#and he’s mostly doing it to keep Viktor from dying

[kurthummeldeservesbetter]

Thinking about how a “Jayce joins the commune” universe would be all the more horrifying in a way? Especially if it stayed in that middle place of “something isn’t quite right but they’re not harmful to anyone” sort of way. Because Viktor was easily getting people to heal on his own; Vi and Jinx heard about him, Lest heard about him, and it was clearly spoken positively enough for Vi to not only consider it but also want to stay and help (though that is her characterization and also a separate conversation).

Because like. If people heard Jayce Talis, of all people, followed his partner down into Zaun and was part of the team healing people from probable death and reversing paralyzation, there would likely be a lot more people coming down to see. Which makes me wonder: in this time, is there a limit to who Viktor is willing to heal? Addictions (as well as their effects) and other physical ailments?

Is he also considering mental ailments? Is that what Vander technically fell under? (Besides, ya know, the whole wolf body thing?). With that, given Sky tells Viktor that there are limits, and Singed in one interaction is aware that Viktor’s power is limited, would Jayce being there (and being equal partnership) have a stronger impact on who/what Viktor heals?

So, having Jayce as his other half, someone tangible and someone he’s always listened to, trusts, telling him yes/no for certain people, aka limiting who he heals to protect Viktor, would certainly cause another conflict entirely. There’s these two men, former owners and creators of hextech, who now can heal anyone and anything, who have a commune of peace, BUT you have to be a certain amount of sick to be healed.

That would be a whole other conflict in itself I think.

[avelera]

oh yeah viktor thinking he has a safety net regarding breaking into the office is definitely true, but this attitude comes across in other situations too. and i don't think him caring so much about science and what he's doing explains it fully - it's not like jayce doesn't care about what he's doing but he's still a huge people-pleaser. you couldd say that jayce feels like he mostly already achieved his goal in s01e04 because hextech is being used, and viktor very much doesn't, but it still feels different

I think that's very astute. Jayce and Viktor are on the same page during the break-in because they're both fanatics with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

But as of 1.04, Jayce has kind of made it! His goal was always to bring Hextech to the masses and with the Hexgates, they've kinda done that! Jayce is now settled in for the marathon, not the sprint. He's strategizing so the next Hextech release will be a personal project in order to keep him and Viktor happy and engaged and begin to chip away at their dream. But Jayce always saw Hextech as a long-term innovation, something that will continue to pay dividends to society for decades to come, and even after they're gone. So what's the rush?

That is why when Viktor keeps characterizing his own swiftly approaching mortality that only has a prayer of being cured with a Hextech miracle as, "helping the undercity", Jayce doesn't get it! It goes right over his head! And I blame Viktor for that, actually!

Viktor isn't telling the complete truth when he chastises Jayce for not focusing on Hextech and their dream, "for those in need. For the undercity!" He's not talking about the undercity, he's talking about himself.

And I don't think Viktor is completely aware he's talking about himself? Or he doesn't know how to ask. He's always couched his scientific endeavors as selfless rather than selfish, they've always been about helping "other people" but of course his hope was that he'd find a cure for himself too!

And I think Jayce would have respected that! Actually, I think if Viktor had said, "Cut the crap, Jayce. I'm dying, this isn't for the undercity, it's for me. I have weeks left to live and I need a miracle and I need my partner's help so please knock it off with the bullshit politics and help me!" I think Jayce would have dropped everything to help!

Jayce just didn't understand the undercity angle because yeah, there's people in need. But there's always people in need. No offense to the undercity, some of that is definitely Jayce's privilege and blindness to their needs, but some of it is just that he's a little closer aligned with Heimerdinger than Viktor and he's thinking long term. They're chipping away at Hextech, innovations will come, but they are going to need more testing (the Hexclaw accidentally re-pairing with the gem in Jayce's hand during the presentation is actually a really bad tech flaw, speaking from a real world perspective, that absolutely would have been dangerous for consumer use!)

So yeah, long story short, yeah. Jayce's people pleasing is a part of it but it also comes down to their very different scientific visions and very different timelines. Viktor has weeks, and he's panicking, and honestly it's impacting his judgement IMO, and Jayce doesn't know that so he's still thinking in years so he and Viktor are really just constantly talking past each other.

I'd also say Viktor feels the inadequacy of not having a big innovation himself like Hextech, which I think he still sees as primarily Jayce's, but that's another story and less pressing than his imminent death.

[peatorice]

This will be an analysis of Arcane's conclusion mostly from a thematic standpoint, and stablishing one of the keys to this: Jinx is alive, if you also interpreted it like that you can skip to the next paragraph, otherwise here’s why I think that’s the case: Cait has the monkey head of the grenade and is looking at the projects of the place where Jinx blew up (implying she didn’t found a body) and has a little smile when she notices Jinx probably fled, and there’s also a pink trace right before the explosion. One of Powder’s first lines is saying "one day I’ll ride one of those" looking at an airship just like the one from the ending (a take that seems very random otherwise), and the "the end" card has her aesthetics, all of that right after a speech that ends with "Our story isn’t over yet", I don’t even see it as ambiguous to be very honest.

Jayce says that Viktor has always been trying to fix what he deems as "imperfections", characterizing his lack of self-acceptance as what fuels many of his actions, which is similar to Jinx: labeling herself with the nickname that reduces her to her mistakes, a self-destructive way to take agency over her own self-loathing, and as "Silco" puts it in her hallucination when imprisoned, it became a box that confines her sense of self. Jinx and Viktor can’t handle flaws, one reduces herself to them in desperation, and the other wants to sacrifice everything else for "cleansing".

Jayce and Ekko stand opposite to Viktor and Jinx as contrasting views about the core of Arcane, very clearly put in Viktor’s speech at the end of Act 5: The good and the bad often come from the same source, be it in the sense of emotions, intentions and the capability for them or in the form of cycles and causality, opposites are what enable each other, and this friction is what makes us human even in the most basic level, like trying to balance reason and emotion. Viktor and Jinx see this negatively in their own ways, while Jayce focuses on how this makes us human, and Ekko focuses on how even with this conflict there’s always space for the good to flourish, the basis is pessimism vs optimism in the face of the world’s inner workings.

Ekko here also stands opposite to Caitlyn’s words to Jinx, about how there’s no way to erase your mistakes (another unhealthy way of dealing with imperfection), which reenforced an idea Jinx already had and surely enabled her suicide attempt (that also carries her hopelessness for the state of the world in general, as framed in her hallucination with Silco saying the cycle started way before him and Vander).

When Ekko comes to stop her, he carries with him the fact that things didn’t have to be that way, that there’s still a human being beyond the storm inside Jinx’s head. She notices the monkeys on his device while he says that "it’s never too late to build something new, for someone worth building it for", just by that she at least understands that she has something to do with Ekko’s words, and that to him she is the one worth building something for, like Vi is to her, and ultimately it’s for Vi that she comes back (she tells her "Even worlds apart, I'll always be with you", implying that Ekko did told her what he lived and she's carrying all of it with her). As always human connection is the key to everything she does.

Her conclusion is bittersweet: She’s able to get rid of the "Jinx" identity, to take a leap forward while leaving some things behind, to search for a new path... But she doesn’t think she could do that in Zaun or Piltover, as she noticed Vi will never let go of her, and there she’s already a symbol with too much history and mistakes, she breaks the cycle of conflict not by dying in a literal sense, but by leaving her old life behind and starting anew, far from the rotten soil where she grew in.

This also parallels the alternate Powder’s conclusion, she says she doesn’t want to “lose what makes her herself” (talking about the life she had at that moment being what keeps her from using her talents for greater things), but when witnessing Ekko’s departure, everything they talked about resonates in her heart. To me the take of the gemstones she has kept implies that Powder will use them to fulfill her potential, accepting to take a step beyond the “identity” that became a box, and accepting reality’s imperfection of this step having a cost. “To take a leap forward you have to leave some things behind” really summarizes the conclusions of both of her versions.

Jinx’s decision of trusting her own potential to help (a direct contrast to her trauma of always ruining everything when trying to help) is what allows Piltover to resist, and for that and her bringing more zaunite forces, Zaun ends up receiving a seat at the council.

The social struggle isn’t over, it isn’t that simple (and to somehow end it the show would need way more seasons focusing solely on that, this is not a story about a cathartic revolution for a model society, even with the critiques of how things are being essential), but Jinx did manage to help Zaun get a louder voice, a better path to the future than by Viktor’s "cleansing", and politically a more realistic step considering the story’s scope and focuses (and how things work on our own world, with all the unfairness that comes with it. The final speech makes it clear that the remaining problems are treated as problems, they don't need to be thoroughly solved to be framed critically, one of the main messages is exactly how things will never be perfect but that doesn't mean that they're hopeless).

Viktor’s mistake was trying to erase everyone’s identities as a way to eradicate the existence of flaws, Jinx’s mistake was confining her identity to flaws, when both of them become able to accept imperfection as part of their own humanity and look at a possible future despite of it, they achieve the necessary balance in their hearts.

Arcane is bittersweet, full of opposites that rarely get everything their way, an ending that’s fully happy or fully tragic wouldn’t fit as well as this one did. I loved what we got and can’t wait for this team’s next project exploring this universe.

[luxheroica]

under your tree (3/3)

Part 3/3 - Ekko, ???, and the tree. An epilogue

Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed along the way, thank you for allowing me to express how much I love these two characters.

Part 1

Part 2

Also on AO3

---

How he drags himself back up after the memorial, Ekko will never quite be sure. 

The Firelights need him. Zaun needs him, now more than ever, and after everything he gave his promise. It’s harder than it ever was before, to get back up and keep at it. His fight was always about making the city better for his people– and now there are so few of them left. 

But he’s damned if he’s going to just give up. 

I’ve never seen you give up on anything, Ekko.

He wanders until he’s at the tree. The leaves are green and vital, the arcane spillover that was slowly poisoning the ancient tree gone with Viktor’s final sacrifice. The Firelights still call it their home– only it is no longer a closely guarded secret. Any who wish to come can, and there they can find a meal and a warm drink and a place to mourn their dead and a warm hand to hold. 

“How did you do it?” he’d asked that other-Vander, on one of his few-and-far-between breaks from building the Z-Drive. “How did you unify Zaun? With all the warring factions and everyone out for themselves…” 

And Vander had smiled and said, “Mostly, some cussed good luck. But I’ll tell you what, it started with building a community right here– and then fighting for it.” 

And Ekko is trying to build a community where he is. Some days it’s harder than others. 

There isn't any space left on the wall to depict those they’ve lost along the way, and he doesn't even know all their faces to draw them anyways. 

He easily finds the drawings that Jinx made, with their neon bright colors standing out from all the rest. He traces the paint with his hands. 

After the battle was over he looked for her. He found Vi instead, broken and grieving. Her reaction told him all he needed to know. 

How many times do I have to lose you? 

He still remembers the time they spent together. Too short, and an eternity all at once. It hadn’t been easy– her pain had come spilling out of her in explosive ways, and his caution had time to rear its ugly head– but in those scant days they had found a kind of equilibrium between them. Working on turning her lab into a flying weapon of war, intertwining their ideas together until at last they had something that might turn the tide of Ambessa’s ambition. In the quiet moments, Ekko dying her hair and Jinx altering his clothes (which didn't always remain on), and kissing her until they were both breathless. 

It reminded him sometimes, of that other Powder in the other universe. Building something together, something that would help the world. 

And now she is dead. 

He traces the lines of her drawing with his fingers. Misses her. 

Then he starts to paint. There is no space on the wall and so he covers the lines of Powder's portrait with Jinx. Changing her hair, updating her eyes, turning her at last into an older version of herself. 

At last his hands are covered in blue paint, but there she is– immortalized on the wall. Another one of his ghosts. 

“You really think I'm dead, huh?” 

Ekko whirls around. The figure coming towards him is wrapped in a cloak. She walks with a limp and her face is scarred. There is still a trace of telltale blue peeking out from underneath her hood. 

“Wha–how–?” 

He stares dumbfounded as she takes down her hood. She is unmistakably Jinx. There is a wide burn scar across half her face, but still she grins and she is as wild and as vital as ever.

“Miss me?” 

Ekko rushes forward. Envelops her in a crushing hug. She nearly buckles under his weight. “Easy there tiger–” she starts to say, and then he kisses her. She relaxes into the kiss. 

Ekko pulls back, not quite sure if she's real… but she is. He cradles her face between his hands. “How are you–?” 

“Alive? Blast knocked me clear,” Jinx explains succinctly. “Then I think one of those hexgate things activated and I got tossed halfway to Kumangra. It’s been a wild ride getting back, believe me.” 

Ekko laughs. It bubbles up out of him, unable to be suppressed. He’s just… happy. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.” 

“Someday, maybe.” And her tone isn’t like he’s ever heard it, not for years. It’s far off and quiet. 

Ekko takes her hand in his. Holds it tight. Holds onto her. 

“Have you told Vi?” he asks. “That you’re alive?” 

She shakes her head. And from the set of her mouth– wistful, resigned– he knows that she doesn’t plan to. 

“Jinx is dead, remember?” she gestures up to the portrait he’s just finished painting for her. “It’s better for her– better for everyone– if she stays that way. If she remembers me as the sister who saved her, maybe she can finally let me go. But, I wanted you to know.”

She turns towards him, and her expression is fond and faraway.  

Ekko understands in that moment that she’s not staying. He twines his fingers tighter with hers, like he might hold her here by the strength of his will alone. But holding onto her is light holding onto an explosion– the tighter you try, the more it will hurt. 

He relaxes his grip, and her fingers slip from his. 

“When am I gonna stop losing you?” 

His voice is choked. 

She smiles, leans forward and kisses the bridge of his nose. “Hey,” she says. “If you keep losing me, I guess that means I always come back, right?” 

He smiles slowly. Her fingers find his and they gently twine together. Not clutching or holding tight just touching. For this moment and this moment alone. 

“Like a lucky penny.” 

She laughs. Looks up, and her face is dappled with golden light. “Or a tree, that just keeps coming back.” 

“Where are you gonna go?” 

She cocks her head. Shrugs her shoulders. He thinks, she has finally shed the weight of everything weighing her down. “No clue. Somewhere far away. Someplace that’s never heard of Piltover or Zaun or any of this.” 

“I want to ask to come with you,” Ekko admits. 

Jinx smiles. She understands him, maybe better than anyone else ever has. “But you won’t. Cause you’re the Boy Savior, and this place needs you.” 

Zaun and Piltover are to be one city. A common enemy has forged them into one being. Sevika apparently got herself a place on the council. He hopes it will stick. But he knows that their problems aren’t so easily solved, and old hatreds have a way of rearing their ugly heads, and without some threat breathing down their necks people will remember the old ways of power and privilege. In the meantime, somebody’s got to be here to build something worth hanging onto. 

“You could do a lot of good here,” Ekko offers. 

Jinx’s answering look is wistful and sad. “I think I would have liked that– just building things with you.” 

Ekko nods. It hurts, right in that place to the left of his ribcage, but it’s a different kind of ache from before. This, he thinks, is more manageable. She laces her fingers between his and kisses him slowly and deliberately and he knows it is goodbye. Ekko savors the taste of her, presses back into her, making sure she won’t forget him. 

Then she pulls away. Untangles their fingers. She takes two steps away and hops off the platform, and Ekko remains at the tree watching her go. She wanders off, still dappled by that sunlight, light as the wind. 

Sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind. 

What’s one more goodbye?

He isn’t expecting her to turn back, to look over her shoulder at him. 

“Five years,” Jinx calls. Ekko raises his eyebrows at her. “Give me five years– to get my head on straight, to see the world, to figure out who I’m gonna be next. If you’re here in five years– meet me here.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ekko shouts back. “Shine the place up nicely for you!” 

“You’d better!” 

She throws a peace sign over her eye. Grins. 

And then she is gone. 

Ekko waits for a long time. Leans against the wall and watches the patterns of green-and-gold light from the leaves of the tree. Then at last he looks up at her portrait on the wall and sighs. Smiles.

“Well, time to get to it.” 

---

True to her word, she comes back. True to his word, he is waiting. 

[xxashtreexx]

Sleepless

For a moment, curled up on his floor, Viktor didn’t notice anything else, just the coolness of the floor pressing into his side, seeping into his clothing.

The moment of peace, of fuzzy vision and grainy hearing, like everything was coming through one of the intercoms at the Academy.

Agony roared to life a moment later, and he coughed, and there was blood streaming from his nose and speckling at his mouth, and he gasped.

“Viktor,” someone said too loudly, making Viktor flinch away, even as knees entered his vision and there were gentle, big brown hands reaching to slowly prop him up. “Viktor, it’s okay, I’ve got you now.”

Do you? Viktor wondered. Was is possible to be taken care of, to rest, just for a little while?

But then, he had too much left to accomplish. Too much left to do, not enough time to do it, and the thought haunted his every moment, his every step, and to let go of that —

“Viktor, breathe.”

Automatically, his chest heaved, and then he coughed again. He needed to keep focused, right? Keep himself going, keep himself upright, keep himself alive.

He couldn’t move on his own yet. He would be able to soon; this wasn’t the first time this had happened, but the last time had been — well, it had been something like this, actually. Too tired and too strung out for too long, and exhausted now.

Jayce didn’t try to rush him, even if Viktor could feel his need to fix things, feel his desperation deeply and wondered if Jayce could bear to stick around through it all.

Viktor wondered if he would be there to say goodbye.

Jayce lifted him, apologizing at Viktor’s punched-out sound of pain, and Viktor wondered why until Viktor was braced against Jayce instead of ground and he slumped back. It was better, warmer, softer; Jayce’s hands gently swiped back sticky, sweaty hair from Viktor’s forehead while Viktor gasped for breath.

