#ghostly soldiers

[paranormal-playground-podcast]

Drum Barracks Civil War Museum: A Historical and Haunted Landmark in Los Angeles

The Drum Barracks Civil War Museum, a historic site nestled in the Wilmington neighborhood of Los Angeles, offers a fascinating glimpse into California’s role in the American Civil War. But beyond its historical significance, the Drum Barracks also holds a reputation as one of the city’s most haunted locations. Indeed, this former military outpost, once bustling with soldiers and activity, now…

[thatonesimp-e]

Ghostly Viscera // PART 3

tw for generalized angst

Spy had been watching the two men fight with each other, before he decided to try to step in. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread the longer the man with the helmet held his hands around the smaller man's throat.

Slowly, he floated over to the two men, his gaze on the hands wrapped around the neck of the small man. He carefully reached out, placing his cold hands on the others, hoping to try to get him to release. He couldn't help but feel anxiety creep up on him as the other froze. The entire world seemed to come to a pause-the stranger slowly looked over, his eyes wide.

the man blinked, confused and almost.. Dumbfounded, it seemed. His helmet seemed to slip down, hiding his eyes. His grip did loosen to Spys relief, making him slowly pull his ghostly hands away. He floated back a few inches, unsure of how to react.

Then, the man let out a scream. He released Scout, and took a few steps back-his pose was defensive. He lifted his helmet up, just enough to see the ghost’s face.

“THERE IS A GHOST IN- HOW-” he let out an exasperated huff, then took a step forwards, pointing at Spy rather harshly. “YOU! State your business or I will send you back to hell where you belong!”

Spy felt almost threatened by him. He floated further back, his hands instinctively moving up in surrender. He carefully watched the man, more than ready to run. He couldn't make himself say anything, all that came out was a sort of hushed, echoey whisper.

“I-I.. I don’t know..”

The statement made the other man tense up. He soon changed his attitude, becoming a little less hostile-but not exactly letting his guard down.

   ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scout had been watching the Soldier talk to.. Something, for god knows how long. He felt his neck, the skin red and irritated by the other man’s hold. He raised a brow, not exactly expecting Soldier to be this crazy.

He’d known the man for a few years now, but this.. This was a whole other level of insane.

“Yo, Soldier,” Scout started, shallowly swallowing. “Who you talkin�� to..?”

He would have made a joke, if it weren't for Soldiers reaction earlier. He pulled his feet forwards, a rush of cold air hitting him in the face.

He scrunched up his face, swatting away the breeze.

“Jeez.. there a ghost in here or somethin’? Heh..” he made light of the situation. His voice was still a little shaky from having been strangled.

“Yes!” Soldier responded, turning to Scout. “Well.. there was.”

Scout furrowed his brows, skeptical. He couldn't quite tell if Soldier was being sarcastic or not. He blinked slowly, and squinted.

“What?? Dude, ghosts ain’t real.”  Scout started, then immediately regretted it. He made a swirling motion with his hands, “Okay, well.. I guess there are ghosts, but only when Merasmus summons ‘em!”

He shifted his body weight, giving a slight shrug. He raised one of his brows, eyeing the Soldier.

Soldier took a step closer to Scout, scowling.

“Watch your tongue!” he paused, and took a side step, looking out into the empty hallway. “That ghost.. Didn’t Miss Pauling say something about-?” he cut himself off, knowing it had been a bit of a sensitive topic for.. Everyone.

“..Spy? I- dude, do you even hear yourself right now?!” Scout shouted at him, his cool demeanor dropping. He held a careful hand to his forehead, appalled by Soldier’s claim. Everyone in the room had their eyes on the two, watching in confusion, and interest.

“He ain’t here!” his voice cracked slightly, his throat tightening. “Look, I don’t mind if ya joke about seein’ shit, but don’t-..” he paused, a familiar feeling on his cheek. A tear. He wiped it away, and let out an annoyed huff.

“I’ll be in my room..”

With that, the boy left, Soldier having stayed almost emotionless the whole time.

                                 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soldier went to follow after the ghost he had seen, before a hand fell on his shoulder. It was the Demoman, Sniper close behind him. The tension in the room was almost deafening.

“So..” he started, his words slurring. “What just happened? Somethin’ about ghosts?”

Soldier watched Demo carefully, before he’d removed the others’ hand from him.

“Affirmative!” Soldier replied, a little too loud for comfort. “There is the ghost of Spy in the base!” He tugged at his helmet straps, fiddling with the worn leather.

 Soldier himself wasn’t even sure if what he saw was real. He’d wanted to believe that Spy would respawn-or go to hell. Morbid, yes, but at least it wasn’t wandering the earth for eternity.. He felt unease creep up on him, and he turned again.

“I’m going to find him. I will not let him be alone.”

Sniper gave Soldier an analytical look, hoping that this was just some sick joke the man decided to play out. 

   ------------------------------------------------------------------------

A cool breeze blew into the office, bringing with it a sort of heavy atmosphere. The room had almost been cold enough to show the two mens breath. Medic felt a shiver run down his spine, but didn’t move.

He'd been sat in front of Engie, comforting the man the best he could. He hated seeing his teammates like this.

Engineer swallowed hard, trying to form a sentence. He wasn’t used to feeling like this-this emotion of sorrow. He hadn’t realized before just how much they actually relied on the respawn machines-something he had memories of creating-memories he was aware weren’t even his own.

“Doc..” Dell had started-his voice hoarse. “H-he.. I never got t-to..”

The Medic cut him off with a quiet shush. He carefully held onto the man's hands, rubbing his thumbs against his skin. He knew how much Spy meant to the Engineer.. And even if he hated how smug that man could be sometimes.. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the small moments he had to talk with him.

“Miene fruend..” he gently said, trying to ease Engies sorrow. “He’s.. probably in a better place now. Perhaps.. vaiting, for you.”

Dell looked up, his tired eyes bearing grief as he stared back.

“That's what I’m afraid of, doc..” tears pricked his eyes again. “I d-don’t.. I don't want him bein’ held up in limbo waitin’ for me..”

Medic felt his heart break a little at his friend's words-but he held it together. He needed to reassure the man that everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t. Everything felt like it was slowly crumbling-deteriorating in only a week.

He gave the man's hands a gentle squeeze, and took a deep breath. This situation was.. Difficult, to say the least. For everyone.

It was unexpected, and felt like a fever dream when he had first heard the news. Medic had nightmares like this often-being unable to revive his teammates in hopeless situations. It was a deep insecurity of his-and now, it was real.

Medic wanted to believe she-Miss Pauling-was keeping the details of his death more secret, so it wouldn’t affect the team as horribly as it could’ve. But it still hurt. It still impacted the men greatly, both mentally and emotionally.

The sound of papers falling over made Medics' hearts jump. They were by the door-the once neat stack now a sprawled out mess on the cold floor. He raised a brow, and looked around for the source of what could’ve caused it to fall.

At first, he thought it was one of his birds, but none of them seemed to be in the office at that moment. Then he thought to blame S-..

he wasn’t here anymore to do that.. So what could it have been..?

He stood, carefully examining the area from where he was. Medic looked back over to Engie, who looked a little paler.

“It..” the doctor started, uneasiness pouring through the cracks. “It vas probably just zhe vind.”

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soldier followed the ghosts’ smoke-like trail, almost losing sight of Spy. He wasn’t entirely sure himself what he was doing, why he decided to chase after the apparition. Something inside of him tugged at his mind, reminding him, ‘no man left behind’. He wasn’t about to betray that code, even if it was over Spy of all people.

He was soon led to the medical bay, and slowly peaked inside, his helmet slipping partially off his head. There, he saw the ghost, floating next to the Engineer. His eyes narrowed, leaning in a little further.

It appeared that the two people in the room had started staring at Soldier, both out of confusion and slight irritation.

Engie had shifted in his seat, moving away from the ghost-only for it to move closer out of curiosity. He had been staring at the Soldier, his eyes still red and puffy from crying his eyes out.

Medic clasped his hands together, putting on a cheery personality so as to bring up the mood, and gently ease the tension.

“Soldier!” he had taken  a few steps toward him, his hands moving behind his back.

“What brings you here, meine freund?”

Soldier stood up straight, gathering himself. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? Especially to the Engineer.. He drew a careful breath. Trying really hard to figure out a way to properly phrase his wording.

“Well..” he readjusted his helmet, “there is a ghost around here-and not just any ghost!”

He paused, messing with the leather straps of his helmet again.

“It was Sp-”

He was cut off by Medic placing his rubber glove on his mouth. He let out a few muffled words, before stopping, and looking at the doctor.

The Medics' cheery demeanor had instantly morphed into disappointment. He hesitantly removed his hand from the other's mouth, shaking his head.

“Soldier..” Medic started, sparing a glance towards the Engineer. “I don’t know what you think you are doing, but stop.”

Soldier took a step forward, anger bubbling in his chest. He wasn’t about to be told again that he was lying. A true American never told a lie! Abraham Lincoln would know..

“Medic! I am not lying!” he pointed to the right of the Engineer, “his ghost is there! He is standing next to Engie!”

He’d taken a few steps into the room, standing next to the ghost now. His eyes narrowed as he looked at it, expecting it to do something, anything to maybe prove his existence. He poked at it, his hand moving through the others ghostly form.

“Come on, do something!”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spy had awkwardly eyed the stranger that stood next to him, feeling a strange sense of unease. He blinked, moving a little closer to the man with the hardhat. It was strange, finally being noticed by someone. He’d never thought..

Curiously, he reached over to the man, tugging on his helmet. It had tilted, then fallen off of the soldier's head. He backed away, then bent down, trying, and failing to pick up the helmet for the other. He quietly muttered his apologies, his gaze moving up to the man.

He’d expected to see anger, or for him to lash out like he had done with the boy, but.. He simply stared, his soft blue-green eyes staring at him in surprise.

He inched closer to the ghost, tilting his head.

“You..” he let out a shaky breath, a fleeting, mostly cloud leaving his mouth.

He couldn’t exactly find the right words, the tension in the air again building up to an uncomfortable level. Everyone in the room stared at the helmet, expecting something else to happen. The silence dragged on, the air growing thicker.

..But nothing came.

[atangledfate]

Lanolin hated leaving Amy knowing she was hurt. After all she'd done for the Resistance during the war and now restoration. It didn't sit well with her. She knew alot of Restoration forces were on leave do to the grand prix and it being a time of celebration. But that only made this whole incident all the worse didn't it? She took a deep breath and headed out of the server room and up the long flight of stairs to the command center. Choosing the stairs just because she didn't want to get stuck in an elevator or worse. With the way things have went it wasn't out of the question.

She burst through the door to the command center finding the whole place in disarray with everything going on and now the server room hit. Nobody knew what to do and the commanders were either off base, or missing. Lanolin rushed over to the Lt. in charge with a stern look on her face as she would just have to take command.

This was all a disaster... but maybe she could salvage it yet...

================================================

Her head was throbbing, and despite having taken her share of blows that strike to the side of her head had done a number on her. It was such a precise blow it could likely have killed her. Which made Amy believe that her attacker had not intended to kill her at all just disable her. But she couldn't remember much just a blur of white motion and she was down. If only she'd kept her defensive magic up but it was a hefty toll on her to do so all the time. The one moment she drops it she gets jumped by some mysterious assailant.

Feeling the Belle bot touch her chin made her wince and she tried her best to lift her head. She felt real tired but she knew better then to nod off.

" Oww... yea, i don't remember what hit me. Its kind of a blur--- but i have a feeling if they wanted me dead... we wouldn't be having this conversation... which means they just wanted me out of the way... I should have had my defense magic active... stupid mistake..."

Amy didn't jump as much as Belle mostly because she was half out of it. But glancing over at Blaze the mention of phasing seemed to trigger her memory as she touched the side of her head. It came back in a violent flash. She'd blocked the attack but --- her blow passed through her arms like Tangle had back in Eggperial city. Only when the blow connected, it was solid. Which implied she had immense control of her phasing.

" Shit... "

Yea she let one slip out

" I remember now, she came right through the wall at me. But i managed to defend myself--- but her attack went right through my arm and hit me anyway. A white wolf--- I wonder who she was... and why she came at me like that. "

She seemed to think but it hurt her head to do so and she ended up leaning back against the seat of the chair she was in. She needed to think but it was to painful. Who ever they were, they messed her up good... and she had a feeling it wasn't the last time they'd see her.

The Hedgehog turned her head as the chief came through the door having rushed over despite Belle's attempts to get him to stay put. The Chief wanted to get Amy to the Infirmary, and free the others up to save Restoration. But seeing Blaze he did feel a bit less useful but at least they had someone to defend them.

" Is she ok to move? I can take her to see Doc Altiss... and 'ello Princess i think this is the first we've spoke directly "

The chief gave a little bow of his head in recognition of the princess. Yet the loud speaker came on across the entire Base. Lanolin's voice echoed across the base as she spoke in a firm commanding tone. Amy smiling a little as she looked more relieved, as Lanolin was becoming a solid leader. But she'd feel better when she could rest her eyes but, she again knew she couldn't... not just yet.

" Attention all Restoration Combat Units! This is Unit Commander Lanolin speaking! All available units report for duty at once! This is not a Drill! All commanding officers, will be given standing orders! consider all clean sweep security units Hostile! take them into custody if they resist! you have permission to use force to capture them! As acting commander i am formerly requesting GUN to stand down! this situation is well in hand! "

===============================================

Meanwhile aboard the fleeing ship the white Wolf crawled onto the bench. Her body kept flickering in and out of phase. Her features becoming distorted as she fell back on the seat. Barely able to keep herself from falling through the escape vessel. She reached into a pouch on her side, pulling out a vial of blue fluid. she tugged her mask off dropping it onto the bench and grit her teeth. She loaded the fluid into an injector. She jammed it into her leg gritting her teeth and growling like a feral wolf! As the fluid slowly made its way into her body. The shifting of her phase slowly returning to normal as she became solid once more.

A moment later a voice came over Coms as She struggled into the pilots seat and leaned back in the seat still sweating from the drug in her system.

" Report "

Came the stern tone from the Com, as the Wolf placed the headset on her head.

" Mission Complete... Server's destroyed... any evidence of Mimic's involvement with GUN has been eliminated. As well as General Rose being disabled, be aware Princess Blaze is on site... approach any action with caution..."

She leaned back and took a deep breath as she closed her eyes, she'd be back on base in no time. But till then she'd better activate the stealth system, to avoid detection. She flipped a switch making the Chopper disappear from most known radar, and she was up to high to be seen with the naked eye.

That was to close for comfort... she did not fancy her chances against the princess in a real fight.

Belle would set it to give the Belle Bot remote access so she wouldn't have to be tied down to the server room, which came in handy as Lanolin just walked in and telling her to look after Amy. "Guess I get to test out Belle Bot's medical programming. Though whoever did this were packing a high grade EMP, most likely military grade from the scan." The bot then walked back out continuing to work on getting all the data she could from the serves that were fried.

Belle Bot would tilt Amy's head forward a bit to look at the injury before raising it's other hand with it's finger opening. "This'll sting a bit, though should reduce bleeding." The bot would then spray the wound for a moment before stopping. It's chest then opened and pulled out a medical kit, then opens it taking out some gauze and placing it around the hedgehogs head.

"Well, looks like whoever attacked you didn't intend to do any serious damage, at least from the data Belle Bot has collected. That said you were still hit pretty hard so whoever did this has to be decently strong." The bots head would then turn away. "Chief, are you sure that's- And he's gone." Belle would use the bot to close the hanger door once he was out since she was hooked up to the system.

===========================================================

Blaze was more than a little shocked to see such an ability, even more so when the chopper seemed to fade out of existence for a split second before appearing back in at a different spot, even if it was only slightly. The feline would shake it off, getting ready to attempt to damage the chopper again, though had to dash away as it's boosters went off and leaving a high speeds. Clearly they had planned for a possible speedster to be here to prepare a chopper that moves that fast.

Blaze considered giving chance, though didn't want to leave seeing as Amy as injured and GUN seemed to be causing them problems. The feline swiftly turning and dashing back into the base, taking only a moment to find her way back given having a good memory. It then took her another moment to find Amy as she stopped right next to the hedgehog, making the bot jump in surprise a bit. "I'm sorry, they got away. They have some ability to phase themself and object, though it can be strained." Maybe she should've attempted to board the chopper instead.

"Though they're clearly well trained to have such reaction time. That said either that chopper was remotely flown or there was someone else on board as she was in in condition to fly it after phasing the chopper to prevent my fire from damaging the chopper." Blaze's attacks weren't easy for just anyone to dodge.

[acepalindrome]

Alternatives to Squishmallow

So as many of you have probably already heard, Jazwares, the company that produces Squishmallows, is donating to charities that support Israeli soldiers and the IDF. They’re also supporting Canary Mission, which has been doxxing people who speak out against Israel. BDS hasn’t called for a boycott against them, but I can’t in good faith spend my money on their products, and I would strongly encourage everyone who enjoys plushies to really think long and hard about if you want to give your money to a company that’s helping support genocide!

But the holidays are coming up, and lots of us enjoy plushies and were fans of Squishmallow, and were planning to give Squishmallows to friends and family this year.

Fortunately, there are a number of great plushie companies out there, and I want to promote some of my favorites in the hopes that folks will get their plushie fix from a source that doesn’t side with Israel. So without further ado:

Fluffnest

Fluffnest got their start on Kickstarter a few years ago, and I adore the round shapes of their PuffPal plushies! My favorite is Pete the Possum, which is probably the best possum plush I’ve ever seen. I’ve also got a beautiful moth from their Kickstarter and I’ve been wanting their bats for ages. They also recently had a Kickstarter for an Animal Crossing-esque video game featuring their plushie characters and it looks fantastic.

Squishables

I can’t get over the plague doctor plushies. They’re so perfect and cute, and they’ve released other variations of them called Alter Egos, like a ghostly version, an alien, or a really sweet cottagecore one! They’ve got a ton of variety, but what I like the most are the fantasy plushies. There’s a lich! There are dragons and demons! Cryptids! Biblically accurate angels! A lot of really fun stuff!

Also they do a lot of great charity work! Right now they’re doing an auction for the Food Bank of New York City.

AfternoonFika

AfternoonFika is a very small business of only three people, but their plushies are extremely cute. They tend to sell out fast, so I recommend following them on social media to stay on top of any restocks! They recently released a line of dinosaurs that are precious, and of course I love their iconic cactus cat and cinnamon bun bunny.

Jellycat

Jellycat has been around since 1999, so they’re the oldest of these companies. They’ve got great designs, a ton of variety, and a lot of their plushies are made to be cuddled on and not just displayed. All three of my tiny nephews sleep with a different stuffed dog from Jellycat. My mom has a sun and several succulents that she uses as decorations. There’s a little something for everyone who enjoys plushies!

If you have any other favorite companies I haven’t mentioned, feel free to add on! I’ve enjoyed Squishmallows for a while now and I’m sad to see their leadership coming out on the side that’s committing war crimes on a daily basis, but this is a good time to discover new favorite plushie companies! And remember, money speaks loudly. Even if BDS hasn’t called for a boycott of Jazwares, it sends a message when sales start dropping for companies that support genocide. It’s a small thing, but the little things we do can add up!

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday requests

i wouldn't mind more royal consort if you're willing to write it

just sent a request for royal consort as anon

There was panic all around the room, but Danny couldn't focus on anything for too long with all his senses so overwhelmed. He was suspended in the air, power rolling through and over him in busts of electricity. He can feel himself being ripped apart, rearranged, and placed back in the same way he had been when he was fourteen, but this time, the feeling is prolonged.

The portal does so again and again and again until Danny can't tell what he is anymore. Oddly enough, it's relatively peaceful. There had been no ripping pain when his necklace and portal transmitter had connected, but there had been an overwhelming sense of cold.

It was as if Danny had been plunged into iced water, spreading across his body like a tidal wave. Danny would have almost relaxed into the portal's form if it wasn't for the pins and needles that followed each wave.

