#Card Recovery Crack

[charliemwrites]

Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

[moonstruckme]

Hii! I love your fics so much and I was wonder if you could do a emt marauders fix where the reader gets a concussion? I just got another one and it’s really taken a toll on me. (Again, I love your work SO MUCH!! It’s so comforting!!)

Hi my sweetheart! I'm so sorry, I swear I highlighted emt marauders when I was writing this request but somehow along the way I seemed to forget that it was supposed to be the au, I hope this is still alright (I'm very down to do another for emt specifically if you would like)! And I really hope you're doing okay!! Concussions are so rough, I hope your recovery is going well <3

cw: concussion

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Sirius wakes to shushing sounds from down the hall. Bright sunlight has snuck in through the cracks in the blinds, laying itself down in slats across the bed. He’s laying nearly sideways with no one else to shove him away, one of his feet dangling off the side of the mattress and his head on the opposite pillow. 

He gets up though his body doesn’t want to, following the sound into the living room. The curtains are drawn closed here, too, though it’s light enough for Sirius to make you both out clearly, you sitting on the couch and Remus with your hands in his, speaking to you in a hushed voice while slow tears dribble off your chin. 

“Hey.” Sirius�� voice betrays his lethargy, but you don’t seem to notice. You look up with shiny eyes as he steps into the room. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

The answer takes time to come to you. Sirius isn’t sure if you’re searching for the words or if your thoughts are just evading you as they have been since you got hurt, but his heart twinges when your brows bunch in concentration. 

Remus only looks at you steadily. He’s been the most patient with you; Sirius and James both have the urge to guess at the ends to your sentences when you get stuck, but Remus only waits, letting you parse it out in your own time. 

“I’m sad. Frustrated,” you decide, though you look more glum than angry. You sniff. “I want to be better already.” 

Sirius nods in both understanding and sympathy, going to sit behind you on the couch. He knows Remus isn’t the most tactile, but it kills him to see you with your shoulders shaking and no arms wrapped around them. He’s quick to remedy this.

“We were playing cards,” Remus explains in his quiet way (a way Sirius has been trying to mimic to accommodate your sound sensitivity, though it doesn’t come easily to him), “and she just got a bit upset when she didn’t remember whether aces were high or low.” 

Sirius tsks, nosing at your cheek. “That’s common enough, darling. It can go either way.” 

“That’s what I said,” Remus tells him. His thumbs carve twin paths up the sides of your palms. “It hardly matters, I’m happy to play with them high or low.” 

“I just wish I knew like usual,” you say, though you already seem to be calming. Your voice has taken on that distant quality again. It still sounds like you, just a tad dazed, like when you first wake up in the mornings. 

Sirius rubs up and down your shoulder, pressing his lips to the side of your chin. He can’t imagine it’s comfortable, feeling so unlike yourself. Worse to know it’s not changing soon. You hit your head a few days ago, and it’ll probably be some time until you feel completely normal again. 

Sirius has been told he can be dramatic, but when you’d fallen he honestly thought for a second that you were dead, you were so still. In the pandemonium of sirens and doctors and waiting rooms that had followed, James and Remus each took a bit of time to process things, get their emotions in order, but Sirius has never been able to cry in public. When they finally got to take you home, he’d gotten in the shower and cried so hard he thought he’d throw up. He’s honestly not sure if he’s ever been so terrified in his life. After you got into bed that night he’d hugged you so hard you’d called him James, and your boyfriends had all laughed before they realized you weren’t joking. 

He and Remus hold you in silence for some time. None of you seem to mind. Sirius is still too sleepy to get bored, you’re presumably too concussed, and Remus is still Remus. He can look at the two of you all day and never need a diversion. 

The room seems to come alive when James gets home, not only because of his sparkling personality but also because he lets in a bunch of sunlight and a cacophony of street noise with him. 

“Hello, my loves,” he says, adjusting his volume halfway through the sentence. He shuts the door behind him with care, dropping his rugby bag onto the floor with far less. “How are we doing?” 

“I’m doing horrible,” Sirius says, though it’s obvious he was really only asking about you. “I haven’t had anything to eat yet today.” 

“You have just woken up,” Remus points out with a droll look, but James indulges him. 

He sets a big hand on Sirius’ head and kisses between his own fingers. He smells like dirt and sweat, gross on anyone else but hot when it’s him. James gives you the same treatment next, palm stroking down the back of your head protectively. 

“You alright, lovie?” he murmurs. 

You hum. “Why?” 

“Nothing.” His eyes slide to Sirius, a question in them. “You look as though you might’ve had a cry, that’s all.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Sirius assures him, giving you a firm squeeze. “We’re all good now, just very hungry and in need of someone to make sandwiches for lunch. Right, baby?” 

You nod amenably, but Remus fixes you with a curious look. 

“Are you hungry, dove?” he asks. 

You take some time to mull this over. Sirius bites the inside of his lip to restrain himself, and he can see James doing the same to his cheek. It’s a good thing that you’re taking such a thorough inventory of yourself, he supposes, but it’s agonizing to watch how much effort it takes you. After a while, you say, “I think so.” 

Remus nods. “Alright. We had a snack a bit ago, but if you’re hungry you should eat. I can make sandwiches,” he shoots Sirius a teasing look as he starts to stand, “since I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of those who’ve just got home from training.” 

“No, sit.” James urges Remus back down with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing fondly. “I’ve got it, I’m on an adrenaline roll right now anyway. Egg and cress all around?” 

“Yes, please,” Remus says. You echo a moment later. 

Sirius can’t seem to detach himself from you, which isn’t unusual but has been worse since your injury. He dots kisses along the edge of your jaw to amuse himself. 

“Are you feeling tired?” Remus asks you. “You haven’t had a nap yet today.” 

Sirius waits for the inevitable joke about your nursing home schedule, but it doesn’t come. You must not be feeling up to it. 

You shrug, mumbling, “I’m okay.” 

“Have a nap with me after lunch,” Sirius says. “I’m knackered, and I could use a cuddle buddy.” 

You make a confused humming sound. “Were you just asleep?” 

“I was,” he admits readily. “And it’ll be even better the second time around, with you there.” 

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

I read the beauty and beast fic absolutely adorable i was wondering if you did Sleeping beauty thats my personal favorite the modern twist is really cute idea to

I was thinking reader got hit with a sleeping quirk during a internship and nobody knows what to do but Bakugou secretly a romantic figures it out you can write whatever you feel

Thought it was something fun

Aww I absolutely loved writing this it was such a cute idea too well here it is…

“Only you can wake me up”

The mission was supposed to be routine. A villain with a tricky Quirk. An easy takedown.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the villain touched you.

And your body hit the ground like a dropped marionette.

⸻

“It’s a sleeping Quirk,” Recovery Girl said, her brows furrowed in concern. “But we don’t know the trigger to wake them. Could be emotional. Could be a time-based reset. Could be… something else.”

You were completely still. Not hurt. Just… frozen.

Breathing soft. Lips parted. Dreaming.

“Like a fairy tale,” Kaminari had said in a weak attempt at humor. “You know… Sleeping Beauty stuff.”

⸻

Bakugo didn’t laugh.

Didn’t speak much, either.

Just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight, staring at you like he was watching the world crack beneath his boots.

You were the only person who ever challenged him without screaming.

Who smiled when he snapped.

Who called him Katsuki with soft eyes like the word wasn’t dangerous.

Who never flinched when he was angry, only tilted your head and asked if he was okay.

And now—you were the one who wouldn’t talk.

Wouldn’t open your eyes.

Wouldn’t smile at him anymore.

⸻

They moved you to a dorm room. Safer. Quieter.

The others came and went, worried, leaving little trinkets or food or cards. But Bakugo? He stayed the longest. When no one was watching.

Sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded, trying not to look like he was breaking.

“You dumbass,” he muttered, voice thick. “Can’t believe you went down like that.”

You didn’t respond.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to… fix you.”

His voice cracked.

“I keep thinking you’re gonna open your eyes and call me an asshole.”

Silence.

He swallowed. His next words were barely a whisper.

“I miss you.”

He reached over, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

“You’re so damn annoying. Always laughing. Always looking at me like I’m more than I am.”

His hand lingered near your cheek. “But you’re mine to be annoyed by.”

He leaned closer.

“You hear me?” he whispered. “You’re mine.”

Then—

Without thinking, without breathing—

He kissed you.

A soft, trembling kiss. Nothing like the explosive boy everyone else knew.

Just lips against yours.

And for a heartbeat—everything was still.

Then—

You exhaled.

His eyes flew open as yours blinked back to life.

Your voice was hoarse, dazed. “…Katsuki?”

He was frozen.

You blinked at him. “Did you just kiss me?”

“I—” He stood up so fast he nearly tripped. “NO. I mean. Shut up. You were unconscious and—!”

You reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

You smiled, warm and teasing. “You totally kissed me.”

His face turned redder than his gauntlets. “You’re still delusional from the Quirk.”

You laughed—your real laugh—and his knees almost buckled.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked away, jaw clenched. “Yeah, whatever.”

You tugged on his sleeve. “Katsuki?”

“What?”

“You’re a good prince.”

He scowled. “Tch. I’m no prince.”

You tilted your head. “No? Then what are you?”

He leaned down, eyes dark and voice low. “I’m the dragon that burned down your castle and kissed you anyway.”

Your heart stuttered.

And then, in true Katsuki fashion—

“Don’t make me say it again.”

[queenendless]

😷🤒Sick Day(Adult!SatoSugu x Sick!Fem!Reader)🤒😷

A/N: Yep this is part of that SatoSugu Teacher AU alongside Moving Day and Nights.

Also, announcement. I have smut writing fatigue after just putting out one and I'm down with a cold right now. So that vampire AU gang bang piece is happening next month. I'm so sorry for this yall. Thanks though to everyone who commented on that and helped me decide.

But I will hopefully be posting a JJK Halloween piece to make up for it. A headcannon/ imagined scenario where the JJK cast celebrate Halloween with my ideal fave pairings in couples costumes and such in this what if AU. And yas it gonna be SatoSugu x Fem or GN reader, idk on that part yet.

All credit for JJK and its characters goes to the madman that is Gege.

* Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like, and follow instead.

I hope you enjoy!

Your throat feels raw.

Your nose feels stuffy.

And you kept coughing every few minutes.

You should have figured spotting a curse forming from a virus epidemic happening in the hotel across the street would pose a high ass risk of getting infected yourself.

But as a Window, it was your job, as life risking as it was.

The more people inside and around the building got infected, the Grade 4 grew closer to Grade 3. If it kept up, dozens upon hundreds would die.

"Ijichi-san. Disease curse. Transitioning from Grade 4 to Grade 3. Requesting sorcerer help here immediately." You struggled speaking over the phone as you kept coughing, dispatching the address to him, seeing the revolting curse grow in size as its toxic presence spilled, tripping as you tried keeping your distance.

Your head was pounding and you could barely focus as Ijichi-san panicked on his end.

"L/n-san!? L/N-SAN!"

In a moment of ailment, you dropped your phone, causing it to disconnect from the impact.

You were barely able to keep a grip on your phone or walk without faltering as you felt more drained with each passing moment. You blinked a lot as you tried staying alert, stumbling before collapsing against a parked empty vehicle on the street, sliding down to your bum just to rest your aching head against your knees, hugging your legs to your chest.

That curse's smogs began spreading down the streets, into traffic, and nearby occupied establishments.

Believing help wouldn't get here in time through the systematic process, you opted for your wild card, shakily picking up your now cracked screen device.

"Toru. Curse problem. Get here ASAP. Please." Texting the address in your feverish haste, you pressed send before curling in on yourself, welcoming sleep to rest your aching self.

In just under the next few minutes — more like moments — you felt a boom in the cursed energy atmosphere, that curse no longer being sensed. At last, it was done.

The shift from freezing metal to cozy soft fabric stirred you awake a bit. Along with the feel of solid warm arms draped around your shoulders and under your knees. Those big smooth hands squeezing your shoulder and your kneecap had you tugging weakly on the front of that top, pressing your face against your makeshift pillow, struggling to open your eyes as your hearing painted the picture for you in the meantime.

"A majority will spend weeks recuperating. The ones closest to the cause will spend months in the hospital at best. Still though, no casualties. Thank you for the help." High chances it was one of the many medics on site for post cleanup.

"You can thank the young woman here for that. She was the first responder, after all. I'll tend to her recovery myself. Sayonara." You know that voice right away, even when he was muffled, relaxing further in his hold.

"This cold isn't going away anytime soon. Too bad reversed cursed techniques don't make the common cold go away." Your half lidded eyes still had him swooning at how frail and precious you were in his arms.

You murmured, noticing him in his black long sleeved top, matching sweatpants, and face mask with the blindfold. "Blindfolded giant." That's when you realized a face mask was put on you as well, your muffled coughs hitting cloth.

You could already picture him beaming, grinning, as he laughed a bit.

"Correction. Your blindfolded giant, darling~ Now then, let's get you home."

°•○•°•○•°•○•°

Geto typing away on his computer, working on his latest reports.

Gojo straddling his lap, hugging him as he napped against his dear best friend slash hubbie.

The former smiling fondly at the motion before picking up where he left off was their situation before both men's phones began vibrating and ringing.

"Geto-san! L/n-san has reported a disease curse spotting! But she was cut off before I could get further details!"

"She just texted me the location." The sleepiness was wiped away, replaced with firm seriousness, as Gojo started getting off of him to get some shoes on.

"Ijichi-san, do not fret. Satoru will handle the curse." Geto calmly responded over the phone before speaking concerningly to his snowy-haired hubbie. "Toru, bring a face mask in case the affected area reaches where you land post teleport."

Said man smooched his hubbie in kind before slipping on the black face mask to match his current apparel. "Wait up for us, Sugu~"

Seeing you both back, teleporting into your home office, Suguru smooched Satoru the moment he took that face mask right off. Pressing the back of his palm against your forehead to double check for a fever, Suguru's dismay was warranted.

So being there when you awoke from your fever dream tucked in the middle of your guys' giant bed meant Suguru patting your now sweating forehead with a wet rag, you trembling from chills raking your skin followed by feeling warmer the next minute as you coughed into a tissue he handed to you.

"Well dearest, you've got yourself a nasty cold here." Suguru noted with a gray face mask on as well, seated by you on his side of the bed.

"Ah bah." Your raspy spat earned you a cough into your fist before you were offered a filled up water bottle by Satoru who was sitting behind you on his side; blindfold off but face mask back on.

"Welp, I exorcized the curse and brought your cute self back here. Plus I got that report to work on in your precious stead. So you're welcome." He gently ran his fingers through your hair to ease you in whatever way he could.

"Thank you Toru." You slowly sat up and were then handed some cold pills by Suguru to down some water with. "Thank you Sugu."

"Now that we've made our home Ground Zero, you are hereby confined to this room. Drink plenty of fluids. Take your medicine. Get lots of rest. Do you hear me, young lady?" Suguru's smart ass tone made you pout.

"Yes mom." You murmured raspy.

Satoru snorted behind his face mask to which Suguru whacked him in the shoulder across from him with narrowed eyes. "At least Megumi and the twins are living in the dorms now and Tsumiki was able to convince her classmate to stay at her place for a while. Meaning we three have the place to ourselves~"

"Does that mean … I have to sleep by myself?" You whimpered, cracking their resolve. "Neither the Gojo Geto bears, nor the Gojo Geto cats, not even the Gojo Geto giant round plushies can substitute for the real deal." You moped, pointing at said custom made toys lined up on the window seat on the far side of the room.

"Aww, Suguru, how can we deny our lovely sweetheart the company of her valiant handsome knights in the flesh, huh~!?" Satoru dramatized his own cries, muffled though.

Suguru sighed, consigning. "At least one of us should. Who else will be teaching the first years in the meantime?"

"Round robin, then? Last one left standing tends to that noble martyr and gets our dear sweetheart to be their own personal nurse in the end … huh …" That hum and those inquiring eyes could only bode mischief. "I volunteer Suguru to go first!"

"Not gonna happen, Satoru." He immediately denied.

"But to be fed by, bathed by and be doted on by our angel is heaven sent~!" Satoru gushed.

"Which is why you shouldn't be the only one getting that special treatment!" Suguru being jealous at possibly being left out on that.

"Hey!" Your strained shout ends in a coughing fit, curled up in bed, sniffling to which Suguru hands you a big enough tissue to blow your nose in. "I'm dying here."

"Hmm … Yu could fill in." Satoru suggested.

"He is working as a teaching aid part time. And he did say he could help out whenever we needed it." Suguru added.

"Plus Nanamin is on a business trip for the week~ He'll need something to do while waiting for his beloved's return~!" Satoru teased.

"That settles it then." Suguru was smirking behind that mask, you could just tell.

"How lucky you are, darling, to have the strongest duo be your own personal nurses~" Satoru was so smirking his ass off.

"Even though you'll literally get sick of me?" You shyly asked, squeezing your bottle, apprehensive.

"We have strong ass immune systems, Y/n. Comes with over a decade of immense training." Satoru prided on, kissing your flushed cheek.

"If we can risk ourselves in the face of death as sorcerers, this is nothing." Suguru assured, kissing your other flushed cheek. "I'll call Haibara."

"I'll start up a bath for us all. Thank you big ass bathtubs." Satoru clapped to that.

"What do I do?" Even when sick, tilting your head and batting those eyes made the duo smooch your lips at once.

"Just be a good little patient for us, alright, honey?" God that wink of Suguru's left you more hot than usual as he walked off to make that call.

"Besides, being sick with you means being granted a sick leave and getting paid for it! Ah, thank you, my darling sweetheart~!" Satoru did hug you, nuzzle his face in your hair, and left you a wheezing mess.

"Y - You're w - welcome!"

Well, on the bright side, at least you'll all be sick together.

Snuggled in bed, among discarded tissues, wrappers of cough drops, and smooshed in one big embrace of entangled limbs while binging nothing but sitcoms, movies, and anime.

You would eventually get better in a week's time then later tend to your two enamored, affectionate partners and get them back into tip top shape.

But until then, being in their cozy arms, sleeping smack dabbed in between them, that might as well be the key on your quick road to recovery.

The SatoSugu cure, indeed!

[runninriot]

when it's love, it lasts forever

another fill for my @steddiebingo card

prompt: mixtape | rated: T | wc: 1.733 | tags: post Vecna, established relationship, romantic fluff, reminiscing about the past | also on ao3

   “Oh my God!”

Eddie’s stunned voice filters in from the other room, causing Steve to stop what he’s doing. He sighs, feels mocked by the piles of clothes still scattered around the room, waiting to be organised into the newly put up dresser.

Steve cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, trying to ignore the dull ache in his muscles. He is tired. Exhausted from the long drive, physically drained from loading and unloading the van, from carrying boxes and furniture – there’s so much that still needs to be done, which is why he hates to leave his task unfinished.

But curiosity wins, so he walks into the living room to find his boyfriend sitting on the floor with his back turned, surrounded by boxes he was supposed to unpack. Instead of him stacking up the bookshelf like he said he would, it seems like something else must’ve caught his attention. Not that that’s new; Eddie gets so easily distracted sometimes. Steve doesn’t mind, has long since learned to keep up with his boyfriend’s antics – he’ll get there eventually and a little distraction doesn’t hurt anyone.

