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ashlynnfall · 1 month ago

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ekko looks for powder in the color blue. the sky, the water, hair, and eyes. blue blooms in the flowers near his tree and weaves through the streets of zaun, leaving trails for him to follow, leading him to something that no longer exists.

ekko looks for powder in light. it emanates from fire and spreads throughout zaun in the night. it's in the fixtures that decorate the streets, and it cascades down onto ekko's hideout, illuminating the mural that commemorates what has been lost. light reminds him of her. her bright smile and her blinding beauty. it revives the past they shared before tragedy struck, of that unforgettable night where they danced under the stars, of that kiss on the ledge...it's an everlasting reminder of his deepest affection.

ekko looks for powder in the gadgets he possesses. he searches for traces of her in the trinkets he collects, tinkering away to create new ones. inventions are where he looks the hardest, reminding himself of the days they spent working on innovative projects together. he thinks of her genius, her drive, and her madness in the craft. the memories bring a comforting smile to his face, which is a rare sight these days.

ekko looks for powder in time, lamenting how much they used to have together. there's a cruel irony in "the boy who shattered time" nickname. he was unable to spend the time he wanted with her, he couldn't shatter time enough to fit his needs. he enjoyed what they spent together, but it was too little. he could rewind time over and over and over again, but he still wouldn't get enough of her. his love for powder is timeless.

ekko looks for powder in his title: the boy savior. yet another cruel irony. he saved the entire world, ensuring the survival of many. in fact, he's spent his whole life saving people. he's always sacrificing his own needs for others as he leads a life of unbridled altruism. in a way, he's making up for being unable to save powder from jinx and silco. the boy savior, capable of rescuing anyone and everyone, except for the love of his life.

ekko looks for powder in the new era of zaun. sevika leading in the council, children running in the streets in glee rather than fear, the people breathing fresh air-it was everything they ever dreamed of. if only she was around to see it. ekko searches for the murals dedicated to her, seeks out the remnants of her hideout, scouts for anyone with leftover stories of her to tell. he observes the elated spirits of the city and bears the pain deep within his smile, reminding him of what could have been.

ekko looks for powder physically. it's not enough to just remember her. he needs to hug her, hold her close, and never let her go. he needs to hear her voice again, to invent with her again, to dance with her again, he just needs her to be here again. powder's absence is impossible to ignore, and ekko's tired of acknowledging it. he wants to be selfishly in love with her, but he can't. the world needed a savior, ekko answered the call.

ekko never stops looking for powder. she's in his head, in his heart, in his memories, in his home-no place is without her image. in his mind, powder's words echo promises of the past, not knowing that they'd be broken in the future. he searches for her in the people of zaun, hoping for the day when someone's face matches the one he craves to see so desperately. his search is endless, hopelessly devoted to a ghost of his past.

ekko finds powder in the hand that extends to him from a large white blimp. blue and pink nails decorate the pale skin covering it, confirming who stands before him. he looks at her bright smile, her pink eyes, the blue hair that grew back to the tops of her shoulders, the beautiful face he yearns to get lost in. he takes her in, processing everything he can see, praying that this isn't some horrible dream or hallucination.

ekko finds powder in the hug that they share, the hands that he holds, and in the lips that kiss him. ekko finds powder in the promises of adventure, in the conversations about their post-war lives, and in the apologies for everything. ekko finds powder.

powder and ekko find each other in love, in the reunion with their surviving friends and family, in the celebrations of a new zaun. they find each other on the dance floor once again, but this time, in the right universe. they bask in each other's arms, refusing to ever let go.

ekko finally finds powder, promising to never lose her again.

a/n: hi! i wanted to give ekko the ending he deserves because he's my fav character and deserves the whole world. timebomb as a couple mean so much to me, so i wanted to write a little story about their reunion after the finale of season 2. i need them together!! i also just adore ekko and powder, and that scene of them dancing in the alt universe was insanely well done. i hope you enjoyed my work, and thank you for reading! any tips of improving my writing or general thoughts on the fic would be greatly appreciated. thank you for your time <3

