#jayce alert

[sableghost]

currently mourning the blond alex albon era. don’t text.

[tenshouining]

[day 3 - coming out] if youre not kissing in the lab are you really partners. . .

[lepusrufus]

Who at Fortiche do I have to bribe for Jayce’s model bc I swear every time I draw him it's a new episode of Tell me you rarely draw men without actually telling me like how am I supposed to draw dumbass chaotic Caitlyn and Jayce siblings in these conditions

[bringthekaos]

Jayce accidentally taking Viktor's pain meds and 47 minutes later he is zoned out to the next plane of existence like ( °__°)

I can definitely see this happening, in the early days before they’ve really cemented each other’s routines and patterns. Jayce keeps some mild painkillers in the lab for his headaches (you know, the ones he gets because he stays up until 3am and drinks exclusively coffee). They’ve got a big deadline coming up, so they’ve been going going going, pretty much nonstop for several days—switching off dozing on the cot in the corner for an hour or two here and there, and then getting right back to work.

Jayce gets one of his headaches late one afternoon, and in his sleep-deprived delirium, he just blindly reaches for the bottle on the desk and pops one dry. If he were more alert, he might have noticed the unfamiliar shape, the texture which is much grainier than it should be. But as it is, he just gets back to work…

For about half an hour, when the words on the chalkboard start to double up, and his hand is so tingly he keeps dropping the chalk. He takes a step back, thinking maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation finally catching up to him, but this feels… different. He feels drunk and disoriented, and he’s definitely not going to get any work done like this. So he slurs a quick “m’gunna take a break,” and slinks over to his chair, plopping down in it with not an ounce of grace.

And within ten minutes, he’s in the fucking stratosphere.

Viktor doesn’t immediately notice, as he just kept working when Jayce said he was taking a break. But when he posits a question and receives a suspiciously cat-like sound in return, he spins around and finds Jayce poured over his chair like a being of far fewer bones.

And it hits him—his eyes dart to Jayce’s desk, where Viktor realizes he accidentally set down his bottle of painkillers when last he took them.

First he lets loose the equivalent of George Carlin’s seven dirty words you can’t say on television in his native tongue, then he gets to work—he fetches Jayce a glass of water and forces him to sit up and drink at least half of it. He wets a washrag and runs it over Jayce’s forehead and the back of his neck. And after an astronomical amount of struggle, he gets Jayce onto his feet and guides him, uncoordinated and stumbling over to the cot, apologizing profusely the whole way, even though he knows Jayce is tripping balls and likely won’t remember a thing Viktor is saying. But he still apologizes, because he feels awful—this is his fault, he set his bottle down on the wrong desk in his exhaustion.

Viktor ends up having to finish a majority of the presentation on his own, while Jayce recovers. He sleeps a little of it off, but he also spends a decent amount of time talking absolute gibberish and writing several pages of nonsense in his journal. But eventually it starts to wear off, and Jayce slowly gets back to work.

They both learn a lot from the experience—namely to be more vigilant with where they set things, and what they’re picking up. But Jayce also learns a lot about his partner—he now understands why Viktor has to take a small break about an hour after he takes his medication, why he gets sluggish and lethargic. He also realizes why Viktor typically gets a little quiet and unresponsive in that time—his brain is fighting the fog, but it can only fight one battle at a time.

So he vows to make a routine of it—taking breaks when Viktor does, giving him some peace and quiet for a few minutes as he levels out. And eventually, it’s a story they can laugh at—reminiscing on those early days when that practiced waltz around each other in the lab was more like a toddler dancing on their father’s feet. It’s also when Viktor starts teasing him about being a lightweight, and that’s a joke that survives well into their divorce era.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Jayce Goes Sleuthing - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

In the wake of Vi's departure, and Viktor's defection, Jayce's life falls apart.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

"Consider carefully. The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit."

Snippet:

Caitlyn—

I got your message this morning. I'm sorry it's taken so long to write. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Not sure where to begin, so I guess I'll start with the most important thing:

I've resigned from the Council.

As of last week, I'm no longer a Councilor. Just a regular citizen. I know the news isn't official yet. There will be a special announcement later this week. It's pretty short-notice. I'm sure the media will have a field day.

Your Mother knows; I'm surprised she didn't tell you. Then again, the Council's been busy scrambling to find a replacement for Professor Heimerdinger. They've been hogtied in a bunch of other issues since Zaun's independence, too. There's been nothing but emergency sessions with the Zaunite Cabinet. So it's possible she didn't get a chance.

The motion for me to step down was unanimous. It's the right choice, and I'm at peace with it.

I'm sorry to hear about yours and Violet's split. It sounds like the two of you had a good thing going. She and I didn't really see eye to eye. But you seemed to care for her a lot. I had no idea there was a Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative happening—or that she'd been reassigned to Zaun. I saw no preliminary memos on the matter. If I had, maybe I could've done something to prevent it.

Then again, I've been so distracted lately. It wouldn't have surprised me if a hundred things slipped under my radar.

I understand you're concerned for her safety.  Near as my old contacts in the Council can tell me, her transfer has been approved. They've already conducted the ceremonial swearing-in, and the inaugural Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative has officially begun. They've been granted interim residency until the next rotation, six months from now.

There's not much that can be done to stop it. At least, not in the legal sense. My authority to intervene has run its course. And if the Council's being tightlipped, then Silco's people are pathologically silent.  The details of Violet's reassignment—where she'll stay, her duties, her work schedule—is all being kept private.  

I'm sorry, Cait. You're the last person who deserves this kind of heartbreak.

You've asked me to confront Mel. To convince her to stop Vi's transfer, or pull the plug on the whole project.

Sadly, I can't do either of those things.

Mel and I are no longer together. It was a mutual decision. She's no longer my mentor, and I'm no longer her protégé. She's made her position on forging diplomatic ties with Zaun's First Chancellor clear. I've made equally clear my distaste on trying to spin blood money into gold. We're both determined to follow through, and I don't see a way of changing that.

Guess it's heartbreaks all around, huh?

Maybe it's necessary. Maybe we're supposed to hurt so we can grow. I think I've gotten a little too comfortable in my cushy Council chair. It's high time I got back to the grind. I wanted to build a better world. That means I need to put the work in at HexCorp to make it happen.

We'll get through this, Cait. You and me. Let's meet up once things have calmed down. I miss our talks. I need some sane company after weeks of listening to politicians bicker.

If there's anything I can do, please let me know.

Fondly,

Jayce

*

Cait—

Viktor's gone.

He's been missing since last Wednesday. The reason the Enforcers haven't been informed yet is because the Council is keeping it under wraps. But they've alerted the Wardens, and they're conducting a private investigation. Viktor's notes are gone from the lab. His apartment has been ransacked. All the Hex-tech prototypes are missing. 

So is the Hexcore.

I'm worried. Not because the Hexcore could be turned into a weapon of mass destruction. Viktor's been under a great deal of strain. He's not well. I don't want him getting hurt. The fact that all his research has been taken—it makes no sense. He could've been abducted, but there's no ransom note. None of his assistants noticed any signs of foul play. 

There's also been no sightings of Sky Young. Or any traces of her remains.

Cait—I don't want to add to your troubles. But I don't know who else to share this with. I trust you. I value your insight.

And the truth is, I'm a little scared.

The Wardens are suggesting Viktor's gone rogue. More than that. They're speculating that he may be linked to Sky's disappearance. Their inquisitor told me that his behavior during their last interrogation was erratic. That he'd showed signs of paranoia. That he'd withheld key details about Sky's last hours, and lied about the last time he'd seen her.

They're considering the possibility that Viktor was involved in her disappearance.

Cait—I think it's bullshit. Viktor wouldn't harm a fly. He's one of the gentlest souls I've ever known. He's dedicated his life to serving Piltover, and making it a better place. And he’s known Sky since they were children. I never saw anything but respect between them. Her disappearance hit him hard. I was with him when the preliminary investigation was being conducted.

I can tell you: he wasn't faking his grief.

Something else is going on. I don't know what.

But I'm going to find out.

In the meantime, I'm sorry I can't be of more help with tracking down Violet. I don't have any pull with the Wardens, or Silco's administration. And my contacts on the Council won't talk.  Try reaching out to your mother. She's the only one I know who can reasonably intervene. At the very least, she can get her sources to conduct a quiet search.

I know it's not the solution you wanted. I know the stakes are high.

I just want you to know you're not alone.

Warm regards,

Jayce

*

Caitlyn—

It's late, and I know you're probably sleeping. Still, I had to write. Something happened tonight.

The Wardens found Viktor.

He's been located in Zaun. Specifically, at the headquarters of First Chancellor Silco. They're claiming he's defected. What's more, they're stating that he's in collaboration with a notorious chemist, formerly known as Colin Reveck, but currently known as "Singed." The doctor has a record for performing unethical experiments.

He's also rumored to be responsible for the creation of Shimmer.

The Wardens received clearance to access Viktor's medical records. They found traces of Shimmer in his blood samples. Apparently, Viktor's been on the drug for months. He's been hiding the side-effects. There is evidence that he's been taking massive doses. It's been compromising his mind.

And now, according to the Wardens, he's a wanted fugitive.

Sky Young's DNA has been found on his personal belongings.

I can't believe it, Cait. This isn't the man I know. Viktor would never harm Sky. Never. And with his medical condition, he'd be too weak to physically attack her. As for the Shimmer—he's always been adamant about never touching drugs. Or stimulants of any kind. One cup of caffeine was enough to get him buzzed.

He wouldn't take that poison, even in his darkest hours.

Something isn't adding up.

The Council are currently in talks with Zaun's Cabinet. They're demanding that Viktor and the Hexcore be handed over. The Wardens are pushing for extradition.  Mel has been trying—unsuccessfully—to reach First Chancellor Silco. He's been unavailable since last afternoon.

This is bad.

I've got a sinking feeling. Viktor's research—the Hexcore—it's the key to unlocking a whole stratum of potential weaponry. The fact that he's now in Zaun, under Silco’s aegis, isn't a coincidence. Silco's notoriously secretive, but we know that he has an extensive network of spies and informants. If he saw a chance to use Viktor's illness against him, and profit off his genius, he'd seize it without a second thought.

That's exactly what I think is happening.

Viktor's not a criminal. And he didn't disappear of his own volition. Silco must've had a hand in it.

I'm going to figure out how.

Take care of yourself, okay? Please. I've already lost my brother. I can't lose my best friend too.

Be safe. I'll keep in touch.

Jayce

*

Cait—

Sorry I took off so early yesterday. There was no time. The Council had an emergency meeting with HexCorp, and I was summoned as its representative.

Things have escalated. Zaun's Cabinet has denied extradition. They claim that Viktor's entry into Zaun was perfectly legal. What's more, they state that the Hexcore, as one of Viktor's primary inventions, is his to take wherever he chooses. They even claim that the Hexcore is a prototype and, therefore, not an official piece of HexCorp's patented technology.

I'd expected the Council to push back. Instead—and I can't believe I'm writing this—they've acquiesced.

I was speechless. 

The Council's position is that, as a scientist, Viktor has a right to his intellectual property. I argued that we'd both worked on the Hexcore as a team. Therefore, it was ours. They pointed to our original patent agreement, and the fine print that gives us equal, but not joint, ownership. They also reminded me that, as Viktor was from the Fissures, he was legally a foreigner under Piltover's laws.

I remember, during my tenure as a Councilor, pushing for months to get that stupid provision removed, and having my proposal shot down.

Now it's bit the entire city in the ass.

Cait—I'm ashamed to say it. But I lost my temper. In the middle of the meeting, I slammed my fist on the table and demanded to know why the hell they were backing down. Didn't we have the resources, and the right, to protect those who'd served us? Even if Viktor had exited under a cloud, didn't his deteriorating health and the danger the Hexcore posed justify both their retrieval?

Why, I wanted to know, weren't they summoning Silco here to account for his actions? Why weren't they threatening his administration with military force if he refused to cooperate? Didn't he owe us an explanation as to how our greatest innovator had come into contact with him?

It was Mel who answered. She explained that Silco's administration is a sovereign entity. We don't have the authority to demand an audience, nor the leverage to force his cooperation. We're not even legally bound to warn him. Zaun's Cabinet has the right to act independently of our influence. And, as for Silco's personal agenda, that is beyond the Council's purview. He's not obliged to share his secrets. It's his prerogative, not ours.

In other words, we don't have a leg to stand on.

I was so mad. So mad. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe them. It was the same shit I'd had to deal with when I'd first been nominated as Councilor. Except that time, it was the bureaucracy that was hamstringing me. This time, it's the people who I worked with. People who swore to protect our citizens. Who pledged to defend Piltover's principles.

And who are now acting like cowards, unwilling to do what's necessary.

I called them on it. In front of the entire assembly. I asked them where their courage had gone. Why they weren't fighting. Why they weren't even trying. Was this what Piltover was going to become? A society that allowed its greatest minds to be suborned? What the hell were they planning to do when the next inventor came under Silco's spell? Were they going to give up then, too?

The meeting ended shortly afterwards.

 Mel tried to catch me in the hallway, but I was having none of it. She cornered me by the stairs. She wanted to know if I'd reconsider resigning. If we could talk.

I'll admit I was tempted. I haven't seen her since our split, and it's been hard. I miss her. It'd be nice to just hold her, even for a few minutes. To feel sane again. Safe. I know we can't rekindle things. Not with her position, and mine. But a hug, a kiss, some conversation...anything would've been good.

I turned her down.

I said we had nothing to discuss. That she'd made her position clear, and it was not one I agreed with. I asked her what the point of continuing the conversation was if we couldn't agree on the most fundamental matters. If we'd end up arguing over the same things again. I didn't have time for it. My focus had to be on Viktor. On finding a way to bring him home. And if she wasn't willing to help, then we had nothing else to talk about.

She told me I was being foolish. That I'd let my emotions blind me. That my stubbornness was going to be the death of me.

I told her I was fine with that. Because the alternative would be dying inside. That I wasn't willing to let Silco's take everything from me.

Especially not Viktor. 

Cait, let's meet. Soon. We've got a lot to discuss. And I can't do this alone.

Jayce.

*

Cait— 

This is going to be a quick one.

The Council and Zaun's Cabinet have arranged a summit. It's slated for next week. Silco is going to attend. We'll be discussing the terms for Viktor's return, and the repatriation of the Hexcore. Mel has been working to make it happen. It's the first sign of progress. It gives me hope. And it's a chance for me to confront Silco directly.

I'm not going to rest until Viktor's back where he belongs.

I'll ask Silco about Violet. I'll corner him in private, if I have to. I'm not sure how the two of them are connected. If they are, at all. But it can't hurt. And the more I can get him talking, the more opportunities I'll have to figure out what the hell is really going on. What he wants. And why.

I'll send a follow-up letter once I've got more information.

Stay strong. And, whatever happens, please don't lose faith. Piltover needs your courage. So do I.

Jayce.

*

Caitlyn,

I'm so sorry. I need to vent. Too much has happened.

Viktor's staying in Zaun. 

So is the Hexcore.

Negotiations fell through. I don't know why. Silco showed up, and he was civil. More than that, actually. He was polite. He shook hands. He thanked the Council for reaching out, and expressed his appreciation at their willingness to compromise. He'd brought along his Deputy and a few members his Cabinet. They were well-dressed, professional. I was impressed. I was relieved. I'd come prepared to do battle, but he seemed determined to cooperate.

