#Mel Bonis

[senfonikankara]

Mel Bonis | Suite en trio

[lesser-known-composers]

Mel Bonis (1858–1937) - Flute Sonata

Flute/ Alena Walentin & Piano/ Berit Johansen Tange

[elmartillosinmetre]

Mi crítica del concierto de Mégret, Cernat, Fausto y Martínez-Pierret esta noche en el Maestranza.

[musicwithoutborders]

Mel Bonis / Bertrand Chamayou, Miocheries, Op. 126: No. 13, La toute petite s'endort I Good Night!, 2020

[rolflovesclassicalmusic]

Concert review, ★★★★, Esther Hoppe, Chiara Enderle Samatanga, Luisa Seraina Splett @ Kirchgemeindehaus, Winterthur-Veltheim, 2023-03-05 — Mel Bonis (1858 – 1937): Piano Trio "Soir-Matin", op.76 (1907); Dora Pejačević (1885 – 1923): Piano Trio in C major, op.29 (1910); Lili Boulanger (1893 – 1918): Piano Trio "D'un soir triste" (1917/1918); Rebecca Clarke (1886 – 1979): Piano Trio (1921)

[hexb0nes]

“this is a bit silly, don’t you think?” viktor questions you, as you hand him another sweater to try on, “an ugly sweater contest? i have never such a thing.”

“relax, vik,” you hum, “it’s a holiday tradition! jayce and everyone else is doing, too.”

viktor glances down at the sweater in his hands, bony fingers feeling the soft fabric, “did you make this one yourself?” he asks.

“maybeeeee…” you giggle. viktor offers you a small smile, “i’ll wear this then.”

you grinned in delight, “well, get it on! we don’t have much time until the party starts.”

... ... ...

“oh. my. gods,” mel’s baffled expression forces you to stifle back laughter, “what in the world is he wearing?”

“i don’t know what you mean,” you chuckle, nursing a toasty cup of hot chocolate in your hands, “it’s just a sweater, isn’t it?”

in the distance, viktor is chatting quietly with jayce, the man of progress himself shaking with suppressed laughter. on the pretty red sweater, three photographs of jayce are attached with the word ‘ho’ pointing at him.

“you made that, didn’t you?” mel snorts.

“yup!” you proudly proclaim.

“…think you could make me one?”

“absolutely.”

[korgidorgi]

Mel Medarda x Winged!Reader

This is going to be my first post in a series, but it’s going to be a bit over the place. I have another post coming soon to explain, but for now, I want to share this :)

Warnings: Violence/interrogation, mention of blood, syringe(s), Season 2 spoilers

This one is short, idk how many words; I forgot to count.

Summary: Ambessa Medarda hates you and blames you for the disappearance of Mel.

••• ••• •••

A harsh slap to the side of your head briefly stops the ringing in your ears. You slowly recover from the force, your head hanging loosely. Blood trickles from your nose, your mouth, your ear, all the way down your face and dripping onto the floor. The ringing slowly comes back to your ears.

“I’m still not getting any answers from you.” Ambessa sneers down at you, her face scrunched up in a snarl.

Your wrists are shackled behind you, suspended by chains connected to the wall. Your feathers are mangled from the iron clasps suspending your wings from the ceiling.

“I told you…” you huff in response. “I don’t know.”

Ambessa clearly doesn’t like your answer, her hand coming down against the other side of your face.

“I need answers, not spontaneous amnesia!” She demands.

Her hand roughly grabs your jaw, her fingers digging into your already bruised skin, forcing your head up to meet her fiery gaze.

“For the last time, rat: where is my daughter? Where is Mel?” She practically screams in your face, her grip increasing with each moment that goes by that she doesn’t get an answer she wants. “You think this is pain, Child? I’ll show you pain you can’t even begin to fathom!”

She releases your jaw, shoving you back a bit and aggravating the raw skin underneath your shackles. You bite back a wince, rage just bubbling under the surface.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know.” You seethe at her. “I’ve been looking for her this whole time, if you’d just listen—“

Another harsh slug to your stomach immediately shuts you up, leaving you gasping for air. The chains rattle as your chest heaves, your body trembling from the violent interrogation. An interrogation that’s going absolutely nowhere.

“Lies!” Ambessa screams at you, pacing an angry circle in front of you.

She runs a hand down her face, turning back to look at you. She scoffs at you before glancing over to one of her loyal soldiers, motioning to him with her hand.

“Bring in the Doctor,” she commands him, her eyes finding their way back to you.

There’s a dark aura about the woman. Her love for her daughter is completely clouded by rage, by the willingness to do anything it takes to get her daughter back.

The door opens and a table full of tools and syringes is wheeled in. The man pushing the cart files in, trading a look with Ambessa before setting up his station. You recognize him.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Ambessa places a heavy hand on his bony shoulder as she regards him in passing. “I want to hear it scream herself raw.”

With that, she exits the cell, leaving you alone with the madman; but not before giving you a sinister glance, her lips curling slightly up into a sadistic smirk. She gives another scoff as she regards you, taking pleasure in the sight of your eyes being overtaken with pure fear.

