#for the first time i see that viktor has no toe nails anymore

[mollysunder]

For now, it's about 50/50 for whether or not these mysterious people that were included in the new trailer are members of the Gloriously Evolved. For fun, I'm going to break down why these people might be entirely unrelated to Viktor.

First, their bodies are clearly inlaid with gold, which does not replace their flesh. In the brief scene we get of these people the gold works as a conduit between their melodies and the magic around them. Meanwhile hexcore has entirely transformed Viktor's hand and leg into metal.

We know that Viktor's entire hand and leg have turned completely into metal because not only do his limbs make metal clinking noises and conduct electricity, but the animators on Bridging the Rift confirm it.

I've also seen some mention that the markings on the faces of these unknown characters represent Viktor's touch when he "healed" them. Upon closer inspection each character does have a five markings on their face, but they're detailed runes rather than Viktor's hand print, implying this may be related to a more intricate ritual rather than Viktor simply laying his hand on them and transforming them with the hexcore.

Really, these people have magic more similar to Mel Medarda. Mel is the one who appears to wear magical gold embedded in her skin to serve as protection magic. What Mel is doing with magic is likely far more simple compared to these people, but it's in the same vein. And that may be the entire point.

Viktor and his cult are the outliers. Whatever Viktor has done in season 1, and what he will continue to do in season 2 is a divergence (possibly perversion) of how magic should work/be treated in the rest of Runeterra, which makes sense! Viktor literally said he doesn't know what he's doing, he just keeps going.

What's likely happening in this scene is that some sect of mages, maybe they're acolytes of the mage that saved Jayce have become aware of the magical shenanigans in PnZ... and it's bad.

Then again, I haven't seen the leaks. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think this is all worth pointing out. (This is not a solicitation to tell what happens in the leaks).

[trademarkblue]

100 Days of R/Hr: Day 2

Prompt: “I Want To Know What Love Is” by Foreigner

Prompted by: @polawerth​

In the spirit of non-traditional prompt responses, here’s this. It’s 6th year, it’s PG-13 for language, and that’s about all I can say without spoiling it. This whole thing pretty much materialized, fully formed, upon my second listen to the song prompt. I hope you enjoy it! x

She looked a bit uncomfortable at the mere thought of being left alone to stand there while he went for drinks, and he eyed her, sceptically. “Why?”

A light flush crept across her cheeks, and she tugged his sleeve to get him moving with her toward a long table on the adjacent wall.

“I’d just rather not give Cormac an opening to come and chat with me, if you really want to know.”

“What?” This was an unexpected turn, and he felt mild annoyance rising on her behalf. “Has he been bothering you?”

“He asked me to come to this party with him,” she said, “and I really wasn’t sure, for a few weeks there, if you were still planning on accepting my invite. But, of course, I turned him down, and… he wasn’t thrilled.”

Ron felt an odd mixture of pleasure and regret at this news - firstly, that she had turned down another offer for him, and, secondly, that she had questioned his intentions because of how he had treated her. He really ought to explain himself. But, as soon as the subject matter that would have to be covered resurfaced in his mind, he felt his stomach flip over sickeningly, and he suspected there was no way in hell he was going to be able to bring that up out of nowhere. They had arrived at the drinks table, and he snatched up a tankard of mead for her before taking one for himself. “Thanks,” she said, rather brightly, as she took his offered drink, and they quickly headed off through a thick cluster of guests to find another relatively secluded spot at the back of the room. “Can you see Harry?” Hermione asked, relying on Ron’s height, towering above more than half the crowd, to spot him. He craned his neck and glanced around. “Yeah,” he laughed. “He’s with Luna and… pretty sure that’s a vampire trying to chat him up.”

“Well,” Hermione said, attempting but failing to hide her amusement, “I don’t think he’d rescue us right away if our fates were reversed, do you?”

“No,” Ron agreed. “In fact, we had quite a few laughs at Quidditch practice about you shut up here with Slughorn’s mates.”

“Oh, brilliant!”

Ron grinned through the next few sips of his drink. “It’s a bit hot in here, don’t you think?” Hermione asked, and she took another sip of her own mead. “Yeah,” Ron agreed, “but I reckon this room isn’t meant to hold this many people, not to mention… How many drinks have we had?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in alarm. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she said. “We could go outside to the corridor for a minute and get some air,” he suggested. “I don’t think anyone will miss us… Well, they won’t miss me, anyway.”

“Would you really rather be in Harry’s position?” she asked, sceptically, as she dropped her half-empty tankard onto the next floating tray.

