#exposed nerve viktor

[chainsvoodoo]

Viktor with only one hair can't hurt you... They say.

[whoreforsexymen]

This might be kind a kind of crazy request but hear me out, but feel free to ignore if your uncomfortable. So it's Jace Talis x reader SFW but it aludes to smut. Basicaly jayce wants to gets freaky with his girl or guy or whatever, but Jayce want to watch victor get freaky with the reader, Jayce's partner. I don't want to see any smut, but I just want to see the conversation go down between Jayce and Victor, of Jayce asking Victor if we would like to smash his partner and watch them lol.

Your wish is my command, darling. Sit back and let Mommy do her thing 🤍 (Also, tagging this as NSFW since it uses strong language, and heavily eludes to is directly about cucking.)

Jayce asking you to cuck him w/ Viktor | Flash

Pairings: Jayce Talis x Reader x Viktor

Pronouns: None used for Reader. Can be read as GN!!

Rating: NSFW, 18+ MDNI !!!!!

Word Count: 447

Tags: Cuckholding, Implied M/M (if you squint), Heavy implications of sex (duh), maybe slight OOC Jayce (also, if you squint), slight Sub!Jayce (if you REALLY REALLY SQUINT)

Notes: I have yet to watch S2 because I already can’t handle the heartbreak I know is waiting around the corner for me. So this is written with S1 Viktor and Jayce!!

Also, my first request!!! EEEE!! I hope you like it!! I wrote this so fast cause I was so excited and had nothing else to do hehehe xo

I ALSO KNOW YOU ASKED FOR THE CONVO TO BE BETWEEN VIKTOR AND JAYCE— WHICH ILL DO SOON, TOO, AS A PART 2!! But I liked this idea better ansjdkdkskkkkk for now!!

“…What?” You ask, bewildered.

“I know— I know it’s a weird request. But. I don’t know. I just think it would be hot to watch you… y’know… get fucked by someone else. And— I mean. It’s not like there’s anyone I trust more than Viktor—“ Jayce spoke quickly, a hint of embarrassment lacing his words as he let out a nervous chuckle, his fidgeting betraying his best efforts to exude a calm facade.

He swallowed tightly, his nerves making him feel exposed and helpless, like a child left alone in the dark.

“So. Let me get this straight. I just want to make sure I’m hearing you right. You want Me— And— Viktor, to fuck… While you watch?” You ask plainly.

Jayce swallowed once more, his nerves spiraling as he struggled to hold himself together.

“That is what I said… yes.” He mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. The idea itself doesn’t catch you off guard—not really. In fact, it stirs something exciting within you. It’s a little unconventional, sure, but you’re not opposed to exploring what could lie ahead for your sex life with Jayce. You might enjoy letting him take the lead most of the time, but there’s something about the way he’s dancing around this topic in particular— too nervous to be bold—that sparks a fire in your gut.

“Hmm.” You hum softly, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Is it just because you wanna see your boyfriend naked~?” You tease, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you look up at him, your gaze heavy with playfulness, smoldering as always.

Jayce stammers harder than before.

“I- wh- No. Pfft. It’s just- I just-..” He can’t even continue his stammering before you kiss him. It was a soft and chaste one, yet needy in its own way, and above all—understanding.

After several long seconds, once you sense his nerves start to settle, you slowly pull away, the tension lingering in the space between you.

“We can do that.” You say softly, giving him one extra peck to the lips.

“Really?” He queries, unsure of if you’re being truthful.

You emit a gentle chuckle.

“Yes, my love… I’m open to it.” You explain, running your hands along his chest… Over his vest… and down the length of his tie. You felt him shudder beneath your wandering hands.

“Why don’t you ask Viktor, and if he’s open to it, we can try… let’s see… tonight, hmm?” You ask, leaning in and nibbling his ear ever so teasingly.

After a long pause, Jayce finally speaks again, his voice quieter now, as if weighing his words more carefully.

“I already asked him. He said yes.”

[supernovalcholism]

Academic rivals Viktor and reader who do not like each other at all but have a strong sexual tension that neither of them wants to admit. Plzzz🙏😭

Absolutely babei love this idea sm heres a small portion cus I'm drunk and if yall hype it up I'll make a part 2

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Unspoken Rivalry

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ: ɴᴜɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ, ʜᴏꜱᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ????. ɪᴅᴋ

The library buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Viktor sat at his usual table, hunched over a stack of notes and textbooks. He was the definition of composed—sharp cheekbones, immaculate posture, and an air of self-assured arrogance that grated on your nerves.

And, unfortunately, he was the only other person in your advanced theory seminar who matched your academic prowess.

You strode into the library, your eyes narrowing the moment you spotted him. He glanced up briefly, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance before he returned to his work.

"Didn’t know the library allowed distractions," he said smoothly, his voice laced with faux politeness.

"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing," you shot back, taking the seat directly across from him with more force than necessary.

This was your dynamic—constant barbs, veiled insults, and an unspoken competition for every academic accolade. You couldn’t stand him, with his perfect grades and that maddening smirk he wore whenever he outperformed you.

But what was worse? The way your stomach flipped every time he leaned closer to point out a flaw in your argument or the electric heat that sparked whenever his hand accidentally brushed yours during group discussions.

The tension crackled between you now, thick and undeniable. You opened your laptop, pointedly ignoring him. Except you couldn’t. Not when the subtle scent of his cologne drifted across the table or when he leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly, exposing just a sliver of toned skin beneath his sweater.

"You know," Viktor said after a moment, his voice quieter, "if you spent less time glaring at me, you might actually win the next debate."

"Bold words coming from someone who barely edged me out last time," you snapped.

His smirk widened. "Barely? I seem to recall the professor using the word resounding."

You clenched your jaw, hating how much you wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face—and hating even more how your mind wandered to other ways to shut him up.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was charged. Your eyes met his again, and for a brief second, something flickered in his gaze—something raw, intense, and far too dangerous to acknowledge.1all

You broke the eye contact first, heat rising to your cheeks. Viktor didn’t look away, though.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You’re starting to look at me like you don’t hate me."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you snapped, hastily gathering your things.

You stormed out of the library, your heart pounding. Behind you, Viktor chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t go back to the library for the rest of the week. Not because you were avoiding him—of course not—but because the thought of seeing Viktor again made your chest feel too tight, your thoughts spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on your side.

The next seminar session started with the professor announcing a new assignment. “A research paper, due in two weeks. To make things more interesting, I’ll be assigning partners.”

You stiffened in your seat.

“Viktor and—”

No. Please, no.

"–you—"

Your stomach plummeted. Across the room, Viktor glanced over at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He gave a little wave, clearly reveling in your discomfort.

After class, you cornered him in the hallway.

“We need to set boundaries,” you said sharply.

“Boundaries?” Viktor tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Is that what we’re calling the tension between us now?”

You bristled. “There is no tension.”

“Hmm. If you say so.” He leaned against the wall, entirely too close. “But I hope you don’t mind working late. I find I’m most productive at night.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. His gaze was locked on yours, his expression a mix of challenge and something else—something darker, something that made heat rise to your face.

“Fine,” you snapped, stepping back before you could betray yourself further. “Tonight. My place. Seven."

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Hype it up soon and I'll drop a pt2 for yall XPP

- enya

edit [12/12/24] heres the 2nd part!!

[spxllcxstxr]

Slow Burn Lovers with Jayce Talis • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: Jayce head cannons? maybe like slow burn lovers trope, hcs can be mostly of like what it would be like dating him. Any pronouns is fine! (Tysm I love ur writing!) -- anon

Warnings: gn!reader, it’s all fluff motherfuckers 😫

A.N: his pouty lips are so KISSABLE 😫😫😫 also thank you so much, I’m so happy you like my writing…🥺🥺 I hope you like this too!!!