Maybe it was worse for Jaz, who was fully human when they did this to her, but Danny had Phantom to fall back on. In more ways than one, given the army his future self has summoned and the insane amount of killing intent that Phantom was broadcasting.

If he could pick up on it from within this ball of semi-consciousness, he bet everyone else was likely drowning in Phantom's rage.

The dead knights fling themselves towards the portal with gusto, slamming their swords and bodies against the force field. Each strict flung Danny further from reality, drawing them back into the welcoming void of numbness, only to be ripped back by another cold wave.

"Danny, focus!" Phantom voice boomed. "You have become the key! Close the damn portal!"

Danny blinks slowly, trying to comprehend what the words mean, until a bolt of lightning zaps out of his fingertips, twisting into the outer layer of the portal. It's then he knows the horrible truth.

The world's end is coming, and Danny is the cause of it. The portal makes a strange zapping sound before it starts stabilizing and expanding. The first large ship was passing through, leaning in like a bizarre docking ship.

"Danny!" Phantom yells, more than a bit desperate. His call reminds him of the future and what will come if he doesn't stop the monsters now. He curls his hands, grabbing the power that made him King, and yanks his arms together. His forearms shake from the effort, but he holds on, willing everything to return.

The air goes boom as the portal starts dragging things inwards instead of out, as he commands the thing to call back the aliens. The ships and the few foot soldiers- lizard-looking men- are yanked right out of the air and thrown back into a new white portal.

It takes Danny a moment to realize the animalistic screaming is coming from him as the portal slowly retracts all the energy it has thrown out. He wills the portal's power to retreat into his chest, overflowing his core with energy that spins and whirls in a tornado.

He instinctively curls up, wanting to escape the pain when he feels the cracks take shape in his core. The breaking apart of the center of his soul echoes through his skull, drowning out all other noise.

"No!" Phantom's horrified screech exploded into a ghostly Wail, ripping around the mother ship, attempting to push past. Since Danny yanked the edge inwards, it pushed beside Danny instead of through him. It had turned on its primary thrusters. The rockets burn against the strain of escaping Dany's gravitation pull and force their way through the small gap in the top left of the portal.

On the deck, more lizard-looking poachers are ripped to spreads. Their screams let Danny know Phantom had wanted them to die and die painfully. The Ghostly wail was a sonic attack, but it didn't skin enemies unless Phantom purposely rolled his tongue like that.

In a sense, Phantom had turned his wailing vibrations into whip lashes at a speed that only the Flash or Superman could outrun. The aliens had no chance.

Danny peeks through one pain-filled eye, watching as Phantom's lips curl, even as the poachers are scrambling to collect their dead. He knew that his future self hated these creatures, and they had ruined Earth in two short years, but he had not realized the amount of hate that burned in those glowing green eyes.

Hate enough that when Phantom started throwing glowing punches, the ground shook. The few people the Waynes hadn't been able to evaluate shouted as the King turned off the gravity. Everything started flouting, and Danny could even spot some cars outside lifting into the air.

Phantom didn't seem to notice as his features started melting into something inhuman, sharper, colder, and green glow expanding from his pupils across his entire eyes as punch after punch hit the force field.

A few scouter ships broke away from the portal, but they were quickly swarmed by the flouting undead soldiers who aggressively sliced the smaller vessels with their blades. Danny knew why his future self hated them, not the skeleton soldiers. Maybe they just like to fight.

A loud crack echoes through the room over ghostly wails, blowing wind, screams, and metal clacks. The sound is similar to breaking glass, shattering as Danny's core falls apart.

Danny's back arches as a scream that tears at his vocal cords is ripped from his throat. The portal around them crumbles, closing at the tip of the mother ship, tearing it apart. Just as it vanishes from sight, everyone floating around the Consort can see it slowly burst into flames on the other side.

The portal slams shut just as Phantom's fist shatters the force field. "NO!"

His head feels heavy, much too heavy for his neck, as he flouts up toward the torn-up ceiling. Gravity is still missing as Phantom swims towards him; his features melt back into more human ones as he wraps his arms around him. "You little idiot. Do you have any idea of what you just did?"

"Saved...Jazz," He manages to grunt out, smiling through the pain. Phantom's arms spam around him.

"You didn't just change the future. You rewrote our fate." As if on cue, Clockwork's amulet turns into dust. Phantom's timeline was gone.

He would have also turned to dust were he still in it, but since he was outside the timeline, Phantom would now live in this one as a permanent member.

Phantom's eyes soften. "You saved more than just Jazz. I'll send our armies to kill them off now that I saw which galaxy the rats were hiding in."

Danny's shaky smile wobbles as the numbness in his body starts to retreat. It leaves licks of burning, aching pain, and he whimpers, leaning his head against his counterpart's chest. "It hurts...."

"You shattered your core." Phantom whispers, almost as if he knows the loud noises hurt Danny's head. It thumped in time with his heartbeat, sending little shockwaves of agony through his bones. "We'll have to take you to FrostBite. But I can't take you without knowing who had the portal key. We can't risk them calling the army before our men finish them off. Pandora is leading the charge against them right now."

"Okay....it was the Wayne Butler who had the key. He needs help."

Phantom's arms tighten as furry rippled under his skin. "He's a dead man."

"No." Danny attempts to shake his head, but the motion is too much for his poor shot nerves. He thinks his fingertips are smoking when he curls one hand in Phantom's cape. "He was in the containment unit. An alien took his place. I think it was pretending to be him."

Phantom hums. "That was one of their favorite tactics. I chased them across the cosmos. I saw them collect other aliens on some protected planets, so they resorted to luring people away by using familiar faces."

Danny makes the same sound, half awake. "They stripped him naked. Covered him in triangles."

"Fuck. What color were the tringles?"

"Blue."

"They weren't going to sell him as a pet. They planned on marketing him a breeding bull or an expensive meat plater for aliens that like exotic animals. Likely due to the poor guy's age." Phantom hisses, pushing a floating table away from them. "What happened to the alien that was pretending to be him?"

"Killed him"

"Good job." Phantom pats his back. "Rest now. I'll handle the rest."

"Okay." Danny is releasing the few strands of consciousness when he hears Tim Drake's desperate call from Phantom's left. It's much closer than it should be, considering they were still flouting near where the once grand chandelier had hung.

"Your majesty! Please turn the gravity back on! The surrounding fifty miles radius is in a panic, and people are flouting away!"

Phantom sighs, his cape flaring dramatically as he adjusts Danny to snap his fingers. There are clacks and crashes as gravity yanks everything back to the floor. Phantom doesn't pay them any mind as a new green portal blooms in front of him, the swirling green like a calm lake surface, a welcoming difference to the zapping one of the enemy.

Phantom steps through, ignoring the cries of the humans. The portal closes on Tim's desperate "Please allow us to help the Consort!"

Strange, Thinks the injured Halfa. He shouldn't sound so close anymore. He should be on the ground somewhere.

Danny just knows they will be panicking about him being hurt. Didn't wars start because of similar situations whenever a royal visits a different country? Danny isn't too sure. His mind is fuzzy, and he's only awake because he hasn't been surrounded by darkness yet, but he's flouting near it."

Frostbite jumps to his feet with a slack jaw. He bends in a bow, stumbling around his desk's stacked scrolls and research papers.

"My King!" He cries, his eyes swinging back and forth between the two Dannies. The yeti bows again, a little more hesitant as he mutters, "And my other..... King? What is happening?"

"We need your help," Phantom tells him. "His soul core got shattered. I think he's dying."

Danny whimpers, only half aware of how serious this is. He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Please. Everyone still thinks he's married to himself. He'll forever be remembered as Phantom's Consort instead of all his other talents.

Like making one mean salsa.

Frostbite makes a sad, choking whine, but Phantom doesn't pay it any mind. He presses Danny closer, and the human can feel the vibrations of his voice on his chest as he demands. "Prepare your operation chambers. I'm giving him my core."

"But, My King, that would mean you....."

"I don't care. I didn't return to Earth expecting to live. This is a command from your King. Do it"

Danny fades away into the darkness, unable to protest Phantom's request. He goes limb in the strong arms of his future self, aching for the version of himself that saw his world destroyed and would not be able to see the peace their actions brought.

Frostbite's grim voice echoes in the darkness. "This is another way, my King, but we need a human sacrifice."

"I'll do it." A third, unexpected voice cuts in, and Danny identifies it as Tim Drake before he knows no more.

[sonic-au-collision]

SONIC AU COLLISION: ROUND 5

click to see full image

Egghogs AU belongs to @themetalvirus [link to au tag]

We Have The Sky belongs to @niko-jpeg [link to masterpost]

Artist Credit: @tsubomiiiii

Explore each world below the cut!

Egghogs AU:

The Eggman Empire has overtaken a large portion of the Earth, thanks in no small part to his top soldiers: Sonic, Shadow, and Silver. Raised by Eggman and his robot army, they'll do anything to shape the world into what their father envisions for it.

All three of the boys are pushed to their physical and mental limits every day, made to work and train for long hours. They're kept stunted, too stressed or emotionally closed off to think about what has been done to them. Alongside this inner turmoil, they are committing atrocities every day without a second thought.

Amy Rose is a scrappy young hero determined to crush the Empire once and for all, working with her genius little brother Tails and her huge group of friends to foil Eggman's plans at every turn. Her hammer is just as threatening to the Empire as her kindness.

As emotions run high and allegiances change, the fate of the universe lays in the hands of someone it shouldn't, and it'll lead to everyone's ruin... including his own.

We Have The Sky:

After the Metal Virus is all sorted out, Silver is excited to return to a home he only ever got to dream of, in a safe and happy future.

Unfortunately for him, fate has other plans as he finds himself wrapped up in a very large misunderstanding as the ‘messiah’ intended to save the world from an unseen threat. He has no understanding of his pre-established role in the world, or in his (apparently very alive) family, or if this is truly the future he fought so hard to secure. Even with the help of a much older Shadow and his ghostly companion, he isn’t sure if there is a way to set things right in the past, or if it’s even his place to do so.

[bet-on-me-13]

Ghostly Host AU

So! Ghosts need a physical Anchor in the living world, or they are liable to fall apart and fade away if they stay for too long.

In Amity Park, this usually isn't too much of a problem. Sure most Ghosts can't stay for a week without a Host, but the ambient Ecto-Levels in Amity Park are enough that they can stay for a few days or so at a time with little worry.

This changes however, during Reign Storm.

When Pariah Dark awakens, Tens of Thousands of Ghosts use the Fenton Portal to escape the Rule of Pariah Dark, running away into the Human Realm.

If Amity Park had stayed where it was, this would have been fine. They could have stayed in the Living Realm for a few days, and maybe the Weaker ones would need to find a temporary Host, but that was fine since Amity was filled with thousands of Liminals.

Unfortunately, Pariah Darks first move was to suck Amity Park into the Ghost Zone, alongside all of the Ecto-Energy that had accumulated there.

Now left trapped in the Living Realm with no way back to the Zone, thousands of Ghosts suddenly needed Hosts or they would start dying off by the Hundreds. In a Panic, they spread out across the Planet in search of viable Hosts.

Any normal Person wouldn't do, they needed a Living Being that could actually handle their Power, or someone who matched their Soul. Preferably both. Liminals were the best since they had a durable Body and a Malleable Soul, so any Ghost could use any of them as a Host.

But outside of Amity Liminals were very rare, and finding someone who matched their Soul was time-consuming and hard. Thankfully, in recent years the population of Aliens, Metahumans, Enhanced Soldiers, and even extra durable baseline Humans had spiked across the world.

All across the planet, People suddenly found themselves stuck with a new Passenger in their Bodies.

Those new passengers thankfully weren't malicious, for the most part, but it was still annoying. The only good thing was that they now had new Powers, which neat.

They could summon the Ghosts in their Body outwardly, and then command the Ghost to use their Powers in whatever way they wanted. Only other Hosts could see another person's Ghost, which meant they looked very awkward to normal people when they fought. Generally, Hosts seemed to act more strangely after getting a Ghost, as if they lost a few of their Inhibitions.

Why did they feel the sudden need to strike a flamboyant Pose? Or over dramatically scream?

[the-odd-shu]

I would recognise you in another lifetime

Masterlist: You do not need to read any of the previous works to understand this piece!

Relationship: Jayce/Viktor/Reader (polyamory)

Word Count: 15k

Summary: Alone and immune to the Mage’s magic, you continued to wander a destroyed Piltover.

OR

Reader and Viktor are having marital issues in the alternate dimension whilst Cannon!Jayce just tries to survive.

(Reader uses they/them pronouns.)

NOTE: So this began as a short, fun what-if scenario, but I seemed to get possessed and turned it into a fully fleshed out one-shot :) Here is the original post that inspired this piece. And HERE is the work uploaded on Ao3 if anything prefers to read over there.

The end of the world was cold. 

The wind seemed to scream with a thousand ghostly voices as it eagerly tugged at your clothes, forcing you to pull them tighter to your frame, or risk losing them. What little food you could scrounge up, was tasteless and dull; necessary fuel more than an enjoyable meal.

This new ‘perfect world’ was dark, and quiet and devoid of all of the colours that had first drawn you to the glittering City of Progress. You hated it. Even though a small part of you, not consumed by the desperation to survive and a burning rage, could still see a twisted beauty to this new, lonely world you inhabited. You had to squint hard to see it of course, but it was there.

There was an eerie beauty to the statue-like mechanical dolls dotted throughout the cities. Stood like sentries on both ends of the collapsed bridge, dotting the streets by the dozen, or perched upon dilapidated structures. They were uncanny, in all honesty. Machines playing at citizens. Specks of pure white in a world that was all shadow and gloom.  Motionless without the invisible hand and genius mind of a benevolent god to keep them vigilant. 

A god you were currently hiding from.

If there was one blessing that came out of the end of the world, it was that you had come out of the war with the ability to go unnoticed by the very man who had brought about its end. 

Even brushing shoulders in a crowd of his personal soldiers, you went unseen. Unnoticed. Unrecognised.

The figure striding uneasily along several paces ahead of you, was not so lucky. 

He did not notice, but those porcelain heads turned as he strode past. Held at bay by the will of their puppeteer.

Dressed in an overcoat of Piltovern white, this ghost from your past still walked with a certainty to his set shoulders that this world would eventually crack and break down. His journey into the city had stained his councilor’s jacket with flecks of mud, a hint of corruption already beginning to claw its way up one of his coat tails. 

The hammer perched on one broad shoulder had only just begun to erode from the force of the magic undetected in the air, but still held most of its original structure. It too was achingly familiar to you, and yet had been lost to time. Its presence brought back memories of long nights spent in a laboratory amongst friends who were on the verge of becoming even more precious to you. It reminded you of naps stolen on a couch too small for three people, and a chalkboard constantly brimming with new thoughts and ideas, alongside tiny doodles scrawled in the corners by your own hand.

Blinking back those bitter phantoms, you watched the figure struggle to navigate the crowd of dormant hivemind dolls. You could see from the paranoid toss and turn of his head, that he had begun to realise that the humanoid figures were not as statue-like as they seemed. In his peripheral vision, he would no doubt be seeing them stir and twitch jerkily, only for them to fall still again the moment he looked at them directly.

It was a necessary but cruel trick, played by the Mage who controlled them. A means to drill home the message that this ending was to be avoided at all costs. That this version of things could not be allowed to come to fruition again.

You trailed him at a distance. Close enough to keep him in view, but far back enough that he would not notice you. They never did. 

Far above him, and a whole, empty river ahead, the spire of Piltover’s Hexgate column shone in the sunlight as it cast a heavy shadow over the rest of the city. Even from so far down on the ground, you could just barely make out the hint of greenery growing across the dome’s surface.

Your quiet musing cut off at the sound of a scuffle up ahead. The unmistakable grind of metallic joints popping and spinning. You heard a panicked yelp, hurried footsteps, all before the silhouette of the man suddenly vanished from sight with a shriek of terror that promptly dissolved into sharp agony. 

The sound made your body instinctively lunge forward. The hivemind dolls had no use for cries of pain, let alone lungs. Their suffering had been erased alongside their identities, so there was no need- 

You wove under mechanical arms, skirted around marble bodies, and came to a sharp stop at the sight of a ravine. Far below, you could hear as another yelp and grunt abruptly cut off into a sharp, desperate whimper of pain, alongside the metallic crack of metal hitting stone. 

The trench was so deep, you could not see him in the darkness. Nor detect the glow of his hammer.

Damn it! 

Damn! 

It! 

Why did everything always have to be so difficult? How did all his alternate selves manage to throw you through a loop instead of following the blasted Mage STRAIGHT to the Hexgate dome like they were supposed too?

Idiots! The lot of them!

Jayce woke up. 

And that in itself was a miracle. 

His head throbbed as he lifted it from the cold, unforgiving stone floor. Wincing at the twinge of his neck, he felt a bruise already forming on the right side of his face, spanning from his temple down to his chin. Vision swimming, he tried to push himself up onto his elbows. The cold had seeped into his fingers from how long he’d been laying there, and had turned his toes numb. 

Unfeeling fingers dug down into the grainy dirt as he tried to heave himself up onto his knees, only for a bolt of pure agony to shoot up his leg when he tried to use his left leg. The following shout of pain ripped out of his throat before he could think to stifle it. It echoed out between the tight walls of the cavern, chasing itself up towards the surface far far above. 

Teeth ground tight against further sounds, Jayce ducked his head and peered down under his torso to find his pant leg bloody and the bones of his fibula tenting his trousers out at a weird angle. It was obviously broken, and had no doubt burst through his skin in the fall. Just the sight alone, had bile rising sharply up the back of his throat.

As his initial cry finally faded, the sound of rhythmic, dripping water reached Jayce’s ears. The damp stench hit him next, forcing itself up his nose, as the reality of his situation began to sink in.

He was at the bottom of a ravine. Injured. And stuck in some alternate reality, that was not his own. A reality where Piltover and Zaun alike had been destroyed. And worse of all, he was alone. 

No one would find him down here. 

The hooded Mage he had followed into the city hadn’t seemed to hear him when he called out. And apart from those humanoid creatures, he had not seen another soul throughout the entire trip into the city from the very outskirts-

“Jayce.”

His entire body went rigid at the hissed whisper. His head pounded from the tightening of his jaw. His leg cried out as every muscle seethed. He waited. Breath caught fast in his throat. 

Nothing but the sound of dripping water replied. He let his breath ease out of his mouth. Maybe he should have been a little concerned that he was already beginning to hear things-

“Jayce.” The same low whisper repeated. Closely followed by the sound of tiny pebbles dislodging from rock. To his right, he heard and then saw the soft click and patter of the tiny rock crumbs falling to the stone not far from where he lay.

Blinding panic slammed into Jayce, as his broken body twisted around with a snap.

The ravine echoed his panicked movements back to him. The slap of a clammy palm against unforgiving, icy stone. The whisper of his filthy clothes sliding against each other. The scrap of his boots along the jagged stone floor as they failed to find purchase. His leg protested all of the movement, but the feeling of being watched made Jayce’s panic all the more consuming and rabid.

"Who-who's there?" He demanded, his voice coming out cracked and uneven. A mockery of the confident ‘Man of Progress’ he pretended to be back home.

His mind unhelpfully supplied him with the featureless faces of the dolls far above. Terrifying suggestions of them having followed him down here. Of them creeping closer in the dark, undetected until it was too late for him to hope to stop them-

The shuffle of shoes on stone had his head snapping upwards so fast that his neck popped with sharp warmth. His entire body seized as he spotted a humanoid figure perched on a ledge a few feet above where he laid. Back lit by the surface, far, far above, the figure was crouched, and peering over the lip of the ledge. From his vantage point, Jayce could just make out the curl of their fingertips over the edge of the platform.

