconds before adding, “But thank you for the invite.”

Ren smiles politely. “Maybe next time then. I’d really like you to meet her.”

Nanami thinks it at first, then decides to say it out loud.

“I’d like that, too.”

--------------------

Tag List: @liliorsstuff-blog @hughugh20 @lucyrocks86 @bloompompom @vampyra-needs-food @extrasugafree @deepcloudspyhairdo @invisible-mori @justnamuaf @syynnaaah @unknownspecies @goldencattto @maqqiekwon

#nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #a bento for kento #daisynik #jjk anime #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #jjk fluff

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

NASA’s Voyager 1 Resumes Sending Engineering Updates to Earth

After some inventive sleuthing, the mission team can — for the first time in five months — check the health and status of the most distant human-made object in existence.

For the first time since November, NASA’s Voyager 1 spacecraft is returning usable data about the health and status of its onboard engineering systems. The next step is to enable the spacecraft to begin returning science data again. The probe and its twin, Voyager 2, are the only spacecraft to ever fly in interstellar space (the space between stars).

Voyager 1 stopped sending readable science and engineering data back to Earth on Nov. 14, 2023, even though mission controllers could tell the spacecraft was still receiving their commands and otherwise operating normally. In March, the Voyager engineering team at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California confirmed that the issue was tied to one of the spacecraft’s three onboard computers, called the flight data subsystem (FDS). The FDS is responsible for packaging the science and engineering data before it’s sent to Earth.

The team discovered that a single chip responsible for storing a portion of the FDS memory — including some of the FDS computer’s software code — isn’t working. The loss of that code rendered the science and engineering data unusable. Unable to repair the chip, the team decided to place the affected code elsewhere in the FDS memory. But no single location is large enough to hold the section of code in its entirety.

So they devised a plan to divide the affected code into sections and store those sections in different places in the FDS. To make this plan work, they also needed to adjust those code sections to ensure, for example, that they all still function as a whole. Any references to the location of that code in other parts of the FDS memory needed to be updated as well.

The team started by singling out the code responsible for packaging the spacecraft’s engineering data. They sent it to its new location in the FDS memory on April 18. A radio signal takes about 22 ½ hours to reach Voyager 1, which is over 15 billion miles (24 billion kilometers) from Earth, and another 22 ½ hours for a signal to come back to Earth. When the mission flight team heard back from the spacecraft on April 20, they saw that the modification worked: For the first time in five months, they have been able to check the health and status of the spacecraft.

During the coming weeks, the team will relocate and adjust the other affected portions of the FDS software. These include the portions that will start returning science data.

Voyager 2 continues to operate normally. Launched over 46 years ago, the twin Voyager spacecraft are the longest-running and most distant spacecraft in history. Before the start of their interstellar exploration, both probes flew by Saturn and Jupiter, and Voyager 2 flew by Uranus and Neptune.

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #nasa #astrophysics

[merakiui]

okay but what about mangaka jade who is known for writing some of the most batshit insane stories? they’re always so bloody and graphic, scenes depicting victims having their organs removed are always so… realistic in their portrayal some internet users have begun suspecting him of the bodies found around the city! but it’s just fiction, of course - it’s not like he derives any pleasure from seeing the human body disfigured beyond belief, until it’s but a lump of flesh and organs in disarray. just don’t question too much when you receive a request to model for mangaka! jade, even if the location he sends you is hours away from the city >_<

OOOOOO imagine being an internet sleuth trying to decipher the strange and mysterious mangaka known only by the pen name: naoh. They're a very talented artist and storyteller, but they're just so shrouded in anonymity! naoh never attends any conventions or events, but they do self-publish and sell their works through doujinshi and manga websites. naoh is rather particular when it comes to their work. They never resell works that have already been published. In essence, once a work is sold out it's never going to be sold again, and they only ever create a maximum of two works each year with limited numbers of copies. naoh themself isn't very active on their social media, only ever posting the rare WIP or an update on when a new work will be up for sale. Despite their quiet social media presence, they have gained quite the following. naoh never follows anyone on their account, and it seems like they rarely engage with fellow mangaka and creators with similar interests. They work alone.