“It’s nice to see you again, little bird,” the Doctor greets you, glancing from the syringe in his hand to meet your gaze. “I hope you haven’t forgotten your little friend. Let’s see if this’ll convince you to give her answers.”

He flicks the syringe, getting rid of any bubbles from inside. He lets out a small, sadistic chuckle, striding over to you.

Your chest heaves, your breaths coming in short and quick, panic setting into your bones the harder your heart pounds. You fight against the chains, trying desperately to somehow break free, to get away from him. You can feel the Shimmer pumping through your veins, but even the boost it gives you is not enough to break through the shackles.

Singed places a hand on your arm, preventing you from struggling too much as he moves to inject the concoction into your body. It’s a process you’re hauntingly familiar with.

For the next hour, Ambessa hums to herself, enjoying the sound of her caged bird singing. She listens with glee until she can hear your agonized movements, your throat now raw and refusing to produce much of any sound.

[weveseenallthegreenery]

Jayce Joins the Party — Mel Medarda seeks out Viktor after discovering her arcane talents.

sfw | part 3 | 2013 words | shortfic | alternate season 2 | loosely edited | kind of spoilers

We had very little to do today and had decided to sleep in. The past few days had been so overwhelming that I just needed a little break, and Viktor pretended that he needed one too so that he could stay with me while I rested. It was sweet. I could tell that he was lying about being a little bit tired too, but that didn’t make me appreciate the fact that he wanted to stay in bed with me any less. He was twirling his finger in the hoop of my earrings as we just sat there and looked at the ceiling.

We still hadn’t talked about what the kiss from the other day meant—although, it had already happened a few times since then. At first, I thought he was just trying to calm me down. That he thought his kiss would distract anyone considering the godly being that he is—that perhaps it was some rather egotistical attempt at shutting me up. However, it seemed like my being upset wasn’t the only situation in which he wanted to kiss me, and I was grateful for that. I would likely have been insulted if I found out otherwise.

I turned onto my side, unintentionally causing him to have to unhook his finger from my jewelry as I attempted to ask, “Viktor, wh—”

Footsteps.

I shot up before I could finish my sentence. Anyone in the commune was welcome to visit Viktor; it was common knowledge. However, something about the presence in the home didn’t feel familiar to the land we walked on. A pit started forming in my stomach as I got up from the bed and sped toward the main area. Someone had to have gotten through the security of the gate—I could feel the presence of a weapon. But I wasn’t sure how that was possible when we had just gotten done maintaining everything a few days earlier.

I walked faster as I tried to make sense of what was going on, barely hearing as Viktor sat up in the bed and called after me, barely recognizing the slow sound of his footsteps as he started to follow me. My direction was so confusing that I hardly knew when my body stopped, hardly registering the face in front of me before the hollowness in my gut lifted. It was Jayce. He was worn down and untrimmed, but it was still Jayce. Not my mother.

“Where’s Viktor?” His voice came out gruffer than it had been in the past. It almost had the raspiness of a long-term smoker. He had to have gone through something terrible for such a shift in accent.

I placed a hand in front of me to tell him to stay where he was as my eyes fell to the hammer in his hands—it, too, looked like it had seen some things it shouldn’t have, “Why are you looking for him?”

“Now isn’t the time for your questions, Mel,” Jayce bit out. I could hear Viktor’s footsteps stop in the background, a respectable distance away from where his partner and I were conversing. “He told me where to find him. I promised him something.”

I brought my hand back to my stomach and idly traced circles along my skin. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to have the break that I had so desperately wanted from today. I sighed, glancing at the floor before settling my gaze on the crease of his brow. “From what he explained to me, you didn’t say much of anything to him… in fact, he suggested that you may be unhappy with him. Is that true?”

“Mel,” he held no hint of sympathy in his voice—no hint of gratitude for any of the things we had done in this space, “Just let me through. This is none of your business.”

I sighed once again before humming, “I’m afraid I can’t let you in here, Jayce. At least, not with that weapon.”

Jayce opened his mouth to argue with me, but before any words could come out, I felt bony fingers wrap around my shoulder as Viktor appeared behind me. I gasped and turned my head. I had assumed that he stopped walking when I could no longer hear his footsteps. Apparently, I was wrong. Apparently, The Herald had a death wish.

“Jayce,” My friend’s voice came with an uncharacteristic softness. He had been gentle and kind to me for the past few weeks that I’d been here, but I had never once heard him sound anything other than neutral. Maybe he had sounded happy once or twice, but nothing like the pure tenderness Jayce’s name held on his tongue. “You have come.”

Jayce held out his hammer and pointed it directly above my shoulder. He didn’t say anything as he started channeling the energy to the head of the weapon. He was going to shoot Viktor without even saying goodbye. I tried to move my hand, tried to hold it out so that I could do something—but Viktor used his free hand to grab onto my own, clearly not wanting me to go through with it. My eyes widened as I looked between the weapon and Viktor. I had to do something. I couldn’t just let this happen… but it didn’t happen.

Jayce sighed and dropped his hammer as he muttered, “Fuck.”

“Do you regret what you have done?” Viktor’s voice was smooth, calm. He showed no hint of anger at the fact that his best friend had just pointed a weapon at him.