Somehow, it did not resemble the rest of the jerkily moving puppets on the surface. For starters, it actually had the vague shape of features on its face, ears and the suggestion of a nose, where those other creatures had been smooth, marble-like masks-

It has several eyes, Jayce realised with a sickening lurch of horror. Two in the normal places that humans had eyes that shone subtly in the poor lighting. And then five points across its forehead, that glowed with an unnatural, inner light. If Jayce had not been so terrified, he may have thought they were arranged like the points of a crown, but in that moment, every instinct in his screamed how unnatural the sight was. How much like prey he felt, looking up at it.

"Impossible." The thing whispered to itself, which was a testament to just how silent the ravine was that Jayce could hear it. The two glowing points where its human eyes were, flickered as it blinked slowly.

Then its shadow abruptly disappeared from view. Jayce’s brow furrowed as its fingers remained in his line of sight, where they flexed. Then its head appeared again. Before disappearing once more. It was being indecisive. For why, Jayce couldn’t tell.

And then it hissed out a quiet, “damn the Gods,” before it swung its leg over the edge of the ledge and began to climb down TOWARDS him.

Jayce’s heart leapt up into the base of his throat as his eyes blew wide at the speed in which it moved. He was unable to tear his eyes off it, as the thing fluidly found foot and hand holds in the seemingly smooth rockface. It moved with the surety of an uncanny mountain goat down the uneven terrain. Clearly, it had been navigating this habitat for some time. 

All too soon, its booted feet slammed down into the ground and it straightened up like a man.

Jayce’s eyes promptly leapt over to his hammer, embedded face down out of reach, then he dragged them back to the thing. The lighting was poor this deep in the ravine, but his eyes had adjusted enough to make out ruined, Piltover style clothes, worn shoes and scraggly, unkempt hair. 

Its head tilted, studying him as he studied it. And then, fearlessly, it approached him. 

Jayce yelped, his fingernails scraping against stone, as he tried - and failed - to scramble away.  The creature froze in place. Jayce rolled onto his back, his leg protesting every motion as he threw up his arm to shield his face."S-stay away!" He ordered, mentally cursing the wobble to the words. 

For a moment, it didn’t move. He could just hear it breathing. Slow and calm.

“Oh. Oh my Love." It whispered with audible gentleness to its hissed words. “What has he let happen to you?” Jayce’s brows furrowed at the odd phrasing, before he flinched as the thing smoothly lowered itself closer to his level. Its knees hit the stone with twin thumps, before it shuffled closer on all fours. A failed attempt at being nonthreatening.

His entire body tightened up defensively as it drew nearer, but it seemed to pay his reactions no mind. "I'll throttle that bastard the next time I lay eyes on him." It continued to mutter to itself, an underlying fury to its words now, although Jayce somehow knew he was not the cause of it. "Allowing you to suffer in the name of learning. As if you haven't had a rough several days already."

It let out a frustrated little huff as it continued to mutter to itself. A sound so weirdly familiar, that Jayce realised with a snag that he recognised the voice. His breath stuttered as he realised he hadn’t noticed before, because of how rough the words sounded, as if the creature hadn’t had use for human sounds for a long time.

Unaware of his slowly dawning realisation, he watched as it crawled closer to his leg. A small part of him sighed in relief that it hadn’t taken an interest in his head or anything vital, whilst another part screamed at him to defend his new weakness. 

He was so torn between the two, that he ended up with no time to react either way, as the figure stopped approaching a healthy hand's length away, and simply leaned over the bloodied limb with a sharp tut. “Definitely broken.” 

Jayce would have laughed at the dry analysis, if he were anywhere but trapped in the bottom of a ravine with a seven eyed stranger.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Jayce asked, like an idiot. 

And its seven, glowing eyes snapped up to his face. 

 In truth, he already knew the answer to his question, but he also didn't. This person may have sounded like his partner. May have shared similar speech patterns, and mannerisms with someone he held dear. But this person before him was foreign to him. They moved differently to who he was expecting. Acted differently to the person he knew so intimately.

"Oh." They said again, voice creaking. Head tilting in the bizarre way his partner’s never would have. "You do not recognise me." And oh, the sheer sadness laced between those words as good as sucker punched him. It awakened a knee-jerk reaction in Jayce that instantly made him want to smooth over the hurt. To offer sweet words in reassurance. 

He only barely managed to bite his tongue in time.

Not like this. He wanted to say. I know you, but I do not recognise you. Not like this.

“I cannot see you very well,” he said instead, words chosen carefully. 

And they hummed, sitting back on their hunches as their glowing gaze pinned him in place. 

“Perhaps,” they said quietly, more to themself than Jayce. “Maybe I can…” they trailed off, a grunt of effort escaping their lips.

For a heartbeat, there was only the drip of water in the background. Then the five points on their forehead flickered and burned with such an intensely white light that Jayce cried out and shielded his eyes. 

“Sorry. I do not tap into the magic very often.” They told him, sounding genuinely apologetic, before quickly adding in explanation, “it gives me a headache.”

Behind his clenched eyelids, Jayce watched as the light dimmed to a more manageable level. Slowly, he lowered his arm and peered over it, to find the figure before him was certainly more visible, the eyes on their forehead offering a soft output of light.

No, wait, those were not eyes. 

With a grunt of effort, Jayce lifted himself up into a sitting position, his own eyes narrowing as he realised that those glowing points were in fact runes. Runes that were now acting as their own light source, like a miner’s headlamp. They emitted a glow similar to the light of the Hexcore. Specifically, how the magic had glowed when it had been infused into Viktor’s limbs when he had reawakened and stumbled his way across the lab. 

Gods, that felt like a lifetime ago now, when it had merely been a matter of days.

The runes- which, now he was looking, seemed to have been carved into their forehead - tilted with their head to that unnatural angle again as the figure asked seriously, “better?”

The word instantly banished the lingering uncertainty from Jayce's mind as with a jolt, he registered the rest of their appearance outside of the runes. As he gazed upon a face he knew intimately, and yet looked alien to him now.

They looked tired, was his first thought. However long they had been here, the years had worn into their skin, adding weight beneath their eyes, and grey streaks to their hair. They were older than the person Jayce knew back home, and yet, there was still that light of mischief in the glint of their eye, beneath the exhaustion.

"What happened to you?" Jayce found himself asking, the words slipping out before he could fully register them.

They huffed out a laugh. As if his concern was amusing. “I could ask you the same thing, Love." They return easily, eyes dropping back to his broken leg. "You look like you've been through the ringer." 

There was a deep, heavy sadness to their voice. A grief that startled Jayce.

Jayce and his unlikely Companion swiftly realised that he couldn’t move very far with his leg busted up; not with any dignity at least. But between them, they managed to find the driest corner of the ravine to rest in. Jayce dragged himself over on his three working limbs, whilst his Companion disappeared into the gloom in search of something burnable to begin a fire.

They returned soon after, a dead lizard hanging by its tail in one hand, and a handful of plants and twigs in the other.

“It’ll smoke something awful,” they explained to Jayce as they sank down to their knees opposite him and began constructing a feeble campfire between them. “But it’ll burn.”

With quiet efficiency, they set to getting the fire going, hands practiced and certain, where in another life, they only knew how to hold a pencil. Jayce fondly remembered having to teach that version how to turn on the oven in the lab’s kitchenette. And here they were, starting sensible fires and skinning rainbow lizards in preparation for cooking. 

He was not even entirely sure where they had been keeping the knife, having not noticed it on their person earlier, and was even more surprised when it turned out that they knew how to use it. 

“How long has the world been like this?” Jayce found himself asking, hoping that a conversation would help take his mind off his still very broken leg.

The smooth slicing of the knife blade through scales halted as their eyes flickered up to him. Their eyebrows drew together in thought, causing the runes across their forehead to distort. “Hard to say.” They told him evenly, their expression weirdly unreadable. “The years began to blend together after a time.” Which wasn’t really much of an answer. 

The conversation trailed off as quickly as it had begun, and before he knew it, Jayce was smelling the lizard beginning to cook, and had blinked, only to realise that his Companion had at some point risen from their spot on the opposite side of the fire. He snapped his head round, only to find them reemerging from the gloom again, their knife cleaned and dripping with water, whilst their sleeves were visibly wet. At least neither of them would be dying from dehydration any time soon.

“We need to set your leg.” His Companion said by way of greeting, and Jayce grimaced, and sat up a little straighter.

The fever crept in quicker than Jayce had anticipated it would.

It wasn’t really much of a surprise, considering the injury, and the environment in which he had been injured in. But he and his Companion had tried their best to fend it off with what they had. 

Jayce tried to keep himself warm the first night by curling up as close to the fire as he could get without setting himself alight. He kept from worsening the injury by moving around with his other limbs, and upon his Companion’s firm insistence, remaining by the fire.

Wordlessly, they took it upon themselves to keep the flames stoked with burnable things. And disappeared off into the gloom beyond the light whenever Jayce’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They returned without fail, having caught some small, weird creature to cook for him. 

Vaguely, as the fever pressed in, Jayce noticed how they rarely ate anything they brought him unless prompted. He was not certain if it was because of the runes, or simply because they wanted him at full strength, but he had to practically force food into their hands. And then refuse to eat his own portion unless they ate with him. It never failed to put an exasperated smile on their face, which in turn filled Jayce with a little flicker of warmth. 

They were worried about him, he could tell. Could see it in the way they helped him clean and wrap his leg. Could see it in the careful way they handled the limb, eyes raking over the corrupted infection beginning to eat its way through his skin. Thick strings of sickly green and unnatural blue clung to the damp cloth they used to wipe the wound clean, to which they grimaced and Jayce simply tried not to look.

Instead, he occupied himself by theorising ways to get out of the ravine. His Companion even found him a stone with which to use the walls as a makeshift chalkboard. They kept the fire stoked, whilst Jayce theorised and scribbled all over the rock faces. Mapping out runes and scribbling down equations. Scrambling to find any possible way he could return home. 

The entire time, they withheld any suggestions that might have helped him figure out a way to help them both escape their current prison. Offering quiet hums or simply shaking their head when he tried to rope them into the conversation. 

At first, he found the avoidance weirdly endearing. An echo of late nights spent at the chalkboard with Viktor by his side as they tried to figure out an equation, whilst Y/n lingered by their desk, carefully sketching out the newest illustration for an assignment. Back then, both he and Viktor had tried to rope the Illustrator into their brainstorming, only to get unsatisfying hums in response, or the blank stare of someone who had not been paying attention.

But now, their lack of assistance quickly began to weigh on him, and Jayce at one point demanded at the height of his desperate attempts, for them to help him.

To which they had glanced up from the fire, regret swimming behind their eyes as they replied with obscure things like, “he’s testing you,” and “he won’t allow me to remain here if I make this too easy for you.”

The repetitive reference to some mysterious ‘him’ had been another piece of the puzzle that Jayce hadn’t been able to crack. They seemed to always be referring to some nameless ‘him’ with a tone of annoyance and sometimes hostility, but had failed to ever actually name ‘him’. Instead muttering about how if ‘he’ wanted Jayce to know ‘him’ yet, then ‘he’ would have already shown ‘himself.’

Jayce’s fever swept him under with a determination and intensity that left his mind scattered and foggy before he could truly get to the bottom of that one. 

In seemingly random intervals, Jayce burned. And then he froze. He would sweat, and he would shiver. And all the while, his leg festered. No amount of cleaning or rebandaging the wound with new, dirty pieces from either of their clothes would sooth the fire burning through his veins. 

With the constant presence of the pain, his paranoia seethed. He found his feverish gaze constantly flickering up to the top of the ravine, always expecting the humanoid forms of those machines to be peering back down at him.

Sometimes, he would snap awake from a nightmare and forget where he was. He would come to and see a figure sat on the other side of the low burning fire, and he would foggily register the seven glowing eyes and immediately sink into a blind panic. He would fumble for his hammer out of instinct, and then later be eternally grateful that it was always out of his reach. 

His Companion would startle in the face of his terror, only to flare their runes brightly with a wince to banish the darkness for him. Their face would come into focus, and Jayce would find himself relaxing every time. Regardless of the changes in their appearance from the familiar face he knew, Jayce still found comfort from just looking at them.

Once he had stopped panicking, they would then dull the lights back down to their usual glow before shuffling forward. They would call him ‘Love’ in that achingly gentle voice, and offer him grounding touches to further soothe him. And Jayce was so desperate for a kind hand that he melted into it every time. 

Panting from the dream, and still clammy and shaking, his body would automatically surrender to their concern, as they pressed cool rags to his burning forehead, and allowed him to lay his spinning head down in their lap, their fingers gently raking through his messy locks. He was in desperate need of a haircut, but wasn’t yet desperate enough to trust them to take a knife to it.

Once or twice, whilst he was dozing in their lap, he would come to, to the sound of them talking - snarling - at someone Jayce could not see. 

“I cannot fight this infection on my own.” He heard them grumble, their fingers still in his hair, massaging away the lingering headache with firm, soothing rolls of their fingertips along tense muscles.

There would always only be silence and the drip of water in response.

“If he dies again, you know I’ll never forgive you. Right?” They threatened the air, to which more silence would allow the words to fade into nothing. Unacknowledged. 

The only full-proof way to keep track of the days was to listen to the prickle of the temperature dropping. When night fell on the surface, Jayce could see his breath fogging in front of his face. The stone he sat on would begin to leech his warmth from his skin, and the warmth of the fire would begin to fail to reach him, regardless of how well stocked it was.

When those hours hit, his Companion would wordlessly sidle up to his side and huddle closer to him, offering a solid line of warmth along one side of his body. And Jayce, like the weak man he was, would curl into the offered comfort, like a cat luxuriating in a sunny spot.

Wordlessly, he would wind an arm around their back to draw them close, and in return, they would lay their head back on his shoulder, and curl their fingers tightly into his ruined jacket. Tucking their knees up close to their chest, they would lean into him, and in return Jayce would lean his head down against their hair.

Between bouts of fading fever, Jayce would flit between slumber and staring into the fire, whilst his Companion kept him warm. They remained stiff at his side for hours, shifting and shuffling whilst Jayce tried to recover.

Only rarely did he notice them actually falling asleep. But when they did, they went limp against his side. Dropping down hard into slumber. 

Their head would become heavy on his broad shoulder, but those fingers would never completely untangle from his coat, as if they subconsciously feared him slipping away whilst they rested. 

They seemed to completely trust Jayce when they were at their most vulnerable. And in this small way, Jayce was able to repay them for their kindness. For their willingness to help him, even if it meant clambering down into a freezing cold ravine with no real hope of being able to climb back out again.

It was in situations like this, that sometimes their rune riddled forehead would lightly rest against the exposed skin of Jayce’s throat. And sometimes, whilst he was still glaring into the flames of the fire, the magic residing within would offer glimpses of events that Jayce had never experienced.

The latest of which, he saw snapshots of the lab back home. Of it, as it was after Viktor woke up from his coma and broke out of his Hexcore-made chrysalis. He vaguely caught sight of the structure itself, the imprint left behind by Viktor’s body still darkening the centre of it, before the dream steered his focus to a desk.

He watched through someone else’s eyes as frantic hands slammed down a pile of notebooks. He recognised his own handwriting, alongside Viktor’s as the hands tore open the notebooks, flipping frantically through the pages until they came across the rune indexes in each. 

A pointer finger slid along carefully copied rune illustrations, drawn by the lab’s Illustrator, whilst Viktor of Jayce’s handwriting beneath accurately named the symbol and explained each of their hypothetical uses.

“Warding.” The body’s voice muttered aloud. “Protection. Exceleration. Shielding. Fuck. Fuck! Speed- oh, yes! Repel! Okay, okay, Repel. Warding might be useful. Probably can’t go wrong with Protection either. Shit. Fuck. Pen. Pen!”

He felt the weight of the marker pen in his dominant hand, and startled at the sight of someone else’s terrified face staring back at him in the reflection of a small, hand-held mirror. He felt the cold ink from the pen spreading across his forehead, as the body began to hurriedly scribble runes across it. 

In the back of his mind, Jayce felt dread bubbling. 

He was coming.

Jayce had no idea who ‘He’ was, but the terror crawling up the back of his throat felt like an instinct. As if what was to come was inevitable. Inescapable. Somehow, he knew that there was no way to calm the pounding of this body’s heart or soothe their frantic breathing or racing mind. There was only desperation, and the terror of a lone person clawing at a chance of survival until their fingernails cracked and bled. 

He blinked, and for a moment, he was back in the cave glaring into the fire. The deep seated terror closing his airways lingered, and then he blinked once more and was thrust back into the lab. 

The body he was in flinched hard as the lab doors behind him were slammed open. He heard the familiar gait of his partner’s footsteps, and knew in his soul that the ‘he’ who had come, was Viktor. And that the metallic after note of each step, was a byproduct of the man’s new body. 

Jayce felt sweat break out on his forehead as his eyes darted from Viktor’s approaching form in the mirror, to the useless ink marks standing out on his forehead. His stomach twisted into knots, although Jayce did not yet know why. This was Viktor after all. His Viktor. 

Jayce felt his body outside of the runes’ influence shiver when Viktor finally spoke. His accent was heavily woven between his vowels as he called out a low greeting, an unnatural, unsettling undertone altering his voice ever so slightly. If Jayce did not know the man as intimately as he did, he would never have noticed the difference. 

In the dream - no, the memory - the body that Jayce was hijacking, turned to meet Viktor as he rounded the Hexcore-made frame and approached the desk. Dressed in a navy robe artfully wound around his unnatural limbs, the man kept his footsteps slow and terrifying. His eyes shone with the light of the Arcane as he tilted his head alluringly. The staff he walked with tapped rhythmically with every step. The ticking of a bomb countdown.

"Join me." He coaxed sweetly, a mockery of the sweet words he used to utter when inviting one or both of his lovers into bed after a long day spent in the lab. A smile tugged at his thin lips, too tight to truly be a warm one.

The body Jayce was in firmly declined his offer. Shaking their head and clinging to their pen as if it would be a suitable weapon against the man cornering them. 

Viktor frowned. “You are certain of this?” He asked.

“Yes.” Viktor frowned. “I am sorry to hear that.” He said, like a warning. Jayce’s eyes darted down to the man’s hand, to his palm which had begun to subtly glow. The body he was in lurched, as if to run, but Viktor was faster. His hand shot out, like a snake’s unhinging jaw, and all five of his fingertips touched the body’s forehead. 

Jayce felt frozen, forced into submission, as he felt the magic flow out of Viktor and dig into his mind. His thoughts. Probing. Trying to force a connection.

Only to run into a wall. Abruptly, the useless runes etched across his skin ignited with a cutting, siring warmth, forcefully converting Viktor’s magic into a power source. It pushed back sharply against him, and Viktor recoiled with a shout, ripping his hand away.

There is a weird, iridescent light in Jayce's peripheral vision, as Viktor's form stumbled back, his once glowing hand grasping hard onto the edge of the desk to keep his footing.

Jayce's head snapped down, and his eyes connected with the little mirror on the desk, and he realised with a start that the simple pen marks had sunk down under his skin; having carved a permanent presence into the flesh.

"You- you shut me out." Viktor whispered, his voice oozing with hurt.

The words that shot forth from Jayce's mouth were not his own, as anger and betrayal coated them thickly. "You tried to erase me!" The body he was in snarled, "you wanted to turn me into one of your mindless puppets!"

"Not erase, no! I would never erase you!" Viktor tried to reassure, looking horrified at the mere suggestion. "I just wanted to help you see-" but the dream slipped away before Jayce could be convinced.

The head resting on his shoulder abruptly snapped upwards, severing the connection, and forcing Jayce back into the cave. The echoes of what he had just witnessed followed him back to the smell of damp, and the crackle of the fire. 

The warmth at his side retreated as his Companion sat up and pulled away from him. They were breathing hard, hands shaking as shrunken pupils stared unseeingly ahead. Air sawed in and out of their mouth at a rapidly accelerating pace. The runes on their forehead burned with light. The beams they gave off were so strong, that they shone dancing iridescent light across the opposite cave wall.

Stomach sinking, Jayce carefully reached across the gap between them to lightly touch their shoulder. They flinched away from him; hard. Their hand instinctively scrambled for their boot where he now knew they kept their knife. 