Viktor was sure Jayce was talking; no way he wasn’t, Jayce had always found his voice, speaking and guiding and leading other people, to be him at his best — when it was for people with a purpose. Viktor couldn’t hear, or maybe just couldn’t concentrate; for now, he reached one shaking hand up to grip Jayce’s wrist.

Jayce only tried adjusting them once; Viktor had made a noise like he’d been stabbed, and Jayce’s arms had quickly returned into holding him again.

It wasn’t until Viktor, mostly asleep and without much pain, was lifted up easily by Jayce did it occur to him that it was — not over, because it was never over, but the worst little hump of was done.

Viktor could rest, now, without fear of dying in his sleep, the reason he fought sleep as often as he could. He didn’t have the strength to ask, but Jayce knew, and his hand held Viktor’s once Viktor was laid down in his sheets, still trying to stay awake.

Jayce didn’t stop talking, not even when he pressed some pills — the deep muscle relaxers, the kind that knocked out Viktor out for a few days — into Viktor’s hand. He did pause, just a moment, when Viktor took them, apparently hearing the unspoken words, that this was too much, too big, and that he couldn’t carry this on his own.

But Jayce was there. He wasn’t alone.

Viktor closed his eyes, and waited for the medicine to kick in.

[totentnz]

V, #14 😈

Dark OC Asks

14. What is your OC's "villain song"?

now there is at least two answers for this, i have many many thoughts on the topics and i hope i can get em all out lmao

IM BETTER

i LOVE a good joker arc, some defining moment in a characters life that just breaks or changes them in some way, this doesn't fully happen for v but she stands on the precipice plenty of times.

namely the vdb debacle and when she gains control of the blackwall via songbird. (there might be more but it's been a minute since i properly played)

now what do these two instances have in common? netrunning/ hacking. this song (and others like it) always get me thinking about v getting lost in the power she holds with her quickhacks.

a cyberdeck wasn't even her first choice, she wanted berserk in combination with gorilla arms but viktor refuses to install them for her. she could go to a different ripper to get them obviously but he's the only doc she trusts and who won't rat her out to the authorities for having cracked soft. (this explanation is a bit underbaked i will admit) she also knows he's lowkey right, she cannot be trusted with that kind of chrome.

now one could argue that being able to kill people via command does more damage than a pissed off ape but maybe she can control herself better than vik gives her credit for. or maybe he's not too familiar with netrunning/ hacking.

there is also the aspect of v knowing exactly what happens when she uses a hack, she wrote the code herself. (i'm not saying she invented them but they are her own versions, either written from scratch or modified some way)

my favourite example for this is the suicide quickhack: v takes control of the target for a few moments, she has to raise the gun, she has to pull the trigger, she has to leave the person's consciousness before they die but not too early or they will flinch away at the last moment. she doesn't die if she stays too long but the repercussions can be dire anyway: she passes out, there is psychological damage etc. if the target is right and she executes it well it can be pretty fun though, sort of like playing russian roulette but without dying.

but to get back on topic: i LOVE the mental image of her just standing in the middle of a bunch of enemies, activating overclock to wreak havoc on them AND herself.

i also enjoy copy-paste - she makes herself an easy target for another runner just to pull this out of her sleeve and fuck them over so much more, she simply IS better.

this mindset is also reflected in her aversion to chrome, she doesn't need it or rather she doesn't want it. she is better than them, she is built different. now that is simply not true, she can tell herself that lie as often as she likes but she needs cyberware to keep up. (i actually have a background story for this, maybe i will even write it one day)

so she slowly begins to betray herself: she replaces her glass eye with kiroshis, she installs extra ram, she gets the reinforced tendons. these changes come slowly and her body is still mostly ganic by the end of the game but in quiet moments she hates herself for caving in and for enjoying it.

ultimately: power corrupts, nobody is immune to that.

EAT THE CHILDREN

any otep song tbh, since it's the band i chose to use for rotten (her band) and v turns into the worst version of herself when she's on stage. it's one of the reasons she decided to end the band in the first place, though everyone involved just thinks she was being asshole (they ain't wrong)

her whole band era was a double edged sword, on one hand she finally had a voice and was adored by some but at the same time she had never been more miserable. their songs are filled with her traumas and that puts her back into a powerless position, add the adrenaline of being on stage and you get a truly volatile concoction.

[ruvviks]

fear ghost nightmare and wound for matvey [: hehe

oc asks!

FEAR: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

matvey's greatest fear is losing. whichever outcome puts him in the worst position is the one he fears the most and that's why he's always so focused on finishing something in the way he planned it out; very rigid, no changes along the way, he needs to get things done in his way or else he loses and he can't lose

this also translates to him losing people. for the longest time he feared losing nadya (and for what really) and nowadays he mostly fears losing vitali, despite the fact his son has already stated that he's not going anywhere

matvey doesn't talk about any of it. he's old, he's got no one to talk to, and he knows better than use his son as therapist so he doesn't. eventually he opens up to viktor about it a little bit who manages to shake him out of it pretty easily but it takes a WHILE for them to get there because matvey is very emotionally constipated

GHOST: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

despite the very obvious bad things he did during the events of the broker fic, matvey is mostly haunted by the mistakes he made as a father specifically when his kids were younger. he wasn't there for his family most of the time, he always picked his wife's side despite their kids clearly suffering because of it and nadya just being wrong most of the time, and now that matvey is aware of it all he can't let it go

he's also haunted by dupoint, funnily enough. he killed the man for disobeying him, while dupoint was simply (albeit in a very evil manner) setting something from the past right; something unfair happened to him and he wanted to make it even. as mentioned in an earlier ask, matvey hates unfairness so it would've made sense for him to allow dupoint to do what he did, but instead he killed him for it- it's once again one of the many instances of matvey's hypocrisy, in a way the personification of his hypocrisy, and that's why he can't seem to let the man go

NIGHTMARE: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

matvey nowadays mostly has nightmares about vitali dying in his arms and him being unable to stop it. he handles it pretty badly, going as far as trying to stay up all night again way too often or turning to alcohol to try and lessen the overthinking about it all, but he would rather die than tell anyone about it

WOUND: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

as mentioned in an earlier ask, matvey hasn't had MANY injuries because he hasn't been in many combat situations before, only ever boxing matches and the few combat instances in the broker fic. most of his current wounds would be mental and emotional, remnants of trauma and the consequences of the broker fic; learning that nadya has been cheating on him with ravager for a pretty long time already is one of the hardest hits he's ever had to take, since he truly believed that nadya loved him and that after everything they'd gone through to ensure they could be together and stay together, nothing would ever drive them apart

[thedreamlessnights]

Not an end, but the start of all things

{chapter one} - {chapter two} - {chapter three} - {chapter four} - {chapter five} - {chapter six} - {chapter seven} - {chapter eight} - {chapter nine} - {chapter ten}

Vampire!Viktor x F!Reader AU (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: Things go terribly wrong.

Warnings: Mentions of animal death (not graphic). Generally upsetting content regarding death, disease, and mentions of blood. A good amount of angst.

Word Count: 9.5k

A/N: First and foremost, thank you to @watercolourdreamer for editing the last two chapters and generally being amazing - I'm forever in your debt for the amount of help you gave me. They're an angel, and they helped make this story what it is - not to mention, they're an incredibly talented writer, so make sure to check out their work!

I also wanted to clarify that this is not the last chapter! There will be a few more, so hang in there! And lastly, I want to thank everyone for your support on this story. It means the world to me! If you're so inclined, comments are a lovely means of inspiration, and I appreciate them endlessly. With that being said, enjoy!

Even after the winter holiday ends, the bitter cold continues on. You find yourself very grateful for the blanket you’d made as the chill slowly stretches itself over your surroundings, burying everything in ice and frost.

Soon, you find yourself thinking. Just hold on a little longer, and then you’ll feel the sun on your face, watch the lunar blossoms bloom, and maybe even plant some lobelias with Viktor in the soft spring dirt.

Despite the horrid pattern of the weather, you find yourself in good spirits; and it’s mostly because of Viktor. If you thought he’d opened up to you after the library, you can only call yourself speechless at his openness now. 

Every day, he smiles at you when he sees you, gold eyes shimmering bright as he tells you stories from his youth, and asks you all sorts of questions about yourself. 

You do your best to answer them, but it’s tearing you apart.

For the longest time, you’d been alone. Your death had never affected anyone else. 

Your life, a small speck of loss in the grand scheme of it all. You’d never had to consider that it would pain anyone else. 

The knowledge that your death may hurt Viktor is now a clenched fist in your ribs. It grips at your heart, your lungs, your stomach. It squeezes them until you feel like you can’t breathe.

For other people, the most they were losing was a cook, a tailor, a gardener. Never a friend. Never anything more. 

Now, while it’s not quite clear how Viktor thinks of you, you’re certain that at the very least, you’re a close friend.

Now, every time you have to think of dying, your stomach sinks, your chest throbs, and your lungs don’t work. The vision of Viktor, alone after you’re gone, alone until he dies… it haunts you. It trails in the back of your mind at every interaction. 

You toss and turn at night, your mind stubbornly resisting the urge to apply Viktor’s treatments, because you need to think of something to stop that image from coming true. You need to think of it fast. There’s no telling how much time you have left.

Your mind keeps going back to Jayce. He’d cared about Viktor once, hadn’t he? You can’t imagine that he wouldn’t still care, not after your interaction at the market. Not when they’d been friends for years.

What kind of a fight kills all affection? How can Jayce bear to live like this?

Maybe you could knock some sense into him. Maybe you could convince him to go see Vik every once in a while. Maybe you could go into the market and talk to people, and convince them to welcome Viktor in.

Oh, it’s no use. You’ve never been good with words or making friends, so how on earth are you going to convince a stranger to give Viktor a chance?

You relocate these feelings by writing a letter to Jayce.

Dear Jayce, you start.

I know you and Viktor aren’t on the best of terms anymore, but I wanted to ask you for a favor. Well, another one. 

It’s not sounding quite right, but you can’t think of anything better.

I don’t have much time left, and I can’t stand the thought of Viktor being alone after I’m gone. He’s a brilliant mind, extraordinarily kind, and he deserves better than to live in isolation over some stupid argument.

The writing is messy from your shaking, and it’s almost indecipherable. You could rewrite it, but it just sounds wrong. It feels wrong to do this at all.

Sighing, you crumple the paper in defeat and try to ignore the lump in your throat.

Please, you think, to nothing in particular. Send him someone after I’m gone. He deserves so much more.

The answer to your laic prayer comes the next day at the market, in the form of a scrawny black kitten that you almost don’t see, peeking its head out from under a blanket.

As soon as you’ve seen it, the merchant is tossing the blanket back over its tiny head, giving you an apologetic smile that says move along, or buy, please.

It’s rare to see a black cat these days. The other kittens you’ve been looking at - all orange or grey - are adorable without a doubt, but… there’s something that calls in you to press further about that cat.

“Can I see that one again, please?” you ask breathily, eyes fixed on the clumsy shape of the kitten under the blanket.

The merchant blinks at you.

“That one?” he says, voice hardening into steel. “Don’t you know black cats are bad luck? The other cats are the ones for sale. This one, I’m going to drown on the way home.”

His words take you by surprise, but the immediate anger you feel is so fierce it knocks the wind out of you - nails digging into your palms, teeth digging into your cheek until you taste blood, fury boiling up through your veins until it overtakes you.

“You just… drown things on principle?” you exclaim. “Helpless animals? What did that cat ever do to you? It’s a baby!”

“That’s it,” the merchant says, jaw clenching. “I’ve had enough of you. Snooping around my shop, causing a fuss, throwing around accusations? I doubt you even have the coin for my product. Get out of here before I lose my temper.”

Behind you, Viktor - who’d been haggling for seeds from the vendor next door - rests his hand on your back and steps forward.

“There’s no need for that,” Viktor says, voice much calmer than yours had been. “I’ll pay you full price for the kitten. All the others will sell quickly, and you’ll be saved a trip to the river.”

There’s a tense moment as the merchant looks at Viktor, eyes narrowed, that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You’d stopped carrying your knife after the night in the library, but you’re missing it sorely now.

Then the seller chortles, picking up the black kitten by its scruff and tossing it toward you.

“Whatever you want, bloodsucker,” he says.  

It does not escape your notice the way Viktor’s lips press into a thin line on hearing that, but he gives him the money anyway. You’re left to cradle the shivering cat underneath your coat, hot tears streaming down your face as you beeline out of there.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I…Thank you.”

“I can’t say I know much about cats,” Viktor says, giving you a soft smile, “but I’m sure the house needs some livening up, anyhow.”

This gift is just one of many that he’s given you lately. Despite your protests, every day since you’d given him the blanket, he’s seemed to shower you with all kinds of things - little trinkets, new books, tailored clothes instead of the hand-me-downs. They’re all incredibly meaningful, but they almost feel like they’re going to waste; hence, your opposition. You don’t want to squander Viktor’s money. You’ll be gone soon, and the gifts will be left with no one to appreciate them.

A cat, however, is different. Unlike the other things, this is something that can benefit Viktor, too. Something to keep him company when you’re gone.

As soon as you get home, you’re wrapping the kitten in a warm blanket, and Viktor takes to digging up a milk replacement recipe in the library.

You, meanwhile, task yourself with making the kitten a little space - a bed of sorts. You don’t know much about cats, but you do know that it must be very young - maybe a couple weeks old? Its eyes are open, but it isn’t walking around well. 

After Viktor emerges with the milk replacement, he settles in next to you and eyes the little thing that’s now scrambling its way over the blankets.

“We should, eh… feed it, yes?” he asks.

“I think so. Maybe introduce yourself first, though.”

“Introduce… myself?”

You show him, holding your hand out to the cat, letting it sniff, and then carefully petting the top of its head.

Viktor seems a little wary but follows your lead anyway, startling at first when the cat approaches him. When the kitten sniffs his hand and then nuzzles into it, purring like a storm, he relaxes.

“He likes you,” you laugh, beaming up at him. “Ever had a pet before?”

Viktor hesitates, meeting your eyes for just a moment before he returns his attention to the cat. “I had… a lizard. When I was young.” He frowns for a moment, then sighs. “Her name was Rio.”

“Rio,” you repeat. “What name should we give this little one?”

Viktor’s brows pinch together. “I’m… not sure. It’s, eh, probably better that you give him a name.”

“I - don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Vik. I've never exactly named anything before.”

“I’m sure it will be better than me calling him ‘cat,’ and nothing else,” Viktor replies, quirking an eyebrow.

You gaze at the kitten for a moment, still purring under Viktor’s gentle touch.

“What about Nox?” you suggest softly.

“Nox?” Viktor echoes. “Nox… It suits him.”

You have a feeling that Viktor would have liked any name you’d chosen, but you don’t press the matter. All you do is watch him nurse the kitten - spooning tiny sips of milk into Nox’s eager mouth - warmth spreading through your chest.

It seems strange to you that you’d once been afraid of him. That first night here, you’d been positively convinced that he was going to kill you. Granted, you hadn’t known the price of blood, but even without that, something tells you that Viktor would never have touched you without your consent anyway, whether he’d had to pay for it or not.

Now, you… you want him. More than you can say. But any attempts of coaxing that spark into a flame, into anything more than it is now, would be a waste. Just like all the gifts he’d given you. Intentions turned to dust, shoved into a dark room, abandoned when you’re buried six feet under.

What use is romance when you’re dead?

You’re just happy Nox is here now. 

As it turns out, Viktor is even better with the cat than you are. The two of you take turns nursing him every couple of hours, but it’s clear Nox has a favorite - almost every moment, he’s tailing Viktor. Nuzzling against his legs, napping in his lap, purring nonstop. When Viktor first goes into the lab, Nox cries outside the door - where he’d walked to on wobbly, unsure legs - until you scoop him up and find him entertainment.

It almost makes you jealous, but you know that Viktor will be set with a very loyal companion once you’re gone, and that gives you immense relief. 

The only cat you’d known, the pet of an aristocratic lady you’d once made a dress for, had been very mellow, spending most hours lounging under the sunlight. That sort of thing had been what you’d expected from Nox, but you’d come to find out that you were very, very wrong.

He’s a ball of energy. You and Viktor have to cat-proof the house, moving everything dangerous out of reach, and keeping the lab closed at all times to avoid any contact with dangerous chemicals. Viktor, meanwhile, has learned to train him, using catnip and carrots from the market to make some little treats. He’d even started growing a pot of catnip in his lab, fresh to harvest for Nox. 

After just a couple of weeks, Nox has learned to sit, stay, and use the bathroom outside in the dirt.

Surprisingly, despite his love for Viktor, he always sleeps in your bed, snuggled up to your chest the whole night long.

A month after adopting the kitten, the two of you are exhausted. Every week, Viktor has been the one going out to the market to get supplies, instead of the two of you going together. Both of you are afraid to leave Nox alone for that long.

At first, you’d wanted to take turns, but then you’d remembered that Viktor needed blood, which was something that you couldn’t really retrieve yourself.

This week, though, Viktor looks at you through weary but cheerful eyes and suggests that the two of you head out together. You’re more than happy to agree. 

After making sure that all the doors are closed, that Nox is sleeping soundly in his bed, and that everything dangerous is kept out of reach, the two of you head out to the market together.

It’s still so cold. No sunshine, even though you’d thought there would be some by now.

“We’d best stay away from the seller you incensed last time,” Viktor says. “Just to be safe.”

“Yeah,” you concur, laughing a little. “I don’t exactly think he’d be happy to see me again.”

