#the surprise of it. the recalibration it demands
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albenyx · 3 months ago
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Romance with the Alchemist.
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pairing: albedo x reader
warning: not proofread, rough draft, grammatical erroes (i think), wrote this like a year before and continued it on the spot so it's going to be a bit confusing but anw idc i js need to delete these drafts mehn HWIEHDJWJAH.
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It began with a cup of tea.
Not yours—his. Albedo had brewed it, left it on the table, and forgotten about it amidst a string of calculations. You passed by, noticed the cup, and without a word, picked it up, warmed it again over the flame, and set it beside him with the gentlest clink.
That was the first data point. He didn’t write it down, but it stayed. He told himself it was curiosity at first.
You behaved unlike the others who visited Dragonspine. You didn’t press him with questions, didn’t ask for favors or boast about surviving the cold. You were…quiet, in your own way. Attentive without demanding. Present without pulling.
A quiet variable that returned, again and again. He found himself measuring time in your visits. Not in hours or days, but in the way the cave brightened when your boots left shallow prints by the door.
Noted. Unspoken.
Albedo’s affection bloomed not like fire, but like frost—slow, creeping, unnoticed until everything beneath was touched by it. He began adding a second chair beside his. “In case Timaeus visits,” he said. But he never offered it to Timaeus. Only to you.
He stored a second blanket in the corner—“for emergencies.” You used it once. After that, it was always folded neatly at arm’s reach from your favorite spot. These weren’t declarations. These were constants. Quiet insertions into his environment that proved your presence was not only expected, but accounted for.
The acceptance came not with a realization, but with a recalibration. One night, after you left with a soft wave and a promise to return “next week, maybe,” he found his mind drifting. Not to your face.
But to your voice, saying “next week.”
To your hand brushing his wrist as you passed something he needed.
To the warmth of your scarf still left behind on the hook.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, without a word, he hung it next to his coat.
It was in the way he started pacing when your return was delayed. The way his brush hovered above the page, unsure whether to draw the tree outside… or the way he could see your breath on the cold air as you looked at something from the distance.
He never called this feeling to be something possibly like romance or affection, he does not believe he could feel such emotions.
But he stopped testing it. Stopped resisting the instinct to brew tea for two. To write notes in the margin for you to find. To reach for the scarf you gave him even when the cold didn’t bite.
One evening, you fell asleep near the campfire in his lab, book in hand, cheek resting against your arm. The silence was soft, comforting.
Albedo didn’t move you. He sat, watching the snow beyond the entrance, the curl of your fingers against the page. And for the first time, he allowed himself to speak aloud���not to wake you, not to be heard, but simply to let it exist:
“Stay as long as you’d like.”
It was not an invitation.
Not a request.
But it was a hypothesis proven true, quietly, patiently: In a world of shifting truths and elusive formulas, you had become the one constant he never needed to solve—only preserve.
To be honest, the snow never bothered Albedo.
Most avoided Dragonspine unless they had no choice, but not him—and not you, either, much to his quiet surprise the first time you trudged through the thick frost just to bring him a scarf. It was hand-knitted, a little uneven in stitching, dyed a blue that didn’t quite match his usual palette. You apologized for it, babbling that you weren’t sure he’d like it, but—
He took it from your hands, wore it immediately, and didn’t say a word. But he wore it again. And again. Every time you visited. You never noticed the way his gloved hand would linger over the fabric when you left. He made sure of that.
Albedo didn’t love like others did.
There were no grand proclamations. No impulsive touches or clumsy declarations. He didn’t stumble over his feelings or turn crimson at your smile. Instead, he observed you—like an unsolvable equation that he didn’t want to solve too fast.
He remembered the way you liked your tea: a dash of honey, not sugar. So when you visited the lab, a steaming cup always waited near the heat lamp. He noted the books you skimmed in the library, then borrowed them in secret, reading ahead so you could “coincidentally” discuss them together.
He never said the words. But he showed them in ways he knew how—through routines, through precision, through the silence between thoughts where your name lingered like an echo.
One afternoon, you arrived while snowflakes danced lazily outside, clinging to your cloak. “You’re not cold?” you asked, setting down a wrapped lunch you made for the both of you.
“I’m adjusted to this climate,” he answered without looking up, yet he slid a warmer chair closer to the heater for you. “But you should be careful. I noticed your gloves are worn. I’ve… made you a pair.”
You blinked. “You made them?” He nodded. “Woven from wool. Reinforced with wind crystal shards. A minor alchemical enhancement for warmth retention.”
You laughed softly, slipping them on. “They’re perfect.” He turned away too quickly. “I’m glad.” He never said the three words. He didn’t need to. The way he watched you with steady, unwavering eyes—the way he noticed what even you didn’t—said it all.
It wasn’t until much later, when you found an old sketchbook half-buried under his pile of notes, that you truly saw it. Pages and pages of you. Not exact portraits, but impressions—the curve of your hand holding tea, the softness in your gaze when you looked at snow falling outside his window, the tilt of your head when you read aloud.
Each drawing carried a different kind of tenderness. And at the corner of one, written in his delicate script: “Hypothesis: In the presence of [Name], the concept of home shifts. It is no longer a place, but a person.”
When it came to everyone and their thoughts regarding the both of you, Lisa knew first. Of course she did.
You visited the library one afternoon looking for a book Albedo had once mentioned in passing—Floral Properties of Subzero Climates, Vol. II. You didn’t ask for it by name. You simply described the way his voice softened when he last spoke of it.
Lisa smiled, handed it over without a word, and watched you leave with a knowing hum. “That boy…” she murmured. “Head over heels in his own way.
Kaeya noticed when he caught Albedo adjusting his gloves one evening at the tavern. “You’re headed back to Dragonspine, aren’t you?” Kaeya asked. “Say hello to our favorite snow visitor for me.”
Albedo blinked once, the way he did when caught off-guard. “You mean Timaeus?” Kaeya chuckled. “Sure. Timaeus.” But Albedo didn’t argue. He just quietly picked up the satchel with two thermoses inside—one with his usual tea, the other with yours.
He wouldn’t call it affection. But he made sure the one labeled with your initials was sealed better, warmer.
Sucrose found one of your hairpins tucked into the corner of Albedo’s desk. She reached for it absentmindedly, only for Albedo to stop her gently. “That’s not… for use,” he said.
“Oh.” She blinked. “It’s the traveler’s, right?” Albedo didn’t answer. He just took it and placed it into the locked drawer where he kept his most fragile samples. Not because he wanted to hide it—but because things that mattered should be protected.
You never talked about what it meant. When you arrived, you simply sat beside him. Sometimes you read. Sometimes he painted. Sometimes you both just existed in quiet parallel.
But small things kept building up.
The sketchbook left open where he knew you’d peek.
The comment you’d drop about something he made—just enough to make him pause, the corners of his lips curling slightly.
Once, you brought lunch and forgot utensils. Without hesitation, Albedo offered his own.
Two hours later, he was still touching the spot where your fingers had grazed his.
Amber visited one time and caught the two of you mid-conversation—or rather, mid-silence. You were both just sitting, sipping tea, watching the snow fall outside. Nothing romantic, at first glance.
But then Albedo leaned closer, brushing a stray snowflake from your shoulder without breaking eye contact. You didn’t flinch. You smiled, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Amber blinked. “Wait,” she whispered under her breath. “Are they…already dating?”
You weren’t.
Neither of you said anything.
But everyone could see it and they had bet on it. In the way Albedo set aside a space for you in every part of his world. In the way your laugh softened his features in a way no potion or pigment ever could. Still, the words were never spoken.
Not when he adjusted your scarf before you left.
Not when you left him your gloves by mistake and found them cleaned and folded neatly in your bag the next morning.
Not even when he handed you a notebook one day—filled with formulas, sketches, pressed flowers, and on the last page: “Certain variables defy classification. I’ve stopped trying to define what you are to me. I’ve decided instead…to keep you.” There was no name on it. But you knew.
And when you returned the next day, you didn’t say anything either. Just sat beside him like always, eyes shining a little brighter.
And he, ever subtle, simply handed you your cup.
Still warm. Still waiting.
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kokomyass · 3 months ago
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jealousy, jealousy...
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whilst on a walk in skyhaven you encounter an old friend....little do you know your boyfriend Caleb was...unsettled by the meeting...
Skyhaven was beautiful tonight—but his eyes never left you.
The door shuts with a soft whisper behind you. You slip off your jacket, hang it carefully by the entrance, and turn—Caleb is still standing near the threshold, unmoving, a dark expression resting upon his defined features.
He’s not angry. You know that. But there’s a stillness in him now, like a system running a quiet background scan.
You step closer, your voice gentle. “You’ve been quiet since the walk.”
He doesn’t look away. “You seemed happy to see him.”
The words aren’t sharp. No accusation, no edge. Just truth, measured and precise, the way Caleb always is. But beneath them is something quieter. Something warmer. Human.
You smile softly, stepping close enough to reach for his hands. “I was surprised, that’s all. It’s been years.”
“He knew how to make you laugh,” he says, gaze dropping to where your fingers now brush against his.
“He used to,” you murmur, gently interlacing your fingers with his. “That laugh doesn’t mean the same thing anymore.”
Caleb’s eyes meet yours, the faintest shift of expression softening the line of his mouth. He doesn't move yet, but you can feel it—the tension easing, his walls lowering, one by one.
“You’re not usually like this,” you tease, voice low, affectionate. “Are you... recalibrating?”
That earns a quiet huff of breath—almost a laugh. “I don’t enjoy being reminded that there are parts of your past I wasn’t there for.”
You take another step forward until there’s nothing but air and heat between you. “You’re here now,” you say, thumb stroking the back of his hand. “And that matters more to me than anything that came before.”
He studies you for a moment longer, eyes darker now, focused. His hand comes up to rest lightly on your waist, as if grounding himself with the feel of you. Not possessive. Just present.
“I know,” he says softly. “I just... I don’t want anyone else thinking they still have a place.”
“They don’t,” you assure him, voice quiet but certain.
That’s when he moves.
It’s not urgent. There’s no fire behind it. Just a slow, deliberate press of his body to yours, a warmth that starts in his fingertips and spreads as his hand curves along your back, pulling you gently closer. His forehead rests against yours.
You close your eyes, breathing him in—clean and steady, tinged with something soft and smoky that’s uniquely Caleb. You lift your chin slightly, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that’s all reassurance. All connection.
His touch deepens just a little, his other hand sliding up your spine with perfect control, and your breath hitches—not from surprise, but from how good it feels to be held like this. Safe. Desired.
“I don’t need to compete,” Caleb murmurs against your mouth, his tone low, thoughtful. “But I do need to be clear.”
You smile, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Then be clear, Colonel.”
His response is another kiss—slower this time, longer. More intentional. When he finally pulls back, his gaze lingers on your lips before lifting to your eyes again, steady and unshakable.
“You’re mine, Y/N..” he says—not a demand, but a vow. Then quieter, just for you: “And I’ll never stop choosing you.”
You press your forehead to his, heart full. “Then we’re on the same page.”
icl guys I didn't even know what I was doing when I wrote this...
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em-trashcan · 2 months ago
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Get preened, idiot
TFP Starscream x reader, nsfw/valveplug
🔞 minors DNI or I'll haunt your dreams forever 🔞
This is inspired by @transformers-spike‘s post about Starscream preening. I started playing around with the idea and things got out of hand, this is the first ever fanfic I actually finish! Keep that in mind and hope you enjoy!
Starscream grips your hips as he leans over, his frame caging over you. Claws carefully dragging over skin soft enough not to cut, but still leaving red marks. Through his sharp thrusts he encourages you to be vocal.
"Tell me how nicely I'm treating you, filling you…"
You reply with a breathy groan, but that's clearly not enough. He shifts, a claw grabbing your throat and pulling it back and up until your eyes meet his optics upside down.
"Beg for it"
"What..?" You ask, still dazed. Still not submitting to him, so he stops his movements completely.
"Did I stutter?" Tone aggravated, why can't you follow such a simple demand?
"Staaar..." You whine, pushing back into him and seeking friction, but he holds you back. You give up quickly, knowing not to fight him.
"Ugh fine, please”
"Can't hear you..." He whispers into your ear, making the hairs rise at your nape.
"Star! Please fuck me!"
"Lord Starscream" he purrs, beginning to move again very slowly.
"Oh for fucks sake- ugh fine, lord Starscream, please have mercy and fuck my brains out!"
He purrs loudly, muttering "acceptable" into your ear, then immediately snaps his hips. Hard. The force knocks you back into the covers and before you can react he's covering your body with his, fucking hard and fast and maneuvering your body to hit just right. The fucker knows what he's doing, you think for a second as your thoughts slip, pleasure winding tight and you're vaguely aware of your own pleading voice through the wet, lewd noises.
 Release catches you like an avalanche, and Starscream grunts gravelly as he keeps pumping, pushing you down on the soft covers until he's filling you, biting down roughly on your shoulder and you're tightening on him again, shivering and aware of him being wider, tighter. Almost painful.
And he finally stills. Setting you down on the bed and following your body closely, still inside. And you realize he's stuck. Can't pull out.
"what... what's this?" You ask still breathless.
"Knot. youre mine" he growls, still winded up, hold firm on your hips.
"If this like omegaverse…”
"Like what?!" He squawks.
"Nevermind. So you mean we're stuck, right?"
"yes...technically"
“Technically meaning you can pull out? why not do it, does it hurt?” You question, knowing he's likely to refuse, needing to have his way.
 “You wouldn't reject me, right sweetspark?” His voice drops to a velvety threat. Defensive.
“hm not really, no.” You shrug, playing it down to deescalate him, you really don't want to find out if forcing the knot out hurts. “But how long are we going to be like this?”
“Long enough, my mate.” he settles, appeased.
Then he does something that surprises you, and  begins to thread his talons in your hair, tracing the soft fibers and disentangling them with surprising care. The soft pull and shift of the locks sending little shivers down your body. The usually innocent pleasure mingling with the fullness of his spike still buried inside. You shiver against him.
 "what's this, grooming me?"
"preening" he corrects far too quickly. "cant have a proper mate without adequate care, specially post interface."
"so is this like a post-sex massage ritual?" at this his vents hitch in his own version of a derisive snort.
"had you been cybertronian, a seeker, i would spread out your panels, realign transformation lines, recalibrate your sensitive wings..." his voice trails as his long fingers trace your shoulder blades delicately, following invisible patterns. it feels good, your body unconsciously relaxing against the mess of blankets under you.
"and i would expect the same in turn" he pulls you closer, properly lying down on his side with you, but not letting go of his hold on your hips. not yet. You half turn your torso to meet his optics, those glowing a dull, serene scarlet.
"do you?" You ask, which earns a rasped hum as question, making you clarify
"do you still want me to? to preen you?”
His servos stop at that. not sure if this would be possible, but wanting it. the same impulsive desire that brought him this far as to claim a human as mate. of course he wants more. wants everything. always been greedy.
"yes" his voice oddly breathy, uttered along a deep vent that blows clouds of hot air all around.
his knot conveniently slips out, allowing you to turn back to him, planting a chaste kiss on his red facial fin and reaching to his back. He helps you maneuver so he's the one lying on his front. wings unconsciously trembling at the tips. eager.
Your touch is careful, timid at first, when both your hands land at the base that connect the wings to his body.
"careful!" he barks, startling you. it takes a second and a red side eye before you approach, this time with the tip of a finger at a transformation line. and this time he rumbles his approval, optics dimming as you follow the lines to their end, then back again.
"how's this?" You ask, uncertain.
"acceptable" he grumbles, but the slight fanning out of his wings suggests more approval. 
You continue following the pattern along the wings, one at a time and alternating. until you reach a tip and *feel* the way he jerks, unable to choke down a whine. You think to tease him with a 'am I this good?' comment, but stop yourself. he's behaving so well being vulnerable and you should reward that. so instead you lean your face closer, blowing a soft breath that fogs the metal, before planting a kiss right at the wing tip.
"wha-ah!" he lets out a cross between a shriek and a moan, then goes awfully quiet.
"you ok star?" You try not to let your amusement show
"huh, yes, perfectly! i think that's enough preening for now." He all but blabbers out, righting himself.
he turns on his side, hiding the way his wings keep trembling despite his holding back. his optics now glowing brighter with renewed charge.
'let's recharge, shall we?" He murmurs, avoiding your gaze.
You know you should clean up first, but that would make it a win for him. so instead you crawl back to his arms and nestle in the crook of his neck.
Can't wait for the next time, another chance to slowly break his walls.
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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 5 months ago
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In The Mood [Frankie x reader]
My Frankie Morales masterlist
Read on Ao3
Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x you (gn!reader, no body descriptions)
Tags: boyfriend!Frankie, kissing, allusions to sex, just frankie being a wonderful attentive man who's perfect in every way, reader is lactose intolerant.
Summary: You're tired and stressed. Frankie is just the best kind of boyfriend. That's the plot.
Words: 1,302
A/N: Was suddenly struck with a want to write. @rambling-in-purple told me what to write. Thanks, babe.
Show some love: reblog and/or comment on a fic you like!
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You see Frankie’s truck on the parking lot of your apartment building as you pull in. You don’t live together yet, but you have a key to his place, and he has one to yours, and it’s clear that he’s used it now. You sigh a little as you turn off the engine. This week isn’t over yet, but it’s been A Lot, and you’re tired and not really capable of giving much tonight. Not that Frankie demands anything, really: he’s easy-going and seems to get off on doing stuff for you, but just having someone in the same space as you after a day like this feels a little much. Even if it’s Frankie.
I’m not in the mood for sex tonight, that’s for damn sure, you think to yourself as you enter the building, and you immediately regret your unfair thoughts. Frankie has never pressured you or shown up just for sex.
You unlock the door and step in.
”Frankie?”
He shows up from the kitchen with a warm smile on his face, and comes to take your jacket from you, hanging it up before kissing you softly on the lips.
”Hi, sweetheart.”
”Hi. What are you doing here?”
His hand lingers on your cheek, thumb brushing over your lips, like he’s sealing in his kiss.
”I thought I’d make you dinner. Or get takeout, what do you think?”
 What do you think? You don’t think at all, because you had been dreading having to cook when you got home, and now that that problem seems to have solved itself, you have to take a minute to recalibrate your stressed brain.
”Um, yeah, that would be great,” you manage with a smile as you take off your shoes, and leave your purse on the hallway table.