Jayce shook his head, slowly dropping to his knees as he brought his hands to his face. He dragged his palms across his cheeks and forehead before locking his fingers into his hair with a frustrated sigh. “You warned me. You told me what would happen, and I…”

“I didn’t know what would happen, Jayce. Not really,” Viktor smiled, walking toward the man before crouching in front of him. “Do I look like I have lost control to you? I have helped the people here. I am doing no harm. All of the good things that I have accomplished are because of you. Because you cared about me enough not to give up on my life.”

Jayce hesitantly looked up, staring at the man in front of him. His voice was shaky, increasing in volume the longer he spoke, “But you don’t understand, Viktor. This won’t last forever. This power won’t always be good. You have to know that. You have to know that you lose a little bit of yourself the further you go, the more you utilize the Hexcore.”

“I do know,” Viktor hummed calmly, pulling Jayce’s face into his chest and rubbing the back of his neck. “But when that time comes, I will die with all of the life that I have preserved. The world you know will not be in danger past the existence of the commune.”

Jayce shook his head even harder but didn’t pull away from his friend, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s back as he mumbled, “No, I’ve seen it. It won’t end that way. It won’t happen like that.”

“The future can always be altered,” I spoke up, not wanting to simply watch the conversation in front of me. “Perhaps Viktor’s life doesn’t always have to end with the world. Perhaps, you weren’t seeing the future but another reality to begin with.”

Jayce hesitated to look up at me, his widening once he noticed the new markings along my flesh, “Why are you here… Why do you look different? Did he do something to you, Mel?”

I crossed my arms and scowled at him, “Don’t even suggest such a thing—of course he would never hurt me. I have awakened. I am one of the arcane.”

“What? No, you’re not,” He completely let go of Viktor, standing abruptly and speeding toward me. Jayce grabbed my face and examined my skin, his eyes still wide. “You never looked like this before. Is that even possible? People are born arcane.”

“People are born arcane, but they are not born with the knowledge of how to control it,” I stated bluntly.

I shook his head and dropped his hands from my face, “I can’t believe this. Is this why you were so supportive of Hextech? You wanted to learn how to utilize your nature through technology? I knew you were using me, but I didn’t know it was for something like this.” He laughed bitterly.

“No,” I kept my voice firm as I grabbed his arm, “Don’t go coming up with assumptions about me based on my heritage, Jayce. I just found out who I was not that long ago. My mother lied about my paternity.”

His gaze softened as he sighed, “Alright. I believe you… but why here?”

“Because Viktor understands me,” I looked over at the scrawnier man, eyes tracing over the greyish purple marks along his skin—beautiful and dead, healed and scarred. The shimmer ran deep within his body just as the arcane did. “We both exist within the same standard now.”

Jayce looked like he wanted to argue but decided against it. He didn’t reach for his weapon again but merely asked, “Can you show me around the commune? I would like to see what the two of you have done.”

_________________________________

After we finished showing Jayce around the commune, we ended up in the garden. I was perched on a log, resting my head on my knee as Jayce mumbled, “I didn’t know that so many diverse life forms could survive down here.”

“That’s because they usually can’t,” Viktor confirmed. “The amount of greenery in the undercity has greatly diminished from the time I was a child—conditions have supposedly improved since the grey, but things have only gotten worse for the people and the environment.”

Jayce stayed quiet for a moment, staring at his reflection in a pool near where I was seated, “Then, how is everything so beautiful here?”

“Hope,” I spoke up. “I wasn’t quite sure how it worked at first, either. I thought that Viktor’s kindness might be a ploy to get me to stay and join his cult… but it was always my choice to come here, and as I helped out a bit more, I saw the way people looked at him. They rely on him. The plants do not have the arcane in them. They are untouched. They are growing simply because of the protective environment, because they are loved and given the will to grow.”

The quiet returned once more. Jayce seemed a lot different from how he was in the past, so ambitious and ready to share a piece of his mind. Now, he seemed hesitant to even breathe in the wrong way—like one wrong move could steal away his lifeforce. And it could, but it wouldn’t. I watched and waited to see what he would do.

Viktor was the one who made the next move, setting his hand on Jayce’s shoulder as he inquired, “Would you like to experience what life in the commune entails?” “I’m not sure that I should do that,” Jayce’s voice came out much quieter than a whisper, although it appeared that wasn’t his intention. “I have responsibilities in Piltover, and I’ve already been gone for far too long… you have responsibilities, too, Mel. You shouldn’t linger here.”

“I will know when they need me,” I smiled at him, patting the spot next to me to encourage him to take a seat.

Viktor let go of Jayce so that the burly man could come and sit next to me. The Herald balled his hand into a fist and coughed into it before declaring, “You will know when they need you, too, Jayce. You do not have to stay forever, but I would like for you to join us just for a few days. We could catch up. It has been awhile since we had a good conversation.”

I nodded, looking into the other man’s eyes. It appeared that he was giving into the pressure before Jayce sighed, “Fine.”

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | smut filler | part 5 | part 6

[apaperswan]

Ok, I am the only one who became obsessed with Pelléas and Mélisande after listening to this?