•

By the time Jayce is partners with Viktor in the lab, the two of you had been friends for a very long time. You had spent most of your time in the Academy with him, from late night study sessions in the library to hanging out in your room with a few drinks. He was someone you quickly realized you could rely on, and he felt the same towards you

Your friendship gets the point where you both essentially know everything about one another. Every little detail about every little thing is mapped out in your minds

Your peers and professors alike always assumed the two of you were a couple and after informing them you and Jayce were just friends, they'd always give you a knowing look and an unconvinced "yeah, sure..." If the two of you weren't together at the Academy, they figured you would get together at some point

Being close friends with Jayce meant that greetings and goodbyes were accompanied by tight hugs, sitting across from each other meant he was, at some point, going to "accidentally" kick you, his hand would frequently rest on your bicep when together. Jayce Talis is a very touchy person and you were absolutely no exception to that. He feels comfortable with you, and this is the best way to show it in his opinion

Always asks you about your day, how you're doing, if you ate yet. He's extremely observant of your habits and behavior and he always wants to make sure you're better than just ok. You do the exact same to him, which always makes his day a little brighter

He falls hard for you, one day in the lab. He had feelings for you bubbling beneath the surface for years, but it never hit him that hard before. Jayce always compared everyone to you, always wanted to see you smile and hear your laugh, he never felt safe with anyone except you. However, it takes him another year to confess to you simply because he doesn't want to ruin your friendship--the greatest thing he's ever had. That was the fear from the very start, all those years ago, but this time it felt more real

When the two of you finally do get together (thank Viktor for pressuring Jayce to just do it already), it seems like almost nothing has changed. You and Jayce had just been acting like a couple for so long that there wasn’t a sudden feeling that something had shifted. However, this did mean that Jayce felt as if he had so many kisses to share with you to make up for lost time

Jayce would kiss you softly on the lips when entering the room, and if you were working he’s press a kiss to your temple. The man can’t get enough of you. There were kisses in the lab, in the corridors, late at night over candle-lit dinners. (Jayce will even sometimes pull you into a supply closet to make out with you when you look so heavenly in your outfit. He knows you two have other things to do and that Viktor is waiting for him back in the lab, but you’re just so irresistible. Surely Viktor understands…(Viktor proceeds to be jokingly mad at Jayce when he finally shows up, ten minutes late with ruffled hair))

Additionally, Jayce's once casual touches turn into something more. His hands linger longer on the small of your back or on the back of your hand. Each brush of his fingertips against your exposed skin sets your nerves ablaze and your heart beats quicker than before. Jayce is fond of bigger displays of physical touch as well. He loves just placing his head in your lap at the end of a long day and pulling your body closer to his in bed

(Heimerdinger feels especially vindicated when he finds out the two of you are finally dating. He’s known since the very beginning you guys were head over heels for each other; it was only a matter of time. Heimer is so happy for you guys once you tell him that he immediately asks when the wedding is and if he can officiate it)

Jayce has found that he has loved you since the very beginning and he sees a future with you by his side

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love. 

To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway. 

Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.

Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try. 

With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door. 

Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich. 

And right in the center of this mess is a figure. 

She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes. 

Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel. 

When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.

They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips. 

They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder. 

It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

Wind chimes. 

That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.

Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger. 

They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection. 

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity. 

Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind. 

They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.

This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade. 

Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years. 

Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.

Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.

The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day. 

Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude. 

The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.

And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night. 

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” 

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy. 

“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.

“Still doesn’t answer my question.” 

“It’s written on your face.” 

Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.

“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?” 

The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi. 

“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”

“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.” 

The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“I warned you, filthy rat.” 

She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all. 

“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”

With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back. 

“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.” 

She folds her long arms over her chest. 

“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”

Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…” 

She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi. 

“Then, do you recognize this person?” 

Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight. 

The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms. 

“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-” 

“No!” Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…” 

“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.” 

The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years. 

“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.” 

The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner. 

“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.

Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.

Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.

It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.

Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep. 

Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit. 

Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.

Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.

“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-” 

“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food. 

All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray. 

“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?” 

A sneer itches at his lips. 

“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”

“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?” 

“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.” 

Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?” 

Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.” 

“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further. 

“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…” 

A soft fog drapes over his expression. 

“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-” 

“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing. 

This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.

In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you. 

Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing. 

The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach. 

Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him. 

In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.

When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you. 

He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips. 

The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.

Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane. 

“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?” 

The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge. 

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!” 

In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight. 

Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.

And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of. 

His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony. 

Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.

“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.” 

Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room. 

Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway. 

“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?” 

She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless. 

“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.

Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues. 

“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”

Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.

“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!” 

“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.” 

Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.

Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.

“Let me try talking to them.” 

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?” 

A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue. 

“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”

Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts. 

“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”

Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such. 

“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”

Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.” 

The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.

Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her. 

She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.

Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.

Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands. 

“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!” 

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends. 

“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!” 

Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.

“Y/N…” 

With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?” 

She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so. 

Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots. 

“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?” 

Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.

“Shut up… Dick…” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.” 

His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.

The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present. 

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…” 

The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.

Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once. 

“Y/N…” 

If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?

Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life. 

‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.

A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits. 

These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.

The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.

That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.

Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.

If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors. 

That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield. 

Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac. 

“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?” 

A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.

Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.

It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered. 

The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail. 

The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway. 

The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.

When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets. 

Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you. 

And just like that, the war is over.

Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches. 

Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream. 

You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal. 

It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.

“Oh, Sweetheart…” 

Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air. 

It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread. 

Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers. 

Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers. 

So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.

It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.

The memories then strike like cold water. 

Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.

Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.

“Please…” 

And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.

“Do not hurt me…” 

You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.

Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?” 

As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh. 

The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms. 

“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…” 

She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact. 

“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…” 

Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.

The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness. 

“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?” 

The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side. 

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.” 

Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.

“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?” 

The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you. 

“Why did you abandon me…?”

Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances. 

“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.” 

The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.

Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade. 

You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.

The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone. 

“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.” 

Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.

“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?” 

A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.

“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back. 

“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder. 

“Is that so?” She further challenges. 

“’The fuck else would it mean?” 

The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles. 

Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand. 

“Search the grounds.” 

The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.

The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump. 

A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.

However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.

The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.

A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.

Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested. 

One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars. 

Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.

It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt. 

Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.

A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace? 

“Oh… Hello there, little one…” 

Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless. 

“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?” 

Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move. 

Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.

Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.

Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast. 

“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well. 

A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.

“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”

You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee. 

“Violet…” 

A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight. 

“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!” 

A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced. 

The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics. 

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.” 

A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.

With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.

This is really getting irritating.

“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?” 

The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path. 

Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side. 

Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness. 

Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence. 

“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.” 

His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair. 

It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack. 

“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.” 

Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two! 

“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.” 

Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers! 

Vi’s voice perfuses next. 

“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-” 

“Shut up!” 

A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.

A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts. 

Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise. 

With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you. 

Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been. 

Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies. 

They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes. 

Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.

Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue. 

What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.

With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.

Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation. 

Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either. 

The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued. 

Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.

With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.

From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance. 

Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.

Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.

“Fuck. C’mere-” 

Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions. 

“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.” 

Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest. 

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.” 

The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.

“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.” 

It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle. 

“You…” 

Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.

“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”

Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.

“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.” 

Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up. 

“Tastes like candy, I bet.” 

Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching. 

You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words. 

“Violet…” 

Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all. 

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.” 

The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck. 

Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances. 

Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action. 

“Sleep…” 

And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.

With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.

Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe. 

With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such. 

The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.

Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.

“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.” 

When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.

“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.” 

Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.

Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty. 

“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.” 

That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of. 

“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?” 

The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

gif creds.

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[am-i-interrupting]

May I ask Cult Leader!Viktor with his dear reader, being cuimmuneto and possessive. I imagine Viktor is jealous of the reader in his own way, because someone is flirting with her without her knowing… What would it be like? Will Viktor want to punish the reader (cough, cough, nfsw)?

Handsy Hivemind

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, shared mind, voyeurism, possessive

Having you by his side had been Viktor’s stability. You managed to keep him sane when all the possibilities of reality were overwhelming him.

You were his. He was yours.

This was a sentiment he thought he had made clear in the commune he’d forged. So very obvious it was, with you constantly at his side. His hand on your shoulders. His loving gaze only on you.

However, this seemed to be false as someone had come to you with words sweet as sugar and intent too tainted like oil.

He summoned them. You were confused when they’d come into the place the two of you had begun to call home.

“Do you know why you are hear?” Viktor asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” they said.

He cut them a glance. An eyebrow raised, quirked with nothing but annoyance.

Do not lie to me.

Their eyes widened as they heard his voice in their head. Their gaze flickered over to you then back at him. Shameful, they went to the floor.

“I apologize, Herald,” they said. “Although, I believe you could show mercy as you must understand the temptation set before me.”

Viktor tilted their head up with a finger to their chin. Your brows furrowed behind him as they met your eyes.

“I am nothing if not merciful,” he promised. “Sit.”

His hand extended to a chair. They walked over. Their hands were folded in their lap. They looked like a child being chastised. Though, they shouldn’t look so glum. They weren’t about to be starved. They were about to feast.

Viktor’s hand grabbed yours and pulled you to your feet. His head bent until his forehead touched your own.

“Viktor,” you said softly, “what’s going on?”

“A lesson,” he replied, “in belongings.”

A question was cut off from your lips as Viktor’s crashed into them. You hummed in surprise. His hand found your jaw and pulled you closer. You stumbled into his chest and onto the couch you fell.

He guided you into his lap. His head tilted upward to hold the kiss. His hands tugged at the bottom of your shirt.

His fingers plunged into your pants, beneath your underwear. His thumb and pinky rested upon your pelvic bone. His pointer and ring fingers spread apart your folds. His middle finger dipped down to your hole. It clutched in response to the contact.

He massaged the rim, pulling out with each clutch more and more slickness. He curled his finger, spreading it. The tip brushed against your clit causing you to moan into the kiss.

