#so of course i can't stop rotating her in my mind

[eegasleega-will-change-this-l8r]

dying over her btw

[sage-nebula]

Shooting stars burn bright and fast, and then they're gone.

Bill calls Mabel "Shooting Star."

Because of the first sweater we see her in? Yes.

Only because of the first sweater we see her in? . . . Doubtful.

Mabel is effervescent, a force of nature. In a recent YouTube interview, Alex Hirsch described her as extremely passionate, always moving so fast from idea to idea, from thing to thing. The reason why shooting stars glow is because of the speed at which they move through the atmosphere; shooting stars move at hypersonic speeds, and those speeds create friction between the gases of our atmosphere and the meteor itself. That friction creates an immense amount of heat and pressure around the meteor, which creates the flame and the glow that we see down below.

This description encapsulates Mabel. She feels every emotion with everything she has, and when she has a new idea or whim, she throws herself into it 100%, not pausing to give anything a chance to get in her way. She's fast, fierce, and bright; she captures the attention and hearts of everyone around her.

But here's the other thing about shooting stars: the heat that allows them to glow also destroys them. The vast majority of meteors turn to ash long before they ever have a chance of reaching Earth's surface. They dissolve before we ever feel them at all.

When you think about the pitch for season two where it would have opened with Dipper's future self coming back to try to change the past because his Mabel had died . . . when you think about how, in the season two that we did get, Bill was going to kill Mabel in the final Weirdmageddon episode, her shooting star symbol looming in his eye as he prepared to snap his fingers on the word "you" . . .

Shooting stars burn fast and bright, and then they're gone. It's interesting to think about how close that came to being true for Mabel -- how both the good and bad aspects of the shooting star imagery could come into play for her character and story arc.

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

She convinced herself. This is also why I can swallow the 2nd almost marriage - she wants to believe the fairytale. I don't believe she ever thought it was true love but I think she thought they were both trying to make an honest go of it. What kills her is being made a fool of in that way. Because let's go back, why did Dorothy marry him? Because she was pregnant, which actually means because she couldn't/wouldnt get an abortion, because she's from a religious family (interestingly it seems they're both from poor immigrant backgrounds). She married him to make everyone else happy, because it was "the right thing to do". Because it meant she wasn't just an easy girl, she could be a good wife and mother (her baby wouldn't be a bastard)- and he destroyed that and in doing so destroyed her in a sense. So yeah, she had every reason to make herself believe that it wasn't happening, to beloeve she hadnt made another mistake.

You make a very compelling argument, anon. After the wedding, it likely became a matter of sunk-cost fallacy for her: she sacrificed so much (of herself and for herself) to become Stan's wife and the mother of his children, so it had to work, no matter what -- because the alternative was that she'd given up her youth, her happiness, her dreams for a whole lot of nothing. And the more time passed -- the more Stan dug this hole around her -- the more painful the idea of letting go became, because she'd invested so damn much in this marriage. It's hard to let go of something when you've given your entire self to it.

I can totally see her telling herself that it's all in her head and choosing to believe Stan's lies because it hurt less than the alternative, and then being completely taken aback when he left (without even the decency to tell her in person, mind you). I recall her saying that she spent a lot of time being holed up in her room after the divorce, until Sophia managed to get her out of her depression, and I mean -- is it any wonder? The ground she'd walked on for years literally disappeared under her feet in the span of one phone call.

I feel like there's some space to think she was honest with herself about it -- a sort of Glen situation in which she knew what was happening, suffered because of it, but still decided not to act on it -- but the self-gaslighting seems more likely, for two reasons:

I think if she'd been fully aware of Stan's infidelity she would have ended up confronting him about it, either during or after their marriage, but in S2E13 he clearly thinks she didn't know about his affairs (except the one that led to the divorce).

It's just in character for her, as you say. She wants to believe that she's fine, that her marriage is working, that Stan really does love her, no matter what. This has been pointed out before a few times, but whenever Stan does something decent in the show she just completely melts, and you can tell this is learned behaviour. She's conditioned herself to believe in him and survive on crumbs of his affection (until she couldn't anymore, that is).

So yeah, this hypothesis makes sense (perfect, heartbreaking sense) to me too.

[vivwritesfics]

you definetly have to do a Carlo Sainz x reader, "sickness pass" for his appendix. where reader takes care of Carlos and he takes advantage (he's clearly fine but he use this sickness pass to make her what he wants)🔥🔥🔥🌶️🌶️ of course with smut in it.

I GOT THIS SO LONG AGO IM SO FUCKING SORRY

warnings: smut, riding, not very sexy, unprotected sex, face riding

(also this picture oh my)

"Carlos, I'm not having sex with you," she said with a smile, but there was a warning edge in her voice.

Carlos pouted at her. "Think of it as part of my recovery," he said with a pout. "It'll help me get back in the car quicker."

"No!" She insisted, kissing his head.

His pout only grew. "Please?" He asked again. "I won't ask again until I'm completely better."

She shook her head. "Bloody insatiable," she muttered.

But she threw off her shirt and climbed on top of him. He was grunting, eyes shutting in pain before she had even put his full weight on him. "Carlos, if you're going to be in pain, I'm not going to have sex with you."

Carlos opened his eyes and pouted. He knew exactly how to get to her to do whatever he wanted. "Please, Hermosa," he said through his pout.

With a sigh (one she definitely didn't mean), she bunched up her skirts, pushed her panties to the side, and sank down onto him. "If this slows down your recovery, you can't blame me," she said before she began riding him.

It was slow, careful. She was constantly watching Carlos's face for any sign of pain. It was so hard to get into the moment when she was constantly trying to make sure he was okay.

But this was for Carlos. She was determined to bring him pleasure. He moaned, gripping her hips, helping her to move slightly faster. But then he flinched and she slowed again.

"C'mon, hermosa," he said as he opened his eyes.

As much as she wanted to lean down and kiss him, she couldn't. Not without causing him pain. Instead, she grabbed his hand from her hip and lifted it to her lips, kissing the back of it. "Let me control the pace," she whispered.

He gave a desperate nod and she began moving again, rocking her body against his own. Carlos was still moaning, and she allowed herself to get a little bit lost in it, speeding up slightly.

Finally letting her take control, Carlos allowed himself to get closer and closer to the edge. He couldn't stop himself from bucking up towards her, desperate to push himself over the edge, to paint her insides, but he had to bite back a hiss of pain.

If she saw it, she didn't say anything. Her hands lightly rested on his chest as she rotated her hips.

Carlos bucked up again, but this time it was only a small movement. It didn't bring him pain, but it did push him over the edge. He came, painting her insides.

As soon as he was finished, she climbed off of him. Carlos opened his eyes and stared at her. "You didn't finish," he said, wearing his third pout of the night.

A pout which she kissed off. "I don't mind," she said, putting her panties back in place, holding his cum there.

But Carlos shook his head. "Sit on my face," he said.

She was only happy to oblige.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version) VII

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Summary: You get sick again

For matches that aren't important and are played outside of Spain, you don't go with Mami.

You spend time with Olga and Jaume at home and watch Alexia on the tv.

Currently, she's in Germany for a friendly. It had been a good match, a draw that helped the staff work out rotations and different on-pitch chemistry between players.

Now though, Alexia has dipped out of dinner early to give her family a call.

Olga picks up, obviously. It's late in Spain but still a little too early for Olga to be dressed in her pyjamas.

"Hi," Alexia says," How are you? How are the kids?"

Olga gives her a little tight lipped smile. "We've got the case of the sniffles today."

The camera flips to display you and your brother.

Jaume has gotten older now and is developing at an alarming rate to Alexia. You hadn't hit your milestones for ages while Jaume seems to be hitting all of his early.

He's sitting up by himself and babbling and trying to crawl now and Alexia hates how quickly he's growing up.

He's in his pyjamas too, one of your very old train-patterned onesies, and he's sitting right next to you as you run one of your electric trains around the track.

Your hair is messy and sticking upright and your nose is all red and you keep sniffing and wiping at it.

Alexia's eyes dart to Jaume and she notices the red flush to his cheeks.

He sneezes suddenly and it seems to spark you into your own round of sneezes.

Something in Alexia's stomach curdles and she sits upright in bed.

"How bad is it? Are they okay? Have you taken them to the hospital yet?"

Flashes come to Alexia's mind, of that horrible time when you both had meningitis and all the horror that came with it.

"It's just the sniffles," Olga assures her but the swirling of her stomach doesn't stop," And some sore throats. They've had some medicine and we've been having a pj day today."

"I'll come home," Alexia says. She props her phone up on the table and starts packing. She doesn't even fold her clothes, just callously throwing them back into her suitcase.

"Alexia...We're fine here, I promise."

"No." Panic creeps into Alexia's body now, coursing through her veins like adrenaline. "No, I'll come home. It's fine. You can't be expected to take care of two sick kids at once and-"

"Olga?"

Your sweet voice on the phone cuts Alexia off and she falls silent.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"My head hurts."

"Oh, I'm sorry, bambi."

The phone moves until it's propped up on something and Alexia is greeted by the sight of Olga sitting down on the floor, pulling you into her lap.

Her hand immediately goes to check your temperature.

"We've got another hour before I can give you some more medicine," She says," Do you think you can last until them?"

You nod, picking up your controller and making your train whizz around the track again.

Jaume cocks his head to the side, looking between you and Olga before he bum shuffles even closer and attempts to clamber into your lap like you're sitting in Olga's.

It's a sweet scene and Alexia would have loved to coo over it had she not been racked with guilt at leaving while two sickly children were still at home.

She can't even understand how Irene leaves Mateo like this and he was more prone to illness than you and Jaume ever were.

The call lasts for hours and Alexia remains mostly silent.

You get to hold the phone while Olga takes Jaume to bed and you look at the screen with Alexia's face on it with a little frown.

"When are you coming home, Mami?"

You sound so hopeful that Alexia almost bursts into tears that instant, already feeling her throat closing up slightly.

She pushes through the feeling though and replies," Soon, bambi. I'm going to get on a flight as soon as it's your bedtime and I should be home by the time that you wake up."

You sniff though it only serves to make your nose feel even more stuffy. "Mami," You say," Are me and Jaume gonna have to go to hospital? I don't want to see the mean man again."

"No, bambi," Alexia assures you," You're not going to see the mean man. It's just the sniffles. You take your medicine and you'll be completely fine."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Despite Olga's words, Alexia makes her excuses to the staff and gets the first flight back to Barcelona.

It's dark when she gets home and she orders a taxi to bring her right to the doorstep. She fiddles with her keys for a bit, completely missing the keyhole multiple times in her haste to get in.

Jaume's bedroom is first on her way up the stairs so Alexia dips into his room to check on him. He's peacefully asleep, cuddled up with one of the stuffed trains you gave him a few weeks ago.

His cheeks are still a little red and his nose is definitely blocked but apart from that he looks healthy enough and Alexia heads straight into your room.

It's dark so she picks her way through it carefully only to find that you're not in your bed.

You're sick and not in your bed.

Blind panic settles under Alexia's skin as she looks around wildly, tripping over your train track in her hurry to wrench open your wardrobe door.

You're not there either and Alexia stubs her toe as she forces your door open to burst into her own room, intent on telling Olga that someone's broken in and kidnapped you.

"Alexia?" Olga's wide awake, sitting up in bed with a book. "What is it?"

You're lying next to her, fast asleep though you look a tad distressed. Your hand is tight around the fabric of Olga's shirt and you're breathing heavily out of your mouth because your nose is all stuffed up.

"I came home," Alexia says.

"I know," Olga replies," I waited up."

"I checked on Jaume. He looks better."

"He is. They both are. Little miss just needed someone to sleep next to tonight. She was scared the doctor was coming to take her."

Alexia changes quickly, slipping into bed on your other side and curling around you.

"And you swear it's just the sniffles?"

"Just the sniffles," Olga says," They'll be good in a few days."

And you are.

Though Alexia hovers incessantly for almost a week afterwards.

[missmonsters2]

—ADRONITIS | One

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: Wednesday's quite aware she has no people skills, but that doesn't stop her from wondering why she can't know everything about one person immediately.

Warnings: None.

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Count: 1.9k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Adronitis: noun. The frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Everyone who knows Wednesday can confidently say she's not a people person, and even Wednesday herself can tell you she's not. People are strange, annoying, emotional creatures that she's fairly certain she lacks a particular trait to handle. 

Of course, some individuals have unfortunately made it past her prickly walls. Her roommate and begrudgingly best friend, Enid, can be tolerated in longer spurts. Eugene is just another Pugsley, so she has to look after him. She supposes Xavier isn't dreadful to deal with. Now. 

Would Wednesday commit first-degree murder for them? Yes, but that's not the point. 

The point—what was the point? 

Wednesday internally huffs with annoyance. She's an articulate person, but lately, she isn't. 

Reluctantly, Wednesday's eyes trail to the side, where she sees her reason for inarticulation. 

"Ah, so this is why you're sitting in the courtyard today," Enid smiles innocently, but Wednesday can see the knowing look in her eyes and purses her lips in a scowl as her eyes return to her book. She's finally gotten her hands on Goody's spellbook, and she's been trying to finish reading it for weeks. 