For context: "Pelléas and Mélisande (French: Pelléas et Mélisande) is a Symbolist play by the Belgian playwright and author Maurice Maeterlinck. It's about the forbidden, doomed love of the title characters and was first performed in 1893.

The work never achieved great success on stage, apart from operatic setting by Claude Debussy, but was at the time widely read and admired by the symbolist literary elite, such as Strindberg and Rilke. It inspired other contemporary composers, like Gabriel Fauré, Arnold Schoenberg, Jean Sibelius, and Mel Bonis.

Synopsis: Golaud finds Mélisande by a stream in the woods. She has lost her crown in the water but does not wish to retrieve it. They marry, and she instantly wins the favor of Arkël, Golaud's grandfather and king of Allemonde, who is ill. She begins to be drawn to Pelléas, Golaud's brother. They meet by the fountain, where Mélisande loses her wedding ring. Golaud grows suspicious of the lovers, has his son Yniold spy on them, and discovers them caressing, whereupon he kills Pelléas and wounds Mélisande. She later dies after giving birth to an abnormally small girl. Source: Wikipedia.

A very interesting aspect is that it is a Symbolist play adapted numerous time, but especially by Debussy as an opera, that I'm sure Lestat has **convinced** Louis to watch 😄

Also on Wikipedia: "A brief summary of the play will concentrate best on Mélisande. At the beginning of the play she has just escaped from a failed marriage that has so traumatized her that she scarcely remembers either it or her past. She marries Golaud with no choice of her own, and remains essentially distant from him. The audience realize she is falling in love with Pelléas long before she does. On her deathbed she has quite forgotten her final meeting with Pelléas and his death, and dies without realizing that she is dying. This and the whole play—for none of the other characters are wiser—expresses a sense that human beings understand neither themselves nor each other nor the world. The problem is not simply human blindness, but the lack of a fixed and definable reality to be known. This is the Maeterlinck who paved the way for the plays of Samuel Beckett.

A key element in the play is the setting, whether visible in the stage scenery or described in the dialogue. The action takes place in an ancient, decaying castle, surrounded by deep forest, which only occasionally lets sunlight in, and with caverns underneath it that breathe infected air and are in danger of collapse. As numerous critics have pointed out, all this symbolizes the dominating power throughout the action of a destiny fatal to mankind. "

I just love how specific this is, how appropriate and how evocative the whole story is of Louis and Lestat, and I love how Louis does remember it and includes it in his Dreamstat version of it in Paris 🙈

[lesser-known-composers]

MÉLANIE HÉLÈNE BONIS (1858-1937) - Sonata in F major, opus 67 (1905)

1. Moderato quasi Andante, Allegretto 2. Très lent 3. Moderato molto, Allegro con fuoco

Božo Paradžik, double bass & Hansjacob Staemmler, piano

[elmartillosinmetre]

Mi crítica del concierto de Antonio Oyarzábal esta noche en el Espacio Turina.

[volumina-vetustiora]

Aestivus Dolor Summertime Sadness

verba a Lana Regali scripta, converta a me lyrics by Lana Del Rey, translated by me

basia me discedens aestivus dolor dicere tibi vellem te optimam, amor

vestem rubram indui nocte salto in luna pallenti comam meam regie affixi nudae pede vigor est mihi

o di boni, in aere id sentio tympana pulsari audio mel, in sensu tota ardeo nihil iam me perterret

basia me discedens aestivus dolor dicere tibi vellem te optimam, amor

mihi est aestivus dolor aestivus dolor mi est aestivus dolor

me ut fulmen sentio per oram propere pergo caram malam bona habeo laeta moriar si peribo

o di boni, in aere id sentio tympana pulsari audio mel, in sensu tota ardeo nihil iam me perterret

basia me discedens aestivus dolor dicere tibi vellem te optimam, amor

mihi est aestivus dolor aestivus dolor mi est aestivus dolor

fors te caream semper sicut stellae sole carent in caelo sero melius quam numquam etsi discessisti ego pergo

mihi est aestivus dolor aestivus dolor mi est aestivus dolor

basia me discedens aestivus dolor dicere tibi vellem te optimam, amor

mihi est aestivus dolor aestivus dolor mi est aestivus dolor

[halcyon-days-no-more]

Gargoyle Enid

Enid is the rookery sister of Elodie, Mel, Quinn and Shae. She is also the bio-sister of Willow - let's just say he take's after one of their parent while she takes after the other.

The inspiration for the bony protrusions at her wrists is Kai from the Ishimura Clan. Another uncommon feature of hers is the club like end of her tail that is made up of a series of bony plates - think Draco's tail from Dragon Heart.