“Definitely not,” Ron said, feeling sorry that he had let an edge of resentment creep into his tone. He really didn’t mean it, he considered. She was right. He was better off not being stuck in here all night with a line of people waiting to prod him about his personal life. “Let’s go, then,” and she led the way across the room toward the doors. The moment she opened them, a gust of wonderfully cool air wafted across their faces.

The corridor was deserted, lit only by evenly spaced sconces. Ron tugged the door shut behind them, and they were instantly surrounded by comforting silence. He followed her halfway down the corridor, until she stopped in the shadowy space between two flickering candles, leaning back against the wall and sighing. “Boys are so lucky, sometimes,” she said, and she reached down to remove the shoes she’d been wearing that had made her several inches taller than he was accustomed to. “At least your shoes don’t cut off circulation to your toes after an hour.”

He winced in what he considered to be a supportive way, before the reality of their isolation in the dark crept up on him. Of course he had been alone with her before, but never quite like this. Friends, he reminded himself. She had asked him to the party as friends. Then why was his heart beating so fast? He tried to blame the four tankards of mead he had consumed, and he could even blame the three she had had on the way her eyes met his for a bit longer than was typical. And, yes, maybe he had never encountered quite this combination of nerves and alcohol, but he surprised himself when he suddenly opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m… really sorry,” he muttered. She blinked at him, shoes held together in her left hand as she pushed slightly away from the wall, moving the tiniest bit closer. “What for?”

“You know what for,” he said, in a low voice, barely refraining from sighing. “I could guess,” she admitted, softly, “but I’d rather you say, so I don’t make a mistake.”

He ran a slightly shaking hand through his hair, looking away from her. “I know you only asked me here because you’re my friend, and you felt sorry for me being left out. I do appreciate it, and I shouldn't’ve-”

“What do you mean? That’s not why I asked you.”

His eyebrows shot up with alarm, and he could see her cheeks colour a deeper shade of red before she tore her gaze away from him and sighed.

“It’s not?“ he asked, tentatively.

"Nevermind,” she dismissed, shakily. “We can go back to the party now. But I don’t think either of us should have anymore to drink.”

She stepped away from him, turning to head back down the corridor. “Wait!” He stopped her in her tracks between the next two sconces, lightly grabbing ahold of her wrist. “Why did you ask me, then?”

Her eyes flashed to his, desperately. “Do I have to say it? I did the asking, isn’t that enough? You were supposed to figure it out.”

“Figure out what?” He was really pushing his luck.

“Don’t be thick, Ron,” she groaned. He couldn’t leave it this way, not with her right there… with the way she was looking at him. He suspected she’d rather melt straight through the floor than have to say what he was begging to hear. He could do this. He could be sodding brave, for once.

“I want you to have asked me as more than a friend,” he said, hardly believing he had actually managed to scrape the words out through his suddenly scratchy throat.

Everything about her expression changed, and he knew, immediately, that he’d said the right thing. “You do?” she whispered, a small smile spreading across her face. “Yeah,” he said, roughly, realising he was still holding on to her wrist. She took a step closer. He did the same thing. She licked her bottom lip, and his eyes were suddenly glued to her mouth. She leaned her head back the tiniest bit as she moved in close enough that her dress robes brushed the front of his.

He ducked his head, trying to ignore the part of his brain that was screaming, that couldn’t let him believe this was happening. They were so close now, he could feel her hot breath on his mouth.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, at a near whisper.

“I hoped you hadn’t,” she smiled, and she stood up higher on her bare toes.

He was suddenly panicking. There was no way he could compare to what she knew from before, and he felt idiotically compelled to let her know. They were a breath apart when he spoke again. Damn his nerves. “But, you have.”

Her nails dug sharply into his bicep as she gasped and moved back from him. Shit, shit, shit. Why couldn’t he have kept his bloody mouth shut? Why couldn’t he have just forgotten it like he kept telling himself, over and over again, that he already had done? “What do you mean?! How…” she squeaked, words failing her.

“I’m sorry!” he shouted, quickly, ears suddenly burning. “It doesn’t matter. Ginny told me, but she was just being a git, because I found her snogging Dean, and-” “Is that why you’ve been a prat to me these last few weeks?!” she cut over him, horrified.

“Yes,” he admitted, bitterly. She whimpered with frustration, closing her eyes for a second.

“But, it doesn’t matter, anymore,” he lied, “and, I’m here with you now, aren’t I?”

It wasn’t even just about desperation over possibly losing his chance to kiss her tonight, anymore. Now, he was just hoping with all he had that they could fix it, right now, and he wouldn’t have to spend another stretch of unbearable weeks fighting with her. They had come too far to go back, hadn’t they? Blimey, he could only hope she agreed. “You know why I never told you, don’t you?” she asked, sniffing, and he suspected she was on the absolute verge of frustrated tears. “Because I was afraid you’d get upset and do something irrational!”