Then it all went to shit.

Cait, I can't explain it. But the whole thing felt... staged. Like Silco already knew how it was going to end. Like the Council had already signed off on some private deal, and were simply going through the motions. Mel opened with the usual pleasantries. She asked Silco about his health. His administration. His relationship with Zaun's citizens.

The latter question was a nod to me. A subtle signal that she was leaving the floor open for me to address him.

I did. I'd been preparing for weeks. I'd even gone over my questions with some of the other Councilors. They'd all agreed that the issue had to be addressed. If the Council was serious about building diplomatic ties, and creating a sustainable rapport with Zaun, then Silco's conduct had to be taken seriously. And he couldn't be given an inch.

He needed to be confronted.

So, as soon as the pleasantries were finished, I asked him what his plans were for the Hexcore. For the Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative. Why, if he was a man of the people, was he taking a magical relic that was potentially volatile out of our control? How was it serving his citizens, or the people who'd been entrusted to his care? How was it serving his principles?

And, most importantly, where the hell was Viktor, and what the hell was his game?

Silco smiled.

The bastard actually smiled.

Then he showed me a letter, in Viktor's handwriting, addressed to the Council. It stated that, because of his deteriorating health, he'd chosen to relocate back home. He wrote that there was only so much treatment the doctors at Piltover could provide. Eventually, he'd need more intensive care. And, as a Zaunite, he was entitled access to the physician of his choosing.

His physician was Colin Reveck.

Singed.

Apparently, if Viktor's letter was to be believed, Singed had known Viktor for years. As a chemist, he had a keen understanding of the disease affecting Viktor's lungs. And he'd been working with him on an experimental treatment. That was the reason Shimmer was in Viktor's bloodstream.

It was an integral part of the therapy. Without it, he'd have died long ago.

Silco also presented records of his conversations with Viktor, during which Viktor had confessed to feeling ostracized in Piltover. To having been made to feel bypassed, not only by the Council, but by his own peers.

By me.

Sky's disappearance had hit him hard, and the strain of maintaining his career and his health had left him emotionally depleted. He'd been forced to make a choice, and he'd chosen life.

He'd chosen Zaun.

I demanded proof. I said there was no way Viktor would write a letter like that. That there was no way he'd willingly choose to work with someone like Singed. He'd always despised putting morality aside for progress. He'd never approved of using animals as test subjects. Or people. I accused Silco of lying. Of blackmailing Viktor, or worse.

Silco showed me a photo.

I'll spare you the worse details. It was Viktor, yes. Definitely him. But the man in the picture looked nothing like my friend. He was... augmented. All over. He had metal plates across his face. There are mechanical appendages in place of his hands. There's gears, and cogs, and wires, on his torso. His throat is encased in a tube, and there is an equalizer outfitted to his chest.

Even his eyes are different. They're no longer his natural color. They're yellow and black. Like hazard lights.

And they glow.

Cait, it was like something out of a nightmare. He looked—he looked like an automaton. Like a cyborg. It wasn't a person anymore. It was a machine. Something created by a mad scientist, and brought to life by evil sorcery.

The timestamp on the photo was two weeks ago. When Viktor was first reported missing. That meant that, between then and now, Viktor had undergone a terrible transformation.

He'd become something inhuman.

Cait, I've known Viktor for years. I've known him better than anyone. But right then, I didn't recognize him. Not even a little bit. And, when I looked up at Silco, I saw him watching me. Watching the horror in my face. Smiling.

Smiling like the Devil himself.

I could've hit him. I would've hit him. Right then and there. But the Councilors intervened. Their security pulled me back. Mel tried to talk me down, but I was too furious. I couldn't believe what I'd seen. I couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to show it. To shove it in our faces. I couldn't believe the Viktor he'd shown me was real.

But it was.

The photograph's been vetted. It's the real deal. So is Viktor's signature. His handwriting hasn't changed. It's been matched to several official documents. His letter, which was accompanied by a medical report from Singed, has also been examined. And, while we've been unable to corroborate its contents, the letter itself has passed a rigorous authenticity test.

Viktor is alive.

And he's staying in Zaun. Under Silco's care.

He's been provided an apartment, a generous stipend, and a state-of-the-art lab. He's been placed in charge of an expanding Hex and chem-tech research division, and given a team of assistants. He's been granted unrestricted access to Zaun's medical facilities for his treatment, and all the resources necessary to conduct his experiments.

All of which are in collaboration with Singed.

There's nothing we can do, Cait. Absolutely nothing. Silco's got him locked in a golden cage. He's using Viktor's genius to advance his agenda, and the fact that he's been augmented is proof that he's not above forcing him into compliance.

Viktor's a casualty. And we're the ones who lost him.

It's all my fault.

They've scheduled a forty-five-minute recess. We'll take a break, then resume for the next session. After that, there'll be a dinner. And more discussions. I can't. I just can't. This is all wrong. Everything. My best friend is gone. Mel and I are no longer together. And the Council. They've failed. Failed us. Failed the city. Failed Viktor.

And something tells me it's going to get a whole lot worse.

Cait, please be patient. I still need to ask Silco about Violet. And I'll do everything I can. You have my word.

Jayce.

*

Cait—

The summit's over. Silco and his people have left.

 And good riddance. I never want to see his rotten face again.

Cait, the whole thing was a sham. A total sham. From beginning to end. Nothing meaningful came out of the meetings. Silco didn't answer a single question. The Council wouldn't hold him to account.  Instead, they started discussing the crisis as if it was a business merger. As if it was some kind of deal to be brokered, and a mutually beneficial arrangement to be made.

Silco had the gall to suggest a compromise.  He said that Viktor, as a Zaunite, should be allowed to continue his research on the Hexcore. In return, the Council will be permitted to oversee his future Hextech projects. Both cities will collaborate to conduct a monthly audit via a joint Oversight Committee. They'd guarantee a set number of patents, and a share of the profits, and even provide funding for further innovations.

I argued that this was unacceptable. It would give the Council no actual leverage, and would only make them complicit in Viktor's subjugation. That they'd be signing a blank check. And that, by working with Silco, we'd be condoning his crimes.

The Council said nothing. They didn't support me. They didn't even try.

Mel agreed with Silco.

I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it, Cait. She sided with him. With him!

She said the Council had to think long-term, and that, if we wanted peace, we needed to start acting like the world leaders we claimed to be. She pointed to the economic benefits, and the opportunities the new alliance could create. She reminded everyone that Viktor was a free man, and that he was the one who'd made the decision.

As far as she was concerned, it was his right.

I was outraged. I told her this wasn't the time for political theater or corporate speak. This was a human being's life we were talking about. And Viktor wasn't free. He was a hostage. If the Council really wanted to serve their citizens, they'd stand up to Silco. They'd demand the repatriation of the Hexcore. Then they'd demand Viktor's release.

And they'd use every means possible to get him back.

Then Silco dropped a bombshell.

He said, as thanks for the Council's cooperation in facilitating Viktor's "return" to Zaun, he'd make a gesture of goodwill. He'd draft legislation to outlaw the production of Shimmer as a narcotic, and to ban its distribution for recreational purposes. And, to prove his intentions were sincere, he'd have the new law approved by a vote, and the legislation made public. Only medicinal uses, he stressed, would remain legal.

The Council, he went on to suggest, could enact a blanket embargo on Shimmer's importation. Points of entry would be monitored, and Piltover would take steps to crack down on illegal trafficking. It would send a message to Piltover's allies, that Zaun was serious about pursuing the path of legitimacy. And that its partnership with Piltover was a symbol of that intent.

I was shocked.

So was Mel. And the rest of the Council. This wasn't what anyone had been expecting. This wasn't the Silco we'd known. He was offering to put himself in our debt. To cut ties with the illegal drug trade, and to allow the Council the opportunity to enforce sanctions against bad actors.

It was a major concession.  It would effectively eliminate a key revenue stream in Silco's operation, and cripple the underworld's most valuable market.

Cait, I'll admit it.

I didn't see the trap until it was too late.

Silco doesn't need to distribute Shimmer within his city anymore. Because he's got the Hexcore. And it's capable of making breakthroughs in science and magic, beyond anything we've ever known. He's got some of the world's greatest innovators under his thumb. The only limits are their imaginations.

With the fruits of their labor—and the Council's backing—investors will flock to Zaun. Capital will pour in. The city will grow. Its economy will flourish.

No drugs needed.

I was the only one who spoke out against it. I felt like a complete jerk. But I had to state my case. I argued that the Council had to consider the risks. That we couldn't trust Silco, no matter how immaculately he dressed up his proposal. Who was to say he wouldn't take the Council's investment and put it into other ventures? What if he began funneling the investors' coin, and used it to finance bioweapons? What if he turned Zaun into an armory, right under Piltover's feet?

And, even if he did give up the drug trade, what about his human trafficking? His smuggling? The brothels, and the illegal casinos, and the underground fighting pits?

What about his ties to organized crime?

The Council dismissed my concerns.

They were eager. Eager to shake hands. Eager to sign on the dotted line. Eager to move forward.

The deal, Mel explained, would be the cornerstone of a lasting relationship between Zaun and Piltover. The Council's approval was vital. It would lend a stamp of legitimacy to Zaun's new order. And, she stated, it was the only way to avoid future conflict.

I was disgusted.

She was trying to sell the summit as a success. Like we hadn't given up a critical piece of our national defense, and put it into the hands of a foreign dictator. Like Silco hadn't blackmailed Viktor, or taken advantage of his illness, or exploited his vulnerability. Like he wasn't an abusive tyrant who ruled by fear, and murdered in cold blood.

Like he hadn't just gotten away with everything.

Cait, I can't tell you what happened. I don't have the words. I was angry. So, so angry. And disappointed. With the Council. With Mel. With myself. I couldn't stand to be there a moment longer.

So I walked out.

After the summit, I waited to catch Silco in the lobby. He was heading towards his limo. There were no security personnel. Just him and his Deputy Chancellor and a blackguard. He was smoking a cigar, and strolling like a man with all the time in the world.

I didn't say a word. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed him and pinned him against the wall.

I told him he had a choice. Either he could hand over Viktor and the Hexcore, or I'd beat the truth out of him.

The bastard smiled. He smiled at me.

Then he said, "Pet."

Someone grabbed me from behind. An arm went around my throat. A hand wrenched my elbow behind my back. I struggled, but couldn't break free. The grip was like iron.  I half-turned, expecting to see Silco's Deputy. It was the blackguard.

Cait...

It was Violet.

She was in a full-on bodyguard get-up. Black suit. Black shirt. Black visor. Black boots. Her was cropped short, and she'd gained muscle. She looked lean, and hard, and strong.

Like a soldier.

She didn't say a word. She kept me in a sleeper hold, until the Deputy arrived with security. I don't know how many Councilors saw me in that position. I don't know what they must've been thinking, or what they must’ve been saying.

I was seeing stars. I was dizzy. I could barely breathe.

Then Silco said, "Drop him."

Violet obeyed.

When I came to, I was on my knees. My neck hurt. My arm hurt. My head was pounding. It was hard to focus. Then two steel-tipped boots materialized in my line of sight. I looked up, and there was Silco, staring down at me.

He was calm. Collected. Completely at ease.

"You'll have to forgive her," he said. "She's still being trained."

Cait, he knew.

He knew I'd ask him about Violet. He knew you'd placed inquiries looking for her. He knew we were concerned for her wellbeing.

So he'd had her accompany him to the summit, as a deliberate provocation.

He was taunting us both.

"I'd advise you, as a personal favor, to not try this again," he said. "If you do, you may find the outcome... less forgiving."

I told him to go fuck himself.

I think he smiled. It's hard to remember.

With a fingertip, he gestured Violet over. She came. I'll never forget that. The way she obeyed. Without hesitation. Without question. Not once did she acknowledge my presence. I still remember when I'd drop by for tea sometimes at your flat, and she'd scowl when she saw me. Or roll her eyes. Or say, "Oh, look. Pretty-Boy's here."

There was none of that. Nothing. Just total silence.

Total obedience.

Then Silco took her by the chin.

"There's a good girl," he said, and stroked her cheek.

 It made my skin crawl.

I told myself it was because of Silco. Since the Siege, I'd been looking into his past, and there's enough material in the dossiers to turn your blood to icewater. I can't imagine the psychic price of serving that monster. I can't even imagine the pressure of being a blackguard at his beck-and-call.

I told myself it was the thought of Violet at his mercy, night after night. I told myself it was because she'd lost her autonomy. That she was trapped. That she was under duress.

I told myself that's why my gut was churning.

I'm sorry, Cait.

That's not the truth.

The truth is, I wasn't scared of Silco.

I was scared of Violet.

No—I was terrified.

Cait—there was a look in her eyes. I don't know how to describe it. A coldness, almost. Like she wasn't seeing me, or the Deputy, or anyone. Only Silco. She didn't flinch when he touched her. She didn't even blink. She was completely unmoved. Like a soldier on the parade ground.

Like a weapon waiting to open fire.

The limo pulled up. Silco and his Deputy got inside. I remember Vi holding the door open for them. And I remember her turning, one last time, to look at me.

There was nothing in her face. No emotion. No recognition. No regret.

Just empty.

Then she got inside, and the door swung shut. They drove off.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Cait, it's all I can think about. How different she looks. How hard she seems. And that stare. That terrifying, horrible stare.

What the hell did Silco do to her?

Cait, I'm coming to visit. We have a lot to talk about.

Jayce

*

Cait—

I have news.

Big news.

After I left your flat, I went straight home. A courier had just dropped a missive off at my place.

It was from the Wardens.

Their theory on Viktor being responsible for Sky's disappearance is crumbling. Despite their suspicions that Viktor was the last man to see her, their investigation has been unable to locate a single shred of evidence.

Viktor's laboratory is clean. No fingerprints, no signs of foul play, no indication of a struggle. Even the cameras, which the Wardens have accessed using a subpoena, showed no signs of her leaving with him. Her clothes, and belongings, were still inside the building. And her bike was still parked outside.

They're still not sure how she vanished. It's like she was swallowed up by a black hole.

As for the DNA—a secondary lab test revealed it was a mistake. Just a case of cross-contamination. They'd mistaken an old sample from a previous search in Sky's apartment. The report had gotten mixed up with Viktor's case file. The mistake had been made by an intern, who'd mislabeled a sample, and the senior investigators had simply repeated the error.

All in all, it was a complete botch-up.

The evidence is circumstantial. There's nothing that implicates Viktor.

For now, they've dropped charges.

I should be thankful. I know Viktor hasn't committed any crimes, and there's no concrete evidence of his guilt. It was a stretch to accuse him of involvement in Sky's disappearance.

But now there's a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The timing's too convenient.  First the Council caves to Zaun, and lets Viktor remain as Silco's prisoner. Now the Wardens have decided, of their own accord, not to press charges.

It makes no sense.

Worse, my own mind's playing tricks on me. I keep replaying the night Sky was reported missing. How distraught Viktor was. How he could barely speak. Barely look at me. He was a wreck, and I believed his distress was sincere. I'd told the Wardens, time and again, that there was no way Viktor had done anything to harm Sky.

I'd vouched for him.