”Didn’t want to use whatever you have in your kitchen without your permission, though, otherwise I would’ve surprised you with dinner ready when you got home,” he tells you as he leads you to the living-room, and plops you down on the couch.
”I don’t think I have that much in the fridge,” you confess with a wry smile. Grocery shopping has been a little too much to ask for this week, you’ll deal with that in the weekend.
”I noticed.” Frankie shoots you a wry smile. ”I can make bolognese, if you’d like that?”
You hum, a little overwhelmed as you rub your forehead.
”You okay?” Frankie sits down next to you and puts his hand on your knee. ”Headache?”
”No, I... I’m sorry, but how did you even get the idea to come over?”
”Because you had a tough day,” he shrugs. ”Was I not supposed to?”
”How did you know I had a tough day?” you stare at him. Frankie looks a little confused, and leans back against the backrest as he regards you.
”Because you texted me?”
”I didn’t tell you I had a shit day?”
”No but... I guess I just read that into it?”
You take a moment to process his words. Frankie shrugs, a little self-conscious as you stare him down in disbelief.
”I don’t know, your tone was different and you were brief. And you said last week that this week is going to be hectic – ”
”You remembered that?” you cut him off rudely. ”How, Frankie?”
”Because I’m a normal, functioning adult without a brain tumour?” Now he’s mirroring your disbelief as he stares back at you.
”That is not normal.”
”Is too.”
”Is not.”
He sits upright and takes your hand.
”It’s normal to me, baby.”
Lifting your hand to his lips, he kisses it gently, twice, before placing it down on your lap. You start to smile, and lower your eyes.
”I’m sorry. I guess... I haven’t had anyone like that in my life before. Someone who actually pays attention to what I say.”
”That’s awful, I’m sorry.”
”Don’t be. I’m with one now.”
You raise your gaze to meet his soft, brown eyes, and you suddenly feel a little calmer.
”Thank you,” you tell him quietly. ”I really appreciate you being here.”
”Of course,” he smiles, and gathers you into his arms, squeezing you softly against his chest. ”Anytime.”
You hug him tightly and breathe a sigh of relief, inhale the scent of him before sighing again. Frankie kisses your head and hums when you slowly stroke your hand over his lower back.
Your stomach’s growling ruins the moment, and you chuckle.
”I’m quite hungry.”
”Okay, so what will it be? I can cook, or we can get takeout. My treat.”
”You know, I’m a little too tired to decide,” you confess. ”Anything goes, and feel free to go nuts with anything you can find in the kitchen if you decide to cook. Can I jump in the shower, and you’ll just surprise me?”
”That sounds perfect.”
Frankie gets up and offers you his hand to help you up as well, placing one last kiss on your lips before releasing you to go to the bathroom.
As you standing underneath the spray of water and let it wash away the stress of the day, your mind wanders to all those times Frankie has noticed what you say and do.
That time he scanned the selection of an ice-cream stand, then asked you if you wanted to go someplace else or if you had your pills with you, because they didn’t have any lactose-free or non-dairy alternatives.
That time he asked if you wanted to leave a party despite you having said nothing about being tired, but your smile was growing more and more strained by the minute.
Or every time he brings you flowers, and they’re never supermarket roses but always something a little different from the flowershop, because you once said that while you don’t not like roses, there is a world of flowers out there, and one should always support one’s local florists.
Frankie opted for home delivery of your favorite meal from your favorite Thai restaurant. You don’t even ask how he remembered what your favorite on the menu is, or how he knows what level of spiciness you want it. It’s delicious, as always, and you relax even more as you share the meal with Frankie, talking and laughing. You’re clean and wearing your lounge clothes, and by the time dinner is finished, you’re full as well. Frankie makes you a cup of herbal tea, and you end up on the couch, starting up Netflix but barely watching as you doze off against Frankie’s shoulder. Right before nine, he gets up to go to the bathroom, and as he comes out and returns to the living-room, he stops right before the couch.
”Hey,” he tells you softly, ”I think it’s getting to be bedtime for you.”
”I think so too,” you yawn, getting on your feet and stretching. ”You staying the night?”
He hesitates.
”Better not. You need your sleep, I don’t want to be in the way.”
Your slide your arms around his waist and look him in the eye.
”You, Francisco Morales, are the least in the way man I know.”
He chuckles. ”I don’t think that was a correct sentence.”
”Oh, shut up.” You lean in to kiss him, just a gentle peck, then another.
”I’d like for you to stay,” you mumble. ”You might even get lucky if you do.”
”Is that so...?” His arms go around you, and you are enveloped in his warmth.
”Uh-huh...”
”If you’re sure you’re up to it.”
”No marathons, though.”
”I can be quick.” His smile shines through the kiss, and you giggle.
”I have an hour in me, I’m sure.”
Look at you, you think to yourself as you take Frankie by the hand and walk before him to the bedroom. In the mood despite it all.
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skvaderarts · 3 months ago
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Dinner and Diartibes
Chapter 4: Dinner and Diatribes
Summary: Word Count 19k! A03 Link
Jayce returns from the ruined future to fulfill his promise to Viktor, only to find him inconspicuously missing and his commune in shambles. As it turns out, his disappearance is the work of none other than Ambessa, twink hunter extraordinaire and connoisseur of only the finest local cuisine. And what cuisine could be more exquisite than the Herald of Zaun himself?
She isn't in the business of asking nicely, but perhaps a bribe is in order? After all, why ask when the stakes are this high, and you hold all the cards? A spicy meal just means more flavor, right? Jayce better hurry and find Viktor before she decides to have a taste and find out...
Chapter 3 Summary: Will Vi and Jayce beat the Book Street allegations?! Stay tuned for more info at 7!
Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (5) Masterlist 4/5
Chapter 4: Dinner and Diatribes
Note: So, did you guys enjoy the surprise Bookstreet reunion in the last chapter?! Because I sure did! Strap in and enjoy the feast. I think I cooked!
The otherworldly sound of Arcane-infused flesh making contact with polished marble echoed throughout the hallway.
The guard had come to the room not long after Viktor had awoken, informing him that his presence was required by their General as soon as he was stable enough to be escorted to her parlor. A process that was completed exigently, almost as soon as the demand was issued.
As soon as he’d attempted to stand, he’d felt the effects of prolonged sleep overtake his body. Despite the newfound rigidity of his Hextech-augmented body, he felt clumsy and ungraceful on his feet, like a curtain sailing in a summer breeze. As though he were slanting ever so slightly to one side in spite of the fact that some infallible subsection of his subconscious was resolutely in its certainty that he was not.
It was… unpleasant.
In truth, the newly awakened man felt off in his entirety. Even by the high standards of what he would personally consider abnormal, this was very strange, indeed. He felt lethargic and unsteady, maladapted to whatever venture lay in store for him. But he had no choice. A captive was not in a position to refuse the hospitality of their host.
Sluggish, he’d wavered back and forth for a time before fully recalibrating, taking in his environment with all the disorientation of a newly born fawn. The suspicion that Dr. Reveck might have given him a dose of something to facilitate such a diminished state crossed his mind, but he shelved it for the time being. Despite his numerous grievances with the alchemist, he would not resort to blaming him for acts of wrongdoing that he himself was not yet sure that he’d ever experienced.
As soon as he’d taken a single step in the direction of the guard, a large, startlingly firm hand had taken hold of his left arm, anchoring him in place. Flashes of memories of battle and hardship long since passed overtook him as he was granted a glimpse into the man’s mind, a privilege he had been denied the first time they’d met back at the commune due to his semi-conscious state. Being held in the man’s grasp was not uncomfortable so much as it was startling. He was a behemoth, towering over him like a mountain. And he simply didn’t budge, unwavering in his stance and intent as he wordlessly directed Viktor to face him.
The man produced something from behind himself and bent slightly to secure it to him. Viktor didn’t resist, though he did watch. Curious.
Viktor felt a tremor pass through his body as some part of him fell dormant, slipping away with no input from his will. It was a disquieting sensation, as sudden and unexpected as it was unwelcome. He could only vaguely recall what nausea felt like, but he likened the experience to something of this sort. When he looked down at the palace where the man had just tied something around his waist, he was met with the sight of a string of faintly glowing stones that radiated a pale green light. He didn’t need to ask. Some part of him instantly understood their purpose. He didn’t recognize the runes engraved into them in their entirety, but the effect the object seemed to have on him was self-explanatory.
As they’d made their way down the corridor to their scheduled meeting, his head had begun to swim. A fog settled over him as he continued forward in a haze, his vision swimming in vibrant hues of intermixed, unrelated colors. He reached out to the edges of his subconscious, grasping for a connection and finding nothing. His connection to the Arcane, to the rest of the commune, had been interrupted. He still felt its weight in the back of his mind, but it offered no input. It seemed that so long as he wore the charm he’d been tethered to, his newfound Arcane gifts were off the table.
He felt something within him thrum in displeasure at the prospect, but it was not his will that did so. The purple glow of his own power ebbed away somewhat, becoming less vibrant as they continued towards the door at the end of the hallway flanked by two Noxian guards. He was willing to make a few assumptions as to their intended destination.
The guards stepped forward to open either side of the door for them, granting them entry into the space beyond. A large, open room with a hexagonal table in its center flanked on six sides by matching chairs and a set of ornate floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear. And in front of those windows stood a figure with their back to them, arms clasped behind their back as they seemed to await their arrival. Completely at ease. Unperturbed by the prospect as they held dominion over their territory.
They came to a stop a few yards from her, the towering man who had escorted him there stepping back and taking his place against a far wall, leaving Viktor and his unnamed host to speak directly to one another. Dr. Reveck had opted to stay behind in the room where he’d woken up. It was just him and the General.
"So they call you their Herald." She spoke with clarity and refinement, her tone even and firm but not demanding as she continued to look out of the window, her eyes presumably on the city below. "And what exactly are you heralding?"
It was an easy question for him to answer. He did so with little if any thought. "Prosperity. Unity. Civility. All things that seem to have been forsaken as of late."
She craned her neck slightly to one side but did not turn to fully look at him. Not initially. But a moment later, she pivoted, effortlessly turning to stand in front of him with all the grace a trained warrior should possess.
Enigmatic and formidable, the tall woman struck an imposing figure. She dominated the space she occupied, exuding an air of authority and might. At the slightest expression of her whims, she could have him removed from her presence; that much was clear as day. And yet, there was an element of intrigue to her that was undeniable. He didn’t feel threatened so much as he felt intimidated and minuscule. Powerless in the face of an unnatural degree of self-assurance.
Her presence was a stone wall, and he would have to find a way to topple it.
She stalked around him in broad, purposeful steps, unhurriedly and methodical in a way not dissimilar to a large predator stalking its intended meal. He stood still, waiting diligently. And yet, her face wore no malice. It was neutral, as calm as flowing water. The only thing that betrayed her was a glimmer of fascination in her eyes, primal, raw, and unsatiated. 
It was clear that she liked what she saw as she took in the sight of him, his lithe frame and distinct facial features. The way his naturally balayaged hair framed his cheekbones flatteringly, features accented by the subtle gold of his Hexcorized flesh. It was the first time she’d had a good look at his face, and she seemed to study it, her eyes lingering on his for just a tad longer than what would typically be considered socially acceptable as she came to stand in front of him again, her eyes sweeping up and down him as they devoured him wordlessly. There was no hint that she cared about violating social faux pas of that variety whatsoever.
There was an unmistakable appetite to her. She was insatiable.
Something about his appearance seemed to hold her fascination. Perhaps the mesmerizing swirling of his hue-shifting pupils or the obvious point of intrigue that was his unnaturally colored flesh. Regardless, she stood at ease in front of him, her soaring height now more noticeable than ever.
"You wish to help the people of the Undercity?" It was a question, one delivered in a tone that almost sounded amused, if not still respectful. She wasn’t mocking him so much as she was implying that she believed the endeavor to be a marked waste of time and effort. As though it were a thing beyond salvaging.
Viktor nodded, his stance resolute. "That is all that I have ever wanted."
She visibly considered his words. Something about the slight quirk in the corner of her mouth and the subtle narrowing of her eyes indicated that she found something compelling about what he’d just said. Was it that she shared his stance? Or simply that she found the sound of his voice enjoyable? Neither were considerations that he entertained; the subtle nuance of her behavior was largely lost on him as he remained silent, unwilling to speak out of turn this early in their interaction. To overstep.
"A quaint prospect for one with such potential." She retorted as though she were almost bored by the concept. "You are limited by your sentimentality."
Viktor gave her a stern look, unphased by the notion that he was wasting his potential. He knew full well what many of the denizens of Runeterra thought of the potential that magic facilitated. He was not ignorant to the history of the Rune Wars and the danger that such power could prove to be in more erroneous hands. But he would not succumb to such pointless savagery. It would gain him nothing. "I am content with that. There are enough agents of change that wield cruelty as their weapon."
Ambessa almost seemed impressed with his resolve, if not the slightest bit amused by the notion. She brought her fingertips together in front of herself, not clasping her hands as she allowed her elbows to rest at her sides, her hands extended out in front of her ever so slightly. Thinking. Considering something that wasn’t worth verbalizing.
"The doctor was correct. You are naive. Inexperienced. Ignorant to the true cruelties that the world can exact upon you." Despite the nature of the statement, it came off more as an observation than it did an insult. There was no disgust or vexation in her tone. Instead, in its place was the certainty that she knew herself to be correct. Something he disagreed with.
Viktor averted his gaze without moving, clasping his hands together as he allowed them to rest at his waistline. She studied the motion intently with the deliberate countenance of a woman well acquainted with the concept of what a mage could do with the wave of a hand. There was no fear or apprehension, but she did seem wary. Cautious, but unaffected. Prudent.
He could not muster the energy to be annoyed at such a statement. Of course an agent of war would find the concept of selflessness to be utterly beneath contempt. She knew only violence and contempt for it was all she had ever been shown, an estimation he could make from observation and history. From what he knew of the Noxians, they were a people who ruled by might and force. Ruthlessly cutthroat and cunning, but rarely for the betterment of their society as a whole. Conquerors for conquering's sake. There's was a world that encouraged personal glory, bold actions that often reflected on families as a whole. His altruistic, communal ways were something she was more than likely wholly disinterested in. But he had seen suffering. Known it firsthand from the moment he had first taken breath. It was what granted him clarity of purpose, anchoring his undying will. Sustaining his desire to do only the most good that he could. The stalwart desire to see none suffer, laboring under fear as he once had. He was not ignorant of the way the world was. He was resentful of its passive cruelty. It’s indifference. And he endeavored to stand in opposition to it.
They could not be more ideologically opposed if they tried.
"I have experienced enough of them firsthand to know that I would never willingly inflict them upon another." He stated with a polite firmness. He did not desire to convince her or to infuriate her, but he would make his stance on such matters unwaveringly clear. This was his line in the sand.
Ambessa regarded him silently, her eyes taking in the whole of him as she considered something. Yes. Her new associate has said something about him not always being a mage, hadn’t he? A fascinating story brimming with intrigue and fraught personal experiences, no doubt. But now was not the time to indulge in such curiosities. But as she studied him, something caught her eye. It was subtle, but for a moment, something in his eyes changed. Was that recognition she saw?
"Something on your mind?" She inquired. Something in his eyes made it hard to lie to her, so he looked away again, briefly entertaining the notion of not elaborating and simply dismissing the idea wholesale. Instead, Viktor took a quiet breath, a strange sense of unease settling over him. It was strange. It had been a long while since he’d felt that sensation with such intensity. It took him by surprise, upending his train of thought momentarily as he attempted to grapple with the sudden burst of emotion. It felt foreign to him to feel such a thing after so long. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but it was a revelation all the same.
And then he remembered. The Hexcore.
Viktor looked down at the magic-dampening device wrapped around his waist. It seemed to be interfering with the Hexcore’s influence. It wasn’t entirely gone, but it was noticeably weaker. Enough to let some of the sharper edges poke through as he tugged at the leash, testing the hold it had on him. How much slack would it give him? Just how far could he explore? Just to remember what it was like to… feel something again. Fully.
"You... look like someone I used to know." It was the truth. The revelation hit him like a bolt from the blue, as sudden as it was unexpected. And what an uncanny likeness it was. Sure, the General was older, but the family resemblance was undeniable. He simply hadn’t realized it until she’d made a specific expression. Until he’d seen her from the right angle.
She gave him an unusual look, almost as though he’d said something she didn’t approve of. "I do, do I?"
It was strange. He didn’t know precisely what he’d said that had changed the tone of the conversation so suddenly, but it had, nonetheless. Was it a sore subject? He was flying blind, after all. With no insight into the inner workings of her mind, he could only guess. In truth, he wasn’t sure he wanted a broader look into her psyche. As fascinating as it would no doubt be, something told him that some things were better left buried.
"Are you by any chance acquainted with counselor Medarda, General?" It was a simple, unassuming question. But the reaction it provoked was anything but. Ambessa tilted her head slightly to one side, a glimmer of something dark and undoubtedly dangerous in her eyes as she took two steps and closed the distance between the two of them. She stood close enough to touch him if she wished, hovering just far enough into the range of his personal space to make the average person very uncomfortable. Even with his dampened senses, Viktor couldn’t ignore her shadow as she loomed over him like the specter of some dark spirit, malevolent and eerily calm. He could not feel her breath despite the undeniable closeness.
"Choose your next words carefully." She spoke with a calm, cool edge to her voice that made him almost reluctant to meet her gaze. But he did so regardless, shifting his eyes to meet hers as she stared down at him, her eyes narrow and uninviting. It was a sore subject, indeed. Duly noted.
"We once worked together. Though we did not see eye to eye on key matters, I was... disheartened to hear the circumstances of her disappearance. I hope that she is returned to you safely.” He held her gaze, his eyes shifting wildly through a kaleidoscope of hues of brown and grey as he tried to formulate the ideal sequence of words with the lowest likelihood of getting him killed. “... You are her mother?”
Ambessa didn’t humor him with an answer. Instead, she leaned in closer, her face no more than a foot from his own as her tone lowered noticeably. She did not whisper. Her voice held an unnerving clarity of purpose.
"How did you learn of this? That she was abducted was not information that was made public." She sounded wholly unamused by the revelation, suspicion evident as she seemed to take mental inventory of the possible ways that such information could have been obtained. Viktor watched her closely, disconcerted. Perhaps it was best to be transparent with her. He had nothing to hide, even if he had every reason to. Not that he knew of.