   “What you got there, babe?” Steve asks when he walks closer, trying to look over Eddie’s shoulder to see what’s gotten him all excited.

   “I can’t believe you still have that.”

Eddie blinks up at him with big, round eyes that have gone all soft, revealing the small treasure he’s cradling in his hands.

It takes Steve a moment to recognise it but when he does, his heart does a little flip.

   “Oh.”

He crouches down to get to Eddie’s level, can’t help but smile when his eyes catch the familiar drawings on the paper inlay peeking through the plastic case – the two bats in the centre, one with nails and one with wings; a heart in the top left corner with their initials in its middle, and a scatter of flowers to fill the empty space. Eddie��s handwriting at the top, ‘THIS IS MUSIC!’ screaming back at them in bold letters.

   “Of course, I kept it,” Steve finally says after clearing his throat, feeling oddly sentimental now. “I kept all of them. Everything.”

It’s true. Steve has kept every little piece of memorabilia he collected over the years. From the movie theatre ticket stub of their first unofficial date to the little note Eddie had left after spending the night at Steve’s for the first time. From the faded and wrinkled flyer of the first Corroded Coffin show Steve ever went to, to the mixtape in Eddie’s hands.

Maybe he should feel embarrassed about it, but instead of making fun of him for being such a sap, Eddie just smiles, eyes so full of love that Steve’s insides turn into a mushy, gooey mess.

   “This one’s my favourite,” he confesses, stroking a thumb over the case whose scratched surface shows all the signs of passing time and overuse.

   “It was all I listened to for weeks.”

He’s not even exaggerating, knows every song on the tape by heart from listening to it on repeat. Played the cassette so many times it’s a miracle it didn’t break, unwind or outright combust.

   “God, I remember how nervous I was to give it to you. So scared you’d hate it.”

Steve remembers, too, can see it so clearly before his mind’s eye.

After spending months in physical recovery – after Death had unsuccessfully tried to snuff out his life – Eddie had finally gotten the all clear from his doctors. ‘I’m as good as new,’ he’d announced when he entered the Harrington home, a six-pack of beer in one hand, joking about being ready to get drunk on his first sip after having been forced into abstinence for so long.

Eddie and Steve had become quite close during their time of healing, when everything kind of seemed on hold while Hawkins slowly came out of the state of shock it had been trapped in for months.

For the most part, people had thankfully remained unaware of the true horrors, eating up the highly dubious cover-up stories they’d been fed by the government. But Steve and Eddie and their little band of misfits had a lot of coping to do. Kept holding on to each other, finding strength in the support of their tightly knit circle of friends to deal with all the shit they’d been through together.

Despite everything, Steve would be lying if he said that he wished none of it ever happened because without it, he never would’ve learned what true happiness feels like. Would’ve never gotten to know Eddie the way he had after the almost-end of the world.

It was then, in their time of dealing with the aftermath of their final war against hell, something had started to sprout and bud inside of Steve.

Something that grew and kept growing until it was in full bloom, impossible to ignore anymore. Until, with a bang and a crisis and a lot of emotional support from Robin, Steve finally realised that what had blossomed over time, was actually love. Love born out of trauma and friendship and trust and survival.

They hadn’t talked about it then, that day Eddie came to celebrate his newly recovered life with him. But even though his own feelings had yet to be formed into words to be spoken aloud, Steve had noticed a shift in Eddie’s demeanour over the course of their growing closeness. Had this lingering impression that maybe he wasn’t the only one having to deal with a riot of unsorted, confusing feelings.

He could sense how nervous Eddie was that day. Could feel the crackling tension between them when they were sitting side by side on the back porch, brushing fingers when passing their shared cigarette from one to the other.

    ‘Got something for you,’ Eddie had said after finishing his beer, cheeks red, eyes cast down to where his right hand kept playing with the pocket of his jean vest.

   ‘What is it?’ Steve had asked in return, sounding breathless for reasons unknown to him at the time.

That’s when Eddie retrieved a cassette from his pocket, a mixtape he said he’d made just for him, with songs that reminded Eddie of Steve and songs he wanted Steve to listen to because they meant something special to him. And all Steve could do was stare. Stare and wonder and hold his breath, scared of opening his mouth, of possibly saying something he’d regret. Not realising how long he must’ve stayed quiet. So long in fact, Eddie started to pull back the hand holding the tape.

   ‘It’s- it’s stupid. Sorry.’

After weeks of fighting himself, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer. Couldn’t fight the urge anymore, the overwhelming need to break down the last remaining barrier that had kept him from finally telling Eddie the truth.

Only he didn’t say what he wanted him to know and instead, balled his fist in Eddie’s shirt to pull him in, crashing their lips together without warning. Kissing him in a way he’d hoped would be enough for Eddie to understand what he was trying to tell him. Pouring all his feelings into every press of lips, letting love spill from his tongue.

Love Eddie reciprocated in a way that was almost too much for Steve to handle – unashamed and unfiltered, confessing his feelings like it was the easiest thing to do.

That night, after Eddie had gone home, Steve lay in bed, not asleep but with his eyes closed, listening to the mixtape Eddie had made for him. Letting the music take him back to the moment in the Upside Down, brushing shoulders with the frazzled, doe-eyed man on the run – ‘Ozzy Osbourne? Black Sabbath? He bit a bat’s head off onstage?’ – laughing at himself for how clueless he’d been about so many things.

Steve has learned a lot since then. Not only about the seemingly endless list of things Eddie’s interested in but also, more importantly, he learned so much about himself.

   “Wanna listen to it while we ignore the mess and get to the good part of finally having an apartment to ourselves?” Eddie winks at him, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes telling Steve everything he needs to know.

   “You mean jumping into our new, giant bed so you can cuddle me until I fall asleep?”

   “Something like that, yeah.”

Tomorrow, Steve will be mad at himself for letting Eddie seduce him with his dorky charm, when he wakes up to the chaos of all the boxes still unpacked. And Eddie will be mopey as hell when he realises that they haven’t even recovered the coffee maker and cups from whatever cardboard prison they’re still stuck in.

But right now, none of that matters. Not when they’re kissing and touching each other to the sound of the music that means so much to both of them, memories locked in songs, every beat of drum a matching tune to their hearts’ rhythm. Sating their hunger for flesh and that deeper kind of love. Holding each other close in the comfort of their intimate bubble of you and me while Eddie – Van Halen, not Munson –  strums his guitar and sings along to the voice of Sammy Hagar, filling the background with a song that feels like it was written for them.

    How do I know when it’s love?

    I can’t tell you but it lasts forever.

    How does it feel when it’s love?

    It’s just something you feel together.

Later, when the music has long stopped and Steve allows sleep to slowly take a hold of him, he remembers the words and silently agrees. Love isn’t something that can be categorised into how or when or why. It’s something you just know is there because you can feel it in every part of your being. It’s something you can share through touch, and show through little things, and express with words – but even without all of that, there’s no doubt that their love, just like the song rightfully claims, is made to last forever.

It’s the essence of Steve’s existence, the one thing he can always hold on to, no matter what. This love for a man whose appreciation for life – after almost losing his fight against death – makes every day extra special. A man who constantly reminds him of how beautiful life is, and continues to make it so.

[zephyrspace]

queen of thine heart

riddle rosehearts / gn!reader

synopsis : they say the queen of hearts always had her loving husband rule alongside her. unfortunately for heartslabyul, their queen's king attends a different academy. but you know what they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder.

or ; in hearing your lover's recent overblot, you disregard the rules and infiltrate nrc to make sure your queen is alright, much to the surprise of the cards.

content : established relationship, implied childhood friends, rsa!reader, fluff, sprinkle of angst, crack, no use of yn, reader is not the prefect, reader is referred to as 'king' in a gender neutral way (like how riddle as queen), fic is more focused on the dynamic of their relationship rather than of the relationship itself (but perhaps another fic is in order...), riddle's pov kinda?, just a very short oneshot.

word count : 1.5k

The door opens but nobody that's already in the room thinks too much of it, until someone unfamiliar speaks.

"Good evening, Card Soldiers."

The mild bickering ceased to exist entirely. The door clicks shut.

The first years couldn't tell if it was an illusion or not, but they swear they saw the Housewarden of Heartslabyul tense at the sound of the person's voice and averted his gaze. Shoes tap against the floor tiles until they stop at the foot of Riddle's designated recovery bed.

The newcomer wore the eyesore that was the Royal Sword Academy uniform, but the things that caught the attention of specifically the Prefect would be the scarily regal presence that the person exudes, and the badge pinned against the left lapel of the stranger's blazer, an exact replica of the crown Riddle adorns on his school tie.

They brandish a polite smile, "you are dismissed."

It was clear to everyone that this person will not accept any other answer than compliance - "RSA? Who're you to tell us what to do? And what are you even doing here?" - well, except for one.

Ace raises a brow, lacking any form of decorum or respect, as per usual. The temperature of the room seemingly dropped, and yet, the stranger was still smiling.

Before Ace gets an answer, he feels a sharp jab at his side and a hand resting between his shoulder blades. Trey is quickly ushering all of them out of the infirmary. The heart soldier watches the academy student and the Vice exchange a look and a nod.

The door clicks shut once again.

With everyone now gone, you walk over to Riddle's left of the bed. Right hand against your heart, you bow your head, a custom.

"I greet the sovereign of Heartslabyul, the everlasting law, the Queen of my own heart," you cannot hide the smile in your voice and Riddle hates it in an affectionate sort of way.

"Must you always greet me incorrectly?"

"I am but a mere servant to your rule," you give him a cheeky grin, and with a touch as light as a feather, you take his right hand to press a quick kiss to the knuckles. Riddle sports a pout as he retracts his arm, but you never take him seriously when he's beet red, always a sucker to your flowery words.

Despite this, he has not once looked you in the eyes since you arrived.

Silence and tranquillity floods the atmosphere but anybody can feel the underlying tension beneath the layers. You shatter the quiet.

"I came as soon as I could." You sit down on the edge of the bed and he shuffles to the opposite side so that you do not fall off.

"I know." Riddle's sight is focused on the bed sheets where his hands rested. He watches your hands clasp over his, your touch is warm and just slightly sweaty, but he would never care for something so little.

Besides, he can tell by the sound of your breathing that you're still recovering from the journey. Upperclassmen say that it takes almost two or three hours to walk from one end of Sage's Island to the other, and this is without factoring the mountain you'd have to climb to get to NRC.

"I really thought I lost you when I was notified by one of the cards." Riddle can feel your stare and the sorrow in your words. You probably dropped everything to get here.

"I know." He takes a quick glance at the clock on the wall. How did you even manage to get to the college in just a little over an hour since he was admitted into the infirmary?

"You need to make me lots of crosswords to make up for it." The Housewarden clenches his jaw and thinks you are too forgiving compared to how much inconvenience and worry he's caused you.

Why are you not reprimanding his recklessness? Why would you risk a dorm-arrest to visit him with no prior permission? He reckons that your sentence would last at least a week if the professors find out of your absence, two weeks if you used a broom without authorisation. After this, would you think of him as a nuisance or embarrassment and leave him-

Sensing all of his inner turmoil, you reach out to carefully fix his dishevelled hair back into place and cup his cheek, coaxing his head in your direction so that he finally, finally looks at you.

Riddle's eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but the steadying pulse under the palm of your hand is soothing, your gaze is soft and full of something that is unconditional. Riddle knows that he can stay looking at you until forever falls apart.

Thumbing the flesh gently, you are watchful not to touch any gauze or smudge remnants of ointment. "Crosswords aside, I implore that you tell me, my Queen: What ails you so? Have I done something to be undeserving of your gaze?" Though, that last part was supposed to sound more like a joke.

"No!" He belts out before he could process your teasing lilt. "I mean- I- That's not- Ugh!"

Riddle gives up at the sight of your smug face and relaxes into your hold for just a few more moments, not caring for his burning cheeks or the delicacy that his lover offers him, only wanting to feel them wholly and fully.

He expels out a shaky breath, sits up straight, and lets everything go. Riddle tells you everything. The collars, the unbirthday, the tart, the duel. Riddle expresses his revelation about his mother and her rules. He confesses that you were right this entire time, and that he hopes you can forgive him for the times he denied it and admonished you.

Riddle's story ends and your brows furrow with guilt, "I knew I should have transferred to Night Raven. Maybe it would have prevented-"

He is quick to lace your fingers together with his own and silences you right away. "Perish the thought. You are not to blame. Not you. Never you."

Deciding to reward his efforts of attempting to distract you from your own thoughts, you sigh and lean in so that your foreheads touch, and Riddle does not oppose the connection. Closing your eyes, you breathe out lightly, quietly, as if only the two of you existed.

"You have tormented yourself in such a manner for far too long, my loveliest rose."

At that moment, Riddle swears up and down to The Seven that he has never been so in love. He looks down at your joined hands and smiles for the first time that day.

"I promise not to do it again, my Liege."

[ Extra ]

"What the hell was that for!?" Ace rubs his side tenderly after Cater elbowed him earlier. He earns disapproving glances from his seniors and unsurprising stares from Deuce, Prefect and Grim.

"Be more careful, Ace-y. They're the Housewarden slash Ruler of their own dorm back in RSA, but is also the Honorary King of Heartslabyul because they're Riddle's partner," Cater pulls up pictures of you from the academy's official magicam and shows the first years. "So that means they're in the same position of power as him in 'labyul, so you need'ta treat them like it."

Ace snatches the phone from his grasp and scrolls through the content, in denial. The other first years crowd around him. "Partners? With that Tyrant?? There is no way Housewarden was able to pull before me."

They all stare at the photos of you doing a plethora of activities, presumably around the rival school. Gardening, directing students, baking, tea parties, generally doing nice things. Yuck.

Ace tries to find your personal magicam but Cater yanks his phone back, exasperated, "I think they've been together for almost two years now, so it's not like it's new news."

"Myah, I don't know about you guys, but this 'King' of yours looks like a weak-ass, lovesick simp. Simp in capital letters, bold font and red text," Grim had lifted himself up and peaked through the window in the door to the infirmary, watching the royalties speak softly to each other.

The two third years give each other a look and both can vividly imagine the sound of your laughter and you saying that you wholeheartedly agree with Grim.

"I still don't get why you just followed their orders without question. I should show them the mighty power of The Great Grim, and then we'll see who's the real king! Nyahaha- Yowch!" Deuce had smacked the monster in the head.

Trey leans against the wall beside the closed entrance, crosses his arms and chuckles at the statement. He looks over his shoulder and also observes the duo inside.

"I've known them since we were kids, and trust me, Grim, they aren't someone you can mess with and get away with it unscathed."

He chooses not to mention how Grim fails to see the pure concentration of magic emanating from your figure.

[w0rmss]

Richard Grayson NSFW alphabet

Didn't post yesterday soz

Anyways NSFW alphabet headcannons of how Dick is in bed.

Tw:

Enjoy

A: Aftercare: Dick is so big on aftercare. After a rough round you're getting a bath and either way you're getting cuddles and praise about how well you did. if you need anything he's got it don't even blink.

B: Body part. His: his ass bro loves his ass and so do you. You: he loves your back loves kissing down your spine during sex or if you're laying in is facing him running his hands up and down it under you as he makes you see stars

C: Cum. Preferably inside either your mouth or in you. But he also loves coming on your back too

D: Dirty little secret. When he's in the mood but doesn't want to straight up ask for sex. He'll wear tight clothes like jeans or compression tops to try get you to crack and ask first

E: Experience. Dicks a man whore. In a good way. But he's been with guys and girls up the wazoo

F: favourite position. Missionary or doggy. Basically but he loves watching your face or as previously mentioned kissing yoru back so they're the easiest for him. But he's very open to try more.

G: Goofy. Dick takes nothing in sex seriously unless something bad happens. He's making fake porn noises tell jokes and tickling you the whole time.

H: Hair. He's well groomed not balled but neat

I: Intimacy. He can be sweet and romantic even when he's goofing off. He loves physical pulling your closer and kissing your body.

J: jacking off. If he's or you are away. Yes 100% but if he has you with him not really unless he's really worked up and you didn't want to have sex

K: Kinks. I don't think dick is overly kinky. But his into light bandage and open to do whatever you're into

L: location. Bed or couch. Maybe in the shower or around the apartment but not in public he's too well known both as dick and nightwing. He's not risking your safety like that.

M: Motivation. You just you simply existing gets him hot and heavy. But especially you looking after haley or any of his family. Then he's down for and readjusting himself

N: Nos. Hurting either of you any kind of pain. Or heavy degradation. Maybe a dirty little thing or his slut during the rough sessions but nothing more

O: Oral. Dick both likes giving and receiving. He does love going down on you though. Your hands and his hair your taste on his tongue. He's die happy doing that

P: Pace. He prefers slow and deep but can go fast and hard when the moment needs it

Q: Quickies. He's down if it's needed. Obviously he prefers to take his time but if you're both desperate and horny the nearest private surface will be defiled

R: Risks. He's very open to new thing as long as it won't cause harm.

S: Stamina. He can go 2 to 3 pretty easily. Maybe more with a little recovery and no where to be

T: Toys. He's very open to toys for you and him.

U: Unfair. Major tease like will edge you and make you come till you can't breathe. He'll grab you randomly and give you a hickey before walking off like it's nothing

V: Volume. Dicks loud like so fucking loud. Some nights you think you might need to gag him

W: Wild card. He likes anal( mainly receiving)

X: X ray. 6-7 inches average thickness with a slight upwards curve.

Y: Yearning. Dick has a pretty high sex drive and you're all he needs to turn him on so.

Z: zzz. He doesn't fall asleep straight away but prefers to watch you do so before doing so himself.

Thank you

Got the alphabet meanings from thecardsimagine

Hope you enjoyed

Feel free to leave a request

Hope you have a wonderful day night afternoon etc

[stickyspeckledlight]

“Indeed, dear mister Stoneheart! My wonderworking will take effect in a few days, and your good luck streak will end! That’ll be 100 000 credits :)”

For da gambler man

Snake oil? Only if you don’t look at it the right way.

(Speckled's End of Year Interaction Prompts, 12/2/24 ~ 1/1/25)

The Stoneheart’s smirk grows, a quirk just at the corner of his lips. It teeters on a careful precipice of amusement and threat, of control and chance. It’s nothing new to you, though. Smug confidence isn’t new to you, but it’s the first time you’ve seen it on someone dressed in such finery.

“That’s a first,” he purrs, resting his cheek in his palm. “In all my time, I’ve never had anyone offer me bad luck. Curses, yes—but not a…blessing.” He comfortably leers at you through his sunglasses, lazily tracing the rim of a cloudy, cracked glass filled with something closer to piss than whiskey.

“The only difference between a curse and a blessing is intent,” you wink, “And with what you told me, Mr. Stoneheart, that luck of yours IS a curse! I mean, what kind of luck is winning a lifetime supply of toothpicks? That luckiness of yours is no good!”