Now, though...now, I'm not so sure.

The thing is, we still don't have all the facts from that night. Sky was last seen exiting her office at eight o' clock. The cameras see her walking down the main corridor. Then, at nine thirty, her assistant goes in to check on her, and finds her gone. Her bike's still there. Her street clothes are still on the rack. All her possessions are still inside.

But no Sky.

Where the hell did she go?

The cameras don't show her exiting the building. Which means she must still be in there. Except there's no trace of her. None. 

Then it hit me.

The Hex-lab—mine and Viktor's workspace—had no cameras. A security camera had been installed, but Viktor had requested it be removed. He'd said, and I quote, "We are scientists. Our work necessitates a degree of privacy." It was part of our terms with the Council, and an addendum to our patent agreement. The lab would be kept off-limits, except to those involved with the project.

Viktor, Sky, and I were the only one who had the keycard.

And Viktor was the only person in the lab that night.

Caitlyn—I'm worried. It's possible I've made a terrible mistake. I've been so fixated on finding Viktor, I haven't stopped to ask myself why. Why would Viktor disappear without a word? Why would he take all his notes, abandon his post, and go into hiding? Why wouldn't he ask me for help? Or at least leave a note?

I've been thinking—what if he doesn't want to be found?

What if something bad happened between him and Sky? Something so terrible, he had no choice but to run?

Cait, please—help me figure this out.

Your friend,

Jayce.

*

Cait,

I had a fight with Mel.

I'm ashamed to say it. To be honest, it's embarrassing. I've never raised my voice at her before. Or sworn at her. Or, frankly, behaved like such a prick.

Here's what happened.

After my talk with you, I went straight to her penthouse. I was in a bad place. I'd hit the bar—awful idea, I know—and then gone for a walk. It was raining. I ended up in one of the city's parks. It's near her place. I sat on a bench and tried to get my thoughts together. Everything—why Viktor could've left, why Sky might've disappeared, why  the Council were so willing to negotiate with Silco—was running through my head.

I just wanted to talk. I wanted a friend. I wanted her.

Cait—you told me how hard it's been since Violet left. How much you've been hurting. Not the everyday stuff. I know about that. But it's the other things, too. Like how you don't feel like yourself anymore. Like there's something hollow in you, that only she can fill. And nights are the worst. You miss the closeness. You miss the warmth.

And, Gods help me, the sex.

That's the part I miss the most. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up at night, dreaming about Mel, and I've had to stop myself from calling her up at four o'clock in the morning.

It's hard, Cait. Being apart. It's really hard.

I know how you feel. So you'll understand perfectly why I went to see Mel. I know we broke things off. I know it was my decision. And, no, I didn't expect us to pick up where we'd left off.

I just wanted someone to talk to.

Before I knew it, I was at her penthouse. I was soaked, and cold, and drunk. It was the middle of the night. But the doorman recognized me. He let me in, and called ahead to let her know.

She was waiting for me.

I'll never forget how she looked, Cait. She was wearing a silk robe.  One of my favorites: all white lace and gold brocade. Her hair was loose, and it smelled like hyacinths. You know, I've never told you this, but I used to comb Mel's hair before bed. I wasn't very good at it. Sometimes I'd end up pulling too hard. But she'd smile, each time, and show me the trick to gently working through the knots. She'd kiss my hands. Then she'd kiss me.

Then—

Well, I think you know.

Seeing her again. Seeing her so soft, and warm, and lovely. It took my breath away.

It took everything.

Cait, I'm not going to lie. We ended up in bed. She said she'd missed me. And, damn it, I'd missed her. So much.

So very, very much.

I can't say I don't love her. How can I not? She's smart, and gorgeous, and funny. She's passionate. She's fearless. And I admire her. She has a way of commanding a room, but also of making every single person feel heard. She makes me feel heard. When I talk to her, I feel like I can say anything. Do anything. Be anything.

I needed that. I needed her.

She felt the same.

It was beautiful. Intimate. Wonderful. Sure at first, we were both a little awkward, and clumsy, and I'd forgotten to shave the past few days. But, after a few minutes, we were like two people who'd never left each other. Two people who'd never been apart.

Two people in love.

When we finished, we held each other. Then she kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear, "Jayce, darling... you're home."

And, Cait, it felt like it. Like I'd finally come home.

It's not until after I'd showered, and was heading back into the bedroom, that the doubts crept in. Those nagging little doubts. Things I'd pushed down. Things I didn't want to confront. Like how the Council and Silco seemed to be on the same page in advance.  Like how they were giving him carte blanche to exploit a man's genius, and use it for their own gains.

Like how Mel, out of everyone, seemed to know exactly what Silco was thinking.

Like she was expecting it.

I slipped back into bed with Mel, and I held her. Still, the questions came in my head. They came quietly, at first. Softly. Then, as the silence between us grew, they began to gain volume. Until I was sure she could hear them too.

Then I asked her the question.

"Why didn't you fight?"

At first, she pretended not to understand. So I said it again, louder.

"Why didn't you fight, Mel? Why didn't the Council?"

She turned. She was looking at me. Searching my face.

"You had a chance," I told her. "You could've fought for Viktor. You could've fought for me. Why didn't you?"

There was a long silence.

"I didn't have a choice," she said.

"Bullshit."

"It's the truth. I didn't. Jayce—you don't understand. There's more at stake than just the Hexcore. It's a small piece of a bigger issue. That issue being—how can we maintain our peace with Zaun. You have to understand. It's not only about your friend."

"Viktor. His name is Viktor."

"Viktor, yes. But we need to think of the whole picture. It's not just him. It's our trade agreements. It's our economic stability. It's our reputation as a city. As the City of Progress."

"So it's not important, what's happening to him. Because he's not a Piltovan, he's expendable."

"That's not what I'm saying. Please. Don't twist my words."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that a single man, or his personal rights, cannot eclipse the good of a city. You've been obsessed. You've been chasing shadows, instead of addressing the real problems."

"Like the Council selling out their best innovator to a dictator."

For the first time, her eyes disconnected from mine. "He isn't a dictator."

"Isn't he? What do you call someone who murders his way to the top, and uses his power to enslave his citizens?"

"We've held discussions, Silco and I. He wants prosperity for his city. Freedom for his people. I want the same for ours. To achieve that, we must compromise on certain issues. He's no model of merciful leadership, I grant you. But he's a pragmatic man. A visionary. Someone who can bring lasting change."

"He's a monster."

"Jayce. Darling. Your anger blinds you. I know he's committed terrible crimes. And yes, we've made deals that neither of us is pleased with. But, in the end, the outcome is worth the price. Our cities will grow together. We'll create a lasting, sustainable peace."

"At the cost of my best friend'."

"Viktor chose to leave. It's his right."

"Only because he had no choice. He couldn't stay in Piltover. Not with the Wardens falsely accusing him."

"Jayce—" A shadow fell across her face. "Please. Stop. This isn't getting us anywhere. Can't you see that? If you keep on fighting, you're only going to make things worse."

"Worse for who? The Council?"

"For Viktor. And... for you."

There was something in her eyes. Something... dark. Almost desperate.

"Please, Jayce. You need to trust me. I have your best interests at heart. I've been working to protect you. You've no idea the things I've—" She cut herself off.

I asked her what she was talking about. I asked her what the hell was going on.

That's when she told me.

Cait, the Warden's investigation? Mel is the one who called it off. Not because of inconclusive evidence. Not because of the waste of resources. Not because the security camera footage was inconclusive.

She called it off, because the Wardens had irrefutable proof that Viktor had killed Sky.

It wasn't just the fact that he was the last man to see Sky alive. Or the fact that she was last seen near the corridor to the Hex-lab. 

It was the fact that, in the lab itself, they found Sky.

Or rather, her bone dust.

It was everywhere. Motes of it, on the floor. On the chairs. On the workbench. Someone had tried to clean it up, but not thoroughly. Not enough to remove the residue. And the forensics team had been able to confirm, using chemical analysis, that the samples were mixed with Viktor's DNA.

His, and no one else's.

The Wardens were set to launch an arrest warrant. Then Mel had intervened.

"It would've been a disaster," she told me. "A disaster for him. A disaster for Zaun. And for us. I had no choice, Jayce. None."

I was shocked. My brain couldn't comprehend what she was saying. It was impossible. Viktor wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be. He just couldn't.

I asked her if Silco knew.

She admitted that he did. He was the one, in fact, who'd tipped the Wardens off. Apparently, a remark Viktor had made during a conversation with his Deputy Chancellor had caught Silco's attention. He'd sent a blackguard to Viktor's lab, on the pretext of collecting leftover notes. During a search, the blackguard found traces of bone dust. He collected the sample and turned it over to the Wardens.

There were no signs of tampering. The evidence was months old.  And it was damning.

"I can't believe this." I whispered.

Mel put her arms around me. She held me tight.

"Jayce," she said. "I'm sorry. Silco and I—we decided that the best thing would be for Viktor to remain in Zaun. For the charges to be dropped. So long as he confines his work to the Fissures, he'll have complete freedom. But should he return to Piltover..."

She didn't finish.

She didn't need to.

Cait, the Council and Silco. They've conspired against Viktor. Against both of us. They're letting him remain in Zaun, so that he can continue his research on the Hexcore. But, should he return, he'll be arrested.

And I'll be forced to testify.

It was too much. The idea that my best friend could be a killer. The fact that Mel knew. That she'd been complicit. The betrayal, by the Council, who'd gone along with it all. The duplicity. The corruption.

It was just too much.

I couldn't stop myself. I lost control. I leapt out of bed. I shouted. I called her a liar. I asked her how she could do it. How she could let him stay, and put him in danger. How she could be so calculating. So cold.

So much like... Silco.

She didn't answer. She was crying. I've never seen Mel cry. Never.

And, Gods help me, I didn't care.

Cait, I stormed out of her flat. I left her there, in tears.

I can't go back. I can't forgive her. I can't forgive myself.

I'm writing you now from a bar. It's three o' clock in the morning. I can't go home. I can't bear to sleep. I can't stop thinking. About the summit. About Mel. About Viktor.

About the future.

Cait, please help.

I'm lost.

Jayce

*

Jayce—

Destroy this message the minute you read it. You're being monitored.

Your apartment is being watched.

Your office, too.

I know, because so is mine.

Silco knows you're trying to make contact with Viktor. He knows I'm trying to reach out to Vi. The only reason he's permitted you to communicate with me is to bait a trap. I've gone back and deleted every missive I've written to you. Do the same. You need to watch your back. If the Wardens find out you've been trying to make contact with a suspected killer, it's not just your career.

It's your freedom.

You're a private citizen now. They won't hesitate to arrest you. And I won't be able to stop them.

Jayce, this is serious.

You're a hero. You're the face of Hextech. You've changed the world. You can't afford to throw it away. If you get caught, it'll be catastrophic.

Please. I'm begging you. You have to stop.

We can't contact each other via missive. Not until I can figure a way out of this.

Caitlyn

*

Caitlyn,

Don't worry. I won't put you in danger. I've found a workaround. I've created a secure channel, which will allow us to correspond without being intercepted. I've also modified the pneumatic tubes. It will take some time, but I can rig a system, which will ensure the messages are delivered directly to your desk.

I need a favor.

Your department has access to the Warden's database. How high is your clearance? Can you get access to their records on Sky? I'd like to have a look at their files.

I'll explain when I see you.

Jayce

*

Jayce,

I got in.

Here are the files.

Hurry. I don't know how long the clearance will last.

Cait

*

Cait—

Thank you.

This is incredible. You're amazing.

I've been reading through the records. It's difficult, because a lot of stuff has been redacted. But I've managed to piece together the timeline of Sky's disappearance. It's hard to believe, but the case has been open since the day she went missing. It's bigger than the Wardens let on to the Council.

There's more here than I expected.

According to the records, the Wardens were already investigating Viktor.  He'd been placed on their Watch List, under suspicion of having ties with the Undercity's chemists. It was a flimsy pretext, and he wasn't a suspect. Just a person of interest.

They were tracking his movements, to see if he had any known associates belowground.

Then Sky was killed.

By now, I know she was killed. It's hard to watch. There's security footage, from the night she went missing. It's in black-and-white, and it's grainy. You can see Sky, exiting her office, and walking down the main hall. She's still in her lab coat, with her notes under her arm. Her hair's up, but her ponytail's slipping. She's got a smile on her face, and a spring in her step.

It's strange, Cait. But I can tell, even though she's just a shadow on the screen… she's happy.

She's going to see Viktor.

I know she's going to see Viktor, because the security cameras are tracking her movements. And they show her walking down the main hallway, past my office, and into the stairwell. From there, she goes to the third floor. The cameras lose her there. There's no coverage inside the Hex-lab.

It has no cameras, remember.

But something happens six minutes later. There's a—a fluctuation, almost. In the video. The image blurs. It's like the camera's glitching.

Except it's not the camera.

Cait, I've seen that fluctuation before.

It's a Hex-field.

I can tell because, while the image distorts, the edges of the hallway remain sharp. Which means the field's expanding outward, in a dome pattern, from a central source. The source, in question, is the Hexcore.

It's been activated.

I've checked the timeline. The hex-field is only active for a few seconds. Then it's gone.

But Sky never returns.

I've been over the footage a hundred times. And the conclusion's always the same.

Sky entered the lab. She met Viktor. Then he killed her.

Why, I can't say.  Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was something else. The point is, her remains were never found. Only traces of her bones.

I've got to find him, Cait. I've got to talk to him.

I've got to understand what happened.

Jayce

*

Cait—

It's a trap.

You were right.

I did something stupid. I didn't think. I took a risk, and it's backfired. 

I went into Zaun. I had no formal dispensation; no notarized travel pass; no clearance from the Council. I was, effectively, trespassing on foreign soil.

I didn't care.

I was going to find Viktor. I needed answers on what had happened. I wasn't going to let him stay down there, hiding from what he'd done. I was going to make him tell the truth. Then, maybe, we could figure out how to fix this mess.

So, in the middle of the night, I armed myself with my hammer. I went down to the harbor. I was careful to avoid the usual checkpoints you'd told me about. I headed for a small, out-of-the-way pier, where the patrols were less frequent. I'd borrowed a friend's boat. It was small, and not the fastest, but it's quiet. I managed to sneak past the harbor's first buoys.

Then, I crossed the border.

 Zaun's different now.

I remember the last time I was in the Fissures to get supplies. Back before the Siege. It was rundown. It was rancid. The streets were in disrepair. The people were sullen. There was poverty and sickness, and a sense of despair.

Things have changed.

The Promenade's undergone a transformation. It's like a state-of-the-art motherboard framed in multicolored neon. They've repaired the streets, and the buildings are lit up like stars. They're clean. Pristine. Even the air smells different. Less acrid.

It's almost... pleasant.

It was late, but the shops were open. The crowds were out in full-force. They were mingling in the plazas, drinking at the bars, dancing in the squares. I passed an upscale club, and there was a line snaking all the way around the block. There were people of all classes and creeds, and they were dressed up, and celebrating.

Like it was a holiday.

I couldn't believe it. After everything that monster's done, the people of Zaun are out, and living it up, like it's the greatest carnival in the world. Like they're grateful. Grateful to have Silco in charge.

Cait, it's surreal.