"I am acquainted with counselor Salo."
She gave him an incredulous look, almost as though she didn’t believe him. It was subtle but evident. And then she leaned back, clearly considering his words as she folded her arms in front of herself, her expression slight.
"Strange. I did extensive investigations into anyone even vaguely associated with him. You do not ring a bell." It was a revelation that did not surprise him. Salo was well-known within the upper echelons of Piltover. Why would he keep any record of so much as speaking to someone from Zaun? They hadn’t shared more than a glance or a cordial nod in passing as they went about their work over the years, if that much. There was no reason that Viktor would’ve appeared in any records associated with him.
"I was not of note," Viktor confessed. "We simply worked in the same building once upon a time."
She paused, her expression softening ever so slightly as she seemed to consider accepting the validity of that statement. "A clerk of some kind?"
"An assistant to the dean of the academy nearly a decade ago." It was the truth. Perhaps not the most relevant information, but still. A valid response to her question, if nothing less.
"And I imagine that was not what you were doing there if he recently sought you out." Viktor couldn’t be sure, but she seemed vaguely irked by his evident unwillingness to be forthcoming. Not enough to be concerned about, but just displeased enough to be notable. Her face was unreadable, but there was a certain undefined quality to her body language that gave him the impression that she might be just about done with him. The time for direct answers had arrived. "Be transparent. Why did he seek you out without informing me? I've been wondering where he got off to..."
"He came to me to be healed. As so many others have. To be made whole after weathering such excruciating injuries in the attack." Viktor vividly recalled the day that Salo had arrived at the commune. It had been such a strange thing to behold, a consoler and someone who had known of him from his previous life. From his time before he’d been known as the Herald. When he’d still been Viktor. Been himself. Even if he hadn’t known him at all. Salo had been so surprised to discover that he was the mysterious healer who dwelled in the depths of the Undercity, a place he had once openly scorned and now had no choice but to go to and beg for salvation. How humbling that day must have been, even before his embrace had brought him such undeniable serenity. "He told me he had a better understanding of my previous struggles now. That we had both been changed by virtue of surviving such a thing. I was surprised, but pain changes you."
Ambessa regarded him silently, something distant in her face as his words sunk in. She seemed to consider something, recalling a memory or experience long since passed. Viktor remained utterly reserved, his mind as guarded as his exterior was vulnerable. It was a thin veneer, nothing more. The posturing of someone who knew better than to show weakness in the face of someone who had spirited him away from his home. Common sense learned by virtue of a harsh childhood. He knew nothing of the machinations of her mind, but he couldn’t help but wonder if something he’d just said had resonated with her. If they both knew something of pain.
"Yes, I see. That it does." It was an answer she was willing to accept, but one she would undoubtedly double-check when the opportunity presented itself. Salo had joined the Herald’s commune, then? She’d seen stranger things from more desperate people, but even still. "Intriguing. I do not recall seeing you there that day."
He remembered the day of the explosion. Sitting beside Jayce in the counsel room, as a unanimous verdict of independence was reached. The warm smile on his closest companion’s face as he basked in a well-deserved sense of pride and accomplishment towards their actions and all that they were about to accomplish together. For the good of the Undercity. And then, a bright blue light. Stillness. The feeling of his teeth clenching as his fingers clawed something hard and cold beneath him, desperate to gain purchase against the cold metal at his back in the wake of such tremendous agony. Voices calling his name from a lightless void. And a gasp of breath as he awoke, remade anew by forces so beyond his control or desire. Nothing had been the same since. Not since the Hexxcore. Not since the day he’d lost everything there was to lose. 
Since he’d lost…
His mind drifted back to the matter at hand. So much of the color had faded from his eyes as he’d recalled that event that it had become exceedingly noticeable to Ambessa. She considered his reaction to the question, her eyes as astute and calculating as his had been still and lifeless for a moment there. What conclusion she reached, if any, was not something he could guess at, but being under the unyielding gaze of such an imposing figure didn’t make thinking easier.
"I was not cognizant again until some time after the explosion, so I can offer no better explanation, I am afraid."
She leaned in again, studying him closely as though she were double-checking something. Her eyes swept up and down his body with a sense of brevity before she stood up straight again and broke eye contact with him, her arms wrapped around her. Tapping her fingers against her side. Deep in thought but wordless, her eyes distant but prudent. She’d settled on something, and he could only fathom what she had in mind.
"I will call upon you later this evening. Make yourself comfortable. This has been an enlightening conversation." She sounded eager, invigorated, and exhilarated by the prospect of a follow-up to their discussion, even if only in her own distinctly conservative way. Ambessa did not seem to be a woman of obvious extremes. She was restrained and subtle, but had equally subtle tells that an exceptionally keen eye could pick up on. 
The prospect of speaking to her a second didn’t seem entirely abhorrent to him. In fact, there’s was the most titillating and engaging conversation he’d had in recent memory. It was rare that someone said or did anything that stimulated his mind anymore, something he sorely missed. He felt socially and intellectually neglected in a way. In spite of the number of people wandering about on any given day at the commune, he just felt… lonely. Isolated. Starved for comradery and affection, unable to form meaningful relationships in the corporeal realm since his transformation. If the circumstances were different, he dared say that he might actually find speaking to her intriguing, despite their vastly different goals, beliefs, and principles. Viktor respected intelligence and knowledge in all of its forms, even the ones he didn’t personally care for. Perspective was valuable. His was a boundless mind, always excited at the prospect of new knowledge. Or, at least it had been, once upon a time. But the fact remained that she had kidnapped him. That was not a hurdle that one easily moved past.
The imposing Noxian man who had escorted him there joined Viktor again, seizing him by the arm and leading him back towards the door. He stumbled slightly, his balance not what it had once been. He was without his crutch, an unfortunate side effect of the circumstances of his abduction. Warped and hardly recognizable as it now was, it still steadied his faltering balance admirably. That was all he required of it anymore.
When the towering man looked back to double-check what had transpired, Ambessa moved her hand ever so slightly, signaling something to him that Viktor did not understand until a moment later. The man nodded in response and released his grip on his arm, allowing the appendage to return to a neutral resting position. He then headed to the door, the implication that Viktor was to follow him exceedingly obvious. It seemed that he was being given the leeway to walk without being dragged. An admittedly small improvement, but an improvement all the same. 
He turned to nod to Ambessa cordially before turning and vacating the room. It served him in no way to enrage his captor, and he would not go out of his way to ingratiate himself towards her, but it was admittedly appreciated. He did not doubt that she had the capacity to be dangerous. He would not suck up to her, but he would remain pleasantly neutral, a skill he was well versed in from his time working under the professor in Piltover. To tolerate the intolerable was a virtue he was proficient in, despite his distaste for the entire concept. This was a gift, a small measure of control that had been returned to him. A measure of good will in the form of a slightly loosened leash that could easily be recoiled and reclaimed should he grow disobedient. It placed him firmly in her grasp, but he would play chase with the wolf if need be. So be it.
The door closed as they vacated the room, once again leaving Ambessa alone with her thoughts. And she had several.
She vaguely recalled seeing Jayce run off with someone during the attack. He’d been panicked, distraught to the point of distraction, his body radiating panic and uncontrollable grief as he languished in the false reality that whoever he’d been trying to resuscitate could still be saved. She hadn’t seen the victim’s face, but she had seen the way he’d removed his shirt and attempted life-saving measures before hoisting them into his arms and sprinting from the room without so much as a by your leave.
It was settled, then. She needed to speak to Dr. Reveck. 
She needed to keep the charming little mage on her good side.
Crossing the Bridge of Progress had been a no-go.
Although more lax than they’d ever been, the Noxian partolls were still nothing to be scoffed at. The soaring fences that surrounded the checkpoints and the guards that manned them were nothing if not oppressive. Nothing slipped past them. And they were abundant.
Vi was surely on their list of people of interest, given her previous involvement with Caitlyn, and if Jayce’s current appearance was taken into account, they would be daft not to stop him. Dragging the warped Mercury Hammer along with him was probably grounds enough to have him shot on sight just out of an abundance of caution. They had no concept as to what it was capable of, and he did not possess the deminor or continence of a mentally sound individual.
Instead, the pair diverted from the main path before they reached the checkpoints, taking their chances with crossing the waterway in a rowboat instead. A gamble which, astoundingly, paid off. The sun would be setting in around two hours, and as such, visibility at the water’s edge on the shaded side of the bridge was poor at best. Finding the boat had been the hardest part.
They managed to slip past the guards undetected, even if it had been an uncomfortably close call. An Enforcer doing the rounds with a dim lantern had nearly caught sight of them in the fading sun, but the pair had managed to scurry into cover behind a stack of crates just in time. The guard, not taking notice of the boat that had been improperly moored, continued his patrols, allowing them an opening to scamper away in the direction he’d just come from, keen to escape the scene before the man returned.
Making their way further into the city, they utilized disused back roads and shadow-filled alleyways to mask their presence, gaining them passage into the depths of Piltover. It went without saying that Vi was intimately familiar with every inch of the Undercity. She knew every hidden path and ventilation shaft the trenches had to offer. But she knew nothing of Piltover aside from its rooftops. Rooftops that they could not navigate for self-elucidative reasons.
And that was where Jayce came in.
If the lanes of Zaun were her stomping grounds, then the gardens and streets of Piltover were his. He’d grown up there, after all.
Jayce stuck his head out to check for danger at the end of the alleyway they occupied, finding nothing. Relieved, he settled back against the wall of the building nearest to him, letting the hammer slide from his slack grip. He needed a moment. His shoulders and back ached from the strain the hammer continued to put on them, the Sisiphean task dragging him lower and lower. Helping to row the boat across the canal hadn’t helped matters, either, not that he was willing to complain. This wasn’t the time for that.
Vi double-checked that the coast was clear, peering out into the street beyond. She took note of the unbroken silence. For all their other deadly traits, the concept of stealth was not something that existed in the Noxian playbook. Their armor clanked, and their weapons clattered. You could hear them from a mile away, parading around in monotonous marching formations that had to be as tedious and tiresome to upkeep as they were draining to continue.
Turning her attention to Jayce, she sighed. She swore he looked worse every time her eyes had the misfortune of settling over him. He glanced over at her, clearly tired but pressing onward regardless. This was not the time to lose momentum.
“So Vi…” He started, almost reluctantly. This wasn’t a good time to bring something like this up, but he wasn’t sure when they would get another chance, and the reality of it had been eating away at him. “You're not going to try to defend your sister's actions?”
“Nope.” The answer was as instantaneous as it was effortless. She didn’t need to think about where she stood on the matter. That legwork had been done long ago.
“Okay.” Jayce fell silent again. He had nothing further to ask, and she had nothing further to tell him. The conversation was dead in the water for now.
Taking the opportunity to dash across into the adjoining alleyway and make their way to the other end of the block, the pair hurried forward, their destination now in sight. Jayce had taken point as soon as they’d reached the side of the bridge he was most familiar with, stating that they needed to make a stop before they continued. And so, Vi continued to flank him, guarding him at the rear, concentrating intensely on making sure that nothing ambushed them. With the trademark sense of determination that was so ingrained in her spirit. She’d almost asked him to fill her in on the particulars, but then opted not to. Vi wasn’t in the habit of blindly following anyone for any reason, but when it came to Jayce, she figured that she would find out sooner rather than later anyhow. Or they would screw up somehow. The odds were pretty even when it came to their team-ups.
Before long, the pair made it to a park at the end of a city block. It was dark, save for a few street lanterns that outlined the perimeter of the block that encompassed the greenspace, the area nothing more than a few meandering paths interlaced with manicured flora. The gate creaked in a fashion that made Jayce grit his teeth as he heaved it open just enough for them to slip inside. He debated leaving it open for all of five seconds before shutting it again. It would look suspect to any passersby if it was left ajar. These were private grounds, after all. And in a neighborhood of Piltover this affluent, that would not go unnoticed. There were too many additional Enforcers.
They made their way to the center of the park, an area shrouded by overhanging branches and cascading trails of overhead foliage courtesy of a grand white weeping willow. Jayce slumped over on a bench beneath it, his head hanging back over the backrest as his chest heaved. He was exhausted. And Vi was fine with that as she stood in front of him.
She had a few questions of her own.
“Don't care that she saved you earlier? Or is that why you asked?” She asked bluntly, nothing but weariness present in her voice. She wouldn’t say her sister’s name. That assumidly wasn’t a wise life choice. “Pretty sure I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
Jayce groaned sincerely as though the effort that it took for him to sit up straight was a Herculean feat. His eyes met hers, dim and plagued by undefinable emotions. With a grunt, he attempted to work the muscle in his sore shoulder out a bit, wincing at the discomfort inherent in his own touch. It hadn’t been right since that day he’d been thrashed at the memorial. Perhaps it was a loss cause by this point. “I don't care much about what happens to me at all at this point. So not really.”
The honesty and indifference of the statement made her scoff, but not mockingly. She wasn’t jaded enough to believe that Jayce owed Jinx forgiveness. She wasn’t even sure where she stood with her at times, and they were sisters. There was love, yes, but also pain. So very much of it. No, the remark was borne more from the relatability of such a statement than anything else. She flopped down next to him on the bench, spreading her legs out in front of her in a wide open stance and putting her arms along either side of the back of the bench as she sighed. It was a beautiful evening. The stars were almost out.
“Didn't think so.” She spoke softly, understanding even if she longed for things to be different. This was just another version of what had transpired between her and Cait after her mother’s murder all over again. And once again, her sister had pulled the trigger. The same trigger, in fact. Depravity had a sense of comedic timing, it seemed. A pitiless, spiteful one.  “... I got the impression you were with that counselor lady. The pretty one.”
Jayce gave her a bizarre look as though he were trying and failing to recall when he’d divulged that information to her. Vi shook her head, her facial expression telling him everything he needed to know. It appeared that he wasn’t quite as subtle in that regard as he’d initially believed. Not entirely surprising. It was a wonder that no one else on the council had objected.
“I am. I think. It's complicated.”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind, raising an eyebrow. “I can see that.”
Jayce rolled his shoulders again, unsure as to what Vi wanted him to say. In the midst of everything that had happened recently, he’d forgotten about Mel entirely. What had she gotten up to in his absence? “I've been missing for a while. I don't know how long. I... She didn't have to wait around for me.”
It was the truth, at least from his perspective. At some point, he could only hope that Mel had mourned him and gone on to live her own life. He didn’t want her to linger stagnantly in the shadow of their former relationship. He had no notion of where they stood, and none of the energy needed to ponder it.
“Would you have waited around for her?” Vi asked nonchalantly as she continued to watch the sky. She wasn’t used to having such a clear view of the stars. Not from the Undercity.
Jayce didn’t respond immediately, mulling over the implications it raised in his mind. Did it reflect poorly on him that he had to think about it? “Yeah.”
“You're something else, pretty boy,” Vi said with a chuckle as she stood, stretching. She raised her arms over her head and clasped her hands together, leaning back and forth as she pulled. Her back cracked satisfyingly, and she allowed her arms to fall again. Jayce looked at her as though he’d never felt more envious of another person in his entire life. His back was an unmitigated disaster, a shadow of what it had once been.
Jayce used the handle of the Mercury Hammer to haul himself to his feet, taking in their surroundings. They’d come to this specific park for a reason. It had to be around here somewhere…
“And you're going to need a new nickname for me.” He proclaimed dryly as he started to walk towards one of the flower beds. In the center stood a statue of one of the city's oldest benefactors. He couldn’t be bothered to read the name this time. He wasn’t in the mood for another history lesson.
“Yeah. On a more serious note, what the hell happened to you? You look worse than I feel, and I just spent months getting my skill smashed in doing underground cage fights for drinking money.” Vi said as she shook her head, following him off the beaten path. “What the hell happened to your leg? To all of you? You look like you're going to fall over and die.”
“Like I said, it's complicated.” Jayce knew she would ask eventually, but now just wasn’t the time. He wasn’t in the right headspace to discuss that. The elephant in the room was vociferous and burdensome, and he just wanted it to pipe down so that he could think.
“Yeah, well, "complicated" still has a ways to walk, and I've got some questions.” Vi was unquestionably unamused by how dismissive he was.
“Vi, how about you don't ask them, and I attempt to forget how much I hate your sister for everything she's done. Deal?" As soon as he finished speaking he halted dead in his tracks, raising his hand to his face and rubbing it, groaning and huffing heavily, his frustration with himself evident. Despite the fact that he had his back to her, he held up his free hand to halt her, gesturing in a manner that implied he wanted her to disregard his previous statement. "I... Don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry."
She considered being angry with him, but the haunted, tumultuous quality in his voice held such unmistakable pain that it only intensified her intrigue and concern. He flinched as though something had just physically struck him. He was just so genuinely, truly, broken. It was harrowing. “Whatever you went through, it changed you. You... Gonna be alright?”
Jayce didn’t answer the question. Instead, he fiddled with something behind the back plate that held the statue’s inscription, a resounding click filling the air as it slid partially out of the way to reveal what appeared to be a set of spiral stairs that led into an access tunnel of some sort. And it wasn’t the least bit quiet. If they were going to enter it, they needed to now.
“And where does this go?” Vi folded her arms across her chest, a glimmer of astonishment and curiosity in her eyes as she peered down into the dark hole. It seemed that Piltover had some secret passages of its own.
For just an instant, something akin to a smirk ghosted across his face. It was the closest he’d been to smiling in a long time. Oh, what a story he had for her. “Follow me, and you’ll find out.”
The sun hung low on the horizon, the sun lingering over the distant waters of the harbor. Enchanting shades of reds and oranges danced amongst a smattering of deep purple and a dusting of the wispy clouds, the vague silhouette of starlight sprinkled over the fringes of the vast cosmos above them. 
Dusk had settled over Piltover; night was soon to arrive. But morning would surely follow. Another day.
Things had settled down at headquarters within the last few hours. Most residents of Piltover had taken to the habit of staying in their homes since the raids in Zaun and culminated in one especially colorful attack against the capital city. No harm had been done, but the clean-up efforts had taken the better part of a month, and despite the lack of physical damage done, the display had shaken the spirits of the citizens.
So easy to rile. So quick to buckle. The average Piltoveran would never survive a day in Noxus, fickle and delicate as they were. Ambessa couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the state of things. Someone should fix things around here. There was no excitement. No ambition. Just a glittering garden filled with worker ants all too content to uphold the status quo, laboring under the false impression that their posturing and peacocking meant something meaningful. To hide behind the prestige of a house instead of fighting for one. Fighting for something, anything.