His grin widens, “Indeed. Why, before I say anything else, I must commend you for your generosity!” He lightly claps, putting on all the theatrics you’ve come to expect, “100,000 credits in exchange for curing me? Why, I can’t fathom a deal better than this…”

“Right you are, Mr. Stoneheart!” You snap of your fingers, calloused and rough, almost alien in how bony it is these days. “But careful: my power is a…finicky thing, so we can only do this NOW!”

“Oh?” Suddenly his smile grows sharper, “That’s new.”

“I can’t reveal all my tricks,” you smoothly reply. You catch yourself tapping your foot hurriedly against the pavement and stop. You shouldn’t think about what you can do with that money; you can simply do with the money, after this rich sucker forks over his cash. Luck, as a curse? Who is he kidding? Why would he throw that away, when you and everyone else you know would kill for it?

“Shame.” He says with completely insincerity. He stands and pushes his chair back, “I was hoping you’d find a creative way to explain your con. I was looking forward to what you’d come up with so much, y’know?”

You lock up and stiffen. This rich playboy was acting stupid before! Why’s he suddenly calling you out?! “H-huh? A con? Mr. Stoneheart, you must be—”

“Don’t.” He smiles, “You know, I did introduce myself as ‘Aventurine, of the Ten Stonehearts: a cog in the machine of the Strategic Investment Department.’ Do you actually know who I am?”

“An IPC executive,” you hastily reply; you can’t get on his bad side, you CAN’T.

But he only continues to look at you, looking above you with a foxlike expression.

“That’s correct, but dig a bit deeper,” he peppily nudges. “You’re a smart one; I’m sure you can do it!”

“Uh…” you frown, “You…you make investments?”

“That’s something everyone does.” He shakes his head, “So: no. How about I give you my formal title? I’m a Non-performing Asset Liquidation Specialist.”

…You do not understand whatever that corporate mumbo jumbo means.

Well, phooey. You’re fucked, man. Your con is bust. If anything, this guy had all the cards before you even saw his face.

“Oh, Mr. Stoneheart…” you smile again, standing to meet his eyes, “You it said yourself: we’re friends,” his grin does not fall, but his eyes crinkle with cheshire glee, “So, let’s not bei business into this. And that applies to me too! I should’ve known better; this blessing’s on the house, friend.”

He does not say anything, letting your words hang in the air, and stress gather in your chest before he finally speaks.

“Slow recovery, but it’s not half bad. Especially for someone who hasn’t been in business long. You’ve got some potential,” he whistles. You must’ve had a ridiculous expression on your face, because he just laughs. Mirth dances in his eyes, tinted pink by his sunglasses. “Oh, my bad; I’ll play along just for you, my jewel.”

You’re not given any time to react to the sudden new nickname. “Yes, I can’t believe how astute you truly are, my friend,” he sighs wistfully, clutching his heart and smiling like you two are really, really, really good friends. The whiplash hits you with a crack, and now, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever seen him without a mask. “Still, I would feel bad about just getting a blessing from you for free, so…how do you feel about becoming my employee?”

An employee? What? You were trying to CON him, and now he wants to hire you?!

“W-what?”

“That’s right,” he bows, “I meant what I said, my friend. You’re a diamond in the rough, and it’s my job to polish you up—we at the Strategic Investment Department prioritize long term over short term, you know.”

“But I—” tried to con you, you almost stammer before catching yourself, “—have, uh…”

Well, you never liked him even when he was playing the part of a rich fool, but seeing how that in of itself might’ve just been a mask…you don’t want to be near this guy, period. And now that you think about it, you’ve never seen his eyes.

He makes a zipping motion with his fingers and across his mouth, “My friend,” he kindly winks, “Don’t bother objecting! Tell me: what are two things you now know about my job?”

…All of the whiplash and sudden questions seemingly unrelated to anything said…you think you’re going to get a headache, once your mind is clear from panic and stress.

“Um…you’re a liquidation specialist and…go for long term investments.”

“Perfect; 10/10!” He claps, “Now let’s dig even deeper—dig into you, [Name].”

Time stops.

“[Name]?” You scoff, mouth twitching, “Mr. Stoneheart…are you projecting onto me?”

“Don’t lie, my jewel,” the nickname makes you bristle, and he sighs, “Now’s the time to drop the platitudes and acts. There’s always a time for veiled conversations, but ah, I think there’s no need for that, now.”

For some reason, even though your cowardice has already been shown, now’s the time you decide to keep up the cheery salesman act. In the back of your mind, you shake your head. How could you immediately prove what he just said?

But that’s just the back of your mind.

“Oh, Mr. Stoneheart! Why would I ever lie to you? We’re friends.”

“Indecisive, are you?” He hums, “That’s alright. That’s perfectly fine. Indecisiveness doesn’t erase debt either way.”

“D-debt? Oh, but Mr. Stoneheart—!”

“You can’t erase what your stupid father did.” He plainly states, taking a coin out and playing with it, “Mx. [Name], my condolences for what happened to you; falling into poverty like this wasn’t your fault, but…fault also doesn’t erase debt.”

This time, you’re shaking. You can’t do anything but watch. He was just supposed to be a rich, stupid fool to wring money out of—who—how—how did things go this way—

“Here’s what I was thinking. Work for me, and you’ll be able to pay off your debt without worry. You’ll be provided a reduced salary, of course, but you’ll have enough to…” his mouth quirks, “…get by.”

He saunters around the table, and leans against it lazily. He leans closer, “You understand that there’s no other choice, right?” At your continued, fearful silence, he chuckles, “Don’t worry, Mx. [Name]. I’m the one hiring you; you know I’ll treat you well! Like you said, we’re friends. Good friends, even.��

You hear the sound of a coin flick; you move your head to see it fall onto the table, covered by the Stoneheart’s hand.

A leather clad finger hooks under your chin and drags your gaze to his, “But I’ve got another idea,” he offers, “Gemstones are made to be cut, sold, and coveted. You’re no different…but you’re still rough. You’ve barely been lodged out of the cave walls. So, I have a proposal…just for a beauty like you,” he winks playfully, but it does nothing to alleviate the sheer intimidation and power he’s exerted on you.

The hand on the table slides off, hovering by your wrist.

“Follow through on that bad luck of yours,” he gently leers. Something cold and sleek and heavy slips to your grip, “If you do…100,000 credits? No; that’s wouldn’t be enough to convey my generosity. I’m going all-in. A carefree life would be yours in an instant. But if you don’t…”

The revolver’s holster clicks against his chest.

“I’ll be free to shape you however I like; and covet you with these lucky hands.”

[p0orbaby]

The Day The Music Died

summary: some people have to grow up before their time. At 17, you're already juggling a career, school, and a toxic secret. It's a heavy load for anyone, but for you, it's life.

warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, heavy themes; allusions to sexual assault/prostitution, drugs and alcohol, bullying

a/n: very loosely based off this request. it's a heavy one so please don't read if any of the warnings may make you uncomfortable

word count: 1.1k

-

School.

Them.

Training.

Homework.

Match day.

Recovery.

Homework.

Him.

You were tired. So so tired. But that’s what happens when you spread yourself too thin. And because it was your own fault you couldn’t complain. No one was forcing you to do this.

Football was already enough. At only 17 you were a starter for both club and country. So what was the point in school and exams and qualifications? The point is that nothing is permanent. Ever. No matter what anyone says, permanence isn’t certain. You have to have other avenues. Just in case.

Despite it all, you need the distraction. Football from exams and exams from, everything else.

The light in the attic bedroom is on when you get home. You cut the engine of your car, lean back against the headrest and sigh into the night. You helped your team get to a cup final tonight, you should be happy.

But the light in the attic bedroom is making you nervous.

-

“How is your revision prep going?”

You pull the sleeves of your thermals down over your hands when the wind picks up. Lia does the same. You think you’d both be used to the weather by now.

Your scoff travels in the breeze, “I’m up to my eyeballs in cue cards”

Lia offers a sympathetic smile. “I hear you,” she replies, her voice carrying a hint of understanding. “It’s tough juggling everything, but you’re doing great. Sleeping okay?”

No.

“Never better”. Her eyes narrow at you. It was a trick question, you realise. She can’t have missed the dark circles under your eyes. The consistent yawns you try to hide. “I’m fine, I promise”

-

Your skin itches. It always does after. That dirty feeling of shame and embarrassment. When belts are buckled and knees are tucked under chins.

Voices are muffled through the door. Not quite loud enough to hear what’s being said, but you can guess. Same time next week.

You kick yourself for growing up.

You fall asleep in the attic.

-

“You missed a pen yesterday”

You freeze as you step out of the cubicle. Your path to the sinks blocked by three of your least favourite people.

“Things happen” you mutter, your eyes fixed on the cracked tiles beneath your feet, unwilling to meet their eyes.

But the trio only laughs in your face, their cackling echoing cruelly in the cramped confines of the toilet. Layers of makeup crack under the force of their mirth, revealing the hollow emptiness beneath. The stench of cigarettes on their breath makes your stomach churn. You need to get to chemistry.

One of them steps forward, their gaze cold and calculating. “Should get fucking dropped,” they sneer, their words like a slap to the face.

Another one joins in. “And to think you play for our country? Pathetic,” they jeer, their words like a dagger aimed straight at your heart.

You feel the sting of tears threatening to spill over, but you refuse to let them see your pain. With a shaky breath, you push past them, their laughter following you like a sinister shadow. Chemistry. English. Training.

You hoped the attic stayed dark tonight.

-

“What’s all this?” You ask, eyes wide as you enter the changing rooms.

Banners and balloons adorn the walls, and your teammates gather around with smiles on their faces. Lia steps forward, a small cake in her hands, and presents it to you with a warm smile.

“What’s all this?” you ask, your voice barely discernible over the cheers and party poppers.

Lia’s smile widens, and she gestures to the decorations around the room. “It’s for you,” she says, her tone gentle yet filled with genuine affection. “Happy birthday”

You feel a lump form in your throat as you take in the scene before you. Despite everything, despite the challenges you face both on and off the field, your teammates have gone out of their way to make your birthday special. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you realise just how much this means to you.

“Thank you,” you manage to choke out, your voice thick with emotion. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

Lia steps forward and pulls you into a tight hug, her warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace. “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispers, her words a soothing balm to your already shattered soul.

-

“You did good tonight”

Your brother's words are slurred as he enters the room and slumps into the chair in the corner.

“Thanks,” you mutter, your eyes fixed on the floor as you try to make yourself as small as possible.

But your brother doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he doesn’t care. He leans back in the chair, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, and takes a swig from the bottle in his hand.

“You did good tonight,” he repeats, his words slurred and disjointed, his gaze unfocused as he stares off into the distance.

“There’s almost enough money,” he mutters, his speech slurred and disjointed. “I’m getting somewhere.”

You try to block out his words, to retreat into the safety of your own thoughts, but his voice is like a relentless tide, crashing against the walls of your mind with relentless force. You know better than to believe his lies, to put any stock in his hollow promises of success and prosperity. And yet, here you are, forced to listen to his drug-fueled delusions once again.

“I’m telling you,” he continues, his words becoming increasingly animated as he gestures wildly with his hands. “Once I make this deal, we’ll be set for life. No more worries, no more struggles. Just endless riches and success”

You take a deep breath, trying to push down the rising tide of frustration that threatens to overwhelm you. “You know, I could help you,” you offer tentatively, your voice laced with desperation. “I earn enough for both of us. Whatever you need, I can cover it”

But instead of gratitude, your brother’s eyes narrow, suspicion clouding his features. “What, you think I need your charity?” he snaps, his voice tinged with bitterness. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”

You recoil at the venom in his tone, the hurt evident in his words cutting you to the core. “No, I just…” you falter, struggling to find the right words to explain yourself.

But your brother cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his attention already drifting elsewhere. “Forget it,” he mutters, his voice growing distant as he sinks deeper into his drug-induced haze.

Happy birthday to you.

[djloveyou3000]

Gif by : @russadlers plus a big thank you for @ladysouthpaw1213 for the title name and giving me the motivation to make it a series

Belladonna

Chapter one

After Bell survived the Solovetsky incident and was spared from the execution everyone thought inevitable, their life should have gone back to normal—or as normal as possible for someone recovering from months of mind control. But “normal” wasn’t in the cards. Not when Russell Adler was involved.

At first, Adler’s sudden interest in Bell’s life seemed logical, even caring. He pushed for debriefings, encouraged them to dig into their memories, and reassured them it was all for their recovery. Yet, beneath his composed demeanor, there was something possessive—something far more personal.

He wasn’t just a handler anymore; he was obsessed.

Adler demanded to know everything. Bell’s real name, their age, what they remembered of their past, their connection to Perseus—all of it. Every sliver of memory had to be shared with him first. If Bell mentioned something casually in front of the others, Adler’s sharp gaze would cut through the room. “That’s something you tell me. Not them.” His voice left no room for argument.

At first, Bell complied, assuming it was part of the deprogramming process. But it wasn’t long before Adler’s behavior grew suffocating. Any attempt Bell made to keep something private—to process a memory on their own—was met with frustration or quiet, simmering anger.

“You don’t get to keep things from me,” Adler said one night, voice low and dangerously calm. “I pulled you out of that hell. I pieced you back together. You’re mine, Bell. Your memories, your past—it all belongs to me.”

Bell stared at him, stunned. This wasn’t the man they remembered before the mission. Or maybe it was, and they were only now seeing the cracks.

“You didn’t ‘make’ me, Adler,” Bell said, their voice steady despite the unease creeping into their chest. “I’m not a puzzle you get to put together however you like.”

But Adler’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his grip tightened—not physically, but emotionally, as if wrapping invisible chains around them. He didn’t want to hurt Bell; he wanted to consume them, to own every part of them, because the thought of anyone else—anyone—knowing Bell the way he did was unbearable.

And Bell? They were starting to wonder if breaking free of Perseus was only the beginning of their fight for autonomy.

[takingchences]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𖤟 girl, interrupted

Where Savanna Rios, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills High, learns that while she may be at the top of the social food chain, she's not the only predator prowling the halls.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x siren!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language, dark themes

series masterlist

"Miss, please get back in the bed." A blonde nurse pleaded through clenched teeth from across the mattress. "You are in no condition to-"

Savanna ripped the IV drip out of her hand, shooting the nurse a chilling glare over her shoulder as she wrapped the spare blanket around herself like a shawl. She gripped the edge of the bed tightly, stumbling over herself as she tried to shoulder the woman out of her path towards the door. Everything hurt like hell, like each nerve ending had been doused in gasoline before spontaneously combusting.

The blonde made to grab her arm and she turned, baring her teeth in a silent snarl.

Vases of flowers covered every flat surface of the room, along with cards and balloons all wishing her a speedy recovery. Exactly what the fuck happened after she blacked out? It feels like she woke up in an alternate reality.

"Savanna, honey." A second nurse appeared in the doorway holding her hands up in a placating gesture. Her dark curls were pulled back in a low ponytail and her tone was so motherly that it made the teenager pause. Her nametag identified her as Melissa McCall. "You can't go yet. The sheriff still has a few questions to ask you." The ravenette brushed past them, neither woman wanting to grab her and risk hurting her any further. "Savanna-"

"Woah there, little lady." A man in a police uniform tried to block her with his arm. With lightning fast reflexes even she couldn't anticipate, she grabbed his wrist and twisted, using the other to shove the center of his chest. The large man stumbled back into the wall, sliding down to the ground. The plaster cracked from the force.

"What the-? Van?" Sheriff Stilinski.

Savanna eyed the stranger warily from his position on the linoleum floor, her muscles tense. It felt like she was anticipating a fight, adrenaline coursing through her like a drug. There was a dark part of her that liked the pained look that flashed across the stranger's face. "Hey, kid." Noah forced a smile, carefully approaching. He saw the girl's tough exterior crack a little, which gave him some relief. "How ya feeling?"

She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. Melissa and the blonde nurse were now fretting over the unknown man in uniform, but he insisted he was fine. With their help, he was back on his feet.

"Right, dumb question." Noah leaned his left hand against his hip, the other clutching a file. "Listen," he shook his head. "I know this isn't a great time, but we're kinda low on that right now. I need to ask you a couple of questions about what happened the other night. Do you feel up to it?" She pointed at her neck, her frown deepening at the memory of seeing the wound in the mirror for the first time that morning as one of her nurses changed the dressing.

Vanna sighed through her nose but nodded nonetheless. Noah placed one hand on her back to guide her to the elevator. "Walk with me." As the doors slid closed, he turned to her with a certain spark in his eye that reminded her all too well of Stiles. "You still like sprinkles?"

She grinned widely, unable to nod without risking busting a few stitches.

The sheriff saw her excitement and chuckled, remembering a little girl in pigtails chasing his son around the backyard with wild abandon. He couldn't remember a time where Savanna Rios didn't have something to say. The silence was deafening as the elevator quietly dinged. The attack, as far as he could tell, hadn't damaged her mental or emotional state.

He just hoped he wouldn't hurt her any further when it was time to conduct the interview.

The pair settled down in an empty consultation room around a table with freshly delivered donuts and coffee still steaming. Savanna greedily dug into the chocolate-covered donut, tearing the dough into much smaller pieces with her fingers. "Wait, are you supposed to be eating solid foods yet?"

Savanna slowed down chewing, a yellow sprinkle stuck to her upper lip. She shrugged, avoiding eye contact as she wiped her chocolate-smeared mouth with a spare napkin.

"Christ," the sheriff sighed, letting it slide. It was his fault for not checking with Melissa first. He'd just wanted to ease the teen into a relaxed state before he forced her to relive her attack. He hugged his coffee cup with both hands, tapping his fingers rhythmically. "Now, Van... you know I have to ask-"

She opened her mouth, except nothing but a hoarse, gurgle sound came out. She couldn't speak. Right. "I actually took care of that." He stood, pushing back his chair as he opened a drawer, pulling out a yellow pad and a pen. He slid them to her before returning to his seat, producing his own pen and pad to take notes with. "Now, Van... I have to ask. Can you tell me what you remember from that night? I know it's hard, but if you could give as much detail as possible it would really help me out."

Savanna clicked the pen a couple of times. Her nails were broken, the crimson red paint chipped. Whatever she'd survived out there in the woods had changed her. This wasn't the confident, headstrong young woman he'd known since she was six years old. Her lips twisted to the side in distaste as she scribbled something. The ravenette pushed the pad over for him to read.

𝘔𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

Noah nodded, making himself a note to check her vehicle for any signs of tampering. "We haven't located your car yet, or any of your other possessions. Where did this happen?"

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦.

More pen scratches. "Then what happened? Did you call anyone for help?" Savanna was noticeably tense, her jaw clenched tight as she fidgeted with the pen. She shook her head delicately, unwilling to rip her stitches. She didn't want to spend any more time in this hospital than she had to. "Savanna," Noah leaned forward. No one called her by her full name except her mom, which is probably why she didn't like hearing it often. "Look at me. Nothing is going to hurt you. I will personally make sure of that." She blinked away tears that she refused to shed until she was alone and safe at home.

𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Noah frowned, sucking in air sharply. "What about Frank Summers? Did you know him before that night?"