But alas...she's been...distracted.

"I don't blame you," Enid sighs as she looks over to where Wednesday was just gazing. "Everyone's looking at our resident Faerie. I wish she'd sit at our table today."

Wednesday silently agrees but tells herself she didn't. But she did. It's been nearly a week since you've sat with their tiny group of weirdos. Heroes, but weirdos. 

Today, you're sitting with the fangs, and Wednesday just can't fathom why. She gets your little rotation schedule, but vampires were so overrated, and from the small conversations she's heard here and there—incredibly boring.

Who cares about their diet? Wednesday thinks they lack innovation if their only choices are humans or animals (because, quite frankly, another outcast could kick their ass).

Yet, you sit there, smiling serenely and nodding with genuine interest. You ask questions and laugh at their witless jokes, and it drives Wednesday crazy.

Wednesday doesn't understand your sense of humor. Although, no one understands Wednesday's sense of humor either. That's usually the pattern. Sometimes, it feels like you and she are two sides of the same coin. 

You're both very different at Nevermore. While you're both outcasts within the outcasts, it's not the same. Whereas Wednesday didn't understand people, and they didn't gravitate toward her, people seemed to argue for your time.

Hence, why you sat at a different lunch table every day. 

Wednesday's mind drifts as she frowns. There's little known about Faeries as they're usually recluses, and there are so few of them. Especially night faeries. 

But now, it makes her wonder. Are Faeries like sirens? Do they lure everyone in their proximity without choice? That would certainly make more sense on Wednesday, and it would explain her recent behavior. 

Wednesday frowns deeper. Principal Weems has already sternly told others that while the Faeries are extremely beautiful and charming, they have no such powers. 

So, Wednesday was at a loss. She was beginning to think this school was designed to be the bane of her existence. Unwillingly, her gaze drifted again, but this time, you turned your head simultaneously and caught her eye.

You smile soft and sincere but unobtrusively at her, and Wednesday looks away, her face impassive. 

It wasn't unusual. 

This was exactly how all her interactions with you went. Very often, no words are exchanged, but you smile and wave at her as you pass by in the hallways. You greet her warmly when you sit at their table or in class. 

"Your unhappy face is showing," Enid points out, a slight upward quirk on her lips as she bites into her sandwich.

"This is always my face," Wednesday deadpans. 

"No, it's not," Enid shakes her head confidently. If there's one thing Enid can say, she stares at Wednesday a lot, so she knows her roommate very well. "You tilt your chin down and glare through your eyebrows more than look through them. It's very protruding," Enid points directly at Wednesday's eyebrow and forehead. "See? Unhappy face."

Xavier is looking at her through his apple, using it to shield how he's holding back his laughter as he grins at her. 

Wednesday relaxes her brows, her eyes becoming less narrow before she raises her brow at Enid. "Then what face is this?" The werewolf ponders her roommate's face and then sighs like she's been chastised. 

"General distaste," Enid mutters, but then she brightens as she looks up. "Oh, Fae is coming over here!" 

"Why do you insist on calling her that when she has a name?" Wednesday asks. You never seem mad about it, and it's not like Wednesday would care if people walked around calling her witch instead of Wednesday, but it's another thing she doesn't understand.

"Hm," Enid hums. "I guess it just became a nickname when she came. I mean, I guess it's kind of weird to call someone by their creature name...should we try to come up with a new one for her?"

"Whatcha guys talking about?" You smile as you approach. You've got a grape lollipop in your mouth given to you by one of the shapeshifters. Xavier and Eugene move over so you can sit down, directly facing Wednesday. "Hi, Wednesday," you say her name so casually, staring at her until Wednesday nods in acknowledgment. 

She's tense as she grips the edge of her book tightly. Her eyes are steadfastly attached to the pages even if she's not reading them. 

"We're talking about how everyone started to call you Fae," Enid grins, her smile wide and excited, but then frowns. "I hope it doesn't bother you."

You hum for a long moment, a sound that Wednesday hangs onto. She can see you through her peripherals. You seem in deep thought, and Wednesday can't understand why it's taking you so long to decide whether it bothers you. She wants to tell you to hurry it up so she—they can have the answer.

"I supposed it started when one of the psychics saw me in person, and all he could stutter out was 'Fae' over and over," you shrug.

"Feeble-minded," Wednesday mutters, and you smirk at her, and now she's wondering what exactly that could mean. 

"It doesn't bother me," you continue on. "I mean, I guess it's fine since there are no other faeries at the school, but it might be confusing when there are. I can't exactly go around calling on a person wolfy when that could be any of the werewolves here."

They all nod, except Wednesday.

"We should try to find a new nickname for you!" Eugene exclaims, emboldened by your friendliness to him. "How about nightcrawler!"

"As enchanting as that is, I'm going to have to veto that one," you give him a wry smile. He slumps in defeat while Xavier gives in a pat on the back.

"Oh," Enid squeals excitedly, and Wednesday shirk and winces at the sound. "We could all try to find a new nickname for you until we get the right one!"

"And why should we if Fae says it doesn't bother her?" Xavier asks as he turns over and gives you what Wednesday believes he thinks is a boyish smile. 

"Spoken like a true simpleton," Wednesday cut in, still not looking up. "Will that be your new nickname?"

"Ouch," Xavier laughs, the insult falling off his back. Although, he doesn't doubt that's his contact name on Wednesday's phone. "Alright, I get it. Fine, the person who gets their nickname chosen gets Fae's number. How's that?" He looks over to you, and Wednesday snaps her head up, finally to look at you too. 

You seem pensive. Another thing Wednesday knows but doesn't understand. It's getting irritating with how many things are adding up that Wednesday wants to know now and can't. 

Nobody in the school has your number though they all see you on your phone as you stroll down the hallway. Wednesday has heard you turning people down when they ask for your number, citing how there've been too many requests, and the number of texts or calls you'd get would be too overwhelming. So, now it's been an unspoken rule between the school that no one gets your number if they cannot all have it. 

You peer over at Wednesday, and she doesn't flinch away from your gaze. She refuses to lose whatever staring game you've created.

"Okay," you acquiesce, staring at Wednesday for a moment longer before standing up. "I'll see you guys in class. I'm going to see if the shapeshifters have more grape lollipops. They're my favorite."

Grape lollipops are your favorite. Is it just the lollipop, or is it grape in general?

"Well, this should be fun," Enid bounces her seat before she looks at Eugene. "I'm going to have to say it's looking unlikely for you, bud."

"I have more ideas!" Eugene protests.

"Never accept defeat," Wednesday looks back at her book, inwardly frowning when she's still on the same page she's been trying to read for the last 20 minutes. "Would be an acceptable suggestion for me. Accept defeat in this case, Eugene."

There's more bickering at the table while Enid bumps her shoulder against Wednesday. "So? Are you going to try to come up with something and get Fae's number?" 

"No, it's a trivial matter. Why would I want it? The only time I ever use my phone is when you've dragged me into your 24/7 addiction and Xavier cries for my attention."

"I do NOT cry—"

"So, I have no need for it."

Plus, would you expect her to text you if she had your number? Would she even want to text you? Wednesday supposes it'd be an equal trade of information, so you'd have her number too. Should she expect you to text her?

Wednesday glances in her peripheral and sees you with another lollipop as you sit with the shapeshifters. You've got an apple in your hand, but you look at it blandly. 

Not a fan of apples, then?

Wednesday feels annoyance gnaw at her insides. It's not irregular for Wednesday to sometimes show interest in others. Knowing others is valuable information that can be used at a later date.

But why in the hell does it take so long to get to know someone? Why can't Wednesday just know all your deep, dark secrets first and then make her way out to the trivial things?

"What a shame," Enid sighs casually, looking straight ahead, but her eyes tilt to the side to stare at her gloomy roommate. "I think having a phone and texting is great! It's way faster to get to know someone over text since you can always be in communication. You know what else is a thing? At 2AM, people lower their guard down, and they're more likely to spill secrets."

Wednesday slams her book shut, standing up and leaving briskly.

Research is needed. Her father has few skills, but one of them is coming up with nicknames. That skill should undoubtedly pass on to her. 

Wednesday glances at you as she walks out of the courtyard. You look over at her and smile with a wave before turning back to your conversation.

Defeat is not in Wednesday's vocabulary. She will beat the constraints of time and know everything there is to know in haste. There will be victory, and it will be hers.

PART TWO

[atopvisenyashill]

please please PLEASE elaborate on greywind as robb's husband. i feel like this take unlocked the option to 3d rotate robb within my mind...

Robb the Warg

Something I think is overlooked, largely because we don't get to look into his head (and he never confides in Bran or Catelyn about it) is that robb, like his siblings, starts the series by being given this supposedly divine animal companion that he shares a soul with. during the events of the first few books, all of the other starklings are accidentally warging and we see it affect them - they’re afraid, curious, getting used to eating raw meat in wolf form, and throw themselves into Identifying As An Animal. some quotes here, although none of this is stuff we all don't know-

Gendry nodded. Hot Pie said, "Hoot like an owl when you want us to come." "I'm not an owl," Arya said. "I'm a wolf. I’ll howl."

And later, when she's ready, Arya isn't the one to howl but another wolf-

When he stopped moving, she picked up the coin. Outside the walls of Harrenhal, a wolf howled long and loud. She lifted the bar, set it aside, and pulled open the heavy oak door.

Which leads us to think that perhaps it's Nymeria, that Arya made Nymeria howl, and perhaps Arya can still warg - something that is confirmed in the next book when Arya has dreams of leading a wolfpack and finds her mother's body, with Nymeria guarding it from being eaten by other wolves. Later on, Arya skinchanges into a cat in braavos while she's blind-

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?" I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she.

We have several scenes where both Arya and Bran identify as wolves, and even howl alongside wolves. Rickon too howls along with the wolves, and his behavior becomes noticeably more animal like.

And of course we have jon snow, who even despite having visions of opening his third eye, meeting other skinchangers, and being involved in magical plots, is actively ignoring his own abilities. It's basically common knowledge at the Wall at this point, even Stannis comments on it-

“Aye. All that, and more. You are a warg too, they say, a skinchanger who walks at night as a wolf.” King Stannis had a hard smile. “How much of it is true?”

SO ALL OF THAT TO SAY....if Jon, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, all of whom have living wolves, are skinchanging regularly, if all these kids are practically steaming with magic...why isn't Robb? Well....he is! And the thing is, he hints at it to Bran-

"Did you hear Summer howling last night?" "Grey Wind was restless too," Robb said. His auburn hair had grown shaggy and unkempt, and a reddish stubble covered his jaw, making him look older than his fifteen years. "Sometimes I think they know things … sense things …" Robb sighed. "I never know how much to tell you, Bran. I wish you were older."

Like Arya's initial re-settling of her bond with Nymeria in the Riverlands, like Jon's continued refusal to admit how much power he has, Robb doesn't understand what he's doing, can sense something off about the wolves, but can't quite put it into words. Later on, some of the men remark on how Robb was able to find the goat trick around the Golden Tooth-

"How did the king ever take the Tooth?" Ser Perwyn Frey asked his bastard brother. "That's a hard strong keep, and it commands the hill road." "He never took it. He slipped around it in the night. It's said the direwolf showed him the way, that Grey Wind of his. The beast sniffed out a goat track that wound down a defile and up along beneath a ridge, a crooked and stony way, yet wide enough for men riding single file. The Lannisters in their watchtowers got not so much a glimpse of them." 

It's from a Frey, and just a rumor, right? Except later on, Jeyne makes this comment to Catelyn-

"Robb has not eaten all day. I had Rollam bring him a nice supper, boar's ribs and stewed onions and ale, but he never touched a bite of it. He spent all morning writing a letter and told me not to disturb him, but when the letter was done he burned it. Now he is sitting and looking at maps. I asked him what he was looking for, but he never answered. I don't think he ever heard me. He wouldn't even change out of his clothes."

Does that behavior sound familiar? It should because Bran also does this when he's warging - not only does he go still for hours, but he usually forgets to eat because he eats through Summer, something Jojen and Bran even talk about.

But that's the problem - Robb has no Jojen, no wildlings, no Jaqen, no Osha to tell him what the hell he's doing and that magic still exists. He's completely lost in the political story and cut off from any magical ties despite actively doing magic. And I think this weights heavy on him because while Arya and Bran, for example, start to identify more as animals, as wolves, as their warging powers go stronger, Robb shies away from this-

"A hall is no place for a wolf. He gets restless, you've seen. Growling and snapping. I should never have taken him into battle with me. He's killed too many men to fear them now. Jeyne's anxious around him, and he terrifies her mother." And there's the heart of it, Catelyn thought. "He is part of you, Robb. To fear him is to fear you." "I am not a wolf, no matter what they call me." Robb sounded cross. "Grey Wind killed a man at the Crag, another at Ashemark, and six or seven at Oxcross. If you had seen—" "I saw Bran's wolf tear out a man's throat at Winterfell," she said sharply, "and loved him for it."

Why is he so cross? Perhaps because he's losing the ability to differentiate between himself and the wolf he regularly shares a mind with, controls? Perhaps because he's killed inside that wolf's head? Perhaps because he thinks he's going crazy?