“Hey.” Jayce tried to soothe, his voice too loud amongst the popping of the flames and their quiet, desperate breaths. “You’re not in the lab anymore. You’re in the ravine. Remember? With Jayce?”

They blinked, and their eyes suddenly came into focus, their pupils widening rapidly before shrinking back to their usual size.

Jayce remained frozen where he was, his hand still raised, and his expression open and understanding.

“Jayce.” They repeated quietly in a long breath, rolling the name over their tongue. The tension bled from their shoulders with the exhale, as their hand slid back out of their boot to instead flop onto the stone beside their thigh. 

“Yeah. Jayce.” He repeated, carefully shuffling closer without jostling his bad leg. “Can I touch you?” His hand still hovered, but he did not touch them yet. His partner was not like him in that regard. Where he was the type to throw himself into a hug and allow his mind to catch up later, they seemed to respond better to grounding themselves in their surroundings before searching for comfort. 

“Please.” They whispered quietly, barely loud enough for Jayce to hear. But he did. And he was ready for them when they slid closer to him and sank into his waiting arms. He wrapped them tightly up in his grip, hating how they felt so small compared to the person he knew. Not fragile, mind you, but smaller as if meals were scarce, which they might well be considering the kind of world they lived in.

Scrambling to pull his mind away from the bleak thought, he rubbed their back and said tightly, “that was some dream.” 

They went stiff in his arms, and then pulled back, expression searching. Jayce tried to keep a hold of his easy going smile, but the way their face shuttered with realisation told him he was failing. “Wait. You saw that?”

Sheepishly, he nodded, to which they groaned and sunk back down to hide under his chin. 

He could feel his stubble catching on their hair as they went, and mentally mourned his clean shave. The first thing he was doing when he got home was locking himself away to deal with all this unnecessary hair.

“It wasn’t a dream.” His Companion quietly admitted into the front of Jayce’s shirt.

To which he simply continued to run his hand up and down their back. As steady and comforting as he could manage. “Oh?”

“It was a memory.”

Jayce’s hand fell still as their breath stuttered. “Viktor?” Jayce said aloud, feeling the way his Companion tensed at the softly uttered name. “Viktor did this to you? The runes?”

They did not correct him, and Jayce’s stomach sank. “But that isn’t like Viktor at all. That man looked like him but he wasn’t Viktor.” Jayce tried to argue. 

“I’m not lying.” They tried to argue, beginning to push against Jayce’s chest in retaliation. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this.” They repeated with more conviction. 

“I’m not saying you are.” Jayce tried to soothe, loosening his grip so they could pull back, but not entirely letting go. “But what you’re saying doesn’t line up with what I know about my Viktor. Maybe yours is different?”

Their expression turned pained, and those eyes flickered away. “Maybe.” They said neutrally, and Jayce felt his heart clench.

“What? What did I say wrong?” He asked automatically, but they were already trying to pull away again. And this time he let them go. 

They rose on silent feet and rounded the fire. Movements fluid with a bite to their step that just further confirmed what Jayce had feared. He had offended them. Somewhere along the conversation, he had put his foot on something fragile, and they had raised their hackles to scare him off.

Absently, he wondered if they would turn tail into the darkness and leave him alone here as punishment.

“He wasn’t in his right mind when he tried to do it.” Their voice argued, as they pointedly reached a stretch of flat stone directly opposite Jayce on the other side of the fire, before sitting down heavily. Something tight in Jayce’s chest loosened at the middle ground. A silent ask for distance without outright abandoning him. “And when he was like that, no, didn’t seem to be a word he understood.”

“I believe you.” Jayce easily agreed to which they hummed, and turned their attention down to the flames.

Come morning, they seemed to have forgiven him for whatever his misstep was.

“We need to refresh the bandages.” They said by way of explanation, before rounding the smouldering fire to offer Jayce a hand up. 

With a lot of grunting and readjusting, they managed to loop an arm around his waist, whilst Jayce slung his own over their shoulders. They quietly cursed as he used them as a glorified crutch to hobble over to the water pool a little ways back from their camp. 

It was a glorified puddle rather than an actual pond, with a tiny stream feeding into it from a smaller pocket of water higher up in the far wall. 

He was lowered down with care, his bad leg stretched out in front of him. His Companion dropped into a crouch at his side, their runes flaring once more with a poorly concealed wince, before they leant over his leg. With steady hands, they carefully began to unwind the strip of their shirt that had previously been the bandage. Strings of green goo clung to the underside of the fabric when they pulled it back, causing Jayce to wince and turn his head away.

“Well, it’s not worse.” His Companion helpfully informed him, to which Jayce let out a tense laugh.

“So we don’t need to cut it off yet, Doc?”

They hummed thoughtfully, tossing the soiled rag aside, before sliding their knife from their boot to begin cutting a fresh strip off. “Not yet. The infection is remaining close to the entry wound. If it gets into your blood, then we’ll talk about hacking off your leg with my butter knife.” “Gods, that is a horrible image.” “Then don’t imagine it.” They dryly informed him. Jayce watched them with a fond little tug at his lips, so engrossed by their chatter that he almost didn’t notice the weight of eyes on him.

Almost.

The hairs along the nape of his neck began to rise, as goosebumps prickled beneath his sleeves. Tensing, Jayce instinctively glanced up, his fever dreams of the dolls silhouettes staring back down at him making his heart leap. But of course, there was nothing there. Aside from his current company, nothing had followed him down into the ravine.

Then he saw a flash of dull white standing out against the gloom on the opposite side of the lake, and his mouth went dry. Eyes widening, his eyes fell on a figure shrouded in a simple cloak, grasping a staff. The same hooded figure he had followed to the city from the wilds. The figure that resembled the Mage from his childhood. 

The sound of fabric being sliced through, abruptly cut off.

"Oi!" 

Jayce jumped at the almighty bellow that punched its way out of the person beside him. 

Unbothered, the figure across the lake slowly turned their hooded head towards Jayce’s Companion. 

"Fuck off!" They spat venomously. 

The figure did not move. 

Jayce blinked, and the other side of the water was suddenly empty. 

They huffed out an angry breath. "Nosy bastard." They muttered sharply, tucking the knife away before bending forward to wet the cloth. "Keeping fucking tabs on me."

“Wh-who was that?” They huffed. “Already told you, ‘he’ll’ introduce him when ‘he’ deems it time, the prick.” 

Jayce needed his mobility back. 

He needed out of this ravine, and he could not do so on a leg that threatened to rebreak itself every time he put his weight on it.

He had mapped out every equation. Had brainstormed every possible scenario. And the answer he had reached, was the same way he had ended up here. He needed to be able to climb out. But to do that, he needed a brace for his leg. The materials of which, he decided he would simply take from his hammer. Simple. He had created more complicated things with worse materials before. 

It just so happened that his Companion had wandered off to mutter to themselves again when he began, so they returned to find his leg mostly encased in various pieces of metal with torn off strips of his shirt barely holding it all together, whilst the remainder of the hammer lay scattered around him in parts.

“What’ve you got on the go here?” “What will hopefully become a mobility aid.” Jayce replied simply, torn between watching them sink into a crouch at his side, and tightening the latest fabric strip.

“Ah, like Viktor’s leg brace.” They mused, making Jayce’s hands falter. Outside of the weird memories, that was the first time they’d mentioned Viktor by name in front of him. It made his stomach sink to think why that was. 

“Hold this steady for me.” He instructed instead of dwelling on the thought.

They raised their brows and tried to back out. “You know I do not have the hands of a mechanic.” They tried to dissuade him, to which Jayce simply pushed the metal pieces into their limp hands. They grasped them obediently, but continued to be weary as Jayce turned his attention to his ankle. “If you handed me a pen however.” They trailed the sentence off into a tight laugh that led nowhere. “Gods, I never thought I’d miss pens of all things. Or paper.” Jayce frowned. “Do you not draw anymore?” “Not as much as I would like to.” They replied, “the spark kind of died when everyone else did. And the world has lost its colour.” And beat of silence, to which they promptly added, “which you saw a few days ago, of course. There literally feels like there’s no colour anymore, which of course is half of the fun when you’re drawing. Besides, my sketchbook did not survive the test of time.” They rambled before promptly adding, “I have charcoal at least. Keeps my hands busy.” Closely followed by yet another beat of uncomfortable silence.

Jayce had nodded along through the whole ramble, having had more than enough practice in doing so back in the lab. As he listened, he finished off binding his ankle into place, before he gave his knee an experimental roll to see if the knee joint was aligned. It clicked along the gear joints but seemed to be holding.

The soft click of metal had drawn their attention back to the present, and they quietly muttered, “I forget how smart you are sometimes.” That startled a flush onto Jayce’s cheeks and his eyes into looking up at them, and oh, oh no. The grief was back in their face. 

“Book smart.” They quickly added. “Just to clarify. No offence, Love, but street smarts were never truly one of your strengths.” Jayce let a small smile cross his face at the words. They brought back fond memories of venturing into Zaun with Viktor to haggle for machine parts, only to end up getting charged three times the actual price. He had never really mastered that particular skill, and had simply relied on Viktor’s common sense to see him through.

His Companion cleared their throat when he did not immediately respond, and slowly withdrew their hands from the metal parts they’d been holding in place. They held together beautifully, much to Jayce’s relief.

“Do you need anything from the surface?” They asked, eyes flickering up and down the brace. “It would take a day or two to hunt down tools not fully corrupted, but I’m sure I could find something?” 

Jayce frowned back at them. Genuinely at a loss for words. 

“What?” They asked, glancing over their shoulder as if the hooded figure was back.

“You- you could have left this entire time?”

They narrowed their eyes at him. “Yes?” 

“But you didn’t?” “Of course not.” “Why?” Jayce demanded with more conviction and surprise than he had anticipated feeling on the subject. “Why would you waste days down here? With me?” They huffed and rolled their eyes at him as if he were the one being unreasonable. “Because you don’t do well in the cold, Jayce.” They told him simply. 

And Jayce couldn’t help but think of the fire that they had kept constantly burning. Of the nights spent huddled up together. The countless times he had woken up shivering, panic bitter on the back of his tongue, only for warm hands to soothe him back into slumber. Effortlessly banishing dreams of snow and mages, beneath rune infused memories of the lab and all the chaos he used to get up to with his partners, back before everything went so horribly wrong.

Within the hour, they began the long climb out. 

The brace held, and Jayce couldn’t help but take that as a win, despite the loss of his weapon.

True to their word, his Companion did in fact navigate the climb up easily. As agile as they had been when clambering down to assist him that very first day. They were attentive, whilst showing him the easiest footholds to use. Constantly glancing back down at him, as Jayce huffed and puffed and struggled to put one hand above the other. 

The long days spent resting had zapped his stamina. Whilst his bound leg offered constant protests to his every move. But Jayce forced himself to persist.

“Come on, Love.” His Companion encouraged for what felt like the hundredth time, having found a ledge wide enough to take a rest break on. They had already leaned over the edge to offer him their hand. “We will catch our breath here for a moment.” “I can keep going.” Jayce tried to insist as they caught his wrist and began hauling him up. He pushed with his good leg, his unoccupied hand grasping firmly onto the lip of the ledge. “I do not doubt that,” they reassured him as his knee hit the rock, and he was guided away from the drop. “But it will be a more pleasant climb if it is not out of desperation. We have time.”

Jayce’s good leg slipped as a foothold caved under his weight. He cried out. Nails digging into the rock as he body lurched dangerously. 

Above, there was a flurry of movement. The blur of glowing runes leaving trails of light as their owner slid back down the rockface to grab him before he tumbled back down into the darkness.

They grunted from his additional weight, fingers like a shackle around his wrist. Keeping him from slipping further. Jayce somehow knew they wouldn’t let him fall. Even if it were out of sheer stubbornness rather than available strength.

“Love.” They strained, and Jayce shook his head as he scrambled for new handholds and somewhere to put his dangling foot. “I am NOT spending any more days down there.” They informed him firmly. “We’re so close. Come on, one last push!”

And they were. Jayce could actually see a sliver of sunlight along one of the cracks. Could smell fresh rain, alongside the damp of the stone. The sound of raindrops felt like music to his ears. A fresh melody after the maddening tempo of dripping stalactites.

The pair climbed out of the ravine, and then continued upwards. 

The mechanical dolls had already begun to shift and turn their heads towards him, as Jayce panted and scrambled to find his legs. Only for the machines to promptly fall still as Jayce’s hand was promptly snatched up and tightly intertwined with that of his Companion. The touch sending a sharp but pleasant tingle down his arm.

“They will not be able to sense you, so long as you hold onto me.” “A byproduct of the runes?”

They nodded, and then began dragging him through the crowd, following Jayce’s original path. How they knew what direction he planned to head in, he was not certain, but the warmth of their hand in his helped him to think past it.

Together, they climbed and scaled and clawed their way up to the only part of the world seemingly untouched by the bleakness of the corruption. A stretch of greenery that spanned across the top of the Hexgate dome, cracked and fractured but no less beautiful. At the far edge of a platform, knelt a lone figure clutching what at first glance, looked to be a long stick. Head bowed as if in prayer.

The warmth of the hand in his abruptly slipped away as Jayce’s Companion let out a soft sigh and began making their way towards the figure. The surety in their step spoke of time spent in this patch of sunlight before. A thought given evidence when they approached the statue and greeted it like a slumbering sweetheart.

“Good Morning, my Love.” They whispered, voice swimming with warmth and fondness. Jayce followed half a step behind, watching with a frown as they leaned down to press a light kiss to the temple of the statue. They withdrew just as quickly, trailing tender fingers down the figure’s marble cheek, to its shoulder, before trailing light fingertips around its back. The plants growing out of its back bent easily to their touch, before seeming to bloom and reach back.

It was an odd sight to behold. Plants did not act like that when disturbed, or at least they shouldn’t. But then again, this dimension was full of mechanical dolls instead of citizens. And Jayce currently stood before a person who wore his lover’s face. So, putting everything else into perspective, the plants seeming to arch into a gentle touch, wasn’t all that strange of a sight.

“Who was he?” Jayce found himself asking, eyes sliding back to the face of the bowing figure. To the metal flecked hands wound around the handle of what Jayce realised with a sickening drop of his stomach, was a perfect replica of his hammer. As it was after being corrupted from the ravine; warped and uneven.

His Companion smiled sadly at his question. “Look closer, Jayce.”

His eyes flickered up to their calm expression, and then back down to the statue. To the echoes of a face almost entirely erased beneath the white marble. To the tiny garden of plants thriving within the broken crown of its skull.

It was the first mechanical being Jayce had seen so far, that still clung onto its past identity. Its facial features have not entirely been erased or consumed by gleaming gold or purifying white.

With a tired groan, he lowered himself down to his knees, his bad leg throbbing from the angle change. 

It turned out that kneeling down, had him at the perfect height to stare straight ahead into the statue’s blank, half-opened eyes, the suggestion of lax pupils and irises staring back at him. His gaze trailed up, to the arch of a brow before sliding in towards the inner eye and down the slope of a nose. A nose Jayce had spent a lifetime scrutinising in the mirror-

In his peripheral vision, a flash of blinding white had Jayce’s head snapping away from studying the statue. 

As before, his Companion stood over the statue’s shoulder like some imitation of a solemn angel, but it wasn’t them that had Jayce’s body startling. 

It was the ominously hooded figure looming just behind them. Under the weight of his gaze, that hooded head turned towards Jayce. Stood so still and silently, the Mage oozed power. The very galaxies appeared to have been caught in the shadow of their hood. Whereas tendrils of the arcane had sunk into the fibres of their hooded cloak, bleaching bursts of pink and blue in arching webs across the fabric.

The spell was abruptly shattered, when Jayce’s Companion suddenly rounded on the hooded figure, hands clenched into fists at their sides. “You know,” they sharply lectured, back straight as the robed figure jumped. “Normally, people say, hi, instead of just appearing soundlessly!”

The hooded figure seemed to fumble for a response. Head snapping to them as if the Mage had not been expecting his Companion to address him at all. Undeterred, Jayce watched as their shoulders remained tense as they pointedly looked the Mage up and down. “And what the hell are you wearing?” Jayce winced at the venom in those words. 

The Mage’s shoulders slumped dramatically, before they motioned theatrically to Jayce, which just earned them a humourless huff.

“Really? You’re trying not to scare him?” They dryly asked, making Jayce question how they had managed to get all of that from a simple look and gesture. “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

The Mage sighed tiredly, fingers tightening around their staff. “Y/n, please.” They huffed, and the familiarity of that accented voice sent a pang of intense longing through Jayce. So much so that his stomach physically twisted at the pleading undertone to those raw words.

“...Viktor?”

Both dimensional variations of Jayce’s lovers stiffened at his quiet question.

“Uh, Jayce, I-” The Mage looked at his Companion for support, his hood obscuring his features, but somehow his exasperation shone through just as well. 

To their credit, his Companion just shrugged. “It’s not my fault you changed everything but your voice.”

The Mage huffed audibly. “Well if you hadn’t been here to mess up my introduction, then we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

Jayce watched as Y/n’s shoulders bunched, their knuckles tightening as they opened their mouth to snap back, but thankfully Jayce was the first to speak.

“Look!” He said loudly, startling both of them into holding their tongues. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why I’m in the city, or why you’ve both guided me up here. So will someone please start explaining?”

His questions earned him another exchange of looks from the pair. A tense shake of the head from one, and a shrug from the other. 

Jayce did not like the heavy tension drawing tight between the two. The worst disagreement he’d ever witnessed between his Viktor and Y/n had been a ten minute back and forth where Y/n had misplaced one of Viktor’s notebooks and he had blown up at them for it. The notebook - thankfully - had been found mere moments later, but the fight had been terrifying for Jayce to witness all the same.

Clearly, whatever had fractured the bond here and left the two of them snapping at one another, had been far more significant than a simple misplaced notebook. And something told Jayce that the figure currently knelt before them was the main cause of it.

With a sigh, the Mage with Viktor’s voice stepped forward and tilted his head up just so. The sunlight finally penetrated the starry darkness collected beneath his hood, gently curling over his cheek and breathing warmth into his magically iridescent eyes. Jayce’s breath got stuck in his throat at the sight those familiar eyes turned soft with an untold emotion, of facial hair and clear signs of age on Viktor’s face. 

It was then that the Mage finally began to explain.

"Send him back." 

Stood a little ways back from the pair of them, Y/n had their arms wrapped tightly around themself as they flicked their frosty expression over to a tense Viktor. When the Mage looked back at them, their jaw tightened and they raised their chin. Preparing for a fight. 

“It is only fair." They added.

"I was always going to." Viktor snapped back, just as sharply.

To which Jayce couldn’t fully conceal his wince. He had scarcely been in their collective presence for more than half an hour, and it had taken every molecule of councilor decorum to keep from sitting the both of them down for a much needed conversation. Whenever the Mage wasn’t looking, Y/n kept shooting him sad, uncomfortable looks, as if they wanted to add their input, but couldn’t quite find the right words. Whereas, Viktor had just seemed to keep his expression smooth and his head constantly turned away from the human. And it was honestly painful to watch.

Despite their differences, they were both so clearly similar to the people Jayce knew and loved that he almost didn’t want to leave them here with the petrified version of himself for silent company. But unfortunately, with a world to save, and his actual partners to track down, he was already stretched pretty thin.

So when the Mage turned back to Jayce, a silent question in his eyes, Jayce hardened his eyes, clutched his borrowed hammer tighter and firmly told him to send him back.

Viktor had complied readily. A hand emerged from the folds of his cloak, the fingers tattooed with blue runes and elegantly spaced lines encircling his fingertips. The runes on his knuckles began to glow, his hand raising in front of him to focus his magic towards Jayce.

Y/n shifted away from him as the tattoos along his arm began to light up as well. Their mouth was drawn into a tight line as they crossed their arms. Jayce caught a glimpse of the hesitance in their eyes. Noticed the way their own runes dimmed when sitting in direct comparison to the magic Viktor wielded with ease.