Vanna scrunched her face up in confusion.

Noah flipped the folder open and pulled out a few crime scene photos of a rust-red truck and a blown-up copy of a driver's license. The man middle-aged and pale with ginger curls, graying stubble, and sunken brown eyes. Something stirred inside her stirred in recognition, but she couldn't recall ever having seen this man before. She shook her head again, growing more and more confused and frustrated with herself.

Why did it feel like she was a passenger in her own body? Why was she was hearing someone else's thoughts along with her own, whispering that the man deserved what he got? What exactly had happened to him? More importantly, what happened to her that made her unable to remember the last day and a half?

Savanna tapped her pen against the last sentence she'd written. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. It wasn't the full truth, but she couldn't exactly trust the word of a foreign voice in her head... even if it did sound disturbingly similar to her own.

Sheriff Stilinski sighed, rubbing his temple. "This is the man that found you. He called 911, but when the officer arrived he'd fled the scene. They found you in his truck barely conscious," he tapped the picture of the truck. "And no one has seen or heard from him since. What I need to determine is if he's in danger or on the run."

Victim or perpetrator? Unfortunately, only she knew the answer. Too bad their star witness couldn't remember shit.

She underlined 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 in black ink, leaving a groove in the paper from pressing down on the fine tip so hard. She pushed the yellow pad away and crossed her arms petulantly.

"Alright, kid." Noah stood with a sigh, gathering his papers and tucking them into the folder. "Let's get you back to your room. You look like you could use some rest." The Rios girl rolled her eyes, looking ready to fight her way out of the hospital.

Noah held his hands up in surrender. "Look, I understand you want to go home. But I can't allow you to return to an empty house in good conscience. Especially if someone is targeting you." He didn't mention the bodies in the morgue sharing her same injuries. He didn't want to scare her further or send her flying off the handle. He'd break it to her delicately once she'd had some time to come to terms with her own harrowing experience. "I've left over a dozen messages for your mom, but she hasn't responded. Stiles said she might be out of the country again?" The ravenette sighed through her nose, blinking in confirmation.

"I'd just feel better if I knew you were taken care of until she gets back on this side of the Pacific. And something tells me you don't want any more uniforms stationed outside your room," he cracked an impressed smile, remembering the scene she'd caused in the hall earlier.

Savanna Rios wasn't a damsel in distress and he wouldn't make her out as one. She was a fighter, a survivor. Always had been. And her ordeal in the woods was only further proof of her strength.

Savanna released a bone-deep sigh, dragging her feet back towards the elevator. If she'd had her phone, she could ask Danny if she could crash at his place for the next few weeks. Who knew how long it would take for Simone Rios to bother checking her phone after jetting off to Europe on a whim.

The sherriff held the door for her, clicking the button for her floor once she's inside. Noah scratched the back of his neck with a grimace. "I'll cut you a deal, alright?" He offered reluctantly. "Go back to your room and let them examine you. If your doctors give you the all clear, I'll send Stiles to pick you up after school. We'll figure out something more permanent over dinner."

Savanna smiled, throwing her arms around his neck. Noah Stilinski was probably the closest thing she'd ever had to a father figure. Coach Finstock was more the crazy-drunk-uncle type that wrote her unlimited hall passes and let her park her car in the teacher's lot.

Noah pat her back with an affectionate smile. Savanna Rios was probably the closest thing he'd ever had to a daughter. And if his son's Ten Year Plan went accordingly, she'd be an official Stilinski by college.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Three hours later, Stiles felt his phone buzzing against his thigh as he walked through the hall with Scott. He was planning to ditch after lunch to further research his human sacrifice theory when he saw his dad's name on the screen. "Yo, daddio. What's up?"

An amused huff. "Yeah, hi, Stiles. Listen, I'm heading to the preserve with a team to look for Van's car. Her labs came back normal and she's been cleared by her doctor. I really think she'd appreciate seeing a familiar face. She's a little, uh... aggressive around strangers right now."

Stiles slammed to a stop in the middle of the crowded corridor. "Yeah, no worries. I'll swing by and grab her."

Scott was clearly listening in to the call from a few steps ahead of him. They exchanged a few more words before ending the call. "Aggressive?" The werewolf raised his brows knowingly. "You need to be careful, Stiles."

Stiles scoffed out a disbelieving laugh. "It's Van, Scott. I'll be fine." He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder, walking backwards towards the exit. "I'm gonna grab a few things before I hit the hospital."

"Just call if anything weird happens." Stiles rolled his eyes at his best friend's worry.

"I honestly don't know what qualifies as weird anymore."

"That's..." Scott smiled sheepishly. "That's fair."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Vanna stood in her hospital room wearing a worn out Beacon Hills spirit shirt and black sweatpants. She was digging through a black overnight bag that she assumed Danny had packed and dropped off while she was in the shower earlier. Nurse McCall had brought her some chunky black sandals from home since her shoes and cheer uniform had been confiscated as evidence by the police while she was rushed into surgery. The dark-haired woman had quickly become her favorite out of the half a dozen nurses that came in and out of the revolving door that was her hospital room.

Melissa checked on her frequently without asking annoying questions. She cracked jokes and even snuck an extra jello cup onto her lunch tray earlier. The woman was truly an angel.

A soft knock on the open door drew her focus from the suitcase. Stiles Stilinski leaned against the wooden door shyly holding a mini bouquet of red peonies and a king size pack of Reese's cups. All of her favorites in one sweet gesture. This boy really knew her at a molecular level.

"Hey," his hazel eyes traced over her features carefully. "How you feeling?"

The cheerleader shrugged, unable to voice how she felt because she'd sound batshit crazy. Maybe she'd finally lost it. She'd been on the brink for awhile with all the strange stuff happening around town the last twelve months.

She hefted the overnight bag onto her shoulder, only to be immediately stopped by Stiles. "No, no! I've got this." He wrestled the bag's strap out of her hands, passing her the flowers and candy. "You just... take it easy, okay? So, are you ready...?" He trailed off, watching Savanna's loose hair sway as she marched with purpose towards the elevator. "Okay then."

They had to fill out discharge papers at the front desk, and Melissa personally talked him through what meds Vanna needed at what time since he'd be playing babysitter for the rest of the day. "Do not hesitate to call me," she'd insisted with an intense look in her eye. Stiles quickly agreed, ushering his crush towards the exit and away from his best friend's scary mom.

The unlikely duo walked side by side back to his jeep. He ordered her to wait, throwing her bag in the backseat before opening her door and half-lifting, half-pushing her into the front seat. He rounded the car and hopped inside with a dopey little smile that she loathed to admit she'd always found frustratingly adorable.

"I got you something." He reached back blindly for his backpack. She raised her brows as if to say 'there's more?' He unzipped the larger pocket and pulled out a handheld whiteboard, dry erase markers, and decorative stickers. She kicked her feet giddily, her smile bright.

She immediately uncapped the blue marker and scribbled before flipping the board around. 'Fifty points to Gryffindor.' He laughed, passing her the gifts with a proud smirk.

He drove towards her house, making sure to avoid the shortcut through the preserve. He and Scott had already gone over everything at the scene and found nothing, so he knew his dad's search for answers would be a waste of time. There was no need to traumatize her further by forcing her to relive that nifht, though he did feel like he'd have to ask a few insensitive questions at some point if they were going to get any answers.

She peeled the wrapper off the chocolate disk, popping the treat into her mouth before offering him one as a sort of peace offering. It was the least she could do after he'd gone out of his way to help her out today.

Stiles took one of the cups, that same goofy grin back on his face as he took a bite. Chocolate and peanut butter. The perfect pairing. Not that Chocolate was aware of that, though, since she'd barely acknowledged Peanut Butter's existence after third grade. But this was true progress happening in real time right before his eyes.

She'd smiled at him. She was in his car, staying at his house.

It was a quiet ride, but not uncomfortable whatsoever. Savanna had fiddled with the radio at first before settling into her seat, both legs bent to her chest.

He glanced at the overnight bag in the floorboard, one hand on the wheel while the other rubbed his lip thoughtfully. "Did I forget anything? I wasn't sure what all to pack, so I kind of just threw a little of everything in." The cheerleader frowned in confusion. He met her doe-eyed gaze with his own. "What?"

You? She mouthed, pointing at the bag.

"Yeah?" Stiles turned his attention back to the road. "You haven't moved the spare key since the last time I was there." Almost ten years ago but who's counting? Not him, that's for sure.

Savanna fell back against her seat, her brows deeply furrowed. She'd been so sure that Danny had been the one thoughtful enough to pack her a bag. He was the closest thing to family she had besides her mother. Had he even visited her while she was in the hospital? Did anyone even notice that she'd been absent? Did they care?

Clearly, one person had taken note of her absence. Or the sheriff had pitied her and had his son bring her a few of her belongings from home.

Stiles stole a glance at the girl. "You okay?"

She ignored him, turning to lay her temple against the window and watch the passing trees, hugging her legs tighter to her chest. She'd died alone, then miraculously came back to life. She didn't get to be sad about not having any close friends to mourn her loss when she was the one responsible for pushing people away. It was easier to be a bitch than to let people in.

But was becoming increasingly clear that no matter what she said or did to deter him, Stiles Stilinski wasn't giving up on her.  She wasn't sure what kept him around. Maybe he saw something in her that she was too blind to notice.

But she wanted to see. She wanted to know what made him so sure that she was worth the time and effort.

Most guys only wanted one thing from her. It was one of the reasons she'd been drawn to Danny. He wasn't interested in anything but companionship. But some unnameable instinct told her that Stiles was an exception to her rule. That he was one of the few she could trust.

And that terrified her.

She didn't want to rely on anyone but herself.

They pulled into her driveway eight minutes later. The two story farmhouse was partially blocked by trees, giving the family of two a fair bit of privacy from any prying eyes. Savanna immediately jumped out, slamming the jeep door shut. Stiles made a face but didn't correct her as he silently followed her to the door. He crouched to tilt a potted plant, revealing a golden key underneath. He held it up for her to take.

She inserted the key, her hand frozen on the knob as a chilling thought occurred to her. Her attacker could've easily taken her keys from the car after leaving her for dead. Had he been here?

Stiles stood behind the ravenette with his hands in his pockets. He saw a shift in her demeanor and frowned. "Van?"

She pushed the door open forcefully, stepping through the gap with tense shoulders. Her head tilted left and right, listening and subtly sniffing the air for any sign of an intruder. Nothing but cinnamon candles and Stiles' cologne.

It's safe.

Vanna breathed out through her nose, feeling that dangerous presence in her retreat from the forefront of her mind. She gripped her bag harder, quickly climbing the stairs and dragging her suitcase out of a hall closet. She'd need to pack at least a few week's worth of clothes. Lord knows how long she'll be confined to the Stilinski residence until her mother remembered to come home.

The two teens went back to his place for a movie marathon. Stiles forced her to take her meds before handing her the remote. She draped a blanket over herself as she scrolled through the channels. She eventually settled on The Dark Knight. Stiles perched on the center cushion while she was curled up against the armrest. He gasped at the choice. "Batman?" She shrugged, mindful of her stitches. The bandages on her neck were really starting to itch.

As the film progressed, the Rios girl found her eyelids growing heavy. She inched closer and closer to an oblivious Stiles Stilinski until she was close enough to rest her head in the crook of his neck.

The pale boy froze, his hazel eyes blown wide in shock. Her soft breathing tickled the sensitive skin above his collarbone. He carefully raised his opposite arm to join hands in prayer, mouthing countless thank yous to the ceiling with an exaggerated expression. A once-immaculately manicured hand pinched his side as punishment for moving around so much while she was trying to rest.

"Sorry," he whispered, unable to wipe the love struck grin off his face. He shifted so his shoulder was just a tad lower, not wanting her to have to strain her neck. She sighed in contentment, nuzzling closer. By now, he'd completely tuned out the movie to focus on her touch, how her silky hair felt beneath his cheek.

An hour went by before a loud noise in the movie startled her awake. The room was darker than before, the sun starting to set outside.

Vanna sat up pin-straight, her dark eyes scanning the room warily. Stiles blinked sluggishly, eyes still bleary after having fallen asleep himself. "Van?" His voice was a little scratchy. She didn't respond, observing the room with a predatory glint in her eye before focusing on him. She cocked her head, leaning closer. Their noses were inches apart as she observed him as if she'd never really seen him before.

"Van?" He asked again like a broken record, because this didn't feel like the girl he knew despite wearing her skin and scent. Her pupils were super dilated, her irises hardly visible and the flickering of the TV cast a weird silvery-white glow on her eyes. She glanced down at his mouth and bit her bottom lip.

This has to be a dream, he thought as she moved close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body. Vanna would never act like this in real life. Not with him.

"Van," he gasped, grabbing her upper arms. He wanted this to be real. God, he'd give anything for her to want him like she seemed to right now, but something felt off.  She could still be a little confused from her concussion or loopy from the pain meds. Either way, she wasn't in her right mind and he wouldn't ever take advantage of her like that.

She made a strange, airy noise in her throat. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was purring.

"Van, wait-!" He grit his teeth, nearly on his back as he tried to keep some distance between them but she just kept advancing. "Hey, uh, are..." he stammered, staring up at her with those big hazel eyes. "You wouldn't happen to be a virgin, would you?" The question stunned her enough that she paused, blinking at him uncomprehendingly before her expression shifted into something so Vanna that he breathed a sigh of relief.

She scoffed in disgust, shoving his chest and pushing herself off of him and away from the couch. Well, I think that answers that question. Not that he'd had much doubt that she was experienced. There goes my theory.

She escaped upstairs to probably break something in his room. Stiles laid sprawled on his back across the couch, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. "What the fuck just happened?" He whispered to himself.

The sound of a key turning in the doorknob caught his attention. His dad walked in with an exhausted smile and a box of pizza. "Hey. How's she doing?"

The slamming of a door in the distance made them both look up. "Oh, you know. Just Van being Van," he tried to sound convincing but even Stiles couldn't deny that something was definitely off with the cheerleader.

[rarepairdumpster]

Zaunite Takeover AU

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: T C/W: Canonverse, Everyone Lives!, Medical Procedure, Jinx & Viktor, A little whump

Zaun literally invading Piltover and taking it over installing Silco as emperor and Viktor is right there next to him

Viktor was the quiet invader, making preparations in advance.

Enforcer schedules.

Taking note of security codes.

(Mostly non-lethal) Weapons manufacturing 

The insidious voice whispering in the ears of those who would waver in their support of certain powerful houses, etc

Viktor isn't happy about Silco still using shimmer during the invasion, but he had promised it would be strictly regulated once they were seated in power

And Silco is a man of his word.

All the councilors get arrested and imprisoned in stillwater for criminal neglect

Everyone is given a trial and no one was executed unless they resisted arrest

Jayce, along with many enforcers, are put on trial for murder. 

Jayce cries pathetically during his trial, claiming it was an accident,  but hundreds of children from the factory testify that Jayce came storming in with a giant hammer, making threats, and attacking people, and how they all saw him burn a giant hole in Renni's son's chest.

How Jayce just ran away and left the body.

Silco claims Medarda's beautiful property overlooking the sea for himself and Viktor to live in.

On quiet days, he likes to sit there and look at the sun gates, marvelling at the fact that Zaun controls those gates and all the prosperity those entail now.

No longer do his people need to suffer

Zaunite surgeons actually being able to do something about Viktor's respiratory illness now because, even though they had the indepth knowledge about the illness before from countless post-mortem autopsies, they never had the funds or the extremely sanitary surgical spaces or the high quality medical supplies that Piltover had, rendering such invasive surgeries more unsafe until now.

It doesn't stop Viktor from tearing up from how afraid he is when he's waiting to be pumped full of anesthesia, though.

Doesn't stop him from clinging to Silco's surgical-gloved hand and hanging on to his promise that Silco will be right there, holding his hand, the entire time.

The promise that Viktor will be fine because he is one of the strongest and most resilient men Silco knows

Let's be real, Silco is also shitting bricks, but he has years of practice appearing strong and unmoved

Every Zaunite nurse and surgeon in the room working with the knowledge that the Emperor's husband is on their operating table right now and they better not fuck up. Fortunately, they've all had years of experience working "for" crime lord's before

Viktor in recovery, waking up to a large table full of home-made trinkets and plushies and get well soon cards from all the Zaunites he'd helped over the years

And Silco is right there, resting his eyes in the chair next to Viktor's bed.

Still holding his hand, like he promised.

Viktor gives his hand a weak little squeeze and tug, because he knows Silco would want to know he woke up.

Silco is startled a little bit but smiles when he sees Viktor's eyes open. 

"How do you feel, Vitya?" Silco asks softly, rubbing circles into his hand with his thumb

"Like I had my chest cracked open."

And he starts to laugh but ow.

Viktor subsides tiredly, but smiles.

"Happy," Viktor answers more seriously, "that I get to spend a long life with you. We deserve that."

Silco leans closer, rubbing his cheek against Viktor's hand. 

"The doctors say there shouldn't be any issues with healing," Silco smirks as he looks up at Viktor. "As long as you rest."

"You know me," Viktor mumbles, eyes drifting closed for a moment. He blinks sleepily. "Might have to cuff me to the bed after a while."

Silco reaches behind himself and pulls out their padded cuffs. 

"Oh, I came prepared, my darling."

Viktor starts to chuckle and winces. 

"Ah! Careful now," Viktor sighs and relaxes back into the bed as the pain goes down. "Only very serious matters until I recover."

"Of course." Silco kisses his hand and smiles. "Whatever my love needs."

"Mm. Sleep." Viktor tugs on his hand a little. "Come."

Silco carefully pulls back the covers as Viktor moves to make room for Silco as he eases onto the bed.

He slides one hand under Viktor's head, then uses the other to cover them both with the sheet. 

He sighs as Viktor positions himself and curls his fingers into Silco's chest.

"Thank you," Viktor says softly, his voice already heavy with fatigue again

Viktor is asleep before he can reply, so Silco just kisses his hair and pets him until he drifts off himself.

Viktor spends a lot of the next few days just going in and out of sleep while his body recovers from the invasive nature of the procedure.

The people who were close to him take turns sitting with him.

Sky.

Sevika.

Jinx -- who works on boring, pointless clockwork creatures to pass time because she knows Viktor is too rundown to be dealing with glitter and paint bombs exploding by his bed

Viktor still gives her opinions and helps her with her gear placement. He's even sitting up one time, a couple weeks post op, going over some schematics with her when Silco walks in.

"What are we working on today," Silco asks, curious, but pleased to see Viktor feeling well enough to be sitting up and "working"

"An arcane barricade," Viktor answers, frowning down at the sheet in his hand and making notes/adjustments with a pencil. "Theoretically, it should collect and store the energies from the impacts of a battering ram before expelling those energies back at the aggressor. I have no doubt that Ambessa Medarda will wage war to rescue her daughter." 

"And this is a stun gun," Jinx announces cheerfully, waving another sheet. "For the boring jobs. No mess. You should be happy, Silly!"

"I'm always happy to see my two favorite people working together," Silco smiles as he walks over to Jinx and hugs her from the side. 