“Though,” Viktor adds, “I can’t say I don’t dream of telling him that we love our purchase, and we want a whole litter of black kittens next time they’re available.”

“You think he’d do it? With enough money?”

“No,” Viktor replies, “and, we have our hands very full with just one. A whole litter might…”

“Burn the house down?”

Viktor smiles at you, lips tilting to the right, a hint of his gap-tooth peeking through.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Exactly.”

The market is the same as usual - bustling, people crowding around, the occasional werewolf glaring at the two of you. 

Except, as you notice when Viktor leaves to retrieve his blood, one of the sellers has something new. Something you’ve only had once before.

Chocolate.

Even the sight is making your mouth water. It’d been served hot when you’d had it, melted into milk, dripping from a piece of a roll you’d broken off.

This single bar of chocolate has you fumbling in your pockets for non-existent money, desperately wishing you had some means of income. 

What you wouldn’t give just for a piece of it. For a steaming mug of rich, warm liquid, heating you from the inside out.

You’re still staring at it by the time Viktor comes back, but you force yourself to tear your eyes away and beam at him in a nonchalant manner; or at least, you hope you do.

You’ve had quite enough of Viktor buying you treats he can’t enjoy.

“We should get home,” you say quickly. “Who knows what Nox has gotten himself into.”

Viktor, whose eyes have now followed where you had been looking, only hums in response. 

“One, please,” he says to the seller, and your stomach does a flip.

“Viktor, I really don’t need-”

But he’s already paid, and he simply hands you the chocolate bar with a wry smile.

“You were saying?”

“Viktor, you buy me more than enough, I don’t need any more,” you kvetch, desperately trying to get through to him as he starts heading home. “I’m already in your debt, and it just keeps getting bigger. I can never repay you.”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing that all your gifts are just that, then,” Viktor remarks. “Gifts. I don’t expect any form of repayment. I only want you to enjoy them.”

“You’re wasting your money, you know.” 

It’s a terrible sentence that comes out of you, making you wince. Viktor, however, doesn’t look phased at all. He only raises an eyebrow expectantly, and you immediately rush to take back your words.

“I didn’t - that’s not how I meant it to come out. I’m sorry.” 

Viktor says nothing. He seems to only be waiting for you to elaborate. 

You take a moment to settle your thoughts, then continue. 

“I just mean that… I’m dying. We both know that, Vik. It… it just feels like a waste of your money, to get all these things for me, when I can only enjoy them for so long. Not only treats, but the books, and the clothes, and - everything else.”

There’s a beat of silence between the two of you before Viktor responds.

“Do you enjoy them?” he asks. 

“Of course I do.” Your throat has tightened, and you’re dangerously close to crying, but you just barely manage to pull yourself together. “I love them.”

“Then it’s not a waste.” He turns to smile at you again, observing your face for a second or two before going on. “I can assure you, I will be alright if I spend a coin or two to get you some treats. I have more than enough.”

You just nod, a tight lump in your throat keeping you from speaking.

Viktor motions toward your chocolate. “Have you ever had it before?”

“Once,” you breathe. “When I was younger.”

“And?” he presses. “Was it worth the look you gave it?”

“It’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted,” comes your reply. 

You’ve arrived at the door, and you’re careful to watch for Nox as you open the door. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d bolted outside without permission. 

When you enter, though, he’s not there. He must still be asleep, thank God. You’re quick to set your things down, but Viktor seems more suspicious about the missing presence of Nox. 

He disappears to the back rooms as you organize everything, trying to ignore the chocolate that’s currently sitting on the counter, tempting you to eat it all right now.

When he returns, there’s no sign of the cat, and his brow is permanently furrowed.

“I can’t find the little one,” he says. “He’s not in his bed, the lab, or the library. Would you mind checking your room?”

Anxiety floods you. There are a million awful things that could have happened, and you’re digging your nails into your palms just thinking about it.

“Alright,” you say quickly. “Let’s look for him.”

But when the two of you check, he’s not in your room, either. You and Viktor even do an extra sweep of the lab and the library, just to make sure, but find nothing. When you meow, trying to prompt a response, the only thing that comes is silence. 

You’re just beginning to panic when Viktor looks up the stairs, and it’s clear that he’s thinking what you’re thinking - either Nox has taught himself to climb up the stairs to Viktor’s room, or he’s not here. 

You’re praying for the former.

As Viktor heads up the staircase, you stay put, hesitant. Viktor’s room is the one place you’ve never been in this house, and it’s the only location he’d never given you any form of permission to enter.

But when he notices you’re not following him, Viktor comes to a stop, seeming to notice your timidity. 

“Come on, then,” Viktor says. “It’s better to search with two pairs of eyes.”

You’re quick to follow behind him after that, remembering all the times you’d imagined what the inside of his room would look like.

Clean, seems to be your consensus. Organized. Tidy.

You’re wrong, though. When Viktor opens the door, it’s… well, it’s neither dirty, nor clean, but a simple space in between the two. 

The room is about the same size as yours, a cozy little space with a bed - larger than yours, though - and a desk in the corner. The entire area is encompassed with a warm, aureate light that reflects on two photographs that hang from the wall, a surprising addition. 

His bed isn’t made, and the blankets have been tossed to the foot of his bed in a pile - including the one you’d made him, you note, with a strange sort of smugness. 

It isn’t dirty, though, not at all - it’s only messy. It’s clear that the area has been kept clean, it just isn’t tidy.

His clothes from the previous day were discarded on the floor, next to the bed, and were beginning to wrinkle - but everything else had been folded neatly and put away in the closet, which was left open for you to see. 

On the wall nearest to you, there’s a picture of three people gazing at the camera. A woman with long, braided hair grins at you, her smile looking very familiar. Next to her, a bearded man with warm eyes is laughing, hands resting on the shoulder of the boy below him, who must be nine or ten. 

Viktor, you realize with a shock. Viktor and his parents.

“My mother insisted we take that,” Viktor says softly. “She wanted something to… document us.”

“She was beautiful,” you say softly, entranced. 

“Yes,” Viktor replies, “she was.”

It’s only then that you startle from your thoughts, suddenly remembering the reason you’d come up here.

“Nox - we’d better look for him,” you rush, eyes sweeping over the room.

“No need,” Viktor says. “He’s here.” As he motions below, you find that Nox has made himself a bed in Viktor’s old clothes, blending in with the dark fabric as he purrs and kneads, eyes closed contently.

“You scared me half to death, little one,” you say, bending down to pet him. “Are you proud of yourself?”

Nox chirps in response, squirming as you scoop him up into your arms.

“Here, I’ll take him,” Viktor says, holding his arms out for him. 

Your fingers brush his as you hand the kitten over, and the touch leaves your hand burning with a fierce ache that has you promptly shutting your fists - just in case you try to do something foolish.

As Viktor lightly chides Nox, you take the opportunity to look at the things you’d missed during your first scan of the room, noting the photo of Jayce and Viktor on the wall. In the photo Jayce’s arm is slung around Viktor’s shoulders, pulling him into frame. Behind them, various lab equipment is scattered around - metal scraps and bottles of serums, and gemstones that glitter even in the black and white tones. What you notice most of all is that Viktor is smiling wide, wider than you’ve ever seen, looking surprised but undeniably happy.

The image makes you want to cry. 

You look away before Viktor can catch you staring because you’re pretty certain that he doesn’t want to talk about that right now.

Papers are scattered over the surface of the desk, littered with assorted doodles in graphite and ink  - including one that suspiciously looks like Nox. The sight of it makes you smile. 

You linger for a moment longer, then follow Viktor down the stairs.

“Stay,” he tells Nox, “good boy,” feeding him a treat when he stays put. 

When Viktor notices how you’re staring at the chocolate, he approaches.

“Any specific plans for it?” he asks. 

“I was thinking… hot chocolate,” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be. “But we’d need milk -”

“- which we have,” Viktor interrupts. “Shall I get it set up on the fire?”

You have a feeling he won’t accept no for an answer, so you just nod. As he sets milk to warm in a pot near the hearth, you take to breaking the chocolate into smaller pieces, scooping it into a bowl. 

When the milk has gotten warm enough, you drop the chocolate in and begin stirring the mixture until it melts. Soon, the liquid thickens into a creamy shade of hickory, and the sweet, rich smell has your mouth watering.

“If it tastes anything like it smells, it must be wonderful,” Viktor says, kneeling down next to the pot. You hear a trace of longing in his voice that makes you ache. Even though you’ve tried to picture it a thousand times by now, you truly can’t imagine what it would be like for food to be tasteless - dust in your mouth. Even if he succeeds in finding a replacement for human blood, will he be able to taste the food he eats?

You very much hope so. 

“It is,” you eventually reply. “Thank you for buying the chocolate.”

“Of course,” Viktor says. “There is a rarity of things we can truly enjoy in this world. We might as well make the most of it.”

Viktor’s eyes don’t leave your face as you ladle the steaming liquid into a mug and take the first sip, jumping when you almost scald your tongue.

“How is it?”

“Hot,” you manage, rolling the roof of your mouth over your tongue in an effort to stop the sting. “Very hot.” You take to blowing air over the rim of your mug, trying to cool it down. Viktor laughs at your words, and you give an over-exaggerated roll of your eyes despite the way the sound of that is making your heart swell in your chest. 

When your hot chocolate has cooled significantly, you take another sip, letting the sweet flavor sit on your tongue before swallowing it down.

“It’s just as good as I remembered it,” you tell him. “Creamy and rich and… delicious.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, rising to his feet, cane clicking as he heads out to the living room. Then he pauses on the threshold of the door, hand twiddling with his cane. 

“Later tonight, would you mind stopping by the lab? I have something I’d like to show you.”

“Alright,” you agree. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

He hesitates a moment before he leaves, then continues on his way. You’re not sure why that stays with you the way it does.

After he’s gone, you spend a good half an hour emptying the entire pot of hot chocolate, slowly warming yourself up. Then you curl up with one of the books he’d given you, Nox curled up on your lap, and spend the rest of the day reading.

Viktor must get lost in his work, because he doesn’t come out for dinner. You start prepping your own meal, and when you’ve finished eating, you gather a plate of food for Viktor and head to the lab, rapping your knuckles on the door.

“Come in,” comes Viktor’s voice, and you carefully make your way inside, taking care to keep Nox out.

“Ah,” Viktor says, seeing the plate of food in your hands. “I… didn’t realize it had gotten so late. Thank you.”

“Of course,” you say, setting the plate next to him. “What did you want to see me about?”

“This,” Viktor says, pulling a very familiar pot toward him. 

Lunar blossoms.

“See this?” Viktor asks. “Those white buds?”

Where the entire thing had been green before, there are now tightly wound white buds at the base, gathered together in a large group of stems.

“I see it,” you breathe. You know what he’s going to say before he says it.

“That means they’re going to bloom soon,” he tells you, voice awed. “The next full moon is at the end of this month. We’re nearly there.”

You let out a breath of relief. 

“I can’t wait.”

Just a little longer.

Just until the lunar blossoms, the lobelias with Viktor, and the warm sun on your face. 

Spring. Soon.

But winter never ends when it should. 

Days pass in cold, continuing grey, and on and on it goes. With every new day of snow, your optimism at survival dies a little, and if a God exists, he doesn’t seem to hear your prayers.

You should have known. It’s something you’ve come to learn over the years - as each passing of the season comes and goes, marking the turn of each year. 

Winter never wants to leave.

It’s stubborn, just like you - dragging its frost into the roots of the trees, clinging on well past what it should. 

Every year, there comes a time when you think the ice should be melting, when the worst of the storms and the sludge and the snow seems to stop and bring a bit of hope with it. 

Unfortunately, hope seems to be dying these days - and you are, too. 

For a brief moment in time with Viktor, you’d dared to hope that perhaps it had gone away. For a brief moment in time, there had been an instance when the dizzy spells had seemed to vanish, a time when your belly was always full - free from gnawing hunger. A time when your bed was warm and welcoming - a warmth so consistent that you forgot how it felt to be truly cold. A time when you believed that maybe - just maybe - your problems would melt away into nothing but warmth and growth, like the ice outside giving its way into spring.

Your sickness, however, seems to have no intention of listening to your intentions. 

It comes back in fierce vengeance. 

With every blizzard that passes outside, you only seem to worsen. Your chest aches with every inhale, an ache which soon spreads until it seems to consume you from head to toe. Dizzy spells hit you like waves, crashing at you, swaying the ground underneath your feet. Pain shoots from your ribs, your legs, and your head every time you move.

Previously you’d been able to hide the worst parts of it from Viktor, but you can’t now, because your knees seem to give out from under you.

He finds you collapsed outside the library one night - night, which always seems to awaken your worst symptoms. It made your existence restless and agonizing and unbearable. 

When Viktor kneels down next to you, embarrassment floods you first, that he should see you like this. Then follows a grief that seems to carve through your core. It guts you and leaves you hollow with nothing but a fierce anger and a growing sense of desperation.

“I guess I won’t be seeing those flowers after all,” you say softly. It’s meant as some form of joke, something to stop the pain and the way he’s looking at you, but it only curls his mouth into distaste.

“We should get you to bed,” he says. 

You don’t know how many days pass next. They all seem to blend together in your sickness. On some days, it’s worse than others - confined to your bed, violently shivering, wondering when it will end. Nox seems to permanently rest himself at your side, his purring soothing some of the pain.

Viktor disappears into his lab and comes out with stronger salves for your ailments - a cooling balm for your headaches, a numbing paste for your aches. They help soothe, but you know they won’t cure. A salve to ease the symptoms, not treat the disease.

You know what will. Both of you know, you can see the flame of it flickering behind Viktor’s eyes every time he looks at you. An impossible request to make of him. An impossible amount of risk, one that you don’t dare think about. But you still see it in him.

I’m sorry, his eyes seem to say. I can’t. 

You want to tell him not to be sorry. You want to tell him that it’s alright, that you’d never expected it to be cured anyway. That you understand. He’s already given you enough. 

You can’t ever seem to find the words.

One day, well into your malady, there’s a rare break in your symptoms. You don’t feel whole, but you do feel well enough to get out of bed and see that the snowfall has lessened into nothing but a mere inch outside. 

When Viktor sees you up and about, he brings you to the market with him on the premise of getting more supplies. 

“There’s a concoction I haven’t tried yet,” he says. “A different herb. I think it will ease more of your pain.”

You just smile at him and nod. You know you don’t have much time left. One more week until the lunar blossoms bloom, and you doubt you’ll make it.

As Viktor goes through the different merchants, you find yourself standing on the sidelines, watching all the various people roam about the market stalls. You see the children, playing in the snow, throwing snowballs, and making snow angels in the fresh layer of white on the ground. You watch the parents that hug each other as they pass, a smile crinkling their eyes in recognition. 

There is so much life here. In every corner, in every item that someone has made - there is unbridled love, life, and passion here that colors the world like bright shades of paint on a canvas. Life that similarly exists all around you, in places you’ve never seen. It was there before you, and it will be there after you.

Despite the tears that litter your cheeks, the thought brings you a small sense of comfort. That something will be stable after you’re gone.

After a few minutes of quiet observation, you begin to notice that you haven’t seen Viktor - and as you look around, he’s nowhere in sight. You know for certain that he wouldn’t leave you here, but it’s not unlike him to get distracted about something or other. It’s getting colder, and the wind is harsher - you’d better find him before another storm starts.

Following where he’d last been, you find yourself in the darker corner of the market -  where people whisper about blood magic and potions and spells. You’re reluctant to go in, but you want to find him before the storm gets worse, so you brave through it. 

These tents are not like the others. They aren’t open or welcoming with their tents rolled open and the flaps tied back. Instead, they’re closed  - you’d have to push through the fabric to enter the different pavilions, and you’re not ready to do that. So instead you listen, keeping an eye out through the deserted area as you listen for Viktor’s voice.

When you pass by one of the tents, you go still, because you know that voice. 

Only, it’s not Viktor’s.

“Vik? Is that you?” The voice asks.

There’s a pause where you imagine Viktor is glowering, then the voice comes again. “I - how are you?”

“How do you think I am, Jayce?”

There’s another pause. You find yourself leaning closer, breathing seeming to stall in your chest as you listen.

“I. I don’t know. Alright, I hope?”

“Alright?” Viktor’s voice sounds incredulous. He must take a second to calm down, because it’s quiet for a moment. “Did you ever stop to think for a second about what you were doing when you dropped her at my porch and left?” 

You almost can’t hear it, his words are so soft. Not angry anymore, just… pained. 

Tortured. 

“I - I didn’t know what else to do,” Jayce stammers. “What happened? She’s… she’s been nice, hasn’t she?”

“Of course she has.”

“Then what’s wrong? Is it the craving?”

There’s a brief silence as Viktor considers his response, and you feel each moment of it force the air out from your aching lungs. 

“Among other things? Of course it is,” Viktor answers, his tone raw, and harsh. “You didn’t stop to think about what it’s like for a blood-starved vampire to live with a human?”

Your heart sinks in a way you can’t describe. 

Numbness. 

Shock. 

An undeniable guilt that settles over your shoulders like a lead coat.

“You did fine with me,” Jayce replies weakly. “I didn’t know -”

“You didn’t ask.” Viktor takes in an audibly deep breath, then slowly exhales it. “Having her near me… the craving is excruciating. I can barely resist. I…”

For a moment, he trails off, then he continues, his words quieter than before.

“I try to ignore it for her sake. She doesn’t deserve any of this. But… there is never a moment where I succeed at putting it from my mind. Not fully. The smell of her blood is everywhere, even in my room, and the lab, and… it is agony. I never stop wanting her, and I - can’t have her.”