[hexb0nes]

since i read your rules, i hope you acept request, cause i love how you you write those two <3 Sooo, maybe an scenario, spicy even where Reader was like an assitant for then in season 1, helping then both, kinda like sky but between the 3 there always was some kind of sexual tension and obviously, care and love, but nothing official. And after the final season and Jinx's bomb she disapeared. So the escenario will be for around the middle of the the season, basically with Jesus Viktor and traumatized Jayce and she appear again (maybe she pass trough sometinng like Mel with the black rose) And they tough she was dead, and she do not recognized any of them. I hope it makes sence, love your writting <3

FIGHT BACK - A JAYVIK / READER STORY

word count: 2.4k

warnings: suggestive in the beginning, violence, character death

summary: Everyone thinks you died the day Jinx blew up the Council's chambers. Yet, as the world moves forward and new chaos erupts, you find yourself in a strange realm, subjected to torturous trials. When you finally complete them, an otherworldly force offers you a second chance: return to the mortal realm dead as you were meant to be or ascend.

a/n: AAAAA you are the sweetest!! thank you for this request, it's my first one for this blog :D i hope you enjoy this, my dear!

Lingering touches. Soft smiles. Wandering hands.

You feel two sets of hands on your body, one bony and one firm. They caress your body with the precision of a marksman, finding your sensitive spots and inciting whimpers from your glossy lips. The bony hands are nimble and able to get into the nooks and crannies of your flushed skin while the firm hands plant themselves around your waist, giving your sides a playful squeeze. The touches feel familiar but still too foreign for your liking. Resist, fight back!

Sharp jawline. Dark circles under the eyes. Hooked nose.

A shadow emerges before you and fixates its gaze on you, the only piece untouched by darkness being its white sclera. It floats towards you and the hands on your body retract from you, as the shadow tilts your chin up with a finger. The room around you flickers between light and dark; you yelp and try to wiggle free from the shadow's touch, only for it to tighten its grip on your face. Resist, fight back!

Muscular arms. Scarred eyebrow. The scent of ash and metal.

Heavy chains wrap around your limbs and shackle you to the ground. You hiss when your knees hit the floor, as you are forced to bow in front of darkness itself. Yet, the shadow vanishes without a trace. The room darkens for a moment before lightening up, you wince at the sudden brightness.

Stacks of paper. Broken pencils. Equations written on chalkboards.

No longer are you in a pseudo-torture room, but rather adrift in space, constellations and passing comets greeting you with warm light. Your chains jerk upwards and you find yourself dangling from a set of pillars, one chain attached to each structure. You sway helplessly in the boundless abyss of space. Resist, fight back!

Fresh scones. Quiet laughter in the bookstore. A kiss on the check.

"Resist," you rasp, voice hoarse from lack of use. You have lost track of how many trials you completed to get to this point, an endless road to nowhere. That's how it was, you appeared in these chambers and had been since on a quest for freedom. This isn't your world, you know that for a fact, but where you came before this maze of challenges remains unknown.

Whispers in your ear. Hot breath against your skin. Mutters of your name.

"Fight-" you grunt loudly to yourself, as you pull down on your chains, "-BACK!"

Mustering every ounce of strength in your weary body, you thrust the chains down hard, breaking them free from the pillars. They fall harmlessly from your hands and fade away into stardust, floating away into deep space. You try to find your footing, but it's no use; you are drifting in space, after all.

You inhale and to your surprise, you’re able to breathe. Duh, you were able to speak earlier, silly. You allow yourself to float aimlessly through space, admiring the constellations. It had always been your… dream? What’s your dream? Dream, dream, dream… you have dreams. What are your dreams? You can’t remember, you barely remember your own name. How long has it been since you were sucked into this prison?

“Nearly three months.”

Your ears perk up at the sound of someone’s voice. It booms with power and great strength, the force of the words alone almost knocks you off your path. Nonetheless, in an attempt to retrieve answers, you call out to the stranger, “Hello! Who are you?”

A sudden surge of comets and asteroids zip past you, as the space around you begins to rumble. You sense something off—no, something ancient—while you await for a lull of peace. That’s when you feel it, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Confused, you turn around and come face to face with something unimaginable.

A being made of blinding golden light floats before you. An assortment of blinking eyes cover its armor and it towers over you like a skyscraper. Your head throbs after staring for too long and you face away, “Who are you?”

“There are many answers to that question,” the being appears in front of you, this time with a more human appearance. It takes on the form of a lean man, silky hair and siren-like eyes shine golden. Behind his armor, you notice a shield and sword attached to his back. You rub your heads and try to adjust to the presence of this mysterious creature, “Please, just tell me who you are or how I can get out of here!”

“They call me the Sovereign,” the strange man complies with your wish, “However, the mortals of Runeterra usually refer to be as Pyxis.”

“Pyxis,” you refresh your memory on where you heard that word before, “The constellation.”

“Correct,” states the Sovereign, “I do apologize for putting you through these trials and tribulations, but I needed to access your abilities and worth as my host.”

“Host?” you mindlessly tap on a bit of broken meteorite, “What do you mean by that?”

“I am the Aspect of Freedom,” his voice roars throughout the abyss, “I represent the desire, the need, and the want that centers around the gain and loss of freedom. I am an extension of free will and tend to its aid,” the Sovereign’s hair and eyes glow amidst the darkness of space, “Someone threatens the free will of Piltover and Zaun.”

The space that the two of you have been drifting in abruptly disappears, taking the shining stars and radiant planets with it. You’re back in the pit, the hole of pure darkness. The only light comes from the Sovereign themself, “You are the only one who can correct the course of this dangerous path.