It's as if, after years of fear, they're finally free. Not only free from Piltover's control—from its judgment, its oppression, its prejudice. It's like they're free in their souls. They're happy. Joyous.

But I can't shake the feeling that they're in a trance. As if, with the bright lights and poppy colors, Silco is hypnotizing them. He'd holding them in thrall, so they'll worship him, and not notice the bodies he's left in his wake.

That's how I felt, walking through the Promenade. Like I was following a parade of automatons, fueled on sensory ecstasy.

I tried talking to a few passersby, and they seemed nice. Friendly.

Some of them, too friendly.

I'm not sure how, but they knew I was a Topsider. A couple of them offered to give me directions. Others were eager to buy me drinks. A few asked if I'd like a dance.

One thing's for certain: they're much more welcoming now. Like, now that Zaun's nearabouts Piltover's equal, bygones can be bygones, and no one cares about a bit of old history.

I wasn't there to debate history, though. I was there to find Viktor.

I asked a few of the locals if they'd heard of him. It didn't seem to ring any bells, though a few said he sounded familiar. Then I mentioned he'd worked on Hex-tech, and a chorus rose up.

"Oh! The Machinist!"

That's what they call him in Zaun. They've forgotten his name. Or maybe they don't care.

What matters is that he's terraforming the urban landscape. Changing the city. Bringing the Fissures up to par. Creating a new Zaun, and building it up from ground-zero

I was shocked. He's already begun work? It's only been a few weeks.

But it's true. Apparently, Silco has put him in charge of a full-scale revitalization project. He's using the Hexcore to create new infrastructural designs. Changing the way the city is laid out, and making the Fissures over from a mud-hole into a metropolis. He has a whole team of engineers, and an entourage of blackguards. Every week, they're working on a new layer of the city.

A fresh coat of paint, if you will.

This week, they were overhauling the turbines. The next, the power grid. The one after that, the sewage system. By the time the Expo's begun, Zaun will be a chromed-up paradise.

And Silco will be lauded as its liberator.

The irony.

I was told he'd be working on the turbines this week, and to head toward the eastside. So, that's where I went.

The zone was a hive of activity. Tremors from power-drills under my feet; sparks from welding torches in the air; bodies swarming over scaffoldings. It looked like a small army had been drafted, and was working their hands to the bone. The entire sector had been cordoned off. 

The turbines stood on platforms, towering over the street. They were colossal works-in-progress: rivets the size of hubcaps, steel girders dense as concrete blocks, pistons the width of my chest. They were astonishing, Cait. The scale of them was unreal. Their alloy-shelled interiors seemed to be a combination of metallurgical compounds and Fissure-seam crystals, the two meshed together into a seamless matrix with a shimmery-green tint.

There were runes, too.

Hex-runes.

They were inscribed all over the turbines. And, judging by the way the technicians were treating them, they weren't simply decorative. They were a critical component of the new design.

I'd never seen anything like it.

I couldn't help but admire Viktor's work. He'd done all this in less than a month. Except it wasn't just him. Here and there, I saw a familiar monkey motif scrawled into the blueprints, or decorating the turbine's frame.

It was Jinx's signature.

It hit me, then, like a gut punch. Viktor hadn't done this alone. Jinx was collaborating with him. Her notes were scattered throughout the designs. This wasn't a solitary operation with a spur-of-the-moment breakthrough. This was a joint venture, between two rogue agents. One that must have been in the works for months.

Or longer.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

Silco had likely planned this—this coup—from the moment of the Peace Treaty.

And there was no telling what he had planned next.

Cait, I had to stop him. I had to find Viktor.

I asked a few technicians if they'd seen him. I was directed to the south end. I didn't have a plan. All I knew was that I had to find him. Confront him. Demand an explanation.

Then I saw him.

He stood in the middle of the mayhem, directing the crew.  At first glance, he seemed the same. Same height. Same build. Same accent. But that was a trick of the eye. Like my memory was a distorting medium, and my mind had supplanted an old image onto a new reality.

Because, when he turned, it was like he'd been replaced by someone else.

Someone I barely recognized.

He seemed taller, somehow. His movements were more fluid; his stiffness less pronounced. He didn't walk. He glided. The balls of his feet seemed to float a bare millimeter above the ground, as if the air itself was propelling him forward. And the way he carried himself, with such confident assurance—it was like his world had expanded, in the span of a few weeks, from a sickbed to a stage.

That's when I noticed his cane was different.

It wasn't the ergonomic model he'd designed for himself, as his mobility declined. This was a prong-tipped rod, polished black, with a barb at the base. Like a javelin. It was a definite case of function over form. No aesthetic appeal. No concession to comfort.

Just a weapon.

But, Cait, that's not what unnerved me the most.

That was Viktor himself.

Because he wasn't Viktor. He was some unnervingly close approximation dressed in patches of Viktor's skin, with steel seams running through the missing spots. His skull, torso and limbs are half-cybernetic. The right leg—the one that 'never behaved' as he'd sometimes put it—has been replaced with a mechanical prosthesis. It's got a titanium exoskeleton, and a carbon-fiber frame, and a hydraulic heel. The knee's a ball joint. The thigh's an articulated piston. It's like a work of art. The most horrifying work of art you could imagine.

But it's not just his leg.

His right hand—the one he'd taken to wearing a glove on—is now a four-fingered steel claw. It's hinged at the wrist, and the phalanges are articulated, and the palm's been fitted with a projectile port.

I know, because I watched him fire it.

It was a blackguard, one of the many onsite. The guy was being a dick. He was bullying some of the workers, and shouting at them, and generally harassing everyone within earshot.

Then Viktor walked up, and calmly ordered him to stand down.

The blackguard laughed.

Viktor didn't hesitate. He didn't say a word. He lifted a hand. The steel palm opened, and the projectile port spun, and the muzzle flared, and a blast of hot green light shot out, and blasted a hole straight through the guy's sleeve. It must have singed his skin, too, because the blackguard let out a howl.

Then he fell to his knees, groveling apologies.

Viktor, with terse instructions to the rest of the crew, turned, and left.

I couldn't believe it.

He'd shot at a man.

Without flinching. Without pausing to consider the consequences. Without even acknowledging the guy's pain.

He'd changed, Cait.

The Viktor I knew was gentle. He had a self-effacing slouch, an earnest smile, and an uncanny ability to see the best in people. He was always questioning, always second-guessing, always willing to learn. 

This man was nothing like that.

This man was... hard.

As if the softness had been drained from him.

Just like Violet.

As he strode off, I was able to catch strains of conversation. Cait—his voice has changed completely.  He's got an equalizer attached to his mouth, which runs on a small internal pump, and has an integrated voice modulator. It's the reason his accent's less pronounced. His tone's deeper, too. It's more authoritative. More commanding.

Less human.

The rest of his face is the same as the photograph. There are sensors on his cheeks, and his jaw is augmented with a cybernetic clamp. Then there's the eyes. The sockets are lined with a copper alloy, and the lenses are bionic. No pupils; no sclera. Just two reflective orbs with a glowing core.

Golden and black. Like looking into a pair of glowing embers.

Except they're cold.

I followed him. He wasn't going far. There was a trailer nearby, where blueprints were spread out over a makeshift table. He stepped inside. I'd expected to see Jinx. I was sure she'd be there. After all, she was collaborating with him. She'd drawn up half the diagrams, and, by the looks of things, had helped him implement them, too.

But the trailer was empty.

Viktor was alone.

Then I realized Viktor knew I was there.

"Jayce," he said, without turning around. "You are trespassing."

His voice, even through the equalizer, was the same.

Except it wasn't.

It was cold, too.

"Viktor," I said. "We need to talk."

He still didn't turn. "If the blackguards find you, they will arrest you. And, should they do so, I cannot guarantee your safety."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I know what happened to Sky."

There was a prolonged silence punctuated by the distant sound of power tools. Then, very slowly, he turned. Our eyes met, and even though every muscle and nerve ending in my body fought it, I couldn't stop myself from flinching at the totality of his transformation.

At the eerieness of it.

"Sky," he said, at last, "is gone"

"I know.  She's dead. The Wardens found her bone-dust in your lab. You killed her."

"Jayce, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I didn't kill her. Not in the way you think."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Viktor, you were the last person to see her alive. She was last seen near the Hex-lab. There are traces of her DNA mixed in with your own. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"

He said nothing. His breathing rasped like an iron file through the air. It was a strange, grating sound. His lungs, I understood, had been augmented, too. The extent of the mechanization, in such short a time-frame, couldn't be man-made.

Then I understood.

"Magic," I said.

He didn't answer.

"That's what happened, didn't it? You were using the Hexcore's magic. Not on tools. On yourself. And you didn't want anyone to know."

Still he said nothing.

"But it went wrong, didn't it? The Hexcore did something to her. She was in the lab, and something happened, and she got hurt. Badly. So badly that you had to dispose of her. And you thought, if you were careful, no one would ever find out. That you'd get away with it."

"Jayce—"

"Is that why you left? Because you were afraid of being caught? Dammit, Viktor, answer me!"

He looked at me, and the stare was preternaturally calm. But I could feel an intense heat cooking the air around him. He didn't raise his voice, or gesticulate, or make any move against me.

He kept on staring.

"Jayce," he said at last, "before I left Piltover, I was working on a theory. One involving the Hexcore. I had discovered that, with the right runic sequence, it was possible to channel its subatomic energies into living flesh. Through an organic compound as the catalyst, and the correct sequence as a stabilizer, the Hexcore's powers would no longer be tied to its physical matrix. We'd use it to augment living things. Restore damaged muscle. Heal sick tissue. Repair a faulty organ. Even..."

"What?"

"Prolong life."

Dazed, I shook my head. "Viktor, that's impossible. That level of transfiguration—"

"Can be achieved. All that's necessary is for the Hexcore to sustain the right frequency, at the correct resonance. A harmonic pattern, if you will."

"We tried, remember? We tried, with plants and fungi. We couldn't even manage to make a weed grow. The results crumbled, or rotted, or—"

"—died. Yes." His breath shivered like a metal grate in a storm. "That is because the runic sequence is incomplete. To channel the Hexcore's power, a keystone rune is needed. Something to anchor the harmonics. Act as the focus. Without it—"

"Viktor, please. You're not making any sense—"

"I was trying to extend life, Jayce!"

For the first time, the flat dial tone of his voice shifted. I heard, subaudible but discernible, a quaver of grief.

"Extend life," he whispered. "Not take it."

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. My breath came hot, nauseous. "You messed up. Didn't you?"

"Jayce—"

"You screwed up. Something went wrong. You did something to Sky. You killed her."

He gave a single jerky nod.

My guts turned over. The fear had been replaced with disgust. With anger. I couldn't stand to look at him. To see what he'd done.

What he'd become.

"Where's her body?" I demanded.

"It's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

He rubbed his jaw, the bones grinding side-to-side. It was old gesture. The one he'd make, whenever he was uncomfortable. Or guilty.

"It was consumed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jayce, please. You must believe me. I—I did not intend for her to die. I did not even realize she was there until after—"

"After?"

The glow in his bionic eyes dimmed. "The Hexcore, when it opened, created a feedback loop.  The catalyst in my blood was to be the sensor, absorbing the concentration of the energy's signals. The runes on my body were the integrating centers, the medium through which the feedback would be channelled.  But—but there was not enough of one to balance the other."

I understood. "The Shimmer. That's why it was in your bloodstream. It interacts with the Hexcore's harmonics. Instead of destabilizing the resonance, it amplifies the feedback. It's what allows you to maintain a stable connection."

"Yes."

"And the runes. They're not for stabilization. They're for augmentation. For transmutation."

"Yes."

"And Sky? Where did she fit into all this?"

 A strange darkness filmed Viktor's bionic eyes. "She was not meant to be there. I should have—should have locked the door. Should have—but no, I did not think. It was too much, the moment. The chance, too great. If it had worked—" He broke off. His head drooped, slowly, as if his neck was made of wires stretched too taut. "She was there. The Hexcore's field was activated. It took her."

"Took her."

"Blindly. As a mouth takes in food. She was trying to pull me away. She was saying my name. Viktor. Viktor. She did not understand." His cybernetic fingers flexed around his cane. "I could not stop it. Could not shut down the Hexcore. The energy—it was too strong. Too much."

"You're saying the Hexcore absorbed her?"

"Her flesh. Then her bones. Then her essence. Until nothing remained." His chest vibrated, like an engine winding down. "Nothing but dust."

A cold fist gripped my heart. I thought of the security footage. The fluctuation, and the blur. It hadn't been a camera glitch.

It had been the Hexcore.

"Viktor," I breathed. "My Gods."

His head remained bowed.

"This is why, isn't it? Why you asked me to destroy the Hexcore. You knew, then. Knew how powerful it was. How dangerous. You wanted me to shut it down."

"Destroy it," he whispered. "Yes. But that was before—"

"Before, what?"

"Sky. In her notes. She'd left me a—a message. Only, it was never intended for my eyes."  He unstuck his jaw with effort, as if his teeth were glued together. As if the words themselves were too heavy to shape. "Sky was working on a project. One I'd encouraged. Every week, she would show me her findings. I would provide suggestions, or offer assistance, as needed. She was a brilliant researcher, Jayce. And unlike myself... she never forgot her roots."

I swallowed. It was hard, around the knot in my throat. "What—what was her project?"

"Life." The word was soft, almost reverent. "Here, in Zaun. She'd designed blueprints for a Hex-filtration plant. Something to purify the water. Sewage removal. Runoff collection. All to make the streets where she—where we both—grew up, safer. A habitable home for the people who needed it most."

"And now... you're building it."

"Yes."

"With Silco's blood money."

He lifted his head. The contours of his expression iced over; robotic, remote. "The blood money is the Council's. Silco is only the siphon."

"What—?"

"Or do you not hold the Councilors complicit in the Undercity's degradation?"

"That's not—"

"Not the same?" Something in his bionic eyes crackled. It could've been anger, or amusement, or a thousand other emotions, and I wouldn't have known the difference. "Tell me, Jayce. Why are you here?"

I was taken aback. "Because—because I needed to know the truth."

"You know the truth." The last humanity dissolved out of his voice, leaving a mechanical buzz. "You wanted to hold me accountable."

"If you'd killed Sky—"

"You've killed too, Jayce."

A stone lodged in my chest. It was cold. It was hard.

It was the truth.

Cait—only you, Violet and Mel know what I did. That night, at Silco's Shimmer factory. The boy caught in the crossfire. The boy who'd died because of my recklessness.  I've lived with the memory of his face ever since. It's haunted me. Night and day. No matter how much I've tried to justify it. No matter how many good deeds I've done.

The fact is, I took a life.

And Viktor knew.

For so long, I'd kept it from him, out of shame but also fear. The fear of him judging me, as no different from the other Topsiders. The same ones who'd mistreated him as a boy; who'd buried his city under their refuse and left the people to rot. I was afraid, Cait, of him hating me. Of him realizing how little I deserved his friendship.

And now he did.

 Silco, I thought, icy splinters of rage in my gut. He knew too.

He knew—and he'd used the knowledge to turn Viktor against me.

"Viktor," I began.

"Jayce." His voice was dead as the grave. "Do not."

"Look, please, I—"

"You should not have come. Your presence will be construed as hostile. There will be consequences."