Excruciating, you think numbly. Agony. Being around me tortures him.

“Viktor, I didn’t mean to -” Jayce starts, but he’s quickly cut off. 

“Don’t.” Viktor sucks in a breath, then quickly exhales it. “You knew that I would take her. No matter what it did to me. You left her to die with me, Jayce.”

“D-Die?” Jayce stammers. “Wait - what are you talking about?” 

His voice is now distraught beyond anything you’ve ever heard and it impales you between your ribs, like welded blades of ice. You can’t seem to think of a conversation that would hurt you more than this one has. 

You’ve been a burden on both of them. 

Everything you’ve done has only harmed the people around you, no matter how much you didn’t mean to.

You almost miss Viktor’s next words, but they snap you back into attentiveness.

“She never told you that she was sick?”

“She said she was sick, but I… I just thought…” Jayce trails off for a moment. “I don’t know what I thought. I saw her, I don’t know, a couple months ago? She looked fine, and I…” He cuts himself off, then you hear his breath hitch as he struggles to breathe evenly. “How bad is she?”

There’s another beat of agonizing silence. It’s palpable and you wish it wasn’t.

“I expect her to die within the next few days,” Viktor says softly. His voice is strained. Pained. “She’s deteriorating quickly.”

You feel sick. Nausea sweeps over you for a moment, so intense you nearly buckle over. You’re shaking like a leaf from head to toe.

“Can - can you do something for her?” Jayce’s voice is completely broken. The ice blade pushes into you deeper this time, freezing you from within, turning you into ice along with it. Frozen outside the tent, only able to listen.

“My ointments barely scratch the surface of her illness,” Viktor explains. “If I had more time, perhaps, but…”

“That’s not exactly what I meant, Vik.” 

Your stomach jumps. Oh, God.

Viktor takes in a shaky breath. “You’ve asked enough of me already.” 

His words make you wince. 

“You’re right,” Jayce replies quickly. “You’re - right. I’m so sorry. For everything.”

You don’t stay to hear any more. 

You can’t.

Your feet don’t seem to walk straight; but you can’t stay another minute, hearing what you’ve heard. 

Excruciating. That’s what Viktor had called it. Every moment he was around you, every wince and restless tic, every deep inhale as you got closer, that’s what it had been. 

Pain. 

For the last eight months, you’ve been torturing Viktor, and you’d - you’d been stupid enough to think that it might have been him wanting you. Falling for you, the same way you’d fallen for him.

 Within the next few days. That was what he’d said, wasn’t it? That you’d be gone soon, and there was nothing he could do?

You’re almost grateful for it. 

You know you shouldn’t have left Viktor there at the market - he’ll undoubtedly look for you, but… you can’t stand it - that you’d been hurting him all this time. 

Every time you were around him, you’d been causing him excruciating amounts of pain - and you can’t stand it for another second.

You spend just a few minutes at Viktor’s home, gathering your belongings - the coats Jayce had left for you, the blanket you’d made for yourself out of the leftover fur for Viktor’s blanket. You pack some leftover food that you hope Viktor can spare. Then, the salves he’d given you, in hope that they’ll relieve some of your pain before you pass. While you pack to leave, Nox doesn’t stop crying at your feet, pawing at your legs like he knows what you’re about to do. 

Bending down to his level, you gently shush him, petting him on the head.

“I’ll be okay,” you lie. “Take care of Vik for me, okay?”

He gives a soft, desolate meow, and you have to choke back a sob at the thought of leaving him. But you can’t stay.

Once Nox is calmed and laying in bed, you find yourself a scrap of blank paper and scrawl out a message. Something so Viktor at least knows what’s happened to you.

I heard what you told Jayce, you write. I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry. Please don’t come looking for me - it’s better this way.

Tears won’t seem to stop streaming down your face. You leave the note on your bed, where you know he’ll look for you. For a moment, you consider adding to it - telling how much you appreciate what he’s done, thanking him for his kindness even when he didn’t have to be kind to you. Even when being around you was agony. 

For some reason, you can’t seem to find the words. So you leave the note as it is, take your things, and head out into the cold again.

The weather is worse now, when you make your way out into the open. Ferocious, icy winds blow through and around you as you walk. It’s strong enough to make you stumble, frail in the whirlwind of the snow. Your breathing is ragged with all this effort, but you know if you don’t make it to where you’re going, Viktor might find you or try to stop you, and you can’t bear that. You push through.

You remember there’s a little old shed at the edge of the woods - so isolated that you can’t see it, even from Viktor’s cottage. You’d only come upon it by chance months ago, when you’d been wandering out in the forest before winter had started.

There are a few moments when you don’t think you’ll make it. 

The weather is bitter, the wind fierce against your frame - snow swirling all around you until you can barely see.

Multiple times, your knees collapse under you, and you struggle to push yourself onto your feet. Your chest hacks up sputum and blood, your body retching and sobbing for it to stop, until you finally see the shed in the distance. 

By the time you get there, you’re practically dragging yourself forward. 

When you finally make it to the shed door, you realize it’s starting to rot. The wood is soft with rain and sleet throughout the years, and it’s very small, but it’s still shelter. It’s better than dying out in the cold.

In fact, you’re fairly sure that it’s secluded enough that you hope you might rot away with the wood itself. Maybe the bacteria and fungi will break down your decomposing body, until it’s a soft, withered husk of bone and fertilizer for the soil beneath the earth floor. Maybe cornflowers will bloom over your corpse, beauty emerging from death. 

You just hope no one else finds you. More than anything, you can’t stand the thought of Viktor finding your dead body.

When you finally make it inside, you let the door fall shut, and slump down against the wall, every breath a rattling wheeze in and out of your lungs.

By some miracle, you fall asleep.

─────────────────────────────

It’s the same dream from all those months ago. The one you’d forgotten - the one where you’re standing in the grave. Except this time, you’re dead - and your body lays in the dirt. 

Your arms are crossed over your chest, your skin an ashy cold. 

When Viktor stands above your grave, he lets a cornflower fall and watches it descend and settle onto your body.

When you see his face, it’s stony. Those golden eyes burn with anger instead of grief.

Even though you’re waiting for him to speak, Viktor says nothing as he stares at your corpse. 

You want to tell him you’re sorry - sorry for the pain you caused him. Sorry he had to see you like this, when you couldn’t stand the way you - your very presence - had hurt him. You want to tell him the way your heart would beat for him - but your mouth is stiff, frozen in death.

Then he walks away.

You want to call after him, run after him, but you’re paralyzed. Hopelessly trapped in your own corpse.

The world goes black.

─────────────────────────────

You wake with a start and for a moment you don’t know where you are. Then you realize how much you’re shivering, and you remember. You remember everything you wish you wouldn’t.

The tears start again, harsh and wet against your cheeks, stinging as they fall. You pull out the blanket and coats and wrap them around yourself, but the shivering doesn’t stop. It won’t stop.

You wish this fucking disease had already taken you. You wish you’d never met Viktor, or gone to Jayce for help. Why had you been so stupid, to ask him for a favor? What could he do? Why hadn’t you just let the inevitable come? Why had you been so selfish?

Viktor’s had a difficult life as it is - getting by. Then you’d appeared and become an additional burden - an excruciating burden for him. Eating his food, taking up his supplies, filling his home with your agonizing presence. And what had he gotten for all his charity?

Nothing but a sad old blanket.

For a few more minutes, those thoughts stay with you as you sit cradled in layers of fabric, shivering uncontrollably. 

Regret. Guilt. 

Pain. 

How much longer will you last?

Then a banging comes at the shed door and you’re too stunned to move. Maybe you’re hallucinating. But, after a moment, it flies open. 

You think it’ll kill you - how fast your heart is drumming through your chest, so intense and vigorous that it’s painful. It only quickens when you see both Jayce and Viktor at the doorway, covered in snow, disheveled, and relieved. 

“Are you insane?” Viktor asks, tone lucid with exasperation. “What were you thinking?”

In response, you cough violently. When you look down, you find blood staining your palm like stigmata.

─────────────────────────────

You must lose consciousness, because you don’t remember what comes next. 

─────────────────────────────

When you wake, the world has turned into chaos. 

Jayce is carrying you like a rag doll through Viktor’s front door, out of the winter chill, and into the warmth of the living room. Your bag of supplies is carelessly thrown on the floor, and as soon as you’re fully conscious, you’re hacking and heaving everywhere. Blood splatters the floor under you and Jayce looks terrified.

“Shit, shit! Is she going to be okay?”

“No!” Viktor snaps. 

“Fuck!” Jayce is clearly panicked, but there’s not much you can do about that at the moment. You can’t find it in yourself to move. You’re weighed down by exhaustion, aching deep into the very marrow of your bones; anchored to the floor by the gravity that tugs at every joint of you until you fear that you’ll never move again.

This is it. 

You know it. You can feel it. 

You’d tried to convince yourself that you wouldn’t be afraid when this day came, but you are. You really are. 

You’re terrified. 

More than you’ve ever been. This is utter panic, and there’s nothing like it. The fear your mother or father tried to drill into you might as well be a pinprick of fear compared to the freely bleeding terror you’re feeling now. 

It consumes you. You can barely think.

The only thing comparable is the pain.

Jayce has set you onto unsteady feet and is trying to get you to the couch, but your knees keep giving out. You’re a dead weight. His straining hurts you, the dragging - the pulling of your joints - it feels like he’s ripping you apart.

“Put me down,” you request softly. You register Nox’s distressed howling somewhere to your left, behind the door. “Please, put me down, it hurts.”

Jayce begrudgingly rests you against the wall, crouching down next to you as Nox settles himself into your lap. Viktor doesn’t linger near the door Nox had dashed out from. Instead, he disappears and returns with clean cloths and a tub of water.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jayce lies, holding your hand. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

You squeeze his hand, grateful for his affection, but shake your head. 

“It’s not, Jayce. Please, I don’t want you here,” you plead softly. “Please, I don’t want you to see this.”

Viktor, who has rolled up his sleeves and is now washing his hands, gives Jayce a pointed look. Jayce looks at you in disbelief for a moment, then awkwardly stands, his movements stiff with shock. It takes him a second to truly process your request. Then he nods, as if telling himself it’s going to be okay, before he starts moving away from you

“Jayce,” you begin, voice hoarse and thick with tears. “Thank you. For everything.”

He can only nod, wetness shining on his cheeks before he leaves. 

Then Viktor is next to you, kneeling at your side with a damp cloth against your brow.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” you croak. Pain is wracking up through your chest, lighting your every fiber on fire, strangling you in tightly woven flames from head to toe. The coughing comes back, accompanied by the dizziness. Even sitting down, the world is falling out from under you.

With a sigh, Viktor pushes the hair off your face and cradles your jaw with his hand. He presses a cool cloth against your neck and you don’t have the energy to sigh from the temporary relief it gives you.

“What on earth were you thinking, leaving like that?” he asks gently. You know he feels wounded by your actions. You can hear it in the slight tremble of his words, the sense of betrayal in his voice. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you anymore,” you whisper. “I didn’t know I was hurting you.”

“You think that leaving wouldn’t hurt me too?” he says, his voice cracking. 

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, hot and blurring your vision. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Viktor doesn’t seem able to respond. Instead, he just takes in a shaky breath, removes the damp towel from your face, and returns it to the tub where he wrings it out and drapes it over the side.

“Are you leaving?” you ask. You really don’t want him to go, but you don’t tell him that. “You can go, if you want, you know. You don’t have to watch.”

“I’m staying right here,” Viktor answers adamantly. “I’m here.”

And then his free hand is clutching yours - warm and steady. Calming.

He has calluses all over his fingers and palm, evidence of his years working in the lab - a soft sort of roughness that you brush your thumb over. You want to memorize every detail of him that you can before you go. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is weak, unsteady. Barely there.

You cough again, painful waves radiating through your chest. You turn to direct it into your shoulder, and Viktor’s hand stays placed on your jaw. He can’t seem to stop staring at you, determination etched into his brow, thumb rubbing gentle motions against your cheek.

“Can I ask you one more question?” you ask.

“Anything.”

He always says that, but this time you have a feeling he really means it this time.

“That night I gave you the blanket,” you start softly before a fierce round of coughing interrupts you. You gasp for air and Viktor slides his hand behind you, helping you breathe as he rubs soothing circles into your back. Eventually, your breath settles, and you continue, determined on staying a little longer. “After we hugged, I… I thought you were going to kiss me. Were you thinking about it?”

Viktor inhales deeply. 

“I have thought about kissing you every day since that moment in the library,” he says. He pauses for a moment, his hand returning from your back to cradle your face, eyes focused on your lips. “Did you…  want that? For me to kiss you?”

“Yes. For months,” you reply.

He hesitates for a moment, thumb rubbing circles against your jaw.

“Do you… still want that?”

You stare at him. You feel the way your heart beats, a rapid staccato in your chest, and you think the sickness is ready to take you. But it doesn’t.

“Yes.” Your voice breaks as you say it, raw emotion suffused through your admission.

Viktor kisses you.

The kiss is soft, gentle, sweet. So tender that it seems to melt you down into clay in his hands.

You only regret that you hadn’t experienced this months ago, when you could have properly enjoyed it, but you’ll take what you can get. 

You memorize him - the taste of his mouth against yours, the heat of his palm against your face.  He smells of earth, fragrant and dulcet - dirt, petrichor, blossoms just beginning to bloom.

He smells of spring. He feels like it, too.

When your hands slide through the softness of his hair, silky against your fingers, you pull until he gives a pleased groan and leans in further - committing the sound to memory. 

Maybe one day you’ll meet again. In the afterlife, perhaps, if one exists - but for now, you want to lock every detail, every sensation, every second you have with him into a little box in your heart, secret and safe.

You could never have imagined how this would feel, even in the long nights of your active imagination.

His lips are warm against yours - slightly chapped, but utterly soft. Softness soon turns into desperation - his hand settling at your waist, his tongue molding against yours. 

As he shifts in closer, your hands move downward - first thumbing at his jaw, then running along his arms, then fixing onto his shirt. Your left hand settles over his chest, his heart a fluttering bird beneath your palm. Your right hand grips his shirt tightly,  a silent plea for him to stay. You’re still so frightened. 

Nox is purring from your lap.

When Viktor finally pulls away, all you can hear is the sound of your combined shallow breathing - yours strained, Viktor’s heavy.

After a moment of somber silence, he speaks.

“You must know that I would do anything for you by now,” he says softly, brushing damp strands of hair away from your forehead. 

The desperation you find in the warmth of his golden eyes is so unmistakable it threatens to rip through your chest. Then he presses his forehead to your brow, his breathing quickening, your hand still fixed on his chest. His heart rate has quickened, pounding under your hand.

“I don’t… want to lose you. Anything you want of me, it’s yours,” he continues, words pressed reverently to your skin. “I could stop all this. Make it end.”

His words don’t feel real, but you know they must be. You couldn’t have imagined how this would feel, either. Relief. Devastation.

“Viktor,” you say softly, but he’s speaking again before you can go on.

“Give me permission,” he says, his voice hauntingly calm. “Give me permission, and I’ll do it.”

The words sit in the air for a moment, surreal and disorientating. They melt into you. Imprint on your brain.

Viktor could stop this. He could heal you.

It’s a selfish request, on your part. Almost more selfish than anything you could bear. It would burden him. He’d be forever reliant on you. 

You know all those things. But you’re still playing the logic back to yourself - over and over - a never-ending string of reasons why in your head.

And yet… you want it all the same. More than you can say. 

Pain. Terror. Horror. You’re so well acquainted with those things now. You thought you’d grown used to them by now. But you’re drowning in your own lungs, and you just want it to stop. 

There’s a hunger behind Viktor’s eyes - burning, wanting, and you ache for it, too. You’re already stretching out your neck, unconsciously giving him access. He’s squeezing your hand more firmly now, a lifeline connecting you to your body, when your mind feels so distant.

This entire time, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that dying like this is something you can accept. That you should just make the best of it. But you don’t want that. That’s never what you’ve wanted, no matter how much you’d lied to yourself.

No. What you really want is to live a long life. 

You want to move without pain, to sleep without death lurking beneath your bed, shadowing your every moment. You want Viktor’s mouth on yours again. You want to kiss him in a moment when you’re not dying and can cherish it fully, unburdened by sorrow and desperation. You want to be with him every day, for the rest of your life - for years and years. As much as you can get.

You want that more than anything.

“Please,” you say fervently, the word bursting out of you with as much strength as you can muster. “Please.”

He kisses you again. This time it’s hard, desperate, his mouth ever so sweet against you. Then he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours for just a moment.

“It won’t hurt,” he says, smoothing the hair away from your neck, his breath tickling at your throat as he noses over the skin. “It won’t hurt at all.”

“I know,” you say. 

And, without a moment of hesitation, his teeth sink into your neck. 

tags: @modernamilf @mischievous-piltovian @yeehawbvby @dianounais @avid-main @stararctic @doctorho @mello-jello29 @silco-my-love @am-3-thyst @thefiasco-onyourblock @glowstick-cafe @orangechickenpillow

[storiumemporium]

In the Haze of a Crimson Lust II

Viktor/Vampire!Reader/Jayce

| Word Count - 4.2k | ANGST ANGST ANGST |

< Previous | Next >

(HERE'S PART TWO! I don't know that this would count as plot heavy, mostly it's just worldbuilding at this stage- partially fueled by my terrible decision to read Flowers for Algernon while writing this- but she sure does fucking HURT. Enjoy!!!)