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fresh-new-yoik-watah · 27 days ago

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Fault Lines

CHAPTER TWO:

piltover pirate

a/n: I put sweat into this chapter I hope you all love it

pairing: Viktor x OC

warnings: none!

word count: 3.1k

MASTERLIST

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When Viktor entered the lab the next morning, his coat was sitting atop his desk, folded into a neat rectangle, and the four tin boxes of screws he had purchased stacked beside it. He was much too eager, now that he could finish his work, to wonder how Rosie had managed to get into the lab without him, Jayce, or Sky. It did not matter. He was surprised though, after an hour had passed and she was still nowhere to be found. He assumed she might’ve gone and got breakfast, that she had gotten to the lab too early and would come back when someone else was there, it wasn’t unusual for her to wander in and out. But even once the sun came up, and Jayce and Sky showed up for the day, Rosie’s absence still lingered, unspoken, but noticeable enough to Viktor. He thought briefly of mentioning it to Jayce, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. If her presence—or lack thereof—was significant, Jayce would have said something, so he decided not to think about it.

But she was still gone the following day. Admittedly, Viktor hadn’t realized until about midday, as he was welding metal plates together. Something was off, an unease, a faint note missing from a symphony of machinery. When he let the torch flame sputter out, silence filled its place, that’s when he realized, there was no hum. A quick scan of the room confirmed she was not there, and the silence felt heavy without her. The ringing in his ears filled the space her voice had vacated, and it made him deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he missed her, that was absurd. But perhaps, after six years of repetition—of the grating, strange, chaotic rhythm she had introduced to his life—it seemed his mind had grown accustomed to her.

Her absence disrupted the pattern. The disruption unsettled him.

It was only natural, he reasoned, to have fallen into routine with something so consistent, even if it was unwanted.

And perhaps, with enough time, he would grow used to the quiet again.

He would’ve given anything for quiet tonight though. The oddly loud strains of cellos playing in the garden struck his ears like a blade’s edge. It pierced through the space, echoing against the glass walls in a manner that bordered on abrasive, reminding him, unpleasantly, of the time Jayce had dragged his chair—with him still in it—across the lab floor, how the metal legs screeched against the tiles while Jayce insisted he look over his notes.

He’d only been there maybe fifteen minutes, but it had felt like an eternity. Viktor stood at the edge of the gathering, surveying the scene. The opulence was staggering, the kind of excess that made him feel acutely out of place. Everywhere he turned, gold glittered. Embroidered into fabric, clasped onto wrists and throats, even laced through hair. He would never become accustomed to it, no matter how many years he lived there, the way Piltover’s elite paraded their wealth. One man wore a blue suit with gemstones woven into his sleeves, each twinkling like miniature stars, and another woman passed by in a gown that rippled with molten gold. The sheer decadence was offensive.

Viktor’s own formal attire, a deep red turtleneck with the faintest of silver lining at the bottom of the sleeves paired with dark dress pants, was clean and functional, but there, it might as well have been made of sackcloth.

He had never set foot in Piltover’s botanical garden before tonight, and now, amidst the exotic plants and impossibly bright blossoms that seemed to compete with the wear of the evening’s attendees, he wondered how Jayce had managed to convince him to go at all.

Limited opportunity.

You’ll handle it.

Just talk to Soleil.

He had only caught fragments of Jayce’s rapid bursts of explanation before he had clapped him on the shoulder and insisted Viktor attend this gala in his place. He supposed there wasn’t any convincing at all, more so forced acceptance. Cover for your partner, ask questions later; that was their dynamic. So Viktor would commit as such, for the sake of Hextech.

It didn’t take long to find Erik Soleil.