And of course, his final moment that echoes Jon's - Robb whispers Grey Wind's name, Jon whispers Ghost. And just like it's guessed that perhaps Jon whispered Ghost's name because he's about to actively slip into Ghost's skin for the first time so his body can heal without his soul inside it, Robb is slipping into Grey Wind in his final moments. As Varamyr points out, this is common with skinchangers - a second, much more simple life when your first is ended.

So all this to say - Robb is actively warging Grey Wind throughout the series and starts losing his own sense of self in Grey Wind.

Grey Wind as Robb's Wife

Okay but what does this have to do with their bond? Well the thing is...Grey Wind does not exist outside of Robb. Nymeria, Summer, and Ghost both go off on their own; Nymeria practically has her own plotline outside of Arya, and Ghost goes on a number of little adventures all by himself. But Grey Wind begins and ends with Robb. Much like how Catelyn refers to Ned as the rock her life was built on, how she died with Ned at the ending of agot, Robb is the rock Grey Wind's life is built on, and Grey Wind follows Robb into the grave just moments later.

Not only this, but Robb the Brother and Robb the Warg as identities start to get subsumed into what Bran calls "Robb the Lord" and eventually Robb the King. Because Robb sees this war as his identity, his reason for being, I think he sees himself as almost a liberator - he owes his existence to the brutal murder of the man who was supposed to be his father and his grandfather, as well as the kidnapping & murder of his aunt that anyone with eyes can see completely upended his father’s ability to Feel Happiness Normally. For robb, this war is about not saving his family, but righting all the wrongs and indignities that have ever been done to the north - and when you factor in how quickly the Riverlands flock to him, I think this adds to his resolve because the riverlands is soooo vulnerable and no one’s ever been able to get a handle on them, to properly protect them, not the Targaryen kings, not the petty kings but maybe HE can. It's as Catelyn says-

There would be no peace, no chance to heal, no safety. She looked at her son, watched him as he listened to the lords debate, frowning, troubled, yet wedded to his war. He had pledged himself to marry a daughter of Walder Frey, but she saw his true bride plain before her now: the sword he had laid on the table.

So he’s struggling with magic and identity just like everyone else, and at the same time being subsumed into this other identity of Robb the Lord, Robb the King. I think for a long stretch of time this means he’s combining these identities of Robb the Warg and Robb the King and viewing Grey Wind as his partner, his soul mate, his other half. AKA….his spouse. His husband. His true bride. All of this while he’s using Grey Wind not as a pet or even a defender (contrast to Jon who sends Ghost away when there’s battle or danger!) but as a weapon! But this isn’t because he sees Grey Wind as non sentient, not important, just an animal, it’s because Robb the King, Robb the Warg, it’s all tied up in his head in confusing & horrifying ways.

And that's the exact dynamic most noble marriages have! Men in most of Terros and especially in Westeros see their wives not as independent people but often as extensions of themselves. It’s why Viserys, Robert, Jon Arryn don’t see the “betrayals” at their wives hands coming, it’s why Catelyn phrases criticism in her head as “Ned would have done this", it's why the Khaleesis are required to go to Vaes Dothrak when their husbands die. And so the more Robb sees Grey Wind as his Partner In War, and the more he’s having these impossible true dreams where he is one with Grey Wind, the more Grey Wind is essentially playing the role of a Westerosi Wife for Robb. Summer, Ghost, and even Nymeria have like, lives of their own but Grey Wind is always in the same place as Robb, feeling the exact same things as Robb. Even moreso than Summer, Ghost, Nymeria, Shaggy, and Lady, Grey Wind seems to pick up on Robb's every emotion. He attacks Tyrion because Robb is angry, he bares his teeth at Catelyn when Robb gets cross with her more than once, and very often there's lines like ~Robb stalked from the room and Grey Wind padded along beside him~ or something to that effect.

What's really interesting is that when Catelyn gets back in ASOS, Robb has sent Grey Wind to the kennels because Grey Wind scares Jeyne - the moment Robb marries, he sends his wolf away. He's lost faith in Grey Wind's magical abilities after the "murders" of Bran and Rickon, the murders which sent him to Jeyne's bed in the first place and he says as much-

"I found them, remember? I know how many there were and where they came from. I used to think the same as you, that the wolves were our guardians, our protectors, until . . ."

And the moment Robb is separated from Jeyne, Grey Wind is back at his side, and Robb seems to not only prefer Grey Wind to his anxious little wife, but Grey Wind seems almost annoyed at the imposition of Jeyne-

The day was damp and grey, a drizzle had begun to fall, and the last thing he wanted was to call a halt to his march so he could stand in the wet and console a tearful young wife in front of half his army. He speaks her gently, she thought as she watched them together, but there is anger underneath. All the time the king and queen were talking, Grey Wind prowled around them, stopping only to shake the water from his coat and bare his teeth at the rain. When at last Robb gave Jeyne one final kiss, dispatched a dozen men to take her back to Riverrun, and mounted his horse once more, the direwolf raced off ahead as swift as an arrow loosed from a longbow.

Catelyn remarks that Grey Wind is at his side ones more - "where he belongs" - and from that point until they get to the Twins, Grey Wind remains at Robb's side. Every single scene afterwards mentions Grey Wind with Robb, whether Grey Wind is growling at someone, scouting ahead, or just receiving some scratches from Robb.

And they remain together until the day they both die.

[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."

[aresmarked]

my silliness cannot be contained. shizuai . if prompt um. maybe one of them sprained their knee mid practice and the other is trying to help them (signed, the guy who sprained their knee so bad n had to be sent to the hospital once)

...emot. ilu. but you can't just drop that sorta lore like this. XD

-

"Of all times... well. Honestly it's amazing we've avoided an injury this long." Airi gingerly rotates her leg and stops when it twinges, breath a hiss as she winces. Her voice comes high and tight. "Yep! That's, going to linger."

"Careful...!" Shizuku crouches down, worry cut into her brow. "You wouldn't want to make it worse."

"I won't, I promise." She gives what she hopes is a reassuring smile, before focusing. "Should get ice... maybe at the nurse's office, they might be there still..."

"Right!" With a nod, Shizuku shuffles, and in the next moment, Airi finds herself lifted up, Shizuku's arms at her back and under her knees as she moves to head back down into the school.

Naturally, she yelps. "Shizuku, what're you—?!"

"Taking you there, of course." She trots down the steps, mindful not to bump Airi's legs against the banister. "Walking all the way there would be hard on you."

"But we could just—" Airi cuts herself off with a wry, fond sigh. Because of course to Shizuku this choice makes sense. She can see the line of thought that Shizuku must've taken, seeing the hurt, needing to take care of it, and not wanting to leave her alone.

And somehow, they're already halfway there—geez, archery and training is really paying off for her—and from her view, what she can see of Shizuku's expression is focused determination.

It's a good look on her. Always is.

So Airi settles back with a crooked smile. It's better not to stress about it, for her own sake. And really, if she lets herself roll with it, the pain's much more forgettable.

Staying like this'd be fine, for now.

[imperator-titus]

Ghost from the Past [Part 11]

Sorry for the long wait! (Is it long? Well, I've certainly updated quicker...) I had to focus on the end of my grad classes (and now have more... woo...) I also had to start really thinking about the next steps for the story.

I thought this bit was gonna have smut. Probably the next part will have a lot of spice.

A lot of my struggles came from modifying Gale's canon monogamous outlook without totally disregarding it and Astarion's character growth after the Yurgir fight. Clearly it has to be a little different since Eletha already confronted him about what he wants from her. Astarion in this part gets kind of a "+1 Emotional Intelligence."

I'm really enjoying this story, and I hope some of you are too! Please feel free to hit me up about it! I've been really enjoying some comments over on Ao3. Much love!

(Prev)[Part 10] (Next)[Part 12] [Master Post]

[For those unsure, yes, this is a made-up line the OP did, and honestly, it was perfect! Gale, you are about to be the star of the show.]

In the morning, Eletha was ready to go before anyone got up. She’d even started breakfast.

“You’re up bright and early,” Wyll remarked, one of the first to greet her.

“Early, at least,” Karlach said with a little laugh, indicating the permanent darkness that surrounded them. 

“I already have a plan of action for the next few days. We’ve wasted enough time waiting around for me to put my head on straight.” Eletha relinquished control of the cookware to Gale, who practically snatched the fork out of her hand.

“Are you sure you’re… okay?” Shadowheart asked hesitantly.

“Oh. No. No, I wouldn’t say I’m okay.” Seeing the looks they all gave her, Eletha chuckled. “I was never okay. Just… distracted. I can’t do anything about the whole… But I can do something about the problems that face us now.”

“Well said,” Gale said before turning back to their breakfast.

“Besides, I always feel better with a bloody blade in my hand.”

“I could not agree more.” Lae’zel’s eyes blazed with passion.

Before they headed out, Astarion approached Eletha.

“I know you said that I should stay behind with Gale and I normally wouldn't mind languishing around camp while you trudge waist-deep through curses and undead sludge, but-” 

Astarion stopped mid-speech as Eletha stopped digging through her bag and started rotating around, hand outstretched to the sky. Seemingly, she wasn't listening.

“Relapsing into madness again so quickly?”

“It's a sun glass. Can't be combusting in the middle of a fight,” she explained, tilting the piece of glass until she caught a glimmer of light. As she tucked it into her hip pouch she asked, “What did you want to tell me?”

“I wanted to come along. That's all. Wyll said it was fine if I took his place,” Astarion answered, throwing his words away as if it was no big deal.

“Okay.”

Astarion pouted a little. “You're not going to ask?”

“No.” Eletha stopped what she was doing and looked at him from the corner of her eye. He huffed and started walking away. She rolled her eyes and called after him, exasperated, “Why do you want to come so bad?”

“To look after you, of course,” he answered, practically sparkling. 

“Oh. You want praise.” He smacked her hand away when she tried to pat his cheek. She smiled. “Thank you. It's sweet of you to care.”

“I don't care and I'm not sweet. I have a personal interest in keeping you alive and not insane.”

“I get it. You're a magnificent bastard. So sorry, for implying you would be so weak as to look out for someone because you care.”

“That's right. I suppose all that brain damage hasn't made you stupid yet. Now that that’s settled.” Astarion turned and hesitated.

He ever so slightly wiggled his ass in her direction.

Eletha smirked. “Right. Best head out.”

As she passed him, she brought back her hand and smacked his backside so hard that he yelped and jumped a little.

“What is wrong with you, woman?!” he screeched, holding a hand to his stinging cheek.

“A lot.”

----

“This seem important to y’all?” Eletha asked, holding up the lute she just pulled off this weird doctor character.

“Are we gonna talk about how, in the past 4 hours, you've convinced someone to explode and another to let himself be brutally stabbed to death?” Karlach asked hesitantly, watching the mad nurses go back to their routines as if nothing happened.

“I dunno, I liked how that other one was full of gold,” Astarion remarked with a satisfied little smile.

“Why would he have a lute?” Eletha asked herself, ignoring Karlach’s question, looking over the instrument. She found some initialing carved into the neck. “That Art Cullagh guy seemed like the musical sort.”

“Well, he was insane. And he did seem to enjoy it…” Shadowheart said, regarding the gore with disgust.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Eletha said as she started to walk towards the back of the decrepit hospital.

“Because of the whole…” Karlach hesitantly made circles over her abdomen with a sympathetic pained face. Eletha’s eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“What? No. No, that probably happened in, like, the dirt, right? A pile of leaves?”

“You don't know?” Karlach asked, confused herself.

“Kinda blocked that bit out, yeah.” Eletha went through the doctor’s things, searching for anything interesting. Or valuable.

“I don't envy you. I've heard it ruins your vagina,” Shadowheart remarked flippantly as she cleaned her nails.

“That can't be true,” Karlach breathed in disbelief, her voice stressed.

“Oh, yeah, you can tear your arsehole like paper,” Eletha answered, tearing a piece of paper she found for effect.

“No! Don't tell me that!” Karlach cried in distress, closing her eyes and putting her hands over her ears.

“Is that why you're so shy? Worried it’ll be a disappointment for anyone but an ogre?” Astarion teased, indicating Eletha’s crotch with a cunty little wave of a finger. Eletha chuckled, smacking his hand like he was a child in need of a lesson.

“Not sure if I'm flattered or disgusted that you're thinking about my vagina.” Astarion’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

“I'm not the only one. Should I break the news to Gale that it's more like the Underdark than a cozy little cave?”

“Yeah, I got some glowing mushrooms in there and everything. Brightens the place up,” Eletha told him cheerily, mimicking decorating a home.

“Do you think a wizard can localize an enlarge spell?” Astarion asked after a comic hum.

“Aww, it's okay, I'm sure Gale’s more into technique than equipment.” Eletha patted his shoulder mockingly, a look of false sympathy in her eyes. Astarion laughed a little bark of a laugh.

“He'd be good for you. He could lend you a magic hand from the other side of his tower, no men involved,” he retorted cattily.

“He does know how to make a good steak.” 

“Oh darling, you wound me.” Astarion dramatically swooned and Eletha had to stop him from tripping over himself.

“That's what you’ll be saying when he's done with you.”

“Gods you two are weird,” Karlach breathed,shaking her head as she watched them.