“And if I say no?” you inquiry.

“Then you will return to the mortal realm, dead.”

“What?” your blood turns cold.

“Within seconds of the bomb launched by the one called ‘Jinx’, I intervened and transported into my spire of challenge. If you were to return now without my assistance, you would only come back to that explosion. You were destined to die,” the Sovereign explains.

Destined to die. “I guess I don’t have a choice then,” you mumble under your breath. The Sovereign shakes its head in response, “No, you do have a choice. Let destiny conclude or forge a new path. A second chance, the choice is yours.”

A second chance. Vague visuals play out in your mind, as you try to piece together what happened up before the explosion. Shadows of people sitting around a table, the mention of ‘Zaun’ and ‘independence’, a gloved hand holding yours— then the explosion. You shake off the muddled memories, “Okay,” you inhale and exhale out a shaky breath, “Let’s do this.”

The Sovereign offers you a smile, the most expressive it has been so far, “Very well,” it extends a hand to you, “Allow us to seal this in the traditional mortal way.” you eye the hand and let out a soft sigh, “It’s a deal.”

Crackles of lightning surround you two’s hands, thunder reverberating around the lifeless realm. A pained cry escapes you, as the Sovereign’s hand heats up around yours, as if you’re touching the Sun itself. The light grows and grows before engulfing you whole, your body evaporating away as fragmented pieces ready to be reforged.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Jayce stumbles somewhat drunkenly through the terrain that leads up to Viktor’s commune. The people of Zaun speak so highly of ‘The Herald’, but only Jayce knows the truth. Viktor must die.

Flashes of red, green, and blue pierce his mind and Jayce grits his teeth in pain. Images of broken mechanical dolls plague his sight and he readies his hammer for attack. The images dim away and reveal where Jayce has pointed his hammer, a little boy dressed in white and glowing imprints on his forehead. Fingerprints? Jayce questions.

The little boy reaches a hand up to Jayce and he knows that it’s Viktor puppeteering his actions. Nonetheless, Jayce accepts his hand and follows the boy towards a spherical outpost, Viktor’s outpost. The boy walks off upon completing his mission and Jayce wordlessly enters the outpost.

Before him, Viktor mediates above, strings of whitish god light attached to his mechanical body. He opens his eyes and graces Jayce with a small smile. Closing his eyes, Jayce holds up his hammer and activates the beam component, its charge altered by the Hexgates anomaly. Viktor’s eyes shift like a kaleidoscope, fear evident.

Jayce prepares his blast, a single tear rolling down his battered and dirt-speckled cheek, I promised.

A flash beams forth, but not from Jayce’s hammer. It coats the interior in blinding light and renders the other occupants unable to move. The light soon dies down, a small crater apparent in the flooring with a person emerging from it. They wear a golden cloak with white detailing, their boots an abnormally spotless white. Jayce aims his hammer at the cloaked figure, “Stand back! I have to do this!”

Light footsteps with their movement, the figure approaches Jayce and the taller man charges up his hammer once more. Yet, glowing chains of gold appear from the ground and shackle Jayce’s limbs, pinning him down. The hammer levitates and the cloaked person snatches it in their hand, not even Jayce himself could hold the altered hammer with some resistance. Slowly, the cloaked person sets the hammer aside and removes their cloak before Jayce and Viktor.

“It’s you,” the man on the ground croaks, tears swelling up in his doe brown eyes, “It’s you.”

Your hair and face are on full display for both inventors to see, no longer their usual colors. The color of your hair is an unnatural shade of golden that pulsates almost like sunlight. Your eyes match with a similar golden hue, Jayce tears that he would be blinded if he stares for too long in your eyes. You adjust your cloak, the sight of a white bodysuit and padded chain mail armor underneath, as you turn your back to Jayce and face Viktor.

“You’re alive,” despite Viktor’s monotonous response, his expression of surprise and gratitude betray him.

Tears roll down Jayce’s cheeks, “We- I thought you were dead,” memories of the explosion play out before him, finding Viktor among the ruins but not you. The enforcers had searched through every inch of the destroyed council room for you, but nothing. Everyone had believed that your body disintegrated from the bomb’s heat, the only remains of your presence in the council room being your broken necklace.

You don't react, you question to yourself why these strange men are talking you to with such affection and worry. You have a mission, the Sovereign informs you that the one referred to as 'The Herald' was jeopardizing the free will of Piltover and Zaun. Your objective is to neutralize the threat.

Something materializes in your hand, the head of a large pointed knife sways by your feet. Like the chains attached to Jayce, the chains on your weapon are connected, each section bound by platinum rings. A red silk is tied around the head near the knife and a green silk is tied behind the handle you're holding You adjust your grasp on the chain whip and launch your assault.

Jayce watches with objective horror and some fascination by your movements. You're different now, no longer their happy-go-lucky and driven assistant but an elegant dancer, leaping and flipping through the air, as you increase the speed and force of your weapon with the speeding of your arm. For a moment, you're levitating like Viktor and throw the chains with all your might. They snake around Viktor's body and constrict him, as he gasps in surprise. You press the point of knife head against his temple, one of the only remaining human parts in his body.