Respect was due to the Undercity in that regard. Lawless and innovative, no one there was content with anything. They had a vigour, a righteous fury that could not be quenched. It was almost admirable how unbreakable they seemed in the face of adversity, especially when compared to the soft-spined idealists of the capitol. Of the former counsel. They reminded her more of Noxus than Piltover could ever hope to.
Ambessa retreated to a lounging sofa adjacent to a sizable open-air terrace accessible via a trio of archways that let in ample air. There was nothing to see out there that she hadn’t seen a thousand times by now. Her interests were substantially more unconventional, dwelling within the halls of the portion of the building she’d taken up temporary residence in. If he had any sense of respect, he would arrive shortly. And despite their clear differences of opinion on matters pertaining to life as a whole, she didn’t get the impression that he was foolish. Tiringly idealistic, perhaps, but not unintelligent by any means. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ambessa got the impression that he would make a fine tactician if not for how abhorrent the nature of war seemed to be to him. Pitty. She didn’t require one, but she would’ve entertained the notion.
As if summoned by her growing sense of dissatisfaction towards his conspicuous absence, the door opened a moment later, and Rictus stepped inside, the doors closing behind him as he stepped out of her direct line of sight, revealing that they did, indeed, have company. 
The little Herald had returned. And he looked positively radiant.
In lieu of anything better to do with his time, he’d taken advantage of the facilities provided to freshen up. The necessity of such an action was debatable, but it had succeeded in eating up idle time and making his hair noticeably more presentable. Nothing about the style had changed, but it was less frayed at the edges, fewer stray hairs evident after the bout of pillow head he’d contracted from his prolonged sleep. The blanket had been laundered and rewrapped in a style that left a greater portion of his back exposed while covering the majority of the front in a sort of mock crisscross wrap more akin to a robe than the wrap he’d worn earlier. A subtle change, but one that seemed deliberate. Perhaps he wanted to appear more casual? Create the illusion that he’d changed clothes when it was readily apparent that doing so wasn’t an option available to him. Or maybe in the hope of putting some sort of physical barrier between them?
It was a flattering look, at any rate.
“I was starting to think you’d rejected my hospitality.” She said as she reclined on the chase lounge, one leg outstretched in front of her while the other was propped up, her foot resting on the stone floor below. Her tone was as casual and unbothered as she appeared, but the implication that he’d nearly slighted her was evident. Still, he’d not kept her waiting for an inappropriately long time, so there was nothing of note to hem and haw about. It was down to her own restlessness more than anything else. Their previous conversation had been invigorating, stimulating, even. She was eager to resume it.
Viktor came to stand a few feet in front of her, outside of her grasp but close enough to engage in polite, if not somewhat forced, conversation.
She gestured for him to sit with a wave of her hand. There was enough space at the end of the lounge for them to maintain a comfortable distance between the two of them. The request gave him pause, his brow furrowing ever so slightly at the prospect. It was a subtle thing, easily missed, but his apprehension was present all the same. Sitting made him vulnerable, easily manipulated and overtaken. And despite his placid appearance, he had not allowed himself to fully relax. To do so under the present circumstances, no matter how disarming his host attempted to be, would be utterly ludicrous. And he was no fool.
He would stand for now. Delay the request by virtue of busying himself with something acceptable.
Two large-leaved ferns flanked the back of the lounge, proving something of a natural barrier between the seating area and the rest of the room. It was unnecessary at present. The room they occupied now was larger than the one they’d met in earlier that day, and the only guard to speak of was Ambessa’s right-hand man, lingering in the back corner near the door, largely out of sight to facilitate as much privacy as possible without physically vacating the premises.
Viktor ran his fingers along the stem of the plant. It was languishing a bit. A rotation was in order and a thorough watering. Perhaps a bit less shade. 
The temptation to tamper with it was evident and ever-present, but he could do nothing about it at present. As much as he longed to reinvigorate it, he still wore the shackle. Its location had changed slightly, tucked below his wrap rather than above it this time, but it was still there. Out of sight, but not out of mind. Much like the Arcane powers they held at bay.
He continued to trace the edges of one of the larger leafs, careful not to apply too much pressure. He could only feel the scantest traces of its texture, but he could still behold the way it reacted to his touch.
“The passage of time is something I have grown accustomed to ignoring.” He spoke in a measured tone, more himself than he’d been when they’d first met. It was strange. In the time that he’d worn the shackle, he’d felt… different. It had been gradual, but the remnants of his once-forsaken emotions had slowly dripped back into place, not entirely renewed by any means, but noticeably more present. 
Despite the vibrancy of his newfound eyesight, he’d observed over time that everything felt gray. More subdued and unexciting. Too placid for his tastes. Like rose-tinted glasses with far too much saturation that eventually gave their wearer a headache. And then, as the influence of the Hexcore diminished, a bit of that color had returned. Trickling back in. Greens became more natural, blues less saturated; yellows richer and less blinding. It had been a subtle thing, but the change had occurred even still. And he’d conclude that it was a welcome change. A strange middle ground between feeling nothing and feeling everything. Perhaps too much of it all. The adjustment was certainly something. But overwhelming as it was, it brought with it a strange clarity. A semblance of something he couldn’t place. A touch of perspective that he’d been missing.
“Yes, I imagine schedules are not a pressing matter out there,” Ambessa said idly as an unseen attendant entered the room through the door, delivering a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses on a sterling tray. They retreated as exigently as they’d come, slipping back through the doors with a silent nod. Ambessa picked up the bottle and regarded it with a half pleased, half intrigued look before uncorking it with her teeth and spitting the cork out, her lips somehow never touching the bottle. “Amongst nature.”
Viktor regarded her with a bewildered look, not commenting further. Had she actually just done that?
Beside her rested a low table. A spread of several types of indulgences decidedly displayed upon it. Nuts, berries, grapes, cheeses, and an assortment of breads and dishes containing chasers. Fruits native to Noxus. Still perfectly ripe despite the distance. Something that would be nearly impossible to procure for the average Piltoveran. No matter to her.
She sat the bottle down on the tray, pouring a single glass that she then held up to her face and swished, inhaling the aroma before partaking. It was hard to discern from her expression whether she enjoyed the taste, but she did indulge in a second sip. And as she finished, she gestured for him to join her at her side again, her eyes insistent if not questioning.
Realizing that she would not continue to entertain his loitering, he reluctantly joined her, smoothing the loose fabric that covered him as he sat with both of his legs over the edge of the front of the lounge, facing away from her. She then gestured towards the table, making it clear that it wasn’t purely for decoration. He allowed one hand to rest in his lap while the other procured a strange-looking fruit from the table. A semi-soft thing mottled with strange scale-like extrusions in a pale pink. It had heft despite its size. A variety of cactus fruit, if he was willing to make a guess.
She took note of the way his fingers curled around it. Dainty little things attached to small, unsubstantial wrists unfit to wield a weapon of any heft. They suited him.
He was a lithe little thing unaccustomed to battle. To the brutality of combat. And so he had strengthened his intellect instead, honeling the resources and strengths available to him until they were a keen weapon sharper than any blade. He lacked physicality and was far from imposing, but still not delicate. Not soft. Enigmatic. Logical. It was impressive. Admirable. Appreciable to her Noxian sensibilities.
He had guile. Another fox, perhaps? 
Perhaps there was still a wolf in him yet. One yet to be coaxed from its den.
"There must be some mistake. Some misunderstanding that we've come to," he said simply, placing the fruit back on the pile. He had no desire to partake of it. Simply to admire its uniqueness.
Ambessa finished another sip of wine, her glass half the volume it had originally been. Though it had been far from full to start with. She grasped it as she rolled her shoulders, loosening them. "Oh yes. Certainly. But there has been no mistake. I see something that I want, and I find out what must be done to obtain it. I am accustomed to doing what must be done by whatever means necessary, and you are something I want."
Viktor fell silent again, pondering the implications of the statement. He was not an object to be acquired, but it seemed that she held a contrasting opinion. What value he held to a warlord was unknown to him, but what he did know was that he was unwilling to be viewed as a possession to be owned. A displeased sentiment that he wore upon his features, however subtle it might have been. And something she picked up on immediately, vaguely amused by it as she continued.
"Your commune, did you call it? Is that something of value to you?"
Viktor regarded her intensely as something in his eyes shifted, an uneasy feeling settling into the space where his stomach had once been. Where it might still be. He had no way of being sure. His bottom lip folded in slightly as he held eye contact with Ambessa, her meaning evident. "... Yes..."
"Then you understand the desire to protect it? And by proxy, you understand my determination." She added, her tone filled with conviction and assurance. Viktor hesitated before nodding. He was towing a thin line, and he did not wish to ponder what intentions lay to either side of it.
He would not interrupt. He wanted her to continue. Spirits made for loose lips. With any luck, she would be no exception.
"At first, I solely sought a means of securing my investment. Controlling the beast but then you... You may yet prove to be a more valuable asset to me."
Ah. So this was about Vander. But how did she conclude that he could communicate with the man inside of the monster enough to placate it? Or did she possess some alternate means of subduing it that he knew nothing of? Dr. Reveck was inventive and ingenious in all the most troubling ways. A true icon of the ingenuity that lay at the beating heart of Zaun. For better or for worse. Typically the latter, in his experience.
"Tell me, do you have a name?" There was something to the manner with which she asked the question. A softness, her tone just a bit lower. A tinge of what appeared to be genuine interest in her voice as her eyes rose and fell over his figure, lingering on the subtle contours of his form. She reached over to top off the glass of wine, this time pouting an equal amount into the second glass as she regarded him almost affectionately. For a moment, he wondered if he was misreading her demeanor.
"Viktor... " He knew that he should’ve expected the question sooner or later, and yet… When was the last time that someone had asked him that? He couldn’t remember. And that revelation gave him pause.
Ambessa mouthed the word to herself silently, savoring it. She nodded, seemingly in approval. “Ambessa Medarda. General of the Noxian army.”
He nodded cordially. As things stood, he had nothing of note to add to the conversation, but he would not disrespect her or the authority inherent in her rank by completely ignoring her. It would gain him nothing. And yet he couldn’t help but lament the nature of the interaction. His tolerance for small talk had always been sorely lacking. Not from a lack of capability to maintain it, but from a genuine lack of interest in indulging in it. It wasn’t something that came naturally to him. Conversation and discussion had never been his forte unless it was with…
She extended the second glass to him with her outstretched hand, requesting that he share it with her. He received the glass, bringing it close enough that he could gaze into the top of it. His reflection was murky, muddled by the hue of the libation inside. But the scent was delightful enough. He knew nothing of lavish alcohols; he bore no intrigue towards them, nor did he possess the palate required to fully appreciate them. He never had. Their mystique was simply lost on him. But he imagined that it was a premium varietal. The bottle seemed well-decorated. From what little he knew of the Medardas, they were possessed of great wealth, and typically, that came with lavish tastes. Why would it be any different?
"Do you drink wine, Viktor? The spirits here aren't like the ones back in Noxis. Not dry. A taste of my home for a taste of yours?" Ambessa held the glass up to toast him, a gesture that he requited almost sheepishly. The glasses clinked against one another, ringing as they vibrated in reaction to the gesture. She made quick work of the drink before setting the remainder aside for the time being, taking silent note of the fact that while he’d raised the glass to his face as though he’d planned to humor her, he’d stopped just shy of doing so.
"I have. On occasion. But not since... " He looked down at his hands, wiggling the digits on his free hand almost absently as he recalled what they’d once looked like. He then averted his gaze, his eyes distant. No longer keen to do so, a sensation he couldn’t fathom taking root and bringing him nothing but ambiguity and anxiety. "I am unsure as to how it might affect me."
Despite the remark, his curiosity got the better of him, and he took a diminutive, tentative sip before setting the glass aside. It was an act born less of a desire to placate her and more from genuine curiosity, but she seemed to approve regardless.
"A change of topic, then. Tell me… are you acquainted with a Mr. Talis?"
He snapped his head around to look at her fully as though she’d just slapped him. Viktor’s pupils dilated noticeably, the silvery brown ever present within them warming to a bright, vibrant brown, a reaction that Ambessa seemed to regard with a certain level of fascination. But after a moment, they faded again, unable to maintain the sudden shift. Though they did so longer than they typically did.
The sudden nature of the question made a well of discomfort pool within him. It was clear from her knowing tone alone that she already knew the answer to her inquiry. Where was she going with this?
"Jayce... I am. For more years than I care to acknowledge." The tangle of memories that the statement unleashed within him was almost enough to incapacitate him. It seemed that with every subsequent time his mind wandered down memory lane, through the warm, blameless splendor of their shared years together, that the subtle ache within his chest grew more intolerable. He clenched his teeth, worrying at the inside of his bottom lip with his tongue. This was disconcerting. "Rather... I was."
"Things did not end well between the two of you, I take it." Ambessa sounded unsurprised by the divulgence. And yet, there was no indication that she assumed fault on his part. There was a certain familiarity to her tone that caused her to sound wholly unimpressed, almost as though she’d preemptively expected Jayce to have done something wrong.
Viktor exhaled quietly, his eyes drifting away from hers and down towards the floor. The silence of reaction spoke volumes. "They... could've ended better."
She hummed, musing to herself as she persisted. "Surely then you are aware that he is currently missing. Presumed dead? You haven't seen him?"
Lie.
For reasons unknown to him, it was his instantaneous reaction, as instinctual as it was impetuous. Spontaneous. And yet, agreeable. He couldn’t disagree with the temptation of the sentiment in good conscience. Something about this line of questioning filled him with a sense of potent, unknowable dread, one that he refused to abide. It was a primordial sensation, one long since lost to him by the medium of Hexcore’s tampering. And yet, some inkling of it remained. Something Viktor knew that he had to obey despite barely comprehending it.
Viktor made an effort to keep his expression as neutral as possible, parting his lips to speak before pausing momentarily. Formulating the proper response as he failed to meet the growing intensity of Ambessa’s gaze. He understood now. His lips might lie, but his eyes did not.
"He is still missing, from what I understand." It was the truth. A lie through omission, but still factual. Nothing that could be brought to bear against him should the depths of his deception be discovered. But for added insurance, he allowed a brief window of transparency, the veneer shedding momentarily as a glimpse of his grief was made visible. A glimmer of deep sadness shone in his eyes as he purposefully forced himself to recall the ordeal of re-experiencing the moment he’d learned that Jayce had disappeared without a trace. And the bottomless, soul-gouging despair that he’d felt take up residence within him that even the Hexcore had not managed to fully abate when he’d pondered if his companion of so many years had done something rash as a result of his departure. The fear that he’d dealt him a mortal wound. He’d been in such a sorry state when he’d left him there, standing in wounded, broken silence in the place that had once been there's. Fractured. And then Viktor recovered, composing himself. Pushing aside the memory as suddenly as he’d allowed it to flow back. Burying them deep for both their sakes. He could not drown in the depths of his despair. He would not permit himself to grieve, no matter how badly he longed to. No matter the personal toll. He was needed.
… He wished that he’d returned to the lab. That he’d never left Jayce behind. Alone with his self-destructive tendencies.
He would’ve enjoyed the serenity of the commune. I will take him there. Show him the fruits of our labors. He will understand.
Jayce would require someplace quiet to convalesce. What better place than the commune with its gentle breezes and vibrant flowers? The gentle trickle of flowing water in the greenhouse and the hum of energy within the dome. The place he called home that so resembled their crowning achievement. The Hexgates. They could oversee the day-to-day trifles of the commune together. As it always should’ve been. As partners.
Ambessa watched him reel through a litany of undefinable emotions, grief and fondness playing across his face in equal measure as he dared allow a small, almost pained smile to grace his lips. His color-shifting eyes were a thousand miles away. Nostalgia was a more potent intoxicant than any strain of Shimmer could ever hope to be.
"You were fond of him." It was not a question. It was a fact, and she stated it as such. There was no judgement, but perhaps a tinge surprise as she regarded him with feigned suspicion, one of her brows ever so slightly higher than the other. A quirk at the corner of her lip as she beheld the bewildered look on Viktor’s face. He understood precisely what she was implying with that accusation.
"I..." He started to speak but stopped short, suddenly feeling no reason to continue. What was there to deny? It was not something he was ashamed to admit, and it certainly wasn’t a personal revelation. He’d felt that way since the moment that he’d first experienced his unshakable commitment to his dream in the counsel chamber during his trial, so filled with misplaced but well-meaning bravado and exaltation. Passion. What wasn’t there to admire about Jayce Talis? 
Even at his worst, he still meant well. Stalwart and unyielding through any hardship in the pursuit of their dream. His heart was simply too full of love to be any other way. Even when Viktor despised his actions, he understood their roots. Even when that source unnerved him with its intensity. Jayce was the most devoted, hopelessly loyal person he’d ever met. It was one of his most compelling traits. Even if it had damned them both.
"There's no need for deception. I believe I understand the appeal. Hypothetically." Ambessa was clearly amused by the prospect, if not slightly dismissive of the notion altogether. She regarded him intensely, sitting up slightly to look at him closer. Viktor hadn’t noticed until then that she wore a maroon gown, the simple red garment hanging in stark contrast to the militaristic qualities of her former attire. This was loose and casual, almost too casual given the nature of their relationship and the power dynamic at play between them. And then something shifted in her gaze as her eyes darkened. But there was no outrage or suspicion. No displeasure. He didn’t recognize this presentation of emotion at all. "Personally, you suit my preferences admirably, more than he ever could hope to. But I suppose there is no accounting for taste. My daughter's or anyone else's."
Viktor stared at her in stunned silence, the revelation hitting him like a ton of cinderblocks. Surely she was flattering him, attempting to sway his convictions through simple guile. And yet… Her gaze held something truly otherworldly. Incomprehensible to him. Surely he was misreading her language, misconstruing her intentions. He’d never been good at picking up on amorous subtext, after all. But even knowing that, her omission felt far too earnest not to be genuine. Far too transparent and forthcoming to be simple deception. 
She seemed genuinely smitten…
"Were the two of you involved?" She dug, unscrupulous in her inquiry.
Something about the bluntness of the inquiry rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t think before he spoke, some undefinable aspect of his personality rejecting the notion of such a personal question altogether. He stood unhurriedly, trying not to give the impression that he was going to attempt anything brash, but suddenly unwilling to sit close to her any longer. "I fail to see the relevance that has to the matter at hand.”