“Spot on,” he said, darkly, feeling another wave of remorse and self-pity washing toward him. “I asked you here because you’re exactly who I want to be here with,” she said, a bit shrilly. “Do you understand?”

He did understand, though he was still struggling to believe his luck, that she honestly felt even a fraction of how he felt about her. And, to think that, lately, he’d been so fiercely avoiding confronting his own feelings, that he’d nearly ruined it. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I know.” A long silence stretched between them, and he couldn’t remember holding eye contact with her for this long, ever before. She took a tiny step closer. “Do you want to go back to the party?” she asked in a small voice, and he had a strong suspicion that she was really hoping his answer would be no. He shook his head, and her smile returned, very slowly. He took his own step closer, and she had to tilt her head back again to go on looking up at him. He could do it, he thought. They’d just been so close, moments ago. He only had to lean forward, just a bit, lift his hand to the side of her neck, watch as her eyes fluttered shut-

Ron!

She couldn’t be speaking. Her lips were an inch away from his own, and he could feel a warm exhale as she gripped the collar of his shirt. Ron!!

His eyes shot open, and reality came crashing back as he met her fearful gaze, lantern light flickering in her pupils. He was in the hospital wing. He had been poisoned. He’d ditched the bloody party and never explained to her. And he’d been snogging Lavender Brown. “You were having a dream, or something,” Hermione said, softly, dropping slightly away from him to resume her seat in the chair at his bedside. “At first I thought maybe you were in pain…”

“No,” he tried to reassure her, but his voice was quite hoarse, and he wasn’t as convincing as he would have liked to have been. But she nodded, once, and all he could do for the next few seconds was be thankful for what he did have, at least. He might have fucked up, but she was here. And, he had to admit, he preferred the fantasy dreams to the cold nightmares where he thought he would die without making things right. He coughed, and he could feel her concerned gaze lingering on him as he reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. He took a long drink and looked at her again. “How long have you been here?” he asked her. She shrugged, darting her eyes away from him. She’d been by to see him four times since he’d woken here, two days ago. It was really quite a lot more than he deserved, he reckoned. He owed her something, however small, whatever he could manage. But, he knew, from spotting the time on the clock across the room, that she was here far past visiting hours, and he could hear Madame Pomfrey moving around in her office, likely heading toward him any second to administer a series of revolting potions… surely to send Hermione to bed with a stern scolding. Whatever he wanted to say, it had to be now, and it had to be quick. “Wish I’d gone to Slughorn’s with you.” Her wide eyes flashed back to meet his, shocked. “I know you only asked me as a friend, but it would’ve been better than everything else I did, anyway. I’m just…  sorry, by the way. I don’t say it very much, and I should probably start.” As he had predicted, Madame Pomfrey emerged at that moment, tutting loudly in Hermione’s direction as she approached Ron’s bed. “After hours!” she hissed as loud as she dared, so as not to wake the two other students who were softly snoring in their beds across the room. “Miss Granger, what are you doing?!” “Sorry, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said, looking quite flustered as she stood quickly, her chair scraping loudly across the floor and causing Madame Pomphrey to glare at her firmly.

But Madame Pomfrey’s expression changed to exasperation as she patted down her apron, evidently searching for something.

“I forgot your sleeping potion,” she said to Ron, eyes flashing back to Hermione. “I really don’t need it,” Ron started, but Madame Pomfrey cut across him as if she hadn’t heard him. “Miss Granger, why are you still here?” “I’m going,” Hermione said, hurriedly, taking a small step backward, looking incredibly conflicted as Madame Pomfrey nodded sharply. “Good, because if you’re not gone when I return, I’ll have to recommend detention,” and she whipped around to hurry back to her office. Hermione looked quite frozen to her spot, and Ron could hear her breathing unevenly, finally returning her gaze to meet his, a softness settling in that he was quite surprised to see. But, Madame Pomfrey was quick, and he could already hear the crescendo of her returning footsteps. “You should know,” Hermione managed, in a slightly strangled whisper, “I didn’t just ask you as a friend.” And, without leaving time for his reply, she turned quickly around and headed for the door, wrenching it open and slipping outside, shutting it again with a slightly echoing boom. As her words rang in his ears, a grin spread across his face, and the light feeling he recalled from his dream rushed back over him, not even to be diminished by the three whole spoonfuls of absolutely disgusting potion that Madame Pomfrey forced him to drink, because he’d almost died, three days ago. Worth it.