The sight had a stray thought slamming into Jayce, as his mind jumped to a dream shared in the darkness of the ravine. The panic the memory had brought on, and the stilted answers he’d failed to pull from them. The unease that settled low in his belly was unbalancing enough for him to throw out a panicked, “wait!”

Both Mage and human startled at his sudden declaration. The hand of the former freezing mid-cast, causing the swirling sphere of light that had begun to flash around Jayce to still. Whereas the latter took several concerned steps forward, a question already on their lips.

“Y/n, do not get too close.” Viktor warned evenly, to which they shot him a sharp look.

Before the pair could dissolve into another sharp spat, Jayce licked his lips and caught the human’s attention. “Your runes,” he said desperately, “can you give me the combination so I can help my Y/n?”

Their expression eased at his words, as it often did when they were about to call him ‘Love’. Only this time, the look was tinged with regret as they began to shake their head.

Jayce’s stomach dropped.

“I could,” they told him carefully, “but it would not help you.”

“What do you mean?” Jayce demanded, feeling a sharp stab of panic rip through him.

The human and Mage exchanged another tense look. Viktor inclined his head. Whether granting permission or offering them the choice to answer, Jayce was not entirely sure.

Y/n took another small step towards him, keeping him from picking the action apart for too long. "You see, that interaction between them and The Herald happens whilst you're stuck in this universe. By the time we send you back, you won’t be able to do anything, correct runes or not. It is down to them and luck if they manage to find the correct combination to remain separate from the hivemind."

"So there is nothing I can do?"

The Mage shook his head, and offered his own input. "Sometimes they are lucky. But in most timelines, they fall to The Herald like everyone else he attempts to cure."

Jayce was gone. Again. Returned to his own dimension to hopefully have a better chance at a happy ending than this world had.

The light had scarcely dissipated from Viktor’s fingertips, before his lover was turning to him with a sharp look in their eye. “Drop the illusion.” They ordered him flippantly, eyes flicking across his robe and bearded face. 

Viktor almost smiled back, almost teased that the form had grown on him, but he could tell from the way they held themselves that their patience was thin today. 

So instead, he allowed his form to flicker, and then change. His white robe shrunk and stretched to become his typical two tailed cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Whilst the galaxy previously trapped beneath the fabric stretched out to cover his skin, which began to erode and return to its unique combination of metal and tendons. Between one blink and the next, his face split and his mask unfolded over his slumbering expression like a mushroom cap emerging from the stem.

“Better?” He asked humorlessly, glancing down at his Lover, who was now significantly shorter than him. They did not flinch away at his distorted voice in this newer, taller, stronger form. It had been so long since the end of everything, that now, they barely seemed to acknowledge the difference between his forms. And he had not sensed fear in the air when they looked upon him like this for years. A small mercy. 

They looked him up and down judgmentally, before shrugging. “Sure.” They said impassively, “whatever helps you sleep at night.” Viktor decided with great self-preservation to not remind them that he did not in fact sleep anymore. Which of course earned him another light jab.

“You couldn’t even grow a beard in that body,” his Lover commented absently, “so why did you give yourself one this time?” “I thought it would look dashing.” He replied simply. “Do you not agree?”

They rolled their eyes with a ghost of fondness in their face. “You forgot the mole under your right eye this time.”

“Oh. Then I am lucky Jayce did not notice.” Viktor relented easily. After so long, the details of that original body had begun to evade him after all. Sometimes it was the eye colour infused with the power of the Hexcore that he forgot. Other times it was the shade of his hair, or the exact length of his nose. Tiny, meaningless things that his Lover seemed to notice every time regardless.

“Speaking of Jayce,” Viktor began slowly, “you spoke to this one.”

“He was injured.” They returned sharply, avoiding his gaze. “He could have died down there.” “I would not have let him.” “And how was I to know that?” They demanded. “Our paths have not crossed outside of this ritual for decades, Viktor. We have not spoken properly since you destroyed everything.” “Because you hid from me. I could not find you. I tried to find you.” They swallowed audibly. “I had nothing to say to you.”

The usual routine of the world fell back into step the following dawn.

Viktor waited on the dome of the Hexgates to watch the sunrise with Jayce’s statue, as the pair waited for their human Companion to find them. The Mage was not entirely sure where they went when they were not visiting Jayce and pointedly ignoring him, nor could he really find out on his own thanks to those blasted runes, but it was enough that they turned up at all.

There was no dimensional traveller to guide today, so they turned up an hour later than usual. Freshly washed and dressed in clean attire after so many days spent down in the cave tending to the latest Jayce in the depths of Zaun. It would have been a sweet thought if Viktor hadn’t been tearing the world apart trying to locate the both of them.

But they were fine. And they were here now, crossing Jayce’s blooming resting place to drop a kiss to the statue’s cold forehead and sink to their knees before him. From his spot on the grass a short distance away, Viktor watched with quietly amused eyes as they pulled a stick of charcoal out of their pocket and began carefully drawing out a series of runes across Jayce’s forehead.

It was a daily tradition by now, for them to do so. And for Viktor to watch them try for hours on end. They had grown so familiar with the runes, that they no longer needed to consult a notebook or Viktor’s extensive knowledge to accurately draw the symbols out. 

He had tried fruitlessly in the beginning to dissuade them from wasting their time. After all, what Viktor had done to their lover was permanent, and could not be reversed. To which they had turned on him with a burning fury and not so kindly told him to stick his pessimism back up his ‘cosmic ass’.

So Viktor had stopped offering his input. And they had stopped talking to him unless absolutely necessary. They carefully drew out the rune combinations, and Viktor lingered nearby. Quietly watching and regretting everything that had the three of them to where they were now.

What he hated the most however, were the runes on his human love’s forehead, which prevented him from offering so much as a glimpse into his thoughts. That kept him from honestly showing them just how remorseful he was. From showing them just how many times he had tried to reverse his mistake. How many times he had tried and failed to bring Jayce back for them.

"Hand." They demanded then, snapping him out of his thoughts with a start. They withdrew their stick of charcoal from Jayce’s cracked, marble-like forehead and held out their own hand expectantly.

Used to the routine by now, Viktor obediently leaned across the short distance and gave them the limb. His hand dwarfed their’s worse than Jayce’s ever had. A twisted mass of purple tendons and metal, which they gently wrapped their fingers around as far around his wrist as they could go before they guided his outstretched fingertips to the charcoal symbols.

They were always gentle with him in that regard. Despite how furious they were at him for ending the world. In spite of how powerful and imposing he was now, and how difficult he’d actually become to hurt - ridiculous pain tolerance aside. And somehow, the gentleness just made everything so much worse.

The marks did not flare to life. They dropped his wrist, and Viktor pulled back as they wiped away the old runes and set to writing down a fresh set.

"Though your determination is admirable, have you not grown bored yet?" He asked, as he asked them everyday.

"No."

"This isn't working."

"It will."

"There are hundreds of thousands of possibilities. Endless conceivable combinations. There is no way you will be able to try them all."

But instead of ignoring him as they always did, they turned to him today. Their eyes burned with a new found determination. With a light that had Viktor’s tongue going dry.

"Jayce wouldn't give up." They told him sharply, and oh, Viktor hadn’t heard that tone in years, and he hadn’t even realised he’d missed it. "If our roles were reversed, he wouldn't give up on us. Or did that Jayce's determination mean nothing to you." They finished, motioning to the place the other Jayce had been standing just yesterday, having been freshly prepared for the hell he would have to deal with upon returning home.

Viktor lapsed into silence. Eyes distant as he glanced from his blank faced Lover to the meadow of flowers he has cultivated for their late love.

“What?” They pushed an ounce of venom oozing into the word. “No witty quip about how you preferred the silence? How you would have preferred I remained out of your sight, allowing you to revel in the peace a little longer?” “No.” Viktor replied carefully, suddenly wrong footed. “You know I wouldn’t. Prefer it, that is.”

And something cracks open wide in their expression. A loosening to their tightly knotted eyebrows. A widening of their pupils as if something had just clicked into place. Shock perhaps? Realisation? 

“Oh.”

They turned away from him instead of elaborating, some of that hostile wind leaving their sails. 

Viktor could only watch on, a nugget of relief sitting low in his chest, as he was once again silently grateful for the luck of that rune combination working out in this timeline. That he hadn’t succeeded in erasing them. That their sharp tongue and fierce determination outlived his short-sighted thirst for power and submission.

"Hand." 

And like clockwork, Viktor offered it to them.

Their grasp on his wrist remained careful, but firm. So small compared to his much larger form. But fearless in the way they directed him.

Viktor’s fingertips smudged the charcoal when his fingers lightly touched Jayce’s forehead, as the Mage carefully reached inside in search of that thread within Jayce's dormant subconsciousness. He never quite knew what he was searching for when they did this, but he did know that the first time, the wall of resistance had come out of seemingly nowhere, and had shut out his probing touch with an unapologetic firmness. 

But as it always seemed to, Jayce's mind opened up to Viktor and his fingers sank in. Jayce's memories and emotions swirled beneath his fingertips, so fragile and so precious. With a bittersweet smile, Viktor offered him a parting burst of love and adoration before withdrawing. Jayce slumbered on, if not a little easier with the magical nudge.

There was a huff beside him as he withdrew his hand back to his staff. Viktor glanced down at his Companion, whose shoulders were drooping as they tenderly reached up with a damp, charcoal smudged rag to wipe the old runes away, before they took up their charcoal stick and began to draw new ones on.

There was a set to their brow this time. The subtlest of wobbles to their lower lip that made Viktor's stomach twist with guilt and longing. He wanted to reach out and gently pull the charcoal from their hand. To murmur that they needed a break before gathering them to him, but he knew from experience that he would just end up getting shoved away, and they would run from him. That they would use their runes to their advantage to conceal themselves from him.

"I miss him." They whispered under their breath, and Viktor's eyes closed tightly against the sheer pain in their tone.

"As do I." He reassured them, and they smiled tightly at him.

Wordlessly, they reached out for Viktor's hand, and he readily gave it to them. What stunned him however, was how instead of simply placing his fingers for him, they instead brought it to their lips first, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Their eyes shone when he stared at them in shock, the affection so deeply missed, that for a moment, he was rendered speechless.

His eyes studied their expression, their posture, the magical void produced by their runes. Trying and failing to figure out what had changed. What had induced the whisper of affection he so desperately craved.

"I am still mad at you." They clarified wetly, "but I miss you too, Viktor."

And oh by the Gods, he almost caved right then and there. Just the quiet utterance of his name said so sweetly, so sadly, almost had him losing his cool. Almost had him throwing caution to the wind and hauling them into his lap regardless of the consequences. It was only sheer stubbornness that kept him seated where he was.

He wanted instead to reassure them that he was still here with them. That he had been here the entire time, despite being a little different. Despite having changed. That deep down, he was still their Viktor, and no amount of magic or Hexcore influence could truly take him from them.

But he ended up voicing none of those things to them, because they had already turned away and lifted his offered hand to Jayce’s forehead.

Viktor's fingertips made contact, and sank down into Jayce’s consciousness, all before jolting to a sharp stop. The Mage’s attention flickered fully to the forehead of the statue, where he felt a resistance beginning to bubble. All before the runes under his fingertips burst to life. He let out a pained cry, as his magic was snatched from his grasp, and turned to repel him. 

The grip on his wrist suddenly tightened, and his hand was torn away, severing the connection before the runes could take too much, but not before a sickening crack echoed out across the meadow. For one nauseating moment, Viktor thought he’d finally done it. That he had somehow managed to destroy Jayce’s statue. 

But no, it wasn’t the crack of Jayce’s statue body crumbling to dust. It was the sound of his hands - still outstretched towards his absent hammer - suddenly dropping to his sides as if all the solid particles in his limbs had turned to liquid molecules.

Viktor shot to his feet in moments. 

Regardless of the consequences, he lost no time in scooping up his Lover and hauling them out of the way. One arm wrapped tightly around them and bringing them in to his chest, he levelled his staff defensively at the statue as he began to back up.

The statue that was beginning to look less and less like a statue by the moment. Its smooth, white exterior had begun to flake and twist, whilst the various plants growing around it were beginning to slide right off it, as if their roots had been pushed cleanly out of it. Sheets of marble flaked off of the figure’s ribcage, as its chest began to rise and fall. 

More of the material began to fall off the thing's face, revealing gently closed eyelids and flaring nostrils. Then, the marble around the blown out portion of its head began to grow and round out into the shape of a skull, before it cracked like an egg and hair flopped out. Familiar, deep brown locks.

With a gasp, and a jolt, Jayce came back to life.

His eyelids flew open, and his mouth unhinged in a gasping breath. The runes etched into his forehead solidified and sunk down under his skin in the mockery of a crown, as his hands flew to his throat, and then his bearded cheeks. Curious fingers patted along his nose, up his cheeks, checked to ensure he still had ears. And then he was bending forwards, to glance down at his body, clad in the very same outfit he had worn on the day Viktor absorbed him into the hivemind.

"I'm… I’m alive?" He said breathlessly. And there was bewilderment in his voice. And relief. So much relief. His voice was rough and tired. Weak and barely there. But it was Jayce. And it sounded like home. And by the Gods did it make Viktor want to weep with want and relief. 

Viktor kept his arms loosely wrapped around his human lover as the pair watched Jayce come to himself, and begin to take in his surroundings.

"I told you." Y/n whispered triumphantly, pulling Viktor’s attention down to them. They were practically vibrating in place, one tiny hand wrapped around the back of his hand. Then their face split into a grin, and they tilted their head up and back to catch his gaze. "I TOLD YOU!" They exclaimed in a victorious yell, blessing him with the widest, most excited smile he had  ever seen them muster.

A few short steps away, Jayce had struggled to his feet. He scrambled to get his weakened legs under him, his hands sinking into the soft soil as his knees shook with the effort. He seemed to have not noticed his company yet, as he turned his back to them, to stare out over the destruction of the world sprawled far below. His shoulders heaved with his fast paced breaths as he no doubt took in the dilapidated buildings, the empty river with the corpses of ships resting on their massive sides. The broken and collapsing spires of the bridge, covered in thorny spikes of arcane corruption.

Against it all, Jayce’s Piltovern white jacket was a stark contrast. A nugget of the past, preserved and allowed breath once more. 

With a start, Viktor realised what form he was currently residing in, and the visceral reaction Jayce would no doubt have upon turning and seeing him. Of having his world destroyed, only to turn and find the creature that had done it standing a couple steps behind his turned back. 

The Mage pulled his human disguise on like a cloak, feeling himself shrink down to a variation of his old height. It was the disguise he had been using for every Jayce that had stumbled into this world, allowing his age to show in the lines of this new mask, and the blanket of starlight caught in the fabric to conceal the parts of his old self he could not fully recall. 

Now on more even footing with him, his Lover turned back to him in his loose hold, a tight smile on their face. “You forgot the mole again.” They told him simply, reached up to rub their thumb over a spot just below his eye. Viktor smiled back, pulling the mark into existence beneath this touch, and watching with a lick of satisfaction as the tightness around their eyes loosened ever so slightly when they noticed its presence. 

The urge to close the distance and offer them a kiss in thanks was almost too powerful to ignore. In this form, he certainly had the lips to do so, but he could still feel the tension lingering between them. Although slack with Jayce’s revival, it still remained beneath the surface. Fragile and in desperate need of strengthening. So that kind of affection could wait. Viktor was a patient man after all.

A soft gasp from Jayce had the two of them pulling apart, although Viktor noted with a bittersweet tug that Y/n did not yet withdraw nor they loosen their hold on his arm. As if using Viktor as an anchor.

Jayce was glancing back and forth between the Mage and human with a slack jaw. The weariness in his face was coated in a generous dose of curiosity, which was so obviously a Jayce quality that it made Viktor ache. He wanted to see the weariness slip away entirely though, so he slowly reached up to pull back his hood, allowing Jayce to fully come to terms with who he was in the presence of. 

“Viktor.” He breathed, with such an open expression of grief and relief that Viktor could not tell where one began and the other ended. Then Jayce was scrambling forward, his leg brace creaking ominously from so long without use. 

It was Y/n, who had the foresight to lunge forward to stabilise him before he went down. The absence of their warmth left Viktor suddenly cold, as they darted forward to wrap their hands around Jayce’s forearms. 

Jayce finally tore his eyes off of Viktor’s face, expression falling slack as he stared into a new, achingly familiar face. He whispered their name, like a prayer, and practically tripped over himself, again, to bring a hand up to their cheek. Viktor chuckled softly at the way they blatantly melted under the touch and kind eyes, as Jayce’s gaze flickered up to the runes glowing across their forehead. The wonder that flickered across his eyes was in no way forced, as his thumb lightly traced their cheek. There was not an ounce of fear polluting the air as he looked upon them. 

“You made it.” He whispered simply, all before hauling them close, and forcing them to stumble back a step in order to keep their balance. Faster than expected, the human stilled their flailing hands to tightly curl their arms around Jayce’s broad back. Immediately, shaking fingers clenched tightly into the dirty material of his jacket, holding tight. The pair moulded together perfectly, as they always had. 

And the sight made Viktor's heart ache. He lowered his staff, and took a hesitant step forward, a private, relieved smile tugging at his own lips.

All too soon, Jayce pulled back. Arms still wrapped tightly around the human, he ducked down to press a firm kiss to the skin between their brows, just beneath the lowest rune.

“Careful.” Y/n warned wetly, words waterlogged with emotion.

To which Jayce just kissed them again, more desperately. Almost playful in his relief. “Beautiful.” He complemented, although Viktor was not certain if it was to the runes or simply for them.

And then he turned to Viktor, who felt himself stiffen under the weight of those eyes. Of the sheer relief and love reflecting back at him. They were shocking emotions to find on Jayce’s face. He had expected fear or resentment, or at least caution, but no, Jayce exceeded his expectations once more.

Unwinding one of his arms, he grabbed the Mage by the sleeve and yanked him closer with more strength than Viktor recalled him having. Viktor was so stunned by the sudden motion, that he could not predict Jayce’s intention until he’d already been folded into the hug. 

“It- it is good to see you.” Viktor said hesitantly, patting Jayce’s back as the man squeezed him tightly into his side.

This form fit perfectly under Jayce’s arm, slight and small as it was. It was a far cry from the big, lethal form Viktor had come to favour in this ruined world. But somehow, he knew that Jayce would not take kindly to that face after having just woken up from being sealed away by it in the name of ‘perfection’.

And that was fine. It was enough that Jayce did not look upon him with open horror or suspicion. It was enough that he would instinctively reach a hand out to Viktor, even now, when he least deserved it. Even if he may not truly want Viktor’s touch after everything he had done.

“Jayce,” and oh, it has felt like an eternity since he has been able to say that name so fondly, “you need not-”

Jayce simply turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to the knot between Viktor’s eyebrows. Just as he had kissed Y/n. Light and adoring. And by the Gods, had Vitkor yearned for the warm touch of this man. So much so that he could not help but lean into the second kiss, his eyes slipping closed as his staff fell to the ground with a clatter and he finally returned the hug with both hands.

There was still so much left unsaid between them. Apologies that needed to be offered, and mistakes that needed to be talked out. But for now, this was a start. A very hopeful, good start.

Jayce ran straight from the Commune. Going as fast as his heavy hammer and ruined leg would allow him.

His heart was in his throat as he crossed the bridge. His breaths were sharp and shallow as he ran up the steps to the academy, dodging past bewildered looking students and ignoring the concerned calls of colleagues. 

His mind kept leaping back to the image of the thing shaped like Viktor collapsed on the floor of its home, dead and lifeless. He watched the unnatural glow of magic behind its eyes flicker and die. He could hear the metallic sound of the cog it had been holding rolling across the sand before running out of momentum and collapsing onto its side.

He had done it. He had completed his mission. And yet, it had not felt like a victory.

Viktor had made no sound when the hammer’s beam had ripped through him. Had offered no dying words as he looked at Jayce with what he could only describe as detached acceptance before his eyes had gone blank.