Instead of fury at his sudden shift in demeanor, he was met with a look of exhilaration and enthusiasm as Ambessa took in the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his brow furrowed so noticeably in reaction to her question. Viktor didn’t seem to notice, but he had tucked his left arm across his chest, under the crook of his elbow as his right arm hung rigidly at his side. Guarded but unwilling to be walked over all the same. Incensed.
In truth, Ambessa found his raw annoyance compelling. So there was a wolf in him after all. He displayed glimmers of it in his demeanor and his refusal to back down despite the threat his adversary could potentially pose to him.
Oh yes, there was a fire in him. A certain dignified strength of character that she could respect, even if she needed him to relent. But first…
"Ah. So you never were. Despite your desires to the contrary.” Ambessa scoffed at the notion, clearly in disbelief. Her conversation companion was as easy to read as an open book, at least in his current state. All intrigue was gone, and in its place was barely composed disdain. It was unexpected, not at all the level of audacity that she’d assumed him capable of. He’d been so accommodating before. So mild-mannered. What more was there to him? “It seems I cannot account for his tastes, either. He must be blind as well as foolish."
Viktor fumed at the assertion, clenching his fingers into a fist until he experienced a momentary bout of clarity and thought better of how the gesture might be received, forcibly straightening them as he gritted his teeth in distaste, the knit of his brow deepening.
"Respectfully, General, you did not need to abduct me if you were seeking an audience with me. Especially if this was to be the topic of conversation."
She gave him a slightly more serious look, her amusement at the outburst gradually petering out. It was time to regain control of the situation. The entertainment value of his offense had just about run its course. 
"What would you prefer the topic of conversation be, hm? I don't normally grant audiences at all. You are here by the grace of a new associate of mine who assures me that you are of more value to me alive…” She stood, looming over him as she watched his expression falter somewhat, the little Herald clearly rethinking the situation that his outrage had put him in. Remembering his position in the current hierarchy. She’d allowed him to become too comfortable, and he’d forgotten that her hospitality had limits. 
Ambessa leaned in her face mere inches from his as she locked eyes with him, intense hunger in her gaze as her eyes fell from his to his lips and back again. “And he makes a very compelling argument."
There was no ambiguity in her tone.
"Hextech, magic... You're just full of surprises, aren't you, little one?"
The access tunnels under the floors of the research wing allowed fresh air and access to vital maintenance measures. Rarely accessed and largely unknown, they would serve their purposes well. There were exposure points; every dozen meters or so, the marble floors were interspersed with golden engravings, ornate, golden grates inlaid into the floor to allow for air circulation. But how often did a patrolling security officer look down?
The duo kept their heads low and their voices lower, keeping an ear to the ground to detect any patrolling guards. From what Jayce could tell, the building was closed to the public. The lights were out and the hallways empty. A disconcerting sight. It seemed that the breaking of the Hextech dream team had taken the entire scientific department with it. Or perhaps the meddling of the Noxians?
Jayce recalled Ambessa trying to recruit him for her own nefarious purposes. At the time, he’d considered it little more than a power play, but now he was glad that he’d been in his right mind and refused. That kind of power in her hands now was unfathomable. “Not that I did much better with it,” he thought to himself. He shook his head. He had spent enough time lingering on his mistakes, chastising himself for every what was and never would be. There was work to do. He could loath his nearsightedness later.
“How’d you know about this back way in? They tell you when you joined the council?” Vi kept her voice low and her eyes straight ahead as she asked, seemingly curious as to how he’d known about the secret entrance. Just from the cramped nature of the space, she got the impression that this wasn’t a space commonly used to traverse the building. It certainly wasn’t going to appear on any fire exit plans.
“They did, but I already knew about it.” Jayce stuck his head out to look back and forth at the T-junction they’d just reached, taking a moment to recall what he’d once been told. He’d only done this once, but the memory was as vivid as ever. “Viktor showed me the night we met. We um… broke in.”
Vi slid into position at his right side, a surprised huff of air blowing from her nose as both of her brows rose and her eyes widened negligibly.
“Oh, did you?” It was evident from the subtle tilt of her head alone that she wanted more details. He’d seemed relatively straight-laced when she’d first met him, if not a bit uncharacteristically in touch with reality for a counselor. And now he was telling her that he’d broken into a highly guarded government building? “Didn’t think you had it in you, pretty boy.”
Jayce huffed softly. That was it. They needed to go to the right, and then to the end of the passage. There would be an access hatch. The pathway to the left led to a maintenance space, and from there, the main throughway. That was the last place they wanted to find themselves. Not when they had a straight, unhindered shot to their intended destination.
“I didn’t. It was… Viktor’s idea.” Even in his fatigued state of hazed, pained irritation, he couldn’t help the tiny smile that crept onto his face as he remembered how they’d ended up here that night. It stayed for but a moment, but it found its way to his eyes all the same. There was a sudden tightness in his chest as he reminisced, the memory replaying in his mind and filling him with nothing but fondness. The way they’d stood together in front of that half-destroyed chalkboard for hours, bouncing ideas off of one another like they’d been doing it their whole lives. How Viktor had gradually but visibly relaxed around him enough to be receptive to a joke or two as they brainstormed. The way Viktor’s honey brown eyes had sparkled like amber under lamplight in the dim light as he’d made confident marks across the board, underlining his hypothesis. Jayce would never forget the sense of awestruck wonder he’d felt when Viktor had solved the equation that had stumped him for so long, Viktor excitedly explaining his theory to him. That night had been… Everything. “All of my research had been confiscated by the council after someone set off an explosion in my apartment during a botched break-in. Viktor um, well, he had a very straightforward approach to getting it back.”
Vi continued to follow him through the tunnel, considering the revelation. And then something occurred to her. A break-in and an explosion at an inventor’s apartment in Piltover… Had that been… There was no way… “Wait… Someone broke into your apartment, and the council took your stuff?”
“Yeah. My research was deemed too dangerous by counselor Heimerdinger after the investigation concluded. That’s actually how I met Viktor.” Keeping the hammer from dragging against the foundation below him in a space that already required him to hunch in order to fit was stretching the limits of his tolerance for pain, but he’d been through worse. Much worse. The conversation wasn’t helping, either, but… At least Vi wasn’t asking about his injuries, and the past was a gentler place. Somewhere he didn’t mind lingering for a bit. The situation could use levity.
Vi nodded. “So he knew about these… whatever these are, and showed you?”
“Maintenance access ventilation ducts,” Jayce confirmed in a tone almost too formal when contrasted against how he presently looked. He almost sounded like his old self again. “He worked for counselor Heimerdinger at the time, so he-”
“Wait, he worked here, and he helped you break in?!” The concept of someone gaining unpermitted entry to their place of employment after hours wasn’t unheard of to her by any means, but this was a step above the average workplace. This was no pawn shop in the Undercity. The labs were an extension of the capitol building. And on that note, how had he even gotten a job there? If there was one thing that Vi had learned in her many years, it was that rich Piltes tended to turn their heads up at Trenchers. And the head of the council had taken a chance on him?
“Yeah, he just took the master keys out of his back pocket, proclaimed that he would help me because he was invested in our shared dream of using Hextech to better the lives of those in need, and that was it.” Jayce’s eyes filled with a slight glimmer of their former light as he continued, the pair turning around the corner. They were almost there… “I was scared out of my mind. Though he’d lost it since we were on the cusp of a full twenty-four hours with no sleep, but he was serious. No hesitation. But that was a lifetime ago…”
“So a guy who you’d just met risked his career to help you break into his boss's office and steal your stuff back?” Vi couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief, her voice still low as she shook her head. That was one of the most insane things she’d heard in a while, at least in a typical sense.
Jayce nodded, unsure what else to say as they reached the bottom of the ladder. She certainly had the details right. He put his weight on it, testing to make sure that nothing had come undone the last time someone had used it. There was every chance that a rung was loose and Professor Heimerdinger simply hadn’t remembered to mention it to him.
“Wow. A real go-getter, hu? Doesn’t do things by halves. Isn’t afraid to take risks.” Vi seemed to approve, if her tone of voice was anything to go by. It was a sentiment that he could only agree with, even if it now haunted him in ways he’d never fathomed possible. Oh Viktor…
“Never. He always pushed. Even to his detriment.” Jayce came to the sudden realization that getting the Mercury Hammer up the ladder was going to be… challenging. “Never got enough sleep. Never ate enough…”
“Huh. He really is from the Undercity, then.” Vi didn’t say it, but she could practically see the gears in his head turning as he contemplated how he was going to heft the unwieldy hunk of distorted metal up the ladder. His brow furrowed as he resigned to the reality that he had no choice. This was going to have to be a two-person job.
“Vi…” He started before being waved off. She pointed to the hatch above him, making it clear that he was to go up first and open it. She would pass it up to him from below. The prospect of him lifting it up that high was out of the question.
Jayce looked at her as though he was going to say something and then shook his head, thinking better of it. Whatever doubt or hesitation he’d held vacated him immediately. She was the best person for the job. He held no doubt that she could lift the hammer. She’d done it before, and she was stronger now than ever.
Lifting it was still miserable as hell, though.
Jayce sighed heavily as though it pained him to let go of the object in his hands and held it out to her, waiting for her to clasp her fingers around it before he gave her a sideways look. “Are you sure?” He seemed to ask, earning him a smug look as he nodded once and relinquished his grip on it, not so much handing it to her as it was simply letting it go.
He eyed the Mercury hammer with a vague sense of reluctance, noting the way she bore the dead weight with little objection aside from the initial look of surprise on her face when she realized just how ungodly the weight was. No wonder his back had been massacred by it. The Hexgem within was doing nothing to assist him. It hadn’t occurred to her until then, but this version had no propulsion, no subtle blue glow. Just like when she’d brought it to him during the attack during the memorial, but somehow heavier. It was strange. Baffling. Was it the uneven weight distribution inherent in its lopsided, butterfly-like shape?
Stepping away from her, he made his way up the ladder, a sound almost identifiable as a curse escaping from under his breath as he hefted the heavy metal and stone manhole out of the way. Jayce had never been so glad that he’d forgotten to put the screws back into something in his life.
He climbed up and took a look around. Shockingly, everything was as he’d left it, at least from what he could tell with a cursory glance. Most importantly, the door was locked. He then turned his attention back to Vi. And just in time. She looked up at him with a raised brow, holding the hammer up towards him and she pulled herself up on the ladder, one foot off of the ground. She held the hammer at the very base of the striking head, giving him the most leeway possible to grab the handle from where he leaned.
“So, you gonna make me stand here and hold this oversized melted lolly pop all day, or do you want it back?” Vi said with an obvious air of satisfaction to her tone as she grinned in a playfully smug fashion, holding the handle steady. She snickered at the way he rolled his eyes and huffed before shaking his head and reaching down to clench his hand around it, his grip solid. He took a deep breath and pulled, lifting it up towards himself as she released it and hopped down backwards off the ladder, taking a step back. Getting her skull stoved in like a piñata was not on her bingo card for the day, and she wanted to keep it that way.
With a resounding thud, the distorted Mercury Hammer slammed down onto the lab floor. Jayce braced himself against it, panting heavily as he used the weapon for leverage, throwing the bulk of his body weight onto it. Something about lifting it through completely empty air at that angle made the damned thing several times heavier. He was not a fan.
“Oh. This is your lab, right?”
Jayce glanced over at her as she joined the room, his haggard expression instantly catching her attention. He looked like he was about to fall over.
“Uh-huh.” It was all he could manage to say, his equilibrium gradually returning, but it wasn’t quite there yet. Jayce didn’t know what ached more at this point: his chest, back, or shoulder. He should change his badges- no. What use was it? The Arcane had infiltrated his very flesh, seeping far deeper. Penetrating the very depths of his body. The bandages served to do little more than humor his wavering morale. He would get it looked at. Later.
“So what are we doing here?” Vi said as she took in the place. It was dark. There had to be a power switch around there somewhere…
Jayce dragged himself over to the center of the room, bracing himself against his desk. He practically tossed the blueprints that sat atop them aside, grimacing at the sight of them as he cleared the space. But as he went to sit, he noticed it. Viktor’s stool. That was right. He’d set his own chair aside in favor of it during the long nights he’d spent by his friend’s side in the lab, wanting to touch something of his. To be as close to him as possible. Desperately clutching his crutch to his chest, safe in his arms. As if to hold it instead of Viktor, cradling it with gentle reverence just as he could never do with him. As he gazed up at him in his cocoon, eyes filled with longing and unspent tears. Wondering what the Hexcore was doing to him. If he was in pain. If he was silently crying out for his help and he simply couldn’t hear him. Both of them helpless against powers far beyond them.
He didn’t sit.
“Give me your gauntlets. They could use a tune-up.”
Vi watched him from behind as she approached, the lights now on thanks to a switch by the door. The way he reached down and gently pressed his palm to the stool, caressing the top of it with his fingertips with all the delicate tenderness of a lover before pulling his hand away and flinching subtly as though it had just scorched him. He hung his head, closing his eyes tightly. His breath halted. And then he looked over his shoulder at Vi.
She strolled over to the desk and pressed the gauntlets against the top of it, allowing them to fall from her hands. They powered down with a hiss as they sagged against the sturdy surface of the table. Jayce opened the compartments that contained the Hex Crystals that powered them and extracted them, exhaling laboriously as he seemed to scavenge his workspace for something unseen.
Vi wasn’t just going to stand around. It was time to explore. After all, how often did she get to break into a laboratory? Well, maybe more often than she’d like to admit…
The large space was filled with expensive-looking equipment, clearly state-of-the-art in many respects. Or it could all be junk. She wasn’t well acquainted with tools of this caliber, never having had a reason to be. They looked costly, though. Books were stacked in some places, and a chalkboard covered in mathematical equations she had no interest in attempting to comprehend adorned a far wall. It was certainly scholarly.
On the long workspace in front of her was a collection of quirky objects she didn’t recognize. She picked one up, scrutinizing it as she turned it over in her hands idly. Whatever it was, it was round and ornate. It had heft. Cute.
But what struck her most about the space was the contrast.
It was apparent to anyone with an observant eye that two people had occupied the space for a long time. There were duplicates of everything in deviating yet complimentary styles. Two coffee cups in different sizes and colors. One teacup was sitting neatly on a saucer while the other left a ring on the surface of the table on the opposite side of the room. Someone had a preference for stacking books flat side down, while the other aligned them neatly against the wall at the back of their desk and kept them in place using bookends. Papers were stacked neatly with a paper weight on one side of the room while the other had messily scattered there’s across the desk, several falling to the floor in the process. A dead plant that had clearly gone uncared for but had once been well loved to have reached such a size occupied the brightest corner of the room. A container next to it containing water illustrating that someone had tried to no avail to keep it alive. A green thumb and someone who desperately wanted to be.
The space felt like a shrine. A memorial. A room left untouched long after the parting of a loved one. Filled with memories to fond and disheartening to confront. There had been joy here once. Love.
"How are things with you and Cait?"
The question came out of nowhere, causing her to pause in her tracks as she turned to look at Jayce. He was peering idly at her from over his shoulder, his gaze split between her and whatever he was fiddling with at the workstation. He seemed to take note of what she was examining, but made no effort to dissuade her curiosity.
Vi looked at the object a final time before setting it down where it had once been. It rolled, almost clattering to the floor as she intercepted it and carefully placed it back where it had been with a curse. Knowing her luck, it was probably the most expensive thing in the room. The littlest things always seemed to be.
"Terrible." She sighed heavily, keeping her eyes on the trinkets. Eager to focus on something besides how that situation had gone.
"That's what I thought… " The sound of some sort of mechanical device filled the air briefly before powering down. Jayce set it aside in favor of an alternative tool. Hopefully, something substantially less noisy. "Well, that’s a shame. I thought you two were good together. She seemed happy with you."
"She told you about us?" Vi recalled insinuating that she knew Caitlyn when they first met, but she definitely hadn’t told him they were together. It would’ve been a lie at the time.
"Yeah." The sound of a motorized ratchet filled the air as Jayce dismantled some part of one of the gauntlets and then checked something. His brow furrowed slightly as he appeared to examine the wiring, looking for something, before his face softened again. He’d found whatever he was searching for. He reached over for a pair of pliers. "I hope things work out between you two."
Vi smiled sadly. Suddenly, she wasn’t all that interested in this side of the lab anymore. Maybe something on the left side of the room would hold her interest for just a little bit longer. "You, too."
Jayce paused for a moment, considering what he wanted to say. But after a second, he seemed to abandon the endeavor completely, well aware of the fact that he had nothing more succinct or elegant to impart to her. "You were good for her, Vi."
Stopping in the center of the room as she looked over at him, she felt her heart sink as she recalled the last few months. The bouts of drunken violence and the sound of blaring music. The look on Caitlyn’s face as they parted ways in abject silence. The ring of the bell signifying yet another fight. Another beating. Sometimes, she felt like that was the only thing she was good at giving or receiving.
"No, I wasn't."
She didn’t want him to try and make her feel better. Nothing ever did anymore. Not in any way meaningful.
Jayce lingered on her response for a moment, taking note of how utterly despondent she sounded. He’d never heard Vi sound so defeated. So beaten down. Stalwart, unflinching, unwavering Vi who blocked with her face as much as she did with her fists. What had Caitlyn done to her…
His work on the first gauntlet now finished, he replaced one of the couplings that had been worn down from repeated impacts and closed the outer casing. He had an idea. An outlandish one, but an idea nonetheless.
"Yes, you were. Regardless of what she has to say about it." He’d remembered what Caitlyn had said to him when they’d last spoken that day at the park after her mother’s funeral. How Vi had helped her in her darkest moments, anchoring her in reality. She’d been the only thing keeping her from slipping into abject madness. No wonder she’d gone off the deep end after they’d gone their separate ways. She had to be out of her mind as she was willingly working for Ambessa like Vi had indicated.
Jayce grimanced at the mental image of Ambessa interacting with her. Caitlyn had always been something of a little sister to him. She was fun. Someone he cared about, even if they never seemed to spend enough time together in their adult years. The thought of her being exploited by someone during such a hopeless and vulnerable time in her life in the way that she no doubt currently was made his blood boil.
Again, Vi contested the validity of that assertion, but she didn’t feel like debating the topic with him. Arguing demanded energy, both cognitive and emotional, and she didn’t have any to spare at the moment. She was running on empty. "Can we change the subject again?"