Jayce, meanwhile, is in awe of your actions and skills, ignoring the fact that you're floating like Viktor. The chains that bind him retract and vanish, freeing Jayce from his imprisonment. You shout to Jayce, "Grab the hammer and shoot!" Viktor struggles against your hold, but you only tighten the chains in response, "This ends now."

Viktor tilts his head up and you dig the knife head's point into his skin. He winces, but calmly states, "Why are you doing-" he speaks your name and you blink in confusion. Who are you? You regain your composure and return his response with a similar cold deposition, "I am the host of Freedom, of Free Will," while Jayce manages to find his hammer and stands up with it.

"I embody Pyxis, the Sovereign, as its implementor."

The corrupted charge in the hammer lights up.

"You have violated the Aspect of Freedom and Free Will by sealing away the free will from the mortals of Piltover and Zaun you claim to heal.

Wind rushes around Jayce, as he takes aim at Viktor and you.

"This is the consequence of your actions," you force Viktor's chin downward and cover his eyes with your free hand, "I shall grant you one mercy, though. There's no need to subject you to witnessing this correction in the universe."

Jayce fires a concreted blast at Viktor's chest.

"May you find peace upon the stars."

The blast hits Viktor squarely in the chest and the outpost shakes violently from the explosion. Jayce coughs and rubs the dirt off his face, as he waits for the dust to settle down. Viktor appears from the dust, his body crumpled on the floor with a large hole in his chest. You, however, remain floating in the air, seemingly untouched by the intense blast, and gently lower yourself to the ground by Viktor.

The Herald looks up at you then at Jayce, panting slightly and his expression pained with the weight of evident betrayal. His eyes finally close and Viktor goes limp, dropping an odd circular gear from his hand. A commotion erupts from outside, screams and cries alike, and you grab onto Jayce's free hand, "We must go."

"But- We must," you don't allow Jayce another word or glance at Viktor, dragging the blacksmith out of the outpost and onto the battlefield, "We must fight back."

Jayce's head spins with new revelations and grief, but he nods at your command.

"Let's fight back."

[korgidorgi]

Mel Medarda x Winged!Reader - Upgrades, people, Upgrades!

This one is a bit longer than the others (HC post). I know, funny title, funny post right? NO! (I love my angst hehehe) It’s a little step into your backstory :)

Warnings: Unethical business practices by Singed, syringes, angsttt, pain, confinement, loss of control

Summary: This is the Procedure. The reason for King Raven’s existence. Only it’s against your will.

You struggle on a cold, metal table, quickly finding out you’ve been strapped down. Leather straps bind you to the table by your wrists and ankles, making it damn near impossible to move. You’re positioned on your stomach. The back of your shirt is ripped open, exposing your skin and the fresh tattoo to the chilly air.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” A man’s voice rasps from the side.

“Let me go.” You hiss at him, struggling against the restraints again.

“Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards for you, my dear.” He answers you, stepping over to you and tracing a hand down your back, irritating your healing tattoo. “I have big plans for you, little bird.”

You let out a hiss at the stinging on your back. Panic settles into your bones at the realization that you might not even make it out of here.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” You yell at him, struggling again against the binds.

“Such a feisty little thing,” he muses, still trailing his bony fingers across the healing ink. “You did quite a number on my assistant.”

“What are you going to do with me?” You demand, unsure if you even want the answer to that.

“Never you mind,” he replies, finally taking his hand off your back. “You won’t be awake for it. Consider it a mercy.”

He steps away for a moment. Metal clinks against metal before he returns. He places a hand on your arm, holding it still as he brings a syringe down. Panic courses through your body, your struggling increasing against the table. A panicked cry leaves your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut at the prick of the needle.

“There, just relax.” He encourages you darkly, his eyes dead as he gazes down at you.

He sets the empty syringe aside, watching as the effects take hold of you, the drug forcing you to sleep once again. His movements are expert, as if he does this sort of thing on the regular. Within minutes, your vision fades, your mind and body succumbing to the anesthesia.

••• ••• •••

An unknown time has passed. You slowly blink your heavy eyes, your vision slowly clearing as you take in your surroundings. You’re… in a cell now. You attempt to rise from the grimy bed, a weight tugging at your back, causing a sharp pain to spread through your back. You attempt to stand, but your muscles are still too affected by the anesthetic, forcing you to stumble to the floor. You finally catch a glimpse of a dark mass protruding from between your shoulder blades.

“Wha..?” You mumble to yourself, trying to focus your vision on the object.

One mass becomes two, a strange sensation tugging at your back and the feel of new limbs. Your blinking eyes finally focus on two feathered wings splayed limply behind you.

Your heart rate picks up, your mind beginning to snap into focus. The memories of what happened flood back into your mind. The man, the table, the syringe. And then you remember a display of large, feathered wings from the room with the table. He can’t have…

The door opens with an almost deafening squeal. The light from the hall reveals a thin silhouette of the man from before.

“I see you’re awake.” He greets you eerily. “I have something for you.”

You glare at him, your chest heaving with confusion, rage, and fear. Your face scrunches with fear masked by rage.

“What have you done to me?” You growl at him, demanding answers.