"Then let's leave. Come back with me. I can protect you. The Council, they'll—"

"Forgive me?" His lips approximated a smile. "No. That, I think, will not happen."

"You can't stay here. Not under Silco's thumb. He's using you, Viktor. Using the Hexcore. You can't trust him. Can't you see?"

"I can. You cannot."

 "Viktor—"

"I cannot return to Piltover, Jayce.  My mistakes have made it impossible. I understand that." The mechanical ruthlessness returned to his voice. "You, in turn, must understand. I will not return, because of your own."

My entire axis tilted. I couldn't believe my ears. I was reeling.

"You—you don't mean that."

"I do."

"You'd really choose Silco, over Piltover?"

"I choose neither."

"But—HexCorp. Our research. Me. Us."

"I am sorry, Jayce."

And for the barest moment, the briefest heartbeat, his bionic eyes seemed wetly sheened. As if he was still human.

Then it was gone.

His cane tapped, twice.

A heartbeat later, blackguards melted from the darkest corners.

I counted four. They'd been posted all around. In the shadows.

Waiting for him to give the signal.

I knew, then, that I'd been set up.

Silco had goaded me into coming. He'd known I'd confront Viktor, and Viktor would reveal what had happened to Sky. Then the blackguards would appear, and there'd be arrest warrants. Public censure. Tarnished reputations.

All the while, Viktor would remain in Zaun, free to pursue his work.

I'd played right into his hands.

"Viktor," I said. "Please. Don't do this."

"Goodbye, Jayce." He turned. "You must not return."

"Viktor—"

"Take him."

Cait, I barely had time to react. The blackguards closed in, and my hammer was out, and the energy pulsed, and I managed to get off a shot, and send two of the men flying back, until—

A blow to the back of my skull.

The ground rose up, and slammed into my face.

The world went dark.

When I woke, I was in a holding cell. A dank, cramped space, with a barred door and a cot, and a bucket in the corner.  My head throbbed. My hammer had been confiscated. My wrists were chafed from old shackles.

But, other than that, I was unharmed.

I wasn't sure how long I was kept there. Time passed strangely, in a fog of disorientation. It felt like days, but couldn't have been more than a few hours. Finally, a guard appeared. He escorted me out. We took a lift down to an underground garage, where a limousine was waiting. He shoved me in, and I braced myself for the worst.

Maybe Silco would have me strangled. Maybe they'd put a bullet through my skull. Maybe they'd dump me in the river.

I had a dozen scenarios running through my head. None of them ended well.

None of them came close to reality.

Mel was sitting inside.

Silco had informed her, via a confidential courier, of my entry into Zaun. That I'd gone across the border, unsupervised, armed, with no clearance. That I'd trespassed, and threatened Viktor. And that, in doing so, I'd violated the terms of the Peace Treaty.

Politically, it could've been catastrophic. Months of negotiations—the careful cultivation of trust, the fragile bonds of diplomacy—all put at risk. If Silco had decided to press charges, to use the incident as leverage against Piltover, or retaliation for a perceived slight, the Council would've been hard-pressed to respond.

But he hadn't.

Mel told me, afterward, that the crisis had been resolved behind closed doors. She'd taken the ferry to Zaun, requested a private meeting, and met with Silco in his office. There, after some back-and-forth, she had convinced him to drop the charges. In exchange, the Wardens had agreed to a temporary suspension of my duties at HexCorp. It was, in effect, a forced sabbatical. One I was to spend, for three months, under house-arrest.

During that time, I was forbidden from entering Zaun.

Mel told me all this later. In that moment, sitting beside her in the car, I couldn't bring myself to speak. I was too ashamed—too overwhelmed—to say a word.

We rode in silence.

Cait—I've been such an idiot.

I've gambled high, and I've lost. And because of that, Piltover had nearly lost, too. I'd put myself before my city. Before the safety, the security, the future of our people. I thought of how I'd exploded at Mel, that night in her flat. How I'd left her there, in tears. How I'd jeopardized everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. Everything I'd fought so hard to create.

All because of my own blind, selfish, outsized ego.

All because I thought I could swoop in and save the day.

Gods, what an ass I've been.

Throughout the ride, I kept looking sidelong at Mel. She sat, straight-backed, her hands in her lap, her eyes cast forward. Her dress was pristine, her hair was coiffed, her makeup was impeccable. To the untrained eye, she looked flawless.

I knew her better.

I saw the way her hands were a white-knuckled twist. I saw the subtle quiver of her lower lip. I saw the lavender shadows under her eyes.

The guilt was suffocating.

She'd saved me. She's always saved me. And how have I repaid her? With scorn. With mistrust. With disrespect.

I wanted to fall at her feet. Beg her forgiveness. Tell her how sorry I was, and how stupid I'd been, and how wrong.

I didn't.

Instead, I sat there. Staring at my shoes.

We pulled into her driveway.

"Jayce," she said. "Go. Rest in the guestroom. I'll have the maids send up some tea."

Her tone was polite, but distant. Reserved.

I nodded. "Thanks."

"Jayce?"

I paused, halfway out of the car. "Yes?"

She turned, at last, and met my stare. Her eyes were dark, and sad, and tired.

"I'm glad you're safe," she said simply.

Cait, I couldn't say a word. I could barely breathe. I hesitated for just a second, then pulled her across and into my arms. She embraced me, and as soon as I felt her warmth, smelled her perfume, I couldn't stop myself.  The past few weeks—Viktor's departure, the truth of Sky's death, the realization that I'd nearly ruined everything—everything came rushing back.

I broke down.

I was crying, Cait. Crying in her arms. Like a child. She held me. She didn't say anything. Just held me.

I don't deserve her.

I truly don't. But having her close, and knowing she cared, was a lifeline. Since the Siege, it's like I've lost a tiny bit of my reality. My grasp on the world. Every day, it's been a little harder. Then Viktor left, and Sky died, and the pieces of my world started falling apart.

Mel is the one of the few pieces still anchoring me.

I wanted to tell her this, Cait. I wanted to tell her, how much she means to me, and how sorry I was, and how grateful. I wanted to tell her, over and over, that I didn't deserve her, and how, despite it all, I was never going to leave her side.

I didn't, though.

I kissed her.

It wasn't planned. It just... happened. I kissed her. She was still in my arms. We were still in the car. I was still crying.

Then I was kissing her.

She let me, for a little bit. Then she broke, gently, and turned her head. Putting a palm on my chest, she nudged me back.

"No, Jayce."

"Mel..."

"You need to rest. We'll talk, later."

"Mel, I..."

"Later," she said softly.

It wasn't a request.

And so, I let her go. I walked into the penthouse, and was escorted upstairs. But, Cait—it was the loneliest walk of my life. Because I realized why, when I'd kissed her, she'd withdrawn.

Not because it was the wrong time.

Not because I was in shock.

Not because she was mad.

Cait, she's seeing someone else. I can't say how I know. Just that I can sense it. And, the worst part is, I can't blame her. After the way I've treated her—blowing hot, then cold; pushing her away, then pulling her close; accusing her of things she'd never do, then expecting her to help me when the shit hits the fan—it's no surprise she's moved on.

And how can I expect this gorgeous, sophisticated, brilliant woman, with her head screwed on straight, and her heart in the right place, and the courage to speak truth into power, to stick around?

Especially when I'm acting like a spoiled, sulky, immature, selfish asshole.

She's better off.

But not me.

I've fucked up, Cait. I've hurt people. I've hurt my friends. I've endangered Piltover. All because I've been too caught up in myself. Because I've let my pride run wild.

Because, at the end of the day, maybe I'm still just a boy meddling with things I don't understand.

I think it's time that boy grew up.

It's time he made the world a better place.

P.S.

This will be my last correspondence for a little while. I'll be going upcity to my mother's place.  I've got a few projects in mind, and if I'm going to be under house-arrest, might as well put my time to good use.

Before I go, though, I want to thank you.

For your support. Your honesty. Your friendship.

For everything.

Cait, you're the best.

Your friend, always,

Jayce

*

 To Jayce Talis, Esq.

Sir,

You will oblige me to ask the following: Are you out of your fucking mind?

First, you attack the First Chancellor in plain view of half the Council. Then, you decide it would be a good idea to traipse across the border, unescorted and armed with Hex-tech, without a notarized travel pass. Then, not satisfied with having broken one law, you have the gall to threaten one of our citizens—our brightest minds—with abduction and bodily harm. Then you injure two blackguards, and thereby put yourself, and the integrity of the Peace Treaty, at risk.

Now, you have the balls to write to me—demanding an audience with the First Chancellor, once your house-arrest has expired.

Your arrogance knows no bounds.

Read carefully, sir. Because I will only say this once:

No.

No, you will not have an audience with the First Chancellor. No, we will not divulge the address of the Machinist, Viktor. No, we will not disclose blackguard Violet's current location. And no, you will not be given leave to enter the Fissures, unsupervised and with your hammer.

That is final.

Your last letter, demanding a 'sit-down' (you have, evidently, been reading too many tabloids) is not only a grave presumption. It is also a threat against the integrity of this office. Your future letters, from here on out, will be marked as "Return to Sender." The prior ones, we've already compiled and forwarded to the Council, who have assured us will investigate.

I trust they will take the proper disciplinary actions.

Janna knows, you deserve a slap on the rear. A hard one.

Given your tenure as a former Councilor, we are prepared to show a degree of leniency. You are a prominent figure in the public eye. We recognize the emotional impact of your mentor, Dr. Heimerdinger's, passing. We also know that you have suffered the loss of Viktor's partnership, and are under intense strain in your private life. 

In light of these facts, the First Chancellor has agreed to overlook your invective. We will not press charges, and will not seek punitive action, so long as you cease any and all communication with the First Chancellor. You are also instructed to desist any further inquiries into the whereabouts of the Hexcore.

If you continue to persist in your obstinate line of inquiry, the First Chancellor will no longer be inclined to clemency. You will find yourself facing multiple felony charges, which may carry a term of imprisonment.

Consider carefully.

The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit.

Kindly refrain from further correspondence. Unless it’s in the form of an apology. A similar letter of warning has been forwarded to Enforcer Caitlyn Kiramman. In light of your close personal relationship, we request you relay the message next time you meet.

Regards,

Sevika M.

P.S.

The First Chancellor has also requested we share the following message:

"The boy's letters are charmingly feisty. The girl's, surpassingly eloquent. I am delighted to know that two such exceptional individuals are among our neighbors. My only regret is that they spend more time throwing rocks, and less time building bridges."

"When their aim improves, they will be welcome to visit. Until then, they are advised to keep their distance."

[cheeriecherrymain]

Can I request Viktor x female reader cuddling & making out with maybe some tension but no actual NSFW content?

I tried my best! I kind of ran away with the prompt in my mouth and chewed it, so it's maybe changed a bit, but only Slightly.

---

Viktor x fem!Reader

-You know that Viktor has been worried about you. You’d barely seen each other at all throughout the past seven days - usually you’d find him during your lunch hour, bringing him (and sometimes Jayce) a little snack and a cup of coffee. Sometimes you’d packed him lunch in the morning, if you knew you’d be busy.

-But this week? This week, you hadn’t the time to do any of that. You’d been out of bed and off to work long before he’d so much as woken, and you returned home late after he’d gone to bed. Such wouldn’t be so concerning, if he wasn’t the kind of person who already kept terrible hours.

-So when you trudge into your apartment, silent aside from the click of your stupid, heeled shoes, you’re…surprised to see the lights still on. Not only are they on, but there’s music softly humming from another room, and something delectable permeates the air of your home.

-You don’t even bother with putting things away; you just drop your bag by the front door, kick your shoes off, and stumble further inwards. You peek into each room as you pass it by, most of them dark and with no sign of movement from within.

-Until you get to your bedroom.

-The lights are blessedly dim, though enough to illuminate the area well enough for Viktor to see. Viktor, who lounges quietly on your shared bed in his pajamas, a novel in his lap and holding his attention stronger than he probably intended it to.

-Your movement in the corner of his eye is what alerts him to your presence, his gaze snapping up to you in a brief, startled moment, before he realizes you’re not some kind of intruder and relaxes.

-You smile tiredly at him, sighing deeply when he dog-ears the pages he’s on and sets the book aside.

- “Sorry I’m so late,” you croak, fumbling with the buttons of your blouse as you approach his waiting arms. “You didn’t have to stay up for me, though. I don’t want you to miss out on any more sleep than you usually do-”

-He scoots towards you on the bed when you find your shirt too difficult to work with, gesturing you forwards. You sigh again, but do as he says, allowing him to carefully untuck the soft material from the waist of your trousers to begin popping the buttons open, one by one.

- “It’s friday,” he says, diligently helping you shrug your top off. “And I knew you’d be tired after losing half your employees. I took the weekend off, so you won’t have to worry about anything around here.”

-You kick your pants off next, leaving them piled on the floor for tomorrow-you to deal with, and start trying to crawl into bed.

-Viktor, however, stops you.

-You whine petulantly, pouting like a child while he quietly insists you take all of your work clothes off. Undershirt, socks, bra. “You’re going to have a sore back if you keep everything on,” he tells you, and even though you know he’s right, you still sulk while he further assists you out of your clothing.

-He presses tender kisses to each new section of skin he reveals, first your neck, and the curve of your shoulder, then the center of your chest, above your heart. It doesn’t take much prompting for you to stoop down to catch his mouth with your own, slotting your lips against his.

-You press him down onto the mattress, just slightly, nudging him backwards until you can perfectly crawl over him. Your lips never part from one another, warm and hot against each other. 

-His tongue, sliding against yours, the prettiest flush beginning to rise to the curve of his cheeks. His hands, slowly dipping and walking over every curve of your form, kneading the soft fat of your thighs and tummy, before finding purchase on the slant of your hips.

-Squeezing gently.

-You kiss him harder.

-He squeezes again, carefully, sweetly. Pushing you away.

-You pull back from him, entirely perplexed by his actions. It had been an entire week since you’d really spent any time together - even longer since you’d basked in life’s more carnal pleasures. You knew it was one of the surest ways to help him unwind after work, to let him touch you and feel you however he pleased. For him to earn every little gasp and cry that came out of you.

-He must see the utter confusion in your foggy expression, because he smiles at you with the utmost love and affection, and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

- “You’re exhausted,” he tells you, as if it isn’t obvious. “We’ll have time over the weekend to enjoy each other, but for now, you need to sleep.”

-You aren’t even able to muster the strength to argue with him, instead choosing to flop over sideways with a whine. Viktor laughs quietly at your antics, kissing you again and again as he maneuvers you beneath the soft cotton sheets of your bed.

-He quickly flicks the lamp beside the bed off, and curls up beside you. Wrapping an arm over your hip, pressing one last smooch to the crown of your head. “Sleep well, my love,” he murmurs against your hair, though you’re none the wiser, already cast into the swells of sleep.

[oodlyenough]

fic: midnight oil

1k of Jayce/Viktor established relationship ...hurt/comfort? part-angst part-fluff? ... for @nowwheresmynut and @frappujiku

Viktor officially gives up on sleep at a quarter past three in the morning.

Pushing himself up is a stiff, low process. By the time he swings his legs over the side of the bed, Jayce’s hand finds his shoulder.

“Hey." Jayce’s voice is too alert for this strange hour. "What do you need? I’ll get it.”