"Yeah." He didn’t look at her, but she sounded tired. He could take a hint.
Glancing over to her left, the husk of something caught her eye as she looked for something else to talk about. There was certainly a story behind whatever this was…
"What is this thing?" She inquired, looking at the corroded remains of the cocoon that the Hexcore had constructed. It was a mess of archaic colors and Arcane corruption, as organic as it was vaguely disquieting to behold. Even without knowing its purpose, she got the sense that something about it was just… wrong. "I caught a glimpse of it when I was here before but... I didn't really get a good look at it. Heard it more than anything else."
Jayce didn’t need to look up to know what she was talking about, but he did so anyway. He turned to behold the half-melted looking structure, his once-vibrant eyes now dim and thousands of miles away. He looked haunted; the specter of once was looming over him like a malevolent force that desired to eradicate the last shreds of his sanity. He looked away, hanging his head again as he tried to compose himself.
"It's what happened to Viktor." He could hide his face, but not the broken tremble in his voice as he quivered and suppressed a sob. His breath shuddered as a shiver crawled up his spine. He took a deep breath, pressing his hands to his face before wiping his palms across the front of his shirt and thighs before continuing with his work.
Vi was going to ask if he was alright. And then she noticed it.
Her eyes fell upon a chalkboard on the far wall covered in wild symbols and indecipherable diagrams sketched in a hasty, frantic hand. Sections were circled and underlined with scant, shaky lines drawn between them as they struggled to properly document and make sense of… something. But what truly caught her eye was the anatomical sketch of someone in the middle. Detailed beyond necessity and embellished with details such as bone structure and hair, the diagram was far more detailed than a standard human anatomy sketch needed to be. It was drawn by a person with an intimate knowledge of what the person it depicted looked like, comprised of what were perhaps the only clean, confident lines on the entire chalkboard. And at the top of the sketch where the head had been drawn, she located the only imperfection: a large smudge in the hair to the left side of the head as though someone had brushed against it, attempting to redraw it after the fact. Perhaps it came from someone resting their head against that spot? 
Poor Jayce…
Vi turned away from it, her eyes settling on the desk on the left side of the lab. She took a few steps towards it, but before she could reach over and touch anything, she felt a weight fall over her. Eyes burrowing into the back of her head as though she’d just unknowingly, aimlessly trespassed over hallowed ground. She could feel Jayce’s displeasure at her being so close to the desk even before she turned to meet his gaze.
His eyes were just as harsh and roiling as she imagined they would be. She didn’t need to ask whose desk this had once been.
Everything on it was precisely where it had been left, save for the dust that had no doubt settled onto it in the absence of anyone coming to the room. And yet, less dust than what was present in the rest of the room. It seemed that Jayce had elected to tidy this spot more than any other part of the room before his sudden departure. Before whatever had happened to him that he wouldn’t speak of. Before whatever unspeakable experience had turned him into the shell of a person he had since become.
Stepping away from it, her attention drifted to the leftmost end of the workstation that spanned the length of the rear of the lab. It was covered with tools and other miscellaneous items, nothing particularly intriguing. Slowly she looped back around to the center of the room where Jayce stood, passing him as she came to a stop between him and the remnants of the Hex cocoon. And then she stopped, looking down.
A pile of books had been haphazardly stacked atop one another with no rhyme or reason to their order or size, but amidst them was one especially oversized, dense, leather-bound tome, gingerly placed off to the side with nothing atop it. A book with a familiar crest emblazoned upon its cover. 
Something about its presentation enticed her, beckoning her to investigate it. She swiped the large book and opened the cover, fully expecting to be greeted with schematics and mathematical equations, but what she found instead gave her pause.
Illustrations. Sketches in various varieties of pencil, ink, and dry mediums. They grew in quality to an impressive extent as she delved further, her fingers fluttering through page after page of lovingly drawn illustrations. There were the occasional depictions of a bird on a windowsill or a potted plant, but the vast majority of them were not of things. They were of a person. And as her subconscious made note of this, she turned the page and found the first photographs.
Black and white stills of various events, grand and ordinary. Some pages contained several, while just as many held only a single large photo, but they had one thing in common: they all depicted either Jayce and another individual, or that individual alone. And their composition was arresting.
Most were taken in moments of repose during mundane activities, with little headings below describing the circumstances that led to them, along with the date. Many more expressed fond sentiments for the memories they encapsulated. Some even had accompanying sketches that attempted to recreate them to wildly varying degrees of success. But they all held the same unspoken reverence for their subject matter. The same wordless adoration.
Vi turned the page to discover something folded in the pages. She sat the book down and unfolded it, revealing an old blueprint for what appeared to be some sort of apparatus designed to be worn on the leg. Clothing went over the top. She refolded it and stuck it back into the book, continuing. Only to be greeted with photographs of Jayce fitting the device he’d no doubt designed on the individual in question, joy shared between them as they posed for a photo. This picture was a nightmare to time,” the heading said. Yes. She imagined it was.
She delved deeper still.
More photographs of mundane activities and occasions for a dozen or so pages, sweet but otherwise much like the others. And then another folded blueprint. She unfolded it, doing a double take as a second set fell from within the first. Spreading them out across the table, they revealed plans for an outer leg brace, far more substantial than the first and evidently designed to be worn over the top of the original to aid in holding his weight. The second schematic was for a crutch to help with apparent back and leg pain, signed with Jayce’s signature. Notes about Viktor’s apparent leg condition and how his cane was “becoming insufficient and a better alternative needed to be created.”
Viktor.
Of course. This was Viktor.
Before his transformation, before the commune. This was the man that Jayce Talis had spent years of his life with every day in the very lab she stood in. Again, she refolded the plans, placed them back in their place, and continued to skim through the book.
Pictures at competitions and snippets of newspaper articles about the Hexgates. A rough sketch taped into the book of the building in question, this time apparently done by Viktor. It was in full color, and it was quite striking. Watercolors, perhaps. A note next to it read, “Viktor finally let me see his sketchbook. He’s such a talented artist! Ask him to draw up the blueprints for the Hexgates. They will look better.”
Vi turned a handful of pages. And then she paused, a troubled look overtaking her face.
Photographs of the Viktor recovering in an infirmary of some sort, Jayce at his side looking worried. The heading simply stated that the surgery was a success. “Work won’t be the same without him for a few months.”
Several more pages worth of photographs, although there was a marked change in their frequency along with the undeniable decline of the health of Jayce’s friend. Vi’s gaze softened as she turned to another photo of Viktor in a hospital, appearing noticeably more frail and unwell. Jayce looking more worried for his well-being than ever as he stood by his side, holding his hand. And with it, another schematic. One that made her wince.
The blueprint depicted a complex device that screwed into the spine at seven prefixed points designed to be taken off in a manner that made it a hassle without two people. Apparently, it needed to be removed for maintenance frequently. The notes read, “I wish he hadn’t had to go through this, but it was the best solution. The prospect of a second surgery wasn’t one he’d been eager to consider, but it was the only way to make the brace work. Hopefully, after this ordeal, he will be in less pain in the long term. I’m truly honored that he trusts me this deeply.”
It looked like a torture device, but one unquestionably designed with nothing but care and compassion, and the goal of being as comfortable as physically possible despite its intended purpose. Metal bars that reinforced the sides to help take the strain off of the back plates and abdominal muscles. Flexible artificial joints that allowed him to still bend forward somewhat. Miniscule quality of life features that she imagined she’d relish if she had to spend her days wearing a device of this stringency, though it was a reality that made her blood run cold to even fathom. But through it all, the same reverence, the same care. The same ever-present adoration for his companion. His sketches and photographs never obscured Viktor’s medical devices, never hid his pain. The reality he lived in. And an undeniable focus on one feature in particular. She smiled.
"You think he has pretty eyes."
Jayce paused the maintenance he’d been doing to her glove, some device in his hand that she did not recognize as she turned to face him. He looked down at the book in her arms and then at her face, his gaze falling as though he’d been caught red-handed committing a felony. And, to her great surprise, he blushed. It was slight and largely obscured by his newly grown beard and his lack of meaningful hygiene, but it was evident nonetheless. And yet, he didn’t seem embarrassed. He wasn’t ashamed. He just didn’t like the idea of someone seeing those pictures, evidently.
"Ah. Yeah." He said defeatedly. He’d forgotten about the photo album. Was it too late to insist that it was private? "Is it that obvious?"
"The photos are a dead giveaway, loverboy." Vi chuckled. So many of them contained angles that focused on his eyes. The way he looked at things. The way he looked at Jayce. His face in various forms of lighting. The subtle twinkle in his eyes when he was focused on something meaningful or saw something he liked. There was no other rational explanation.
Jayce scoffed but didn’t argue, shaking his head. He knew he’d told her she would need to come up with a new nickname for him, but he sure hoped that one didn’t stick. “... They used to be a different color, you know.”
“Oh really?” It was hard for him to tell if Vi was genuinely curious or just found the sight of him talking about his former partner amusing. Regardless, he didn’t mind humoring her for a little longer.
“Yeah. They were golden brown. Amber, actually. They shimmered like crystal in the right lighting… I swear they glowed when he got excited about something. It was….“ Jayce trailed off, his chest suddenly tighter than it had been as he remembered the way they’d looked when he’d last seen Viktor. A beautiful sight to be sure, but it just wasn’t the same. Nothing could ever be as remarkable as the glimmer of curiosity in the depths of his eyes. No Arcane gifts could ever hope to replace that splendor.
“...I need to save him, Vi.” Jayce’s tone was heavy, haunted. Like he’d spoken those words a thousand times over amidst a growing fit of madness. A mantra that drove him into fits of despair too deep to be charted by means available to mere mortals. Was there a Hell deeper than Hell itself?
Vi looked down at the book again, flipping to the final page. She wanted to see where it ended before she closed the book for good. Flipping through scrawled notes, medical findings, and blueprints for something called the Hexcore, she landed on a picture of Viktor inside of the strange device that now sat across from them in the lab. There was no caption. No words could describe such a thing. “I know. So what are we still doing here?”
Jayce reached over almost hesitantly and turned to the book’s back cover. The pages folded with a heavy flop to reveal a photograph unlike the others stuck with the utmost care to the cover itself. It looked older, softer around the edges. Like it had been handled too many times to count. A warmth to it that was unmistakable. Jayce had his arms around Viktor from behind, hugging him close to his chest as they posed together for some competition they’d seemingly just won. A ribbon was pinned to the strange-looking device in front of them, but the most distinct thing about the photograph by far was a feature that made it stand out from all the others. Viktor was smiling. Grinning from ear to ear. Brimming with a palpable air of excitement and endless optimism that overflowed from the photo and into the room around her. His eyes glowed with pride and wonder like a child who had just beheld snowfall for the first time. The photo was filled with boundless Joy. With hope. With a sense of fathomless glee towards the possibilities ahead of them, like the entirety of Runeterra had just opened up to them. Like the two of them could do anything together. “The Distinguished Innovators Competition,” the caption read.
“That’s my favorite picture of him,” Jayce said with a confidence that didn’t at all allude to the pain he felt looking at it again. His gaze lingered on the picture as he ran a finger over it with the utmost care. As though applying even the most minuscule amount of additional pressure would ruin it.
Vi saw the pain in his eyes. The subtle way his breath hitched and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, clenching his jaw and pursing his lips inward. The tiny tremble that set into his shoulders as he reluctantly withdrew his hand and let it fall limply to his side as the pain became too much for his broken heart to bear.
She understood now. How could she not?
“I’ve… never seen him smile,” Vi admitted. In fact, looking back now, he’d seemed forlorn in the time she’d known him at the commune. A certain light gone from him, disguised by her lack of familiarity with him. The care for others was there, but it was like he was going through the motions. Some core part of him snatched away. Like he was desperately trying to fill an irreparable hole he couldn’t mend with a sense of purpose. Like a beautifully cultivated bloom that had reached its peak, languishing with only the inevitable downward spiral into rot and decay to anticipate.
“He used to smile all the time. Then he got sicker, and the pain got worse, and he got quieter. At some point, he stopped talking about how much he was suffering. I think he didn’t want me to worry about him anymore.” A solitary tear ran down his face that he whipped away with the back of his hand as he allowed his head to rest in his palm, his elbow braced against the desk as he slumped over on it. The pain had made them both weary, it seemed. “I hated watching the way his sickness stole the joy from him. Not because his sickness made him less. It didn’t. But because all I wanted was to see him happy again. He was in so much pain, and I just didn’t understand. I saw it, but I didn’t get it. I tried to but… Especially after the…”
“After what, Jayce?” Vi inquired, closing the book softly and setting it aside more gently than she was used to handling anything. But it only felt right.
Deciding that it was high time they hurried up and left, Jayce turned his attention back to finishing his adjustments to Vi’s gauntlets. He needed something else to focus on. “He was given a terminal diagnosis right before all of this started. His lungs were failing. Started having nosebleeds, muscle weakness, headaches, and coughing up blood. He passed out one night at the lab and nearly died. Viktor grew up down in the fissures and the air…”
Vi gave him a morbid look, immediately realizing what he was describing. A chill ran down her spine. “He had the Gray?”
Jayce shrugged limply. “Is that what you guys call it?”
“People down in the Undercity used die from it hand over fist before I was born. People coughing up blood and slowly suffocating. It got better while I was in Stillwater but…” A wave of guilt washed over her as she recalled what the strike team had done during her short tenure as a member. Before things had gone even further to hell than they already were. She flinched. Putting on that uniform was something she would never forgive herself for. “I’m sorry. That’s a horrible way to go.”
Jayce huffed in futility. The hexcore had presumably done its work. When he’d last seen Viktor, he’d been breathing just fine. And if the cough was news to Vi, then it was probably a nonissue now. Or he’d become better at hiding it. Yet the Hexcore was now the reason that Jayce needed to end Viktor’s life. Snuff out his brilliant mind and all the potential he could ever possess before his desire to right the world’s wrongs destroyed it. 
Why had the Arcane chosen him? Sweet, gentle-hearted Viktor who cared so much for others, and so despised violence. He didn’t deserve this any more than he deserved to be the one to do it to him.
“Trying to cure it is what caused all of this. What caused the Hexcore to do that to him. It put him back together after your sister did what she did, but… that’s a story for another day.” His mouth tasted bitter as he thought about Jinx. He still didn’t have the slightest idea what he was going to do about that situation, if anything. His mind was a muddled mess with only one clearly defined goal, and even that objective was undesirable.
With a resounding clank, Jayce closed the access hatch on Vi’s gauntlet. His upgrades were complete. He reached over and grasped the Hexcrystals he’d removed from them earlier, reinserting them. They’d just been rolling around loose on the back of the desk the entire time he’d been working, the kind of thing Viktor would’ve done in a careless moment. Something Jayce would’ve had a field day worrying over Viktor about if he’d done it once upon a time, but now couldn’t be arsed to ponder the ramifications of. If they rolled off the desk, ruptured, and took him with them, so be it. He simply hoped that he didn’t take Vi along with him.
“There. They should be more stable and not overload nearly as easily. Energy displacement during strikes will be more impactful. I upgraded the capacitors and the filament.” Jayce said as he turned away from the workstation and stepped out of her way, allowing Vi clear access to the gauntlets. She cracked her neck, flexed her shoulder, and sipped them back on, pulling them back off the table as though they weighed nothing. She noticed it instantly. Something was different. They felt smoother, more responsive. The fingers flexed more naturally with a sense of actuation that felt less mechanical and more true-to-life. “I also fixed the shield. It was completely busted. No idea how long they’ve been that way, but the radius should be wider, too. And no one’s going to want to touch that energy field.”
No one without a death wish, anyway.
“Nice.” Vi nodded in approval as she flexed her fingers, wholeheartedly appreciating the upgrade. Oh yes, this was much better. Her current gauntlets had been a step up from the original Hextech prototypes she’d snagged from Jayce back when they’d first met, but this new version was a different beast entirely. She held the right one up to her lips, kissing it dramatically. “You gonna touch up the paint job while you're at it, lover boy? Add some cool flames or skulls or somethin'?”
Jayce folded his arms in front of himself and chortled, rolling his eyes at the audacity. He didn’t even humor her with a head shake. His demeanor oozed apathy like the sump billowed toxic gas. Why? She was going to ruin it on someone’s skull the first chance she got anyway. “Put some nail polish on them or something. See if I care.”
She scoffed. Now, that was an awful idea.
Jayce limped back over to the distorted Mercury Hammer, regarding it silently before folding his fingers around the handle and bracing himself to lift it again. Their time in the lab had been a welcome reprieve, but now it was time to get to work.
“If we're working off the theory that the Noxians took Viktor, then there’s only one place he could be,” Vi said as she joined him, rolling her shoulders before throwing a handful of test punches in a mock display of her fighting prowess. She felt light on her feet. Fluid. Untouchable. Oh, yeah. She could get used to this feeling.
“The capitol building.” They said in unison, regarding one another with a huff. At least they were both on the same page. For now.
But going through the front door wasn’t exactly a stroke of brilliance. And then there was the obvious elephant in the room that they would have to contend with: Ambessa Medarda. How exactly were they going to get Viktor away from her? Ask nicely and hope she handed him over, no strings attached? Could he even run? Jayce certainly couldn’t. Vi had seen her right-hand man back when he’d approached the gate to the commune, and even she wasn’t entirely sure they could deal with him, even with all three of them. And that was assuming that Viktor knew how to fight, a variable that she was fifty-fifty on solely on the grounds that he’d grown up in the Undercity. Every Trencher at least knew how to throw a punch, right?
The Noxians were elite career soldiers forged in battle, and she was going in fresh off of a detox after a protracted, months-long drinking spree with a man with a bad back, a worse leg, and a fractured psyche who was plagued by intermittent bouts of guilt-inducing insanity. 
Yeah. They would be fine.
“Know any more secret entrances, lover boy?” Vi inquired, making her way over to the uncovered manhole. One could only assume that they were going back the same way they’d come, right? Or, at least not out via the front door. They still had the element of surprise. Why not keep it?
Jayce huffed, his face wearing his sentiment as to their likelihood of survival like the cover of a book. Their odds of pulling this off successfully were next to zero, but then again, so was the likelihood that he’d ever escape that accursed cave, and here he stood. 
He would climb another mountain for Viktor. Just one more time.