Eletha let Karlach and Shadowheart take the lead as they walked through the crypt and the Sharran temple beyond.

“You look like you want to say something,” Eletha remarked, not turning her head to regard Astarion trailing beside her.

“Well…”

“You look nervous about it too.” She squints, eyeing him suspiciously. “Don't tell me you're actually thinking about my holes right now.”

“Maybe,” he retorted haughtily, bobbing his head in a mocking manner. After a defeated huff, he went on, “I feel like I should apologize. I never considered the possibility that I ruined you for all other men physically, not just emotionally.”

Eletha rolled her eyes so hard they threatened to get stuck that way. “Corellon save me.”

Astarion clicked his tongue, annoyed at her reaction. “Would it make you feel better if I said I have selfish reasons too? I've been thinking about that night after the goblin camp for quite a while.”

Eletha smirked and snorted, giving him a suggestive lift of her eyebrows. “Parched, are you?”

“Practically dying.”

“Gale not living up to his divine endorsement?”

“He is a good kisser…” Astarion clicked his tongue at her again. “Don't change the subject.”

Eletha wondered how she got in this conversation and how she was going to get out.

“No one has exactly complained, but that's not exactly a long list of possibilities and they probably had enough sense to not say anything.” She shrugged. “It used to just be uncomfortable, but as you know, I have quite the pain tolerance now.”

He emitted a soft “aww” and gave her sad eyes. She didn’t totally believe them, especially when his tone was a little too humorous. “You poor thing.” 

“Oh, look, a distraction!” she called out, pointing at a displacer beast skulking about.

Astarion sighed as he slipped his bow off his shoulder. “You’re no fun…”

----

“Did it go well?” Gale asked expectantly, following Eletha as she made for her tent.

“Bunch of cursed weirdos defeated, a clue to finding Thaniel, and a devil’s deal completed? Yes, a useful day,” she answered, laying down her weapons and stripping down to the clothes under her armor. 

“That is good to hear, but I was referring to, well, you.” He followed as she went towards where they'd set up a more “private” spot to bathe. It was nothing more than a bucket of cold water but it was better than nothing.

“You don't have to worry about me, Gale.”

“Perhaps, but I do.” He blushed and turned away as she started undressing, just like that night she showed them her curse. “If you desire, I can discuss this with you another time.”

“I’m not bothered. Are you bothered?”

“I… assumed you would be a bit more reserved, given… certain details.” Gale cleared his throat. “Anyway. You’ve been through a lot lately. I felt it prudent to check in.”

“Do I seem okay?”

“You seem like you’re burying your feelings. I should know, I’ve been doing that for a long time,” he said with a little self-deprecating chuckle.

Eletha touched his cheek and smiled softly. “You’re sweet, Bhin.”

“I was hoping for valiant or at least charming-” He stopped with a stammer as she got on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. Her body brushed against his and a small gasp escaped his lips in surprise. “I… ahem… I will leave you to your ablutions.”

She watched him retreat with a coy little smirk on face before continuing with her “bath.” After washing the blood and dust out of her hair and off her face, she called out, “I know you’re there.”

“And you let me watch anyway?” Astarion asked as he stepped out of his hiding place.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Mm, yes, but not that little display with Gale.”

“Jealous?”

“A little. Your approach is much more subtle than mine, and I think it might be more effective.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The way your soft touch caught him off-guard. His heart leapt, thinking your lips would meet in a kiss. Your naked body just so happens to brush against him? I’m sure he’s in his tent thinking about it right now. He’s asking himself, how can I convince her to see me as more than just a fool, worthy of more than just her sweet sympathies?” 

As he spoke, Astarion divested himself of his own armor and the clothes underneath it. It wasn’t the first time they’d washed the blood and road off in each other’s company. It was almost… comforting, that they could just be naked with no sexual context. 

However, knowing Astarion, he’d probably encourage it. 

“You’ve got quite the imagination.” 

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” he suggested with a smirk, taking the sponge out of her hand. She merely gave him a quizzical squint. He regarded the object as if it was very interesting. “You know, you make fun of me, for not having plans. But I had a plan, once.

“You were right. I did want to make you desire me, protect me. Our previous relationship made that complicated, obviously. So I prodded the others, as a backup. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were too guarded, too difficult. Wyll, the gallant monster hunter, spent a long time debating if I was worthy of living. Karlach, well, we couldn’t touch her. And she’s so… sweet, when she’s not terrifying. She likes you enough that she’d take your lead.

“That left me with Gale. Handsome, powerful, doomed Gale. A tough nut to crack, until you get under the social awkwardness, emotional miscues, and over-inflated self-importance.”

“Well, you have a lot of experience with that,” Eletha remarked, unmoving as Astarion very carefully rinsed the sponge and wet it again with fresh water.

“The secret, as you have probably guessed, is how utterly desperate he is to be touched.” 

Astarion squeezed out the water from the sponge, watching as it dripped onto Eletha’s shoulder and ran down her chest, sometimes catching on a scar and running in another direction. 

A gasp escaped from her throat. 

“He hid behind that orb, but really, he was so desperate that it made him sick.

“I feel awful. He was supposed to be a sacrificial pawn and I feel awful. Those books… How he quivers under my touch…” 

Astarion began wiping away blood and sweat from her neck and shoulders. Eletha wasn’t quite sure why she allowed him to. It felt… nice.

“Today you went after that orthon like he wasn’t three times your size, like it didn’t matter how hard he hit you. You did it for me, just like I hoped, but feared you wouldn’t.”

His hand traveled down her chest, cleaning the shallow valley between her breasts. “Did you have a plan for this conversation or…?”

He stopped following his hand with his eyes and gazed deeply into hers. 

“When was the last time someone took care of you, my love?”

Eletha flushed and as she looked away, she took hold of his wrist and pushed it towards him. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“What's ridiculous about it? Gale wants us both. I want you both. And you want us. Why not a cheeky little three-sided thing?”

“You presume a lot.”

“My sweet, don't play so aloof. I've read your diaries.” With his other hand, he trailed his middle finger along one collarbone and then down her sternum. “You deny this part of yourself because you feel it's undeserved. Haven't you suffered enough?”

Eletha hesitantly let go of his wrist.

“Let me take care of you. Show you how much I appreciate you?” he purred, his hand taking hold of her waist, his lips approaching hers, their hips nearly touching. 

Sensing the proximity of the body that once so perfectly interlocked with hers, the long-forgotten part of her body awoke with a heat that was searing in comparison to the chill surrounding them. 

Eletha began to tremble. 

For a moment, Astarion’s eyes appeared golden as they gazed deeply into hers. 

“Please?”

Eletha opened her mouth to speak, but another voice was heard.

“Could you two move this somewhere else? I need to wash my hair,” Shadowheart complained, huffing and undoubtedly crossing her arms over her chest.

“Aww, Fringe, Lethi was going to finally get some…” Karlach complained quietly, although she could still be heard in the near-silence.

Eletha snatched the sponge out of Astarion’s hand and made a mad dash attempt at scrubbing the most important parts of her clean. When he stood there staring at her, she started cleaning him too, starting with his face so he couldn't argue. “Just a minute!”

Astarion glared at Shadowheart as he sauntered out behind a flustered Eletha. Karlach appeared apologetic.

From his position at the campfire, Gale appeared to be watching Eletha go into her tent, a worried look on his face. Then he saw Astarion, practically glowing in his underwear under what little light there was, and his expression changed to a glower.

“It's not what you think,” Astarion said as he passed him.

“Sure…” Gale grumbled, turning his attention back to the food he spent all day preparing.

----

Night fell, sort of, and Astarion stood in front of Gale’s tent.

“Can I speak with you?” he asked, trying to avoid any sarcasm and only using a little sass.

“I suppose,” Gale answered after a moment of silent consideration.

He was clearly upset, pouting as he flicked through a tome.

Astarion put his hands on his hips. “Look. We didn't do anything.”

“So you say.”

“Don't be like that. You were considering it too.”

“That is prepos-”

“You're not fooling me.” Astarion snatched the book away. Holding it more gingerly, he said deliberately, “I’m… sorry.”

“What are you doing right now?” Gale asked suspiciously.

“When I didn't know if Eletha was going to gut me or not, I… had a plan. You would fall in love with me and I would, well… have a powerful wizard in my corner. All I had to do was not fall for you. And I failed.”

Gale shook his head. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“Because you’re blind.” Astarion sighed, the flow of his speech interrupted. “I see you with her. You can’t be jealous. Of course, it’s still not clear to me if you’re mad that I am flirting or that she is being flirted with. But what does it matter? We all like each other.”

“I thought this was an apology, not a call to a ménage à trois.”

“It is! Or, it's supposed to be. You know I'm not good at this.” Astarion offered the book back, only to move it out of reach at the last second. “Live a little, Gale. Expand your mind.”

Gale sighed wearily. “You've given me a lot to think about.”

Astarion’s lips curled in a self-satisfied little smile. “Hopefully something fun?”

Gale snatched his book back. Astarion huffed, although playfully, and left.

After a while, Gale left his tent and softly made his way towards Eletha’s.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, not wishing to disturb her.

“Come in,” she answered, making space for him in the small tent.

He could tell that she’d been drinking, but not as much as before, so that was good, right? Still, he felt the need to give her an out from the conversation. “We can discuss this some other time, if that would be more suitable.”

“I have the feeling you’re going to ask me something that will be easier to answer in my current state.” Eletha gestured for him to go on. “This is casual intoxication, not running away from my feelings intoxication.”

Gale would have to take her word for it. “Did anything happen between you? Today, I mean.”

“Are you asking because you’re concerned for me, or for personal interests?” She took a sip of her drink. 

“Can it not be both?” Eletha hummed. He had a fair point.

“He was coming onto me. Genuinely, this time, which was surprising.”

Gale swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Were you going to accept?” 

“I didn’t really have the time to fully consider it.” Eletha offered him her drink and, after a moment’s hesitation, he took it. “I was going to tell him off. Then he said something that made me reconsider.”

“He can be quite convincing,” Gale agreed sourly before taking a sip of her drink. It was just wine, not that hard stuff that seemed to magically appear in her hands.

“Well, he was right, which, if Astarion is right, you’ve kinda fucked up, yeah?” She grinned at him and he laughed, because she was right. 

“He was right. I’ve been running away from happiness ever since he left. Felt I didn’t deserve it. When I’d try again, I’d just get hurt, and I’d punish myself more. Sometimes it was just the wrong person, it doesn’t work. But sometimes… maybe it could have worked? If I didn’t get this knot in my stomach that says I’m worthless?

“I’ve tried being friends. I can do friendship. And I feel bad, that maybe I’m getting your hopes up, and not because I like teasing you, but because I hate myself. I’m punishing myself, by getting attached and ruining everything.

“So I considered it. I wanted to say no, because it would hurt you, because I didn’t deserve it. But… I wanted to say yes, so it would hurt you and you’d hate me and that was its own punishment. And just a little bit… I was happy with him, once upon a time. Maybe I could be happy again.”

Gale listened intently. Eletha had a habit of rambling, but she chose her words and tone carefully. With practice, he could untangle them to find the naked truth underneath. This time, it was… familiar.

“Do you think you could be happy again?” he asked her sincerely, meeting her two-toned gaze with his big brown eyes, so open and sad.

“After all we’ve been through?” She laughed a little and his heart sank. Then she smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck.”

Gale held out her wine bottle, intending it as a symbol of releasing her from the burden of worrying about his feelings. Eletha took the bottle, but with her other hand, took hold of his. 

“You deserve to be happy too.” Her words were so sweet. She was being so sincere and he just… had a hard time believing it was true. “If you want him, just tell him. And if he has to choose… I’m sure he’ll choose you.”

“I am not as sure as you. He loves you. You have-” Gale cut himself off before he could say something that might make her spiral again. Eletha appeared to understand what he was going to say, but she still seemed pleasant and level-headed. “Why would he choose me?”

“Because I’m old and boring. You’re young and exciting.” A mischievous smirk tugged at her lips. “And I’ll make him. He owes me for the rest of my life.”

Gale shook his head. “There is a wrinkle in your plan. You’d be alone.”

“My sweetling, I’ve been alone a long time. You have your whole life ahead of you” Gale opened his mouth to protest and the sharp dark gaze that instantly flashed in her eyes made him shut it again without her losing a beat “and my beloved Astarion is getting to start over. I can be alone a little longer. If you two are happy, then I will be happy.

“Besides. It’s not like we have done anything even close to what you two were doing. We haven’t even shared a kiss.”

Gale stared at their clasped hands. He thought about what Astarion said earlier.

“Would you like to?” he asked, squeezing her hand reflexively in his nervousness.

“I think that… I am just drunk enough to say yes, but not so drunk that I’ll be cursing myself in the morning.”

Eletha got to her knees and leaned forward, holding his face gently as she kept their other hands together. 

Gale let out a breath of excitement. 

Their eyes closed and their lips touched. 

The first kiss was hesitant, testing the unknown topography, finding the way to fit just right. A pleasurable heat rose to the surface of Eletha’s skin as she deepened the next kiss.

Gale’s heart fluttered while his stomach did flips. This felt so different from his interludes with Astarion. 