It was at then that he broke it. His lips traveled across your cheek and to the back of your ear.

He made eye contact with the one in the seat. At just that moment, he plunged his fingers inside you. Abandoning spreading you open, two fingers pistoned inside.

Mine.

You head was thrown back with your eyes closed.

He kissed and bit at your now exposed neck. His tongue curled as he began to suck. His eyes never wavering.

He went at a fast pace as his fingers repeatedly entered and exited you. You weren’t allowed to catch your breath. Only shaking inhaled and exhales were given to you.

Your hands went to his hair. It bunched up like a halo behind him.

Their hands in their lap began to palm at their crotch. Viktor’s eyes narrowed.

Not allowed.

The hands curled into fists. A blush traveled up their neck to their face. Their eyes went to your head thrown back in bliss, lips parted with every exhale though they couldn’t see it.

Look at me.

It was not a request but a demand. Viktor felt your walls pulse against his fingers as their eyes met.

Mine.

He thrust his fingers as deep as he possibly could. He felt the bundled ball of nerves that always had you quaking. As expected, you let out a small yell.

“Vik!” you weren’t able to utter his entire name like this, too caught in the throes of pleasure.

Your fingers curled into a fist. A tingling trail was left in the wake of your nails against his scalp.

Satisfied with the time he’d spent sucking, he let go with a wet pop so he could focus on a different space.

His thumb penetrated your folds, just below your clit. He pushed it upward, gathering your wetness on the way. He moved his thumb in a slow circular motion along the exterior of your clit.

A high pitched squeak was pulled from you. Your breathing labored and strained. Your eyes were screwed shut with pleasure. Not a single thought in your head other than Viktor.

Your thighs clamped around his hips. You pushed yourself down further on his fingers. The walls of your interior squeezed as tight as they could, hoping to milk something his fingers simply could not provide. You felt water come to your eyes at the realization. Your body pulsed all over as you slumped forward.

“Vik,” you whispered as you began to come down.

He gathered the fabric of his robe. He lifted you off him but his fingers followed, still secure. His dick was exposed and free. Nothing stopped it from touch the air.

He carefully pulled off your pants and underwear. Then it was a slow, careful descent to place you atop his dick. A moment of a near uncomfortable stretch as both his dick and fingers were in you. It was quickly replaced with a comfortable stretch. His fingers slipped out as his dick slipped in.

He brushed your hair away from your face and gave you a soft kiss. Your arms wrapped around his body. You melted against him.

He met the person’s eyes once more. Your lips went to his greyish purple skin. He was able to feel your tenderness in his muscles. You clenched around him.

Leave.

They scrambled to their feet and nearly ran out. He imagined they would have if it weren’t for other circumstances.

Viktor’s head lulled back and fell against yours.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 3

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student's satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸ Pairing: Jayvik/reader

➸ Chapter Word Count: 2,795

➸ Tags: romance, slow burn, yearning, eventual smut, non canon compliant

➸Notes: Thanks for all the love, y’all! I’m still very new to writing, and your words are so kind. After this chapter, there won’t be a time skip. Things will also differ a bit to what you see in the show, again, I’m just making shit up. Also, we love Mel in this house. Man, when are these dorks going to stop committing crimes?

➸ Previous Chapter Link- pt.2

You’ve never spent much time in Piltover. Your grandmother never allowed it, knowing that the city’s blinding light would expose you and your mother in ways the shadows of the Undercity never could. Piltover is too bright, too open—its light strips away every ounce of protection. The silence here presses in, unnervingly thick, as if the air itself is watching, waiting. You feel as though people could hear your thoughts if they tried.

The three of you move through the academy hall, its vastness stretching endlessly before you. The shadows here are shallow, offering no real cover. Even clinging to the walls, you feel too exposed. Viktor’s cane clicks softly against the floor, a sound that cuts through the stillness, guiding you and Jayce toward Heimdinger’s lab. You glance around the corner, your pulse quickening, but there’s no sign of security. A breath of relief washes over you—Piltover’s arrogance is working in your favor tonight. Their focus is on the Undercity, not their precious academy.

“This way,” Viktor’s voice echoes, low but steady, the sound lingering in the air. You crouch by the door, the small light in your hand trembling, its beam shaking slightly. Viktor fumbles with the keys, his fingers quick but steady.

Jayce crouches beside you, his breath quick and shallow, his body tight with nervous energy. “We need to hurry,” he whispers, his voice tight with barely contained panic.

Viktor mutters, “I’d hurry if I wasn’t being crowded,” a strained smile flickering across his face. His hands are quick as he slots the first key into the lock, and with a soft click, it turns. “So far, so good,” he murmurs, though the words don’t carry the relief you’d expect.

Your attention shifts back to the hallway, the stillness thickening. Then it comes, a faint hum, barely perceptible at first. It pulls at you, a crackling sensation that makes the air feel alive, sparking across your skin. Your hand lowers involuntarily, the light dipping. It’s like something invisible is pushing against you, crawling beneath your skin, urging you forward.

Suddenly, the quiet is shattered by a flash of blinding light.

“Hm. Willing to risk exile for your endeavor? That’s quite the conviction.”

You flinch, eyes struggling to adjust to the blinding brightness. As your vision struggles to clear, something else cuts through—an overwhelming wave of energy. It rushes in, igniting your senses, filling the space around you with a crackling force. It’s golden, electric, like a thousand sparks flying through the air, threading through every nerve. You can feel it, pulling you toward the confrontation, an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

And then Jayce moves. Without hesitation, he shifts in front of you, crouching low still, positioning himself between you and the source of the light. His body is rigid, protective, instinctively shielding you from view. Viktor, still in front of both of you, tenses, his breath hitching slightly in response to the light.

“Wait a minute—this isn’t my bedroom. How could I have—?” Viktor stammers, his voice thin, scrambling for an excuse as his words trip over each other. Jayce follows, almost in unison, “Counselor! What a surprise to see you—uh…” He trails off, realizing with resignation that you’ve all been caught.

Jayce straightens, quickly adopting a more reasoned tone. “Please, we can prove that it works.” As you stand behind him, you subtly adjust your position to get a better look at the woman. Her presence is as commanding as her appearance—graceful, authoritative, poised. She reminds you of a painting, vivid brushstrokes capturing a beauty so striking it almost seems unreal. Her gaze is fixed on Jayce as he speaks, analyzing him intently, as though she could unravel him with a mere glance.

Her eyes flicker toward you for a brief moment, the sudden contact causing you to retreat behind Jayce again. Her voice is laced with serious amusement. “You couldn’t do so earlier today. How is tonight any different?”

You feel the urge to speak up, but the knowledge that she’s a counselor keeps you silent. This is not how you imagined your night would unfold. Your mind briefly flashes to Benzo—how disappointed he’d be if you ended up locked up.

Viktor’s voice cuts through your anxious thoughts. You shift your gaze to watch as he stands. “We figured out how to stabilize it.” He sounds slightly annoyed, as if he expects she won’t understand.

She shifts the light from Jayce to you, then to Viktor, taking a moment to assess your odd little group.

Her eyebrow quirks. “The professor’s assistant and… a stray.” Apparently, that’s what she’s concluded after a quick assessment.

You can feel Jayce stiffen, his voice far firmer than before. “No. They’re my new partners.”

She redirects her gaze to focus on Jayce’s face. Her voice is smooth. “Even if you manage to prove your theory, the council would destroy it.”

Viktor speaks again, his annoyance now extremely evident, and she shifts the light to focus on him. “Heimerdinger will recognize the potential.”

“He already does.” She doesn’t waver, her eyes meeting yours again. You fight the instinct to hide, forcing yourself to stand your ground and hoping she can’t see the fear in your eyes. She softens slightly. “It scares him. It scares them all.”

You should stay quiet—you have no place speaking to a council member, especially since she’s already made it clear what she thinks of you. The “stray” comment is still burning in your chest. But before you can stop yourself, your curiosity wins out over your better judgment. “What about you?”

She pauses, the shock of you speaking quickly masked by her practiced indifference. Her eyes seem to hold either challenge or intrigue. You ignore the two men’s clear panic at your intervention, choosing instead to focus on staying calm.

“I recognize that any worthwhile venture involves risk.”

A whistling tune shifts all attention away from you. The energy in the room becomes immediately panicked—you realize it’s the sound of a security guard. She listens for a moment, clearly amused by the way the three of you react.

Jayce starts pleading. “Counselor, this technology is real, and no matter what happens here, it’s going to change our world. We should be the ones to lead it. Piltover, the land of progress, equality, innovation. I know it sounds impossible, but when have we ever let that stop us? Please, just give us a chance.”

You and Viktor share a glance, the hope between you both palpable. You both hold your breath.

She finally cuts through the suffocating silence, her focus shifting across the three of you. “You have one night.” You all exhale, relieved. “Impress me, or I suggest you pack your bags.”