He lifted the hammer, steadying himself. He was ready. “I just might.”
Fun fact: At 19366 words and 46 pages, this is now the longest single story chapter I’ve ever written! Please let me know what you think! See you soon!
@melonbear51 @wuekka @mythbookworm18 @ahsokasgfriend @dragonling348 @coldcoleslaw @chaosyetorder @fandomsarepainful @gonzanova @awkwarddaydreamingpotato @endlessnightdreams and @arcanebutterfly LMK if you don't want to be tagged in the future :D
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specialistpinky · 4 months ago
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「 ✦ gin & tonic ✦ 」
18+ ONLY MDNI
previous episode
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summary: roommates tend to suck; not as much as this one does, though.
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wc: 4.1k
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buffed up like a jock, geeked up like a nerd bitch, i'm fly like a bird, i'm the shit like a turd
—NEW YEAR, SAME TRON by BABYTRON
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dealing with random roommates has never been complicated for me. they usually keep to themselves or we become acquainted and keep in contact for emergencies or school-related things. it never goes past that.
i only dorm because it's convenient. my hometown is three hours away from the school, so commuting isn't a viable option. i also prefer not to live with my sperm donor and that hellspawn he calls a fiancée any longer than i already have.
i would've moved out and taken my brother with me ages ago had it not been for the awful job market and shit paychecks and i plan to move far, far away whenever i start my own law firm, but until then, i make do.
like i said, i don't usually mind having roommates—until today because this girl is a complete 180 from what i'm used to. she's loud, abrasive, vain, and completely inconsiderate of others. okay, well, i don't have evidence for that last part, but i will in due time.
she's been pissing me off since i opened the door. at first, i thought she might've been my new roommate’s girlfriend or a newbie asking for directions, but then she showed me her assignment letter.
man, i can't believe they stuck me with a chick! i mean, i don't care that she's a girl, but isn't there some kind of code when it comes to mixing guys and girls in dorms? maybe i shouldn't be surprised that housing messed this up considering how often they screw up my financial aid every year.
god, it's not even noon, and i'm already stressed out about shit that should have no bearing on my life.
i ponder my options with my hands in my head and elbows planted on my knees. i could contact the housing director, tell them i need a room or roommate swap. they'll put it in motion, and everything will be fine. right?
"hey, big bro! why you sittin' over there sulking? come join us!" Yuji yells, even though i'm only ten feet away.
i have the urge to scream as loud as possible, but instead, i breathe and stay put. i really don't feel like interacting with her more than i already have, so i refuse to do so.
"yeah, come join us," her voice chirps in, her tone almost teasing. i can practically hear the smirk on her face.
i lie down on the couch, groaning and keeping my hands over my face before they're pulled off to see Yuji beaming like the sun through the window, which are both obscuring my vision right now.
"sorry, big bro, you leave me no choice! get your ass up and say hi to Flo or i’ll do it for you!" he demands, grabbing my wrist and attempting to haul me up. he pulls a few times, grunting and using all of his effort but to no avail.
i look at him and blink. "who's Flo?"
he stops pulling on my arm and gasps, his mouth agape. "you don't know Flo?!" he shouts, waving his arms in the air frantically. "how do you not know your own roommate???"
i roll over onto my stomach, laying my head on my folded arms and shrugging. so that's her name, i think. can't say that's useless information, but i don’t see how it’s particularly important. didn’t find it important when i opened the door, and i don’t now.
Yuji squats down and starts rambling in my ear, gesturing wildly and shouting with excitement, "dude, Flo is so cool, big bro! she’s named after an Olympic runner from the 80s, which is funny because she tried running track in high school, but it didn't work out, so me and her are gonna train together! i'm gonna teach her how to run properly, and she said she'll help me with my homework and teach me how to drive—"
"yep, mm-hmm. sounds good, baby bro," i groan into my arms, closing my eyes, trying to recalibrate as my little brother blows my eardrum out. he continues ranting, unaware of the fact that i tuned him out as soon as he started talking. it’s unfortunate because i lack the energy and the heart to tell him to quiet down.
i love Yuji dearly. i think his passionate ramblings are entertaining and endearing. however, sometimes (most of the time), he doesn't know when to stop. probably because i enable him, so i have to be soft with him.
"hey, baby bro, do me a favor and—"
he cuts me off, finishing what i was gonna say, "inside voice. sorry, i was yelling again, wasn’t i?"
i nod, my eyes still closed and my head still planted on my arms. i let the silence surround me and bask in it.
of course, Yuji interrupts that as he pulls on my ankles, trying to drag me off the couch. i don't react, letting him tug until he gives up and lets go.
"damn it!" he heaves. "all of those exercise tapes and jiu-jitsu classes should've made me stronger by now. what the hell do you eat in a day, big bro?"
i shrug. "nothing that’ll make you bigger than me, baby bro."
"man, i know that! still worth trying, though,” he declares. he grabs my ankles a second time and pulls harder, but i only move about an inch off the couch. he lets go and huffs.
“fine, don't join us. guess you don't wanna hear how Flo used to be my camp counselor."
again, i say nothing to that, burying my face into the couch cushions but still eavesdropping on their conversation.
"dude, i can't believe you're here, Flo! you were literally my favorite camp counselor!"
"i can't believe you're my roommate's little brother. small world, isn't it?"
"it really is. you know, i miss that camp; some of the best times of my life. did you keep working there after i left?"
"yeah, i did, but i quit after i graduated high school. i miss it sometimes, too. we always had a blast together, didn't we, YuYu?"
"YuYu?" Yuji and i say simultaneously with drastically different reactions.
i sit up and look over the couch while Yuji laughs so hard he tips his chair over and falls to the floor. i glare at my roommate, suspicious as to where she got that nickname from and how she even knows Yuji well enough to use such a name.
she stares back at me and raises her hands in defense. "what? what i do?" she feigns her innocence half-giggling.
"Cho, cool it with the look! you're gonna scare her away!"
i look at Yuji still lying on the floor, clutching his stomach and chortling his little heart. it almost brings a smile to my face seeing my baby brother so tickled— almost.
my roommate grins. "yeah, i used to call him YuYu. we bonded over YuYu Hakusho the first summer i had him. i didn't even remember his actual name 'til now. i would call him Itadori, and he’d throw a fit every time, so we settled on YuYu like the show."
she leans over and looks at my brother sprawled out on the floor still. "'member that, YuYu?"
i certainly remember. Yuji was obsessed with that show for years, even after the show ended. i would record reruns on tape for him, buy him toys of the characters with my allowance, and teach him how to collect the manga. good times, those were.
but now i have an answer as to why Yuji wanted me to call him YuYu besides the show.
"yeah, i remember. dude, your first impression of me was me shouting 'spirit gun!' and pretending to shoot her with my fingers," he says, imitating the main character. he groans, pressing the ball of his wrists to his eyes before slowly picking himself and the chair up off the floor. "man, i was uber uncool back then."
i frown at his assertion and retort with mock offense, "you're calling me uncool for supporting you, then?"
Yuji nearly faceplants running over to me and almost knocks me to the ground, launching his body onto mine for a hug. he squeezes me, rubbing my back frantically to soothe me. "no, no way, big bro! you were super duper cool for helping me. never think you weren’t."
“i appreciate that, baby bro,” i say, pulling out of our embrace before flicking his forehead.
"ow!" he winces, rubbing the sore spot. "what was that for?"
"for talking about yourself like that," i scold. "you know better than to talk down on yourself, especially around me."
he pouts, muttering, "yes, big bro."
i hear Flo snickering and almost shoot her another stare, but Yuji wouldn't like that, so i refrain. plus, Yuji had a point: my look can scare people away. i'm already a tall, lanky, tatted goth; i don't think giving my roommate the crazy eye wouldn't keep the peace very well.
she didn't seem bothered earlier, though. 
"wow, you've got such a good big brother, Yuji," Flo comments. she smiles, glancing over to me. "a very caring brother at that."
"speaking of a caring big bro," Yuji begins, slowly inching his way out of my personal space with a mischievous look, his hands clasped behind his back as he rocks on the balls of his feet. "about your car..."
"no, Yuji," i immediately shut him down. "you can't drive my car."
"why not?" he whines, drawing out his words. "dad won't take me, and i'm only going to Yukon Lake for the senior trip, and it's not far."
"doesn't matter, Yuji. you don’t have your license yet. if you get pulled over, i won’t be able to help you. plus, i need my car to get to work and back. if anything, i can just take you and Suguru can pick you up."
my brother throws his hands up, groaning, "fine! i gotta go, anyway. i got a track meet soon."
he pulls me into another quick hug. i give him a forehead kiss and ruffle his hair before we part. "bye, baby bro. call me or come by if you need anything else."
"like money for the senior trip?" he asks with a lilt and a wide grin.
i chuckle, "we'll see about that."
he sucks his teeth, spinning on his heel in mock disappointment. "man, you suck, big bro."
“love you, baby brother.”
Yuji walks over to Flo and hugs her. "i was good to see you again," he chirps.
"good to see you too, YuYu," she replies. "let me know when your next track meet is. i wanna watch you race."
"will do!"
Yuji gathers his stuff and salutes us as he heads out the door. "bye, Flo! love you, big bro! see you later!"
he slams the door behind him hard, making my ears ring from the aftersound. that kid needs to lay off the protein powder.
"so, camp counselor, huh?" i ask, giving my roommate a small smirk.
Flo scoffs, "yeah, we don't talk about those times. but, wow, you being YuYu's brother? never would've guessed."
i cock an eyebrow at her. "what's that supposed to mean?"
she shrugs. "nothing. just didn't expect it," she giggles. "y'all are total opposites."
i nod in agreement. "we are definitely complete opposites."
Flo stands up and goes into the fridge. "it's cute, though," she says, pulling out another drink and closing the door with her hip. "it's like Dexter and Dee Dee. he's the hyper, social sibling that always messes with you, and you're the stoic, serious one who doesn't want to be bothered."
she walks over to the couch and plops down next to me. i raise an eyebrow then quickly put it down. i guess her sitting next to me is tolerable when she's not badgering me.
"so, mr. stick-up-the-ass, what's your major?" she asks.
i ignore her attempted insult and reply, "criminal justice. planning on being a prosecutor then a judge."
"oh, wow! totally did not expect from you."
i squint at her. "you're profiling me pretty hard today, huh?"
she smirks, looking ahead of her. "i'm just saying i didn't think you'd be here for criminal justice. i got like, STEM major vibes from you."
i scratch my head. "what the hell is STEM?"
she turns and gives me a look of disbelief. "you don't know what STEM is? seriously?" she laughs. "it stands for Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics."
i huff out of my nose, wondering where she got the idea that i was studying any of those boring ass things. "nah, not me. maybe science and math here and there, but other than that, no. that shit's for dorks."
"hey!"
i snort, ducking my head down so that she won't notice. i didn't think that comment would strike a nerve in her of all people, but that was too presumptuous of me.
"math is so not for dorks! it's super important for daily things and jobs. you have to know basic math to be a cashier," she argues defensively.
"mm-hmm," i hum, a few snorts escaping my nose. "very important. imperative, even."
she tuts, shaking her head. "you think it's funny, but wait 'til you need to calculate statistics or analyze data sets."
i throw my hands up and give up on hiding my laughter. "okay, princess, you got me there," i say, grinning cheekily as her face screws up in irritation.
"you must be one of those STEM dorks then," i say, huffing another laugh and reaching for the remote on the table. i'm sure i can watch a little Jeopardy before i leave for work in a few hours.
unfortunately, i'm met with a space where the remote was. i fumble around, looking down and seeing my hand touch nothing but wood. i look up at the tv to see the channel already changed. i sit there frozen for a moment. i slowly look to my right.
flipping through channels and shrugging with a nonchalant smile, Flo says, "sorry, buddy, wanna watch my soaps 'fore i leave."
i sit back and retract my hand, letting it drop into my lap. my jaw clenches. "i wanted to watch Jeopardy," i mumble.
she reclines, crossing her feet on top of the coffee table. "dude trippin' on me for defending math, but this fuckin' guy wanna pout about Jeopardy? tuh! okay, dude. fuckin' major dweeb alert over here," she says to no one in particular, jabbing her thumb in my direction.
i don't even dignify that with a response. i stuff my hands in my pockets and close my eyes to calm myself. i can feel something spiraling inside, some mental upset for my routine being rudely interrupted by a bratty woman with little regard for her insolence affecting others.
okay, maybe that's a bit much to hold a candle to that statement right now. however! i don't plan on taking that back until i'm proven wrong.
"yes, it's on!"
i open one eye to see what she put on; Desperate Housewives, i gather from the title screen. ew, not even my mom would watch this obscenely stupid shit.
sick of the television assaulting my eyes, i look over at Flo, taking in her figure. her crossed legs accentuate her plush, dimpled thighs. her manicured nails make her hands look dainty. her hair runs past her shoulders down and her bangs stick to her forehead, covering up part of her face. she's wearing a red color on her lips with a dark outline on them; that makes the mole under her nose stand out more.
she may be an obnoxious brat with an attitude problem, but she has an unorthodox charm about her—an allure that makes me unnaturally curious and churns my stomach. it's an unfamiliar, nauseating feeling, but i can't say i mind it while i'm looking at her.
let's look away before she notices, i think, blankly looking at the wall behind the television and letting my mind drift to other things.
"ahem!"
i slowly turn to Flo with a raised eyebrow. "need something?" i ask.
"why you still here? don't you have like, work to go to or somethin'?" she waves me off dismissively.
i suck my teeth, but unfortunately, she's right. i get up and head for the shower to leave her alone.
on the one hand, i sorta understand since she's locked out of her room for now. hopefully, her friend comes and they leave while i'm getting ready, giving me time to do what i want before work.
this is gonna be a long semester, i sigh internally, trudging to the bathroom and shutting the door behind me.
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steam trails behind me as i exit the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel and wearing another around my waist. i sigh in relief, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. nothing like a good shower to wake you up.
i stand in front of the hallway sinks, looking in the mirror for a moment, admiring my physique. i'm not particularly self-conscious, but i wouldn't say i'm vain, either. i do like to see my reflection just to check what's going on and glance over what other people can see.
i rake a hand through my damp hair, taking notice of its length. i've been trying to grow it out, and progress is decent so far. i can put my hair into even spiky buns as opposed to a few months ago.
i smirk at my reflection, throwing a playful wink before brushing my teeth.
"man, what the fuck was that?"
i stop to listen for a second. is that Flo talking? who is she talking to?
being the nosy little shit i am, i walk into the living room, still brushing.
her back is facing me, but she isn't moving whatsoever, as if she hadn't just yelled at the top of her lungs just now. she looks invested—hooked even. it's almost creepy how quiet and still she is while watching this horrid shit, though her dedication is admirable.
i switch between watching the show and watching Flo react to it for a while.
i try to follow the plot but find myself lost every five minutes, so i look at Flo. she becomes expressive any time something happens, clapping her hands as she cackles or jumping out of her seat and screaming at the screen. i can't lie, she's not entertaining me more than the show because, admittedly, the show bores me, but her reactions make it bearable.
she lets out a gasp and yells, gesturing angrily, "bitch, fuck you just standing there lookin' stupid for? say something!"
she kisses her teeth and throws her hands up dramatically, rolling her eyes and flopping back against the couch. i chuckle, my shoulders shaking. she's a real killer one-woman act.
"what's so funny, emo boy?"
i shift my gaze to my roommate. she still has her back to me, so i walk over to the kitchen sink and stick my head under the faucet to catch the water.
i rinse the toothpaste out my mouth and laugh between words as i say, "you."
"what about me?"
i catch more water and rinse my mouth out again before turning back to her, leaning my arms on the counter. "the way you're acting watching this shit. it's just funny."
"mm hmm," she hums, still not looking over at me. "sure."
i smirk, tempted to tease her more, but continue brushing my teeth. she's got a real bite to her, that one. it might be starting to grow on me.
knock, knock, knock, knock!
her face quickly lights up as she shouts, "i hope that's my bestie!"
a boisterous, muffled voice responds from the other side of the door, "you already know who it is, bitch!"
my roommate squeals and hops off the couch, sprinting to the door and flinging it open. more squealing happens. i dart my stare between the girls embracing and jumping around and screaming about how much they missed each other. i'm mildly annoyed at how loud they are.
"oh my god, i was so lonely without you here," the other girl says, fake-sobbing on Flo's shoulder.
Flo chuckles, patting her friend's back. "i know, babe. you're like, my only friend right now, so i was super duper lonely without you, too," she replies. the girls pull away and smile at each other.
Flo's friend then asks, "now, where is this roommate of yours? i'm tryna meet him."
"oh, he's right behind..."
Flo trails off. i pay no attention to it, rinsing my mouth out for the last time. as i look up at them, i see that their eyes are already on me. Flo's face morphs into one of shock then into disgust while the other girl's face morphs into lust.
i cock an eyebrow, confused and left clueless as to why they're staring so hard, especially with two entirely different expressions.
i notice their gazes are pointed down, so i follow, and—suddenly, i remember where i am and what i'm wearing (or rather, what i'm not wearing).
two girls are gawking at me wearing only a towel around my lower half. fuck.
i freeze, my face burning red before i finally move my ass and book it to my room.
i close my door a little too hard, pressing my back against it. i lock the door just for good measure. i sigh in relief, my face still heated from that little mishap. i pull out my uniform and start getting dressed for work.
as i dress, i press my ear to the door a few times, see if they're talking about me. i can barely hear what they're saying, but i make out a couple of phrases: "sexy as fuck," "stupid asshole," and "riding that pony." that last doesn't make much sense, but i can put two and two together.
after i'm fully clothed and presentable, i walk back out, work bag slung over my shoulder.
the girls turn to me again, Flo standing with crossed arms and pinched brows while her friend blatantly runs her eyes up and down my body. i avoid them, trying not to show my embarrassment by keeping a straight face.
the friend tilts her head and says, "Flo, i think you should officially introduce me to your roommate."
Flo huffs, clearly aggravated, "okay, whatever." she points to one of us as she introduces us to each other. "Kiki, this is Choso. Choso, Kiki."
"hmm, Choso, huh?" the friend asks, batting her dramatic eyelashes. Flo immediately hits her on the shoulder and whispers, "cut that the fuck out!"