Those felt like a natural progression of a lanceboard game. They would have some heartfelt conversation that turned into an exchange of witty barbs and the only places to go from there were fighting or “fighting.”

That didn’t mean either was unpleasurable.

Actually. It was too pleasurable.

Eletha leaned back to catch her breath and make sure he was alright.

Luckily, this meant that she only got vomit on her chest and lap, not her face.

She was stunned as Gale pleaded for her forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, I don’t- I don’t understand-”

This time he managed to turn his head.

Rubbing his back soothingly, Eletha chuckled. “It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

If anyone noticed, they were kind enough to not talk about it the next morning. Eletha managed to clean herself up enough to help Gale back to his tent. There, she sat for a while, making sure he would recover.

“Words cannot express how foolish I feel,” Gale said weakly as she placed a cold damp towel on his forehead.

“It’s not the first time a wizard’s puked on me,” she answered, soothingly stroking his hair a few times before sitting back. It probably wouldn’t help to touch him too much right now.

“You must have a lot of interesting stories…”

“I promise to leave this one out of the ballad they’ll inevitably write about us.”

“It was enjoyable. Until the last bit.”

“I enjoyed it too,” Eletha said sweetly, a small smile on her lips.

A few minutes passed in silence. She was about to get up, assuming he’d fallen asleep, when Gale asked, “What was the first time?”

“So I was at this party in Suzail…”

[i-am-church-the-cat]

After watching 2024 ISU Montreal, Logan as a figure skater has been on my mind for the longest time.

god...aaaa...im rolling on the floor rn, i can't handle it

the years of my life invested in YOI and figure skating aus is unstoppable, i can't hold it back, i must type-ity-type

Logan's father introduced him and Dalton to ice skating through hockey. Even living in Florida, they had been fans of any and every sport. Football was a favorite, of course, as was basketball, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, sailing, surfing, skiing, and golf. High-contact sports were the most compelling to boys of their age, so when they learned that there was a sport where guys slammed into each other with knives on their feet, they had to check it out.

But starting hockey wasn't what made Logan fall in love with the ice. The first time he'd ever skated had been with his mother on a lake by her childhood home back up in Ohio. He'd been so small, stuck to her side like a barnacle, a mama's boy since the beginning.

The smooth glide of his feet across the clear surface was revelatory. The weight of himself was no longer holding him down, gravity was easier to fight on skates instead of shoes. The thin white lines they left behind them were entrancing. Logan never worried about getting lost because he always knew where he'd been.

Hockey was fun but it wasn't what Logan wanted. The ice wasn't made for chipped teeth and blood-soaked spit. Something that was safety and grace, as dangerous as it was beautiful, deserved more respect than that.

There was a kid on the team between his and Dalton's, Lance. He was cool in a weird sort of way and didn't care that Logan never knew when to speak and when to stay silent. They didn't hang out often and they've fallen out of touch since, but it was his fault that Logan became who he was.

Or, more accurately, his sister's.

Chloe wasn't very graceful but she was an artist and she loved the ice. If Logan got to practice early enough, he could watch the tail end of her figure skating practice. Mr. Stroll always rented out the entire rink for Chloe and her private figure skating coach, only the best for his daughter. So a lot of the times it would be just her, dancing on the ice, her coach, shouting critiques over her chosen music, and Logan, sitting lonely and enraptured in the stands.

It took him almost a month of watching Chloe before he got up the nerve to try out some of the things he had seen. The choreography wasn't that hard, though Logan's rhythm wasn't the greatest at nine years old. But the jumps were hard, and the jumps hurt, and he couldn't figure it out.

But something always made him get back up and keep trying. He couldn't stop once he got something stuck in his mind and the leaps and twists of figure skating jumps were stuck like flies in amber.

The first jump he ever landed was a toe loop. Not that he knew what it was called at the time, and he barely finished a whole rotation, but he stayed standing which was better than he had done in the couple weeks he'd been trying any time he could steal some ice time. When Logan had hit the ice, wobbling but not falling, he'd let out a shocked, delighted laugh. Instead of being sated, his fascination with figure skating just wanted more.

"You're a little old to not be landing singles."

Logan whirled around at the unexpected voice. He'd thought he was totally alone, the rink on the edges of closing. But there was Chloe Stroll's figure skating coach, looking at him with calculating eyes. Logan tried to hold himself up taller, to look more secure than he felt.

"I- I've never tried before," Logan had admitted. He'd felt embarrassed and then felt mad for feeling embarrassed. The coach had looked considering.

"Have you ever tried ballet? You might want to start there."

Logan, even at nine, had recoiled at the idea. It had taken all his courage just to practice figure skating in private, in steps and moments he could steal. But ballet was- his dad would never want him to do that. Dalton would laugh at him, the couple friends he had would think he's weird. He couldn't do ballet.

But he couldn't give up the ice, either. Even when his hockey season ended, Logan was at the rink every day, begging his mom to take him after school. He was older than most kids were when they started and he didn't have a coach or any proper training. If he wanted to do the kind of things Logan wanted to do on the ice, he'd have to push himself further, train his body more, practice for hours on end. A few hours every week wasn't enough.

It was nearing the summer time when Logan worked up all the courage in his little body to ask for ballet lessons. He'd done research, used the family computer to look up ballet teachers in the area, ones that specialized in training athletes for other sports. He had his arguments, his bargaining chips, his promises and dreams all held in the palm of his head.

Logan worked up the courage to ask.

And his father had laughed.

So had Dalton. The only one who didn't laugh was his mother, who saw the heartbreak Logan tried so hard to hide with his fake laughter. Of course, he was only joking. That was the only possibly explanation for why he would say such a thing.

Logan's dreams died that night. He resigned himself to copying jumps he saw on YouTube, stolen moments in the ice rink that felt safer than his own home sometimes.

But the next week, when his mom was taking him to the ice rink, Logan realized they'd made a wrong turn. When he mentioned it to his mom, she'd just shushed him. He'd been left in confusion all the way up to the small, squat building. He'd picked out the words on the sign in front of him like a crow picking out gems from the refuse.

Ayliah's Ballet School

Logan's dad was mad when he found out about the lessons a few months later. In response, Logan had brought all the figure skating magazines he'd been hoarding down from his room and showed them to his parents. The pages he'd bookmarked, the sketches he'd made to try and figure out a skater's pose, the torn-out descriptions of an intricate step sequence. He'd looked up at his dad with big, desperate eyes, willing him to understand the inextricable draw figure skating had at him.

By the time he started fifth grade, Logan had a ballet teacher and figure skating coach. By the end of fifth grade, he had landed his first triple jump.

--

At 19, Logan was the most anxious he could ever remember being. He was also more excited than he thought physically possible.

It was his third year in the senior series, and for the first time, he'd been invited to two ISU grand prix. He had an actual chance at the world championships, something he hadn't had since he won the junior series at 16.

Logan's choreography that year was good, really good. He'd put way more work into his presentation after what an opposing skater had said to him at nationals last year.

"Your jumps might have won you one championship, but everyone can jump in the senior series. Stand out, Logan, or get out."

For Logan, who had never cared much what music he had or what step sequences he did as long as it got him enough points, it was a rough wake up call. He was proud of his jumps, the technical perfection he'd spent years and years honing. He could now land the the quad toe loop, quad salchow, and quad Lutz consistently in competition. But his artistry left something to be desired, and it hurt his program scores in the long run.

He'd changed that this year. He'd worked with his choreographer for months to find the right music, the right transitions, the right spins and steps. Logan had even reached out to a figure skater he'd skated with in the junior leagues who always had the best costumes about his stylist.

The first thing he'd noticed about the ice was that it was a canvas, a glistening field just awaiting someone to paint it in soft white stripes. He'd fallen in love with the danger of it, the allure, but he had neglected the emotional appeal. Madame Ayliah would surely be disappointed if he saw him.

But not this year. Not with a short program as bold as the one he had this year, not with a free skate this spellbinding. Logan had even started drafting ideas for a exhibition state, caught in the draw of expressing his emotions on the ice. He was never good at being vulnerable but this year, the ice demanded it of him. He demanded it of himself.

The US could send three men's figure skaters to the World Championships. Three out of thousands. Logan was going to show why he deserved to be one of them.

One day, Logan would lay on the ice, bleeding and broken, and know its cruel love had run out. But today, it welcomed him home.

[muiromem]

Just... repeatedly rotating An Idea around in my head

(and yes it's still Tom/Harry/B'Elanna OT3 because I'm obsessed with them, but I also love Janeway's and Tom's weird friendship)

Basically, something Big and Insane and Sci-Fi happens, and somehow all of the known universe in time/space is just sort of.... gone. Or dying, or being destroyed. Stars are going out, everything is vanishing out of existence. Planets, galaxies, creatures and anomalies and time/space itself - all completely gone.

Of course, Voyager is in the eye of the storm (so to speak) of this catastrophe that happened around them, and therefore one of the few things that remains for now (much like Kirk and the crew still existed after McCoy accidentally changed the timeline in "The City on the Edge of Forever"). Obviously, they're trying to stop it - to fix whatever this catastrophe was that could unmake all of existence.

With the wonders of Science-Fiction, there is a theoretical way to fix things; a jump-start essentially, to reset everything to what it was before this catastrophe and repair the wound it created. But even with this theoretical plan, there's something missing: a blueprint, of sorts. If they set off this insane spatial-temporal reaction, everything would be reset, but there's no telling what state the universe would actually be in after it was done. It would be like setting off a Genesis device on a war-destroyed Earth and hoping it would magically return everything and everyone to how they once were. There was nothing to guide this theoretical process of rebirth - and literally everything was at stake.

Even the great minds of Tuvok, Seven, B'Elanna and everyone else are at a loss for what to do. Unless they had someone like Q, omnipotent as he was, how could they feed something into this reaction of theirs to tell it what to do? How could they ever have enough information to rebuild all of existence from scratch?

It's Tom, of all people, who comes up with the answer: let him go.

At first everyone just sort of looks at him like he's insane because, what? What could he possibly be talking about? But even though he can't really remember, Tom still has a theory: the Warp 10 flight.

For a brief time, he was literally everywhere in time and space, all at once. Existing throughout all of existence simultaneously. Could his body, his unconscious mind, have somehow remembered that time? Could it have imprinted something onto him? Perhaps his very cells? He figures if there was a chance, even a small one, that his theory was correct - they had to take it. Because if he was right, then technically he was a living, breathing blue-print of all the known and unknown universe... and their only chance at saving everything.

That's when the riot starts, a great uproar of arguments. Facts and theoretical probabilities from Seven and Tuvok, horror and concern from Harry, even more from B'Elanna and the Doctor. They're startled, angry, because even if that were true the process would almost certainly kill him. And then there's Janeway, putting a stop to all the noise with a hand and saying that if there was a chance this theory would work, if the Doctor or someone could find even a speck of evidence to support it, then she would do it. Because even if everyone else forgot, she'd passed the transwarp threshold too.

Tom tries to argue, Chakotay and the Doctor too, but Janeway insists. She sends Tom to be looked over by everyone for proof of his concept, but says that if the time comes, she'll be the one to do it. As Captain, it's her job to keep everyone safe, no matter what. No one can argue, but no one is happy. Even this one chance at survival feels like it will come at too great a cost.

Time passes, with everyone rushing to do what they can before Voyager is also consumed by the nothingness. But eventually the verdict comes - Tom's idea has merit. His very atoms are somehow encoded with cross-temporal chronotrons and other signs that the theory may work. Once he knows what to look for, the Doctor scans Janeway and sees that she has these markers too, though hers are... fainter, for lack of a better term. She theorizes that it's because she only went through the Warp 10 process once, while Tom did it twice. The Doctor admits that there is a possibility Tom's the better candidate for this mission, only because he has a stronger "imprint" so to speak. Janeway still insists, refusing to send one of her officers to die in her place.

When everyone finally gets this complex and theoretical "reset" device figured out and constructed in one of the cargo bays, Tom begs to come with Janeway. He says that after everything she's done for him, he wants to see her off one last time. She relents, and once B'Elanna has started the reaction up from the safety of Engineering, shining beyond the doors like an imploding star, the two make their way there.

The entire deck has been cordoned off to keep chroniton and other radiations from killing the crew before they can set this whole thing in motion. It's just the two of them there. Tom takes a moment - as the doors open and they're both hit with a wave of heat, energy, and the unknown - and he thanks Janeway properly. For giving him a second chance, for believing in him, and for everything that followed after; like meeting Harry and B'Elanna, and finding a home aboard Voyager. Then he says "get them home" and before Janeway can realize what's happening, briefly thrown by his intense sincerity, he's shoving her aside - hitting the mechanism to shut the cargo bay doors. Inside, Tom grabs some tool and smashes the console so the door won't open without a manual override. That would probably buy him enough time.

Inside the cargo bay, it's like being trapped with the birth of a star; plasma, light, and colors all swirling in strings and shapes and a great sphere of something. There's no special switch for Tom to flip, no complicated sequence he has to follow. The best Voyager's brightest minds could figure out was for him to simply... walk into the singularity and hope for the best. He thinks of his family on Voyager, he thinks of his father and so many things unsaid, he thinks of B'Elanna and Harry and hopes that they'll still take care of each other when he's gone. And to keep them safe, to preserve everything that ever was or ever would be.... he walks into the fires of rebirth.