Viktor takes a moment to look up from his papers and smile at his husband. "And how has running the city been?"

"Less gritty," Silco answers wryly, "but just as migraine-inducing. Do you realise how many Piltovans evaded taxes over the years? No wonder our tax rates kept climbing."

Silco moves to sit beside the bed.

"I've spent the last weeks just parsing through the creative accounting in the official records."

Silco huffs. "But at least I have help now. Mister Young is as capable as you claimed."

Viktor waggles his brows. "Why do you think the Youngs were kicked out of Piltover? He was one of the good ones."

"I couldn't have done any of this without you," Silco reminds Viktor picking up his hand and kissing the top. 

Jinx promptly pretends to gag. "Get a rooooom"

"We're in a room." 

"Away from meeeee"

Arch + Woods

[lover-of-mine]

I think I cracked how to make a buddie begins episode. You do it like grey's anatomy 12x11 aka the japril divorce episode. You go backwards. So think with me, for this situation there is no previous establishing pining, they just realized it a few episodes before and are dancing around it, it's already clear they know they have feelings for each other but refuse to do something about it, then we have a situation that triggers them for sure, a heat of the moment kiss, an accidental love confession, something neither planned on, but happened and they can't back out of or talk about immediately in the end of the episode before (leave everyone hanging and build up the numbers for the actual event, break records with rating is my goal lol). Then you open with Buck showing up at Eddie's house, it's very important to me that Buck shows up without warning, it is VERY important to me that it is Buck's the choice to force the conversation, and then some talking and we start getting flashbacks of simple stuff like Buck dragging Eddie out of bed one summer morning while Chris is in Texas, Eddie cooking dinner for all 3 of them while Buck helps Chris with homework at the house, stuff like that we haven't seen, maybe just in flashes, intertwined with extra moments we didn't see but work around stuff we did see, maybe Buck crashing on Eddie's couch after the poker, or after the kitchen scene in recovery, more of Eddie in the hospital when Buck was in the coma (I just want the scene Oliver mentioned that we never saw), how the night went for Buck after Eddie's breakdown, Buck helping with Eddie's recovery after the shooting, canon proof they shared a bed during during quarantine, Eddie's talk with his lawyer after the well, Buck staying with Eddie after the well, how Eddie found out about the lawsuit, Eddie helping Buck during his recovery from the bombing, the first time Buck went over for dinner at the Diaz house, the first time Eddie saw Buck, stuff like that, maybe some actual rejected footage from previous seasons, I'm sure there's more than enough between canon and spaces they can add shit that doesn't exactly retcon anything, but adds extra context, all that going on with flashes of them talking while moving around the Diaz house, about loving each other, losing each other, about what's at stake, cards on the table type thing, and the flashbacks actually end with Bobby talking to Eddie about going to the 118 and throwing in a comment about Buck and Eddie looking intrigued before we go back to the present, they are now, obviously, in the kitchen, and we finally get some actual getting together confession I like the idea of Buck throwing something along the lines of "I didn't do anything because I was scared of losing you but I'm tired of being scared of us because it's us, we made this and I want this, and I know you want me too" and them having a little are we doing this moment while getting closer until one of them just goes fuck it and then they are kissing. Roll credits. Buddie is canon. Internet is broken. History is made. Records are being broken. Not a stable person left in the fandom. Bosses all across the globe are getting calls about someone needing a sick day. How would they film me this and respect continuity with the way Eddie's hair changes every 5 episodes? No a single clue. Is this even doable? Well, grey's anatomy did it, so it's possible. Will it happen? Definitely not, but god, it would be fun.

[skvaderarts]

Dinner and Diatribes

Chapter 3: Hammers and Nails

Summary: Word Count 14K! AO3 Link

Jayce returns from the ruined future to fulfill his promise to Viktor, only to find him inconspicuously missing and his commune in shambles. As it turns out, his disappearance is the work of none other than Ambessa, twink hunter extraordinaire and connoisseur of only the finest local cuisine. And what cuisine could be more exquisite than the Herald of Zaun himself?

She isn't in the business of asking nicely, but perhaps a bribe is in order? After all, why ask when the stakes are this high, and you hold all the cards? A spicy meal just means more flavor, right? Jayce better hurry and find Viktor before she decides to have a taste and find out...

Chapter 2 Summary: We found out what happened with Viktor. Now it's time I find out what Jayce plans to do about it...

Chapters: (1) (2) (4) (5) Masterlist 3/5

Chapter 3: Hammers and Nails

Note: First, I want to start by thanking everyone for the astoundingly positive reception this fic has had so far. 91 subscriptions are you KIDDING ME?! The most I’ve ever had was 28! I feel so loved and I’m so happy you guys are enjoying this little crack project! Sorry chapter 3 took so long! So much came up all of a sudden! I hope I can make it up to you guys!

—

The winding caverns that encompassed the vast, ever-stretching mines of the fissures never seemed to end, reaching into oblivion itself.

Joyce was unsure as to whether he’d ventured down this way already. There was nothing to differentiate one tunnel from another; no daylight to provide a path to follow. Instead, he stumbled aimlessly through the sequence of man-made and naturally formed burrows, attempting to hold onto the scant traces of adrenaline that had propelled him forward until that point. But he was running on empty, trying his level best not to acknowledge the way his leg ached, the way his back stung and sagged from the weight of all he carried.

He gritted his teeth as he limped and stumbled onward. Ever forward, breath uneven and ragged. The stifling heat of the caves was unexpected and unwelcome, as was the humidity. Perhaps it was the time of day. Regardless, it succeeded in draining what little moisture remained inside of him back out, leaving him a sticky, sweat-drenched mess. Siphoning the life out of him more and more with each labored step he took. If he never set foot in another cave for the rest of his life it still wouldn't be enough.

What he wouldn’t do for some water. Some food. Some rest.

He’d ventured into the greenhouse before he’d left the commune. Ostensibly to investigate, but out of a nebulous sense of curiosity, as well. There had been no signs of a struggle. No locks had been broken and no glass shattered. The uncomfortably sensible man with the auburn hair -Huck. That’d been his name- had informed him that Viktor spent a good portion of his time there. The space wasn’t forbidden to the other members of the commune by any means, but it was a softly spoken piece of knowledge amongst all of its members that should the Herald enter it, he desired to be left alone. To reflect and decompress. It was a place built for an almost therapeutic purpose; to soothe their messia’s troubled mind. A personally curated sanctuary of repose and rest amidst the turmoil.

But what troubled him?

Huck had no answer to that question. No perspective to provide. Nothing concrete, at least. Instead, he’d offered the personal insight that something seemed to be weighing on him as of late. That he’d become very personally invested in the recovery and care of the most recent expats to the community. Visitors who had seemingly up and vanished into thin air just before everything had gone south. But he knew nothing of their identities or whereabouts. And that left nothing for Jayce to work with.

Jayce had taken the most expedient possible route down to the bottom of the fissures, clambering over seams of loose boulders and scraggly, jagged rock faces by any means necessary in order to reach his destination faster. Scaling impossibly dangerous land formations with nothing but the power of his will and his uncompromising grip had become second nature to him. Heights that would have unsteadied him and anchored him unmovingly in place no longer set his heart aflutter and settled weakness into his joints. He simply accepted that he would not fall. Denied that it was a possibility and refused to entertain the notion. He simply believed in himself.

He’d been taken by surprise by just how easily he’d located the commune. It glistened and glittered like a far-off treasure, but so many had led his path from afar to reach it. Troves of lost, desperate souls fleeing The Grey above ground. Jayce had barely circumvented it himself, grateful that he’d been fortunate enough not to have to breathe it in. He could tell by the pallor and state of those affected by it that it was a cruel fate, indeed. But he didn’t need to see them to know as much.

He knew Viktor, didn’t he? Had known him, at least.

The signs had been there years ago. He knew as much now. Knew what he should have paid more mind to. Hindsight in all its cruel, undying clarity. It had started so subtly. Viktor had started to move around the lab less, preferring to work at his own station and seemingly content to only physically engage with Jayce when it was necessary. His complexion had gradually lost its splendor, replaced with a pallor noticeably more lifeless. Jayce had made adjustments to his braces with increasing frantic frequency when it became more and more undeniably apparent that Viktor wasn't fitting them properly anymore, his petite frame growing ever more gaunt. He’d abandoned his cane and substituted it for a crutch that could hold the weight that his rapidly weakening spine could not, much to his chagrin. Then came the screws and the back brace that had left him bedridden for a not-so-insignificant amount of time. His appetite had suffered. Then his sleep. He’d complained of headaches and brain fog and then he’d started to seem short of breath. Nosebleeds followed delirium. The dark rings around his eyes that never seemed to abate. Jayce had associated them with a lack of proper sleep but now he knew better.

There had been so many sighs. So many symptoms of the illness that Viktor was trying so hard to make light of for his own reasons.

Why had he not pushed him just that little bit harder to rest? To see his doctors more often when it became undeniable apparent that he was avoiding his appointments in favor of working ever harder, toiling away until it exacted a cost far too great from him. He knew the answer. He hadn’t wanted to step on his feet and disrespect him. But looking back on it, he should’ve taken that step for both of their sakes. Made a fuss over him so he knew how much he cared for him. And there was an additional pain in that personal revelation. He’d also just not seen the depths of it, so blinded he’d been by the brilliance of his dearest companion and all that their time meant to him. By things going on outside of the four walls of the lab that always seemed to keep him away, occupying more and more of his time. By other less important priorities that he’d treated as more so without even purposefully intending to.

Looking back, he couldn’t claim in good conscience that he hadn’t known that something was horribly wrong. That he hadn’t known better.

A pang of guilt settled into him, gnawing away at some part of him deep within the confines of his consciousness. He’d been so caught up in it all. So enveloped in the politics and the games and people-pleasing and schmoozing that he hadn’t been there for Viktor when he’d most needed him to be. When he’d most desired to be. When his dearest friend had pleaded with him to be. 

How many times had Viktor expressed disappointment at his decision to leave in the middle of their time together to go to a council meeting? Even Mel had told him to spend more time with Viktor. Why had he ever agreed to take that position with the council when he knew deep down that he had no political interests or desires to speak of? He’d only done what he’d thought was right at the time. Only did what was required of him and yet…

Jayce had reread the notes during the time he’d lingered by Viktor’s side. Took note of the detached manner in which he referred to his own immense pain. How Viktor had tried so hard to be as objective in his scientific observations as he would be with any other experiment so as not to befoul his data points. The only difference being that this was his own body, of course. And the way that he tried so very hard not to acknowledge that broke something in Jayce. The mental image of him sitting in the lab alone, blade upon his flesh carving those damnable runes into himself, flinching in pain but never ceasing from sheer desperation. A fraught, agnized state brought about by the simple truth of just how alone he'd been. So utterly abandoned he’d felt in his greatest hour of need.

What Jayce wouldn’t do now to go back to that day in the lab. The last one they’d spent together where they’d argued over the ethics and principles of their shared dream and its purpose in designs so far beyond anything they’d ever imagined. When he’d told him he needed to think. But about what? How he wished to stand at his side and firmly proclaim that they would not make Hextech weapons, something he’d only found the strength to do as Viktor lay cradled in the embrace of the Arcane instead of his own. So very cold instead of warm, as good as dead beside him.

Actually dead.

It had been all he’d thought about in that cave. Everything that haunted him. All that could’ve been.

Growling at the thoughts that raced through his troubled, fragmented mind, he continued. Pressing ever forward into the unknown. It was too late now. He needed to-

And then it hit him, sending him to the ground as he landed on his weary knees with an impact force that nearly made him bite his tongue as he clenched his teeth and cried out, his mind reeling with tectonic force. Calidescopes of overlapping fragments of things he could not discern or comprehend collided with one another in a merciless onslaught of imagery that made him physically ill. He lurched over onto his side, his chest heaving from the effort that it took not to vomit as his chest and stomach tightened involuntarily, sending spasms through his back. But nothing came up. His stomach was far too empty.

Panting as he grasped his head, he trembled, hunched over as he tried to reorient himself. Slow but surely pulling himself back to his feet using the hammer handle as leverage. He was still in the same dark cavern, only now it was ever so slightly lighter. Something glowing softly along the base of the mineshaft’s circumference.

That had been the worst one so far.

He snarled ferally. The Anomaly. Whatever it had done to his mind was rendering him nearly hysterical, tugging at the fragile makeup of his ever-fraying mind with all the indelicate precision of a finely woven rope being gradually undone at the frayed ends. Making him come undone. He didn’t need this right now. He never would. He longed for a way to make the sensation dissipate. Permanently.

He scoffed morbidly at the notion. He knew one way, but that was not an idea he would even entertain but for that fleeting moment and then never again. He’d made a promise. He would not abandon his duty. No amount of pain could make him falter. 

In all timelines, in all possibilities, only him. No matter how he longed for that not to be the case.

But as he lifted the warped Mercury Hammer and dragged it along with him with all the resentment of Sisyphus laboring under the unyielding weight of his boulder, he heard something. Deep and rumbling, it was more a force he felt than a sound his ears detected. He felt the ground quake underneath him as the bellowing grew louder, more distinct. A thud and then a second; a third and then a fourth. Pounding as the cavern shuttered, dust that had long since settled on the roof above him shook loose and clouded the already dark, stagnant air. Yet he could not fathom any reasonable estimate of distance from its source. It was simply too dark.

Sighing in annoyance at the prospect of whatever ungodly horror this might prove to be, Jayce raised the hammer as high as he could comfortably manage. Admittedly “comfortably” was a misnomer his mind struggled to reckon with the concept of under such exacting circumstances, but when every movement, no matter how minute, caused one to ache as much as he did, it made little practical difference. He pulled the handle of the blunt instrument, opening the butterfly-shaped maw and exposing its corrupted core. It radiated energy and light, refracting indiscriminately off the walls of the roughly hewn mineshaft in a kaleidoscope of colors and organic fractal designs. A weapon reclaimed by forces beyond nature. Ready to be used if necessary. 

His eyes scanned the darkness, squinting. He’d grown accustomed to seeing in a cave, but it was still so dark, even with the light. His eyes began to adjust, searing and searching.

And there in the dim light, he saw it. Two small, floating spherical objects in the oblique darkness, shifting through hews of green and yellow in an uneven sequence. Processing something. And then red.

A ragged, beastly snarl ripped out through the cave, echoing harshly off of the narrow walls of the cavern. The entire space lit up bright white, a faint rippling sound sending another layer of sound through the space. And then it became frighteningly clear to him. The outline of something hulking and inhuman in the depths of the cave a few dozen yards beyond him, looming and vibrating with fury. A chill shot up his spine as his eardrums rattled, his breath halting, hushed by a palpable mixture of confusion and terror. The sound of something akin to a piston firing off as razor-sharp metal crashed against the stone at its feet and gouged it, marring the surface permanently as the clawed, monstrous silhouette of a hand more paw than digit slammed into the ground followed by a second. And then another roar. One filled with bottomless retribution.

The monstrosity bellowed, rising up to tower over him with its arms spread wide as its fur stood on end as though it had been filled with static electricity. A maw brimming with razor-sharp, ragged teeth spraying spittle in every direction as it roared in fury, slamming back down on the ground and hunkering on its back legs in a manner that indicated that the creature was about to pounce.

Jayce raised the hammer as high as he could into a ready position, Willing to strike if the need arose. He couldn’t run, not in his current state. His leg screamed at the pressure being put on it as he tried and failed to compensate for it, every muscle in his back throbbing as he overextended them, but he pushed it down, glancing back only momentarily to see where the nearest solid wall was as attempted to brace himself against nothing in particular. This wasn’t a challenger he could back down from. Something told him it was deceptively fast.

And then a voice called out from the darkness.

“Vander don’t!”

Jayce’s mind reeled at the sound. It was so unlike the deathly snarls of the beast that it threw him off completely. And it was familiar. So much so that he felt his head hurt from the effort of trying to associate a name with it. One that he knew he should be able to recall but simply couldn’t. And then a second unseen voice called out to the first and said her name. Vi.

“Vi?!” He didn’t think, simply calling out in confusion. There was no rhyme or reason that he could think of as to why she would be down here of all places, but then again, nothing made sense to him anymore. She was from the Undercity. She probably had more reason than he did by right.

“Wait… Pretty boy?!” The disbelief in her voice was palpable even without being able to see her. She sounded as though she’d just been punched wholesale in the gut, gasping as she drew in a sharp intake of air. She was as surprised to see him down there as he was to see her. “Jayce?!”

He hadn’t heard his name in what felt like years. Not since he’d spoken to Viktor at the base of the Hexgates. It felt so surreal to hear, especially at a time like this. In a situation like this.

But before he could muster the energy to open his mouth to respond, the creature launched at him. And it did so with a speed so unprecedented that it caused his brain to halt in its tracks, unable to process what he was seeing fast enough. For a single, brief moment, the creature was exactly where he’d last seen it. And then the next, it was launching straight at him through the air, its metal-taloned left claw going straight for his head as the width and breadth of the ghastly beast blocked out everything else in sight. Going straight for the kill with a ferocity that genuinely took him aback. He’d never seen anything like it. And it made his blood run cold.

By the grace of some cosmic miracle, Jayce managed to block the strike with the length of the Mercury Hammer’s handle, but the beast grasped hold of it, snatching him straight off of his feet and bodily tossing him across the cave. He landed on his back and rolled, slamming shoulder first into the stone and wood behind him as he came to a harsh stop, pulling a pained gasp from him. Pulling the handle of the hammer down with him as he resolutely refused to let it go despite the shooting pain in his arm and the cries and pleas of his back to relent. He clambered to his feet as fast as he could, grasping the notched crank in the handle and pulling it, charging the hammer with energy as the beast swiveled to meet his gaze, its maw dripping with slobber as it bore down on him. Red eyes wreathed with heat and bloodlust as it lunged a second time.

Jayce slammed the hammer down into the ground, sending off a shockwave of arcane and runic energy in a radius around him that made the entire cave system shudder and vibrate, sending a groan through the well-worn support beams. The energy made impact with the monster, tearing at it and sending it reeling back as it snarled in pain. Spraying blood and fur in an arc around him as it staggered back and braced itself against the other side of the cave, its mouth dripping with blood.

And then he watched as all the damage dealt to it healed in the blink of an eye. Well and whole again as though it had never happened.

His eyes went wide from a potent combination of horror and disbelief as all hope of defeating it drained from him along with any semblance of color on his face. His body flooded with adrenaline as every functioning neuron in his body screamed at him to run, a request he would’ve happily obliged if he’d been able to get his legs to cooperate with him. Alas, he remained rooted in place, unmoving despite his internal pleas and protests. Heavier than they’d ever been in his entire life.

It launched forward again, breath hot as the mouth of hell itself as it reached towards him with both clawed hands, ready to tear him asunder. It would be a gruesome and terrible death, fraught with unfathomable levels of agony as it tore him limb from limb and sprayed blood, bone, and bits of viscera as far as the eye could see. Hopefully, it would be swift.

And then someone jumped in front of him.