TAG LIST:

@hikariflower4 @hr-nm-grnd-zr @queerkittycat @dreamtogether2000

(P.S. I don't know if you're still inchrested but here's part 2 of that Vamp Fic @arcanescribbles 🥺👉👈)

Viktor and Jayce attempt to stop your condition from progressing, things take a rapid turn for the worst.

Jayce has never seen Viktor look so small before.

Viktor, a pillar of pride and genius, a man who has never let the world drag him under, wilted away before him. He doesn't need Viktor to say it, he just stares with big, hopeless, frightened eyes and Jayce's stomach falls away into the void.

"Jay—" his voice breaks, Jayce sees bright, panicked tears bubbling up in Viktor's eyes as he forces himself deeper into the lab, looking for a seat. Jayce abandons his work, as if it hadn't existed.

He slams into Viktor maybe a little harder than he intends to, arms coming to squeeze the man tightly enough around the waist and back that he lifts clear off the ground, and rather than his usual grumbling, Jayce can hear his crutch clatter to the ground, left in favor of wrapping his arms around Jayce's neck. He hiccups, and Jayce's heart fractures.

"Hey, hey... We'll fix it, okay? We solved Hextech, right? We can do this too. She'll be okay."

"We- we don't have enough time, enough resources- this isn't our expertise-"

"Vik, we aren't mages either, but we did it. Have faith in me- in us."

Jayce wouldn't admit it then, not for many years- but he manages to keep a false calm entirely off the desire to protect Viktor, trying his best to be for his partner what Viktor had been for him so many years ago. The realization that you... that you were dying, it's like being forced under water- it's like he's a little boy again, caught in a blizzard.

He helps Viktor toward a chair- the one Jayce had been in himself when Viktor burst through the door, and fetches his cane as Viktor attempts to collect himself, tears spilling over silently as he wipes them with frustration.

"Where is she now? Is she...conscious..?" Jayce can hear his own fear creaking through when he asks.

"I-" Viktor runs a trembling hand through his hair. "I panicked."

"Vik..?"

"She- she was- she spoke of going to the Enforcers...of telling them about her condition."

"They would've taken her to Stillwater..."

"They would have killed her, Jayce." All Viktor could think of, in that moment, is you being snatched away from him- of you, alone in a cold, dark, prison-made-hospice, withering away, rotting while impersonal and frightened nurses and doctors poked and prodded at you, making at best half-hearted attempts to save you.

If you- if you were going to go, he wanted it to be in your bed, with him, under warm heavy blankets and in your comfortable clothes. Surrounded by things you loved, just the way he wanted.

The calm he so carefully had been trying to build up cracks again, the fragile twine of his psyche is unspooling, tears rising, and Viktor startles at the feeling of big, heavily calloused hands on his face.

Jayce is rubbing the delicate skin just beneath his eyes, a soothing little back and forth for Viktor to focus on, he can see the twinge of pink in Jayce's own eyes as he squeezes Viktor's face gently.

"I locked her in our bedroom." He finally admits, hoarse. "She was asleep when I left so I swapped the lock around. She can't get out."

"Alright...alright." He's nodding to himself now, and Viktor can see the fire start in his eyes. "C'mon, Vik. We've got a plan to hatch."

—

Viktor... you stupid, sweet man.

You're laying against the door now- crawled off your bed to it after struggling too hard to stand- having woken up to find that he's imprisoned you. You take a guess that he didn't like your suggestion to go to the authorities.

Your mind rolls back to the realization of what was happening to you, just hours before. The way he'd gone shock still and stared and stared at you like he couldn't fathom it- like every fiber of his being was rejecting the very notion, the thought that something so terrible had befallen you. The way he'd crumbled after the words left your mouth.

You understood- of course you did... But this wasn't just about you. People could die.

People have died.

You feel in some way better but also worse than you did early that night, if only because you have context for the illness rampaging through your system now, heedless of the way you're toppling down around it's wrath. Or perhaps reveling in it.

With the sun finally truly rising up in the sky, light has become fucking unbearable in a way words could not describe, the blinds and curtains zero solace- serving instead to mock the way your eyes scream and your head throbs against the assault. You'd stumbled over there awhile ago, hand clamped tightly over your eyes as you used all your feeble, feverish strength to push a heavy old bookshelf in front of the offending window. It hadn't cured the problem, but you felt like you could breathe again.

But the illness is still taking it's toll, you're hyperaware of the sun blazing in underneath the door, so harshly it feels as if you should find a floodlight on the other side instead of the lazy morning light you were used to. The kind of haze you used to wake up inside of with crusted eyes, ready to complain until you'd feel a sweet pair of lips against the corner of your mouth. It fills you with an odd anxiety, not being able to stand day like this. You don't know why you're even concerned, seeing as you're dying, but it's still there, suffocating you.

The hunger has reclaimed your stomach as well, you've noticed. Settling in against the pits like a lead weight that makes your muscles tense. Before the last twenty-four hours, you'd never felt any kind of hunger like this before, a starvation that makes you cagey and unpredictable, even for yourself.

It startled you to nausea, laying in that bathtub staring at the man you loved so, so much, to realize that the frantic pounding you'd heard had not been your own heart racing, but that of Viktor's, fluttering in his pretty chest. Your ears so keen, so sensitive now that if you face your ear to him, you could hear the blood moving through his veins. Like the disease was warping your body, adapting you to listen for the gentle sounds of life, fresh meat for the feast.

Warm blood, if the story Viktor told you is true to life.

You know, already, that this isn't going to go well, it's something you resigned yourself to the very moment you'd realized it. You had to because you knew Viktor wouldn't, and it would get out of control if one of you weren't...realistic. You're just- you're going to keep getting hungrier, and eventually the thin tresses of control you've managed to maintain so far are going to snap. Maybe, if you're lucky, raw meats will sustain you for a brief time- but not forever. It will progress.

You just hope Viktor comes to his senses by then.

The war drum is starting again, getting closer, the beat of life that makes your senses prickle, every inch of your body tightening- and then feel a bone deep fear at that subconscious reaction. Already losing your grip.

It's two sets of heartbeats, two sets of feet- and a third for a cane. Jayce and Viktor are here.

Even from the opposite end of the apartment you can hear Jayce swear- no doubt taking in the sight of the kitchen after your three A.M. fridge raid in the desperate pursuit of satisfaction.

"Vik? Jayce?" You croak out, that fever has you freezing cold and fatigued, cutting you down so that even the effort of speaking has become herculean. They're getting closer, so you slide yourself across the room, away from the door rather pathetically, propping up against the footboard of your bed as the rhythmic tick of the door unlocking meets your sensitive ears.

It's Jayce first, surprisingly, who steps into the room, he looks a bit like he's been shot when his eyes scan the intimate little haven of your home and finds you on the floor, instead of curled up among the blankets and pillows in your bed.

You look haunting, to him.

It's not your clothes and hair, that cling to you through the drench of sweat, it's not the way your pupils are dilated massively- and the way he can see them reflect like a feline, casting the light back at him, or even the fact that your skin was turning gray. No, none of that mattered, not to him.

It's how you try so hard to smile at the two men, and he can see the strain. Something that was so easy, so natural for you, and now forcing even the expression seems to exhaust. You've done nothing but sleep- far as Viktor tells him- and yet, you look so tired.

Like you're already ready to lose the fight.

Jayce approaches you slowly, not entirely sure what to expect from your behavior, only for his shoulders to slouch when he hears you giggle at him. "Not that far gone, just yet." Your voice is rough, the last time he'd heard you like that you'd wandered out in negative zero weather trying to get him his favorite drink, knowing full well how much he dreaded the snow. He'd lectured you for a good fifteen minutes, bundled up in front of the furnace of his forge, about the dangers of weather like that while you just smiled cheerily at him through the chattering of your teeth.

Your eyes, unsettling as they are, become so big and round and soft when you see him bend down, confused by what he's doing until he scoops you up into his arms. You're so small, not like Viktor who is- willowy and sharp angles, all those beautiful edges, no, you're just- tiny, and soft, and sweet, and drenched in sweat and sagging so heavily against him, face slotting against his neck.

Viktor comes up to sandwich you there against him, Jayce watches long fingers wipe away the sweat on your brow, tuck strands of hair behind your ear, check your pulse- and then Viktor's kissing your temple sweetly, and Jayce can see the way his eyes screw shut, brows furrowed.

"I'm sorry for caging you, Mouse. I just... I couldn't let you-"

"I know, Vik... It's okay." You say it softly, and your head tips away from Jayce's neck to look at Viktor through slits. "I'd be the same way, if our roles were switched."

"We need to get you to the labs," he doesn't mean for it to come out in a whisper, but it does- and you sigh, full body and heavy against him, face tucking back in against his neck. It should make him more nervous, he thinks. "It's not gonna be easy, not every day we're just carrying people into the Academy, but we should be able to manage it if we avoid the Enforcers' rotations."

Thoughts swirl around in your head unbidden, like fat, sharp claws raking against your brain.

Just how quickly did this ailment move? How much time did you have left? Is this how it will be, now? Viktor and Jayce sneaking around like criminals for you? How long until they get caught, how severe will the punishment be?

Are you worth all this?

But you aren't given an option, because to them? Yes, you were worth this, more than this, they'd burn Piltover to the ground if it could save you.

—

You're sitting in a ball on Viktor's desk in the lab. You note absently that it's even colder here than it was at the apartment, it's less an observation of feeling, and more simply a fact- like the way you know something is going to burn even without feeling the heat. You're aware of the way your body shakes, but it's not- it doesn't feel as if you are shaking, it's all sort of...out of body. Too captivated are you by the strangeness of your senses, the way the world is the same but not, bent just a little.

Your vision moves in patches of dark and bright, it reminds you of sunrays through water, moving in a hypnotic dance, like a living thing. It makes focusing hard, you find yourself wandering- drifting as you're caught up in the pretty ways the light dances, and each time your gaze snaps to some random corner of the lab Viktor and Jayce make odd expressions- but- you can't seem to hold focus long enough to piece together what it is. Your hearing is stronger than you realized, footsteps and drum-drum-drum of heartbeats, whistling and talking, sweet laughter that makes you smile, life is moving around you and you are privy of it in a way you never have been before, you decide you like it.

Even your touch has altered.

It's subtle, at least for now. The world seems to move around you wrong, liquid-y. Things push against you like waves, and you think you could follow the trails long after the thing that created them has left. It's like- you, and a pond, the pond is very very still- so still that when a droplet hits the water it ripples perfectly. You cannot tell if you're the droplet or the body of water.

You're staring at Viktor's bookshelf now, it's something you'd helped him stock for late nights in- you worried that maybe he'd get too restless trying to puzzle out some equation and not have a healthy distraction, a means to breathe.

Now it looks so different. The lights are dancing around it, catching off the books and making little lightshows that are impossibly fascinating in the moment.

You feel the ripple, and your head snaps to Viktor- who tried valiantly to not jump, but you still saw it, all the way down into his fingers, the way the muscles contract and tighten with shock. That hand is outstretched, he was going to touch you.

"Mouse..." he swallows thickly, and tries again. "Where did you go, sweet? You keep disappearing on me."

You lower your legs, slowly, and push yourself forward until your feet rest on either side of his thighs. He's smiling at you sweetly, but you can see the relentless concern there.

"Sorry, Vik. I know I'm supposed to be helping- I just-" how do you even begin to explain..? "I-I cant really uh- put it to words. Things are sort of- different."

"I'd imagine so, with the reports we've gotten." Jayce says softly, and he has it within him to even sound a little amused, something that makes you smile.

Viktor's hands wrap around your ankles, and he's rubbing softly with his thumbs. "Stay with me, mm? How do you feel?"

You nod at him, and twiddle with the laces of your stained pajama pants. The stain has taken on a...bizarre coloration.

It's not just pink anymore, but rather feathered with lilac striations that remind you of ice on a window. You watch it for awhile longer, and note with some awe that the lilac seems to be spreading before your very eyes- as if you're watching the stain age very rapidly.

"Mouse?"

Your eyes snap back up, Viktor's hands have stilled, Jayce has stilled, they're both just staring at you, and they look concerned. "Hm? Sorry?"

Viktor sounds a bit grave when he whispers your name. "Please... what's happening..?"

Your mouth goes dry with understanding, they're not concerned- just, concerned. They're scared.

"D-do you see-?" You gesture a little helplessly at the stain, and Viktor leans forward to inspect.

"Yes... I- I suspect that's from the steaks, no?"

"Not that-" you shake yourself off, your own fear making agitation rise. "Do you see the...the colors?"

"What?"

"It's- it's turning- purple, in like... these patterns." Your hands flail a bit for effect, and you're aware that every word that leaves your mouth is making it worse, not better.

"Viktor... Viktor she's- she's progressing very-"

"I know." Viktor's voice is cold. "I know."

"Is it because of where I was..?"

They both look to you, as if suddenly reminded that you are in fact there to hear this.

"I-I mean, I was next to the blast, yeah? It's why I ended up buried in the rubble. They had to pull all kinds of shrapnel and things out of me..." You touch wounds that aren't even fully healed yet. "Is it progressing faster because I got more of it than the others?"

Viktor and Jayce sink together into their mechanical minds- retreating to the safety of logic in the face of you unspooling before them.

"Yes, it's likely. More contaminants in your body, it's spreading faster."

"But would that mean we could hypothetically catch it in the process of infecting her?"

"Perhaps, yes. We could draw a sample, observe it's behaviors. Perhaps... create something to counteract it."

And that's how you see your new blood for the first time.

As expected- it comes out thicker than it should, and it's already turned several shades darker than blood should be, but by the samples littered about in this room, it was nowhere near its darkest.

Viktor and Jayce share a look, and then they're examining it under a microscope.

"Is it... Crystallizing?"

"That can't be, she would be hemorrhaging blood right now."

"Then what is that—"

You feel ill.

All the prettiness is starting to close in on you, aggressive and distressingly sudden. The ripples feel like torrents and the lights have gotten all too bright again, less like melodious ripples and more like searing tracks that should be burning the stone.

Noises, noises, noises, all around. You feel yourself panicking, it's too much- it feels like you're in danger.

And then it stirs.

The hunger.

But it doesn't make its bed within your stomach, no, it calls your chest home, and it's squeezing around your heart in a way that hurts. All those heartbeats- they call out to you, too close and too far away. You want to reach out, to grab them- sink your teeth in.

You're off the table and halfway to the labs doors when they notice.

Jayce, thankfully, is faster than he looks.

You're not moving right, he notices, it doesn't seem impeded or in any way like you're ill- it's just, odd and rhythmic, like you're dancing along to something- or maybe trying to move out of the way of things he doesn't see. Nevertheless he gets close and you notice, taking off as fast as you can for the door and he knows in that moment-

Oh.

No.

He barely gets you by the back of your shirt and you snarl, it's not an impersonation done by a human, either, it's this deep throaty thing that rumbles and gurgles and no one could make a sound like that.

Then you're lunging at him and he has to take you by your throat. You're clean off the ground and seem completely unfazed by it, scratching aggressively at his arms. Even through all the padding, it stings a little.

Viktor shouts at the sight, and throws himself into the fray.

He knows better than to try and talk you down, you're utterly vacant in the eyes- so he does something that makes him want to cry for the third or fourth time that day.

He sedates you, heavily.

You make an odd, awful noise, and then go slack within Jayce's hands. He falls with you.

You're bundled up into his arms, and he furrows his brows hard, willing the panic attack he feels coming on to go away, not now not now not-

Viktor throws something.

Several things, in fact.

All of it's heavy and metal, nothing that would break, but it clatters like gunshots all around the room and it's paired with the awful, awful cries of Viktor's rage, vicious and breaking on the edges, almost shrill. He's slamming his hands down on the table hard enough he knows Viktor's hands will hurt later, and he's swearing more colorfully than he's ever heard from the man before.

And then he slumps, and slides to the floor.

He curls partially into a ball, a hand tugging painfully at his hair, and he stares at you- at Jayce, from the corner of his eye.

The two of you could make a painting.

Something domestic, and lovely, Viktor thinks. You're still in your nightclothes and you look peaceful and gentle wrapped up in Jayce's big, strong arms. He's rocking you tenderly, and if Viktor ignores the way Jayce is twitching and the way a nervous sweat is breaking out on his skin, he could picture that Jayce is just sharing an intimate, private moment with you.

Idly, Viktor wonders if maybe you wouldn't be dying in front of him right now, if you'd picked Jayce instead of him.

"She's progressing too fast." Viktor says it with unnatural flatness. "She's not going to make it."

"Don't- don't say that." Jayce is still looking down at you, in his arms. He sees veins in your face that weren't there before, the way almost all color has left you.

"She's going to die." He croaks, and falls the rest of the way to the floor, curling up into a ball.

All it had taken was one day, just one day for everything to come crashing down.

—

When you come to you know you don't have long left.

You can feel it coursing through you, everything is getting so hard to move, heavy and unresponsive.

You're back in the apartment, and terrified.

Why would they bring you here of all places?

Why didn't they just kill you, now that they've seen you're already out of control?

Especially with what they knew you'd become, here before long.

Someone is laying next to you.

You turn your head, and in a mirror of that fateful night a mere few weeks ago, Viktor is there. But there's no Jayce to be found.

Viktor is asleep, for a moment you pretend that nothing is wrong, that this is just another one of those rare, sweet times you wake up before your Tinker does, and get to watch the way his lashes flutter, eyes roving behind lids. He was always so restless, even when he slept, it's that big, ambitious brain of his.

You stifle a gasp when you feel your heart jolt, painfully. Everything feels off and not in the way it had been before. This is more desperate, more human.

You- you'd thought- you knew you didn't have long but-

Already..?