Outside the cargo bay, Janeway is screaming - trying to get in, to override the doors. She gets them open, only in time to see a tall silhouette disappearing - almost disassembled before her eyes, like dust being scattered away on the wind. Then there's just light - so bright it feels like it somehow pierces through her skin and bones and the very atoms of her being. Then.......

She wakes up. There's no telling how long it's been; all Janeway knows is that she's on the cargo bay floor, ears still faintly ringing, and Chakotay is gently helping her sit up. All around her it's... quiet. The cargo bay looks untouched - no crumpled bulkheads, no scorch marks, nothing. Even the vast, cobbled together machinery for the reset is simple gone. Once her head finally clears, Chakotay asks if she's alright, if her plan worked - but Harry's comm. from the bridge interrupts the question. Excitedly, Harry announces with great relief that the nothingness, the catastrophe, seems to be gone. His scans, Voyager's databanks - everything seems to be showing up normal. As far as they can tell, the universe was back to how it should be.

Back, except for one thing: Tom Paris.

As far as Janeway can see, Tom isn't in the cargo bay. She asks the computer to locate him; the reply is that Lieutenant Paris is no longer aboard. This is announced just as B'Elanna is running in through the cargo bay door, no doubt to see the result of all her hard work. She comes to a halt, looking at Janeway - staring because she wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to... After only a fraction of a moment, the computer's announcement finally registers and suddenly B'Elanna is running at Janeway with fists flying, screaming about how could she let him do this? Where is he, dammit, where the hell is Tom?!

She gets a few good hits to Janeway's chest and shoulders before Chakotay holds her back, and Janeway just lets her do it. Because this is her fault - she should have known Tom would try to pull that stunt with the doors, should never have let him come to see her off. She barely registers that B'Elanna's fury soon devolves into angry, choked back tears which Chakotay tries to soothe. When Harry arrives soon after and sees her expression, probably sees Janeway's too, it's all too easy for him to put two and two together. He and B'Elanna end up clinging to each other in their grief. Though Chakotay comes to Janeway to try and comfort her too, to reassure her that she's not responsible, all she can do is look at the cargo bay and see the silhouette where Tom last was - lost now to the ether of the universe.

The next few days are... hard. Harry might as well have aged a decade, and instead of the righteous fury that Janeway had expected, B'Elanna's just gone quiet. When Janeway stops by Sickbay, even the Doctor has become subdued, staring wistfully into the distance at nothing when he'd normally be working on some experiment or other. She still asks him, and Seven, and anyone who might be of use, if there was anything that could be done. But as far as anyone can tell, Tom Paris is gone - he'd sacrificed himself to save everyone else.

But Janeway feels like something is still wrong, like Tom's ghost is... haunting her somehow. It's a figure of speech when she admits it to a concerned Chakotay, but one night, she startles awake from a dreamless sleep, and there he is - standing in her quarters. Tom looks confused, exhausted, and he's... well she can see right through him. He looks at her, seemingly just as startled as she is, and she swears she hears him whisper "Captain?" But then suddenly he's convulsing, curling in on himself with a cry of pain and Janeway is horrified as she watches him.... unmade. It's like he's nowhere and everywhere, born and dying, unraveled but stitched together all at the same time until he's once again vanished into nothingness.

Janeway's heart is racing and she doesn't understand what she just witnessed. A dream? Hallucination? Some alien interference? She goes to the Doctor at 0400 and demands he scan her for a virus, temporal misalignment, anything. She's terrified that this was nothing more than the aftermath of radiation from being so near their "universal reset" as it went off. But there's also a tiny sliver of the smallest, most fragile hope, that this is something else - that there's a chance Tom isn't really gone.

The Doctor does find something, a strange resonance of sorts, connected - or perhaps coming from - Janeway. He theorizes that it's an effect of being so close to the singularity during the reset. As far as he can tell, she's not suffering from radiation damage, but believes that her guilt over Tom must have caused the hallucination. He offers to devise a treatment, and Janeway begrudgingly agrees. For him to say that what she'd seen was a hallucination though... it felt wrong somehow.

For the next few days, she hardly sleeps, too busy pouring over anything she can find - old Federation logs, complex theories, and all the research and schematics for the device they'd created. All in the slim hope to understand what had actually happened to Tom. Was he simply dead? He couldn't have been wiped from existence or surely, no one would have even known he'd existed. But had he been scattered throughout existence itself, a fundamental building block of the universe now? Seven helps her eventually, though it takes a good deal of persuasion. Chakotay and even Tuvok (though he'd never admit it) become increasingly concerned that she's grasping at straws, just trying to absolve herself of the guilt she feels because Tom took her place - but she knows it's more than that.

And eventually, she's proven right. The so-called hallucination happens again - but this time she's not the only one there. Seven and the Doctor were working with her on some experimental simulations on the holodeck when there's suddenly a terrible noise; something between electro-static and the wails of a dying creature. The holo-grid starts sparking, a console blowing out completely, until suddenly they all watch Tom Paris form out of nothingness before them. Whatever process was involved in his... reassembly, is obviously painful. Just watching the strange tangle of unidentifiable mass contort itself until it could become Tom was sickening. And when he finally takes form, still only semi-opaque, he collapses to his knees, shaking.

Janeway runs to him immediately, unsure what to do but calling his name. Here's there, he's there - it wasn't just in her head. The Doctor and Seven follow shortly, taking tricorder scans in shocked fascination. They ask questions, trying to understand what happened, but Tom doesn't know any more than they do. He says it's like he's everywhere but nowhere - and yet something keeps pulling him back into reality, back onto Voyager. He thought he would die, had come to terms with it, and yet he's still coming back. Even if he'd been completely tangible he looks awful, like he's dying every minute he's there. Janeway tries to reassure him that they'll find him, that they won't just give up, and that manages to make Tom smile. He says he knows she wouldn't give up on him - but as he starts to shift out of phase again, face clenched with pain, he asks her to promise him something. Janeway doesn't want to, knows she won't like what he has to say, but she nods anyways. "If you have to - let me go," is what he pleads. "Don't risk Voyager or anyone else for me. Just promise me that."

Janeway can't even form a reply, doesn't know how to let go, how to admit defeat. She's never given up on a crewman before, how could she possibly now? Out of habit she reaches out to touch Tom's shoulder - and even as he's fritzing, starting to disintegrate before her very eyes, she is surprised to make contact. The sounds of tricorders going haywire are behind her, but all Janeway can focus on is the fact that despite Tom literally unraveling in her hands, for a moment, just one moment, she could feel him. Then he's gone.

Everything is different this time - there was proof now, witnesses. B'Elanna and Harry are no longer withdrawn, instead racing full-steam ahead to do anything they can to help. They ask her about Tom of course, about how he's looking, and whether or not she thinks that they can save him. Janeway doesn't know what to say, how to tell them that Tom's clearly in pain and that she has no idea what even happened, let alone how to fix it....

Unfortunately, she doesn't have to. During some experimentation, Tom reappears again - much more violently this time, just when Harry and B'Elanna are present. The very air around them seems to crackle with energy, the temperature changing from too hot, then too cold, and back again. The atmospheric readings are going haywire and when Tom reappears, somehow less corporeal than before, he crumples to the ground in a heap. Harry is openly crying as they run to him, begging him to open his eyes - but when he and B'Elanna try to touch Tom, somehow their hands go right through.

Janeway is completely flummoxed. She'd touched Tom before, she knows she did. But it seemed he was becoming less and less stable each time he returned to a corporeal form - perhaps that explained the change? As the Doctor and Seven are once again running complex scans, Janeway goes to Tom's side and slowly reaches out a hand. As it lands on his shoulder, as Tom tries to sit up, she does make contact. The tricorders instantly go haywire, and Harry and B'Elanna wonder in despair - Why now? Why her? Why can't they touch him? But all Janeway can think is that this is progress. It must mean something, especially since Tom seems to regain consciousness as she maintains contact, becoming a bit less transparent - a bit more real. When Tom sees Harry and B'Elanna this time, his eyes begin to water too - and Janeway wonders how tears could form in whatever state of flux Tom has become entwined with. But when she removes her hand to give them some space, to ask Tom if he's alright, he starts to fade once more.

This time Tom tries to reach out, to touch Harry and B'Elanna - but is just as unable to make real contact. Instead he tells them he loves them, begs them to take care of each other, to let him go - and it's painful to watch as he's once again gripped by whatever agony has been tearing him into reality and back. Hoping it might do something, Janeway grabs Tom's hand and this time she makes a promise she's going to keep: to bring him home dammit, no matter how long it takes. Just her hold on him seems to stabilize him a bit, taking the floating sands of his dissolving form and pulling them together for just a moment longer... but then the temperature goes haywire, energy crackles around them and Tom is gone once more. With him goes every sound as even the beeping of tricorder scans finally cease. In the silence, Janeway can barely seem to breathe and knows that Harry and B'Elanna must feel infinitely worse. Even more terrifying, each time Tom appears, he seems to be getting weaker, losing whatever cohesion he's managed to retain. She has no real basis to understand anything that's been happening, but Janeway has the sinking feeling that if they don't do something soon, Tom will be lost to them for good.

But then the Doctor clears his throat and holds up his tricorder, and suddenly hope floods back. "I believe I know what's happening to Mister Paris," he says, with not an ounce of boastfulness for once. Instead, the Doctor is as grim-faced as the rest of them, but holographic eyes no longer seem so empty. "And I think there's a chance we can fix it."

The process is... complex. Even for a mind as scientifically adept as Janeway's. The only important part is that Janeway wasn't just imagining that there was something connecting her to Tom. In reality, it was the other way around. Tom wasn't just being pulled back to Voyager - he was specifically being pulled back to her. It was all down to the the second transwarp flight, which they'd taken together. Crossing the barrier had created a sort of tether between them - a connection point across the vastness of reality. When Tom had entered the singularity to "reset" all of existence, in a manner of speaking his very existence was used to rebuild what had been lost. The price for this was Tom himself - every atom and molecule destroyed like the fuel necessary to keep a fire burning. But Tom and Janeway had gone to Warp 10 once together - existing everywhere in time and space at the same time. Because of that, a part of Tom still existed in Janeway, safe from the "reset" aboard Voyager within the eye of the storm. Janeway had unknowingly become a sort of temporal anchor, pulling Tom back into existence where he belonged.

At the moment though, he was trapped - pulled between reality and the strange purgatory of nonexistence. But with the magic of incredibly complex Science-Fiction and Technobabble, the crew essentially find a way to use Janeway's own Warp 10 resonance as both a magnet and a waypoint - to pull Tom back, and then reintegrate him into their time and space with the help of B'Elanna's ingenuity and a lot of Borg-enhanced technology. Harry describes is as being "like a temporal transporter" and that's already enough to give Janeway a headache, so she doesn't try to ask for details. The main idea boils down to grabbing onto what's left of Tom's "pattern" of existence, which has been imprinted onto Janeway, and using their newly constructed technology to "rematerialize" him back into reality.

Once they've found the method and jurry-rigged some machinery, the Doctor is standing by, both for Tom and for Janeway should anything happen. The others are farther off, manning the various machines while Chakotay and Tuvok have evacuated various decks in case of any explosions. The risks are immense, and this time Janeway had actually assembled the crew - asking them if they thought it was worth it. They'd potentially be putting the ship and everyone onboard it in danger, in a last-ditch attempt to bring one lost crewman home. It had warmed her heart when not a single person balked at the danger; Tom Paris saved them, their homes, their families and futures. Why shouldn't they try to save him too?

When the process happens, Janeway feels a sense of déjà vu; the light, the swirling mass of indecipherable colors and shapes and feelings, all cascading before her. This time she's strapped up with various bits of technology, hoping against hope to become the lighthouse that guide's Tom's way. In the very same cargo bay, bulkheads rattle and crumple this time, machines start screaming their warnings, and Janeway can feel the heat and pain and dizziness as radiation tries to eat away at her. But she can't stop yet, she won't stop. Even as the Doctor is yelling that the radiation levels are reaching critical, even as she hears Harry calling out that there's a new singularity opening and it's becoming completely unstable, Janeway sees it - a silhouette. It's only just forming, scattering in and out like a dance of lightning and sand, but it's there.

This time she won't be thrown through a cargo bay door and left to rebuild in the aftermath. This time she listens to her gut, and runs forward. She'd been the only one able to hold onto to Tom before because of whatever this bio-temporal tether was that had connected them - she sure as hell wasn't going to let him go now.

So she runs and sees an outstretched hand, breaking and reforming and scattering like light through a prism, everywhere and nowhere all at once. She ignores the pain and the feeling like she herself might be consumed by the fires of the unknown.

Kathryn Janeway takes a leap of faith, she grabs that outstretched hand, and for the sake of every person on her ship, she pulls.