The thud of Jayce’s shoulder colliding hard with the laboratory doors slammed him back into the present. The door banged hard against the wall from how fast he had shouldered his way inside, having expected a barricade or at least a locked door. But there was nothing. He skidded to a halt in the middle of the room, panting hard as he wildly snapped his eyes around the room.

It looked like it had in the other Y/n’s memories. Viktor chrysalis still stood in the centre of the room before the window. The desk beneath said window was strewn with notebooks depicting rune translations. There was an uncapped marker pen on the floor, and a shattered, hand held mirror beside it. 

But there was no Lab Illustrator. No Y/n. Jayce felt his heart rate begin to kick up again. Even once touched by Viktor’s magic, the dolls still had physical forms. Once they had deactivated, they had screamed and gone limp, but they had still been there. If luck hadn’t been on their side in this universe, there should at least be a body to bury. Unless of course, Viktor had taken them back to the commune with him. Unless they had laid dying amongst the rest of his cult followers, and Jayce had simply run past them. 

His boots were filled with lead as he dragged his hammer deeper into the laboratory. 

Of all his luck, he seethed that this was the one element that had been entirely out of his control. He hated that he hadn’t been here to give them the right combination. Wasn’t here in time to get them out of the lab before Viktor found them.

He let out a furious yell, and with his emotions fueling his strength, he was hauling his hammer up off of the ground. Muscles charged by fury and grief, he brought the corrupted weapon down on the desk, to which the wood split with a satisfying crack. All of those useless notebooks clattering to the floor as Jayce watched. He was half tempted to burn them for all the good they had been. All those countless, irreplaceable hours of research, only for it all to mean nothing when it had truly mattered-

Behind him, in the depths of the gloomy lab, Jayce heard something shift.

“You should not be here.” A voice growled. Which was all the warning Jayce got before he heard the hiss of clothing. The shuffle of a shoe readjusting against tiles.

His hammer was back in his hand, fingers wrapping around the handle that would open the four points and expose the charging core. He spun on his good leg, widening his stance.

Across the room, he saw a silhouette. His breath stuttered and his eyes widening at the ominous glow of seven points on a humanoid head. 

Then the glow of his weapon illuminated the shine of something metallic soaring for his head. With a yelp, Jayce ducked. The wrench hit the wall behind his head with a heavy thump, before it fell to the floor with an unnerving clatter.

Eyes wide, Jayce glanced from it, back to the figure, his hammer lowered unconsciously. He barely dodged the screwdriver that had been sailing for his eye next. 

“OUT!” Came the roaring command from the shadowy figure. 

Jayce let out a choked shout, dropping his hammer in favour of using his hands to scramble away as they darted forward to snatch up a new projectile. 

“Wait!” He tried to reason, hands flying up. The little hammer was thrown at him regardless. Spinning head over handle straight for his face. He ducked that one too. “It’s me!” He bellowed, arms braced on either side of his head, as he ducked and threw himself out of the way of hammers, and screws, and seemingly every tool in the lab that those frantic hands could wrap their fingers around. 

“It’s Jayce!” He yelled, “it’s me! It’s me!”

He rounded the desk and watched as the light from the window slid over him, hopefully strong enough for some part of him to be recognisable despite the destroyed clothes, long unbrushed hair and the horrible beard. 

The figure stilled with a second hammer already drawn back over their shoulder.

“Jayce?” Came the whispered question, as if speaking too loud would cause him to disappear. For a brief moment, Jayce was back in the darkness of the ravine, staring at a shadow with seven glowing eyes. Only this time, he felt no fear. Just all consuming relief. “Yeah.” He croaked, “it’s me.”

The shadow fell quiet and shuffled closer. Clumsy and uncoordinated. Clearly watching Jayce rather than checking where its feet were being placed. Closer and closer those iridescent runes came, until their ominous glow became legible symbols, and Y/n’s pupils retracted as they stepped into the sunlight with him.

There was blood on their face. Curling down their temple, and dried over the curve of their cheeks. The fresh runes glowing against normal skin. Angry and raw as if someone had used a pocket knife to create them instead of a pen and a magical hand. The flesh had split deeply, the iridescent ink having sunk down to replace the blood that would have otherwise welled there. A sharp difference to the neatly, healed over symbols on the other Y/n.

“Oh… Gods-” They murmured, a hand rising up to cover their mouth as they looked at him. Taking in the cuts, and deep exhaustion lines. The unkempt, greasy hair and tangled beard. Jayce tried to smile, but he knew it fell short. “What happened to you?”

There was pen ink on their fingertips, Jayce noticed. Dry now. But there nonetheless. Further evidence of the scene that had occurred here. Of what had led to them hiding alone in a dark laboratory of all places.

“Too much to tell you here.” He replied, “besides, it looks like I should be asking you the same question.”

The hammer slipped from between their slack fingers, and then they threw themselves at him. Arms snapping round his neck to drag him closer with a desperation that Jayce couldn’t help but mirror. The familiar weight of them in his arms finally eased the unsettled fluttering in his chest, as he ducked his head and pressed a grateful kiss to their temple, the fresh runes buzzing pleasantly against his fingertips. 

His companion gave no indication that the action hurt, nor whether they could even feel it. Not that it mattered just yet whether or not the area was numb. 

They were alive. He was alive. And that in itself was a miracle.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading :)))

[novaursa]

The Flames We Carry

- Summary: Ser Criston Cole expected for Rhaenys and Meleys to appear over Rook's Rest. To Gwayne's horror, Rhaenyra sent her sister instead: you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaeyra's younger sister and is bonded to Silverwing. These events happen after Skyfall. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content, but there are visual descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 3 712

- A/N: this was scheduled to be posted tomorrow, but I've decided post extra today. Enjoy.

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

Ser Gwayne Hightower had always been a man torn between loyalty and desire, but never more so than in the days leading up to the siege at Rook's Rest. The tension between him and Ser Criston Cole had grown sharper since that fateful day when he let you—the Princess, Y/N—slip through his grasp before their march on Duskendale. He could still feel the warmth of your skin against his, the taste of your lips lingering like a ghostly memory, a sweet torment. You had been his time and time again, even if only in stolen moments, and each encounter had deepened the scars on his heart.

Gwayne knew he should be focusing on the battle ahead, yet his thoughts strayed back to you, his mind replaying that night over and over. The look in your eyes when you realized he would let you go, when you understood the depth of his feelings despite all the bitterness that lingered between your Houses. He had set you free, knowing full well it was an act of treason in all but name, and yet he would do it again if it meant sparing you the horrors to come.

But now, at Rook's Rest, everything was escalating rapidly. Ser Criston's scorpion ballistas and archers were poised in ambush, waiting for the dragon they expected: Rhaenys on Meleys. The war council had been clear, and Gwayne had heard it all through gritted teeth—Aemond and Aegon would flank her on Vhagar and Sunfyre, trapping her in dragonfire and steel. It was a ruthless plan, one that made his stomach churn. He had sworn to protect his family, his king, and yet all he could think about was you.

The skies darkened, a shadow sweeping over the encampment. The men tensed, eyes raised to the heavens as the flap of wings grew louder. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked up, expecting the crimson scales of Meleys. But what he saw instead made his blood run cold.

Silverwing.

The graceful, silvery-grey dragon, once ridden by Queen Alysanne, now bonded to you. Gwayne’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. This was not supposed to happen. It was not supposed to be you in the skies above, facing down two monstrous dragons with only the loyal Silverwing at your side. Panic clawed at his throat, his mind racing. He could see it in Criston's eyes too—the slight widening, the realization that their ambush had just become a slaughter. Not for Rhaenys, but for you.

“No…” The word slipped from Gwayne’s lips before he could stop it. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the nearest scorpion, where soldiers prepared to take aim at Silverwing. His vision tunneled, anger and fear boiling together in his veins. He couldn’t let this happen—not to you.

"Stand down!" Gwayne shouted at the soldiers, shoving one aside with enough force to send the man sprawling. The crew looked at him in confusion, but Gwayne didn’t care. He grabbed hold of the crank, making it impossible for them to load the bolt.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!” Criston’s voice was a venomous hiss as he stalked toward Gwayne, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re sabotaging the plan! Move, or I’ll have you—”

Gwayne spun around, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. “I won’t let you do this, Criston. Not to her.”

Criston’s lip curled in disgust. “Her? You would betray your king, your House, for a traitorous whore who—"

The sound of steel rang out as Gwayne drew his sword, slashing at the scorpion mechanism, rendering it useless. The soldiers scattered, unwilling to get caught in the confrontation between two knights who had both earned their deadly reputations. Criston’s eyes narrowed, and in the blink of an eye, his sword was in his hand, the tip leveled at Gwayne’s chest.

“You’ll die for this treachery, Hightower,” Criston spat, the words laced with venom.

“I would die a thousand times before I let you kill her,” Gwayne growled back, his voice low and dangerous. “I won’t let you harm her.”

Above them, the roar of dragons filled the air as Silverwing engaged with Sunfyre and Vhagar. Dragonfire crackled like thunder, the heat from the flames casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. You were up there, fighting for your life, for your cause. Gwayne’s heart ached with every fiery burst, knowing that each moment could be your last.

Criston lunged, and Gwayne barely parried the strike in time. The two knights clashed, steel against steel, each strike filled with desperation and fury. Gwayne fought with everything he had, driven by the need to protect you, even if it meant cutting down one of his own.

“Do you think she cares for you, Gwayne?!” Criston taunted between strikes. “She’s a dragonrider, a princess—she’ll never be yours! You’re a fool!”

“I know what I am,” Gwayne snarled, knocking Criston’s sword aside and slamming his shoulder into the other man’s chest, sending him stumbling back. “But I also know what I feel. And I’ll not stand by and let you murder her.”

Criston recovered quickly, rage twisting his features as he advanced again. “She chose Daemon over you! The Rogue Prince—do you think she’ll remember your name when she’s ash?”

Gwayne roared in fury, his blade a blur as he pressed the attack. The sounds of battle, of dragons shrieking and flames roaring, were deafening, but all Gwayne could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the desperate need to get to you, to save you. But with every second that passed, his hope dwindled, and fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Then, the ground trembled, a shockwave of heat and force rippling across the battlefield as a massive burst of dragonfire erupted nearby. Gwayne staggered, the distraction costing him as Criston’s sword sliced across his side. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. He couldn’t afford to fall—not when you needed him.

But as the flames subsided, a silhouette emerged through the smoke—Silverwing, descending, with you astride her. Your eyes, burning with determination and fury, locked onto the scene below: Criston standing over a wounded Gwayne, ready to deliver the killing blow.

“Y/N!” Gwayne shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t hesitate. With a command, Silverwing unleashed a torrent of dragonfire, forcing Criston to leap back, narrowly avoiding being consumed by the flames. In the brief reprieve, Gwayne stumbled to his feet, clutching his side.

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The memory of that last kiss, of your shared moments, hung between you like an unspoken vow. Gwayne knew he had only seconds before the battle resumed, but in those few heartbeats, he saw the truth in your eyes—the love that had never truly died, the bond that still connected you, even through war and betrayal.

But there was no time for words. With a final, lingering look, you turned Silverwing toward the sky, preparing for the next wave of the fight. And as you ascended into the chaos once more, Gwayne knew he would fight until his last breath to protect you, even if the whole world stood against him.The battle raged on, but in that moment, Gwayne Hightower’s heart belonged to only one—you.

The battlefield below Rook’s Rest was a symphony of chaos and death, the sky a canvas painted with fire and blood. Gwayne could only watch in helpless agony as you and Silverwing clashed in the heavens with Sunfyre and Aegon, two dragons locked in a deadly dance of tooth and claw. Overhead, the monstrous shadow of Vhagar circled like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Every screech of agony, every roar of defiance, was a knife twisting deeper into Gwayne’s chest.

On the ground, Criston Cole barked orders, his eyes fixed on the battle above. The soldiers scrambled, trying to reload the scorpions, but the dragonfire raining down made their task near impossible. Bolts flew haphazardly, striking neither dragon nor rider, only adding to the carnage below as men screamed, burning alive in dragonflame. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his ears, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the clash in the sky.

Silverwing and Sunfyre circled each other in a blur of flashing claws and snapping jaws, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and blood. Gwayne could see the desperation in the way you leaned into every attack, urging Silverwing forward with a fury that matched his own. Aegon, though armored in golden scales and atop his mighty Sunfyre, was losing ground; he was not the rider you were, and Sunfyre, for all his pride, was no match for Silverwing’s speed and power.

“Hold fast, Sunfyre!” Aegon’s voice cut through the air, laced with both command and fear. But the king’s bravado was slipping. The once-proud Sunfyre shrieked in pain as Silverwing’s talons raked across his side, tearing through scales and flesh. Blood sprayed like rain, glistening in the sunlight before falling onto Criston’s soldiers below, causing them to scatter in panic.

Gwayne could feel his grip tightening on his sword as he watched, torn between the desire to cheer for your victory and the dread that this battle would consume you. Criston, standing nearby, had forgotten Gwayne entirely, his eyes alight with a mixture of awe and hatred. “If Sunfyre falls, so falls our king,” Criston muttered to himself, though Gwayne could hear the edge of panic in his voice.

But you would not give Sunfyre a moment of reprieve. Silverwing descended with fury, slamming into the golden beast with the force of a hurricane. The clash was brutal, teeth and claws tearing through scales, blood and fire mingling as the two dragons grappled. Sunfyre roared, a cry filled with both pain and rage, as Silverwing’s jaws clamped down on his wing.

“No!” Aegon’s scream echoed across the battlefield, his eyes wide with disbelief as Silverwing’s powerful muscles twisted and tore, shredding Sunfyre’s wing almost completely from its body. The golden dragon thrashed wildly, his flight faltering as the wing dangled uselessly by a thread of sinew and bone.

Gwayne’s breath caught in his throat, torn between elation and horror. You were winning, but at what cost? He knew what was coming next. Vhagar, that ancient beast of war, had been waiting for this moment. With a bellow that shook the very ground, the monstrous she-dragon descended like a nightmare from the skies, her jaws wide and hungry.

“Look out!” Gwayne shouted, knowing full well you couldn’t hear him from so far below. His heart thundered in his chest as Vhagar slammed into both Silverwing and Sunfyre with the force of a landslide. The three dragons collided in a tangle of limbs, scales, and teeth, a storm of rage and destruction. The impact was so fierce that Gwayne felt the ground shudder beneath him.

“No! No, no, no…” Gwayne whispered, his voice cracking as he watched the entangled dragons plummet toward the earth. You and Aegon were mere shadows against the backdrop of fire and smoke, barely visible as the dragons twisted and fell in a deadly spiral. Criston’s soldiers, caught between the descending juggernauts and their own fear, broke ranks, fleeing in every direction as the ground rushed up to meet the falling beasts.

Gwayne felt a cold dread settle in his bones as he watched you, desperately holding onto Silverwing’s saddle as the world blurred around you. You clung on with a ferocity that spoke to your will to survive, but against Vhagar’s ancient fury and Sunfyre’s desperate thrashing, even the mighty Silverwing was struggling.

Criston’s eyes were wild as he watched the battle unfold, his voice a harsh whisper of disbelief. “Vhagar will end it… she must end it…”

But Gwayne wasn’t watching Vhagar anymore. He was watching you. You were still fighting, still urging Silverwing to fight back, but the odds were overwhelming. Sunfyre’s golden scales were slick with blood, his roars more pitiful now as he struggled to right himself in the air. Silverwing’s wings beat furiously, trying to break free from Vhagar’s crushing grip, but the elder dragon’s jaws clamped down on Silverwing’s neck, dragging all three dragons toward the ground with terrifying speed.

The earth shook as the three dragons smashed into the battlefield, the impact sending up a cloud of dirt and debris. The sound was deafening—a sickening crunch of bone and screech of metal as the dragons collided with the earth. Gwayne’s heart dropped into his stomach, his eyes searching desperately through the smoke and dust for any sign of you.

“No…” he whispered, stumbling forward as if he could somehow reach you, somehow pull you from the wreckage of dragons and death. But even from here, he could see the carnage—Silverwing’s body twisted and battered, Sunfyre writhing in agony, and Vhagar looming above them all, a monstrous shadow of death.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell silent, every eye fixed on the wreckage of the fallen dragons. Gwayne’s breath was ragged, his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of you amidst the chaos. The dust began to settle, revealing broken bodies, shattered armor, and the mangled forms of the dragons.

And then he saw you—barely visible, still moving. You crawled from beneath Silverwing’s wing, blood streaking your face, your expression fierce even in the face of such overwhelming odds. Gwayne’s heart leaped into his throat. You were alive. Against all the odds, you had survived the fall.

But the battle was far from over. Vhagar’s malevolent eyes fixed on you, a deep rumble echoing from her throat as she prepared to finish what she had started. Aegon, still clinging to the last shreds of his pride, shouted commands to Sunfyre, but the once-majestic dragon was crippled, struggling even to rise.

Gwayne turned to Criston, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Do something! Call them off—she’ll be slaughtered!”

But Criston’s eyes were cold, devoid of mercy. “It’s too late, Hightower. She made her choice.”

Before Gwayne could respond, a deafening roar split the air as Vhagar reared back, ready to unleash a final torrent of fire upon you and Silverwing. Gwayne’s breath caught, knowing he was powerless to stop what was coming. All he could do was watch in helpless horror as the monstrous she-dragon prepared to strike.

But in those last moments, your eyes locked onto his. Even from across the battlefield, Gwayne saw the fire in your gaze—the unyielding determination, the refusal to surrender, even in the face of certain death. It was a look that would be seared into his memory forever.

And as Vhagar’s jaws parted, ready to unleash death upon the field, Gwayne did the only thing he could—he prayed. For you, for Silverwing, and for the love that had been forged in the fires of war.

It felt like time itself had slowed, the moments stretching into agonizing eternity. His breath hitched as the flames began to build in Vhagar’s throat, the light of impending destruction flickering in her maw. It would be over in seconds—everything would be lost.

But then, with a burst of speed that took even Gwayne by surprise, Silverwing jolted forward, her wings beating with desperate strength. As Vhagar’s jaws parted to unleash her fiery death, Silverwing struck. The smaller, silvery dragon lunged at Vhagar’s exposed throat, her teeth sinking into the tender scales. Her bite was unrelenting, fueled by both fury and the need to protect you. Vhagar’s flame sputtered out in a roar of agony, the ancient beast thrashing wildly as she tried to shake off the determined Silverwing.

Gwayne’s eyes widened in awe and terror. Silverwing’s tail snapped like a whip, striking Vhagar’s head with a force that reverberated across the battlefield. The blow landed squarely on Vhagar’s eye, the sound of bone and scale cracking sickeningly loud. The she-dragon’s roar of pain was a monstrous, guttural cry that seemed to shake the heavens. Even Aemond, usually so composed in battle, shouted in fury and alarm, yanking hard on the reins to regain control of his wounded dragon.

Gwayne knew he had only moments to act. Blood was streaming down your face, and even from a distance, he could see the exhaustion and pain etched into your features. You laid on the ground, barely holding on to life as Silverwing thrashed against Vhagar’s deadly strength. It was a miracle you had survived this long, but that miracle was on the brink of shattering. Gwayne’s decision was made in an instant, despite the searing pain in his side and the chaos around him.

Nearby, a riderless horse whinnied in terror, its eyes rolling as it tried to flee the madness. Gwayne gritted his teeth, limping toward the panicked creature. “Easy, girl,” he rasped, wincing with every step. The horse reared, wild with fear, but Gwayne moved with surprising swiftness, grasping the reins and swinging himself into the saddle with a grunt of pain. Blood stained his tunic from his earlier wound, but he forced himself to push through it. There was no time to dwell on it—not when you were up there, fighting for your life.

“Where are you going, you fool?!” Criston’s voice rang out behind him, filled with fury. “You’ll die, Hightower! Come back!”