You stroke Viktor's face, gentle, tracing the hollow of his cheek. It didn't used to be so severe, so gaunt. Not until he'd collapsed.

It was something you'd forced yourself to make peace with, months ago. Receiving the prognosis. The condolences.

Your Viktor was dying, is dying. You'd watched it, too, watched the transition as his body needed more and more support, the coughing fits and the nights where he'd wheeze so loud you couldn't sleep, so you'd stare up at the ceiling and weep.

But you knew it was okay, that you'd be okay, for him. So that he could go easily, so he wouldn't spend his last moment worrying.

You feel the tears welling up now. You let them spill over easily.

You barely speak it to the air, quiet so you don't wake him from his sleep.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I'm so so sorry Viktor..." Your body shakes with the effort to keep from fully sobbing.

It's the kind of guilt that makes you breathless. The cruel realization that, you'd spent all that time coming to terms with the loss of Viktor, and now you were going to die first.

You were going to leave him, to suffer alone until his illness takes him.

It wasn't supposed to go this way. Even as a selfish part of you revels in the fact that you won't have to lose him, the rest aches. You were going to be there for him, be his rock, hold him and kiss him and tell him you love him, pet his hair that way he likes, you were going to spend his last days in lazy peace, relaxed and happy and laughing over fond memories.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

He would be alone now. Terribly alone. Growing sicker, alone. Dealing with the fear, alone. Suffering. Alone.

You hoped that maybe, just maybe, Jayce would fill in the role you'd so cruelly dumped on him, now.

The tears keep coming for awhile, staining the pillows heavy as you beg him to forgive you for this, like a religious woman might her God. There was nothing greater than Viktor, in your life.

You force yourself onto your side, heavy like lead, and kiss his forehead, his cheek, his beauty marks, and his lips. Featherlight, stopping only when he starts to briefly stir.

Then, you force yourself up to your desk, and write Viktor a letter.

When he wakes, you're gone.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just – fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

--

masterpost

[arcane-ish]

Methods & Motivations, Cait, Mel et al

So when I was rambling about Caitlyn’s character, I was talking about how the thing about Caitlyn’s character is that her motivations are very straight forward and the methods she employs are controversial within her universe, but not really to us, the viewers (yes the breaks Vi out of prison, presumably after realizing that Vi got screwed over by Marcus anyway, but we the viewers know that Vi is a nice person). 

This made me think about the Methods & Motivations of the other characters.

Viktor

Motivation: Scientific progress, helping other people, keeping himself from dying to he can keep pursuing his other goals Methods: We see him being pushed to the brink of using more and more extreme tools to preserve his life, including teaming up with a character we know is probably bad news (Singed), communicating with the hexcore thingie which also seems like is is bad news, changing himself, keeping secrets from his friends

So Viktor has pretty straight forward motivations, but we see him slowly being pushed into using more and more extreme methods.  

Jayce: 

Motivation: Figuring out magic, scientific progress, saving Viktor’s life Methods: Doing experiments that the university might not approve of, bribing the council to get votes, ousting Heimerdinger, getting his hands dirty fighting and promptly getting a goon killed

A bit like Viktor we see Jayce employing shady methods to advance his goals, including doing potentially controversial things against a character who is casted more in the “nice” category. One interesting bit is that we gets to see a negative fallout to his behavior, both when Heimerdinger is sad about his ousting and Jayce doubts himself and when he gets a young goon killed at the factory and gets called out for it by Vi. I think this makes him interesting when compared to Viktor,  

Mostly in that on one hand hand it plays more with the idea that Jayce’s goals and motivations might be problematic (is there an element of trying to advance himself or wanting the glory?) and that so far any problematic behavior from Viktor hasn’t been found out yet, so the people around him haven’t really got a chance to react to things by comparison Jayce has gotten called out more or been confronted by the consequences of his actions. And not just in a “he is sad about it” but in “other people now know about it or might have a worse opinion of him”

Jinx: 

Motivations: General chaos/sticking it to the topsiders, reuiniting with Vi, proving herself to Silco Methods: Jinx is all about the extreme methods, killing multiple people, abducting Caitlyn to make Vi choose 

Jinx’s character is all about the over the top methods, no matter what she does.  Silco: 

Motivations: Establishing the Nation of Zaun (tm), keeping Jinx at his side Methods: Pretty extreme on the morality scale, turning people into monsters, selling and smuggling the fantasy equiavlent of drugs, keeping secrets from Jinx, taunting the addicts, beating up his goons, attacking “good guy” characters like Vi or Vander

Silco is a pretty straight forward bad guy in his methods, interesting nuances to his character come more from when he doesn’t do things the go alone with his bad guy template. The other wrinkle is the show at least seeding some doubts about his his motivations. He isn’t even the typical template of “villain who wants the right and honorable things, but chooses immoral methods to pursue”, but the show casts doubt about his motivations, just enough to make you wonder whether maybe there is a good point to it (we like Jinx, so caring about her is good? The revolution is good, after all some of the good guy characters also support it?), but also making you not quite sure. 

Heimerdinger:

Motivations: Science! protecting his students/being nice to people, prevending another magical catastrophe Methods: Telling people not to do stuff, sometimes sternly, a guess being a bit sneaky when it comes to protecting Jayce from negative consequences for his experiments Heimerdinger didn’t get a ton of screentime, and kind of like Caitlyn I think he falls a bit on the boring side becasue his motives are not really problematic, not are his actions (his problems come more from his inactions). . We also get a hint of Heimerdinger being shown the error of his ways and making changes to his approach. 

I think this is an interesting contrast to Caitlyn. The show has contfronted Caitlyn with the knowledge that the enforcers are corrupt. The difference is that when Jayce and Heimerdinger were put into a similar moment of realization, it led to both of them doing an immediate swerve in their behavior (Jayce decides to pursue a deal with Silco, Heimerdinger teams up with Ekko). Caitlyn so far seems more like her core tenants (Caitlyn thinks that it is worthwhile for her to be part of the Enforcers/Wardens, Caitlyn believes in reconciliation/co-existance/people getting along in regards to Piltover and Zaun) will continue to exist, or at least the show ended before we could see what will happen there (particularly in regards to her mother being attacked). 

Maybe Caitlyn’s position will be tested more in the next season or maybe the whole point of her character that it fits with her character trait of dogged persistance, she she is almost a contrast to the characters who do change. 

Mel

Motivations: Making a name for herself/proving herself to her family, loyalty to Piltover (not Zaun) Methods: Various cases of bribery, advocating at least initially the creation of weapons

Mel was actually the main character I thought of when I started to contemplate methods and motivations. When I somewhat complain that Caitlyn’s character is too straight forward, I wondered about Mel. I think in a lot of ways Mel’s character is heavily defined by how the writers kept her motivations from the audience till close to the end. 

Her methods are fairly harmless so far compared to the acts of many other characters, what makes her character seem so mysterious or potentially dangerous for so long is that we don’t know her motivations for such a long time. I kept thinking how completely different thes show and her character would have felt, if that scene of her mom executing somebody in front of baby!Mel had like opened the first or second episode. 

I don’t think that would have made her instantly a beloved character, but I think it would have sucked a lot of the mystique out of character or at least channeled it into a very different direction. At this point it’s possible that she is actually a character that is comparatively straight forward, we just didn’t know that for most of the season. 

Ekko

Motivations: Protecting his group (and as a result fighting Silco), resisting the topside Methods: Engaging in dangerous physical fights with important characters, antagonizing some of the good guy characters

Now Ekko suffers heavily from not enough screentime. The show plays with there being some edge to his methods, but it’s only hints so far. 

Vi

Motivations: Reuniting with Jinx/Powder, bonding with and protecting Cait, fighting Silco, being a good person/leader Methods: Teaming up with enforcers/the council, risking to antagonize Jinx

Vi, Vi, Vi, Vi ... Vi is really interesting to me ,because I think she is actually fairly “white hat”, to me she feels closer to me to the Caitlyn/Heimerdinger group, definitely farther away from the Jinx/Silco moral group. Maybe teetering the edge between Caitlyn/Heimer and Jayce/Viktor/Mel? 

So why is that? I think what ultimately makes Vi feel different to Caitlyn in her White Hat Status is the show’s readyness to show Vi fuck up and suffer heavy consequences for it. She lashes out at Powder and loses her over it. Her story has a deep air of tragedy because a lot of the time the consequences were unforseen, arguably disproportional (Jinx overreacting to the existance of Caitlyn) and on occasion not her fault/apmlified by things out of her control (not her fault she got abducted by Marcus). 

The other aspect is that her character is defined by her having to make compromises and having to team up with first Caitlyn, then the council, then Jayce in pursuit of her goals, but her connection to “the other side” (ie Jinx and Ekko) is emphasized enough that that choice still feels weighty. 

[kurthummeldeservesbetter]

So if a Mel and Caitlyn pair up defeats a dictator and wins a war (at least the first part), a Vi and Jayce team up only ever kills kids or fucks up a mission, and l then what does a Jinx and Viktor pair do? What do the other options make?

Here are my ideas, ranking from best outcome to worst or what actually gets done.

Genuinely think a Viktor Mel pair (depending on if they both have some sort of magic) save the world. Both incredibly intelligent. Both caring but can’t be manipulated by emotions easily (influenced is a different story but damn when you’ve got a terminal illness or a dictator mom it’s hard being normal). However I think the arcane writers knew the team up would be too powerful. Also incredibly sexy. If they just had tea together once I think there would be no arcane story to tell.

Cait and Viktor. Not a lot getting done but if we’re thinking season 1 then it’s gonna be so nice and calm. They’re having tea. They’re planning our improvements for Zaun. A harp sings in the distance. They talk about Jayce. Caitlyn asks questions and listens to the answers and vice versa. World peace maybe not achieved but close.

Technically Jayce helped Cait free Vi and helped cover it up, as well as help her when Caitlyn tried explaining what was going on with Silco. Very even results. Nothing major changing here but typical for people who literally just bring out nothing in each other besides…friendship? Siblings? Idk.

Vi and Viktor would probably get along in the sense of they knew an older Zaun. (At least in comparison to Jinx.) Vi can be pretty gentle and Viktor definitely cares. Battle wise he ain’t gonna do much (the only time he really fought was when it wasn’t a good thing for anyone) but he’s bring the smarts to Vi’s streets. They’re gonna win the battle but it will be tough. Some lives may be lost but it ain’t theirs.

Mel and Vi….Vi does not like politicians. Vi does not like people from Piltover beyond Caitlyn (and maybe Jayce?) They argue the whole time. Nothing bad happens but nothing gets done. It’s mostly Vi’s fault but Mel can’t let it go. It’s been three days and they haven’t left the council room. It ends with the mutual agreement to never meet again.

Technically a Cait/Jinx pair saved Vi (after the commune) and also the conversation they had in the jail was actually civil. Don’t think a whole lot is getting done but a good battle buddies I think. There’s gonna be tension though. Lots of arguing and glares. Caitlyn’s hair is now orange and Jinx lost another finger. Lots more damage than necessary.

Mel and Jinx. Someone is dying. It might not be one of them but it’s definitely someone who shouldn’t be dead. Mel’s level-headedness barely works on Vi and it definitely won’t work on Jinx. She’s never had a younger sister. Jinx knows what buttons to push. The building is on fire.

Jayce and Jinx. Mostly everyone is dead except for Vi and Viktor somehow, or the exact reverse. They haven’t stopped arguing since they met. They just keep slapping each other like cats. Jayce keeps trying to hit her with the hammer but she’s elusive and it’s like a game of wack-a-mole. He kills a kid each time instead. Jinx won’t stop making fun of him. Someone lost a limb at some point.

Jinx and Viktor. Everyone is dead. I would say they are too but no, they’re stuck at the end of the universe with each other. It’s equally both their faults. Viktor deadnames her every time she insults him. She never stops and neither does he. They each have a shrine to their respective loved one and it’s the only places they don’t bother each other. She bleached half his hair. He poured out her nail polish. They fight till the end of time itself. Sometimes they have movie nights where their respective hallucinations (Silco, Sky) join.

[drtechmaturgics]

hi. grocery store giopara? for your loyal fans

hi smirk cat...! for you. i didn't reread this so there's probably some (now graciously fixed) irredeemable typos!!!

So Jayce realizes he's dying for real when he wakes up. Whatever. Dying is solidly on the list of natural occurrences which often befall the wretched others that hem and haw around him daily like starving baby birds, begging for just a splatter of his regurgitated brilliance to rustle their minuscule larvae-sized brains. This is incidentally also a list that Jayce doesn't give a shit about as a postmodern rebellion towards the Forces Which Govern Ye. Plenty of people have died before Jayce Giopara, and Jayce Giopara dying will be an entirely unspecial occurrence -- there's Viktor, for example, who possibly still exists as a mirage shuffling in Zaun's backwater convenience stores terrorizing sweet innocent-faced minimum wage workers with his dangerous robot ideology, who has died in Jayce's head because fuck him for taking the good centrifuge, honestly, and there's Ezreal, whom Jayce has been ignoring for the past month because if he wants to be soliloquized with mummified sparrows he’ll drape himself on tables at the Bluewind Court.

It takes a while to get up, mostly because Jayce is attempting to suppress the intermittent eye-twitching which keeps restarting like a shitty engine every time he finishes his deep-breathing through the itchiness of his throat and is about to haul himself off the bed, and then he's back to scissoring his fingers into his eye socket. A migraine sets in. When he finally shuffles over to the coffee machine in a kitchen he doesn't recognize -- experimentally consistent after waking up in a bedroom he doesn't recognize -- he discovers forty special settings, neither of which denote how to properly spit out a single rancid cup of addiction-enabler, and the caffeine tablets aren't where he usually keeps them -- half warm and sweating in his jacket pocket, which is not a jacket, but a cute embroidered bathrobe -- and Jayce shuffles over to the pale curtain, translucent as rose-tinted glass and fluttering sweetly in the wind, to fling the window open and announce that Shit Isn't Funny Anymore, Mari, and discovers the courtyard is not the Giopara Clan Courtyard.

Whatever. He chews at his suspiciously clean nails. Jayce has a note which he keeps inside his sock at all times enumerating the various kidnapping conditions he will accept: a functional coffee machine, a carrier pigeon, and a manicure, though simply by numerical order his kidnappers are doing an incredibly shitty job. Jayce puts on the ugliest fucking outfit he's ever seen laid out in one of the closets, does a quick twirl, admiring that Albus Ferros's semi-functional taste becomes worse every year, and walks out the door with little fanfare. There's money in the pockets. A lot of it, Jayce wonders if he's being trained to react to muggings non-lethally because he considers himself a devilishly handsome trust-fund asshole but if he saw himself walking around with all the solid gold hemmed to his fuck-ugly jacket and his pockets practically jingling merrily to ROB ME, MOTHERFUCKERS in silver-bright morse code he'd kill that fucker in three seconds. And then burn his jacket.

He exits the apartment and immediately doubles over at the taste of fresh air, or at maybe the flower petal that's splattering enthusiastically into his palm. A tall woman materializes next to him. Jayce's seen her face around, maybe. One of the Arvino servants.

"You alright?"

"Coffee machine," Jayce wheezes.

"Well," she says dubiously. "We are out of coffee."

Jayce bravely lets a single tear trickle from his eye, less as a psychological stress reaction, because Jayce doesn't have those, but more as a natural consequence of the minutes he spent yawning and sniffing pathetically from not fulfilling his daily routine -- i.e. drinking a mug of sludge, meditating by throwing darts at a picture of Viktor, ripping and burning all his letters while cackling around the stove -- doubling as performing all the stretches his physical therapist told him to do -- and finally lying facedown on his laboratory bench and screaming his lungs out for four consecutive minutes. And then maybe some cocaine, because experts say they’re bad for plants. The woman looks alarmed. "Do you...?" she waves her hands. "I can have someone bring some --"

"Where's the grocery store from here?"

"Are you alright?"

"I will be, once I go to the grocery store," Jayce said. "Please don't ask me why I want to go to the grocery store, except the grocery store is the most Dostoyevskian (A/N: fantasy Dostoyevsky) rest station of life, where the baseline of human necessity has been corporified and the very rich and the very poor intersect where they must examine the five-dollar chips on the shelf which will grant them momentary pleasure and cumulative deteriorating heart health against the packs of dried noodles which will also grant them cumulative deteriorating heart health. It is a place where the mercy of God is at its most nonexistent, where there are the most reasons to cease existing displayed before you in a rather metaphorical fashion, gazing at the ripoff Wonder Bread which heralds your disgusting nursing home end as easy as an oncoming train, and you are still in the headlights as you calculate the deliberate hindbrain intentions to continue existing with each item you slide into your cart -- a moment of pure physical selfishness, an evolutionary trainwreck."

She points towards the grocery store.

The clerk seems shocked to see Jayce at the grocery store, possibly because he once said many horrible things about grocery stores, and Jayce smiles very charmingly at him as he examines his selection of coffee. Every now and then, he pauses to cough demurely into the handkerchief in his pocket -- handkerchief! Jayce would laugh hysterically if he wasn't vomiting bluebells -- and wonders what scent his bath should be tonight. He spits a rose into the trashcan, scratching at his ribs while he waits for the woman standing before him to finish fucking tapping the gods-damned celery stalks, no, ma'am, there really is no need you're going to die of microplastics before you're sixty and he's thumbing his chin staring at the rows and rows of discounted watermelon when the familiar click-clack of Seraphine's obnoxious normal-person boots settle behind him. Jayce picks up a watermelon and turns.

"'Sup," Jayce says. "Where'd all your hair go?"

"Jayce," Seraphine says, expression shuttering. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?”

"I haven't seen you in weeks."

