#The Final Glorious Evolution

[v1sexual]

the final glorious ovulation ,, or wtv tf he said

[imthataliensuperstar]

I’m ovulating so damn bad !!! I’m horny as fuck for Viktor rn. I need him to put me through the mattress or a black hole in space to reach The Final Glorious Orgasm / Ovulation or whatever he said.

[madcat-world]

The Final Glorious Evolution - AnatoFinnstark

[garfeee]

Viktor art nouveau poster anyone

[sweetflanfiction]

Assymetrical Symphony - Part 5

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of death.

A.N.: Next chapter will have Vik x Reader I promise. Thank you for your comments and reblogs and love and stuff!!! Gif for the headed from @arcanedaily. I have more parts ready, I just need to get them into the grammar checker and we are off! Also @th3stup1dcat and @22carolina08 good catch!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4

• ··········· • ············ •

The building Esther's, your mother's, trolley had pulled up to was not the home you had expected when she told you that was your destination. At some point you waited for it to turn towards the edge of Piltover, where the big manors were, but it took the opposite turn. Towards the high-end part of the city, where all of the affluent people lived.

As you rode the elevator up, the only thing that crossed your mind was that this was most definitely not the manor. It was the size of the manor, yes, but the penthouse was the polar opposite of your father’s mansion.

Your father loved his dark corners and soft glows; the tones of dark wood and gold were his favorites. The brightest room in the house was not even in the house. It was a greenhouse next to it that you had converted into an annex house for yourself, using the main glass part as a music room. His office? Long windows covered with thick, velvety curtains. Your child's bedroom? A purple pastel-colored nightmare that was a mix of musical instruments and more toys than you needed. As you grew, you begged your father for a brighter color scheme, but he vehemently denied it. The purple was chosen by your mother. 

The penthouse was all light and soft colors. From the white wood panel of the walls with soft gold foil details to the gray wooden floor, everything was light and airy. Where the manor's corridors were a maze of claustrophobic sharp corners that you loved to run around in, the penthouse was spacious and open. From the hall to the living and dining room, even the bathroom that you had been almost dragged into was big. The big tub near a window had taken 5 full minutes to fill.

The weird thing was: it felt like home. As soon as you stepped into the penthouse, the weight you felt on your shoulders cleared. It was safe; nothing could get you here. The smell of lavender and caramel had been almost familiar.

Once dressed and dried, you walked out into the massive living room where your mother was sitting reading the newspaper, the turntable playing a soft tune. She looked up at you and smiled softly at you, placing the paper down. 

“You look almost human, my dear.” She joked, and you chuckled. "Come, I must show you something before we both try to figure out what's happening."

She patted your arm affectionately and grabbed her coat, and the both of you made your way to her private trolley. In the elevator down, you had asked where your father was and how she knew you were not her child. But she smiled mysteriously, with a hint of sadness, and told you, 'You'll see.'

Looking at the black iron arch that stood high above your head, you began to fear what you'd actually see.

• ············ •

Piltover’s Rosebay Graveyard was a calm and quiet place. Some people found it ominous; others found it peaceful. To you, it was just a place you were obliged to go because your father made you. There were mausoleums on a higher part and some old gravesites with only a small slab to acknowledge who was there. Flowers and ribbons dotted the place, and you could hear the chimes in the distance. Seemed to be the same as on your side.

“You’ve been through this path before.” Your mother stated, and you nodded, noticing you had unconsciously started walking to what would be your mother's grave.

“I came to visit you often.” You said solemnly, having decided, as you had lain in the tub, to tell her everything.

“Funny… I came to do the same.” She stopped in front of two white headstones.

You didn't need to read the names; the two black-and-white photos were enough. 

“Oh… Oh no, please.” You whispered, falling to your knees. “Father…”

You felt your mother's hand on your shoulder as you wept, her thumb rubbing comforting circles on it.

“I’ll forget him.” You touched his photo, tears flowing in your eyes. “I can’t…forget him.”

“You never forget those you love,” Esther said, her voice cracking, as she knelt next to you.

“I forgot you!” you admitted, voice filled with guilt. “I didn’t want to! But one day…one day I didn’t think about you anymore; you were just a memory!”

“It’s alright, dear.” She consoled, placing her other hand on your cheek and turning your face towards her. “You never forget those lost. They're with you in the small things. In the way you talk and stand. In the way you arrange books on a bookshelf. In the way you love others. You don’t forget; you become those you love.”

You sniffled, feeling the tears and snot run down your face, and turned to her. She had also lost a child and a husband. You let grief and sadness take over and hugged her, feeling her arms move around you and hold you tight.

You both sobbed for your losses but also because you found each other.

• ············ •

You watched from under a tree as your mother sat near the graves for a while. She had asked for a little time to herself, and you had nodded and walked another familiar path.