Viktor scowls at the carpet. It’s the third night like this in as many days, and his patience with his body is threadbare. Worse, the bags under Jayce’s eyes are starting to rival Viktor’s own.

Nighttime coughing spells are bitter enough on their own, without the chaser of guilt that comes from disturbing someone else, too. Jayce pretends to sleep through the lighter ones, and Viktor lets the lie go unchallenged, lest they engage in another fruitless debate that hurts feelings and solves nothing. Jayce doesn’t want to sleep alone—and the trump card at the heart of Jayce’s argument is that neither does Viktor, really. The irrefutable intersection of sentimentality and practicality.

In case, Jayce had said last time. He hadn’t had the heart to specify what case that was, and Viktor hadn’t needed to ask.

Read on Ao3

[fanandfiction]

For Lunch

How Arcane Characters Would Eat You Out... (part 2)

Summary: A balanced diet usually consists of three meals a day. Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. Which will you be joining us for today?

AN: Surprise, I live! One minute I’m having a manic episode, writing every day for a whole two weeks, the next thing I know 4 months go by and my will to live has been completely nonexistent. Don’t you fear though bc low incomes got your back and for the time being I’ve got my ✨sparkle✨ back! (take your medication kids! you wouldn’t have it if you didn’t need it!)

Word Count: 2.06k words

Warnings: +18 MDNI, Cunnilingus, Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Cheating, Overstimulation, Jayce is a switch lmao, Threesome, F/F/M, Mild Exhibitionism, Mild Voyeurism, Spanking, Corruption kink, Mild Dubious Consent.

Characters: F! Reader, Jayce (ft Mel), Cassandra, Silco, Vi. (You can tell who my favorites are 😣)

THERE IS NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Cassandra sips a glass of red wine from her office balcony most mornings. As the councilwoman’s secretary, you usually scurry around the office or run small errands for her in the city.  Some days, when her silly little husband or naive daughter works her nerves just right, Cassandra needs to release her pent-up frustration. That’s where you come in. It’s your job to alleviate her stress and workload; what better way to relieve stress than having your secretary bent over your desk for brunch? You were always so good to her, never causing her the stress her daughter did, always willing to try the things her husband would shy away from.

One of Cassandra’s dainty gloved hands massages your ass, squeezing the supple flesh as her other hand is lodged in your sopping pussy, slowly fucking you with her long, slender fingers. It’s a privilege to have an audience with the councilwoman like this, so if you want to cum, you must beg for her, she says. At the same time, she’ll exhale lightly against your clit, teasing you all the more. You have no choice but to beg for her, not that you weren’t seconds away from dissolving in a blubbering mess anyway. The stimulation from her fingers alone was divine, but they were nowhere near enough to get you close to the edge. So you do, like a pathetic little puppy, you beg for her. You plead for her to let her anger and frustration out on you.

            “Please, Miss,” you whimper. “Use me, give me all your stress. I’ll take it, all of it.” 

 If Cassandra’s feeling nice, she’s quick to give you what you asked so nicely for.  She’ll move you to your back with your legs spread to make it easier on her own - you will never catch the counselor on her knees for anyone. She’s quick to press her de-gloved fingers back into your pulsing entrance, her mouth joining them this time, nibbling and suckling your clit. You try your hardest not to scream in pleasure- the last thing you want to do is alert someone to what is happening. But with all her stimulation, you can feel yourself tumbling toward the edge. Failure is inevitable, and you moan loudly when your orgasm consumes you. 

Cassandra slows for maybe a minute as you're coming to, your pussy is pulsing around her fingers, and you’re trying to flinch away from how sensitive you feel, but she’s not stopping. She chuckles into you, steadying you with her free hand, “I’m still very frustrated, my dear. And we haven’t even gotten to the main course. I’m afraid you might need to readjust my schedule after lunch.” 

Jayce would have you at the grand table in the conference hall after a relatively gruesome meeting. He would claim that after such a long boring conference, he needed a snack- he was “just absolutely famished.” You were quick to offer yourself to him, and he wasn’t hesitant to accept your offer. Jayce happily lapped at your cunt, savoring your juices almost as if he had been without food and water for weeks. There was nothing more Jayce wanted than to taste your sweet release, and he had you close to cumming relatively quickly. Jayce is incredibly skilled with his mouth; while his tongue works dutifully, leaving long broad strokes through your folds, one of his hands stimulates your clit. His thumb circles it without remorse, and you’re sure you’re falling apart then and there. But to your surprise and dismay, he halts his movements. 

“Well, don’t stop now that you’ve gotten caught,” Councilwoman Medarda stood tall and as elegant as ever in the doorway. You didn’t hear her come in. In shock, you try to get up, but Jayce halts you. Heeding her wishes, Jayce continues, holding you in place with his free hand. 

“I- Councilwoman- I-I’m sorry!” You squeak, trying to shuffle away from the persistent counselor between your legs. 

She strolls into the room, her hips delightfully swaying as she makes her way to join you. “Don’t be. You’re not the one in trouble- What a good aide you’ve been, helping this greedy dog get his fix,” Mel says. She stands in the inner portion of the table, near your head, peering down at you. She reaches down and begins gently massaging your breasts. “I think if the poor dog wants to eat so bad, we should let him eat, and eat, and eat until his heart's content.” 

There's no time for you to ponder or even process what she means. Your first orgasm comes crashing over you as Jayce takes your clit between his lips and pushes his fingers into your dripping heat. He doesn’t stop, and you can quickly feel the familiar tension returning in your lower abdomen. You attempt and fail to choke back sobs from the overstimulation. His fingers thrust in and out of you with remarkable precision and consistency. As you cum a second time, Mel comforts you by wiping the sweat from your brow and cooing gently in your ear. “There, there. If you waste all your tears night now, you won’t have any for the main event.”

Silco was a busy, busy man. It’s hard work running the undercity and raising a daughter with a loaded, trauma-filled past. So naturally, after a relatively long week of chem barron negotiations that went virtually nowhere, Silco’s patience was wearing thin. He didn’t have time to entertain you or put up with your bratty antics. That, however, has never stopped you, and you don’t take neglect from your beloved too well. If anything, it makes it ten times harder on Silco. You ramp up your brattiness and constantly interrupt his work until he snaps, deciding nothing can move forward until you’re punished. 

Paper and pens are strewn off his large oak desk in seconds, and your body replaces them just as quickly. You're bent over the cold surface, standing on the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him. Your knuckles pale as your grip tightens in anticipation around the edge of the desk. “Is this what you wanted, my attention?” Silco says as he makes quick work of discarding your undergarments. You hum “yes” happily when the cool air hits your sopping cunt. 

“Well, now you’ve got it, my little dove,” he says, groping and massaging the globes of your ass. Don’t be fooled. Silco isn’t letting you off scot-free. Not after all the strife you’ve caused him. His right hand lifts from your ass, and before you have time to register what he might do with it, it’s coming back down hard against your behind. You let out a surprised squeak, tensing when Silco grabs the tingling flesh.  

“ Count them,” he says simply. With little warning, the next one comes down as ruthlessly as the first. 

One, two, three, four, five. You heed his command and count each one. Every harsh slap is heavy and quick, causing your breath to become quick and shallow. 

Your ass is on fire, but that doesn’t stop your pussy from clenching desperately around nothing. As Silco harshly squeezes your burning flesh, his thumb makes its way to massage your tight button hole and your pussy entrance, teasing you. You whine and whither in his grasp. “Do you need something?” Silco’s low vibrato causes shivers to run down your spine. 

“ I need you, please,” you whimper pathetically. 

“We’ll get there, dove…Right now, we’re teaching you a thing or two about patience,” You can feel Silco’s warm breath graze against your entrance. “Keep counting.” He says as laps at your pussy.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He slaps your neglected left side just as aggressively as the other. Both sides tingle, radiating heat as Silco devours you. It’s hard for you to focus, but you manage all while grinding back into Silco’s mouth. 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Silco can tell you’re close by how you tense around his tongue, and your legs start quivering. He moves to suck on your sensitive clit, and you grind backward onto his nose. Moments later you're tipping over the edge, Silco guiding you through every second of pleasure. 

Once you’ve caught your breath, Silco retreats, you don’t dare to move or get up. You hear him lick his wet lips and the metal buckle of his pants come undone. “Now onto the main course, my dove.” 

Due to her hostile nature, Vi had spent the first several years of her sentence alone within the concrete walls of Stillwater. The only human interaction she’d had was between meal times when the guards would bring her a tray of gray slop and stale bread or during hygiene hour when she is granted daily access to the showers. One day that changed, instead of being delivered the usual atrocity that was lunch, you’re delivered. Whether it be because her behavior improved or because the prison had reached a certain capacity, Vi didn’t know. When she got a good look at you, she quickly decided she was grateful to have a new cellmate either way. 

This innocence radiated from you, something Vi craved and hadn’t had for a long time. Something about you just screams, “she doesn’t belong here.” There's no way you were in this shit hole on anything more than petty charges, false ones even, Vi pondered. 

You fall into your place in the natural hierarchy so easily as well. Vi didn’t have to fight or intimidate you for anything. She was in charge from the beginning. Food, necessities- anything she asks of you, you give her. You never ask much of it. She kept peering guards off your back and ensured no bigger fish came to snatch you up. Although, maybe you should’ve been more aware of the peering eyes just behind you or the monster sleeping above you, waiting for the perfect moment to devour you whole. 

Before long, the tension you seem too naive to notice becomes almost overbearing for Vi. She’d asked you to scrub her down in the shower, wash her hair, and dry her off. You had done so dutifully, assuming the way she twitched beneath your fingers was due to stress and fatigue. It wasn’t until you found yourself face down against the cool bathroom counter and stripped of your lower garments that you considered anything else. 

“V-Vi!?” you stammer. Alarmed, you begin to thrash, trying desperately to face your cellmate. Only you find it’s futile. With one hand, Vi has your arms in a firm, unrelenting hold behind your back. 

“So innocent, so precious,” She drags out her words like a snake, grabbing and massaging your bare ass with her free hands. “I could just eat you whole.” 

Vi leaves you with no time to ponder her words before her warm mouth finds your cunt. She moans loudly at the taste sending vibrations coursing through you. You try to fight her, but your resolve is already weakening drastically, and your thrashing only serves to push you further into her warmth. 

“Mmh,” she hums. “You taste even better than I imagined.” 

“Please…” you whimper. 

“Please what? Do you want more?” She teases. Before you have time to deny her accusations, two of her fingers join her mouth, thrusting into your dripping hole. The feeling immediately shatters what’s left of your will to fight back. Kitten-like mews and whorish whimpers erupt from your throat. 

“There, there,” she coos, as your walls tense and un-tense tightly around her fingers. She can tell you’re close already.

Her mouth finds its way to your sensitive clit, and she begins sucking hard. With the combined efforts of her mouth and fingers, you're cumming in no time. Screaming out her name as your release finds you, your juices spill down Vi’s face. 

When she stands, her reflection in the mirror serves as your only method of looking at her. She wears a proud smirk on her face, watching as you pant and twitch beneath her. “What a good little slut you are. When we are done, everyone in Stillwater will know who you belong to.”

Next part- For Dinner - Set to include: Sevika, Renata Glasc, Finn, Jinx, Ambessa Medarda

[ember-owlet]

Could you maybe do a Viktor cg fic please??? Or headcanon or anything you want.

But like, cg Viktor x male or nonbinary little reader who's like... Baby, like 0-1, nonverbal

If not, that's okay!!

a/c: yes, definitely!! i know viktor has been a very popular topic in my asks as of late, and i can see why! it took me a while to think of the perfect scenario for you, i hope you enjoy this little fic firelight! thank you for waiting ʚ♡ɞ 

tw for brief mentions of viktor pondering his death!! stay safe, you can always come back to this when you're ready (ૂ′ᵕ‵ॢං)

dynamic: gn!little!reader x cg! viktor

The warm glow of morning shone through the still air of the scientist's lab. Papers scattered endlessly around the scuffed desk, and resting atop them was none other than the main resident of his second home. His body rose and fell to the soft whirrs of the hexcore, filling in the gaps of silence around the overbearing steel walls, the foreign object rotating seamlessly above him. The unsure creak of a door alerted Viktor to wake to an alarmed position, his head whirring around instinctually before his mind could register the intruder's identification.

An endearing effort, nonetheless it was near impossible not to wake Viktor; He was truly the lightest sleeper in Piltover. Growing up in the undercity developed a skill to wake at the drop of a pin to danger, and though moving to a city like Piltover would be no cause for such concerns, some habits never left him. You can take the boy out of the city, but you can never take the city from the boy. Letting the foggy images clear, his shoulders relaxed, exhaling at the presence of Jayce with you in hand and rubbing your eyes with a soft yawn. "Oh. Good morning, you two." The scientists' voice was hoarse, dropping his guard he released the scalpel from his grasp. "I assume you both had an eventful night?" Viktor stood up from his spinning chair, walking over to see the dark circles under your eyes that reflected his own. "Jayce, don't tell me you made my little one stay up too late." Jayce rubbed his neck and chuckled, it wasn't rocket science for your caregiver to guess how late your adventures turned out. "Sorry Vik, they just couldn't fall back asleep and I didn't know what else to do. We spent the night making a pillow fort and playing blimp captain." You quickly waddled over to Viktor, widening your arms to embrace your papa. He sighed, closing you in for a gentle hug. "What am I going to do with you poklad.." Viktor patted you along towards your designated corner of the room filled with toys, coloring books, and sensory items. Jayce was the first to close the distance, waiting until you were out of distance to make his comment to the other. "They really missed you, y'know. I get that they're not allowed in the lab while you're working with the Hexcore, but they were really worried when you didn't show up."

There was an audible exhale when Viktor shook his head. It pained him to even ponder the fact that you were alone and frightened for him. "I know, I just-'" If he had been honest there were more than a few times where he wouldn't have been able to return to your arms again. "I would never want them to be here in case something were to happen to me." Jayce instinctively reached out to console his companion. "Of course. But it won't happen. Not as long as we're together." He pulled the corner of his lip in a small smile, rubbing Viktor's shoulder in confidence. "But make sure they get some sleep. I'm supposed to keep my reputation as the fun one here." Nodding, Viktor watched the broad figure walk himself out of the office. He let the air settle, exhaling with a small wheeze. You were able to catch his attention, weepy eyes to the contrasting brightness. His eyes would widen to the sight of you grasping at the air towards him. With every attempt to stand, your knees would buckle to exhaustion; further frustrating you in your need to be held. "Hmm." Viktor's throat rumbled. If not for himself he would at least allow his body to recharge for you. "I think we've been up long enough myška. Let's have a rest, shall we?" Lifting himself in unsteady movements he hobbled towards you, his head gesturing towards the door leading to the bedroom. You lifted yourself onto the bed, watching as Viktor dragged the drapes slowly. You couldn't help but giggle as your caregiver playfully joined your side with a chuckle, curling yourself against his slender stature. Grunting, you could feel his aching body move to turn on the lamp and grab the journal off of the nightstand. You looked at your caregiver's notes, each observation recorded with their own key for additional thoughts. Viktor tilted the journal so you could see it better. "I think we're making real progress, there's just- something missing." He rambled on about what adjustments he would be able to make once the two of you were awake. But for you, the feeling of his body with the rumble of his voice was safe, and sleep would begin to make your eyes grow heavy from exhaustion.