"I missed the part where we see each other regularly."

Seraphine visibly engages in deep-breathing exercises. Jayce taps out a rhythm on the watermelons to help her out.

When Seraphine's first inducted into Clan Ferros at the tender age of mumbleteen, Warden Ferros is seized with premonitions of parenthood and forces Jayce (age asshole-teen) to pledge his life to her, as he pledged his life to Clan Ferros, and as he pledged his life to Piltover and his Alma Mater and ending plastic pollutions on all the petitions he signed at the Academy to assimilate underneath the banner of Social Justice, though Jayce actually regularly drinks from plastic water bottles when he's alone in his apartment away from the prying eyes of the invasive performative world. Unfortunately, Seraphine's little pledge had a little more symbolic weight, i.e. the Warden forcing Jayce to lawyerlessly sign his name on a contract which mostly moved around shares until both of them had sufficient reasons to not fuck over Seraphine in the name of not fucking over their tenuous trade relations, and when he went home that night rubbing at his black eye and his freshly wounded baby Intelligencer ego, the then-Lady Giopara kicked his ass over a banister, but what that mostly means is that Seraphine is Jayce's responsibility, and Jayce does a lot of bad things, and Seraphine hears about those bad things after going to her liberal dogma boiling pot of fuckin' hippies at her fancy art school college -- which Camille thinks is, ahem, cute -- and proceeds to jump up and down on Jayce's limp corpse for fun through the form of strongly-worded letters which he's morally/contractually/violently obligated to respond "so true" to.

But in the end, none of that really matters, because Seraphine decides she wants to become a pop star, and Jayce snickers over the dinner table after spitting half-masticated meat all over his plate and Warden Ferros gives him a look so severe his spirit crumples a little and dies, but nonetheless, he chortles out a, "Gods above! You shat out a sense of humor!" and Warden Ferros gives him another look so horribly concentrated with bitter vindication he crumples into the chair and passes out. Also from the stab wound.

Whatever.

Seraphine's forehead furrows as she visibly begins a dramatic recall of her Child Development syllabus. Caitlyn also gets that look, but Caitlyn also doesn't know what she's talking about when Jayce is concerned, so. "We do talk regularly. I send you letters all the time."

"Yes," Jayce says. "And I answer them because I was fourteen and stupid and sold my soul to your mother."

Seraphine replies blithely, "She's your mother too."

Holy shit.

Holy shit. Jayce's mind kicks into overdrive. He drops the watermelon, Seraphine catches it with fluid grace and pops it into his cart, and the overbalancing weight forces him to stumble out of his asshole leg-cross and right himself gripping the wet edge of the neighboring vegetable display, which is so gross and so cold he wants to cry. He sets the cart down, wipes his hand on his pants, and stutters out the first thing he can think of which diverges completely off that motherfucking train track which he can't even begin to comprehend because first off -- Jayce has a mother. She's dead, but he did have a mother, and second off, what the fuck? and third off, "I was under the very distinct impression that you no longer wanted to engage in contact with me after you explicitly told me you didn't want to engage in contact with me."

"Oh, Jesse," Seraphine says with infinite tenderness. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Kill yourself," Jayce says automatically.

Seraphine continues, "I mean, I looked back at what I said and I guess I can see why you thought it was the way you thought it was. But it's also just like you to take everything I say in the literal sense without examining the deeper meaning behind it--"

Jayce begins to strangle himself with his handkerchief.

She tears it away. "Stop that. I was saying, just because the things you've done make you an irredeemable piece of shit doesn't mean you're an irredeemable piece of shit. I hate this city. This city will tear down itself and tear down the world, but this city is composed of people who need someone more than ever. Piltover has people which need to live and need to flourish -- and I am a conduit of that, and you are a conduit of the city which needs to die. But, you know, it means something else for us as people."

"Fuck you," Jayce says automatically. "Fuck you, I don’t get a shitty pink wig. Everything I've done, everything the Warden and I do is so people like you can fix the world. You don't get to tell me off for it. I’m fucking helping!"

"We should all take a step back and not be sensitive about this," Seraphine says gravely.

"I'm not being sensitive about anything," Jayce replies hysterically, which unfortunately makes him sound a bit off the shits, but he's just raising his voice to compensate for the grit in his throat. "I am just telling you that the best thing I can ever do is throw myself between you and a bullet and you're crying histrionics about it!"

"Because it's disgusting!" Seraphine shouts back. "Because nobody should have that life! You're not a dog."

“Did no one teach you how to be grateful?’

“I didn’t ask for you to use me to mope.”

“Mope?” Jayce says, aghast. “I don’t mope. Do you mope? Listen, Sera, I have approached my responsibilities with the same deliberateness and genius I approach everything else and seeing that my track record is ‘holy shit! You’re still alive and humping foreign exchange students while composing violin pieces’ I really don’t see what the complaint is. Are you starved for attention? Is school that boring? It’s not too late to say you want to change your major, you know, if you cry in front of the Warden I’m sure her heart will bend to accommodate you.”

“You,” Seraphine replies, fascinated, “are a piece of shit.”

Jayce rasps into his hand. He wipes his mouth, “Thanks.”

“Well, it’s not right,” Seraphine says, tilting her chin up with righteous indignation. Jayce hates her type of bullheadedness, subscribers to it seem to enjoy being yelled at as vindication, so they can go home and write to the paper about what they suffered in the Fruits & Veggies section of the local grocery store. “That’s all I was saying, Jayce. I don’t want your life like that.”

“Then by all means,” Jayce snarls, pain crawling up his mouth. “The next time the knife is drawn, feel free to push me aside for the final blow. We can finish this after the Warden slits my throat.”

“Oh, fuck you—”

Warily, Jayce touches his throat.

The trickle compounds. He coughs into his elbow. He coughs into his knees, reaches into his mouth, and scissors out the most disgusting fucking mucus-coated petunia he's ever had the dubious pleasure of sliming over his gloves and he tears off the fabric and crumples the flower inside it, buries the palm of his hand in his forehead and the celery-woman has doubled back and is chiding Seraphine for triggering this Poor Young Man's Heart Condition with all of her Public Elder Abuse and Seraphine's hand is on the side of his throat, staring at him with half-formed horror, and she's looking down at the ragged handkerchief in her hands and all the thin blood that's splattered there from the open lines inside his cheeks.

Seraphine wets her lips.

"If you say Ezreal right now," Jayce says. "I will throw us both out of a window."

"Who is it? Jayce,” Seraphine’s got such weirdly blue eyes, it fucks him up sometimes, that when she stands next to her adoptive mother they’re not of blood. “Jayce. Tell me.”

His voice is a light hiss of air. "Seraphine, come on.”

Seraphine says, “I think it’s the Zaunite.”

Jayce snickers into her short-cropped hair and rests his cheek there. She puts her arms around him awkwardly, and an apple rolls from his overturned basket. Jayce mentally pats himself on the back for giving her the perfect story to tell at his funeral – confrontation and catharsis in one go, her musical career will be so pleased. Seraphine mumbles something, and when he digs his face into her itchy hair, she clears her throat and says weakly, “I was always going to have to get rid of her, one day.”

“I’m not sure how that’s conducive.”

“It goes away if the other person dies,” Seraphine tells him like she’s talking to a particularly insipid child, “or else none of us would bother.”

“You don’t understand,” Jayce replies. “The Warden is functionally immortal, and that immortality is a choice. Even if we all resolve to dust the Warden will still be here because she has made that sacrifice -- a century’s worth of martyrdom, and the pyre never stops burning. You get it, don’t you? We’re alive because she’s alive, and all we can do is be conscious of it. The world’s core has been sealed. There’s no other existence for us because without hers we aren’t here.”

“But mom’s human.”

“Yep,” Jayce agrees. “Which leaves the machines.”

“You’re awful,” Seraphine says wondrously. “You mean it. You’re awful.”

Jayce closes his eyes and kisses her hair.

[melodyalanaroster]

Miracle Romance

"Oh my god." Alana gasped with tears in her eyes. She stood in front of a large mirror and stared at herself. "I finally look like Serenity." She smiled as she left the dressing room and showed herself to Nathaniel. "You look amazing." Nathaniel smiled. Alana began to cry. “For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be like her... And now, even for a few moments... I can be her.” Tears made their way down her face as she smiled. "I guess I have to break your one rule." Nathaniel smiled. "You are not dying your hair black." Alana remarked. "I could wear a wig." Nathaniel replied. “But Nath... We talked about this...” Alana began. "I am not letting anyone else be your Endymion." Nathaniel interjected.

★

Throughout Alana's life, she had made it very clear that Sailor Moon had been a staple to her. It was a staple in the Roster family. By the time Alana reached the point of living in the Black Tower, at least four generations of the family enjoyed it. Including both primary sets of sisters, Margaret and little Ravenna.

She would play pretend with Viktor, Severina and Sam when they were children. She would always be Sailor Moon and Princess Serenity, Viktor was Tuxedo Mask and Prince Endymion, Severina was Sailor Venus and Sam was always Sailor Jupiter. The tree house in Alana's backyard was often the Moon Kingdom and they would frequently save the world. The adventures would always end with the power of love winning and the kids going into the house for a snack.

As the kids reached adolescence, they were forced to stop playing. But, their love of the anime was still prevalent. Alana always kept up with merchandise news and rumors about the release of a second anime. Lynne had made sure that Alana and Sam had their own copies of the manga, original anime and movies. Viktor happily talked about being Endymion to Alana’s Serenity until they were forced to break up. They wanted to continue the fantasy, but circumstance parted them. Severina was always happy to talk to everyone, and toss out ideas for a proper cosplay group, but Sam dampened the idea with the reminder that, as long as Viktor’s and Severina’s fathers remained in control of their lives, they’d never be allowed to do so.

When Lynne moved Alana and Sam to Amouria, things began to change. "She won't shut up about that Nathaniel guy." Viktor growled as he sat down next to Severina. “Viktor, you knew from the day one that you and Mels weren't allowed to be together. She has to find her Endymion." Severina sighed. “But seriously? aunt Lynne moves her and Sam to Amouria and they both immediately find guys they like?” Viktor complained. “You know Mels talks about other guys too. Right now, it could be Castiel, Lysander, Armin or Nathaniel.” Severina tried to make things sound better. “No, it's definitely Nathaniel. She barely mentions the others to me. Mostly about Armin playing games, Castiel being an ass, and Lysander losing his notebook. But she dotes on Nathaniel a lot.” Viktor retorted. Severina sighed. "Viktor... Do you remember what happened to Adonis and Beryl? Their envy got the best of them, they became evil and they died. Please keep a clear head.” She reasoned. "I am not like Adonis and Beryl." Viktor shot. “Viktor, I can't believe I have to be the voice of reason here. Both of our moms made it very clear that aunt Lynne, Mels and Sam have more freedom than we do. They're not blue bloods. They have to find their miracle elsewhere... Although, you and I will probably end up being paired together in an arranged marriage set up by our fathers.” She explained. Viktor thought for a couple of minutes and sighed. "I just thought..." 

The first time Nathaniel ever went into Alana's room, he instantly noticed her Sailor Moon dolls. "They're really hard to find these days... And Sailor Moon means a lot to me..." She said as she explained what the show meant to her. “It's a connection to my past, my closest friends, and my family.” She smiled. Nathaniel looked puzzled for a bit, then smiled. "That's really sweet.". He smiled. He noticed a picture of her, Sam, Severina and Viktor on a shelf and picked it up. “You all look like you’re having so much fun.” He mused. “Yeah... That’s the only time we’ve ever been able to dress up.” Alana sighed, wistfully. The kids were in makeshift Sailor Scout uniforms. Their hair wasn’t perfect, and Viktor’s tux didn’t fit right, but they didn’t care. The photo had been taken a few weeks before Cosima Chevalier’s death, and was one of the last happy memories they had as a group. “Its cute.” Nathaniel chuckled as he looked at her lovingly.

When her mother went into the hospital, Nate arranged it to where Alana and Lynne could sit and watch whatever they wanted in the room. Lynne suggested marathoning Sailor Moon. The days in the hospital weren't as bad when they watched the show and Lynne stayed stable, but there were days where not even fighting evil by moonlight could save the day. But, that didn't keep them from trying. It didn't take them long to get through all five seasons and three movies of the original anime. “I heard they're making a second anime that's supposed to be closer to the manga!” Alana attempted to be cheery. She was sure that she, Severina and Sam had told her about Crystal, but she really couldn’t think of anything positive to say.  “That's lovely! Do you know when it's set to come out?” Lynne asked. “I have no idea. I'm sure Toei will update us when they can!” Alana replied. “I hope its soon.” Lynne smiled. Suddenly, Lynne began coughing and her monitors started to go off. “NURSE! HELP!” Alana cried.

Even when Sam and Alana fought so badly that the Military and RDR felt it was necessary to create a treaty between the two organizations to prevent the sisters from ever being enemies again, it was actually their love of Sailor Moon that truly began to bring them together again. Severina had gotten wind of the fight and forced the girls to go to her house. “OW! RINI! YOU'RE HURTING MY EAR!” Alana whined. “Seriously! What the hell?” Sam whined. “I don't care if I'm hurting you two! This kind of fighting is unacceptable! You two are sisters and you know that this behavior will tear the family apart! I won't allow that!" Severina began to cry as she lead the sisters to her home theater. "What's all this?" Alana asked. "You've forced my hand, so I'm pulling out the big guns!" Severina cried as she grabbed a remote and turned on the screen. Sam and Alana looked at the menu then at each other. "Go figure." Sam grinned. "Of course." Alana grinned. The menu on the screen was the DVD menu to Sailor Moon R: The Promise Of The Rose. By the time the song “The Power Of Love” was playing, tears were streaming down the sisters' faces. "Mels." Sam began to choke. "Sam." Alana's voice wavered. They looked at each other, sadness and regret in their eyes. “Mels... I’m s-so s-sorry f-for what I-I said..” Sam sniffled. “I’m s-sorry t-too S-Sami...” Alana blubbered as she hugged Sam. “I love you.” Sam muttered as she held onto her sister. “I love you too.” Alana murmured. 

When Death’s Domain was getting set up, Alana dedicated a whole room to the series. “You’re seriously going to have an entire room dedicated to Sailor Moon?” Derek had asked. “Yes. Its going to have shelves for merch, posters, and a couch to relax on.” Alana mused. “Melody can have whatever she wants for her apartment. And, if it helps her destress, I most definitely approve.” The  Red Death announced. “Well, the majority of my collection will be in there. There’s going to be something Sailor Moon related in every room.” Alana smiled. “Of course there will be.” Derek facepalmed. “I’m not apologizing. I love Sailor Moon and I wanna showcase it in my home.” Alana laughed. “And I’m sure you’re going to do nothing but post about your collection for a while.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Obviously. Moonies have a good presence online.” Alana mused. “I thought “Moonies” were people who followed the Unification Church?” The Red Death inquired. “Yeah, they are called that, but Sailor Moon fans are also called “Moonies”. I know, in certain circles, I have to be sure to differentiate... But, its what we’re called.” Alana explained as she shrugged her shoulders. The room ended up becoming a paradise for fans of the series. Shelves filled with various collectibles, a couch decorated with two throw pillows and a blanket, a coffee table with two sets of coasters, a large rug, framed posters, plushies, moon and star lights along the walls and showering down the window and a tv mounted on one wall. In contrast to the vast majority of Death’s Domain, the room was an explosion of bright colors.

★

Nathaniel stepped into the restroom for a few minutes. Alana watched the door in anticipation. When he came out, he was running his hands along the circumference of the black wig, making sure it was in its proper place. The thought of how similar he looked to Viktor shot through her mind. She did her best to suppress that thought. "You don't even like cosplay..." She muttered as she smiled. "You do so much for me, I don't mind doing this for you." He grinned. "Nathaniel! I love you!” She cried as she wrapped her arms around him. “I knew I was going to see Princess Serenity, I didn't know Prince Endymion would be with her!” someone called from behind them. They turned around and saw Sam leaning in the doorway. “Sam! I look just like her!” Alana cried. "I wonder if I can get Ken to be Nephrite." Sam commented. “I'm sure he would be if you asked him. You two would be the perfect Jupiter and Nephrite!” Alana beamed. “I didn't know this was turning into a full on cosplay group!” Ken laughed as he walked up behind Sam. "Why not?" Sam asked. "I'm not sure Viktor would appreciate being Kunzite." Alana remarked. “He'd have to get used to it. Since Nathaniel is Endymion, that demotes Viktor to Kunzite.” Sam stated. "Right because when you guys were kids, Viktor was always Endymion." Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “Viktor has had years to accept his position in my sister's life. If he doesn't accept it, it will not end well for him.” Sam replied. "Do you think he will?" Nathaniel asked. "If he truly cares about her, he will." Sam nodded. “Viktor has known for years that our time ended long ago. Accepting his new position is painful for him, but he is well aware of the fact that it's something that he must do.” Alana explained.