He stood near the center of the garden, surrounded by an orbit of admirers, in a purple suit as bold as his mustache that had been waxed into four large curls. Gold dragonflies were embroidered across the shoulders, shimmering brightly with every movement of his, perhaps to draw attention away from the reflection of light on his gleaming forehead, exposed by the retreat of his hairline. The suit alone likely could have fed a family in the Undercity for a year, maybe even more. Could have fed his family, when his mother slid Viktor her plate of dinner, night after night, soot covered face and sunken, sad eyes, her voice, always kind despite the exhaustion, urging him to eat. And he did, because she would not, and they could not afford for both of them to starve. A familiar feeling of frustration twisted in his chest, buried unbeknownst to those passing by, beneath a mask of detached observation.

Viktor adjusted his grip on his cane, feeling a dull ache between his thumb and forefinger sharpen quickly. He bitterly realized he had felt that discomfort more frequently lately, a subtle, insistent reminder of how much more strain he was beginning to place on it now. He flexed his hand, though the motion did little to relieve the cramp. His eyes remained fixed on Soleil, thinking of how he should approach the man.

Jayce was usually the forefront for nights like these, being much more charismatic and able to turn hollow pleasantries into something substantial, or at least convincing. Viktor’s own humor rarely landed as intendended, he had long since resigned himself to being the less personable of the two. He was fine with that, it was easier that way, plus it had allowed him to fully retreat into what he knew best: his work. But it seemed he had grown complacent, having fallen a bit too reliant on the shield Jayce provided, feeling exposed and entirely out of his element.

How should he begin a conversation? A comment about his fleet of airships? He could say they soared the skies like untouchable gods, poke at his ego, frame it as a compliment, though he doubted he’d be able to keep the sarcasm from bleeding into his tone. Perhaps if he—

“Viktor!”

An all-too-familiar voice rang out above the clatter of cello strings, conversations, and clinking glasses, startling him, breaking his train of thought. He turned, searching for its source.

Rosie appeared beside him. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vimeli’s,” she said, holding a bronze chalice aloft like an accusation.

It took him a moment to process her. His gaze dropped to the chalice briefly, then back. She was close to him, and for an unsettling instant, he hadn’t recognized her. She looked unfamiliar to him, in glittering orange painted over her eyes, gold vines around her neck, and a satin dress that rippled in shades of deep, warm brown, folded over itself to mimic the the patterns of a flower petal. The color reminded him of mornings, a color that came from his coffee that had the perfect amount of milk stirred in. But only when he looked at the blue of her eyes and the three freckles dotted across her left brow, did his mind register that this was her.

Viktor adjusted his stance, pulling himself back to the present.

“Vimelli?” he asked, his brow furrowing faintly, a mixture of curiosity and confusion slipping into his voice.

She gasped theatrically. “You don’t even know what event you’re at? I can’t believe they let you in.”

He gave her a measured look, keeping his expression neutral. “This was not my invitation,” he said evenly, his tone clipped but not unkind. “Jayce was meant to attend.” His gaze shifted briefly to Soleil before returning to her. “I am merely filling his absence.”

She followed the direction of his glance, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “You’re supposed to charm him?”

Soleil was still surrounded by a crowd, his laughter booming as he threw his arm around a shorter, bald man.

“Charm,” Viktor repeated dryly.

“Wait until he’s finished another drink,” she suggested lightly, lifting her chalice to her lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip.

He exhaled quickly through his nose. “You’re suggesting I take advantage of an inebriated man,” he said, the faintest trace of incredulity laced into his otherwise steady voice.

“In the name of progress,” she replied, her smile widening, bright and unapologetic.

Viktor gave her a sidelong glance, briefly lingering on the playful curve of her lips before focusing back on Soleil. He couldn’t tell if her advice was serious or purely for her own amusement, unsure whether to engage with her teasing or dismiss it altogether. He hesitated, a moment passed, and he was on the verge of replying when Rosie suddenly straightened.

“I’ll be right back,” she announced abruptly

“What—“ Viktor began, but the rest of the question died on his lips as she strode away. He could only watch, helpless, caught between confusion and resignation, as she weaved through the crowd with ease, her dress rippling faintly with each of her steps.