The old oak tree had been planted on a flat grassy section of the graveyard, with a few benches around its thick trunk. People had taken it upon themselves to decorate the tree with little wind chimes. They had done so on your side, and you were happy when a small breeze passed through the leaves and the chimes tinkled in a soothing melody on this side.

You looked at the tree canopy from the stone bench you had sat in, hypnotized by the colorful chimes dangling there, until a tingling on your hand distracted you. Looking down at it, you realized the rune and hand were again glowing a bright blue. You smiled at the strange sensation, warm like a cup of tea in the winter. With a swift movement, you made a horizontal line with your hand, and like the first time, it looked like you had brushed some paint in the air.

Looking around to check if there was anyone else, you started making runes in the air, trying to get yourself familiarized with them.

Move. Music. Nudge. The rune glowed and shot up towards the chimes, sending a gust of wind that shingled the chimes.

Elevator. Music. Nudge. The rune glowed and disappeared, phasing out into smoke. 

You locked eyes with a particular chime that had a silver chain holding it together.

Unlock. Chime. Nudge. The rune shook, shined, and tore itself into 5 glowing dots. 

That was unexpected. For a second, you looked, wide-eyed, at the dots, waiting for something to happen. In the blink of an eye, the five stars shot in different directions. Three had flown low to the ground towards the main graveyard area. One rocketed towards the sky, and another quickly zapped around the tree trunk. A little tinkle was heard from that location.

Doing another once-over, you got up and walked towards the sound. A glass wind chime was broken on the ground, the rope cord weathered and frayed, and most of the colored glass had been shattered when it fell. Bending down to grab it, the blue light appeared before you could touch it; the blue wisp appeared and started to dance around the object. It took a few rounds of this weird little dance for you to realize what it was.

A rune. The little wisp of light kept doing the same rune over and over again.

Clearing your throat and looking around to make sure nobody was around, you made the rune in the air. And nudged. And nothing.

“Stop overcomplicating things,” one of your teachers had once told you. “That's your problem. It’s all easy and breezy in the beginning when it’s instinctive. But when you figure something out, it’s like you lock yourself into a little box of rules…do what comes naturally.”

Taking a deep breath, you shook your hand and cracked your neck. You look at the broken glass musical decoration.

Rune. Fix. Nudge. The rune glowed, moved, and separated into little ribbons of satiny light, surrounding the chime. 

It tightened around the frayed, and the damaged rope became whole again, with little tendrils of light blue keeping it together. The shattered and cracked glass still attached to the main iron structure was enclosed in the same healing ribbons, and when the ribbons tightened again, the cracks had been glued together with a blue shiny glue. 

You noticed the broken glass pieces that had scattered around the chime hadn’t magically grown back. It wasn’t fixed, because there was nothing to fix. 

Before you had any time to think more about it, Esther called out for you. The magical rune hand was still magically shining, so you shoved it into one of your jackets.

“Here!” You waved your nonmagical hand and saw her make her way to you. 

Mentioning the bench you previously occupied, the both of you sat down. She placed a hand on your thigh.

“How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Calmer.” You looked at the grass and took a deep breath. “I think you must have gathered by now I’m not your child.”

“I know. I don’t understand how—"

“I can explain.” You interrupted her.

She crossed her ankles and placed her hands on her skirt, looking at you, ready to hear what you had to say. 

You started with the rocket attack on your side and went from there to how hextech got corrupted and corrupted Viktor, turning him into the Herald, and how he wanted to make everyone like him, and how in the last second of you as yourself, you were bumped here.

Your mother drank in all of the information you gave her, asking questions, adding commentary, and being a very willing participant in the story. As you finished the story, you gave your mother a scared look, waiting for her reaction.

“It’s hard to believe I understand, but—”

“I’m a best-selling fantasy author, kid. That’s just a normal mid-week creative writing session." She winked at you, and relief washed over you. “So you went from a topsider, benefactor of science, to a soldier against a hive-minded group of robots, controlled by one of your former best friends.” 

“Yes…”

“And then! Some sort of..." she made a motion with her hands to the sky “Higher power head-butted you through time and space and made land here.”

“Yup...” You nodded.

“Mmm." She looked deep in thought. "Change a few names, add a little love triangle, give it a few plot twists, and you just wrote my next novel.”

You stared at her dumbfounded, the feeling of betrayal starting to bubble in your stomach. And then you saw the corners of her mouth go up into a smile. Esther looked at you, a mischievous look on her face, her hand coming into view rubbing the thumb and index finger together, the universal sign for money. She was teasing you. You snorted and burst out laughing, her laughter cascading out following yours.

“I haven’t laughed like that in a while.” You confessed, once you both managed to reel it in. You leaned your elbows into your knees and wiped a few tears from your eyes.

“You’re welcome.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, and you moved your neck to look at her. “You may not be my daughter, but you were someone’s daughter. Other me, and if...” she made the sky motion again, and you snorted again. “Made us find each other, then I like to think it’s because we were meant to be together. A childless mother and a motherless child? Seems like a match made in whatever space-time-jumping heaven there is.”