And just like that, you’re once again left in the darkness, listening as she leads the guard away. None of you dare move for another minute, until Viktor takes your hand, reigniting the small light for you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden contact, a new anxiety filling your chest as he gives you a tight smile before crouching once more. You resume your positions, unlocking the door again—this time uninterrupted.

As you step into the room, you attempt to break the tension. Quirking an eyebrow at Viktor as Jayce rushes to his equipment, you tease, “This isn’t my bedroom?”

His eyes widen for a moment before he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose I’m not great under pressure.”

The two of you surround Jayce, who’s fully focused on his task. Your eyes scan the table. You expected a lot, but this… this is far more than you could have imagined.

It’s beautiful. Every inch is covered not just in pieces of his research, but in countless magical artifacts. You have to fight the urge to inspect each one.

Jayce’s soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up to realize both men are watching you. You’d expected annoyance at your clear distraction, but instead, their gazes are soft. “We won’t have time to modify the stabilizer. We’ll need to input the right rune combination manually. Can you write them down?”

“Oh, yes, I can, but I’ll need a few minutes.” Nerves settle slightly—it’s a familiar task, but one you haven’t practiced in a while.

Viktor hands you paper and a pen. “Take your time. We’ll need to adjust the oscillation.”

You head to the other side of the room, away from the boys, who are now bent over the machine. The soft clicking of metal and their murmured collaboration fills the room. You take in your surroundings, tuning your senses to the unfamiliar space. Without thinking, you close your eyes. The sounds, the scent of dusty parchment, the temperature, and the hum of unique energy surround you. You carefully guide the symbols on the paper, confident in your work. By the time you head back, Jayce is adding the crystal to the machine with a soft click.

You hand the paper to Viktor, who takes it with his free hand, the other snapping closed the book he holds. You can feel his excited confidence, and see the playful glint in his eyes again. “Time to crank it.”

Jayce is much less confident, his voice wavering as he looks over at Viktor. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Viktor’s only response is a tight grimace and a shake of his head. You can’t help but snort at the exchange. The three of you gather closer, as if the stone is drawing you in. After a moment of hesitation, Viktor reaches his hand past you, softly clicking the button.

The hum of the crystal intensifies as the machine starts to spiral. Blue light crackles in front of your eyes. Wind picks up as the machine gains power, and you feel Jayce’s panic spike beside you.

“I don’t think it’s gonna hold! Look at the buildup!” Jayce practically yells.

You’re mesmerized by the energy, fighting the urge to reach out. Viktor’s voice is steady and confident. “The resonance will stabilize it. Trust me.” And, as if the stone was listening, it does stabilize. You can practically feel Viktor’s pride.

He finally looks over at Jayce. “I told you it would work.” Anticipation builds. “All yours.”

Jayce is lost in the sight before him, his eyes sparkling with the blue light. Breathless, he murmurs, “Wow, it’s never done that before.” He glances at you with a tight nod, then looks at the runes you wrote. “Alright… here we go.”

Jayce begins to input the rune combination, using the dial. You hold your breath, hoping you got it right. It’s working, and then… he hesitates. The moment disrupts the flow, and the crystal emits a harsh energy. Jayce panics and stops turning the dial altogether. The crystal destabilizes, and you mindlessly grip Viktor’s arm to stay upright. The energy is violent and chaotic.

You shout over the deafening ringing, “You have to continue or it’ll combust!”

Viktor steps closer to you, hand discarding his cane to grip the table. In all the tense moments tonight, this is the first time you see him panic. “Disengage!”

Jayce seems to realize it too, trying to reach for the dial but failing.

A booming sound erupts, and for a moment, time seems to slow. The energy releases away from you. Your eyes fling to the window, the glass shattering and slowly moving outward, until suddenly, the energy pulls back violently, dragging the shards of glass with it. Before any of you can react, the glass slices against your arm. Somehow, Jayce manages to hit the dial, stopping the machine.

The room plunges into darkness, the silence so thick that all you can hear are the frantic beats of your own heart. “Incredible.” You can’t help but smile in the dark, even as your mind races. Of course Viktor finds wonder in it, even though it’s obvious things have gone wrong.

Jayce fumbles to light a lamp and as your eyes adjust, you realize you’re still gripping Viktor’s arm. You release it, and with the movement, it feels like you finally exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jayce looks between the two of you before stepping back to inspect the machine. Stopping to retrieve his fallen cane, Viktor moves to join him. He hisses, his finger brushing a cut on Jayce’s cheek. Even in the low light, you swear you see Jayce’s ears flush red.

The open window lets outside noise filter in, and shouts from below pull your attention.

“Oh, shit.” The curse slips out before you can stop it as you see enforcers flooding into the academy. There’s no way they missed the explosion—or the light. The realization hits you immediately, and a tight knot forms in your stomach.

The three of you spring into action, but it feels too slow. Jayce works frantically at the machine, and you rush to the door. You lock it just as someone starts pounding on it.

“Open this door immediately!” a voice demands from the other side. Panic spikes in your chest as you hear the unmistakable sound of the door’s lock starting to be undone. You glance back at the boys, both working with urgency.

Just as you look up, Viktor tosses his cane at you. You catch it, surprised, and he raises his eyebrows, his gaze flicking to the door, wordlessly telling you to reinforce it. You slot the cane into place without hesitation, securing the door.

Turning back, you see Jayce place a stone into place with a soft click, quickly resuming his work.

“They’re almost in!” you say, your voice sharp with urgency. The door is being hammered by several people on the other side, the cane barely holding them back.

You try to steady yourself and give Jayce’s arm a quick squeeze, a silent reminder to stay calm. He glances back, giving a tight nod. This time, he closes his eyes as he inputs the runes, his movements as fluid as when you’d deciphered them earlier. You and Viktor lean in, the sound of the shouts from outside fading as the hum of the machine grows louder. And then, suddenly—

A surge of energy pulls back, holding the world suspended in quiet anticipation before it bursts outward again. This time, the energy floods the room, wrapping everything in its glow before it stills, weightless. You’ve never known the world in this way—seeing everything from so high, as if you’re no longer bound to Runeterra. The light doesn’t intimidate you. Instead, it fills you with a profound sense of awe, a wonder so deep it almost hurts. It should feel wrong, an unnatural defiance of gravity’s pull, but instead, it feels as if you’re exactly where you were always meant to be.

Your senses soften as you drift, spinning slowly in the stillness, mesmerized by the way your hair floats and dances around your face. A soft laugh breaks through your reverie. You turn to find Jayce, his hands deftly flicking a cog through the energy, vanishing and reappearing before Viktor in a blur of motion. And oh, it’s beautiful—they’re beautiful. Their smiles are like twin stars, bright enough to rival the very light that surrounds you. You laugh with them as Viktor passes the cog to you, your fingers brushing against its cool surface, flipping it in the air to watch it glide, weightless, past you.

But then, like a shadow crossing the sun, your gaze lands on the doorway. The joy you feel remains untouched by the figures standing there—several enforcers, all with stunned expressions. The Yordle pushes past them, his posture tight with frustration. He’s speaking, but all you catch is a faint, exasperated, “Will you please stop hovering?”

Viktor’s voice rings out through the muffled energy, its sharp edge almost playful: “I’m not sure how to do that, sir!” Even if he could, you imagine he wouldn’t want to.

The Yordle’s voice cracks with desperation, and there’s a weariness to it that strikes you. “This is not what Piltover's future looks like, my dears.” It’s as if he knows—deep down—that there’s no undoing what has been set in motion.

The warm, golden glow pulses once more, wrapping around the soft blue energy, swirling together like the very fabric of the universe. It’s the sensation of space itself—endless, infinite—and the stars shimmer so close you could reach out and touch them. “That is for the Council to decide,” a soft, melodic voice rises, and it carries with it the weight of something momentous. “Perhaps it’s time for the era of magic.”

“Uh—Hextech,” Jayce interrupts, his tone laced with a quiet but resolute certainty. He looks down at the woman, his gaze steady. “For the era of Hextech.”

[ninesparrowsoftroy]

For the Mortal and Machine | Viktor | 1.1k | Blurb

Viktor, who, in his pursuit to uncover the secrets of what may lie beneath the metal plates of the Hexcore, disrupts the very equilibrium of the Arcane.

Things to note prior to proceeding: I have absolutely not the slightest of clues if this makes any sense at all, really I just opened a tab and forced myself to keep writing and here we are. I hope this is somewhat even remotely in the realm of his character.

Exposed; paled skin blooming a vicious red where the edge of the scalpel had torn through flesh and muscle, each individual vertebrae aching with the force of a discomforting stretch, lungs pressing against the hollowed bones of a weakened ribcage. Vulnerable; calloused fingers digging the cartilage of chipped nails into the plush of the palm, sunken eyes searching with a feverish desperation through the creased and folded papers on the desk, a dry lip drawn tight into a thinning line, chapped and blushing a violent pink where the skin threatened to crack. Alone; so completely and utterly alone.