A few minutes later, Renee walked into the room. “You both look magnificent! The girls and I have gotten a backdrop ready, would you two mind taking a few pictures?” She beamed. Alana smiled and turned to Nathaniel, a very hopeful look on her face. "Would you be okay with that?" She asked. Nathaniel nodded. "Sure." He grinned. They followed Renee into a room. "Oh my god! You two look utterly amazing!”, “You look beautiful Mels! Nathaniel, you look so handsome!”, “True Moon and Earth royalty!” the other girls cooed when they saw them. “I think we should do a cosplay group. I'm Jupiter and Rini will be Venus.” Sam commented when she walked in. "I volunteer to be Mercury!" Renee cheered. "I'll be Mars." Lyra smiled. "I'll be Pluto." Veronica beamed. "I don't mind being Saturn." Nora suggested. "I wonder if we could get Lucy and Noelle to be Uranus and Neptune." Sam pondered. "We could also see about getting Ravenna to be Chibi Moon." Alana proposed. “I think that would be fantastic. Who would be the rest of the Shitennou?” Lyra asked. "I could see if Armin could be Jadeite." Alana thought out loud. "Are we really setting up a cosplay group?" Nathaniel asked. Sam looked at Nath, as if he had said something really stupid. "Do you not realize how highly rated Sailor Moon cosplay groups are?" She asked. Nathaniel shook his head. “Sailor Moon cosplay groups are some of the most elite cosplayers in the anime world. Sailor Moon being one of the most iconic anime in history, it is instantly recognizable. The cosplayers take some of the most beautiful pictures, make some of the coolest videos, and even do events. They may not be unionized like Star Wars' 501st Legion, but they come together and coalesce with great ease whenever they recognize each other. Children who recognize them run up to them the same way that they do with superheroes, and typically, they are nice to them. It is a sisterhood of love and justice.” Sam explained. "Not to mention how fun it would be to finally be in one." Alana cooed. “We'd still need Zoisite.” Veronica stated. "I wonder if Derek could be him." Nora pondered. “Uh, guys? Can we please get to the photoshoot?” Renee asked impatiently. 

After posting for photos for what felt like an eternity, Nathaniel and Alana went into the changing room to get out of their cosplays. "You do look really beautiful in that." Nathaniel smiled as he took the black wig off. Alana blushed. "Do you really think so?" She asked nervously. “Of course. You look magnificent.” He blushed as he walked over to her and kissed her. “Thank you for doing this my love. It means the world to me.” Tears came to Alana's eyes as she spoke. “I love you my Melody.” Nathaniel cooed as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “I love you so much Nathaniel!” She mused as she threw her arms around him.

★

A few weeks later, in the early hours of the morning, several cars arrived at an old castle in the country. “This place looks amazing! Perfect for our photo shoot!” Alana cheered as she got out of the car. “Welcome to the Astarian Royal Palace Lady Melody!” A woman with long brown hair, sunglasses and wearing a knee length blue dress beamed as she walked up to them. “Mrs. Reynard, I presume?” Alana asked as she shook the woman's hand. “Yes ma'am. We spoke over the phone.” the woman smiled. “You are fully aware as to why we need the palace today. Am I correct?” Alana inquired. “Yes. For your little photoshoot. Cosplay, I believe.” Mrs. Reynard replied. “Yes. Sailor Moon. Its important the palace be the backdrop to this shoot.” Alana stated. “The photographer will be here in a few minutes to set up. They'll need time.” Mrs. Reynard explained. “That's fine. We need time to prepare.” Alana smiled.

After a couple of hours, the members of the group began to step out of their respective preparation rooms and into a lounge. Lynne Roster as Queen Serenity, Sam as Sailor Jupiter, Severina as Sailor Venus, Renee as Sailor Mercury, Lyra as Sailor Mars, Noelle as Sailor Uranus, Lucy as Sailor Neptune, Nora as Sailor Saturn, Veronica as Sailor Pluto, Ravenna as Small Lady Serenity, Viktor as Kunzite, Ken as Nephrite, Armin as Jadeite, Derek as Zoisite, Nathaniel as Prince Endymion and Alana as Princess Serenity. When the entire group was gathered in the lounge, tears filled Alana's eyes. “It's so beautiful!” she happily cried out. “Awe! Mels!” Severina cheered as she hugged Alana. “This was a fantastic idea!” Lynne beamed. "How long do we all need to wear this?" Armin asked, slightly uncomfortable. “Just a few hours. We're gonna get a TON of shots! ” someone replied as they walked up. It was a young woman with short platinum blonde hair, bright green eyes, and pale skin. She wore black pants, a white button up top and a deep blue beret. "You all look so regal!" She cheered. “Alright everyone, let me introduce you to you Catarina. She's a friend of mine from boarding school. She's the photographer I told you guys about!” Severina introduced. “Hello everyone! It is an absolute pleasure to meet you all!” Catherine bowed. ” Severina introduced. “Hello everyone! It is an absolute pleasure to meet you all!” Catherine bowed.

The photoshoot took several hours, and took place at various locations within the castle grounds. Lynne insisted on at least one family shot with Sam and Alana, and one with Sam, Alana, Severina, Ravenna, Ken, Nathaniel, and Viktor. “This is odd. I don't quite know the anime, but those characters aren't actually family, aren't they?” Catarina asked, curiously. “Not exactly... I mean, Queen Serenity, Princess Serenity, and Small Lady Serenity are three generations of lunar royalty, and Prince Endymion is Princess Serenity's husband and Sailor Chibi Moon's father... But, this shot isn't about the show's family. It's about their family.” Lyra explained. “Oh. That's sweet!” Catarina smiled. Alana insisted each “couple” got their own picture. Viktor wasn't too happy that his couldn't be with Alana, but he didn't mind posing with Severina. Kentin was very happy to have a romantic pose with Sam. "Nephrite and Jupiter look so fantastic!" Renee cheered. “Are you kidding? I've been wanting to do this set for a long time!” Sam beamed. “My favorite part of all of this. I hate this wig, but being your knight is worth it.” Ken mused as he looked at Sam lovingly. "This is awkward." Derek rolled his eyes when he and Renee had their turn. "Oh grow up!" Renee snapped. "Derek... You know what happens when Renee gets mad!" Alana laughed. “Yeah... She gets pretty scary.” Derek sighed. Everyone laughed as Renee forced Derek into a somewhat romantic pose. "But this is so awkward!" Derek whined. "Just do it!" Renee demanded. When their part of the shoot ended, Derek sat down and shot back a bottle of water. “That was weird. "Lyra, Armin, you're up!" Alana cheered. “Now this will be interesting! ” Ken chuckled. “And in Dragon Ball references Armin! Toei may own both franchises, but now is not the time to try to mix the two!” Sam ordered. “Awe come on! That takes part of the fun out of it!” Armin whined. “Armin, if we were doing a smaller photoshoot, I wouldn't mind a few “fun” shots. So please be more serious.” Alana urgent. "Fine." Armin sighed as he and Lyra took their places in front of the camera. 

“God that was exhausting! Who'd have thought that Cosplay would be THAT much work?” Nathaniel whined he crashed onto the living room couch at Death's Domain. "If you had cosplayed as the Winter Soldier when Armin and I cosplayed as Captain America and Black Widow at that Marvel Exhibition in High School, you would have known, first hand, A LOT sooner!" Alana shot as she crashed down next to him. "You still won't let me live that down?" He asked. "Nope." She chuckled. "Why not?" He asked. “Because Armin and I worked our asses off to do our characters justice and we were hoping you would join in on the fun. Especially considering how Natasha and Bucky get together in the comics several times, so it would have been a cute “couple's cosplay” for you and me. Not to mention how cosplay is more than just “wearing a costume”. When someone properly cosplays, they also wish to play the character, even for just a day. They temporarily escape reality and enter the one the character they're cosplaying as resides in. Weeks, months, and even years are spent building props and even hand making the items and outfits. There is a lot of blood, sweat and tears that go into it!” She explained. "I know you and Armin love it, but I don't think I could do it as often as you want to." Nathaniel sighed. “I get that. Its not for everybody. But, I'm thankful you did it for me.” Alana Mused. “I love you Alana. You always do so much for me... And it has been a long time since I've been the "prince" to your "princess." He grinned. "And I'm sure rubbing it Viktor's face added to your enjoyment.” She chuckled. "That did make it a bit more fun." He smirked. "I really wish you wouldn't antagonize him." She sighed. over you and find someone else. It's the same with Castiel. You're not going to be with him, so he needs to quit pining." He shot. "Yes, but with Castiel, you two have reached a mutual agreement, and he has angered me in such a way that I spat that truth with him." She chimed in. "Which makes the situation with Viktor worse. had your family and Severina telling him for years... Yet he insists." He huffed as he rolled his eyes. "Despite that, he is still one of my best and oldest friends. We were raised together and are still like family. Can you at least try to play nice with him?" She requested. Nathaniel looked at her annoyed. "Please! Pretty please! My sweet Endymion…” Alana begged as she playfully batted her eyes. He thought for a minute and exhaled. “Fine. ” He sighed. "Thank you." She mused. “But if he oversteps the boundaries that you and I put in place, I won't be so kind.” He stated. She cuddled up next to him and kissed his cheek. "I love you Nathaniel." She cooed. He put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. "I love you too Alana."

★

Several weeks later, after the images from the photoshoot had been posted and gone viral, an idea came to Severina's mind. She turned to Alana and Sam and smiled. "What?" Sam asked. “What if we did a cosplay concert?!” Severina cheered. “Nope. I'm not singing.” Alana stated. “PLEASE! We could choose a song from Sailor Moon and singing it at a convention!” Severina urged. “Really? What song would we even do?” Sam asked. “What about “Moon Effect”? It's sung by all of the scouts!” Severina cheered. “Please no. I don't sing.” Alana begged. "But, you wouldn't be alone... And we can't do it without our Sailor Moon!" Sam sneered. “Honey... You're such a beautiful singer! Please!!!!” Severina pleaded. “No…” Alana muttered. “Damn it Mels! Just do it! We all know that you sing when you're alone! On top of that, Nath, Rini, Viktor, Mom and I have all been telling you for years that we all think your singing is beautiful! So, just do it!” Sam snapped. "Don't forget how your teammates think so too." Severina added. Alana thought for a few minutes and huffed. “Fine. I'll do it.” She sighed. “Huzzah! Let's do it at Comic Con!” Sam cheered. "No! That’s too big a venue!" Alana pleaded "That's why it should be done there! You'll get over your stage fright on one of the biggest stages on the Convention Circuit!" Sam explained. "My babies singing a Sailor Moon song in full cosplay? I'd love to help you with it!" Lynne cheered as she walked up to them. "Fantastic! We'll make it a family project!" Severina smiled. Alana looked around at the other women, thought for a few minutes, sighed, and sheepishly grinned. “I guess the Roster Family women are putting on a show!”

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

Words cannot describe how badly I've wanted to write something Sailor Moon related to my story... 

Sailor Moon means a lot to me... It was my mom’s and my “thing”. No matter how much we fought, argued, and went at each other’s throats, we always bonded over the series. The first and last time I watched it in it’s entirety was with her just before her disease started taking its hold. She was the one who got me my first bits of merch, who was always happy to talk to me about it. The last Christmas gift I got her was a blanket with all the scouts on it, and she gave me plushies of Luna and Artemis. When mom died, Sailor Moon came to mean so much more to me. My aunt made me pendants with her ashes in them that look like the Legendary Silver Crystal, I got Pluto’s Garnet Rod tattooed on my back, and I became more adamant about collecting items. Each time I get a new item, I feel closer to her... There are times where I’ll even burst into tears because of Sailor Moon making me think of her....

Yes, I used the character sprite of Nathaniel that I edited from the Dark Chocolate Steward to make him look more like Endymion. I made his hair black, and edited his rings and earrings out.

Little tip... The bit about Adonis won't make sense unless you've read the Codename Sailor V manga.... If you’re not in the mood to read it, Adonis was a lowly Venusian soldier who was in love with his princess (Venus). Venus fell in love with Kunzite instead of him. He found her on Earth and cursed her to never be able to have love again, thus freeing more of her time up to focus on her duty as the leader of Princess Serenity’s Sailor Guardians.

This was originally going to be a Valentine's Day special for 2020. Then 2020 became the dumpster fire that it was and my real life needed more of my attention....

The majority of this does take place during the first year between University Life and Love Life. Before Nath and Alana go on their globe trotting adventure. The flashback section takes place at various points in time.

Credit goes to:

Naoko Takeuchi for Sailor Moon

@candysweetposts for the Princess Serenity Pack (seriously, thank you for going through with my request!)

@chinomiko and Beemoov for My Candy Love

[uchihashisuii]

58. “I’d die for you. Of course, I’d haunt you in the afterlife but really, it’s the thought that counts.” for v/vik? c:

i went a smidge off topic with this one aaskjfajjh + it’s a wee bit silly i am Sorry

V is actually, honest to God giggling on his table. The sound brushes against him like a low breeze, making him flinch and turn to look at her. He has never heard a sound like that come from her, and Christ but does it do things to his breathing. She's mostly naked, arms crossed over her breasts and her bare leg elevated. Jackie's at her shoulder, half holding her down as she evidently keeps trying to roll off the chair. He'd carried her in, yelling for Vik as her thigh poured blood on the floor. Her skin had been shredded by a mantis blade, and as Jackie helped Vik tourniquet her leg, he had shot her with a dose of nitrous oxide to knock her out before he could start stitching her up. Nitrous oxide. Laughing gas. V snorts loudly, hand waving slowly in his direction. "Viktor. Doctor Vector. Vik. Hey." "... Hi, V," he responds with a shake of his head, prepping the surgical machine. He feels a hand at his side the moment he steps close, V grasping onto his shirt with all her strength. "I think I'm dying," she stage whispers, eyes wide.| "You're not dying, chica," Jackie says as he pushes her back down onto the chair, making her whine. "Señor Vector will get you right as rain, if you sit. still." "But I -" V swallows thickly, gaze moving slowly from Vik to the light hanging above her. "I feel ... weird. Pretty sure I'm dying. That sucks. I mean," she waves her hand, nearly hitting Jackie in the face as she sits up again, "it doesn't, cause I took that blade for Jack. He's my best friend. Do you know him?" V asks Vik suddenly, eyes going wide as she grabs his arm and starts shaking it. "You have to meet him, he's funny. And nice. And my best friend. Well, you're my best friend too, Vik. I have enough - enough space in my heart for several best friends, I'll have you know." She starts giggling again as she falls back into the chair with an oof. Vik and Jackie exchange a Look, before the former reaches to adjust V's leg, pulling the bandages off her thighs. "WAIT," she nearly screams, putting her palms to Vik's face and squishing his cheeks. He blinks at her serious expression, her breathing heavy. "If I die I'm glad it was you. Wait, no, hold on," she looks away, brows furrowed. She shakes her head after a moment, smiling brightly. "I mean, if I die then you have to promise me you wont blame yourself for it. Shit happens. I'm kind of stupid sometimes. You take good care of me and I love you for it. Okay," she releases his face and leans back in the chair with a sigh. "'m ready. I'll hang around the clinic if I ghost. It's nice down here." Vik can do nothing but watch, completely bewildered, as V promptly passes out.

send me a prompt!

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

Little Snippets

Rome – Ignatius didn’t enjoy the Renaissance. It was too peaceful for him; sure it still had some violence, but nothing like what the world used to have. The intense and extremely frequent bloodshed (mostly because of his work as a nation), the want for violence, and conquering. Taking what he wanted, because he wanted it. Sure it wasn’t the best way to do things, but for Rome it was fun.

During this time he also took Luciano away from all the other nations. This was because he was wanting to leave some last lessons with Luciano. Ignatius had felt for a while beforehand that his time was coming, and wanted to ensure that his progeny with the most promise had the best shot at becoming the next Rome.

Dying in this era pissed him off, he wished he lived longer. Though he died like how he came into this world, angry and fighting. He had plans, he wanted to try and regain his status as a nation, but it wasn’t meant to be. Though one of his last thoughts was that at least he left a good legacy behind him.

North Italy – Rome's death meant one thing. Mars needed a new home and Luciano was not ready to inherit a lion.

His boss had a couple of servants go out and catch Mars and bring him to Luciano. Since Luciano was still very young and didn’t exactly know what a lion needed. He knew from watching his grandpa that they ate meat and needed water. But unlike his grandpa he didn’t have a tight bond with Mars, so there were lots of close calls. Luciano almost lost his hand at one point.

Over the few years that Luciano had Mars, they bonded. Their bond started to really develop after a couple of months. At first, it was that Mars would stick around the property. Then he would follow Luciano and eventually got to the point where the tiny child could ride on Mars.

Luciano and Mars were very attached to each other, especially at the end of Mars’ life. Like I said, Mars only lasted about 5 years after Rome died. It was hard on Luciano when the time came. He didn’t really care when his grandfather passed, but Mars's death hit him hard. He came to love Mars and he felt like he had a friend in Mars.

Luciano sat with Mars when he died. He kept petting Mars as his breathing slowed and eventually stilled. He cried over him and forced his boss to have a mausoleum built. Luciano keeps it on his property, it lies at the center of his garden. It has a statue of Mars on the top and along the sides are various carvings of lions. Luciano often visits to vent to his old friend.

Prussia – Viktor and Wil have a calm relationship. Unlike their 1ps, their fights were respectful and well planned. They both focused on gaining what they need while losing as few men as possible. Most of the time one would come out as the winner, leaving the other angered/impressed.

Over the centuries, the men seemed to like the challenge of trying to one-up each other. It wasn’t easy and after doing it for so long, it became a game. Though it doesn’t take much for these games to become hostile and deadly.

During the era of the USSR, Viktor mocked Wil a lot. Talking about his losses from the WWII and how he may never recover from this war. So Wil being the smart person that he is studied up on chess as a way to compete with Viktor when he had nothing else to offer. Wil won, repeatedly. Like so many other things with the 2ps, it quickly became much more deadly.

Human pieces. Mainly prisoners that were to be killed in the gulags. Each person that acted as a piece was expected to carry a sword. Then when the pieces collided in-game, were to fight. Each piece had the odds stacked in a way to ensure the more dominant piece won. Though Prussia is religious and tries not to kill. He doesn't care for criminals and is happy to help carry out their punishments.