“Put the weapon down, Jayce! You can’t fight him. Trust me, I tried that once. All you’re doing is making him angry!” Vi called over her shoulder as she used her hands to grip the beast’s, preventing it from reaching him as it lumbered ever closer. She held her ground, sliding back against his weight but not buckling as one would expect, her head held high and directly in the line of fire. And yet, there was a gentleness behind the strength of her grasp with the Atlas Gauntlets that he couldn’t help but notice, even as his brain reached new levels of oversaturation. She wasn’t trying to hurt it. She was trying to stop it.

Jayce looked at the hammer and then back up at Vi, his brow knotting in irritation and perplexed exhaustion. He could hardly draw breath right as everything around him ceased to maintain coherency and his body ached with unknowable levels of fatigue and pain. It was a wonder that he was still standing.

“What’s going on, Vi?! What is this?!” He asked almost pleadingly as gestured towards the creature in front of both of them. But she did not elaborate. Instead, she groaned in annoyance and cracked her neck, doubling down on her efforts to halt the monster’s encroachment with all the strength she had left in her.

“Just put the damn hammer down!”

Utterly flabbergasted and certain that he’d truly finally lost his mind, Jayce didn’t think. He simply complied, dropping it head-side down against the cold stone floor of the chasm with a resounding thud and stepping back with both of his hands up in front of him, his legs finally complying with his commands. And just in the nick of time.

The monster lurched forward, sending Vi flying back into Jayce and the pair of them to the floor. They collided with a huff, landing with their backs against the wall in a sitting position as the menacing creature huffed and snarled, noticeably calmer than it had been but its eyes were still red. They weren’t out of the woods just yet. But then came the sound of footsteps.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy there, big guy. It’s okay! Calm down!” Came the voice of a third figure as they emerged from the depths of the cavern in the blink of an eye, a pink trail of light illuminating the path that they took as they came to a stop in front of the creature. They held their hands out in front of it, touching the spot on the fur-covered wolf-like beast where it had been previously wounded by Jayce, earning an almost pitiful whimper from it as it recoiled and shook its head. Its eyes suddenly began to shift again, through the same series of colors that it had when Jayce had first encountered it. And then it became still, all rage vacating it as it slumped over into a resting position and its breathing gradually ramped down.

And just like that, it was over.

Vi huffed and stood up, stretching her back as she allowed her now deactivated Atlas Gauntlets to slouch off of her hands and into the ground below with a resounding thud. She then extended a hand to Jayce, offering to pull him to his feet. An offer that he accepted with little to no thought or resistance. He was far too tired to attempt to find some reason to refuse.

Now standing before the calmer form of the creature that had nearly made short work of him mere moments ago, Jayce sighed heavily, gripping the handle of the warped Mercury Hammer and using it to support himself as he tried to shift his weight to take some of the pressure off his bad leg. He didn’t need to look down. The makeshift brace had shifted slightly.

“That’s better,” Vi said as she adjusted her neck. She then brought her hands up in front of herself and clapped loudly, something that earned her a startled if not slightly miffed look from Jayce and no reaction whatsoever from anyone else present. The cave suddenly began to glow, small clusters of strange fungus littering the edges of the corridor reacting to the sound as they gave off faint traces of light. It was a strange sight, to be sure, but it was a welcome one all the same. Jayce was fed up with not being able to see. Fed up with everything, really.

Turning to face him, Vi stopped dead in her tracks. There in the dim light of the cave, she caught sight of him for the first time. The tattered, soiled state of his clothing that both clung to him and fell unflatteringly from places it had once fit better all at once. The torn, hole-riddled fabric that had been repurposed to assist in fashioning his makeshift leg brace. His unkempt beard and messy, noticeably matted hair. And the pained, absolutely hopelessly exhausted look in his eyes, devoid of any semblance of the light that had once shone in them.

He was undeniably a shadow of his former self and everything that still haunted him all at once. And it was harrowing to behold.

“What the hell happened to you? You look awful…” She couldn’t help but ask, so bewildered was she by the sight of the state of him. The last time she’d seen him he’d been a little scuffed up from the fight they’d both participated in at the Piltover memorial, sure, but aside from a few bandages, he’d been a picture of health. This version of him looked as though it were fueled by some other force entirely. Driven by something primal and desperate. He was hurt. In ways she could hardly imagine.

He’d lost something.

Shifting in noticeable discomfort, Jayce regarded her with a look that was as hard to read as it was foreign-looking when worn upon his features. His eyes flicker over her in a wild pattern, his thoughts indiscernible as though he were analyzing something. He then nodded subtly, folding his arms in front of himself.

“No kidding. So do you. What happened to your…” He unfolded his arms specifically to gesture at some individual aspect of her appearance but then paused mid-way, unsure as to what in particular he wanted to point out. Her hair was an obvious choice. Her change in makeup. Her physique. The way her battered and bruised hands were wrapped reminded him of his leg. Instead, he just gestured towards her broadly with both hands before allowing them to fall tiredly to his sides. “Yeah.”

They’d both been through hell. He could tell just by looking at her.

She actually had to laugh at that one. It was funny, if not brutally honest. It was the audacity of it more than anything. But he was right and they both knew it. They were right about each other. It seemed that the last few months had been unkind to them both. But even still Jayce looked…

Jayce’s gaze fell from her and back towards the elephant in the room. And as it did so he noticed the presence of a child with the other member of the group. A child with short blue hair wearing a miner's metal helmet. Accompanying a tiny young woman with impossibly long blue pigtails so lengthy that she was nearly stepping on them as she crouched down next to the massive creature, idly passing the time with him doing nothing in particular. Content to just bask in his presence. It was oddly domestic.

Strange. She almost looked familiar…

Vi noticed the way his brow furrowed and he worried at the inside of his lip as his mouth hung ever so slightly open, his teeth barely visible. There was a slight tremble to his lips. His tired, extinguished eyes lingered on the furry creature, seemingly struggling to comprehend what he was looking at. And then his gaze shifted to Vi, his arms wrapping limply around himself as he gestured with a head tilt towards the subject of his fascination. He didn’t need to ask the question when they both knew exactly what he was wondering.

With a beleaguered sigh, Vi gestured towards the now sedate bundle of fur sitting across from them, his eyes filled with emotions so human that they gave Jayce pause. He regarded them with such… softness. Such gentle appreciation. Like they meant everything to him and he simply couldn’t communicate that in any meaningful way.

“Jayce, this is Vander. My… my father.”

—

The clouds hung low over the whole of the gleaming city, the air much more crisp and clear than the gas-filled remnants of Zaun.

Standing with her back to the door as she gazed out over Piltover’s harbor, Ambessa stood with her arms folded. Pondering. There were so many tasks that could benefit from her experienced touch; so many loose ends that needed attending to. But they would have to wait for now. Her priorities had shifted, and something unexpected had crept its way to the top of her list. Something that might yet prove to be the key to her enemies' undoing.

Or so she dared hope. If only just. There was no wisdom to be found in undue conclusions.

Behind her, she heard the door handle turn and push open with a soft click. Her Noxian guards stationed outside of the door did not indicate any semblance of activity. No struggle. She knew who it must’ve been.

“You have news, I take it?” 

There was no need to turn to face her conversation partners. They were the only ones who would be up there around midday aside from a handful of troops stationed on this wing of the capitol building. They’d arrived a day ago, and since then, everything had been quiet. Eerily so in a way that would have unsettled a less expectant mind. Someone less vigilant and battle-hardened. The trick was to always expect something, especially silence. And to prepare accordingly. It was that simple. And something was afoot. She could practically smell it on the salty seaborne air.

“He is nearly awake,” Replied an older man’s voice, confirming her suspicions. Dr Reveck had news, and it was favorable. At first glance, at least. She still needed to assess the possible use case for such a complicated acquisition, but if he could be brought alongside…

She’d been afforded an abundance of time to think on the way back to the capitol. Plenty of time to compile a vague if not cohesive list of questions that she needed answered. But she would be lying to herself if she didn’t include some measure of personal intrigue on that list. She’d yet to take the opportunity to indulge her curiosity and take a better look at her new captive, yet there was still something about him that intrigued her. Captivated her mind and held her attention in the instances where she allowed her practiced mind to wander.

To say that she was not fond of mages would be an understatement. She was wary of his potential lethality, having already taken measures to ensure that she remained at the helm of any situation that should arise. But in that same breath, she could not deny the fact that she’d never seen anything quite like him. It was rare that something truly intrigued her. It was an urge that she needed to satisfy before carrying on. Nothing more.

“I was starting to think you’d killed him.” She said dryly as she turned to face him. It was true. After he’d failed to arise on his own several hours after arriving, she’d noticed a subtle but undeniable air of unease from her newest ally. It was not an error that would be deemed permissible, and she would not be the least bit pleased if an overzealous dosage miscalculation cost her a potential smoking gun in an arms race she was already infuriatingly behind in. The doctor had taken immediate action to rectify the situation before it spiraled out of control, and it had paid dividends.

Singed’s demeanor was calm. Unconcerned with anything more than the task at hand. He didn’t waver under pressure. A desirable trait. It made him dependable, if not less forthcoming than she’d like, though it did eliminate the possibility of aggravating small talk.

“It seems that he was more susceptible to the serum than I originally expected. His physiology is complex.” It was less an admittance of culpability or wrongdoing and more a dismissal of concern. He’d been apprehensive, but it wasn’t a situation that he was incapable of rectifying.

“I imagine so.” Her face was unreadable as she looked between her loyal guard and her newfound advisor. Quite the collection of strangers, indeed. First an alchemist and now a mage. A combination she never would have banked on if given first pick. “Let him recuperate until I have need of him.”

Singed offered no response, instead turning his attention to the door. This had been a brief update, nothing more. Leaving their magically inclined guest to his own devices could prove to be regrettable. Having someone familiar with him in attendance at all times was the most advisable course of action under the present circumstances.

Her eyes fell on Rictus, commanding him to accompany the doctor with nothing more than her gaze. An order that he obliged. He was of more use to her in the company of their new guest than he was lingering in her common area. And besides, evening would be upon them in a handful of hours. There was always work to be done. Patrols to run. Things to safeguard against the intrusion of would-be miscreants.

As things stood, there was no threat Ambessa couldn’t handle alone.

—

Jayce looked at Vi as though she’d just grown a third appendage out of the middle of her forehead, his eyes unmoving as he stared at her in abject horror.

The prospect wasn’t unheard of. He knew how easily one could create a monster from an otherwise upstanding and well-intentioned person. But this… It felt intentional. Purposeful it’s cruelty. Perhaps it was the vestiges of humanity that yet lingered, brimming with memory and potential. Perhaps it was the inhuman elements that helped support the creature, namely the piston that fired on his back when his rage boiled over and he regressed to his more beastly nature, reduced to nothing more than a mindless monstrosity plagued by a thirst for blood. 

Regardless, one thing was certain. It had been an act of unmitigated cruelty. And both Vi and Vander were suffering for it.

“He didn't used to look like this, you know. This is just a thing that happened to him.” Vi looked down at the floor, her shoulders sagging slightly as though a great weight had been placed upon her weary shoulders. She looked over at Vander and the blue-pigtailed girl who sat with him, her eyes lingering. She sighed heavily, huffing as she scraped her boot against a pebble underfoot. “But you don't just stop loving someone because they change…”

Jayce remained silent, contemplating the gravity of such a statement. Allowing his weary, pain-addled mind to wander to better times. Softer, gentler moments wrethed in the warm, golden light of fond nostalgia and early morning sun. A time when he showed up to the lab early to try and surprise Viktor with breakfast to christen their new lab, only to find that he’d slept there overnight. Moments of reprieve where they shared a breakthrough and Jayce snatched his companion off of his feet, spinning him around as though he were a mere plaything, the two of them exuberant and filled with such joy as they laughed together, all the weight of the world falling away. The unveiling of the Hexgates, one of the only public events Jayce had ever convinced Viktor to attend. And the look of utter pride at the result of their combined genius that shone in his gleaming honeyed brown eyes as he stood there side by side with the only person in the world he had. Looking up at Jayce with utter adoration.

It was affection that held us together.

Jayce finched. Writhing in an agony that existed so strongly in his mind that it hurt him physically. Not a burst of pain brought on by the anomaly this time, but one that only a treasured memory of something long since lost could bring. The fondness one could only hold in their heart towards something utterly lost. Someone lost to him.

“Believe me, I know… “ The exhaustion and grief in his words was palpable. If he could wield the anomaly in the way that the one who had sent him back there could, there was so much that he would change. So many things he would tell his past self to do. Things he would avoid. Countless things he would’ve started and ended earlier. Hextech wouldn’t exist. He would be studying a cure for Viktor’s illness, and the two of them would be worlds away, sequestered away in some quiet corner of the world where the Arcane could never reach him. He would keep Viktor safe, far from its influence. They would both be alive and healthy. 

They would be…

Vi regarded him silently, half looking at him and half not. Trying to gain a fuller measure of his character. And then something in her eyes softened. It was subtle and undefinable, but the clarity of realization betrayed itself.

“You really do, don't you?”

Jayce didn’t react to her inquiry, his once sparkling eyes now a thousand miles away. His face filled with haunting quantities of anguish as he tried to put the phantom of what Viktor had once been to him to rest. To let it lay quietly in peace where it so desperately belonged. 

It wasn’t healthy to feel this level of infatuation towards someone he needed to kill.

And yet still, those eyes. He couldn’t deny the way they haunted him. The way he missed them. Gazing into them as the midday sun shone in them while Viktor solved equations at his desk. How they haunted every nightmare in that cave and every step he’d taken since. How he hated what they’d become. What Viktor had become. What he’d become.

He’d once been Viktor’s protector, ready and willing to step into any danger to keep him safe; to shield him from any pain or harm. It was second nature, something he did as instinctually as breathing. To safeguard their everlasting affection and to spare his beloved friend from further pain and suffering. And now he would have to look into his eyes and become the very thing he feared. To harm him. To destroy him.

What had the world done to them? He felt his stomach turn.

“Speaking of which... Why are you here? In this cave, I mean. I know why I'm here but... What's going on?” Jayce said tiredly as he rested his hand on the handle of the warped Mercury Hammer. Every time he lifted it the thing felt heavier, its heft more undeniable. More burdensome and unwelcome. As unwanted as the original had been when he’d faltered and constructed it. Another fantasy that should have stayed in his childhood.

“We were at the commune for a while but I got a bad feeling when the Noxians started lurking around. Told the guy who was helping us with Vander that we were gonna run for the hills.” Vi scoffed, her expression blank. As though she could hardly believe what she was recalling despite knowing it to be the truth. “Looks like it was a pretty good idea.”

Jayce tightened his grip on the handle, giving it a slight tug but not lifting it as he listened. Tenitavely testing Vander’s reaction to the action. As suspected, his arms were tired, the majority of his remaining energy expended in the scuffle he’d just taken part in. 

“Yeah. He's missing.” And he would remain that way once he found him.

“He's what?” V’s eyes widened in horror. Jayce studied her face keenly. There was no deception, nor was there any doubt left in his mind. He’d been forming a hypothesis in the back of his mind for a little while now, and now he had a tangible result to consider. Vi and her group had been the special guests that Huck had mentioned before he’d left the commune. And Vander was the person Viktor had spent a significant amount of time attempting to help. 

But what had he been doing to him? He seemed unharmed, but how could Jayce ever hope to be sure given the inhuman nature of his appearance?

“What, are you hard of hearing now, too? Did they knock you around back in the arena a little too hard, sis?”

Both Jayce and Vi turned to regard their blue-haired companion as she stood facing them, leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the cave a few feet from where she’d been the last time they’d seen her. Neither of them had registered that she’d moved from that spot. They’d been too focused on their conversation to pay her any mind.

Vi glared, earning her a half mocking half playful two-handed wave from the pale girl that she disregarded as they resumed their conversation.

“Can it,” Vi said in a tone that made it clear that she’d had just about enough of her for the foreseeable future, but also couldn’t muster the energy to feel any anger about her behavior anymore. It was something she’d come to expect to some extent, but she still didn’t care for it. “You said he's missing…”

Jayce nodded, shuffling over to the side so that his back could rest against the wall as he slumped over, one hand still gripping the handle of the hammer as his back made solid contact with the wooden beam that held up part of the ceiling of the mineshaft. “Whatever he was doing to your... Dad. Was it working?”

“Yeah. Sure we're talking about the same guy?” It was hard to believe that he would just walk off. Even harder to believe that someone had taken him. She could make a guess as to who the culprit could be, but…

“You're talking about their "Herald" or whatever, right?” The woman with the long blue pigtails didn’t look at him as she spoke, regarding Vander and her young companion instead as she kept her distance. Still, there was something to her expression that was curious. A flicker of something Jayce couldn't quite describe. She almost seemed amused to hear that, but still not particularly pleased at the same time. Like she was recalling an argument she’d had with someone who had perished shortly after, reconsidering words she’d previously spoken that now felt unbecoming in a different context. There was no regret, but there was… something.

“Yeah, I'm looking for him right now.” Jayce rubbed the side of his neck. It was strange. He felt off looking at her. Like they’d met before and he’d since forgotten her face, or something akin to that. She was familiar in a way that made his lack of familiarity with her disquieting.

“Pfh yeah, you look like you could use some healing, that's for sure.” The blue-haired woman said with a snicker as she folded her arms around herself and blew her bangs out of her face. Nothing in her expression gave the impression that she thought the comment was funny. Quite the opposite. She looked deadly serious, but her tone of voice was so sardonic that Jayce couldn’t help but feel slightly miffed just on principal alone.

“I'm sorry, but who are you again? I feel like I've seen you somewhere before… ” He interjected, now more than a little done with her. He feigned hospitality, but in truth, he wanted to be less accommodating. More sincere about how not in the mood for this he was. But erupting on a total stranger at the slightest provocation wasn’t going to accomplish anything. His faculties were still intact enough for him to remember that. He needed to control himself. Remain at least somewhat diplomatic.

“Yeah, all the ugly wanted posters around town, probably.” She retorted as though she were personally insulted by how ugly they were.

She spoke with a casual indifference that spoke volumes. As though having a town plastered with unflattering images of your face offering a reward was just a standard thing to experience where she came from. And to be fair, it kind of was, but even still.

Jayce’s brow furrowed as he tilted his head to one side, gnawing at the inside of his jaw as he tried to recall what the posters had said. She was right, he’d seen them on his way down. So many, in fact, that he’d tuned them out as nothing more than background noise in the wake of his footsteps. Irrelevant white noise. He combed through the depths of his fragmented memory with all the gumption he could muster, the details eluding him until he’d nearly filed it away as a problem to solve later, but he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t silence the nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him this was crucial information that he had to recall then and now.

He stood up straighter, taking a step towards her to look at her just that little bit closer. She turned to stare at him, her gaze perplexed and unamused. He saw her face. And then he remembered.

All at once it washed over him like the icey tides of the northern fjords. His jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth, his breath becoming ragged as he silently seethed, his heart pounding as adrenaline flooded his body and sent his nervous system into overdrive. His grip on the Mercury Hammer’s handle tightened until his palm burned and his knuckles turned white, a tick forming in the side of his neck. His eyes burned as his mouth went dry, a haze of barely contained fury settling over him. 