Viktor did not resent the isolation brought upon him, nor did he find comfort in its hollow presence, instead he had grown somewhat accustomed to it. The desolation of the four-faced laboratory forced itself to become an inescapable familiarity, the quiet that had once been startling and foreign in the thrumming atmosphere of mechanical discovery and esoteric ambition, was now an instrument of focus not afforded before.

He uncovered in the silence a newfound means of potential, an opportunity to push beyond the limitations of physiological restriction, challenge the notions of scientific sanctity. No longer was anyone who could argue against a hypothesis or dissent to a proposal of experimentation. Now he simply could string out the calculations, weave together the prospects of potential and contrast it against the forces of reality. He could fail over and over and over again and spend however long it took until failure was nothing but a prospect of the past.

It was here in this desolate, haunting lab that the whispers of progress dripped itself into his desperate ears, pushing him further and further down its spiral. A moment longer before the desk, a second more to attune an equation, one step deeper into the labyrinth of something he would claw his way to discover.

Viktor set the metal blade against the cold surface of the desk, bloodied fingers staining the ridges of its handle. The wound stung, the opened nerves unwelcome against the still air of the lab, the muscles within his hand flexing with each drip of the liquid that seeped into the crevices of his palm. His skin itched, hand twitching with a subconscious longing for self-preservation, his fingers instinctively curling inward. It was with a principal force that he willed his muscles to straightened, splaying out his palm and fingers into a flat line, the sting of the stretched wound bitting at his nerves.

For science; for the taming of what has always remained so far out of reach, what has been intangible and arcane.

He let a breath fall from his lips, eyes fixated on the many faced machine that thrummed before him. Its metal plates shifting, clicking into place with a subdued agency, each form of movement accompanied only by a pulse of a cold, muted light. Viktor extended his arm out into the buzzing atmosphere of the core, his palm facing its dancing faces. Faint though it was, the vibrations that encased and coiled around his wrist as he ebbed closer and closer towards the machine were unmistakable. He could feel the buzzing air crawl its way around his forearm, tickling the skin like thousands of minuscule needles all placed onto it at once.

A splotch of red pulled itself from his hand, droplets of red drifting in the air like satellites. He watched with a curious eye as the dots gravitated towards the machine, floating in a slow and meticulous sequence. For a moment they were like stars, a moving constellation of red, outlining vague and unrecognizable shapes in the buzzing air, before they were drawn into a singular line. The metal faces of the core flashed, the specks of red beginning to vibrate as the proximity between them began to wane. They trembled, losing their circular shape as each dot began to bleed into the one behind it, uniform it the way they formed a single line. Then, in the moment it would take to blink, the liquid vanished, sucked into the heart of the machine with a gluttonous voracity.

The reaction was immediate: each of its metal faces jerking with a harrowing uniformity, the buzz of the air growing sharper, what had once pricked at him now pressed with a newfound cruelty into the pale barrier of his body. He drew his shoulder back, attempting to yank his hand away from the machine in an effort of retreat. The open wound of his hand began to burn against the light of the machine. Panic then seized him when he felt the buzzing air lock onto his forearm, his body lurching forward when the core grasped onto the scrunched fabric at his elbow, tugging his body closer. Viktor could feel it pull the blood from his body, coaxing it from beneath the flesh and muscle of his hand.

It spun, breathing with every spark of pain that shot through his body, each runic face trembling as they shifted in and out of place. He bit back the noise within his throat, his lungs withholding any sound or breath as panic gave way to desperation. Its pull grew harsher, tugging at the bone inside his hand, ripping away his skin in search of red and white. Around him the lab grew dark, shadows contorting in the corners behind pillars and beneath desks and equipment. The starless light of the night no longer fell into the room through the window, instead all sources of sight came from the twitching pulse of the core’s glow. It danced between shades of purple and blue, sparks of white garnering black dots in his vision.

Everything buzzed, tilting between horizontal and vertical, spinning as the atmosphere of the machine grew, clawing up his arm until he could it feel it from every limb. His hands, his arms, his neck, his back, his hip, his feet; it was consuming, swallowing him whole. He could feel the weight of its hold against him, the impaling pierce of the needle-like air puncturing into the weakening muscles of his limbs, its low resounding hum pounding itself against the walls of his skull.

The core gave another feral jerk, its mechanical form trembling as it grew unstable, the metal faces colliding and crashing against one another as they began to fall onto the hard surface of the desk. That was when Viktor could feel his eyes roll back, all sound in the room vanishing as a single reverberating shriek splintered through the lab, and all he could do was pray helplessly that he would wake up eventually.

I have given no permission for my writing or work to be posted anywhere else other than this account. I hope you enjoyed. <3

[qisheu]

A somewhat story idea / snippet that came to mind after seeing that cracked doll make-up trend with a red base to it. Based on the classic trope of dolls being alive.

Yuuri restored dolls for a living, a job passed down through his family that he wildly enjoyed. Being able to see the shift of something once broken being mended and whole, dusty and dirty being brought back to it's prime.

He mostly worked with small dolls, having some large ones every now and then but not quite like the current doll he was given.

A life-size doll, ivory skin, short platnimun white hair, and bright blue eyes with a name tag of 'Viktor' attached to its clothing.

It was a gorgeous doll, crafted so well you could mistake it for a human despite the layers upon layers of filth and dust on it.

Working on cleaning it with utmost care, gently cleaning the grim off each individual section. Something was a bit odd, though. This doll did not seem to be made of porcelain. Something softer, a type of rubber, perhaps? It's not too uncommon, though.

His anxiety of messing up such a magnificently crafted doll at an all-time peak, feeling as if the doll is judging and watching his every move to make sure he was doing his job correclty.

The feeling nerved him. He'd never felt like he was being watched before by his dolls. Was it because this doll was so humanoid?

He worked on every part of the doll that wasn't the dolls face, unable to stare into its eyes for more than a few moments. Something just seemed odd about it, so something so alive about it.

At some point or another, he had to finally work on the face of it, even if it freaked him out.

Gently dusting and cleaning its cheak, something about it felt wrong, though. The part felt flakey and softer, then the rest, curiosity getting the best of him, bringing his hand to the spot and tugging at it.

Under the top layer of what he assumed to be paint, some of a sort of red layer lie beneath it, muscle.

A sharp gasp coming from the black haired man, moving away in a flail, bumping into the shelf uptop of his desk, knocking over a heavy glass jare full of paint brushes for touch-ups. It falls directly onto one of the dolls fingers.

Still stunned for a moment at the sight of muscle under the facial skim of the doll, attention now being drawn to its hand. Moving back up close to it to stare at the skin, grabbing its hand in a haste and assessing its finger.

Once again, there is a gruesome layer of skin exposed. Not sure what to do, frantic as he looks back up to the dolls face, wondering what on earth is happening.

Not expecting much to happen, though, certainly not expecting the doll to be starring right back at him.

[zairas-realm-gateway]

My Heart Still Beats update

I'm really busy with art vending events this week but this scene has just been swirling in my mind for days. It's interesting dipping into Viktor's mind when his emotion suppressors are off.

____

[Excerpt]

The night felt like it was passing too slowly. The minute hands on the clock in the room felt as if were being held back by all of gravity. The flames in the hearth flickered, casting lethargic shadows over the tall walls. They moved like long tendrils reaching out to stroke and trail over Jayce's resting form.

Viktor's head rested back against the wall of the window nook. The warm air from the hearth felt strange against the bare skin of their exposed face. Unnatural but not entirely unwelcome. The air's heat brushed against some piece deep inside him that felt cold, shaken, by the night's events. Periodically, he turned his head from Jayce to look out the window. Watching the moon as it made its trek across the dark light-polluted sky. Dipped past it's peak towards the deeper morning hours. The city's illumination slowly flickering out as sleep called to its citizens. The corrupting touch of Piltover blotted out the stars.

The shift in light guided Viktor through the past. Questioning fragments scattered before him. Laid fresh in their mind like brittle paint chips. Stepping on them made him question where each originated from.

He pulled his cape closer about his shoulders despite the tattered cloth bringing no physical comfort to steel flesh. Their brow twitched. Gaze intense as it stared down into this godsforsaken city. He lost himself quickly in the labyrinth of his own mind. The present darkness drifted further away. No longer were they The Herald but rather that weak spirit from Academy so long ago.

An injury as a child had left their leg weak and disabled. Though the doctors had healed it as best they could, the injury tormented him into adulthood and left him with a sharp limp. The pain was the worst at night.

Nights like Jayce's first fundraising gala for their shared research.

The rain had been terrible that night. The moisture so intense it seeped into his very bones. Agony followed its reaching touch. It bit into his left knee like a rabid wolf trying to bite sheer through. His fingers clenched over the kneecap, digging in against flesh and bone. As if he could forcibly rip the agony from his own nerves. Anything to make the ache go away.