She reached Soleil’s circle and slipped into the conversation as though it had been waiting for her arrival. Soleil’s attention shifted to her almost immediately, his booming laughter softening into something more engaged.

Then she laughed—a bright, ringing sound that carried just enough warmth to disarm, though Viktor recognized it had been practiced, lacking the unguarded sincerity, the crinkled eyes and forward pressed shoulders, of when it had been directed towards Jayce. He couldn’t make out her words, but her body language told him enough, reminding him that she was a performer, always would be. Everything was calculated.

Rosie lingered with Soleil for only a few minutes, though it had felt longer, before returning to Viktor’s side. Her steps were unhurried, her expression composed. No trace of urgency or flustered energy, only a calm self-assurance that irked him in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. She sipped from her chalice, her silence deliberate and smug, as though savoring some private triumph, clearly waiting for him to ask. He held out longer than he expected he would, glancing at Soleil once again, before exhaling in faint resignation.

“What?” he asked, his tone faintly impatient.

“I just pimped you out,” she said, her voice light and casual.

“What?” His cane squeaked against the marble floor as he shifted, disbelief flashing across his face.

Her laugh was softer now, quieter and real, her shoulder curving inward slightly as the sound escaped her. “His daughter,” she began, as though explaining to someone particularly dense, “so happens to be a very big fan of mine. And as it turns out, she’s having a rather large party soon, that I will now be singing at.”

Viktor stared at her blankly, trying to piece together how this related to him.

“He’ll come by the Academy next week, she continued breezily, swirling the liquid in her chalice with exaggerated care, “to see your projects.”

“Is that not pimping yourself?” he asked dryly.

“No,” she replied, tilting her chalice toward him. “I’m your and Jayce’s pimp. I’m supposed to sell you two. I just added a little incentive.”

He huffed quietly. He supposed he should feel relieved; she had eliminated the need for him to muddle through some half-hearted attempt at charming Soleil himself. Task effectively complete, achieved without him having to say a word. He could leave this wretched garden, return to the lab, immerse himself in work—especially now that they would need to prepare a proper presentation. But as tempting as that was, Viktor hadn’t been at the gala long, and while he often took quiet pleasure in rebelling against the social norms of Piltover’s elite, leaving too early would be seen as rude, and his rational mind reminded him there was a delicate line to walk, a balance to ensure he and Jayce mantainted the carefully cultivated perceptions that allowed them to remain in these circles. He would have to tolerate a little longer.

Rosie was the only person in the room Viktor knew beyond a passing acquaintance, and while she typically grated on his nerves, at least she offered familiarity, the alternative—conversing with strangers—felt far worse. He decided that a bit of conversation wouldn’t hurt.

“Are you performing tonight?” he asked, the question meant to fill the space.

“No,” she answered, lifting her chalice to her lips for a sip. “I’m here as a guest.”

“Special invitation?” he asked, his words carrying a faint hint of teasing, his own rare attempt at mirroring her typical lighthearted demeanor.

“A plus one,” she explained, gesturing subtly with her chalice toward a man across the room.

Viktor followed her gaze, landing on a blonde man in his seemingly mid-thirties, standing against a marble column. His hair was buzzed close to his scalp, and he wore a navy trench coat that reminded Viktor of a pirate costume. The man’s attention, however, was fixed entirely on another woman, his hands finding reason to land on her shoulder and arm too frequently to be mistaken for mere friendliness.

Rosie sipped her drink, her expression unreadable, the faintest flicker of something in her eyes before looking away.

“I hope that is not a romantic pursuit,” Viktor said, voice tinged with quiet concern.

She laughed, the sound short. “I have more self-respect than that,” she replied. “Nor have I had nearly enough to drink.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, but his brow remained furrowed as he glanced back at the man.

“He did seem alright enough at first,” she continued, her voice dropping slightly, speaking more to herself than to him. “They always do.” Her eyes fixed on her drink, as if the amber liquid might hold the answers she couldn’t quite find, seeming entirely elsewhere just for a moment.