You're a fan of naoh's work. The way they draw the human body is fascinating. It's something that could be seen in an anatomy textbook; it's always so realistic and yet still so eerily beautiful and stylized! You'll never forget how they draw emaciated bodies. It's an image imprinted in your brain: horrifyingly realistic and skeletal, a figure so gaunt it's quite literally skin and bones drowning in clothing that can no longer fit comfortably. You've always wondered how they manage to draw such visceral scenes (like the ones depicting clinical dissections or decaying corpses). And then there's the way they depict fear. It's almost always raw, stretching the characters' features into something horrific. It looks so real; it feels tangible. Fans often speculate if naoh has a job in law enforcement or any other profession that deals with the more grotesque and graphic sides of humans, which could be references for some of their horror stories and could explain why they're so good at depicting details.

But then there are the fans who go beyond simple, innocent curiosity and begin to ask disturbing questions: What if naoh isn't with law enforcement? What if, rather, they're the exact opposite: a criminal? It feels like a silly theory, but when you flip through the physical copies of their work and compare the plots to the yet-to-be-solved cases throughout the past few months you begin to spot a few minor similarities. They're never glaring; after all, naoh is a master of crafting both cutthroat terrors and subtle horrors. The type that builds suspense over time. The type that crawls into your head through your ear to whisper nonsense at night. The type that slowly forms a picture over time, but once you realize this it will have been too late.

In their most recent work, a young man is out for a hike when he takes a stumble and falls down a dangerous slope, landing on a rocky outcrop that breaks his leg and leaves him trapped many feet above the ground. He tries to call for help, but no one seems to hear his voice. He spends days on the outcrop, slowly losing hope and sanity. By the end of the story, he's so certain he's going to die that he drags himself over to the edge and free-falls to the ground below. He lands in a spattering mess of shattered bone and stringy, bloody muscle. A lump of a human. The cruel twist is that his hiking partner had actually left to get help as soon as he had fallen and that the man had only been stuck up there for ten hours. Not even a full day, yet panic seized him and left him in hysterics. Had he remained calm and waited, he would have been saved.

It's a terrifying concept made even more scary when you realize there was a story just like this that hit the news. Only it wasn't a man who had slipped. A woman had been out for a run through mountainous woods; she was training for an upcoming cross-country journey through uneven terrain when she sustained blunt force trauma to the head. Many suspect her running buddy to be at fault, as she was never found, and it's theorized she's still on the run. The woman had attempted to flee, but with her head injuries her senses were vastly impaired and she took too many wrong turns. Police suspect she unintentionally ran herself to the edge of a cliff. From there, the story is foggy and difficult to piece together, but it ends terribly: she was found at the very bottom days later, decomposing in thorny bushes, her body mangled and twisted and smashed beyond recognition. The pathologist noted her body was in such disrepair that it's unclear what truly killed her, whether the fall or injuries she had sustained prior to the fall.

And it isn't just this story that somewhat mirrors naoh's works (often it's a setting or a circumstance or a facet of the true crime itself incorporated. Very rarely is it about the victim). You read up on very long threads regarding naoh and their identity, and slowly you find yourself doing research of your own. You have no idea where to start, so for now you keep track of each story you hear on the news and try to match pieces of it to naoh's works in hopes of learning anything new. Unsolved cases, though plentiful and murky, are where you turn to, as well as the discussion boards online. So many people are convinced naoh is a killer. After reading a few rational theories, you're beginning to think so, too. (Though something tells you it could be coincidence, or it could be naoh taking inspiration from reality. They might not even be a murderer like some think; it might just be hateful people trying to sully their name.)

One day, while scouring naoh's social media for any clues, you get the idea to type the pen name into the search bar as if it might yield something interesting. And the first thing that pops up is: Sodium hydroxide (NaOH), known commonly as lye or caustic soda, is... You stop reading and scramble to grab naoh's first-ever work: a work in which that same chemical plays a major role in murder. NaOH is a substance that, when heated to a certain degree, can dissolve a human body into a syrupy liquid in just three hours.

And that's the pen name of a mangaka who writes and illustrates horror stories about the sordid sides of humankind. A mangaka who might just be a murderer racking up a horrifying kill count, and no one knows anything about them or where they might be in the world. Most of all, no one knows where they'll strike next and who will fall victim to a dangerous killer.

naoh is a mangaka catalouging their murders, and you're determined to prove it.

#twisted chit chat #i promise i am sane about jade leech #internet sleuth reader teaming up with police officer deuce spade to help find and capture naoh >:) #i just know jade was rubbing his hands together like a devious mosquito when he was coming up with that pen name #hypothetically what if i write a fic with this concept and it's as brutal as 11:11..... hehe jk jk #or am i.....??? :)

[bowsellie]

better than revenge - pt 2

fic warnings: cheating, angst, love triangle. abby x reader, reader x ellie, abby x ellie kind of. MDNI, smut

part 1 part 3

warnings: not proof read! ellie x reader, smut without feelings, kind of toxic!reader, manipulatey!reader, SMUT, MDNI. oral (r! receiving), face fucking (e! receiving), praise, pet names.