A hiss pressed out through their gritted teeth. He stretched out his leg as best he could. The shift in angle normally brought some relief but not today. Their shoulders hunched forward as they curled over the desk. Gasping in a breath before he pushed it out again. Breathing through a spasm as it jarred up his leg towards his spine.

Damn his leg. Damn this fucking rain.

A gentle smack against the back of his head jolted him. The new sensation pulled their focus sharply from the debilitating paincycle. His head jerked up. Hand gripping his knee, he twisted to glare at the culprit but only came face to face with a familiar broad chest. Viktor huffed, blinking through the reflexive moisture that had collected on his lashes. His eyes narrowed at the man. A vicious retort coiled on their tongue as they expected a jeer to break the silence between them.

But there was no sneer. No smug grin on the other's face to greet him. There is only exhaustion and something akin to hollowness in the normally playful blue eyes.

Jayce blinked down at them, unaffected by Viktor's withering glare. There's a grunt before a cup of too sweet coffee is set in front of Viktor. Before a comment can pass between them, a pastry is shoved into Viktor's mouth. Effectively gagging them.

“You forgot to eat again, Dipshit.”

Jayce's grumble is barely audible in the lab's silence. Viktor sat there dumbfounded, simpy holding the pastry in his mouth, as Jayce takes a seat in the bench next to him.

It is only now looking back that Viktor notices the tightness in Jayce's posture. A stiffness in his lower back. Exhaustion rolled off him in such deep waves that Viktor still vaguely remembers them both collapsing onto the lab's couch soon after, not even bothering to return to their respective homes.

[Excerpt end]

[danidoesathing]

I like how Arcane Viktor is both a robot/cyborg and something completely alien to Runeterra. Like, he's still a robot/cyborg of some kind (his voice is mechanical, his skin is metal, there are bolts and screws in his Hexcoreized form, and you can hear faint mechanical whirrs in some of his scenes after he's fully Evolved)-but he's also not the type of cyborg he's normally depicted.

He's less "traditional Cyberpunk cyborg" and more "Spooky Living Metal Alien Robot who wants to assimilate you into the Robot/Alien Hive Mind". Both are still cyborgs/robots, but very different genres of robot/cyborg. (One is Cyberpunk Sci-Fi, one is Space Sci-Fi.) (...Also, the fact that some media uses divine imagery for aliens and/or makes it so that ancient societies worshipped aliens as gods arguably makes this comparison work even better?)

(Slight spoilers for The Expanse.) (The main comparison I use for Viktor's transformations is the Protomolecule Hybrids from The Expanse as a comparison-both the TV and book versions. (The Protomolecule can assimilate and transform both flesh and technology, so it feels a fitting comparison.))

(Also, you should check out The Expanse. It's well written, has great characters and storylines, and has some similar themes to Arcane (class divide and politics) while also being a mostly-grounded Space Sci-Fi series. (Also, Grayson's VA plays one of my favorite characters.) It's on Prime for free, and I cannot recommend it enough.)

YES I LOVE!!! ELDRITCH ROBOT VIKTOR!!! i understand why people were disappointed that they didn't get the Machine Herald from the game (even i will admit i wanted to see that freak in all his glory) but ive always considered him and Jayce Talis as separate guys (as well as the rest of the cast, but those two have the biggest deviation from their original selves. its one of the reasons I call him the Arcane Herald and not the Machine Herald cause. hes not really the Machine Herald) so i was really excited to see him as a fucked up body horror robot wizard. (and honestly i LOVE the switch up the original game lore for his (and jayce's) storyline but the tangent i want to go on is not really relevant to this ask so ill leave it there for now) and i LOVE what we got.

like i keep staring at all this pictures of his in act and im obsessed with his weird ass anatomy. He looks like he's made of wires and fibers but it looks like exposed nerves and flesh. his skin lined with gold and swirls and it pulses and glows, but it's still some intimation of skin. It looks flexible but its still metal. The result of near perfect transmutation using corrupted magic. A cyborg made of the arcane. He's so unnaturally natural. the original was once human and still retains that form no matter what but now its fundamentally changed. fucked up and alien and i love it.

AND THE DIVINITY ASPECT OOOH MY GOD!!! wake up bitch we've forced you into an artificial godhood where you dont know how much control you have over your soul at any time. you will never know how much of your own mind is your own. your own want to help people and insecurities about your body are twisted for the goal of something you cannot understand. You have become the central consciousness for a concept that was never supposed to be conscious. you will kill thousands in it's name, you've ended dozens of worlds, and you do not know how much of it was you, but you drown in your guilt regardless. you wanted to die human but you were loved too much.

(I do like in the concept art you can tell they were making designs for a semi-traditional machine herald (some pretty cool ones tbh!!), but as it goes on it gets weirder and weirder until it's the Arcane Herald. they just kept going he's not enough of a freak yet. keep making him more fucked up.)

I have not seen the Expanse but it IS on my list. and the promise of fucked up hybrids of flesh and machinery AND Shohreh Aghdashloo is. ooooh very nice.

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

20 questions for fic writers!

tagged by @clotpolesonly 💜

How many works do you have on AO3?

Officially it is 2,434 fics but probably 4-6 more fics under anon. I will eventually de-anon those but I'm not right now,,,, 👀👀👀

What’s your total AO3 word count?

2,912,560 words.

What fandoms do you write for?

I have written for 489 fandoms so far but I collect fandoms like Pokemon so I'm sure the number will be up in the end of 2023, hehe. I will list the top ten fandoms though I have done so far:

DCU (222)

Merlin (TV) (180)

Marvel (132)

Game of Thrones (TV) (125)

Marvel Cinematic Universe (111)

Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime) (108)

Voltron: Legendary Defender (97)

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling (96)

Young Justice (Cartoon) (82)

Stranger Things (TV 2016) (77)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

2,699 kudos -- Take Me Up (G-rated, Knights of the Round Table & Merlin + Merlin & Arthur Pendragon, BBC Merlin)

Excalibur acts like Thor's Hammer - only for the worthy. Magic prevents others from grasping it.

2,105 kudos -- Sleepless In New York (No Rating, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, Banana Fish - Anime & Manga)

Ash goes missing and Shorter discovers him taking care of a sick Eiji. It makes sense why Ash hasn’t contacted anyone. Or bothered to glance at his messages. Ash’s head gets fuzzy when it comes to Eiji, Shorter realizes once more. That’s what happens with love.

1,722 kudos -- Belonging (E-rated, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, BBC Merlin - warnings for mentions of underage and noncon)

“I’ll be fine here,” Merlin insists, upright and curled in the dark, velvet blankets. He’s naked as sin, beautiful with morning-light in his thick, sable hair, his nipples exposed to cold air. “You’ll only be away for a season, maybe half.”

1,688 kudos -- A Matter of the Heart (E-rated, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Yuri!!! on Ice - warnings for mentions of violence)

If there's a single thing Yuuri can't get enough of—it's Viktor's attention. People want it. The letters from Viktor's fans beg for it, for a photo or an autograph, for him to respond. One of Viktor's most ruthless stalkers attacks Yuuri in broad daylight.

1,615 kudos -- It Was Only You (E-rated, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, BBC Merlin)

Looking across the playing field, Arthur dripping with sweat and mud, knocking away the ball from the other footie team, Merlin feels the pull. It starts at his belly, from the centre of his navel, and radiates pleasantly to every nerve-end.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I love to respond to comments and talk and possibly make more writer friends! 😊 And I also wanna respect boundaries with commenters so I implemented a new idea: If you comment with a certain emoji, I will leave your comment as it is and not respond. It has been a GREAT decision for the people who admitted they're shy.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

OHHHHHH GOD. THE FIRST ONE I THINK OF IS THE LAST HOURS (E-rated, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, BBC Merlin) WHERE THEY DIE IN THE END BC THEY ARE ON VACATION IN AUSTRALIA WHEN AN ASTEROID HITS EUROPE AND THERE'S A FIRESTORM COMING. IT IS ABSOLUTELY WORTH THE READ THO. IT'S A FAVE OF MINE.

I do wanna say that Bereavement (T-rated, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Harry Potter) where Harry, instead of Sirius, falls through the veil and No Matter What Happens, You'll Return To Me (T-rated, Porsche & Porchay + Porsche/Kinn + Porchay/Kim, Kinnporsche (TV)) where Kim dies bc of a random act of cruelty by a stranger and Porchay overdoses on sleeping pills and it's all in Porsche's POV,,, those are very strong competitors for the #1 spot of angsty endings.

no no I'm sorry,,, no it's definitely Devil's Side (T-rated, Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, His Dark Materials) because I cannot explain to how fucked up that story got me and basically everyone I inflicted that on

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ohhhhh god this one is harder ASJSDJ,,,, if I'm picking a fic with angst, Up In Smoke (T-rated, Korra/Asami Sato, Avatar: Legend of Korra) has a satisfying ending after a group of people burn down the Sato residency and Asami grieves,,,, but if I'm picking a fic that is fluff and has an ending I like, then Pulled From The Wreckage (No Rating, Aziraphale/Crowley, Good Omens (TV)) because I'm love them.