Watching from afar, all the others see is a gigantic explosion of light and colors and sound. The cargo bay had been nearly cleared out before this process, but every piece of newly-made machinery has been completely destroyed. Bits and pieces scatter the floor, bulkheads have been wrenched open, sparks are flying, and Harry and B'Elanna find their ears ringing as they choke on smoke. They'd erected a level 10 forcefield for protection before starting the procedure, but in the aftermath it's been completely torn away. Even as the environmental controls kick in and start clearing out the haze, they look up from where they'd been thrown to see a massive scorch mark, spread out like a starburst across the cargo bay deck.

At it's center, they see.... something. Dizzy, confused, and still trying to see through ash and debris, initially they can't make it out. Even the Doctor is nowhere to be found, his emitter lying on the floor. It's fritzing but, after a brief inspection, seems repairable. Whatever happened must have shorted out many different systems, as Harry's attempt to use his combadge goes unanswered. He and B'Elanna make their way instead towards the center of the scorched cargo bay floor and behold... Captain Janeway.

She's covered in ash, with burns on her skin and uniform, and as they watch she kneels to the floor. There's something in her hands and after a moment it becomes clear; she's draping an emergency blanket over a long, familiar form. One with a head of messy, tawny blonde hair.

Harry and B'Elanna are running then, falling to their knees as they reach Janeway's side and behold Tom Paris - naked save for the blanket Janeway has brought to preserve his modesty. He's overly pale and clearly unconscious, but he's there, he's alive.

Harry cradles Tom to his chest, rocking him gently and bawling like a baby. B'Elanna runs her hand over Tom's hair, his face, his bare shoulders - anything she can seem to reach. They don't even know if he's fine really, but at least he's breathing. They didn't blow up the ship and they didn't have to lose him. Janeway looks exhausted and it's obvious her burns are painful, but she just stares at her three crewman, clutching onto each other with such love, and she smiles.

It feels like she sits there for an eternity, just watching them, basking in their reunion and the knowledge that they did it. In reality, it must only be a few minutes before the cargo bay doors are being forced open and Chakotay, Tuvok, and Neelix come through, bringing medical supplies and asking if everyone is alright.

By then, Harry is finally wiping his eyes and asking B'Elanna if she can get the Doctor back online because they're probably going to need him. For once, she looks reluctant to work, clearly wanting to stay there with him and Tom. In the end she agrees, but not before pressing a kiss to Harry's knuckles and Tom's forehead before taking the holo-emitter and leaving.

Afterwards it's all a long process of scanning, repairing, and treating everyone's wounds. Janeway tries to shoo Chakotay away once they bring her to sickbay, far too worried about Tom's condition, but he pulls out the big guns. Chakotay knows that she can't say no to Neelix when he gives her those big concerned eyes and tells her that "the crew needs their Captain to be taken care of too". So she ends up lying on a bio-bed for half an hour while the Talaxian carefully treats her burns and radiation poisoning as best he can. Unsurprisingly, B'Elanna gets the Doctor's program and holo-emitter working in record-breaking time, and they're all relieved when he checks over Tom and the prognosis is good; Tom's exhausted, dehydrated, and a bit worse for wear, but he'll be fully recovered in no time. Whatever madness they'd pulled off had worked.

Eventually, he wakes up, still very weak but every bit the Tom Paris they know and love. When he sees how distressed both Harry and B'Elanna are, he even jokes that they put an awful lot of effort in "just for him". B'Elanna looks like she wants to punch him for it, but instead throws her arms around him in a hug, and the three of them share a teary, heartfelt reunion. When the lovebirds have to split off so everyone can get some rest, and once the Doctor has given her a clean bill of health, Janeway goes over to Tom's biobed to see how he's doing.

He's obviously tired but he smiles up at her. However, the first thing she tells him is that she should court-martial him and throw him in the brig for the stunt he pulled in the cargo bay by taking her place. For a moment, Tom nearly believes her. But then Janeway smiles back and pats his hand with hers and says that he may be a reckless idiot, but she's proud to say he's one of her bravest officers. She also sincerely thanks him for what he did, to which Tom replies that she risked everything to get him back, so that probably makes them even. Janeway doesn't bother trying to make him promise never to do something that risky again, since she knows he'd only break the promise anyways if the circumstances required it. Instead, she says that if he's going to continue doing insane, reckless stunts for the good of her ship, then she'll just have to keep doing insane reckless things to keep his sorry ass alive. She receives the patented "yes ma'am" for her troubles, and Tom says that after all, he learned from the best.

The last thing she does before telling him to get some rest though, is tease him - threatening that, even if she understands why he did it, if he ever tries that switcheroo he pulled with her again, she'll have to tell the gossip mill about all the places she hadn't realized he has freckles.

Janeway can see by his slowly-dawning expression that Tom does recall something about emerging from the nothingness, naked on the cargo bay floor. The last thing she hears as she walks, grinning, away from Sickbay is a sputtered yell of "You wouldn't actually... Captain? CAPTAIN!" before the automatic doors swish shut.

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Scripting: Grand Reunion

In Cosmic Discoveries, after SS!Amy got OMT!Tails cured of the Chimera Virus, they were walking through one of the tranquil areas with OMT!Cream following.

OMT!Tails: This place really is something. With LM off my back for now, I have plenty more time to take it all in again.

SS!Amy: Well, our efforts definitely helped in stopping one of those so-called "canon events" from happening. You've already been through a lot as is, and we couldn't risk you getting worse from it.

OMT!Tails: So, how have you found it here so far, Cream?

OMT!Cream: It's been amazing! I never knew how many other iterations of me and our friends were in the multiverse. I already made friends with multiple mes!

OMT!Tails: You'd be more and more surprised every day, of course!

SS!Amy: What's the bond between you and your Cream like, Tails?

OMT!Tails: Well, compared to the intended norm, me and Cream are actually siblings. I took her in after her mom lost her life to OMT, and we had been living with my Knuckles and Amy.

SS!Amy: I'm really happy to see that you guys have a universe that strays away from all the norms, Tails.

OMT!Tails: Hehe! Thanks, Amy!

They continued along the area to where Skye and Melody were.

Melody: Sure kept us waiting, alternate dad.

OMT!Tails: Heh, sorry, Melody.

Skye: The others are just up ahead from here! We'll follow behind.

They headed forward.

OMT!Tails: Hey, guys!

OMT!Mina: Tails!

The two shared a hug together.

OMT!Mina: I'm so sorry about before, Tails. I understand if you-.

OMT!Tails: Hey, don't worry. It's okay.

D-Sides Mighty: Welcome back, bud!

Mini Sonic: Great work, Tails!

Mr. NM passed him a cheeseburger.

Mr. NM: Here, kid! Just as promised!

OMT!Tails: Sweet!

Nitro: We just met the kids you brought over, by the way.

OMT!Tails: Yeah. I met them on my way back.

Antho: So I heard you met my Tails earlier. What got you two on the move?

Melody: Well, we got forced out of our universe and can't get back in. We were stranded until this Tails found us.

Skye: Yeah, that's right...

Blitz!Tails: As it happens, me and mini-me were the first to come across the little guy on our travels, and he stuck with me whilst Mr. Red-Eyes was chasing Tails around different universes.

Melody: And he found me and rescued me from that Eggman lair full of robot doppelgangers!

OMT!Tails: Believe it or not, I ended up coming across the PRIME universe along the way!

The group were surprised and amazed.

Antho: You met the ORIGINAL Sonic?! Ex-Prince Brian: That's awesome!

CR!Sonic: Guess that's one more thing you can tick off your bucket list, kid!

OMT!Tails: Hehe, thanks!

BK!Amy took the opportunity to try and hustle OMT!Tails and OMT!Mina close to each other for a kiss.

BK!Amy: This could be a big opportunity, guys~!

OMT!Mina (embarrassed): Aww, come on, Amy! We don't need this right now!

OMT!Tails: Well, I mean, we could do the moment elsewhere later, if you want.

OMT!Mina: I'll, er, think about it.

BK!Amy: Heh, sorry.

In a hidden corner, Pana watched this interaction from a distance, quietly sniggering with a smile from the fact that his allies were still getting on great.

SS!Amy: So, while we're taking a breather, you mind us having a chat, Tails?

OMT!Tails: Not at all.

The two headed off while OMT!Cream stuck with the Blur Gang and their allies. They came to a stop at another point of the sector as Nine watched with a soft smile.

SS!Amy: So, were you able to make up your mind about the whole Quill Society thing? There's still no pressure, of course. It's up to you.

OMT!Tails: Yeah. Well, I had been thinking about it a lot. I mean, it's a really amazing community space, though there is still my world to help protect and my friends to be around, so I can't imagine it being full-time.

SS!Amy: Heh, it doesn't have to be full-time, Tails. I mean, you saw everyone here from the Blur Gang yesterday, and it was in the aftermath of a school day, too!

OMT!Tails: Heh, you're right. A part-time rotation would be great for me, of course, so long as it's alright with Knuckles, Amy and my main teacher, of course.

SS!Amy: I'm sure they'd be really supportive of you taking that first step forward to stringing out further yourself.

OMT!Tails: Well, I mean, I could never have gotten this far without the support of people like you, and I couldn't be more grateful. If I do get a part-time rotation and it's on Friday to Sunday, I'm definitely gonna aim to work alongside guys like you and Pana more!

SS!Amy: Hehe, sweet!

OMT!Tails: Hey... I just wanted to say... thanks for sticking by my side through all of this, Amy. I know it's been really tough having to move out of the universe you once knew, but your caring nature has never once been broken.

SS!Amy: You're welcome. Anything to help out a buddy!

They smiled to one another.

Nine: How's the conversation coming along?

SS!Amy squeaked in surprise, blushing bright-red in embarrassment.

OMT!Tails: Oh! Hey, Nine! I didn't realise you followed us.

Nine: Heh, yeah. I've got you to thank as well, Tails. You coming into my life changed it for the better in SO many ways. For the first time, I could make amends with those I had hurt, and that whole multiverse conundrum meant I could finally co-exist with you guys. I mean, seeing this whole Quill Society made me see that, no matter what dimension, anyone can string out from being a wingman and be their own boss.

OMT!Tails: I'm glad to have helped, Nine. You've been an amazing friend throughout our journeys together.

Nine: And you've been just as amazing, if not more so!

The three shared a laugh between each other.

Nine: Well, EV said he prepared your dorm room. Why don't we go and take a look?

OMT!Cream: Oh! Wait up!

OMT!Cream arrived, with a familiar Chao with her.

OMT!Tails: Heh! You got your own Chao companion!

OMT!Cream: Yeah! After seeing all my other counterparts, I decided to name him Cheese in their honour!

OMT!Cheese: Chao chao~!

OMT!Tails: Aww! He looks so cute!

Nine: Heh! Well, let's go, you guys!

They headed off. Over with Blitz!Milla and Skye, meanwhile, they were tending to some flowers in the Chao Garden together.

Skye: So, what's gonna happen if our dimension's... you know?

Blitz!Milla: Well, I really don't want to leave either you or Melody orphaned, Skye, so if you'd like, you two can stay at our dimension under our care!

Skye: You'd... actually take us in? Like second parents?

Blitz!Milla: Of course! You both deserve a happy life to grow in.

Skye: Heh, thanks, Miss Milla.

He gently hugged her as she smiled. As he did so, Smol Devy came from behind and hugged Skye too.

Smol Devy: New fwiend!

Skye: Hehe, aww!

Blitz!Milla: Hehe! You and Devy are welcome at my dimension whenever, too!

Smol Devy: Gweat! ^v^

Meanwhile, with Blitz!Tails and EV!Sonic...

EV!Sonic: So, what was LM's state last you saw him chasing after Tails?

Blitz!Tails: He really didn't look stable whatsoever. I mean, he was still the big grouch the Society now knows him as, but... he seemed more insane when I knocked him into Dimension NEX-2023's further bounds. As if he really isn't being him anymore.

MV!Tails: No kidding. What could've happened aside from yesterday and the lost dimension to set off his decline into villainy?

EV!Sonic: This is concerning. Once you get the chance, I recommend investigating his dimension with the Blur Gang to figure out what's amiss.

Blitz!Tails: I'll do my best out there.

EV!Sonic: I'm sure you will, buddy!

MV!Tails: I'll go with 'em. If he's planning something especially nasty, I'm gonna make good on my promise from before.

EV!Sonic: Yeah, good call.

Blitz!Tails: Alright. Let's go!

The two Tails's headed off, whilst EV!Sonic checked the dorm review ratings.

EV!Sonic: Heh, Tails scored his 5 stars. Sweet!

[youraveragecatastrophe]

What’s the best and worst thing about your favorite Carmen Sandiego character?