[aceofsheeps]

ARCANE: Mel’s End Scene Explained

I originally wrote this for my Medium page, 2 years ago(?) but wanted to start posting here too. I prefer the format over on Medium but it be like that. __________________________________________________________ There are many theories already on whether this end scene is just lighting the scene and dramatizing the horror of the ongoing event caused by Jinx, which it no doubt is. It’s a good transition. A slow fade from black, and then a shine of the gold that indicates something dangerous is going to happen. We’ve seen these kinds of things across different animations, anime and cartoons. For example, the common occurrence of this transition is usually visualized by a black screen followed by another effect, such as a silver sparkle of a blade before it’s shot at a protagonist. Unfortunately, I’ve had a difficult time finding examples and the best I could find is Volke’s Lethality from Fire Emblem, but I’m sure you get the point.

re-watching that specific scene again, I’ve noticed a few things that support the theory of Mel having some sort of magical ability. Personally, I believe it includes something similar to foresight, almost like a Spidey-sense.

Right before the rocket makes contact with the window, we see Mel looking at Jayce. She’s smiling after their successful voting on the peace between Piltover and Zaun. However, we can see her expression abruptly change, while Jayce remains the same. She’s alert. Her head tilts upwards like she’s sensing something and she frowns. Seeing as Jayce doesn’t look too concerned in this shot, we can assume it’s something only Mel is aware of. She knows something’s up.

Now the next shot of Mel starts off with a black screen. Then, the gold decoration slowly glows from left to right. We already know this works as just a transition scene and is most likely a reflection of the light above them. She’s our focal point. However, looking closely — although it’s difficult to see in the above GIF — there’s this distortion and chromatic aberration (seen below). It looks like an alarm. She is sensing this attack. This is what gives me the idea that she has some kind of ability to sense incoming danger. To add to this, if you listen to the scene at first you hear the rocket, but then it grows quiet. And after this brief silence you hear a musical-esque ringing. Something magical is happening here. However, given the first scene, she notices it before she starts to glow. This means this isn’t the source of her ability to sense anything but maybe an effect being activated.

Next up is her attire. You can see that the back of her dress covers a majority of the gold decorative onlay. However, when the scene comes you can see way more than what we should be able to see, assuming the black portion of her dress is transparent. If the purpose of showing the entire design — of whatever you want to call her gold decoration — wasn’t to imply some sort of ability, showing just the portion you’d expect to see off of her would do just fine. Unless of course, they just wanted a reason to show off her design. Given what we know about Arcane so far, it’s unlikely this was the only reasoning.

The three factors that lead me to believe there’s more than just editing tricks going on here are Mel’s expression and reaction, the effects surrounding her, and her attire overall. We also know this is something added on once she became older, as the younger version of her has no gold on her body whatsoever. It’s also likely now a permanent part of her as we never see her without it afterwards, meaning this could be a defensive tool or effect.

On a side note, the design looks similar to Zhonya’s Hourglass. Does anyone else see this or just me?

If Mel was a champion in League, how do you think they would go about fitting in this supposed ability to sense danger? A passive shield that activates upon taking damage perhaps?

[sableghost]

these are the same image .

[tenshouining]

he's trying to be cute (it's working but at what cost)

[smol-lydia]

Skin of My Teeth  Viktor xFem!Reader (SFW)

Just a little sick!fic oneshot where Viktor finds his lab assistant unwell, and is doing his damndest to care for her. Unbeknownest to him, his tough as nails mechanically minded assistant has been harboring a small crush on him for quite a while, and this is no ordinary flu.  CW/TW for drug/addiction mention here; very heavily based on my experience withdrawing from opiates; happy 92 days of sobriety to me 

Honestly, you didn’t think either of them would notice if you were absent at the lab. After all, you were just a scholarship student, someone good with mechanics and little else. Your face was always smeared with grease and those stupid stockings they made you wear with the Academy uniform managed to gain a new rip or tear every week. 

At least when you worked on prototypes with Viktor and Jayce you could wear coveralls, your thick dark hair tied back and out of the way. Jayce always made an effort to greet you each morning, his smile bright as you stumbled in, eyes red. He was definitely a morning person, something you couldn’t fathom as you tried to ignore the pounding headaches and sweat gathering under your arms until you could—

Never mind you and your mess. 

Viktor, his lab partner, didn’t talk much, and that suited you fine. He was a Zaunite, like you, and you would catch him muttering curses he thought you couldn’t understand under his breath. 

You could, of course. You had grown up in the quarter next to the one where Viktor’s people had settled, so his native tongue may not have been yours, but you could recognize some words in his sharp commentary. 

He was wickedly funny in the language of his people, and you could see it in his face. The mischief in honey-brown eyes, the cock of a brow at some inane suggestion of Jayce’s. How he talked with his hands, those slender fingers telling their own story as he leaned over plans with you, turning theories into plans, while you brought him back down to Runeterra every once in a while, reminded him what you could mechanically do and fix. 

“It’s not just a matter of building it,” you remind Viktor constantly. “What happens when you need repairs? You want something simple to fix, with easy to obtain parts.” 

And back to the drawing board you both would go, him rubbing his temples, you rubbing your sweaty hands on the front of your coveralls. 

Maybe you had a slight crush on him. Maybe. But you would rather die than tell him. 

Either way, you didn’t expect that Viktor would notice that you hadn’t turned up at the lab. That you couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

You had always known that you would run out of the baggies of powder you had so painstakingly saved, the garish purple microdosed to keep everything at bay. You knew there were lines you could cross to get more, and even though every cell in your body was screaming at you to do so—fuck your future, anything to stop this agony! You couldn’t. You couldn’t come home with no education, a lost scholarship, just another addict willing to sell anything for her fix. 

You’ll let it out of your system, you figure. What’s the worst that could happen? 

And now here you are, sweating, shaking, with your cheek on the cool tile of your bathroom in the student dorms. You know, based on the way your stomach is twisting, that you’re going to get sick again. 

You take a breath. You’re not certain you’ve felt more miserable in your life. 

Then comes the knock at the door. His voice. 

“Miss (y/n)?” 

Oh gods. Janna above, why did it have to be him? 

You could ignore him. But what if he escalated things, alerted the Dean? No. You couldn’t have that. 

You pick yourself up on wobbly feet, in your white cotton chemise, and stumble towards the door. Open it. 

Viktor, leaning on his cane, looking sweet as ever. He takes in your appearance and concern floods his features. 

“Miss (y/n), are you quite all right?” 

If you open your mouth you’ll vomit. So you simply look down at your bare feet and shrug. “May I come in?” Viktor asks. 

Part of you wants to say no, can’t stand to have him seeing you like this, another part of you is desperate for someone to care for you. 

You don’t answer him, as your stomach turns over and you rush back to the bathroom to give up what little is left to puke. 

Vaguely you hear your front door shut and then the click of his cane on the floor as he enters the bathroom, takes in the scene. 

Cool, gentle hands lightly pulling your hair back until you’re finished, wiping your mouth. You want to melt into the flooring; having your co-worker see you sick is one thing, but that co-worker being your crush? End you now. 

Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted by you, however, helping you to your feet so you can rinse your mouth—brushing damages the enamel, he tells you—-and lightly sweeping your hair from your face. 

“May I….help you to bed?” Spots of pink bloom on his cheeks when he asks, but you’re too far gone to laugh at him. File it away to tease him later. Exhausted, you nod, and he holds you by the waist, guiding you to your small bed. 

He sits on the edge of your bed, with its regulation white eiderdown, and seems fidgety, looking up at you, down to his shoes, at his hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. Every part of you aches, and you are regretting the moment you tried shimmer for the first time. 

“(y/n)….” Viktor starts, and pauses. Clears his throat. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Make some tea? I don’t want to leave you ill like this.” 

You nod, and he jumps into action, boiling water, putting the mint leaves into cups, readying a hot-water bottle. He seems to do better with direction, keeping that nervous demeanor in perpetual movement. What he had to be nervous about, you didn’t know, but you are grateful for the mint tea and for the fresh chemise he pulls out of your wardrobe at your instruction. 

Two cups of tea at your bedside, waiting to reach drinkable temperature, you reach for the chemise. 

“Do you mind if I…..” Getting up to change in the bathroom seems to be too much energy at the moment. 

Viktor catches on after a moment and now he’s scarlet, jumping to his feet. “Oh, of course! Go ahead! I’ll just—-“ He grabs his cane and turns his back to you as you pull your old, dirty garment over your head. 

You’re completely bare on top and part of you wonders if he’s glancing your way, but he seems shuttered like a clam, still bright red and focused very intently at the clock in the kitchen. 

You’re a little disappointed, you’ll admit, as you slip the clean garnet on, fixing the small buttons at the lace collar. 

“You can turn around now.” You don’t hide the amusement in your tone, nor do you miss the slight bulge in his pants. “My modesty is quite intact, thank you.” 

You pick up your teacup and take a sip, looking over the rim at him. The mint is heaven, even if you feel like you’ve been scraped off the Piltover cobblestones. 

“Unless it’s not my modesty we’re concerned about,” you add. 

You can’t help yourself—it’s too fun to see him turn an even deeper shade of red. 

“Miss—(y/n) that’s not—-“ Viktor reaches for his teacup, his hand trembling. 

“Relax, Viktor. I’m just having fun giving you a hard time. When you feel like you’re at your worst, you gotta find humor somewhere.”

“I suppose you do.” He takes a sip of his tea. “It appears you have quite the nasty bout of influenza.” 

Part of you yearns to tell him. That you’re drowning, that you were a stupid, headstrong girl who thought this was never happen to you, and now here you are. Pathetic and needy, brought to your knees by a drug. That you live a double life and you’re so, so tired. 

Part of you would collapse from shame if he knew. 

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I might be absent a few days.” 

“Take all the time you need,” he says. The two of you sip your tea in silence, until Viktor puts his empty cup on your side table. 

“(Y/n).” 

“Hm?” You’re so caught up how miserable you feel that you barely heard him, at first. 

“I don’t feel good leaving you alone, sick like this.” 

“It’s all right. Honest.” You shrug. You’re tough. You can handle this. 

“No, it’s not.” He is adamant, and this surprises you. You’ve seen Viktor debate with Jayce, of course, but those were intellectual exercises. His stubbornness here seems to be something entirely different. “Can I call someone?” 

“Gods, no!” You panic a bit at the suggestion, moving away from Viktor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I’m fine, Viktor. Truly.” 

“Everything I am seeing indicates quite the opposite.” Those amber eyes fix on your dark ones. He pauses. Lets out a breath. “Well, I suppose I have no choice, then.” 

Another round of sweat breaks out under your arms, your heart rate picking up. Viktor is the Dean’s Assistant, too, and you couldn’t afford—in every sense of the word—to have the yordle sniffing around your business. 

“Don’t call the Dean,” you blurt out in a feverish panic. 

Viktor blinks, furrowing his dark brows. “Why would I call the Dean over a case of flu?” 

“You said—-I thought/—“ 

This is getting worse by the minute. “Never mind. It’s the fever. I’m just babbling.” 

He reaches over to touch your cheek with the back of his hand and you feel as though you’re going to pass out. “You do feel a bit clammy,” he muses. “As I was saying. I have no choice but to stay, at least for a little while, if that’s all right with you.” 

You nod, and curl up under the covers. The muscle aches are back and you don’t want to be alone in this, as messy and complicated as it is. 

Your voice sounds meek, so unlike what you’re used to. “Stay. Please.” One hand above the covers, searching. 

Viktor interlaces his fingers with yours, and gives your hand a squeeze. “I shall.” With his other hand he runs his fingers through your messy hair and murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere, (y/n).” 

[viktorshands]

Vampire AU - Part I

Silco x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Language (seriously, that’s it... for now... o.o)

WC: 1370

Chapter I:  An Unexpected Setback

You were an Arts professor at Piltover Academy, teaching students the pleasures of history, music, and art. You loved your job, for as long as you could remember you were always told that you would make an amazing teacher. Unsurprisingly, you did. Coincidentally, so did your best friend, Sky. The two of you were as thick as thieves as two young women could be. You both enjoyed the nightlife of Piltover City, sometimes a little too much, but could always count on each other for everything. 

You stroll up the front steps at Piltover Academy at a leisurely pace, humming to yourself. Only faculty was permitted in the classrooms at this time, with only a couple of days before the fall semester classes started. You nod politely at the other professors as you walk down the spacious hallway until you finally reach your office. You reach for your key to open the door, but before you can open it, you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

You turn, only to see Administrator Jayce Talis standing there, his hands in his pockets and a solemn look on his normally cheery face. 

“Hi, Y/N,” he stared at the floor as if there were something interesting beneath your feet, “do you have a few minutes? I need to speak to you, privately.”

You felt uneasy, a bad feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach, but still you nodded at him and opened the door, letting him into your office ahead of you.

-

“Fired? How? What?” Sky’s voice was at a higher pitch than the rooftops as you sat on the olive green couch in your shared apartment. “I literally just saw him today as I went in to set up my classroom. No wonder he couldn’t look me in the eye.” Her angry growl could be heard from the kitchen across the room, “Men are such cowards! Ugh! Okay, tell me exactly what he said just once more.”

“He said that the Academy was making cuts, unfortunately that included my program. They are centering their priorities in science; hence, the arts are not an ‘ideal expenditure’ according to the board of directors.” You exhaled, defeated, putting your face in your hands. “Oh Sky, what the hell am I going to do?”

Her soft footfalls approached, she put one hand on your shoulder and reached to hand you a warm mug of mint tea. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.” She sat down next to you, “Hey, we can search for jobs together if you want?” 

The two of you scrolled online for what felt like hours, the morning sun dipping late into the afternoon now. It seemed like all of the jobs out there were either for someone more qualified than yourself or for much less pay than you would be able to accept. Feeling put-out, Sky got on her computer to order take-out for the both of you - Thai food could always brighten your day.

You came across an ad on a small website for a private tutor. The pay immediately caught your eye.

𝗣𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗧𝘂𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗱. $𝟳𝟱/𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗼𝘆𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹.

Hm, could be interesting, but why are there like, no details? Still, I could do worse. You uploaded your resume, your email address, phone number, and hit “Apply”. 

The evening passes quickly. You turn off the TV, uninterested in finishing the episode of Love Island without Sky, who has long since passed out on the couch beside you. You get up and yawn, stretching like a cat before seeing your phone screen light up. As you grab it, you see that an unknown number is calling. At ten o’clock? Scam alert!

You walk to your bedroom and answer anyway, ready to prank the scammer on the other line, “Hello?” You do your best Kermit the Frog impression.

“Miss L/N? This is a call in response to your job application to be a private tutor?” A strong, female voice spoke on the other end of the call.

Dread and embarrassment washed over you like a downpour. Are you fucking kidding me? You chastised yourself.

“Hello?” The woman spoke again.

“Hi!” Now you sounded too overzealous. Tone it down. “Hello, yes, this is Y/N. I apologize, I needed to clear my throat.”

“No trouble at all. I will connect you with the master.” Her voice was deadpan. You heard her quietly say, “fucking hell.” The line went silent for a moment, and your pulse quickened. The what?