Do you get hate on fics?

Oh most definitely. It's happened. Either some mfer didn't read the tags I got up and they got something smart to say,,,, or is a ship hater🥱,,,, or leaves poorly masked constructive criticism,,,,,

When I do think of AO3 hate I've gotten, I do think about the time I posted a Bellamy/Clarke & Clarke/Lexa vee-relationship poly fic from The 100 tv show where both shipping fandoms showed their own asses in the comments. (And I would do it again to laugh at them.) Or I think about the guy who came onto my Merthur fic where Arthur had terminal cancer and he practiced safe consensual sex (like some of the most consensual I've ever written) and called Arthur 'a whore' because it wasn't enough Merthur sex going on in my fic??? Like you gotta be out of your goddamn mfing mind to do that nonsense.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I got 505 explicit rated fics and they're 99.9% full of smut! Mostly the smut is between OTPs/ships I like, but sometimes it's just because! I gonna recommend three smut fics of mine just for shits and grins:

Don't Fall In Love So Madly With The Night (Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac, AMC's Interview with the Vampire + Novel Canon, 666 words - warnings for graphic content)

Louis anguishes over consuming his own flesh-and-blood, and Lestat dotes. Because Lestat enjoys it.

Come And Get It (Loki/Sylvie, Loki (TV), 3902 words)

Loki and Sylvie wind down, hopping from apocalypse to apocalypse, by trying to kick each other's ass.

Hold Me Close (Padmé Amidala/Sabé & Padmé Amidala/Eirtaé/Rabé/Sabé/Saché/Yané, Star Wars, 1000 words)

Padmé has no immediate recollection of the Festival of Light, long after dusk, save for the matter of too much scentwine — purplish in quality and strong with its bright, floral aroma. She wakes among her handmaidens, come morning light, savoring their conversation and heat and presence.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not very often! But they do happen! I've done J. Robert Oppenheimer/Barbie (BARBENHEIMER!) with An Old Friend and Part II Ellie Williams meeting HBO TV series!Ellie Williams with Me, You, Us and Prince Charming from Disney's Snow White/Prince Phillip from Disney's Sleeping Beauty with Love's First Kiss and Emily from Corpse Bride/Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas with Butterfly Bush and then I did something kinda cool in The Autopsy of Jane Doe/The Witch crossover with Long, Long Ago!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

AND THAT'S WHY I FUCKING HATE WATTPAD. YOU EVER SEEN MY ACCOUNT ON WATTPAD? I AM THERE TO HUNT PPL DOWN. I THINK I MADE TWO ACCOUNTS JUST IN CASE. AAAAAAAAAA.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I have had a couple of bad experiences with people asking to translate my fics so I'm a little wary now but,,,,, yeah there's a few.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Me and @glove23 have cowritten fics! It's So Goodbye Until Tomorrow! There's also The Lie Of Living, The Truth In Wanting! I'm a terrible and temperamental cowriter sometimes, I'm sorry ☹️

What’s your all time favourite ship?

SHRUGS. IT CAN CHANGE OVER TIME. I'm gonna say Peter Pan/Wendy Darling though. Easily you're gonna get me with that.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

If you were ever holding out for an update on Fate's Design, Facing the Darkness, or Game, Set, Match then oops.

What are your writing strengths?

SHRUGGGSSSS. I just think through experience probably and writing as much as I have, I've mastered some kind of writing style? Or at least my rhythm in it? I know I put a lot of detail into what I'm writing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I could be doing more with expanding on parts and structurally setting scenes up. Like I can SEE where I can improve and I wanna.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Eh. I've done it.

First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter?

Favourite fic you’ve written?

THAT'S HAAAAAAARD. I HAVE TOO MANY FICS.

You know what, if you wanna get on my good side, just talk to me about anything out of Your Childhood Cishets, Now WLW/MLM ashsdsahjsaj the entire thing is my ongoing and beloved project

---

Tagging @glove23 @merlinsbed @onestrangenovelist @greyisbetterthangray @rapha-reads @divorcedmalewife and literally if you got some fics on AO3, this is an open invite to do this!

(Blank question format inside!)

20 questions for fic writers!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

[sanguine-salvation]

Even the sunlight in "her" territory has a slight difference to the rest of springtime Gotham: soft and buttery yellow. The gentle brightness stretches its fingers a bit too far into corners and alleyways, waving away the natural play of shadow against light. Birds hop merrily along grassy medians and through the parks, their feathers a chiaroscuro sweep against their plump bodies.

A one-eyed alley cat gazes at them from atop a sun-warmed brick wall, flicking its tail even as it gives a slow blink.

Oh, and there are flowers, the edges of each petal so delineated that the space surrounding them seems to blur unless they squint.

"With regards from ma'am."

(Oh, ma'am, is it?)

The man who places the bouquet on the ground before them is much the same, etched deeper into the world. He's forgettable enough, with a thin face and receding hairline, but his eyes have the same relaxed alertness as the old tom on the wall.

He flicks his finger against the glass vase before straightening. Plink. And then, he's striding away, his back brazenly exposed to Viktor, whose hiding places have been scoured of their comforting darkness.

(Soft and welcoming to the more civic-minded citizens of Gotham, the day is very bright for one used to the shadows.)

The flowers are a gentle spray of springtime color, and the card reads:

With regards for a lovely evening

-- S.

Ugh.

They have half a mind to just drag the entirety of their hoodie over their head and smother themself in darkness— and from oxygen, why not— to try and prolong their fickle concept of sleep.

But spring has other ideas. This... place has other ideas. It has for as long as they've decided to be here, they lost count of the days since their little surprise meeting with the lady who could rend the world.

They blink blearily as the honey soaked light pours into their alleyway, encroaching on their peace more cheerily and aggressively with every passing second they try to ignore it. After a moment or two, the silhouette of a man unknown to them— most zombies were, really—forms in their vision, his voice aching in their ears as they grumpily sit up to stare him down with tepid threat.

They are not in the mood for company, even brave company.

And that's when the abrasively warm flowers catch their eyes. A glittering myriad of oranges and yellows and hints of sunset pinks, their existence as they are presented to them is nothing short of baffling. As soon as they are down, with little more than that one sentence and an aggravatingly painful tink of the glass vase, the man was gone with an unfazed stride.

If they had less of a headache, they've have hands full of his blood right now. What an unlucky zombie to be spare by their limits...

Wait. Ma'am.

They tear the card irritably from the neck of the vase and stare it down, the elegant writing as pleasant as chicken scratch.

"Ugh. How very cute. Could this not have waited until tonight..." They toss the card aside and stare at the obnoxious colors blooming delightfully in front of them, not a care in the world for beheaded plants. The damn nerve. But not ill-placed.

One like her could afford to have nerve.

[onlymurdersintheafterparty]

Death and Other Details Episode 8: Vanishing

We’ve got two more episodes to go after this and tbh, I’m ready for the finale. I think the show took too long establishing characters and etc when they could have been exposing more clues and generating interest in the murder(s) and Viktor Sams. Here is my takeaway from this episode and what I think may happen in the finale. Spoilers ahead so read at your own risk.

The Blackout

I don’t care how cliche it is, I love a good blackout in a whodunnit. The stakes are high bc the killer can slip in and out of places unseen, everyone has to stay together to avoid being picked off, and the fear of death makes secrets come to life. At one point Tripp asks, “Am I going to die?”. and yeah probably 😬 It would be kind of sad though if he did since he wasn’t even involved in the mess and tbh not smart enough to be committing crimes on that level.

That Derek and his Followers

When he said “If you are seeing this that means I’m dead” I got really worried for a second. Whodunnits spare children but he is a teenager so still very much a target since he’s been broadcasting and could be suspected of recording something that he shouldn’t have.

Jules’s Escape

Winnie has some nerve asking Jules to let her out after Imogen slips him the key. Girl you’re a whole murderer, no way are you going to be let out to roam freely especially in a BLACKOUT. Girl bye. He hasn’t done much yet and is still scheming to get off the boat but I hope he survives until the end:

Lawrence’s Apathy at Llewellyn’s Death

That man is an emotionless monster who valued money over the lives of the people that worked for him and if it does turn out he’s been poisoned via his blue drinks, no one will mourn him. And on top of that he killed Kira so she’d stop asking questions. Also how wild is it that Llewellyn is Anna’s biological father?! The theories were that Tripp was the affair baby but Anna?! This is wild. Maybe that’s why Lawrence was so reluctant to hand over the company to her. Katherine killing Llewellyn does not mean that she is Viktor Sams. It just means she doesn’t want her secrets getting out. But it was all for nothing bc everyone is finding out the family secrets anyway 🤷🏽‍♀️

Winnie Distraught Over Llewellyn’s Death

I’m really confused as to why Winnie was so upset over his death since they only interacted briefly, but I’m glad that her grief led to confirming the suspicion that he was poisoned. The way he sadly spoke of the wine when she went to his room earlier that night immediately made me wonder if that were the case.