To say he was livid would be an understatement.

“Wait your… your Jinx?! Your sister is-" He started, but Vi interjected, sensing the shift in the cavern’s atmosphere.

“Yeah, I thought you knew that. What about it, Jayce?” She spoke cautiously as though she were regarding a wild animal, a cornered beast that would strike at the slightest provocation. Vi took a single step towards him, positioning herself partially between Jayce and Jinx. She didn’t like this.

Suddenly, Jayce no longer cared to be diplomatic.

“She- she's the one who bombed the capitol building, Vi. You know that! I was in that building. I almost died! More importantly…” He spoke through clenched, throbbing teeth, his breath straining as he looked between her and her troublesome counterpart.

His words caught Jinx’s attention, but she did not speak, instead, she remained silent, taking in the context of the conversation.

“Yeah, I know. I was on the strike team to go get her, remember? You made the weapons. And I also know that Caitlin has lost it and is working with the Noxians, so I'm not turning her over to them." It was Vi’s turn to raise her voice, though she did not yell. Instead, her tone darkened as she tried to ascertain where the sudden shift in his common sense had come from. And then something occurred to her, causing her to reverse course ever so slightly. Something about what he’d just said didn’t sit right with her. "Wait… More importantly what, Jayce?”

Jayce felt his body go rigid as he turned his head away from her, drawing in unfulfilling breaths through his nose and his partially open mouth as he felt his eyes sting, unspent tears welling up inside of them. Though when he blinked, his eyes did nothing to shed them. He felt the arm that wasn’t gripping the handle of the hammer go slack, falling limply to his side as he closed his eyes and attempted to compose himself before he said or did something that he couldn’t take back. He had enough regrets. But the energy required to string together any rational thoughts evaded him, as did his ever-waining sanity that now hung tattered and tarnished, shattered by the insurmountable rage that he felt festering within him. Yet another wound that would never properly heal.

“My friend he... He was in the building. His name was... Viktor.” It felt like a confession rather than a truthful statement despite the fact that he was being nothing but. But the act of uttering his name was enough to make him tremble ever so slightly. “Everyone here knows him as the Herald, but…”

Vi went wide-eyed, leaning back as though she’d had the wind knocked out of her. Perplexed and visibly uncomfortable all at once, it was clear that she wasn't sure what to say. Her eyes darted between Jayce and her sister as the sound of Vander rustling in the background became apparent. He’d seemingly clued into the change of atmosphere between them.

“Oh. I didn't know… ”

Jayce huffed heavily, clenching his eyes shut as he tried again to compose himself and failed. Opening them again, he met her gaze, his expression pained in a way she’d never seen before. It hurt just to look at him.

“He didn't... I found him under the rubble. After the explosion. Crushed. I was fine but he... Nothing I did was… “ He felt himself tremble as he tried not to falter under the weight of the horror he felt, his face streaked with lines of moisture as he recalled the one memory he most wanted to forget. The image of Viktor lying motionless, cradled in the embrace of the debris that had so gravely wounded him. Lying on his back, breathless, his hand and leg glowing a sickly shade of purple. His face and neck marred with countless bloody cuts and scrapes, scorched in the wake of the explosion. His breath so frighteningly still. His beautiful eyes closed with such finality that it stole the air from his lungs and made his chest throb just to recall how he’d felt in that moment when his entire world had collapsed and fallen to ruin around him. The moment that Viktor’s brilliance had been silenced.

His gaze turned to Jinx as he spoke, his eyes filled with nothing short of hatred. “She killed him, Vi.”

A look of determination overtook her as she stared at him in unbroken silence, taking a stance that spoke of her readiness to fight should the need arise. But despite her posture and the intense look of humorless grief that played across her face as she considered the prospect, there was an understanding in her eyes. Some level of comprehension of what he spoke of. She knew better than anyone what it was like to stand in the wake of a disaster and look down over the body of someone you loved. The bridge had taught her that lesson. Never again.

Jayce lifted the hammer, keeping it at the ready as his breath rose and fell in a sporadic rhythm, heavy and pained. His intention was clear, yet he did not budge, enough self-preservation still clinging to the vestiges of his mind to make it clear to him that doing so would be a death sentence. The question was clear: was he ready to die for the sake of his vengeance?

Vander loomed behind her, his eyes neutral as he seemed to wait for the right queue to strike. Following his daughter’s lead as he regarded his former opponent with a low, rumbling growl. His presence sent a clear message, even if he did not speak. No harm would come to his daughters while he yet breathed. Least of all from this stranger. He knew nothing of the events that had transpired. His reaction was purely instinctual. To protect them. Nothing else.

Jinx looked between her father and her sister and then Jayce, her eyes betraying the sense of alarm that her face did not. Her breath stilled as her hand slid down to the gun at her side, resting atop the grip as her eyes locked with his. Her arm reached out to shimmy the child that accompanied her to a safer position behind her back. She wasn’t willing to take any chances. She didn’t have the slightest idea what might be going through this stranger’s head, other than his immense hatred for her. The look in his eyes was enough to give her chills. It was wild. Unknowable.

Vi took another step towards Jayce, intercepting him. Blocking her sister’s aim. Vi’s goal was clearly not to make physical contact with him. She could throw a punch much faster than he could lift his hammer. Or so she thought. She hoped she didn’t need to find out.

Inhaling sharply, Vi flexed her shoulders, loosening them as she adjusted her neck. Her fingers rolled at her sides before clenching tightly into fists, her eyes fierce but sympathetic, asking the unasked question that hung in the air between them: Are we really going to do this?

“Look... I- We can talk about that later, okay? I'm sorry Jayce, really, but-” She started, trying to talk him down. But she didn’t get to finish as the Mercury hammer fired to life, it’s maw blowing dust into the air as it hovered just above the ground, facing downward. He stared into her very soul, his unrelenting, distant gaze enough to cut through cold metal. He didn’t raise it as a thousand different outcomes seemed to flash through his head, his eyes pained and confused. Everything about him was utterly broken.

“No Vi, you don't get it.”

Vi huffed, shaking her head as he raised her arms. As little as she wanted it to come to this, she wouldn’t stand idly by and watch this unfold. She was prepared to strike, and a cursory glance at her sister told her everything she needed to know. The little one wearing the hat was fully tucked away behind her, one arm in front of her by courtesy of her sister. Vi knew what the previous version of Jayce’s hammer could do to the fragile body of a child. She didn’t need a second demonstration courtesy of the new one.

Frustrated annoyance bloomed in her chest as she gestured at him angrily. How had it come to this? There had been a time when they’d first met where she would’ve had this fight, gone home and slept, and walked it off like she did everything else. But they’d been through so much since then. The attack at the capitol memorial where they’d fought side by side together again. Their shared and separate losses in the wake of everything since. He was undoubtedly not in his right mind, hurting badly in every way that a person could be. Was there truly no recourse? No way of stopping this before one of them had to die for it?

“Get what, Jayce?! That my sister bombed a room full of top-siders like a psycho and now all THIS crap is happening?! She killed Caitlin's mother! How much worse could-”

Whatever self-control Jayce had retained up until then shattered and scattered to the wind the instant she spoke. He growled, huffing as his eyes watered, his teeth aching from how tightly he was clenching them as he slammed the hammer back down into the stone-covered ground, causing it to quake beneath them as he made no effort to shut the weapon down before doing so. His entire body quivered from a combination of hopelessness, abhorrence, and anguish as he let out a pained cry, no longer able to keep his faculties in check. His misery was more visible than it ever had been, and it was horrifying to witness. But he didn’t care about appearances anymore. He couldn’t even begin to. That time had long since passed. That man had died in the cave, and what was left of his corpse had shambled out to carry out this grim, damnable task. Nothing more than a revenant kicking and screaming with every unholy step it took.

“She killed him using the research we made together! That she stole from us on progress day. He dedicated his entire life to trying to help the people of the Undercity! He was from the Undercity! We co-founded Hextech together. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him. I'd be dead! He saved my life! Gave me something to live for…" Jayce heaved, nauseated and breathless as the memories came rushing back again. Every gentle hand on his shoulder when he’d needed it most. Every sleepless night spent in solidarity pondering impossible equations, a blanket and a weak pot of coffee shared between them. The excitement in Viktor’s face as he explained to him his theory on Wild Runes. His intrigue and borderline mania when he’d tried and failed to make him comprehend the concept of the Hexcore back during its conception. And the hopelessness that had begun to take root in Viktor’s heart as he earnestly tried but failed to understand why what should’ve been his greatest work just didn’t function the way it should have.

He longed to place his hand on Viktor’s shoulders, to pull him close and tell him with certainty that everything would be okay. To see his unwavering faith in him return as the light shined in his eyes again. But it never would. And all that remained was a simple, undeniable truth. One he’d never spoken of out loud, but the echoes of his heart made truer than truth itself. 

"... I loved him, Vi! As much as you love Caitlin! We worked together every day for years. The entire time you were in Stillwater.” Jayce didn’t know who he was admitting that fact to anymore, and he didn’t care. He needed to say it out loud before the searing burn it left in its wake tore through him and left him raw and wounded, bleeding out on his knees in the dirt. He didn’t look up at her as he felt his legs shake, overcome with shame at how everything that had led him to this moment had played out. Was his futility so predictable that it had become a variable in the cosmic playbook? The Mage he… he hadn’t seemed upset. Hadn’t seemed surprised by his actions, almost as though he’d seen some version of them a thousand times. Because he had. Viktor was doomed to his terrible fate, his humanity stripped away from him as he became nothing more than a tool for the arcane to mistreat. And he was doomed to break his promise. To fail him.

In all timelines. In all possibilities.

“I used to think I loved him the way you love your sister, but... I've had some time to think about it. More than enough time, and that's never what it was. I just didn't understand. Until I lost him." Jayce slumped over onto the ground as he crashed down onto a kneeling position, defeated by the reality of it all. His knees ached from the herculean task of holding up his beleaguered body, but he was too numb to feel the burn. The only thing he wanted to feel was Viktor’s embrace. And he couldn’t.

Vi lowered her arms, her shoulders relaxing as she watched the will to fight to vacate him. He was a husk of his former self, all fire extinguished but for the smoldering remains that still lingered.

“... Jayce… “

He continued as though he didn’t hear her, a partial truth. Her words reached his ears but he didn’t register their meaning. He was consumed by wretched nostalgia, his heart crushed under the weight of all that could’ve been. How had he never seen it? Never realized… The look in the Mage’s eyes had undone him. He’d caught faint glimpses of Viktor looking at him like that from time to time, fondness ever present in the warmth of his smile. A smile that he shared with no one else. How had he not understood… 

It had taken a trip to hell to realize he’d sidestepped heaven.

“We were there that night to get the council to sign a peace treaty, Vi. The Undercity was going to have independence. Viktor was there because I asked him to come and represent his people. I thought a Zaunite should have a seat at the table, so I gave him mine. He always hated public speaking...” Jayce raised his head slightly, not realizing how close she was standing to him until then. Enough distance remained between them to render her untouchable, but still enough that he could feel her warmth. Enough so that she could be harmed by the sincerity of his pain and vulnerability. Cut by the jagged edges. “And then your sister killed him, Vi.”

The potential to come to blows between them had passed. Instead, she was left with a simple understanding. Vi raised her hand, extending it as though she was considering resting it on his shoulder before thinking better of herself and allowing it to return to its place at her side.

“What are you going to do?” What else could she ask? To ask if he was alright would be a waste of breath. He hadn’t been for a long time. 

She looked down at her hand again for a moment, this time sighing and extending her hand to him, offering to help him to his feet. He gazed up at her blankly, exhaustion invading every crevice of his body as he continued to collect himself. Before long, he resembled something like his former self again, reaching up and grasping her arm as she hoisted him to his feet, steadying him as he came to stand in front of her again. His furry vacated him, leaving only a calm, resolute silence. He nodded in thanks, his hand turning to the handle of the ruined Mercury Hammer again, but this time, with no intention of using it. Not on her or her own, at least.

“First, I'm going to go get him. After that…” He looked at the hammer and then at Jinx, his eyes unreadable as she stared at him with a look of incredulity and bereavement before looking away, no longer willing to face him. He exhaled, tired but unwilling to give up. He still had enough left in him to see the task through to the end. He didn’t dare ponder what would remain of him after, or if it would be worth considering anything beyond that, but he would still carry on. For his promise. For Viktor. “I haven't decided yet.”

“You're going to go up against the Noxians. Against Caitlyn. By yourself?” Vi believed his conviction, but she undoubtedly also believed that he was out of his mind, if the tone of voice she spoke in was anything to go by. And he was fully willing to agree with that sentiment.

“If that's what it takes.”

Vi scoffed despite herself. He was truly ignorant to the concept of just how much of a death wish that idea was. Or maybe he genuinely just didn’t care. Maybe the life he’d lived had made him indifferent to the concept of death. “Jayce, you can't even get out of this cave by yourself.”

Jayce pondered her words momentarily, flinching at the brutal honesty inherent in that assessment of his navigational skills. It was the truth. He’d been aimlessly roaming the meandering passages of the blasted mines for at least an hour. He knew his way back to Piltove from the Undercity, and he could make a few guesses as to where Ambessa might be held up, but he didn’t have the foggiest idea as to how to get out of the trenches.

“Well, you clearly can. So how the hell do I get out of here?” He sighed, a groan escaping his chest at the weight of the hammer as he hefted it back up into its default carrying position. His back would never be the same after all of this. Or his shoulder. “I'm tired of sweating in the dark.”

Vi shot a look over to Jinx and Vander, the two of them regarding her in silence. The fur-covered man slumped back over onto the ground, settling in as Jinx shrugged, her hand finally falling away from the gun. She would let her sister take things from there. She was content to hold down the fort for the time being. It wasn’t hard to shoot anything stupid enough to wander into the mines wearing Noxian colors.

Vi then turned her attention back to Jayce, giving him a stern look as she assessed his condition again. She truly had no idea how he was still walking. It hurt just to look at him. Perhaps he wasn’t the pampered Piltover showboy she’d once thought him to be. Not anymore, at least. But then again, neither of them was the person they’d once been anymore.

“I'll show you. Come on.”

—

It had been exceedingly difficult to locate anything remotely like an artery or a vein, but he’d eventually succeeded. His circulatory system, if it could still be considered that, had been co-opted by a combination of the specialized strain of shimmer he’d gifted him and the Hexcore that had facilitated its unification with his flesh into a hybrid delivery system for both his blood and the purple energy that now pulsed throughout his augmented flesh. It had been a soaring success in that regard, something that Singed made note of as he continued to work. Though one he imagined he had mixed feelings about.

Viktor’s physiology was largely beyond the scope of what Singed was familiar with, given his years of experience, but not entirely. He knew something of the void. He’d created Shimmer, after all. But beneath the void-like touches and almost uncannily durability, he’d struck gold.

For where there had once been merely blood, there was now something much more precious.

Drawing back the plunger, he retrieved his final sample before removing the needle and setting the syringe aside for the time being. He then inserted a second, connecting it to the device that he’d brought to the room for this specific task. As soon as the pump-like device was secured, he reached over to turn a valve, releasing a stream of barely opaque liquid that traveled down a small tube into the aperture he’d inserted into his artery. And then he waited, taking note of the way Viktor slowly began to stir after some time, his eyelids trembling ever so slightly as his brow furrowed a bit as though he’d been disturbed. Placing the back of his hand against his neck to check his pulse, or more accurately, to see if he still had one. That he was alive was not up for debate, but…

“You have a fondness for him?”

The voice came from a few feet behind him. Rictus stood against a pillar that held up a portion of the room between the bed where Viktor resided and the door. The room had been retrofitted for this specific purpose: to house their guest until he awoke from his alarmingly deep, almost meditative slumber. 

More questionably, an effort had been made to make the space comfortable. A few plants had been relocated from the adjoining outdoor space and the bed wasn’t simply a pallet made from repurposed cushions and blankets. No, it was a genuine bed with actual linens. Its source was a mystery no one present cared to ponder or dwell on for any significant amount of time, but the reality still remained that it was a surprisingly welcoming place designed to house what was ostensibly a prisoner. A gilded cage for a rare and exotic bird.

It seemed Ambessa was trying to make a good first impression…

“... To an extent.” It was honest, if not a bit more telling than he’d typically prefer. A measured response, yes, but to a very personal question.

“And you would forsake that?” There was something to the towering man’s tone that was notable. A tinge of something akin to displeasure or resentment. Perhaps the concept of betrayal was not something he liked to comprehend, such was his undying loyalty to his General. Or maybe sympathy towards their captive. It was unlikely. Singed had seen how they treated some of the other prisoners. Seen the inside of Stillwater and the horrors that lay within.

Singed pondered the ramifications of his next words, carefully measuring the proper response. It was a fair inquiry despite his lack of interest in answering the question. And yet, some element of the question gave him pause despite the lack of concern on his part towards what Rictus thought of him, no truth that need be obfuscated for fear of retribution. Such concepts were long past him. This was a path of his own making.

The truth was complicated. Layered and tumultuous. He dared to admit to himself that there were aspects of Viktor’s opinions of him and his work that he too agreed with. He knew his methods were, well, they certainly required fortitude and the stomach for cruelty. But their necessity was assured as they laid the path to something greater. Something worth it. To him, at least. That was not something he owed an explanation for. Something he’d never given Viktor an explanation for.

They clashed over ideology, and yet, mutual respect remained on some level that never seemed to fully dissolve despite how disillusioned Viktor had become with his former mentor and Singed with the hopeless empathy of his world-weary pupal. In truth, he wished that the world would not take that from him, but on some level, he knew that it was only a matter of time. A kindness such as his was not something the cruelty of the world would allow to survive. Hope was always the last thing to go. He just hoped that when the time came it was taken from him gently. Not ripped away in the agon of loss. Something he knew all too well.

“I have other obligations that take precedence over him. He has the opportunity to come to his own conclusions.” It was all he would say.

Viktor heard none of the muddled words muttered around him. Could not discern the topic of conversation if there was one to be had.

He opened his eyes slowly, one at a time as though it was a laborious act to do so. His hue-shifting eyes saw nothing but vague outlines and blurred colors that failed to blend properly and made him feel as though his body lay at the bottom of a body of water. His body felt heavy, unwieldy as though it were the very first time he’d ever tried to move it.

All at once he was plunged headlong back into that torturous moment that he’d first emerged from the hex cocoon, the first stage of his terrible undying metamorphosis complete. The cacophony of echoing, haunting voices calling his name in a chilling cacophony of layered voices, bleeding together like a demanding chorus. But in change came loss and it had surely taken something from him. Taken with it some measure of the emotions and sense of sensation required to even attempt to process the gravity of his loss. His connection with the world around him in every sense.

In his mind's eye, it was all so very clear. He was back in the lab, the dim light in front of him logically coming from the single window at the center of their shared workspace, the dark patterns on the floor indicative of the rotating multi-use space that they’d spent so much time utilizing for different projects. And yet rarely the passion projects that they’d truly wanted to work on. Together.