OH that's a great question!! i needed time to think about it thoroughly, first because i wondered who my favorite character was (Carmen or Julia? in the end i went with carmen because i rotate her in my mind and think about her psyche sooo much), and then of course i couldn't just answer, i had to think about it for hours.

i think one of the best things about her, as in one of the things i love more about carmen's character, is her passion. her determination, her intensity. the way she is so dedicated to stopping vile she'd do anything. when she starts taking massive risks, even to her own detriment (once again i'm thinking about neal the eel's "you'll fry us both" in New Zealand in s2 - that was incredibly reckless on her part!). part incredible self-confidence in her own skills, part complete disregard for her own safety, part desperation because she sees no other way. when she becomes dead serious, like in Egypt when she was 100% ready to drop that artefact in the abyss in order to get julia back, and she drops the smile and the lightheartedness fully. those moments when you see how much her whole mission and her friends mean to her. her refusal to call chief in stockholm because no way she's risking her freedom. her face when she tases coach brunt in the s1 finale, all scowl and gritted teeth. that's why i'm talking about intensity. the way it almost borders on rage. i find it very relatable, when love for something means you grow teeth to protect it.

the worst thing, in the sense of 'thing i am most frustated with'... i'd have to go with. the way she's always in control and with a funny quip. like she's rarely vulnerable, be it physically or mentally speaking. you rarely see carmen being shaken, stumbling, having nothing to retort, or just being plain wrong and making mistakes. or even just acting goofy, you know? now, of course, i'd like to think it's because of her trauma, because she feels like she has to - she's got this heavy responsibility she feels she can't share with anyone, she can't slip up or vile will triumph. she wears this mask to make her seem cool, confident and controlled, like she's untouchable, but sometimes it's nothing more than a lie.

(as an aside, i want to say carmen absolutely needs to have this confidence and this charisma. it's part of her charm and it's so very carmen sandiego. to me that's an essential feature of the character. but, since she is the protagonist, the character we're always following, it would make sense to see her other facets too, you see what i mean?)

buuut... if it were that, i would want an arc of her learning it's okay to make mistakes, it's okay to take time for herself, it's okay to let herself be young and be herself, it's okay to be vulnerable. especially with her close friends. and for that ivy and zack would be ESSENTIAL. carmen needs people who are not from vile and who know how to be more relaxed (i love player but i don't think he'd be able to help carmen much with that, he seems to be having the same problem sjkdbgjdkg).

but that's not what we got from the show, so what, are we supposed to think carmen's perfect all the time? let her show some personality, dammit

[deafearsdiary]

Unrealistic Mannerisms

Being a hopeless romantic leaves too much room for my imagination to run wild. Maybe it was all of the TV or the movies that I grew up watching that paved the way for my blueprint of love. Or maybe it was when I discovered romance novels, and drowned in vivid details describing the love between two fictional characters. And I know that it's also just part of my DNA that makes me want to swoon desperately at anything that's connected to making my heart flutter. Whatever the reason, the end result is that it feeds my imagination.

Now, of course it's always ideal that the woman is emotional, and you expect her to gush at everything. To be open and straightforward with how she feels. To fall deeply for a man, and become seemingly psychotic because of how he makes her feel. We all know how the story goes, but I love to think of how a man is that way for a woman. Because it is less common. We don't usually get to witness the man in love. We don't get to witness the first stages of him losing his sanity for a woman, or how long it lasts. We don't see the things that set him off, or the stuff that makes him smile. The things that make his heart flutter. But, lucky for you I think about it all the time. I think about what a man falling in love would be like. Let me paint you a picture...

Their meeting was unintentional; coincidental. Let's say they are both friends of mutual friends, to keep it simple. You meet her and think, "damn, she's gorgeous". But you keep it cool. She smiles at you, and you try to ignore that strange feeling you get in your stomach. You're not usually like this, so you think it's nothing. Just another woman you're attracted to that you can bang and forget about. As your hangout continues, you're noticing more and more amazing things about her. Her laugh is cute and contagious. Her smile, also contagious but sexy as hell. You got close enough to her to think, "God, she smells amazing." She's a great conversationalist and you could listen to her talk for hours, just for an excuse to stare at those sexy ass lips. When you guys engage in conversation, you can't help but want to flirt with her. But she beats you to it. She teases and her questions are intriguing. She's witty, and obviously intelligent. "Lord, where have they been hiding this girl?", is what you think after you leave.

Days go by and you want to stop thinking about her, but you can't. You start thinking of the ways that you want to make love to her, but usually when these fantasies start, they end there. This time, they keep going. And suddenly, you're thinking of things to do on dates. Anything to hear her laugh again, see her smile. You do your best to get in touch with her and make yourself relevant in her life. All while trying to act cool. But you're anything but that when you're with her. She's so different from what you're used to, but you can't help but gush over her. She's makes you nervous. Makes you second guess yourself. You feel clumsy around her, and you've never been clumsy your whole life. You barely know her, but she makes you want to be the best man in the world for her. Time passes and it's still all about her. Even though your regular life had a rotation of girls, that rotation feels different now that she exists in your world. All of a sudden you're dissatisfied. So you can't help but focus on her.

You muster up courage to hang out with her. You take all of your guts to lean in for a kiss with her, and it's the best first kiss you've ever had. You can't stop thinking about it, about her. It replays over and over in your mind, and you get this feeling in your body that you've never experienced before. In your arms, hands, legs, stomach...heart. It's not normal for you for a girl to make you feel so out of your element. Usually your the catch. Able to forget about the girl right after you get your nut, but not this one. This one treats you differently. Where did she even come from, honestly?

For days after your first kiss you were confident she'd be on you like white on rice. Like they usually are. Calling you, texting you, "needing" to see you again. But not her. Wasn't it as amazing for her as it was for you? "Get it together, man!" is all you tell yourself for weeks, when you can't stop thinking about her. And then you give in and hit her up again. She sounds so breezy and beautiful on the phone you can't understand how she's holding it together so much better than you.

After months of it being just you two day in and day out, she finally asks you the big question. She uses the L word. The one your allergic to and too scared to even think about. Your first thought is "yes, of course I do", and it comes lightening quick. But that freaks you out. So you hesitate, but give an answer that's honest but not too honest. She didn't like your answer and you can tell it saddened her. Damn it, you messed up. She pulls back from you and that kills you. You don't understand why you can't just be upfront with her and completely blunt. You know that you want her to know that you're in love with her and have been probably since the first conversation you had with her. She's the most beautiful woman you've laid eyes on. Yeah you've seen some fine women, but something about all those other woman turned you off. But not her. Everything about her is right. Everything about her makes you feel giddy like a child and horny like a cat in heat. Her voice, her laugh, her eyes, her lips, her nose, that she thinks is too big but you find adorable. Her hair, man oh man, her hair. And don't even get started on her body. She's insecure about so much of it but you can't understand how, because it's magnificent. She has the type of figure that makes you want to look at her when she does any and everything. She has a walk that's confident and beautiful. She can make anything look good, and does on a daily basis.

Eventually, you caught onto the fact that she isn't the type of woman that will wait for you to grow up and be vulnerable for her. She wants to be with a man that is willing to do what you won't. That fuels a type of jealousy you didn't know was in you. A couple of times she tried to move on, but you wouldn't let that fly. You had to intimidate a couple of guys, and lie to a few more. You aren't proud of it, but you knew you couldn't lose her. And then, she gets away. She confessed her love but you couldn't put your pride to the side for this amazing love that has become your life. To her, she doesn't matter to you, so she went to someone that cared. It crushed you. You couldn't show it cause you knew you messed up bad. Even one "I told you so" would've made you lose it. Every single song that had to do with love reminded you of her. It got so bad you even talked to your mom about her. Trying to figure out what to do. You hope that she'll come back one day, and if she does, you vow to not let her slip through your fingers again. And then, after what seemed like a millenium, it happens.

The day that you thought would never come. She's a free agent, and by God, she's still got a thing for you. You have no idea how, because you know you messed up big time, but then you settle on, because she's amazing that's how. And she's your soul mate so that other douche bag would never make her happy the way you can. You guys get back to talking and after all of this time, she still can read you like a book. She still makes you nervous. She still gives you a type of happiness that is unmatched. So what do you do?

While you guys were apart you got yourself into a pretty serious entanglement. You sort of gave up on love and just let life handle you since she left, so now you're in a bit of a pickle. But she's free now, so what do you do?

You know that you still mess up here and there, but you also know three strikes and you're out. And you're on your second one, so what do you do? She won't deal with being mistreated. She knows she deserves queen treatment, and that's what you want to give her. You're afraid you can't change, but does that matter when your life is on the line? And then she opens up a window for you. You can't lie to yourself, you saw it coming. It seemed strange, and kind of all of a sudden, like how you guys met, but there were definitely signs.

She still makes you feel the way she always has. And did she get more beautiful? Is that even possible? This entanglement you're in is starting to look very 'neither here nor there', and you know that you would drive to the ends of the Earth or wrestle a bear for a ticket back to paradise. You know what you want. You even know how to get it. You have to figure out if you're ballsy enough. And by God, you just might be.

So, what are you going to do?

[machidielontheway]

my biggest "what would fix you right now" is sleep schedule. i love sleeping, i love being in my bed, love the feeling of blorbo rotating while comfy in my pillow. i don't mind doing the nightly routine : pee time, brushing teeth [altho this is a recent change !], filling water bottle.

what i don't like and don't manage to do is the Break : stopping the enjoyment - or the avid, compulsory search for enjoyment - and actually closing my laptop. Closing the laptop is cutting up the connection and the safety, comfort of it. connection is : i am not alone. there is people there and i can hear them, listen to them, my room is filled with the sound of people living. i am not lonely. safety is : i am finding joy and am entertained - i am not wasting my life. i do not think of things i yearn to do but lack the energy and courage for. i am fulfilled.

Closing the door and getting out of my own laid spell and having to face reality again is very hard. I do not like it and i avoid it for as long as i can sometimes, even if i am tired and would love to be sleeping. (the reality is : sometimes i am lonely and unfulfilled ; the reality is i haven't been sleeping enough for years to have the emotional energy enough to be able to make concrete steps to change this)

i could say a lot more because this subject branches out back to itself but let's just keep what was the original goal.

i wanted to speak about it to the therapist i saw for the first time a week ago, because as of now sleep is Obstacle n°1 to be resolved in my life. but i didn't really connect with her, and it was a first session so a bit hard to go directly into one specific subject. However i spoke about it to a friend the next day, and she told me how she does it and we did a little brainstorming / our discussion was such to me.

one thing i discovered about myself in the last year is that i have very little perseverance, and if there is - or if i see something as such - an obstacle i will mostly not do the thing blocked by the obstacle. The ideal solution for this is : if you can't make yourself go past the obstacle, either 1) remove the obstacle or 2) change your course. When i was in my last flat the bathroom was some way away from my room and it was old and i didn't like it. I had a hard time brushing my teeth at night and mostly never did it. a temporary solution became "i go to pee super often, let's just brush my teeth each time with water for a few seconds" and that worked quite a bit. the obstacle was going to a place i didn't like with little reward ; the solution was do the thing when you're already in there, when you didn't have a problem to go because you actually wanted to". The problem literally disappeared when i moved flats and 1) had the bathroom directly against my room again and 2) i like the bathroom and don't feel uncomfortable spending time in it. It's a great things to know this kind of things about you, because it's easier to see how to go about solving a problem.

So with my friend as we spoke about it and it finally took a shape, i thought : clearly knowing and agreeing with all those things about "capitalism doesn't give you time so you spite it with a fucked up sleep schedule to get time for you" is not helping you : it's true but you can't change that rn. But the shape of "i don't like when i close the laptop and suddenly i'm back in real life with all my doubts and feelings", that i can manage. i can make the Break less of a break. With my friend i planned two things : 1) my laptop does not go in to the bedroom, and 2) i will put on sound on my phone until i shut off the lights (i dislike going on internet on my phone so no loophole here).

It did work in parts, which is actually great. I DID feel frustrated about not having the laptop, like a real feeling of "something missing / something not in its place", but it was not big enough that i couldn't go through it, which means that i can acclimate myself to it in time ; and it was enough that i didn't feel the break too keenly. Once i was done with my nightly ablutions, i kept listening to the video (music is Not Enough so i listen to Defunctland Fastpass vid) and felt myself falling asleep after ten minutes, which is also good : it's not enough to keep me awake through my tiredness the way i can power through for hours with the laptop (yes i have f.lux), and it's easier to stop and put down because my phone doesn't represent a Door to me the way my laptop does.

Now the thing to work on is that i need to actually do this where i do get in my room at an interesting hour and not just at two am, or it makes me as sleepy but less comfortable. So while a part of a solution is present the big boss is still there : the drive and motivation to do the first step which is "now we will begin". i once thought 'when i will have my new fancy phone where i can put on more than one alarm clock, i'll put some in the evening to create Doors for me to come back to reality and make a choice - i can stay where i am, or i can decide to go to bed". This increase the chance that i manage to go to bed earlier, instead of being kept in the waters of the spell until i see the clock hitting the magic hour where somehow i will accept going to sleep (which in these days is 1:30 AM). However i did NOT put on those alarms even though i've had my new fancy phone since january. which is another mystery to think about : what makes me 'not want' to put them on ? what do i fear ? i was excited about it once, what has changed ? is there another way i can make 'coming back to it' doors that would not be from alarm clock ?

I do like having my struggles put in this form because 1) i like feeling like i'm taking concrete steps toward something, because for so so so long i've been Waiting. besides the "fight or flight" reaction there is the freeze and i'm very good at it. and action is what makes you brain calm down from Fight or Flight. 2) i love analysis (recent discovery through work) ! it's like a treasure map with little adventures you have to follow until you find the treasure. But this also means knowing / searching for how things works, so you can understand why they're not working and find a satisfactory solution or a workaround.

anyway. yeah.