Who is Viktor Sams?

I still think there are two different Viktor Sams: VS1 who everyone feared when Imogene’s mother was killed and VS2 who is getting revenge on everyone involved with captionem blue. Celia and Eleanor seem too obvious but if it is one por both of them it’s clear why after Celia’s backstory. What I can say is who I do not think is Viktor Sams and that is:

Teddy

Jules

Imagen

Rufus

Tripp

Anna

Lawrence

Katherine

That Derek

WAIT. What if Father Briggs is Viktor Sams?! We know how self righteous religious people can be, especially those who hold power. Maybe he discovered the captionem blue coverup and also lost someone he loved. Either that or Lawrence confided in him during a day he wasn’t lucid and that set the plan in motion/ Nobody would suspect a priest. Also look at his info page. He takes long showers and expects his robes dry cleaned daily. His robes being dry cleaned around the clock washes away any evidence that may be on them and the showering also washes away evidence.

[inun4ki]

[ control ] my muse gives your muse full control over their body to do with them what they please

Cool air chilled exposed skin, clothes wrested from his narrow form in a half-drunk din, thighs pressed miserably together to hide burgeoning arousal. Breaths came in muted, shaky gasps, hands tentatively pawing at warmer flesh, teeth gnawing into his lower lip the longer Viktor's gaze lingered on him. A shiver down his spine, breath catching in his throat, as if entranced by glassy blues and the intensity burning within them; Taken by surprise and swept off his feet, treated with care in spite of a dizzying stupor. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt intimidated for the first time in some years, squirming, rubbing his thighs together, jolting at the slightest graze of Viktor's fingers along his calf.

Goosebumps spread like a wildfire and his head swam, gaze momentarily tearing from focused blue to rest on veiled eagerness - pretty lips he'd freshly earned the right to feel, kisses pressed into the mar of his throat as fingers gently pried his knees apart. Kaede trembled, so desperately affected by slow deliberation and explorative hovering, hips shifting slightly, hands ghosting down his inner thighs. Ever so close, then retreating, fingertips dragging between the junction and the crux of his knees, so close so close - miss again. It only made things worse for him, ravaged his already delicate sensibilities, frazzled him, made the heat between his legs harden - nervousness soon overtaken by achy impatience.

It...occurred to him then that Viktor was waiting for him to give him the okay, soaking in even the slightest reactions in the meantime, happy to commit the spots that made Kaede lift and jerk his hips to memory. How he could was beyond the smaller man, but he'd lost the battle long before it began, legs spread wide, Viktor straightening some and slotting himself betwixt-- Every breath seemed ever harder to take, the beat of his heart stifling, nerves burning with a thousand different emotions and sensations at once. He couldn't notice his embering delight, head falling back into a nest of pillows. It was just so overwhelming, to be touched and teased until he was naked and breathless, quivering in the aftermath of too much wine and a conversation gone too well - to be watched as if in adoration, scrutinized and attended to so this might happen again...and again, and again.

Shaky hands made a gentle grab for Viktor's face, fingertips brushing against his jaw, further still into softest silver. He wondered what it would be like to be loved by a man like this, one that put time and effort and care into building anticipation, discovering the bits and pieces of him that made him tremble and gasp - set him as the priority, even if only for a little while. And he wondered what it would feel like to be fucked by him, licked, bitten, stuffed full in long, deeo strokes, hair pulled, to be reduced to little more than a drooling, stuttering, needy mess too satisfied to roll out of blankets and sheets.

"A-ara, Vicchan," he sighed headily, breathlessly, pulling Viktor over him again, painfully aware of the hot muscle resting over his own, rubbing against it. He shuddered miserably, a hushed whimper escaping him. He wanted so much more than he was getting and maybe that was selfish of him, to at first be grateful only to then be so greedy - but he was hopeless, powerless against Viktor in such moments. Soft and quavery pleas, pliant begging whispers into his lips; "Please, just-- I-I don't care what you do, do whatever you want to me, but please, please, I can't take the teasing anymore. I feel like I'm going to break, I--"

[all-thestories-aretrue]

Tw: talk of self-harm & suicide; take care of yourselves

Headcanons about Jayce and self-harm bcuz its self indulgent and I can. This is incredibly long so its under a read more.

Jayce's hex bracelet covers up some pretty nasty scars.

Working in the forge, getting knicks and cuts and burns there, covered up the self inflicted wounds nicely. Or they at least blended together so no one was suspicious.

Once he's out of the forge though, he moves to his hips and thighs since no one is likely to see those areas.

His PTSD and depression play a huge roll in his triggers, and often times he can't exactly pinpoint them.

When he's cutting or doing some form of SI, his brain just goes quiet. And it feels so good. All of the expectations placed on him just disappear for a little while.

But, it eats into his sleep, his appetite. His body is sore and he always has a headache. He's constantly shaking and it gets worse when he hasn't been able to cut for a few days.

Viktor notices, gathering data for months before confronting Jayce. He had his suspicions. And it was no secret Jayce had been on the precipice of ending his life when they met. He would be a fool to think those feelings would disappear with hextech. He sees the flecks of blood on the academy uniforms, the bandages that sometimes poke out from under his sleeves. He doesn't miss the winces or how Jayce sometimes favors one side over the other when carrying materials.

So he asks one day. "Do you hurt yourself?" it's blunt but without judgement. Afterall, he can see the appeal.

Jayce denies it just a little too quickly. They both know he's lying, but Viktor doesn't push. If Jayce doesn't want to talk about it with him or anyone for that matter, he's not going to insist.

Eventually Jayce sets the chalk down and asks "what made you think I do?" His voice is a little unsteady and his palms are sweaty. It's too hot and blood's rushing in his ears.

Viktor stills and looks up at Jayce. His expression is one of sympathy and understanding. They both know if he answers, the facade crumbles. Jayce won't be able to deny it. "Are you sure you want me to answer that?" It's one last out.

Jayce takes a breath and nods. So Viktor tells him. He glosses over a few of the more unsavory situations he had witnessed over the last year or so. Jayce wasn't as good at hiding it as he thought he was. Especially from someone he spent 12 hours a day with, if not more.

---

Jayce seeks Viktor out for comfort, sometimes before and sometimes after he cuts.

He has a key to Viktor's flat in the residence halls. He let's himself in. Usually it's late and Viktor's reading in bed. Jayce crawls in beside him and buries his face against Viktor's thigh. A hand makes its way to his hair, and he falls asleep like that.

He also seeks Viktor out in his flat because it's in the interior of the building. There are no windows or views of the outside. No tempting balconies. No way to see the cold and snow in the winter. It becomes a safe haven for him in ways his flat isn't. He also knows if he goes there, Viktor will keep him safe.

There had been a few times Viktor had taken it upon himself to help clean Jayce up, but it resulted in a panic attack and Jayce refusing to come near him for a little while. He hadn't realized it at the time, but Viktor had broken Jayce's trust by taking away his autonomy and control.

The first time they are intimate, Viktor sees the extent of Jayce's damage to himself. Scars coat his hips and his thighs. It's obvious some are deep and jagged. He wonders if maybe he should be doing more to stop Jayce for the thousandth time, and then remembers Jayce wouldn't trust him the way he does if he had tried to impose more rules or boundaries.

They end up just holding each other instead.

---

It took years. But Jayce is finally ready to try and stop.

He takes the small box he kept under his bed out with shaking hands. It has everything. Bandages. Gauze. Antiseptic. His blades. Everything he had ever known. The only thing that made him feel good, feel normal sometimes. It makes him want to throw up.

He takes it to Viktor's flat and lets himself in. He places the small box on Viktor's pillow and leaves.

He makes it back to his own flat and locks himself into the bathroom before he starts hyperventilating. He lets himself panic. He's scared and alone and terrified of what Viktor is going to think.

Viktor finds the box before bed that night. He does what he can to check for explosives and what not before he tentatively undoes the latch and lifts the lid. His breath catches.

He's torn between throwing the entire thing into the river and dissecting every item to try and better understand Jayce.

In the end, he does neither. He puts it on the top shelf of his closet and tried to forget it's there. He doesn't want to betray Jayce's trust by analyzing his weapon of choice, trying to match up the scars on his body to the various blades and sharp objects within the box.

Jayce shows up to Viktor's flat that night and lets himself in like always. Viktor's reading. No box in sight. He crawls into the bed and presses himself against Viktor's thigh. A hand makes its way to his hair, and he falls asleep.