But Gwayne was deaf to Criston’s commands. He spurred the horse forward, urging it toward the burning wreckage of dragons, toward you. The horse resisted at first, terrified by the scent of blood and fire, but Gwayne was relentless, guiding it with strong hands and determined resolve. The animal finally obeyed, its hooves pounding against the earth as it charged through the smoke and debris.

Criston cursed behind him, and Gwayne heard the clatter of armor as the Lord Commander sprinted after him, but Gwayne didn’t care. All that mattered was reaching you.

Above, the struggle between Silverwing and Vhagar intensified. Aemond’s curses mingled with the roars of his dragon as he tried to force Vhagar to tear herself free, but Silverwing was like a vice, her jaws locked onto Vhagar’s throat. The she-dragon’s great wings buffeted the air, but even Vhagar, with all her size and strength, was struggling against the tenacity of her smaller opponent. Silverwing’s wings were shredded, her silvery scales bloodied, but she refused to let go. She was holding on not just for herself, but for you.

“Y/N!” Gwayne’s shout cut through the chaos as he neared the spot where you lay half-alive below Silverwing’s wing. He could see that you were barely conscious, your grip weak on your sword as you fought to stay awake. Desperation fueled his every move as he urged the horse closer, reaching out to you. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

Through the haze of pain, you blinked up at him, your eyes unfocused. “Gwayne?” Your voice was faint, tinged with disbelief. “You… you shouldn’t be here…”

“I’m not leaving you!” Gwayne snapped, his voice rough with emotion. With a final burst of strength, he dismounted down beside you, reaching for your arm. The moment his hand grasped yours, you seemed to come back to life, your eyes clearing just enough to recognize him fully.

“Gwayne… you need to run,” you gasped, wincing as another jolt of pain coursed through you. “She’s going to kill us all…”

“Not today,” he vowed, pulling up with him and onto his horse. You were light in his arms, weakened from battle and injury, but there was still a flicker of the fierce spirit he had always admired in you. “I’ll get you out of here, I swear it.”

Criston’s voice was closer now, filled with anger. “Hightower, you’ll be executed for this!” he roared, but Gwayne didn’t even spare him a glance. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal surged forward, carrying you both away from the hellish scene behind you.

As the horse galloped across the field, Gwayne glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the moment when Silverwing’s strength finally gave out. Vhagar’s claws found purchase, tearing deep into Silverwing’s side, and with a heart-wrenching cry, the silver dragon was forced to release her grip. Vhagar reared up, triumphant and bloodied, but the cost of the battle was clear—her eye was ruined, her scales cracked and bleeding. Silverwing collapsed onto the battlefield, her wings crumpling beneath her, but even then, she snarled defiantly, refusing to bow.

But there was no more fight left in her. Gwayne’s heart broke as he watched the light fade from Silverwing’s eyes, her body slumping in exhaustion. Aemond’s laughter echoed through the sky, dark and cruel, as he urged Vhagar to take the final blow. But before Vhagar could finish her fallen opponent, Gwayne’s eyes caught the movement of Criston as he halted his pursuit.

“Cole!” Aegon’s voice was a ragged gasp, filled with pain and panic. The king lay on the battlefield, unmoving, his once-golden armor scorched and twisted from the flames. His face was barely recognizable, the flesh blistered and raw, his body wracked with agony. Criston’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what had happened—their king was grievously injured, possibly dying. All thoughts of pursuing Gwayne and you evaporated as Criston sprinted toward Aegon, screaming orders for a healer.

Gwayne tightened his hold on you as the horse raced away from the carnage, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. You clung to him weakly, your breath shallow, your strength fading fast. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he urged, his voice trembling with barely contained desperation. “Just hold on a little longer. We’ll find safety. I won’t let you die.”

Your eyes fluttered, and for a brief moment, you leaned your head against his chest, your voice a faint whisper. “You saved me… again…”

Gwayne’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to spill over. “And I’ll keep saving you, no matter what it costs,” he promised, pressing a fierce kiss to your temple as the wind whipped through your hair. “I’m not losing you. Not today, not ever.”

Behind them, the battle raged on, but for Gwayne, the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms and the fragile hope that somehow, despite everything, they would both live to see another day.

[niko-sasaki-dbd]

Honestly, the ghosts can feel other ghosts theory is very well supported, and I would like to share some proof shown during the season.

In episode 1, Charles clearly felt the other ghost (the WWI soldier, Wilfred) strangling him, he also got his face covered in that black liquid after he took the cursed mask off his face.

If ghosts could be able to play the same rules with other ghosts as they do with the living, Charles could have chosen to simply pass through Wilfred and seize the knife. However, he was unable to do so.

Also, during Episode 3, when that ghost's head exploded, Charles and Edwin were covered with the pieces of his ghostly brain, so I guess, fluids are other things that have their own rules when we talk about ghost-to-ghost interaction.

Sure these are not the prettiest of examples, but they support my point just fine. And I guess, it's good information for when you're writing... All sorts of fanfiction.

[radiance1]

Apparently, Shazam was friends with a dragon.

No one, not even the core members, knew of this. But that fact was prominently displayed when they were fighting off an invasion.

One lead by the apparent Ghost King, who was known for his strength and tyranny, who declared war on humanity after having been summoned by cultists. His ghostly army being fought off for days on end, being lead by a general known as the Fright Knight, before he himself, decided to grace the battlefield with his presence.

Superman, Wonder Woman, Shazam, Zatanna. Every heavy hitter they could spare was fighting against the Ghost King, the Fright Knight being fought against by Batman, Green Lantern, Constantine with the Flash keeping mostly to fending off the giant army along with various other heroes.

It was a tough fight, fighting tooth and nail to not give an inch of ground.

Until, from a portal came a large eastern dragon with glowing green eyes, glowing white scales and mane that looked Majestic as it did deadly. The heroes weren't optimistic enough to think it was help, not for them, but rather for the invading force.

Of course, such they were surprised when instead of fighting any of them, the being instead rammed its body straight into the Ghost King, knocking him back and releasing Shazam from his grip, and all the way from across the battlefield did he stare at the Fright Knight, and glared.

The Fright Knight stood down.

The Ghost King got up and shrugged off the attack, running a hand through his hair as he stared as the dragon was hovering around Shazam rather protectively and, with a simple raise of his hand, the entire army ceased their attack.

The dragon seemed to shift, long body shortening as he transformed into a more humanish form, tail and horns still present, with a crown floating above his head, he crossed his arms and stared down the Ghost King who, for his credit, simply stared back.

The stare went on for a while, the air seemingly more awkward rather than tense. Then, the draconic humanoid grabbed onto the nearby Shazam, various heroes tensing, before placing the man in front of him, putting his chin down on his head, and then starts yelling at the King for waging war on humanity just because he made a human friend.

The Ghost King, who just a few minutes ago was waging war on humanity, seemed more of a tired father, rather than the mad tyrant raging on the battlefield. He just stayed silent, taking all of the yelling as if this was the usual before, as the (apparent) prince was catching his breath, he stated his reasoning rather calmly.

He just wanted to test and accurately gauge the strength of the Champion of Magic, stating that only the strongest would have the right to stand alongside his son.

The Prince immediately called bullshit.

And the Ghost King agreed, he really did just want to wage war, though he wished it would have lasted longer, the mortal warriors (and Demi-goddess) proved themselves to be quite the challenging foes.

A few minutes later, the Ghost King was leaving, calling off the war and sending his soldiers back to the zone. Before the king himself left, however, he directed a thumbs up at all those who fought him in direct combat, then left, the Fright Knight and Batman were in a stare off, both silent and instead seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes than words.

Then they grunted at each other, nodded, and the fright Knight left.

In the League room, the Ghost Prince was apologizing for the behavior of his father, more prominently to Shazam the most.

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 30: Freeuse - Winter Soldier

Summary: He was your patient. You were in charge of making sure all of his needs were met, no matter what they were.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, non-consensual elements, dubious content, freeuse, discussion of injuries, violence, masturbation, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, stalking (kinda), possessive

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

He was your priority. Hydra had recruited you with the hopes of creating an experiment to see if anyone could be trained to look after the assassin frozen in a Cyrogentic state. You were trained and kept underground to be the lead carer and doctor for the Winter Soldier. He was yours to look after, physically and mentally. After each mission you sent him on, he’d return and give you the reports. Most importantly, you were always the first face he’d see before and after being on the ice.

The Soldier would answer to you and Alexander Pierce, but even that was touchy sometimes as he would look to you before answering Pierces’ questions as if he was asking for permission to talk. 

What’s more, is that you knew who he was outside of his assassin's status. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, born in 1917, was the best friend to the one and only Captain America, Steve Rogers, who was currently alive, having been found in the ice and unbeknown to him, his best friend was also alive with similar super solider serum pumping through his veins. Steve was Bucky’s potential saviour; one day, you hoped to be there when this could become a reality; however, currently, you were watched so closely by everyone in Hydra that you’d not even been able to contemplate a plan as to how to break him out. Until then, he was your priority, keeping him out of harm's way as much as possible.

Alexander Pierce had given you strict instructions to adhere to every single need that may affect or alter the soldier's performance as the ghostly assassin. At first, you just assumed it was to feed him, wash, cut his hair, make sure he was healthy and metal arm was working to its best ability. But the basic human need for the Winter Soldier ran deeper than that, causing your role as his doctor and carer to be blurred and something more developed.

The longer he was out of the ice, the more you would notice his increasing frustrations that couldn’t be erased with a simple afternoon in the gym or sparring with other guards. There were even days when no one could calm him down, his aggression so high that he had to be sedated if you were not available to talk to him.

For example, there was once a day when you were actually off of the unit, in your new flat, having just been granted the allowance to live there when Rumlow came knocking on your door. He only gave you the courtesy of putting on your shoes before gripping your upper arm and dragging you to the office.

When you arrived, the rooms were in disarray. Equipment smashed, blood and unconscious bodies trying to be aided too. It was a mess, and you were more nearly barging down the door to get to him, shouting for the guards to stand down and leave him to you. Yes, he was a highly trained assassin, but with the trust he held in you, there was no way he would intentionally harm you.

The underground room had no windows, which you were thankful for as they would have been destroyed in his rampage. You were only dressed in your joggers and a vest top, trainers already marked with red streaks from the puddles you’d walked through. It felt like your heart would escape your mouth with how erratic it was pounding in your chest as you tried to take in his appearance.

The shirt he had previously been wearing was now ripped to shreds on the floor. The tactical trousers had tears throughout but still seemed to be held together enough that he was indecent, and combat boots that gleamed with smudges where he’d been kicking objects and people. Each of his knuckles were busted in their own way. The flesh hand was cut, and the metal fist was red with other people's blood.

You’d not seen him become this erratic since he’d been out of his cryogenic state for too long, and his memories began to return to him as he questioned his entire existence. Whereas for this example, he’d only been defrosted for several days and shouldn’t have had any cognitive issues.

Stepping closer with your hands raised to show you meant no threat, you asked in a clear, concise voice, “Soldier? Where is the threat?”

His height seemed to tower over yours, more so than usual, as he turned his deathly glare towards you. The hulking muscles of his shoulders heaved with each breath he took as if he was out of breath, which was a rare occasion as he could run for miles and continue to breathe steadily, unaffected by the strenuous exercise. Your question was supposed to help identify what his issue was, hoping he’d find you being there to create a safe space for him, but the angry charge of his massive body had you flinching back in shock.

The warm hand of his wrapped around your throat, using the momentum of his steps to push you back up against the wall. Your hands remained up, even though you were itching to tear at his wrist to relieve some pressure. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough that you were struggling to breathe, but it was still uncomfortable and unnerving.

Your mind was working on overdrive, trying to think of a way to ease the stress he was going through. Your eyes searched over his body, starting with his head and face, but there were only minor scratches and grazes from the fights. Lower your eyes explore his arms and chest until they halted, seeing something that had never been through your consideration.

His tactical pants were tented, showing the outline of his hard-on, raging just as violently as the blue of his eyes. Was this the issue of his anger? The soldier shifted his stance, hand twitching towards his crotch like he was going to move himself to be more comfortable, but stopped as he watched you closely.

Alexander Pierce had once told you that whatever the Soldier wanted or needed, you were to give it to him to ensure that he was performing to his best abilities. You cursed to yourself quietly, unsure if this was even plausible or right to do. Of course, it wasn’t right to do. He was a prisoner in his own body, but you were his doctor, and you had a job to do.

“It’s okay. I know what will help you. I’ll show you how to get rid of the pain; I won’t touch you, I promise”.

From there, you were able to explain anatomy, the ache throbbing through his abdomen and how he could relieve himself. He did. Right there in front of you, his pants by his knees and cock in hand until he came on your shoes.

You didn’t so much as blink or flinch at the action. He didn’t understand that it wasn't appropriate to cum on someone's shoes or to masturbate in a somewhat public scenario. It calmed him down enough that you could push him back onto a chair and fix the injuries that were already mostly healed.

These situations only continued to escalate, which occurred more often than not. However, the Winter Soldier only touched himself when you were around, and you were unsure if it was because you made him feel safe or for other reasons that Rumlow liked to hiss in your ear, saying that the deadly assassin had a crush on his favourite doctor.

You blew it off as gossip and nasty rumours, unprofessional at most.

This only lasted for a few months before you noticed the changes in the Soldier, and it all came to a head one night as he turned up at your apartment after a mission. You hadn’t even told him your address, and he wasn’t due back from the mission for another 24 hours, but there he was, at the end of the bed, having snuck through the window as you were halfway through having some intimate time yourself.

Your fingers were between your legs, eyes closed, and your head tipped back, not covering your moans as you didn’t think you’d need to as you were living by yourself. The assassin watched, confusion causing his brows to furrow, head tilted to the side as his fists clenched. 

The look on your face was one he’d never seen before, and he noticed the anatomy was different to his. Of course, he was aware that not everyone had the same genitals as his, but it hadn’t crossed his mind that it could be touched like this.

The only time you were aware of his presence was when the bed dipped, your eyes snapping open and legs closing as you released an almighty scream that caused the Soldier to flinch.

“Mine”, he muttered under his breath, grabbing your ankle and dragging you closer.

“What? Soldier, what are you doing here? When did you- please stop” he paused his attempts to drag you closer as he was half crawling over your body. You were trying to remain calm, but he was acting so possessive, and why was he even here? How did he get in?

“Mine”, he repeated above you again, eyes trained between your legs.

You were at a loss for words, feeling both confused and safe simultaneously, even with someone as dangerous as this. The night was one that definitely crossed the line for professionalism.

The Winter Soldier was so interested in your masturbation and different genitals that he practically begged you to continue, shouting mine and gazing at your intimate area until you continued.

You came, and then the Soldier unbuckled his belt and ejaculated over your stomach, and this was the turning point of the relationship. Your job now seemed to be a half doctor, half a sexual release. Masturbation escalated into hands in underwear until there was no point holding back the restraint, and the two of you were fucking.

It was challenging to wrap your head around, especially when the two of you were in the work environment, but if it was what he wanted and needed that you were more than happy to be face pushed into the wall, trousers and underwear by your ankles and cock shoving so far into your cunt that you saw stars.

The most significant issue was that, even though none of the workers commented on it, they all knew the sex was occurring. Mainly because the Winter Soldier didn’t seem to understand that this was supposed to be something that was for ‘behind closed doors’ and out of view of the guards and other doctors. To him, if he was to push you over the table and whisper “mine”, then this was enough warning that he wanted to fuck, even if you were unfathomably embarrassed that your coworkers had to watch you coming undone to the man they were all looking after.

The worst time had to have been when Alexander Pierce came strolling into the ‘jail’ they kept the Soldier in during his downtime. Multiple guards were surrounding him, and three doctors in lab coats were working tirelessly around the room. You’d been in there for hours. Warm, tired and ready to eat whatever take-out you could encounter on the drive home later that night.

With Pierces’ presence, however, your posture straightened, and you tried to remain as professional as possible. This was a feat easier said than done as The Soldier eyed you from across the room, staring with his unblinking glare. Eventually, he pushed past Pierce, the guards all raising their guns expecting a fight, but there was none to have as the metal fingers of his specially made hand eased into the front of your work trousers, plain underwear and pushed into your cunt.

“What are you doing?! Now is not the time and place- Ah fuck!”. There was nothing other than a hand over your mouth that could have stopped the moan pitching from your lips as his thumb circled your clit. You’d not been at all aroused, but he had learned enough about your body to know the exact way to stimulate your bundle of nerves and curl his fingers inside of you to stroke that beautiful spot that had you whimpering without any restraint.

As he pleasured you in front of all your colleagues, there was nothing you could do but painfully grip on to his metal forearm. He didn’t even smile or mutter a single word as he made you orgasm with a knee-buckling euphoria. It seemed he was just in the mood to hear your whines as he turned around and sat back in front of Pierce, who was looking between the two of you.

“It seems things have changed through here. I’m glad you have been able to … satisfy the Asset by any means necessary”.

You tried not to visibly cringe with the way he had worded it as you tried to straighten your clothes and continue with the work you had been completing before. Nothing further was thankfully said as he was given his next mission, and you were left to continue working for a further three hours with underwear that was utterly soaked due to his wandering fingers.

[p-taryn-dactyl]

I saw you were taking Ambessa request so I've had something in mind for weeks now because I just love that milf. Sorry for the bad spelling and grammar.

Ambessa x priestess! Reader from a country she helped conquer. The country is run by the priestesses so when the reader is brought to Ambessa with the other priestesses Ambessa finds the reader interesting because she's the only one not scared.

This can a series of you want it to beI've asked so many people and they never end up doing it or they go inactive🥲

a/n: hi! i really like this prompt and hopefully i did it justice 🫶🏻 if y'all want this to be a series it can be! also, this is for all requests, if you want 🌶️ plz mention it in request bc i feel weird just adding it word count: 1.7k warning(s): i mean ambessa is not exactly the best person however she's hot; mentions of blood and battle; suggestiveness; use of y/n; manipulation? tag(s): @thesevi0lentdelights @sevyscoven

all things end

The halls you once danced through as a child were now stained with blood, smeared with the resistance of your people. Noxian soldiers formed a wall around you and your fellow priestesses as you were paraded through the halls of the castle, the survivors of the Noxian invasion, desperate for a glimpse of their leaders, formed a crowd. The soldiers pushed through the people, their skin stained with blood and their weapons drawn. Your kingdom wasn't one of war, your people unfamiliar with the craft of violence. To Noxus, you were soft, a country pliable enough to shape in their vision. You knew where the soldiers were taking you, the path one you had walked every morning since becoming a Priestess of Zhritsa. The center of the castle, where you would go to do your morning prayers, to feel the sun through the stained glass window on the ceiling, to hear the requests your people would bring to you. It was the hub of your government, the place where decisions happened.

Now it was where Ambessa Medarda waited.

Following Zhritsan custom, you and your fellow Priestesses wore white veils of mourning, the pure fabric growing dirty as you dragged your feet towards what you assumed was death. A mask of marble weighed heavy on your face, grounding you to reality. In one last act of defiance, you had convinced your fellow priestesses to follow you in donning your ceremonial crowns, sending the message of being the true rulers of Zhritsa. The attire of the Priestesses of Zhritsa was rumored to have scared off countless conquerors, the ghostly movements of the veils and the emotionless masks where only the eyes could be seen were now your only hope in making the Noxian invaders leave.

Suddenly, the soldiers stopped, their spears hitting the ground rhythmically as they parted, revealing Ambessa sitting upon the middle throne, her posture comanding and confident. Upon seeing all of you, you noticed an unsettled expression flash through Ambessa's eyes before it was replaced by the stare of the Wolf. She stood, waving her hand through the air.

"Lift your veils and remove your masks, I belive I am owed the faces of the former rulers of this...quaint kingdom."