The rest of the night was spent internet sleuthing. Going through the girls Abby followed named Ellie--of which there were three--and finding the only one with a pride flag in her bio. Requesting to follow and scrolling through her posts to confirm that she was exactly Abby's type. Liking a few of her recent posts to show her you've been looking, then going through your mutual friends to figure out your common link.

After some time gathering information, you decided to send her a message.

hey, idk if you know me but we have a couple friends in common. I can't believe we've never met, you seem so cool!

Shortly, a response came.

oh, hey! yeah I've seen you around but never had the chance to introduce myself haha. well, I'm ellie (obviously).

You let yourself fall into the comfortable lull of flirting with Ellie. Complimenting her appearance, her vibe. Mentioning your queerness. Bringing up the potential to meet up in person. Everything that had worked on Abby seemed to be working on Ellie.

oh, are you still dating that abby girl?

Shit.

oh, her. idk honestly haha. we're on a break or something, but I don't think we'll get back together. I kind of have my eye on someone else.

who?

You looked at her message, considering for a moment before the three dots on Ellie's side popped up again.

do I know them at least? I won't say anything if I do--swear.

how about we go out to coffee and I can tell you then?

Nervousness and excitement danced in your gut as you watched for her response. When the little "yes" appeared, you smiled to yourself and began to make plans to see Ellie.

---💗💗💗---

"You're so pretty, baby."

Ellie's mouth was against your ear, breathing hot and humid as you whimpered. Her knee grinding against your cunt, pressing into the seam of your jeans and expertly growing a pressure there that you knew would pay off sweetly.

Her soft mouth moved to kiss your face all over. Cheeks, brows, lips, as she whispered praises in between. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen. So perfect. I bet you're so sweet." At this suggestion, your hips bucked upwards and elicited a louder groan out of your mouth. "You want me to taste you, sweet girl?"

You nodded quickly, somewhat dazed already. Sex with Abby hadn't felt this good since the very beginning of your relationship, when sparks were still flying and the fire in your bellies was bright. Before the domesticity, and the comfort, and...

You should probably stop thinking about your girlfriend while fucking another girl.

Tuning back in, you noticed that Ellie had pulled your jeans and panties down in one swipe and was resting her cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with hungry eyes. Making eye contact, she leaned forward slowly until her warm mouth attached itself to your cunt. You closed your eyes as you moaned, immediately overwhelmed by how warm and wet and good it felt to have Ellie's tongue playing through your folds. She teased at your clit before moving back down and giving long licks to your pussy, listening attentively to what made you pant and groan and squirm underneath her. She focused more and more attention on your pulsing clit, sucking it between her teeth harshly and applying pressure that made your back arch and thighs clasp around her head. Your hands took two chunks of her hair and began to pull her closer to you, pushing your hips against her mouth as she sucked and lick at your clit. Tensing up and practically shouting her name, you came messily over her mouth.

Ellie leaned away and looked up at you with a grin, wiping her mouth on her hand. "You are sweet." She leaned forward over your body to kiss you sloppily, the tangy taste of pussy on your tongue.

“Ellie,” you whined. “I wanna taste you.”

“Want me to fuck your face, pretty girl?” You nodded enthusiastically, reaching to pull her close to you. Ellie discarded her jeans, moving to position herself above your face. She held you by your hair and lowered her wet cunt over your mouth, holding you still as she ground over your extended tongue.

The girl above you was a grunter. Between praises of how good you were doing, she was breathing out carnal pants and groans that grew louder when she began to increase the pressure. Your jaw was sore, but you knew Ellie was close as your teeth bumped against her clit one, two, three times. As her rhythm stuttered and the grip on your hair loosened, Ellie’s thighs squeezed tight around your head as she came right on your tongue. Your tastes blended into something strong that stayed on your tongue as Ellie climbed off your face, kissing your hair and heading towards the bathroom to grab a washcloth and clean you off.

Wiping down your legs and chin, you sat up and began retrieving your discarded clothes. Ellie sat on the edge of the bed, shy in a contrast to her precious persona. “Have somewhere to be?” she asked. She placed her weight on one hand behind her in an attempt to look casual, but a crease sat between her eyebrows.