• ············ •

You found, after returning from the graveyard, that your mother had in fact not one but two housekeepers and a cook. They lived in the apartments below the penthouse and only came in when needed when there were visitors. Usually, the cook would make several meals, and she only had to warm them up.

According to her, she was good at two things in the kitchen: making desserts and burning the ceiling.

To prove her point, she started making probably the biggest caramel and vanilla pudding you’ve ever seen. And you’ve been to some parties in your days. Once the oven pinged, you both had sat at the kitchen table, devouring it.

“What did you do on your side of the space-time continuum?” She grinned at her joke, placing a spoonful of caramel sauce into her mouth.

“Oh! Follow me." You wiggled your eyebrows, grabbed another piece of the pudding, and walked toward the grand piano you had spotted in the living room.

You grabbed the books and the little succulent plant that were placed on top of the piano cover and lifted it with ease, repeating the motion on the fall that was covering the keys. You played some notes and figured it wasn’t all that out of tune.

“Wylla likes to keep it tuned.” Your mother said, approaching. “Not that she plays, but…”

“Wylla?”

“You’ll meet her soon enough.”

Sitting down in front of the ivory keys felt exactly like you felt when looking at your mother. Strange and familiar. You never thought that after what happened to Viktor, you would be able to sit down and play again. The concept of surviving the battle was not even present in your mind. But now that you were here, looking at the instrument you had first mastered, it felt right. 

Settling the pudding plate on top of the bench, you touched your fingers to the keys. You had asked your mother if she could let you borrow one of her gloves, lying to her that there was a scar there that brought bad memories. Lovingly, she had nodded and gave you a single black leather glove with a white trim.

(Patrick Pietschamm - Can you hear the music)

Your fingers moved almost on their own. The muscle memory of playing the notes on the piano comes instantly. At some point you closed your eyes, knowing the exact motion you had to make to hit a key. Your feet and hands moved in tandem, making a full melody out of what seemed to be simple motions.

Your hands flew over the ivories like you hadn't stopped playing.

You felt tears prickle your eyes, your nose becoming stuffy as you kept playing, pouring your frustrations and worries into the song. A release that you didn't remember feeling so…cathartic.

When the last notes were played, you got startled by your mother applauding. Much like your father did, but while he had been demure and subtle, your mother was wide-eyed and laughing.

“You’re a musician!” She pointed at something on the shelf. “Ah…take that, Frederick!”

You looked at the shelf, recognizing your father’s name, and saw a picture of the couple and a child smiling. 

“Well, he did encourage me more than anything to pursue it.”

“Good! Teach me!” She sat down next to you at the piano, looking at you earnestly. “I’ve had this thing for years now; I don’t even know how to play the scales. Go on, teach your old mother how to play the piano.”

You looked at her, blinking. You old mother. Your gaze softened looking at her face.

“I’m not that bad, I promise.” She joked fondly, placing a hand on top of the keys.

Smiling, you nodded.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @angelsukiipls @casey8522 @moons-lighttrail @buttermilktea11 @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty

[fushiguro-megloomy]

nah they knew what they were doing here-

[moofjam]

IS THAT VIKTOR ARCANE?? FROM THE HITSHOW ARCANE???

[eiikomae]

Cross the line

"Did I disappoint you?"

[novassketches]

Got into a drawing slump during summer..

I'm eternally grateful for Viktor to give me some art inspiration! (brainrot content to follow)

[going2hell4everythingbutbeingbi]

why are we not talking about vitkor's slutty little waist in this scene. what the hell.

[arcane-machine]

Jayce’s pupils are so dilated here when he’s hugging Viktor after he emerges from his arcane cocoon.

And then he realizes that he’s been hugging and nuzzling Vitkor for a bit too long and scrambles back and gives Viktor the excuse that he must be cold in order to wrap Viktor in his blanket.

[imthataliensuperstar]

I actually cried from how much I hated seeing Viktor going through so much misfortune and suffering in his life then it hurt even worse watching him die multiple times, but I want to know how the hell he looked so insanely hot as hell doing it?!??

[hannibal-the-bimbo-cannibal]

As someone in college for a STEM major, I’m in actual jayvik hell. I can’t study for finals without thinking about them every other second. Like how am I supposed to look through my evolution flash cards without thinking about the glorious evolution???

[squarecubetesseract]

✨arcane imagary✨

Viktor keeps the cog from when he and Jayce first figured out hextech

Eventually the cog becomes corrupted on one side and not on the other

When he is shot by Jayce (finalising their divorce) the cog falls with the corrupted side face up

showing that when he is shot Viktor loses his last hope in humanity and has crossed the line (wink wink nudge nudge) choosing the side of corruption and there is no going back from this point as he has finally decided to commit to his

Glorious evolution

[eiririnn]

Glorious sketch

[yamatolvr]