But something was missing.

There was a sense of familiarity to his perceived surroundings, and yet, no one he associated with it. It felt empty. He felt empty. And the more furious his battle for recognition of his surroundings became, the more he longed for clarity, the more some unseen force sought to placate him, pacifying him before he could make heads or tales of it all in any meaningful way.

A silhouette became apparent to him. Perhaps more than one but taller than him regardless, blurring into the foreground and the background all at once. He hazarded a guess as to who it might be despite some inkling that he might be wrong. But who else would be at his bedside when he awoke in such a state? To anchor him in his desolation and grant blessed clarity. Who had always been there to help him through and to try and make sense of it all when he had nothing left?

Some aspect of that same force tried to convince him that it had been Mrs. Young. And while her specter had indeed been a source of great comfort to him in his disquieting, unrelenting solitude, another name came to mind without a second’s pause.

“... Jayce?”

He hadn't even thought. He’d simply spoken, ready and expectant of an embrace that would not come.

Singed glanced over at him, taking note of the way he’d spoken the name. Of the familiarity in it. He’d heard him mention him before. And although he had never once personally encountered the man, something about the vulnerability in his tone, the quiet longing for a reply from someone so dear to his heart despite his incoherent state of mind resonated with him.

It was a rare thing indeed that Viktor trusted someone. It was rarer still that he trusted them implicitly. Instinctually so that they became the first word to leave his lips when times were darkest.

It had been a plea.

“Not quite, I’m afraid.” He was almost curious to know what he would have said to this Jayce. He knew who he was. Everyone knew of Piltover’s Man of Progress. But he didn’t know him. Not beyond the name or the admiration of his house. But he imagined there was a fascinating story there, one that Viktor kept closely guarded in the depths of his heart and mind. The utterance of his name had been a slip-up, his disparaged loneliness slipping through the cracks he tried so very hard to conceal.

Viktor fell deathly silent, his brow knitting as he blinked repeatedly in futility. He felt a spike of emotions as his chest tightened. And then it settled over him. That sense of eerie homeostasis that had enveloped him since the moment he’d stepped foot in the Undercity. It gnawed at the raw edges of his subconscious, slithering in with all the silent menace of a serpent claiming its prize as the shaper creases of his mind rounded out and the influence of the Hexcore was once again granted egress. As his frayed being was mended in tones of beige grey and ease replaced all that he should have been able to feel but for the sense that he couldn’t feel anything that mattered at all. And there was no recourse to combat it.

His eyes faded from honeyed brown to silvered gray again, and he turned to face his host.

It was as disconcerting to witness as it was dehumanizing to experience.

“Dr. Reveck…?” Suddenly he remembered. It all came rushing back like a flood of dark water. Viktor reached up and pressed his hand to the spot where his former mentor had stuck him with the needle. And then his eyes caught sight of the contraption he appeared to be fused to. His pupils dilated noticeably, colors shifting rapidly as though he were attempting to process what he was seeing to better make sense of it. He failed.

“Do not be alarmed. This is simply a precaution.” Singed gestured towards the machine as Viktor reached his free hand over to vacantly brush his fingertips over the contraption linked to the needle in his arm. To no great surprise, he could not feel it. But it was unpleasant simply by virtue of connotation alone. “My new benefactor wishes to speak with you.”

He pondered the statement momentarily before responding. “The Noxians… What interest do they have in me?”

Singed shrugged nonchalantly as he fiddled with the contraption, adjusting some nebulous piston at the base of the chamber that controlled the pump. “I can only fathom. I simply facilitated the meeting.”

Something akin to displeasure adorned Viktor’s face as he spoke, his brow furrowing subtly as his lip quirked in response to the statement.

“You did not need to sedate me. You could’ve just asked.”

Singed paused, glancing up at him from his place in front of the machine. His demeanor was calm, but in a measured, calculated way and not a manner indicative of someone who was as completely at ease as he appeared to be. “If my faculties have not failed me, and I do not suppose they have, you were not receptive to my last request, Viktor.”

Ah. Yes, their discussion about the nature of things. Evolution vs Fate. It had been engaging if not chillingly enlightening. He had politely dismissed him, refusing his offer to ascend at the cost of Vander’s humanity. Perhaps at the cost of everything, content to stay as things were. Unwilling to surrender the last part of himself that he held so dear. It had been a refusal, one Dr. Reveck had seemingly taken to heart. A test of his willingness to negotiate and compromise when the occasion called for it. This was not revenge. He had been issued an ultimatum, and the gravity of his unknowing choice had come back to haunt him.

“What are you doing to me, exactly?”

The doctor gestured towards the apparatus attached to Viktor’s arm and then to the machine, his attention half on Viktor and half on finishing his last-minute adjustments. “This tonic should neutralize any remnants of the sedative that may yet remain in your system.”

“Would it not purge itself from my system naturally if given time?” Viktor was entirely in the dark in regards to how his new body would react to and process something like this, but he imagined that it would adapt if given the time. And he doubted that he’d been actively poisoned. This seemed unnecessary. His eyes studied him as he tried to find signs of deception, failing wholeheartedly. He wasn’t lying but…

“Eventually, yes. But you will build less of a resistance to it this way,” he stated simply, the implication clear.

“So that I am still susceptible to being sedated in the future should the need arise?” Viktor’s tone was even and unsurprised. Of course. It only made sense that his captor required leverage, and what better way to disarm him than to whisk him away into the sweet surrender of slumber? And as his eyes settled on Rictus, the certainty only became more clear.

Dr. Reveck said nothing, an answer in of itself.

And then there was a knock at the door. It seemed they had company.

—

The amalgamation of metal that comprised Vander’s statue juttered noticeably, giving way to the secret passage that no one topside had become wise to. It had taken them the better part of two hours, but they’d finally made it out of the trenches. Back up to the highest point in the Undercity that any of the secret routes looped back to.

With a groan, Jayce emerged from the passage, Vi lingering just behind him to close it off. A secret passage didn’t remain secret for very long if you left the door open behind you.

But as he leaned against the riveted surface of the effigy, he couldn’t help but wonder who it depicted. It was the only landmark of its type that he could recall seeing in the vast swaths of land that the Undercity encompassed. It looked pristine, unblemished by the passage of time aside from the names whittled and embossed across its base. Someone was upkeep it. Trying to keep its memory alive; the metal untarnished.

This was a beloved, hallowed space. He stood up, no longer willing to lean on it.

Vi took notice of the way that Jayce looked at the memorial as she came around to meet him. Her eyes lingered on it in silence for a long time before she broke the silence. They couldn’t stay here. There was bound to be a Noxian patrol around there somewhere.

“This is Vander. Before… I don’t know what happened to him.” Her tone concealed her pain well, but not enough to make it unnoticeable. “He used to keep things down here sane. Well, sane for the lanes but… Then Silco took over. Took my sister. And I got shipped off to Stillwater. I thought Vanded was dead. I got back just in time to watch everything fall apart.”

Jayce glanced over at her, his face unreadable as he allowed the weight of that realization to settle over him. The creature he’d met in the mines had been this man? This individual, clearly beloved by the people of Zaun?

The visage was a sobering sight. Jayce regarded it in stunned silence, uncertain as to what to make of such a drastic change. He understood that Vander had once been a regular human man before he’d been subjected to whatever mistreatment had so drastically modified his physiology and psychology. That much had been apparent. But to see what he’d once been was… harrowing.

“I'm going with you.”

Jayce didn’t look at her, his eyes still fixed on the statue as though he hadn’t heard it. As though he’d expected that she might eventually say something like that.

“No, you're not.”

Vi shrugged, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. This Jayce wasn’t much of a team player. He hadn’t exactly been eager to work with her the first time around, but this time he wasn’t even entertaining the idea. It was a good thing she wasn’t requesting permission. “I wasn't asking.”

Jayce took a deep breath, displeased but well aware of the fact that he couldn’t exactly stop Vi from following him. He didn’t exactly move quickly, and she knew every road and ventilation shaft in this place. Even if he didn’t know she was there aside from that distinct creeping feeling that crawled up someone's spine that only came from being watched, he wouldn’t be able to do anything meaningful to stop her.

No matter how little he cared to acknowledge it, it seemed that he might have company for the foreseeable future. That… complicated things a bit.

“You aren't going to tell your sister?” He knew nothing of the intricacies of their relationship and didn’t care to, but telling those closest to you that you were about to do something with potentially fatal consequences seemed like a good practice to uphold. They had been through enough. All the more reason not to allow Vi along for the ride. He didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t come back, and for all he knew, this could be a one-way trip.

“She already knows. She's not stupid.” Vi shrugged nonchalantly as the duo turned to face one another. The look in her eyes spoke volumes. He knew the risks. Understood the reality of the situation even if she didn’t fully grasp the end goal. But this was something she wouldn’t be talked down from and they both knew it.

Jayce stared at her for a long while, his brow knotted as he gnawed at the inside of his mouth in displeasure. The intention to say something was there, but not the will. He’d already told her no; made it clear where he stood on the matter. She understood the risks better than he probably did. What more could be said other than a retread of ground already walked?

With a groan he rolled his eyes, admitting defeat and surrendering to her unshakable will. With a half-hearted wave and a clenched jaw that made his already sore mouth throb, he gestured for her to lead the way. He had no idea where they were anyhow.

Vi feigned amusement and satisfaction, nodding in response. She could work with that.

“Thank you for not saying anything. Now let's get outta here, pretty boy.”

—

Dear GOD, I hope this chapter was good because I think it took a couple of years off of my lifespan. 14k words! The first 2 chapters are 7k combined! Phew! But hey, we got some Bookstreet, so that’s cool! Also, just wanted to say that I updated my profile with my Tumblr and Blusky links so if you want to drop by and chat or you make something funny inspired by this fic or something, swing by! I’d love to see it! 

Chapter 4 will be along shortly, probably in the next few days because I think this will probably be the big one word count wise. I’ve been wrong before, but still. So I’ll see you soon! I’d love to know what you thought of the chapter! And OH BOY do I have some fun planned for chapter 4…

---

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Permafrost- Wriothesley x fem!Reader

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Recovery date: July 27th, 2024

Description: Hello I was wondering if you could write a Wriothesley x female reader story where the reader is always a kind and gentle person and was there during Wriothesley's story quest

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. This is pre-relationship, where Wrio and reader are kind of skirtting around their feelings.

Word count: 775

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The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide rules with an Iron fist. Or an Iron gauntlet, perhaps? A frozen gauntlet! Sigewinne had laughed one day at lunch with Y/n. As the two nurses sorted through patient files, trying to find… neither remembers what. All that mattered was what the head nurse said next; But, you’re like the frozen ground hiding underneath. Before Y/n could ask for an elaboration, the Melusine offered her a bite of her lunch insisting she was too focused on the papers.

The Duke does not need to explain himself, he answers only to the court itself under the most dire of circumstances.

Wriothesley, answers to Y/n.

“Stop avoiding the question.”

Y/n stood between Wriothesly and his door, drawing the attention of nearby residents and guards. All eyes quickly passed over them though, as Wriothesly sent them warning glares before focusing back on the woman in front of him. She was holding the door behind her closed, even though he could easily over power her and open it.

He sighed. “Can we continue this conversation inside?”

“Of course, you know where the nurse’s office is. I’m sure Sigewinne will be happy to examine you,” Y/n chirped.

From anyone else the tone would have sounded sarcastic and sassy, but she made it sound so genuine. It was genuine.

That’s part of what irked him so much.

“Y/n.”

“Your grace.”

With a sigh, he continued forward until he towered over her and placed a hand on the door– trapping her in. He watched her weight shift so she was no longer leaning on the door, and then opened it.

Y/n slipped in, and he trailed behind with an order to the guards to not let anyone in unless it was an emergency.

The door closed with a resounding thud, and Wriothesly immediately found himself right back under her worried gaze. She barely had a chance to open her mouth, the sound of his name caught in her throat, as he scooped her into his arms.

Wriothesly buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.

“Wrio,” Y/n called softly, pulling his coat from his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor so she could rub his back, “are you okay?”

“I just need a second.”

Y/n could feel a faint shake in his hands where they rested against her waist. She’d heard what happened from the guards and the patients she’d just finished tending to, but she didn’t like hearing, she liked being told. She liked when Wriothesly opened up about what was going on in his head.

She moved one hand up to his hair and began carding her fingers through, twirling pieces and scratching at his scalp. The other rubbed soothingly at his back as her head fell against his and she listened to his breathing, feeling it warm her skin,

He takes a sudden deep breath and pulls away, dragging his hands along her waist like he doesn’t want to let go. Eventually his hands do leave her, and he clears his throat as he picks up his coat and drapes it over one arm.

“Thank you, I’m okay now.”

“I heard Dougier didn’t land any hits, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t just hiding things.”

Wriothesely scoffed, “Like he could get a hit off on me.”

“He had a gun.”

“And I didn’t get shot.” Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes fondly. “Now, if that’s all, I’m sure you have much to do.”

Y/n frowned. “I should probably start looking for a way to remove those thorns…”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Of course.”

Y/n didn’t move, and neither did the Duke, as the silence bled into the room. The sounds of the fortress faintly filtered through the cracks in the door, but even they weren’t enough to stave off the atmosphere that grew.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Y/n said finally. “I’ll be off now, if you need me you know where to find me.”

She bowed. When she started for the door, Wriothesly jumped into action, beating her there and holding it open.

“Thank you for your concern, I’ll be sure to look for you if anything comes up.”

“Goodbye, your grace.”

“Goodbye, Y/n.” 

He waved, even though she was no longer watching him, before shutting himself back in his office, all the while Sigewinne watched from the hall to the nurse’s office.

The Duke reigned with a frozen gauntlet, cool and strong, and just below that ice was a grassy land holding it up.

[hulloitsdani]

PLS go on another rant about Kiran Fire Emblem I’m begging you 🙏

I love to read you yapping💞💞💞 I like your TedTalks

:D

Aw thank you stranger! I’m happy to provide!

So recently I feel that I have been putting Kiran Fire Emblem through the wringer. Which is all well and good, but I believe it’s time for them to have good things. As a treat. This oddly takes the form of book 5.

In case it’s your first time witnessing my monologues or are in need of a refresher, let me provide a little context. Kiran had a life before being summoned to Askr and a major part of their arc is suppressing just how deeply that loss affects them. Like it or not, it bleeds into everything they do. This all culminates into book 4, which was an all time low for their character. A lot of issues all started blowing up in their face all at once, last but not least being the grief they hold from losing their entire world. It very nearly kills them. It was an extremely bad time.

However, lessons were learned. Since then, Kiran has been trying to vocalize their discomforts more. It’s a bit weird though, considering Anna and Sharena witnessed firsthand their little meltdown in the realm of dreams. It’s… damnit it’s just weird! Really weird! Most of their cards are on the table now and it’s weird! It’s not like their friends heard about this stuff by talking to them, they SAW it nearly KILL THEM. The dynamic is, understandably, different than it would otherwise be.

If they weren’t willing trying, Anna would pry their issues from their mouth with crowbar. Hell, sometimes she does anyway if she gets, in her own words, “a hunch.” Sharena meanwhile has been very pampering. They didn’t know she could be more pampering than she already was, but oh boy were they wrong. Three homemade meals a day guaranteed under her watch. And if they’re being honest, it does feel very nice, which ultimately makes them feel awful because the realm of dreams was rough for her too. She should also… they don’t know. They feel bad. She has reassured them many times that it’s all good and that this helps her too. And how even if it didn’t, she loves them and would do this stuff anyway. They don’t doubt that anymore but… they still feel bad. They feel bad about feeling good. It’s all a complicated mess. They are telling Alfonse about this though, which makes it feel less overwhelming. His insights help. He provides a bit of a sanity check.

It is within this state of recovery that book 5 occurs. Considering the weaponry of their enemy, Kiran ends up talking a lot more openly about their world. Delving into the literal and metaphorical mechanics of it. And it’s oddly fun! Alfonse has a leg up since he’s the only one who has been curious enough to ask prior to this. So there’s many scenarios where a.) something Kiran previous told him finally clicks now that he has a better visual for what they mean, which leads to b.) Alfonse and Kiran trying their best to explain to Anna and Sharena. It’s an absolutely ridiculous sight to behold— Sharena catches on a bit quicker since she’s pretty good at visualizing things, but Anna has no such boon and is STRUGGLING. Kiran and Alfonse aren’t exactly teachers either, so it’s a fun time.

Then they meet Reginn.

It feels obvious, in hindsight, that they were bound to click with each other. At first though, it seems like it’s going to be the same dynamic Kiran always has with the new stray the Order picks up. Polite friendliness alongside genuine empathy with a side of reassuring presence. The group agrees to help and Kiran gets cracking on how to make that a reality. But then something interesting happens. As Reginn speaks in further vulnerable detail about her plight to them, Kiran begins… talking. Like actually talking. Talking about their family and their life prior to Askr.

It starts small. The both of them are fixing up Reginn’s metal horse (the Order broke it in their initial fight with her) and she asks how they know so much about her country’s technology. She knows they’re from an alien world and, well, they aren’t proficient at this by any means— but they know enough to be helpful. And for once, Kiran is honest. “…My mom was a mechanic.” They say, not turning to face her. “She, uh, knew how to fix this kind of stuff. Taught us a little bit.”

It’s a small snippet of information that has taken five seasons to wring out of Kiran, and Reginn of all people is the first one to hear it. It’s way easier to tell her, for a multitude of reasons. One of them being exactly that— there’s no build up. Reginn didn’t see their book 4 meltdown. She doesn’t know how big of deal this is for them. That’s good. It takes the pressure off and makes it easier. For Reginn, this is information they offered casually and willingly from the beginning. And in doing this, they keep talking and both end up relating to each other rather deeply. It quickly becomes obvious that Kiran isn’t simply helping her out of the goodness of their heart, but because they personally relate to her plight. Kiran was extremely close with their siblings, and now they may never seen them again. They don’t want the same thing to happen to other people. This recontextualizes a lot of their actions, but it importantly builds trust. Kiran is immediately knocked off this pedestal as some morally pious figure and into a human person in her eyes. Someone who gets it and wants to help.

This creates a delightful dynamic between them. She is immediately more than friend, as that’s pretty explicitly what the Askr trio are to them. This is different. It’s familial. Reginn is working with information and a cultural context pretty perfectly equipped to understand them in this way. And, considering the losses they’ve both experienced, they crave this placement in each other’s lives. It’s healing. Kiran lost their family and Reginn’s family hasn’t been a family since Fafnir took the throne. It’s far from a replacement, but it’s definitely filling a void. They both needed this.

Gods, they both needed this.

They needed someone to respond to playful quips with a laugh and a clap back. They needed someone to triple dog dare to sling a spit ball into the back of a god’s head. They needed someone to people watch with as a late night to early morning watch shift wrapped up. They needed a shoulder to lean on after Otr finally said all the quiet parts out loud. They needed someone to understand some parts about them a bit more inherently than either are used to, for better or worse.

Without this, neither of them get better. Not anytime soon, anyway. But luckily, Reginn and Kiran entered each other’s lives at just the right time.