She irritated him, yes. Quite often. Her persistence, teasing, refusal to adhere to boundaries he tried so carefully to maintain. But she was incredibly strong-willed, loyal to a fault, and unwilling to compromise her version of herself for the sake of anyone else’s expectations. One didn’t become Piltover’s most sought-after performer without talent, drive, and the kind of relentless determination that few people possessed up there, something that came from having to truly work for it, forged by struggle. And he respected her for that.

This boy of a man—this child—would never have been capable of enough depth to understand her, even if her complexities had been meticulously simplified and spelled out for him.

Perhaps Viktor only did because of the years of forced proximity. He supposed it was a natural reaction to feel a certain protectiveness towards someone he had spent so much time beside, that he felt she was much too elevated a person to waste her time on someone so sordid. Or perhaps it was something else, something he didn’t have the time or inclination to examine.

Rosie seemed to snap out of her thoughts suddenly, her expression shifting as she masked whatever lingered beneath with a teasing smile. “I hope you and Jayce haven’t missed me too much in the lab,” she said, her voice light and playful. “I’ve been incredibly busy, especially now with all the moving.”

“You’re moving?” he asked.

“Oh, no, not like that,” she replied quickly, waving a hand as if to brush the thought away. “Just moving things into my lab.” Her words carried a proud, excited emphasis.

“Which,” she continued, her tone softening, “I’m glad you’re here tonight, because I wanted to thank you.”

“For the lab?” Viktor asked.

“Yes, for the lab,” she repeated.

He felt a stirring of guilt, a discomfort settling deep in his stomach. The gratitude wasn’t his to claim. “It was Jayce’s idea,” he said, his words carefully chosen. “He brought it up earlier in the year.”

Her smile didn’t falter, though a flicker of amusement crossed her face. “You tend to be opinionated about Jayce’s ideas.”

“Often, yes,” he replied evenly.

“And you were about this?” Her voice was quieter now.

“A bit confused,” he admitted.

Her brow twitched. “About what?”

“Why a lab?”

Rosie’s expression softened. “I can show you,” she replied tentatively. “You should come by.” It was offered lightly, but there was something behind them, an unspoken hope.

Viktor swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. A flush rose through his body, making him startlingly aware of every sensation crowding his senses. The murmur of conversation and bursts of laughter felt oppressively loud, pounding against his ears in pulses. His untrimmed hair tickled his ears maddeningly, an itch amplified into something unbearable. His brace pinched at the skin on his hip, worsened by the angle of his stance, and the fabric pressed against his neck felt suffocating now.

“I doubt I’d have much time to,” he said, his words coming out more abrupt than he intended.

Hurt flashed across her face for the briefest of moments, masked away quickly, but he saw it, the way her lips pressed together firmly when she was disappointed.

She smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

He wasn’t lying, his time was stretched incredibly thin, and distractions from his work were a luxury he could ill afford, but his rationalizing did little to ease the gnawing in his chest, and he felt as though he’d taken a misstep. All he wanted now was to leave, to put a chasmic distance between himself and the moment.

“Apologies,” he said, his voice low and formal, “but I must bid you goodnight. I have unfinished work at the lab.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she gave a small nod. “No worries,” she replied, her voice as steady as her smile. “I’ll see you soon then, Viktor.”

He dipped his head in a curt nod, the gesture stiff, before turning away and beginning careful navigation toward the exit, focused on nothing but forward movement. It was pure coincidence, of course, that the buzzed would-be pirate found himself directly in Viktor’s path. He cataloged him with the same dispassion he might apply to a broken mechanism. Blonde, somehow overdressed, and far too close to Viktor, his attention elsewhere.

It was simply inevitable that Viktor’s cane found its tip smashed squarely against polished leather shoes, feeling the briefest jolt of resistance before it gave way to a satisfying weight.

The man let out a yelp, however Viktor didn’t so much as glance black, his expression placid, as though entirely unaware, because how could anyone blame him? Shame on the man for failing to allow proper space for a cripple. One couldn’t fathom such an inconsiderate world they lived in.

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