“Yeah, it’s late and I have to get home. This was great though. I want to see you again.” Your words came out rushed, and you glanced up at Ellie.

“Yeah, let’s do this again. Should I, I don’t know, walk you home or something?”

You shook your head, already halfway out the door. “No no no, don’t worry about that.”

Suddenly, your plan was getting risky. Yes, you wanted Abby to find out and be jealous. But how were you planning to tell her? How would she actually react? The foundation began to crumble and you bit the bottom of your lip raw on the way home.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #abby anderson #ellie smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut

[ganseyenthusiast]

anyways since the theme of post-TRK seems to be that every single character ignores any development they had and gets worse, I'm listing everything out here + with a rating of how likely I, the authority of everything ever, think it was. greywaren spoilers obviously

1. Declan: Decides Dad was good all along, disregards real actual emotional abuse and parentification as "misremembering" how great Niall was. 6/10. CDTHEU Declan is a very different character to TRK Declan, I still think he's been too self aware throughout to suddenly walk it back THIS severely. I predict a severe breakdown for him age 30 since I've never witnessed someone do Denial as their last stage of grief.. it’s gonna be explosive

2. Ronan: Disregards his family for the majority of his arc, is worse to them than in TRC. does not call gansey for months. finds a new FP instead of a therapist. emotionally worse off. does find himself via terrorism I guess? 9/10. pretty on brand for Ronan to go scorched earth and suffer zero consequences. I do wish he was made aware of his birth circumstances and displayed the same love/grief for aurora/niall that he's shown in every book except greywaren. are you telling me he can look at the New Fenian and be OKAY?????

3. Adam: ‘Reinvents’ himself, suffers, lies, suffers again. Does not call gansey. Suffers in the VoidSpace, apparently with no lasting consequences. becomes a narc. 7/10. I was hoping for a more self aware adam post TRK but him choosing to pull a Henry Cheng is also pretty on brand. wish he'd actually broken up with Ronan for at least a week. him becoming a narc is unfortunately pretty accurate to character but government jobs are not famously well paying so it really does feel random? the only thing he’s done that’s close to sleuthing is inventing pedo murder charges for his teacher/keeping with the bryde stuff. plus he's still not utilizing his magic skill so this just feels like a continuation of the Harvard arc for the rest of his life which is REALLY baffling when u compare how many times TRK insists he's a magician and will remain a magician/psychic despite everything. seems he's growing MORE disconnected with himself. i’m all for negative development but it’s really being framed as a happy ending which is baffling ngl

4. Gansey: has a sociology degree + is only associated with blue (and nobody else) in the 4-5 years since TRK. Completely reversed his stance on henrietta being home, on "I'd take all of you anywhere with me", on his dedication to history/archeology. does not seem too concerned about Ronan going insane, still odd despite the time he's had to get used to it. 5/10. horrible representation of gansey but I DO like that he's focusing on himself instead of raising pynch. as i say this i remember the ring thing and grit my teeth. complete ignorance of Henry AFTER his whole "friends forever and ewer" TRK thing gives me a good playground to make things worse so I like it but it's definitely weird. how did being a teenager specifically suck for you king because I think Being Dead trauma is unrelated to age

5. Matthew: nearly found independence + love in the abrasive way that lynches give it, then was disregarded emotionally and still not given an apology for the Everything from declan. 8/10. extremely on brand for the lynches to not hold each other accountable. Matthew seems to have improved somewhat + Declan is less overbearing about him, so I like it, I'll take it

6. Henry: went into Seondeok's black market low level mob business, got divorced?, does not speak to bluesey. 10/10. it’s so bad. absolutely off brand for the entire theme of him rejecting the Orders his mother who Literally Forced him to come to henrietta gave him (did not begin this game looking for a friend etc). refutes the entire "find your own something more" theme, refutes the "three of us" theme, refutes the "im going to make something great" motives. and I love it. TRULY my worst ending for Henry is becoming yet another fairy market nepotism casualty. he will Literally never escape and it’s FANTASTIC it is so much fun. Ha Ha You Have Become Your Mother

7. Fenian/Mor: live at the fucking barns now. 1/10. you are telling me a series whose entire THING is based on growing up/overcoming grief/moving on ends with THE FUCKING LYNCH FAMILY BACK AT THE BARNS?????????? WHAT THE HELL???? WHY IS EVERYONE OKAY WITH ANY OF THIS??????????????????????????????????????????????????

#mostly i want to reference this and see if my eventual reread changes my opinions #greywaren #dreamer trilogy #cdtheu #mstief