“Ah, Miss L/N.” The male voice on the other end purred, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Um, Y/N is just fine, thank you.” You were almost tripping over your words and started to pace your room. “I - I’m sorry, um, what is your name? I am afraid that I don’t know who you, or your school or company is at all. There was barely any information on the application.” You slapped a hand over your mouth and internally screamed at yourself. For the love of crackers and cheese stop talking now before you say anything else offensive.

“Y/N.” He repeated your name, and you froze in place. That voice. “You may call me Silco.” He sounded like honey and whiskey, sweet on the tongue and a burn in your throat to wash it down. He continued, “Let me ask since you brought up the application: What made you interested in this position?”

The money, obviously. “I thought it would be a unique opportunity for myself in my career, and a perfect fit for myself. I have been teaching at the Piltover Academy of Arts and Sciences, well, now just Sciences actually.” Your voice trailed off. “Sorry, I’ve been teaching for three years since I graduated at the top of my class. I have experience with art, history, and music, all of which I think are vital for a student to learn. How old is the student that is requiring the lessons? I only ask because it will be easier to craft lessons depending on their grade level.”

“She is eighteen.” He paused, “I agree that the arts are an essential part of one’s education. Tell me, Y/N, have you ever been to Zaun?”

“Zaun?” You didn’t mean for your confusion to come across so loudly so you covered your tracks, “I have never been but I know that it is a small town, a population under 500 and well-known for their folklore, as well as the birthplace of General Vander who was said to have raised a legion of wolves to fight in the Great War over six hundred years ago.”

“Ah, I see.” He sounded pleased, or strained, if that was possible to detect, “You’re familiar with our quaint town? That is where we are located. My manor is just outside of the town.”

“Oh,” You furrowed your brow, “I am partially familiar, but I am afraid that it would be quite a far drive for me to come all the way out there every day. You see, I live in Piltover City.”

A pause on the other end. You held your breath in anticipation for his response and started mentally backtracking through your other job options. 

“I see, well, we expected that. We are prepared to have you stay on the grounds. Your meals and everything else will be provided for in addition to your flat-rate compensation.”

You couldn’t hide the excitement from your voice and you said happily, “That would be amazing.”

“You’ll hear from us soon, thank you for your time, Y/N,” He said softly, “It has been a pleasure to speak with you.”

“The pleasure was mine, thank you for your consideration, Silco.” It felt strange to say his name aloud, too informal. Before you could say anything else, the line clicked in your ear, startling you back to reality.

You started your nightly routine, though trying to get your heartrate back to resting was more difficult than taming a beast. Still, you fell asleep with your imagination running wild to piece together a picture of the man that is connected to such a sensual voice.

-

Part II

[wincestisasincest]

I am so happy I found ur blog!! I’m on the ace spectrum too! Have you published the reader coming out as ace to jayce and vik or is that still a wip? No pressure tho take ur time 💕 i’d love to see an ace reader x jayce in a romantic way ;))

Hey anon! Every time I hear that an ace person is reading my stuff I get 3 years added to my life ektjehtu welcome aboard :) The reader coming out fic is still a work in progress, and I'll be honest with you it's probably not gonna be out for a while. My priority rn is a comm, and then ch. 14 of another fic I'm working on, and then I have some more asks, and THEN I'll start with WIPs. To tide you over until then tho, I have this little one-shot I had to get out of my system. Ace reader always has a special place in my heart <3

(also for more ace jayce content my friend @aerynwrites just wrote a really good fic with jayce x ace!reader)

The Best Thing I Ever Did

Jayce Talis x gn!asexual!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Internalized aphobia (we out here), swearing, truly cringe pet names

“You ever think about getting married?” 

Jayce’s arms are crossed behind his head as he lays face up on your shared bed. The one that you were planning to sleep in soon, until his words put your mind on red alert and you blink the daze out of your eyes.

“Have you?” you say at last, flatter than you like, but you’re just glad that you can stay calm.

“No, I’m just making small talk,” he snarks. 

His hand lifts to affectionately ruffle your hair, and he’s looking up at you, filled with adoration that you’re not sure if you deserve in this moment.

“To be honest, I try not to think about it,” you can only bring yourself to look at your lap as you say it, but when his hand drops, you catch it, toying with his fingers, “just... enjoy the fact that we’re living together, y’know? Never needed things to be official.” 

Jayce’s head cocks to the side, and he sits up, leaning against the headboard.

“Well, you’re better than me. Cause I think about it all the time.”

“Really?” you smirk, as though you just found out he had a crush on someone. Someone who wasn’t you, of course. When he first asked you out, you were flustered beyond belief. 

“Yeah, really,” he mirrors you, “What? You got tired of me?” 

“Never.” 

You lean in, kissing his nose, pulling away just enough so that you can see his whole face. Drink him in; The scarred brow, strong jaw, widow’s peak with just a few loose strands, all framing enormously soft eyes. Not a day passes where you don’t examine these with the care of a portrait artist producing their greatest work, willing yourself to believe that he’s yours, and he likes you, maybe even loves you. Loves you enough to deal with... everything. 

The cozy grin on your face falters just a little too soon as you realize that you can’t ask him to do this. You love him too much, Piltover loves him too much, and frankly, he’s too good of person to deserve living a life without-

“What’s wrong?”

His calloused palm cups your cheek. He’s frowning, but he’s got that lost puppy look on him. And you curse yourself at how easily you still succumb to it. 

“Nothing's- wrong.”

“Hey, listen, if you’re not ready to get married, that’s okay,” he’s speaking so gently, and it actually hurts you.

“It’s not that...” you sigh, shoulders slagging, wishing that the full moon bursting through your window didn’t make this scene look so romantic, “I mean... a relationship is one thing, but... are you really sure you wanna be with me forever?” 

Reasons, justifications, are crossing his mind, as well as worries. You can see it twitching at this lips. But instead, he opts for the simplest response.

“Yes. I’m sure.” 

“Because,” his hand slips from your face and you’re looking down again, clicking your tongue with exasperation, “fuck, I’ll just say it. Because it’s one thing to give up sex for a few years, but you don’t deserve to give it up for the rest of your life, and-” 

“Carrot, I’m not giving anything up.” 

Jayce was fond of stupid nicknames, but you couldn’t help the feeling that he chose this one on purpose. You remembered where it came from. 

“Well, now I don’t need to worry that you’re using me for sex,” Jayce chuckled, a smile edging on the corners of his mouth, betraying just how desperately he wanted to see yours. 

After the weight of your confession, after countless reassurances from your boyfriend, you were finally beginning to believe that everything might be okay.

“I could be using you for something else,” you shrugged, shooting a goofy smile back, “Maybe I’m a gold digger.” 

“Babe, you’re already 24 karats of perfect.” 

Over time, it devolved to Carrot. Over time, you’d let your guard down. Over time, you’d started to understand that kind of selfless love where you’d sacrifice your own happiness for someone else. 

The man staring at you must know that kind of love better than anyone. 

“You-” Jayce softly took both of your hands in his, practically begging you to look at him, “having you in my life was the best thing I ever did.” 

Was his sincerity that burning, or were those just the tears that were inconveniently welling in your eyes?

“I don’t give a single shit about not having sex when the alternative is not having you,” he deploys his left hand to brush away a stray tear with his thumb, “So... so if you’re ready to make things official, then I would love nothing more.” 

That was where your insecurity couldn’t go. It could make you not trust yourself, not trust your family, not trust your friends, but, as you were reminded of whenever he got that damn earnest expression, you trust Jayce more than you could ever know. 

You guide his hand to your mouth, and press a firm kiss to his palm.

“Let’s do it then, loverboy,” you smile, your tear streaks stretching against your cheeks. 

He beams back, near sparkling with boyish delight as he tackles you down to the mattress and holds your face, kissing every inch like he’s a dying man. You shriek and giggle, finally calming down when he captures your own lips in one long, slow promise. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he relaxes.

“I already started the ring,” he mumbles, moving his head further down so he can rest it on your chest.

“Didn’t know you had the time to make custom rings,” you stroked his hair.

“Want ‘em to match.” 

“I see,” you pause, “They’re gold, right?" 

“‘Course, Carrot.” 

He’s content. It’s in his voice, his gentle breathing, the way that he absolutely lets himself collapse onto you. 

Jayce isn’t sacrificing his happiness. You are his happiness. 

And he is yours. 

[cheeriecherrymain]

As we know in the future Viktor will come the Machine Herald, well what if the reader was a mage and went away, but she came back after a long time. The question will be that the New Viktor is still in love with the reader?

Listen, listen. I know....so very little about the Viktor lore. And I am currently in adamant denial about him becoming what he does - in my head he lives happily and healthily XD I'm too attached to him and it's gonna end my life when he removes his emotions.

Like, guy turns into a machine? I'm totally cool with that, and I think it's neat, and I'd still kiss him x1000. but it makes me so sad that he takes his feelings away, and i have such a hard time believing that it would even be possible. Because like. like. everything is feelings. and he does some super morally dubious stuff, which i am in full support of, but it! the feelings!!!! passion is a feeling, love is a feeling, care is a feeling - why would he continue to do any of what he does if he didn't have at least some kind of desire to? desire is a feeling! i don't know if this is touched upon in the lore!!!

anyways thats my rant and if i ever write more MH!Viktor it's going to continue to be horribly ooc because its my fic and i said so XD

MH!Viktor x Reader (SFW)

-When you’d left Piltover, you hadn’t thought it would be the last time you saw the man you loved.

-It’s just for a month, you’d said, trying to convince yourself that everything would be okay. One of your old friends had alerted you to a kind of magic that could potentially save your partner’s life, so you…you had to take the chance. For him. For both of you.

-And then your plans had hit a snag, and you’d been forced to stay away longer than initially planned - years longer. Even though your journey is fruitful, you’re a ball of anxiety on the way back to Piltover.

-You were terrified of what you might find. Would Viktor still be there? You wondered. Would he have waited for you? Would he even still…be alive? 

-Both of you had worked tirelessly to find ways to extend his life, and avoid his fast-approaching end. You knew in your heart that he would have had to find a solution on his own, with how long you’d been gone; the little vial of fairy tears you’d collected after a series of arduous tests was moot, because he wouldn’t have survived so long without some kind of help.

-When you arrive back home, everything is…the same. Sort of.

-It looks the same, on the outside, but you can feel the energy in the air. Something had shifted within the city, and not for the better. You could practically taste the fear and anguish on your tongue.

-The first thing you do is locate Jayce, a beloved friend and Viktor’s lab partner.

-Or you supposed…ex-lab partner. According to the man himself. He scoops you into a tight hug the moment he lays eyes on you, spinning you around a couple times before setting you back on your feet. It’s an emotional meeting for the both of you, especially when the happenings of the last few years are relayed to you.

-An explosion. Chaos. War. Outrage in Piltover and death in the undercity. And Viktor, exiled from the city of progress, back to the place he once called home.

-Jayce informs you that he hasn’t heard from Viktor in over a year now - not that they really had much reason to speak to one another, anyways. He practically begs you to stay, to keep working on the projects you’d left behind, but you can’t.

-Not until you knew what happened to the man you love.

-You depart for Zaun in the wee hours of the morning, slipping unnoticed by every enforcer you come across, until you’re in the heart of the undercity. But now…where to start looking?

-You search for him for a week, asking around and dropping coppers where needed. But so few people know of a stray scientist, and those who do are either dead, or their information culminates in a dead end.

-And then you meet him.

-You’re sitting on a crate in a dark alleyway, fighting off tears, when a strange mechanical whirr catches your attention. It’s not loud by any means, but that makes it all the more confusing. It almost sounds…hydraulic? But far smaller than you’ve ever heard from such a machine.

-You glance towards the sound with tired eyes, expecting…something besides what you see. Two orange eyes, staring right back at you. Bright and unnatural within the dark.

-You don’t have the sense to feel fear anymore. All your fears had come true, anyways - your plan failed, and the only person you’ve ever loved is dead. Nothing mattered anymore.

- “You are incredibly difficult to find,” the person speaks. You glance behind you, thinking perhaps there is someone else in the alleyway - but no, it’s just you. You and…whoever this is.

-You idly wonder where he’s from. His accent is thick, almost like…Viktor’s.

- “What do you want?” you ask, with a sigh. “I have no debts to be paid, and all I’ve ever held dear is long gone.”

-The person is silent for a couple moments, and then slowly steps forward. Tall and slightly menacing, in the dim lighting. Covered in armor, you guess, if the sheen of light is anything to go by. Until you notice the limb protruding from his back, and you freeze.

-Or was he made of metal?

-You warily keep your eyes on him, until he comes to a stop not a foot from you, and kneels down so you’re at eye level. “Do you not fear me?” he asks, curious.

- “I don’t have fear anymore,” you rasp. “How can I, when I have nothing left to lose?”

- “You have your life, do you not?” he inquires again, and your patience snaps.

- “What good is my life when I have lost everything I hold dear?” you hiss. “I failed, and those which I love paid the price for it. I don’t want to live! Not without….” you trail off, your eyes welling up with tears. “Not without Viktor.”

-The strange machine-man goes quiet again. Then, most surprising of all, he reaches out to touch you.

-Startlingly gentle, given his stature and imposing nature, as well as the fact that you don’t know each other. You stare at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to say to such an action.

- “I thought you had stayed away on purpose,” he says, lowering his voice. “Thought that perhaps you’d finally had enough, and had left for a new life. But then…then I wondered: had you met your end, as I, too, soon would?”

-You frown.

-He continues, “Now you’ve returned, and I know. You are alive and well…and you fought hard to come home.”

-The tears in your eyes flood over your lashes, and burn hot trails down your cheeks. “Viktor?” you ask, your voice wavering. He strokes his thumb over your cheek and -mechanical or not- the action brings you comfort. 

-And then you’re in his arms, tenderly wrapped up in metal while you sob and cling to him. It shouldn’t feel like home - it shouldn’t feel like him. But it does. He does, despite being so vastly different.

-He brings you to his home after that, scooping you up with ease and marching you right into his abode. Most of it is littered with spare parts and projects that you don’t recognize, and he admits to you that he doesn’t do much else besides work, now.

-And then he takes off his mask, laying it on a nearby table with a dull thunk.

-He looks so different, you think. Yet there, in his face, you can see traces of who he used to be. The little crinkles by the corners of his eyes, the crease between his brows, the little moles and freckles you used to love to kiss.

- “I am not…the same…as I used to be,” he explains. “I don’t feel like I used to, not in any sense.”

-Your heart sinks.

- “You don’t feel for me anymore,” you wobble, despair clawing its way through your chest. Of course he wouldn’t love you still, after so long of being away. You’re grateful that he’s alive, but you’re…angry. Downright pissed, that you’ve still had to lose what you love, despite him standing in front of you.

-And then.

- “I still feel for you,” he utters, once again bringing a large mechanical hand to rest on your jaw. Engulf the side of your head, more like. “In fact, you are all I feel for. The only memories that haven’t hurt too much to keep. And now, you’re here.”

-Hope blooms within you.

-He wasn’t the same as he was when you’d fallen in love - but neither were you the same as when you’d left. But he’d held you dear enough to keep you in his heart when he’d changed - and you’d be damned if you let the opportunity go. Perhaps you’d have to relearn how to coexist, but the love was still there, even if only for each other.