“I am improving you.” He answers simply as he gazes down at you. “And I still have many plans for you.”

Your chest tightens at his words, your eyes darting around as you think desperately, trying to make sense of everything, to find a way out. The shuffling of his feet steals your attention once again, your eyes locking on him as he steps closer.

“Stay away from me!” You yell at him, scrambling backwards from him.

“Don’t try to fight it, Little Bird.” He coos darkly as he ignores your words. “You’re far from recovery. Let me help you.”

He reaches for you, despite your protests and the way you lash out at him like a cornered animal. He pulls you up to your feet with a strength you’ve been unaware he possesses. You struggle against him, throwing a solid punch at him. He takes it before shoving you against the wall and adjusting his grip on you. He takes advantage of your panic and pain, knowing you have no plan against him.

He then drags you back out to the large lab room, your new wings laying limply behind you. That same metal table sits in the center. It’s clean for the most part, but there’s still bloodstains around the area. He throws you on the table, securing your wrists quickly with the leather straps, once again laying on your stomach.

“You’ll learn to listen soon.” He speaks once again, stepping away from you. “Unfortunately this next process requires you to be awake.”

You watch him move to grab something; another syringe. Another strange concoction, and not the anesthesia. This is an entirely different color. Once he starts to walk over to you, you struggle against the restraints again. He hasn’t bound your ankles this time. You swing your legs around, trying to strike out at him, but they get tangled in the feathered wings, making it difficult to get a good strike at him. He avoids your strikes, moving to hold your arm down to inject the new concoction into your body.

You let out a panicked scream, trying to fight against him. The prick of the needle is soon followed by a slight pain in your arm.

“I hope you have a high pain tolerance.” He huffs, stepping back to watch the concoction take effect. “But this is for you. You need to be able to use the wings.”

Before you can snap back at him, the pain takes over your arm, spreading from the injection sight to the tips of your fingers and up to your shoulder. It doesn’t stop there. It slowly courses through your body, the pain slowly increasing. You try to ignore the pain at first, but it quickly becomes beyond unbearable. A strangled gasp leaves your lips as the pain only worsens. Your body goes rigid, trying to endure the pain, to fight through it. Upon exhaling, a scream rips through your throat.

The man just watches you from the side, studying your reaction to the serum, the way it works its way through your body. He watches you scream your throat raw, writhing on the table, fighting the restraints and the pain. What surprises him is the fact that you remain conscious throughout the course of the serum.

Just around the hour mark, he checks a clock before his eyes land back on you. He watches with a sadistic glee, his smile widening when he sees the wings on your back beginning to move. He begins to notice the slight indication that the serum is beginning to wear off.

He unbinds your wrists, dragging you off the table in your semi-conscious state back to the cell. He leaves you on the bed to recover from the serum.

You lay there, your body shaking in waves at the pain, but the exhaustion is also fighting you. Once the pain finally wears off enough to tolerate, your body shuts down, forcing you into unconsciousness once more to recover from it.

••• ••• •••

You’re unaware of how much time has passed since you were dragged here. Maybe it’s been hours, maybe days, perhaps weeks. All you know is the fiery agony that comes with each purple injection. The threat of it scares you almost into complete submission, but when it comes down to the process, you’re fighting tooth and nail to not endure it again. No matter how hard you fight him, he won’t let you get away so easily.

“You need this last treatment, little bird.” He insists, dragging you back out to the lab. “It is now your destiny.”

You’ve been through six ‘treatments’ already. Each just as agonizing as the last. It’s a level of pain even Singed hadn’t figured anyone would survive, yet here you are. One of his greatest masterpieces. With each treatment, you gained more and more mobility with your wings, now able to control them to their fullest extent. Shimmer is now permanently in your system, thanks to the treatments he’s given you. He’s even blessed you with the option to hide your wings within the ink of your back tattoo, allowing you to blend in with crowds if you’d ever need to. In your free time, he’s been coaching you on how to use your wings, how to use the power he’s now given you. He’s given you proper nutrition, the very basic needs you require. Retrofitting your shirt to accommodate your wings. You have no choice but to learn your way around the wings through his teachings, as much as it pisses you off to no end.

You fight him as you usually do when it’s time for his treatments. The table comes into view and panic and rage sends a fire through your body. You somehow manage to wrangle out of his grasp, shoving him backwards. You race to his table of tools, grabbing the syringe he would have otherwise used on you. He’s on you almost in an instant, trying to wrestle it from your grasp. With the help of your wings and the strange feeling coursing through your body, you bring down the syringe and inject it into himself. Shoving him away from you, you spin on your heel, racing out of the lab through a new doorway in hopes that it leads outside. It takes a couple minutes before you can hear his own agonized screams echoing through the halls of the lab.

You don’t stop, checking every doorway until you finally spot a glimpse of sunlight out the front of a cave connected to the lab. Water sloshes at your feet with each step, the musty air of the Undercity fills your nose and lungs, the sunlight shines down on your skin and your wings, embracing you in its warm freedom. Wounds that should be on your body are no longer present, a result of Singed’s ‘treatments’. But you don’t stop running. You can’t.