Your resolve grew stronger as you lifted your veil, your hands steady as you removed your mask, your eyes glaring straight ahead at the warmonger. Your fellow Priestesses, however, shook with fear as their veils were raised and their masks removed. One of your sisters dropped her mask, the shattering of the marble echoing throughout the chamber. Noxian soldiers moved forward as if her clumsiness was an attack, you moved just as quick, standing in front of her, your eyes daring the soldiers to get closer as your Sister picked up the shards of her mask with shaking hands. Ambessa watched you with careful precision, making her way down the steps of the throne, her steps surprisingly quiet. The soldiers stood down as she grew closer, your defiant gaze now settled on her. She smirked lightly, removing her war mask, raising an eyebrow.

"There. Now we can all see each other." Her eyes held a type of humor that didn't amuse you. You didn't ignore the way blood was splattered across her towering form, reminding you of the countless lives of your people she slaughtered to get where she is. Ambessa grew closer to you, her eyes analysing you. Your eyes never left hers, willing to die in one last act of resistance for your country. The Noxian soldiers had stripped you of any weapons, even the ceremonial knives with blunt edges. However, in your stance in front of your Sister, you, as stealthily as possible, had picked up one of the shards of the broken mask. You lunged forward, the pathetic excuse of a weapon in your hand, aiming for her throat. Like it was a simple game, Ambessa maneuvered expertly, grapping your wrist and twisting with just enough force that the piece of mask fell from your hand where she kicked it away. Her grip on your wrist was firm, yet not painful as she pulled you close to her. You had to look up to see her face, her expression one of withheld laughter.

"She'll come with me. Take the others away."

The soldiers acted immediately, grabbing your Sisters and pulling them out of the room, their cries sending daggers into your soul. You struggled against Ambessa's grip on your arm as she too started leaving the room.

Was this how you were to die? Alone and by the hands of Ambessa Medarda? Surely she was dragging you to certain death, as a wolf has no mercy. Yet as you were pulled through the familiar halls of the castle, you felt her grip grow softer. Soon it was as if you were holding hands with the woman who was covered in the blood of your people. She stopped in front of a familiar set of doors, your stomach dropping as you realized you now stood in front of your chambers. Ambessa turned to look at you, cocking her head slightly and raising an eyebrow. Her hand left your wrist, instead now taking its place on your lower back as she pushed you forward lightly.

"Open the doors, my Lady." Her voice held a mocking tone, yet you detected a hint of warmth, sending your mind spiralling in confusion. You wanted to defy her, stand your ground against letting her into your room, but your eyes fell on the sword hanging from Ambessa's hips. If you could prolong your life by even a few minutes, you would. Holding your head high, you twisted the handle, pushing the doors open, revealing your room. Ambessa stepped in first, looking around before walking over to the balcony, where you could see your kingdom in almost it's entirety. Cautiously, you went to stand next to the imposing woman, some of the fight drained from you as you imagined your Sisters being tortured under the Noxian soldiers hands. Was it because of your outburst that they were taken away?

In your thoughts, you had grasped the railing of your balcony, your eyes unfocused as your thoughts spiraled.

"Don't tell me you've lost that fire in your eyes." Ambessa's rich voice broke you from your spiral, her words causing you to spin around to face her, bringing the anger back to your face.

"Why?" You spit out, "Do you want to watch it die out as you kill me in my room?"

Ambessa almost looked taken aback, like she didn't expect the venom dripping from your words. Still, she carefully composed herself, moving so now she caged you in on the balcony with her muscular arms. Her eyes were glued to yours, making you unable to look away. There was a light smirk on her lips as she spoke.

"There it is. I have no interest in killing you, Y/N. You've caught my interest with your fire, your willingness to fight back even though," she interupted herself with a laugh before continuing, "there was no chance of you winning. I admire that." You stood frozen as her eyes examined your face. Being this close to the general, you felt your anger slip slightly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you realized just how intimidatingly beautiful she was. It bothered you, how someone who's committed such horrible acts could be one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen. Ambessa took a step back, her arms no longer caging you in and you felt annoyed at yourself for being disappointed.

"We're going to be here a while, my soldiers and I. I would rather not have to spill any more senseless blood," She walked back into your room, expecting you to follow her and you did, "You've shown strength while others reek of weakness. Know this, young one, this isn't an act of mercy. Keeping you alive keeps stronger enemies at bay." She sat on your bed, leaning forward on her knees and clasping her hands together as she continued to pierce you with her gaze. You didn't know where to go, a stranger in your own room. You just returned her gaze, once more holding up your chin as you responded.

"And what is the price for this act of 'non-mercy'?" You decided that if she was letting you live, you would at least be yourself, cocking your head to the side and raising an eyebrow. You also crossed your arms, a grounding position for you as Ambessa just smiled at your petulance. She beckoned you to stand in front of her, positioning you so you know stood in between her thighs. One of her heads took it's place on your waist while the other cupped your chin and held her face in place so you were now eye to eye. Her touch sent chills down your spine, a flash of anger going through you as how your body was reacting to your countries conqueror.

"Show me more of your fire, teach me more about Zhrista so that my protection isn't just at the surface. All I ask is loyalty and all your needs will be met."

All my needs? Your mind supplied unhelpfully, making you unintentionally blush as you pushed those thoughts away, though it was hard with how Ambessa's eyes were looking into yours, awaiting an answer. You still held contempt for the woman in front of you, however your mind thought through Ambessa's offer. Your kingdom was a beautiful one, yes, strong only in trade and exports, your military lacking in skills of war. Ambessa's presence, while slightly annoying, could help strengthen your people's safety. You thought about your fellow Sisters, your certainty of their deaths fading away as you continued to examine Ambessa's expression.

You came to a decision, one that would change the course of your life and the trajectory of your kingdom forever.

Boldly, you got as close to Ambessa as you could without being in her lap, reveling the slight surprise her eyes radiated. You felt her grip on your waist tighten as you nodded, silently giving your agreement.

If she wanted your fire, you would set her ablaze.

a/n: hi! i hope this wasn't awful, im still new to writing for arcane, let alone ambessa (love her so much, it's a concern). thank you for reading!!

[qbdatabase]

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[foggieststars]

if you're interested, can i request 15 for landoscar? just so curious to read your take on it and so delighted you're doing this!! 💕💕💕

15. sexual slavery

ok i got a bit carried away with this i will admit. in my defence i'm rereading an old fav fantasy series rn and well...... it all got a bit much.....

tw for like. non consent. dark themes. etc <33

-

The boy - Oscar, Jenson had told him, thrusting the chains into Lando's eager palm - doesn't look much like their usual captives. He's too pale, for a start. Most rebels that get brought in have tanned, weather-beaten skin, from a life spent tending the fields.

His hands are another tell. The skin on them is soft and callus-free, no scars to point to years spent on battlefields. Not a warrior, then. Interesting and disappointing in equal measure. Lando likes breaking soldiers most of all.

He doesn't speak to Lando, during the days that follow. Not entirely unexpected. The creatures the king keeps in his war camps are enough to turn even Lando's stomach, and their slaves spend most of their time carrying out their chores in a dazed, frightened silence. Still, they usually crack after a week at most, begging for their freedom, for Lando to put an end to their misery. He sells those ones off pretty sharpish, once they reach their breaking point.

Oscar's different. Lando gets the sense that he's not been scared into silence, so much as he is opting for silence. Lando can't have that. It betrays a wilfulness of spirit.

Lando's not an idiot. He knows he's only here as a favour from Lord Jenson to his father. He will remain on campaign for as long as Jenson's favour holds. The eagerness with which Jenson had welcomed Lando into his bed notwithstanding, Lando needs to prove his usefulness. He can't do that with errant slaves wandering around the camp, rage in their hearts and defiance in their eyes.

When Oscar drops a tray of crockery helping out in the kitchens one night, Lando seizes his chance. He has him strung up on the whipping post, five lashes for insubordination.

When he's cut down, Oscar's breathing is ragged and hitching, tears rolling silently down his face. When he looks Lando in the eyes, the rage in them is nearly unfathomable. Lando leaves him lying there in the grass, lets the other slaves bring him back to their quarters. They'll patch him up as best they can, with what little they have to offer. He'll be lucky if he doesn't die of infection. One less problem for Lando to deal with.

Later that night, undressing in Jenson's tent, Lando frowns at the flecks of dried blood on his boots. He'll have Oscar clean them, when he can walk again. Scrubbing his own blood off the supple leather might teach him a thing or two about pointless displays of resistance.

Oscar's even quieter after that, ducks his head low when Lando returns from scouting missions, goes about his chores in quiet, throbbing silence. Lando has him assigned to his own tent, so as to keep a closer eye on him. The lashing doesn't seem to have broken him, as Lando hoped it might. If anything, Oscar stands even straighter after it. Though maybe that's just to avoid tugging on the still-healing scar tissue.

Fortunately for Oscar, he's not the only slave Lando's assigned to look after. Following a particularly successful raid on a rebel camp in the north, the slave quarters are full to bursting. Like a fool, Lando lets it distract him. He breaks rebel after rebel on the whipping post, forgets to take note of Oscar's ghostly presence in his chambers.

Until, that is, one night. Jenson had been summoned to the king's tent after dinner, and shows no sign of returning soon. There's talk of rebels gathering under the banner of a boy king in the south, a pretender to his executed father's throne, in a kingdom which no longer exists. Lando won't be needed in Jenson's quarters tonight.

When he steps through the flaps of his tent, Lando catches Oscar in the act of rifling through the correspondence he keeps on his desk. Oscar straightens up coolly, pretending to be merely neatening the piles of letters on Lando’s desk. If Lando had been a mere moment later, he’d have thought nothing of it. But he’d clearly seen those slender hands clutched around a letter, affixed with the seal of the king’s hand. 

So that's what he is. It explains the pale skin, the lack of calluses. Not a warrior. A spy. 

“Find anything interesting in there?” Lando asks, his first words to Oscar. 

Oscar looks at him askance, continuing to neaten up the piles. 

Lando prowls closer, practically tasting fear in the air. “You’d have been better off examining the letters from Lord Sainz. The king’s hand has many eyes, but few that stretch as far south as Max Emelian’s territory. Supposed territory.” 

Oscar speaks, voice cracking with disuse. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

He’s got an odd accent, Lando thinks. From the very southern territories, perhaps?

“That is what you were doing, no?” Lando asks, tilting his head. He’s always been one for playing with his food. “Searching for information. About the pretender to the southern throne.” 

Oscar’s a good spy. His face betrays no emotion, other than the slight flare of his nostrils when Lando says the word pretender. 

“Yes, I think you would have found that much more interesting than whatever is in Lord Alonso’s letter. Though how you planned to smuggle it out, I don’t know. I do intend to find out.” 

Oscar’s mouth thins, likely as a result of the implied threat to his anonymous allies. Lando wonders who he’s working with. Other slaves, most definitely. But all of them, like Oscar, spend their days wrapped in chains. Their quarters are guarded by the king’s beasts. Someone else then, with money and power. A nobleman. 

Lando can see it now. The glory he’ll win, as the one to root out the rats in the camp. 

To do that, he needs information. Information he won’t be able to glean if Oscar does what Lando would do in his place. Find the nearest nobleman to offend, have his head removed from his shoulders. Anything to protect his powerful ally. 

“Or…” Lando offers, shrugging a careless shoulder. The very picture of a spoiled nobleman’s son. “There is another way.” 

Oscar’s eyebrows quirk up, betraying his interest.

Lando breathes out, slow and steady. “Kneel,” he says, and Oscar does. 

Slumping into the seat behind the desk, Lando undoes the ties of his breeches with a deft, practiced hand. He’s not had servants to dress him whilst on campaign, and with how in demand Jenson is, Lando’s had to learn to be pretty quick about getting naked. 

Pulling his cock out, Lando watches Oscar take it in. Quick, desperate little breaths, the only sign of Oscar’s clearly rising panic. 

“You know what to do with this, or do I need to show you?” Lando asks. 

Oscar’s eyes shut tight, and then open. His face empties of emotion as he shuffles closer, wraps his hand around Lando’s cock. It’s an effort not to groan at the stimulation. “I know what to do,” Oscar murmurs. Lando takes him in with assessing eyes. Pink lips, deep brown eyes, that mop of unruly hair. It’s no surprise that someone’s bent him over long before this. 

Oscar leans forward, prepared to take Lando’s cock into his mouth, when he’s stopped by the pricking of a knife at his throat. Lando smiles down at him lazily, turning the knife in a lazy motion. It makes the skin at the base of Oscar’s throat whiten. 

“No teeth,” Lando commands. “Or I’ll slit you throat to anus, and your little friend on the inside, too.” 

Oscar nods, breath warm and trembling as it hits the head of Lando’s cock. Lando pulls back just enough to let Oscar move without cutting himself open, but not so far as to let Oscar relax. It’s a struggle to maintain the position when Oscar swallows his cock to the base in one, smooth movement. 

Oh, yes. Oscar’s definitely done this before. 

Lando hitches his hips up, hits the tight ring at the base of Oscar’s throat, listens to him gag. Credit to him, Oscar takes a steadying breath through his nose, swallows around the intrusion in his throat. The wet heat is incredible. He wonders if Oscar would be so pliant on his hands and knees, too. If the warmth is in any way comparable. 

Oscar hollows his cheeks and swallows, taking Lando deeper, until Lando can see the bulge of his cockhead in Oscar’s throat. It can’t be comfortable, especially not with his collar of iron. He’s talented with his tongue, pulling back to press delicate little kitten licks to the head, pumping with his hand what his tongue can’t reach. 

“Harlot,” Lando hisses, at a particularly damning twist of Oscar’s wrist. Where had he learned to suck cock like this? Did the rebels pluck him from a brothel, decide his talents would be of more use elsewhere? 

Oscar glances up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. He doesn’t look quite so self-possessed anymore. In fact, there’s nothing except pure desperation shining in his eyes. Whoever it is that Oscar’s trying to protect, he clearly cares for them very much. Enough to debase himself like this. 

The chains between Oscar’s feet clank on the ground when he moves. It’s taking embarrassingly little time for him to bring Lando to the brink, that sinful tongue, the slick heat. It’s all too much, too fast. Unlike the other heirs, privileged enough to be chosen for the king’s campaign, Lando doesn’t get to slink off to brothels after the endless meetings are finished for the night. Jenson requires servicing, and he’s not much of one for reciprocal lovemaking. It’s the way of the world. Lando has no doubt that in twenty years, he’ll be doing much the same with his own ward, given to him for training and protection. He doubts he’ll stoop to what Oscar’s doing for him now. 

There are tears leaking down Oscar’s face by now. Lando wonders how much of it has to do with the physical discomfort. The tears are what does it for him, pushing him over the edge. Lando comes with a broken cry, something to be embarrassed about in front of a suitor. Lando doesn’t bother to pretend in front of Oscar. He likes the way Oscar shudders as he swallows the load, the way his eyes screw tightly shut, brows furrowing on his forehead. The little trembles of Oscar’s hands as he cups his own elbows, drawing his arms tight against his body, like he’s trying to protect himself.

“That’ll do for now,” Lando says, tucking himself away with careful, measured movements. 

Oscar, kneeling still, slumps slightly. Shoulders curling in on themselves, he wipes at his mouth with a desperate air. He doesn’t get it all on the first go around, pink tongue darting out to clean the rest of Lando’s come from his lips. 

The fierceness radiating off him, the rage in his eyes - it’s gone. It takes all Lando has not to preen with victory. 

He breaks them all eventually. 

“Have your belongings moved to my tent,” Lando informs him, revelling in the way Oscar’s shoulders stiffen. “It should give me a chance to keep an eye on you.” Keep him so busy bouncing on Lando’s cock he won’t have time to slink away for a secret rendezvous with his man on the inside - until Lando wants him to, that is. 

It’ll be easy. Plant just enough information in official-looking letters that Oscar gets desperate. Until he takes the first opportunity possible to meet with his informant, unaware that Lando will have arranged it all. Lando can catch them in the act, throw the traitor at the king’s feet, and be awarded a kingdom’s ransom for the privilege. And until then, he’ll keep Oscar by his side. 

Perhaps after that, even. 

[sonamytrash]

Early spring

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy, Levi Ackerman, Levi × reader, fem reader.

The morning mist swirled lazily through the training fields, clinging to the dewy grass and the stables like a ghostly veil. The morning drills were going smoothly, with the cadets executing their maneuvers with precision and discipline.

The rumor mill had been working overtime, spinning tales of how you had both met, how you had fallen in love in the underground, and how you had both managed to keep the relationship a secret all these years. Some claimed you both eloped, others that you'd run away from home. Despite what may or may not be true, one thing was certain: Your relationship was a popular topic amongst gossiping teens and bored soldiers of the scouting headquarters.

As you walked by the training grounds greeting the cadets politely, the group exchanged knowing glances, Armin knew they were all thinking the same thing. It was obvious that you were pregnant, and it was even clearer that their captain was the father. The news had been spreading through the headquarters like wildfire, and even though they knew it was a private matter, they couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and curiosity about it.

Your pregnant belly, rounder and fuller by the day, strained against the fabric of your uniform, betraying the secret that you were trying to keep. But for your part you seemed to be taking it all in your stride, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at all the attention but even still, a small smirk played at the corners of your lips now that the cat was out of the bag. And Levi, his expression was unreadable as usual. But there was a softness to his eyes when he looked at you that spoke volumes. It was clear that he was overjoyed at the news, even if he wasn't the sort to show it openly.

Sasha furrowed her brow. Based on her numerous siblings, she was no stranger to the topic of pregnancy and babies. "It's hard to say for sure," she paused thoughtfully. "but based on how she's been acting and how big her belly is getting, I'd guess she's at least four months along." Armin nodded in agreement, "Captain Levi has been even more protective and attentive towards y/n lately too."

Ymir spoke up, her voice tinged with amusement. "Well, boys and girls," she drawled, "I guess we all owe Ymir a drink for predicting this. I called it months ago that y/n would be knocked up by the end of the year."

There were a few snickers groans and chuckles around the group. Even though she was usually pretty outspoken, no one could deny that she was spot-on with this prediction.

As they continued to talk, the topic eventually turned to the future. Armin wondered how you and the Captain would balance your duties in the regiment with raising a child. Krista pointed out that the baby would probably be the cutest thing in the world once it was born. Mikasa agreed, adding that a baby was a wonderful thing. Even though there were still questions and concerns, there was an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation in the air.

Levi, always the picture of stoicism, suddenly appeared, snapping the group to attention. His eyes scanned the assembled group, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and commanding. "Keep your eyes on the target, keep your minds sharp, and keep up with the training."

The group remained uncharacteristically silent. His piercing gaze continued to sweep across their faces, his expression unreadable as ever. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke again. "Is there something that's distracting you?." They knew that he wouldn't address the elephant in the room unless he was asked. A hush fell over the group as Connie ventured the question. "... When's the baby due, captain?" There was a collective holding of breath while waiting for his answer. Fear behind their eyes at Connies stupid question that was bound to get them assigned the worst chores for the rest of the month. Levi didn't seem fazed by the question in the slightest, and his expression remained unreadable. "We're not entirely sure yet, but we're thinking early spring." Levi calmly replied, and if they weren't mistaken, a hint of affection was present in his voice. The cadets exchanged glances again, a mixture of joy, surprise, and relief.

He paused, then added, "But for now, focus on training, brats."

They quickly resumed their training. And through the remainder of the day, whispers continued to circulate about the impending arrival of yours and the Captains baby. Some speculated about the baby's gender, while others discussed the potential names they thought would suit.

Later that day, you knock softly on the captains office door, waiting for permission to enter. Once you do, Levi looks up from his desk, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips upon seeing you. "You handled that well, love," you tell him, your voice quiet but sincere.

"Well, we've certainly got everyone talking," he said, gesturing for you to come over. You smiled playfully, taking a seat on his lap. "Well," you pause. "It's one thing to keep our relationship a secret from everyone, but it's another thing entirely to try to keep a pregnancy under wraps for nine months." You chuckle. "But we gave it a shot. I think four months is pretty impressive." Levi chuckles softly, reaching out to take your hand in his. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving your face, his other hand wrapping around your waist and resting gently on the bump beneath your uniform. "We'll have to try harder next time."