"Choso Kamo," i repeat, reaching out for a handshake. the girl clears her throat and accepts it with a firm grip. "Kian'e Thompson. i go by Kiki." she throws a wink in an attempt to be seductive; unsurprisingly, it does not affect me, only giving her a polite smile before letting her hand go.
my gaze lingers on my roommate. i note her defensive stance: crossed arms, jutted hip, tapping foot. she's practically burning holes into the side of her friend's face, too. i can tell she wants to scold Kiki and stop any advances toward me (unsuccessfully, might i add). she seems weirdly bothered by it. maybe i'm reading too much into things.
i slink away to the kitchen. i start looking in the fridge, taking note of what i'm out of. i know we have no more soda, so i should stop by Kmart and get some more after work.
"what'd you want for lunch, Kiki? cuz i'm hungry as fuck."
"i'on even know, man. i was lookin' forward to those brunch platters at Stacie's, but i can't pay that."
i see an old Chinese food carton in the back. that can't be any good now. i take that out and set it on the counter to throw away. guess i'm cleaning out the fridge while i try to find anything edible to bring for lunch.
as i'm looking and cleaning, i hear the pair whispering to each other. Kiki not-so-subtly says to Flo, "you gon' snitch on me if i get his digits?"
i hear Flo land another smack on her friend's arm. "girl, what the fuck? yes, i absolutely will snitch on you. also, he can hear you, dumbass."
you're not so quiet yourself, i think.
"man, like i give a fuck! you betta get at him 'fore i throw some—!"
"o-kay, we're gonna go now. be back whenever!" Flo says in a rushed tone, pulling Kiki by the arm out of the dorm room. they argue under their breaths as the door closes behind them.
i take a long look at the door before letting out a deep sigh. i close the fridge, grab my keys off of the front door hook, and head out for work.
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wishforhome · 20 days ago
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surprise
for day three of viago week: unexpected encounters.
from the sibling spouses au i share with @inquisimer and @mxssful. for more vero/rosa goodness and viago being a fucking weirdo about it, see her piece from today here.
this isn't really finished but i'm tired and i'm out of time, so we're publishing it as is.
rated T, 1344 words, pre-relationship vero/rosa and very pre-relationship vero/viago and also just a lot of pre-relationship polycule things because vero is like 14 or 15 for the entirety of this story.
In retrospect, perhaps entrusting Vero to Rosa’s dubious care had been a mistake. He had thought – hoped, in any case – that giving her oversight over the newest of his fledglings might encourage a sense of … not ownership, exactly, but responsibility.  He thinks, now, he would perhaps have been better off getting her the kitten she’d so imperiously demanded. 
Instead, he had brought her with him to House Calveri, and she had been at his side as he’d inspected their stock. Rosa was many things, but she was not burdened by any conventional sense of morality, at she had not flinched at the brutality on display. She had simply stood at his side as he observed the training exercises, her pale eyes tracking the movements of gaunt children holding sharpened steel. 
He is still unsure which of them had noticed Vero first. He thinks maybe it was Rosa who had nudged his arm, inclining her head towards the gangly teenager with their dark hair and sharp amber eyes. Rosa has always had a keen sense for when violence is about to unfold, and so he thinks perhaps she had known what would happen, smelled the blood before it was spilled.
They had both watched, silent and still, when the weapons master had turned his attention to a smaller boy lagging in the exercises, raising his hand to deliver a strike. And yet, it was Vero who took the blow, smoothly moving to place their body as a shield in front of the younger child. Even scrawny and half-starved, they moved with an easy, economical kind of grace, simply appearing in the path of the man’s fist. The first impact, not intended for someone of their height, landed awkwardly on their shoulder. The second and third strikes were recalibrated, the weapon master responding to the teen’s impudence with renewed force. 
Vero’s body buckled after the third impact, and yet they had not made a sound, had not whimpered or cried out even as they fell to heir knees, blood running freely from a split in their lip. What Viago remembers now is the stubborn set of the jaw, the brightness of their eyes, and red of blood against their ashen skin. 
Rosa had looked at him then, and simply cocked her head to the side. “That one?” she asked.
*That one.* It had been that simple, in the end. Coin was exchanged – more, perhaps, than Viago had hoped to pay, but less than the child was worth. (As though human potential could be so easily weighed and counted out in gold pieces.) Vero had come easily after that, silent and wary as they were led to the waiting carriage.
After – after he had burned the slave mark from Vero’s arm, after he had treated their wounds and put them to bed in a quiet room in the private wing of his estate, after he had drunk a glass of wine and considered the wisdom of what he was attempting, now, for the second time – he had called Rosa into his office.
She was, by then – well – not tamed, entirely. In fact, she was not tamed at all in any conventional sense. She remained, most days, infuriating and strange, a wild creature who stalked his halls and frightened the other fledglings and terrorized his staff. It would be absurd to entrust her with the care of a pet, however small – she could not even be trusted with his adders. And yet.
“I want you to keep an eye on Vero,” he said.
Rather than sitting in the chair across from him, Rosa had settled herself in the windowsill, gazing out into the darkened training yard below. “Who?” Viago has to turn in his chair to glare at her. 
“The new fledgling.” 
“Ah. I will not remember that.” For the past five years, she had refused to learn any of the other fledglings’ names, even those who had been her own age. Infuriating thing that she was, she had simply determined that they were beneath her, unworthy of her attention except in the broadest of senses. (Infuriating, because she was not entirely wrong.) She would observe them, certainly, and report on them when he asked, but it was always *that one with the hair* or *that girl with the teeth* or *the kid with the nose*. 
Viago pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. Rosa can never simply agree, refuses to be any kind of agreeable with him. And yet, in the end, she always does as she is told – she simply needs to fight him for it first. And so the argument had to be had. “You will,” he insisted, “because you are responsible for her.”
She pushed her bottom lip forward in an exaggerated pout, an expression she had been deploying with more frequency in recent months. “I wanted a kitten, not a baby Crow,” she complained. 
“She is not a baby –” Viago began, before he thought better of getting drawn into this line of bickering and interrupted himself.  “No,” he said, “I am not arguing about this with you. You will look after her.”
Again, that perplexed look. “Who?”
“Vero.”
“Ah. Right. Then do I get a kitten?”
“Absolutely not.”
In the end, Rosa had accepted the assigned responsibility with little enthusiasm. Vero, for their part, was a quiet child, particularly in the weeks they spent in the quiet of Viago’s private wing. If Rosa bid them to follow her, they followed; if she asked them a question, they answered. They treated the older girl with a wary kind of respect, though Viago had thought, sometimes, he could detect a hint of amusement beneath their usual impassivity.
Which is why, later, Viago is surprised.
In retrospect (for Viago realizes many things in retrospect) there had been signs. There had been the incident with Marco – the older boy had taken exception to Vero’s exceptional status among the fledglings, and when his taunts had escalated to violence, Vero had broken his wrist. It had not even been a scuffle, never mind a fight. He had put a hand on the younger teen’s shoulder, and within seconds had found himself face-down in the packed dirt of the training yard, his arm twisted behind his back at an unnatural angle as Vero pressed their knee into the back of his neck. 
Rosa had observed the altercation with rapt interest, a predator scenting blood. 
In the weeks afterward, Rosa seemed to warm to the younger fledgling, treating them with a reluctant kind of affection. Still, Rosa is a fickle creature, and he had not thought much of it at the time. 
So – yes, he is surprised, when he finds them together in the orange grove at the edge of the estate.
He is looking for Vero, who for the first time is late for one of their lessons. He does not expect them to be with Rosa, but he thinks that at least she might know where his young charge might be found. He spots Rosa first, her brilliant red hair a beacon. She is sitting beneath one of the orange trees, wearing a loose sundress that seems out of place given the day’s chill, though he has learned by now that she is impervious to cold.
Finding her here is not unusual; it is one of the places he knows to look for her, somewhere she comes when she is in the mood to be found. He is not even surprised to hear her laugh – not at him, for once, he thinks, because her head is turned away from him and she seems if not oblivious to his presence that at least unbothered by it.
It is the low chuckle that answers her that surprises her, and the realization that stretched out in the grass next to her, their head resting on her thigh, is Vero. Vero, who has asters woven through their dark hair, the pale violet flowers vibrant against the near-black strands that are spread over Rosa’s lap. 
He has, he realizes, never before heard Vero laugh. 
@viagoweek
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melishade · 11 months ago
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Attack on Prime New Age Anthology: Optimus Prime
Main Story
The Message
Investigation
Gabi Braun
Optimus Prime (Right now)
Convincing
Aftermath
The Autobots finally see Optimus Prime.
"We're in the next town!" Bumblebee declared as he and Bulkhead drove through the spacebridge as fast as they could, trying to search for both Optimus and Megatron in the chaos of the Rumbling. They both witnessed the sight of the Colossal Titans demolishing the buildings of the city with each step.
"Hurry up and search the place!" Ratchet ordered them.
Bulkhead noticed the humans that were desperately fleeing for their lives and couldn't bare the thought of leaving them all behind. "Bee, continue looking for Optimus! I'm gonna try to save those humans!"
"Got it!" Bumblebee and Bulkhead quickly split off as Bumblebee headed towards the Colossal Titans.
"C'mon, Bee, please, I hope you're able to find him," Rafael whispered.
Bumblebee dodged the debris and rocks raining down on him from the Colossal Titans. As he continued to dodge those attacks, he noticed a familiar aircraft flying above the Colossal Titans, firing purple beams of energy at the Colossal Titans. He remembered that aircraft. He remembered seeing it leave Cybertron all those years ago! It was Megatron! Megatron was actually here! So if those humans were telling the truth about that, then-!
Bumblebee heard screaming and turned his attention dead ahead to see a familiar red and blue titan shielding something that was on the ground. Optimus! It was Optimus! By the Allspark!
"I found him!" Bumblebee shouted, "I found Optimus!"
Bumblebee noticed a Colossal Titan ready to step on the Prime, and kicked it into high gear before transforming and jumping high into the air. He pulled out his new weapons: two electric stingers, and sliced through the foot of the Colossal Titan, paralyzing the foot of the Colossal Titan. Bumblebee skidded across the ground into the fray of the Colossal Titans, immediately feeling the stinging heat seeping into his armor. Still, he turned around and bolted towards Optimus.
“Bumblebee?!” Bumblebee almost broke at the sound of Optimus' voice but still pressed on.
“Bridge! Bridge! NOW!” Bumblebee called out as he grabbed onto Optimus.
"Move your asses!" Rafael shouted at the humans on the ship before pressing a button. A spacebridge opened right above them, and everyone immediately jumped out of the way as Optimus and Bumblebee immediately fell through and crashed into the ship. Bumblebee gasped with relief and fear as he rolled off of Optimus and stared up at the ceiling.
"Holy shit!" Connie exclaimed.
"Bumblebee!" Ratchet cried out to him.
"Don't touch me! I'm too hot! Check on Optimus!" Bumblebee told him. Bumblebee then noticed the way Optimus stretched his arms out and released two small children from his servos. realizing that's what Optimus was protecting.
"Hey, come here." Onyankopon grabbed them and quickly pulled them away as Ratchet kneeled down and began to scan Optimus.
“Ratchet?” Ratchet almost lost focus as the Prime spoke his name, but he ignored it as he recalibrated Optimus’ vitals to his systems. Ratchet saw that Optimus’ vitals were beginning to stabilize, showing actual signs of life, before staring at the Prime.
“You’re alive,” Ratchet could only say, “You’re actually alive?”
All this time, Optimus was alive. Optimus was alive for four years, protecting another world of humans. And...and carelessly putting himself in danger once again!
“Ra-!” Ratchet didn't know what came over him, but he immediately slapped Optimus in the face.
"R-!"
“What in the Allspark were you thinking?!” Ratchet demanded, cutting Bumblebee off.
“Believe me, he wasn’t!” Levi shouted, causing Optimus to snap his helm towards the humans they had just picked up. The Prime looked so surprised to see them all here. He was at a loss for words, but there was also a mix of relief in his optics.
"What..." Ratchet was stunned when that relief, turned into anger, "What are you all doing here?! You were supposed to remain on the island!”
"What the fuck?" Rafael mouthed to Jack.
“Hey! If it wasn’t for our quick thinking and us being here, you’d be dead right now!” Hanji shouted at him, “You just run off into certain death without a proper goodbye and you expect us to stay put?!”
 “Optimus! Answer your fragging communicator! Status!” Megatron yelled at him through the comm. link system.
“I am fine!” Optimus told Megatron, “I am on the Iron Will!”
“I can see that!” Ultra Magnus' mouth dropped at the sight of Megatron's alt mode flying past his ship. He quickly regained his composure once he was out of view. “Rafael, connect Megatron to our communication systems!”
“Great,” Rafael drawled out before typing a few things on the keyboard. When he was done, Megatron’s face ended up showing up on the screen next to Miko and Smokescreen. “Can you hear us Buckethead? If you can, fuck you for trying to destroy Earth five times!”
“Raf!” Jack shouted.
“Hate me all you want; I need help now! There are still humans here on the ground!” Megatron called out.
Jack was flabbergasted while Ratchet’s mouth dropped. Bumblebee managed to finally sit up and stare at the screen. Megatron…asked for help?! For humans?!
“I’m opening up a spacebridge to the other side of the planet!” Ultra Magnus informed as he accessed the coordinates on one of his screens.
Ratchet wanted to ask questions. So did Bumblebee. They wanted to know what happened. How Optimus got here! What had he been doing here?! But Ratchet noticed Megatron flying past the Iron Will and heading left. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?!” 
“Eren is controlling the Founding Titan and the Rumbling! If he’s dead then the Rumbling will stop!” Megatron answered, “Why haven’t any of you Autobots targeted the Founder yet?!”
“Miko and Smokescreen are currently engaging the Founder as we speak,” Ultra Magnus informed.
“You let Miko and Smokescreen do what?!” Optimus demanded.
“IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO DIE!” Miko cackled through the comm. link system before slashing a Jaws Titan in the face.
“…you let the humans keep the Apex Armor,” Megatron concluded.
“Smokescreen also has the phase shifter,” Jack added.
“What about the humans on the ground?!” Bulkhead asked through the comm. link system, “I got a few of them clinging to me for dear life wanting to get away from this thing! I need a bridge to get them someplace safe!”
“On it!” Rafael informed as he opened a spacebridge for Bulkhead.
“Optimus, what do we do?!” Bumblebee turned to the Prime, “How do we approach this?!”
Ratchet noticed the way that Optimus' optics were full of confliction and fear. He looked uncomfortable with all eyes and optics on him, but then his gaze fell to the children civilians. All of them still crying and begging for help. Ratchet watched Optimus' expression of confliction fall away, his optics were full of determination. And he barked his first command.
(The rest of this you can go to chapter 93 to see how the rest of Guren No Yumiya plays out.)
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starqueensthings · 1 year ago
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Summary: yesterday's events on the combat base are forgotten amidst a turbulent morning, until a surprise at work single-handedly ensures forgetting anything about that place, or that person, would be near impossible. Rating/WC: all chapters are rated 16+ for mature themes unless stated otherwise. 6508 words. WARNINGS: none really... allusions of anxiety but nothing potent. Some suggestive language. A/N: This chapter is a little more dialogue heavy than some of the others... hopefully y'all are okay with that. My brain also did that thing with those perfectionist tendencies and made me read it so many times looking for errors that words just simply arent words anymore. If you see typos, passive verbs, or run on sentences... no you don't. OH ALSO, DONT FORGET FLIMSI MEANS PAPER. I am starting to sprinkle in a lot more Star Wars jargon! PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD LINKED BELOW FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY BEFORE PROCEEDING.
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FOREWORD | MASTER | NEXT | PREV | AO3
(1) “ Is this the long overdue engagement brunch you’ve been promising me for weeks? Or is it the galaxy’s most extravagant bribe?”   
That sharp intonation rang around the confines of those empty kitchen corners; the abandoned holopad awaiting attention atop that stone counter suddenly ignited amid an effort to alert that deserted room of an incoming written transmission, though its song and dance remained both unheard and unseen by its preoccupied owner still hidden two rooms over. Bent double in the lingering humidity of that tiny refresher whilst careless motions from toweled hands laboriously attempted to towel dry that impossibly thick mane of ebony hair, June sang loudly in tandem to the song issuing from the radio perched impetuously beside the sink, hips bobbing with a sense of near-awkward confidence, the nature of her back aching stoop utterly robbing those movements of the restraint and grace she typically offered the art of dance.  
Morning showers were largely atypical for someone whose work schedule demanded they rouse amidst the earliest hours of each aborning rotation— a time unknown to most; a reverently ephemeral gap between the dark and incipient dawn, when even the most practiced of night owls submitted to the need for repose and burrowed themselves securely into their beds; it remained Coruscant’s (and it’s egregious overpopulation’s) only hope of witnessing something that even bore slight resemblance to serenity, as the moon offered the sky one last farewell kiss before its radiant counterpart stretched its arms upward from below the horizon.  
No. Typically, a dozen hours spent confined in the frigidity of the hospital’s many operating rooms saw June near-desperately seeking the reinvigorating ablution of a hot shower upon her return home in the evening, granting the rest of her apartment only a momentary glance to affirm its regularity before leaping urgently into the sanctity of that steaming, tiled temple. But every eighth Benduday saw her routine inverted and the otherwise implacable anarchy of the Surgical Floor brought to a screeching halt, as all droids bearing the subclassification of ‘Medical Assist Personnel’ were required to adhere to the mandatory maintenance policy, including: circuitry inspection, processor recalibration, servo lubrication, and databank encryption. And due to the nature of the sophisticated machinery of which the hospital housed, and the innovative array of medical intervention it was subsequently able to provide whilst accompanied by those invaluable, artificially-intelligent companions, the temporary shutdown mandated that all surgeries, not categorized as Class-A Urgent, were deferred until the process reached completion. 
Despite having participated in this necessary interruption countless times, June continued to find that shift in routine quite irksome; the chance to amble around her apartment completely unhurried felt less like the rare opportunity for a languid morning, and more like she was being subjected to a timeout of which she’d done nothing to warrant, eyes darting impatiently toward the wall chrono near-regularly to gauge just how much time she’d managed to waste amidst the myriad of inconsequential tasks utterly failing to keep her occupied. And though that abeyance granted her the unfathomable privilege of actually sipping her morning caf and cherishing its flavour atop her tongue (instead of the hasty, throat scalding gulps she typically took before dashing from the kitchen), that unwelcome stillness walked hand-in-hand with the promise of an overactive mind perpetually threatening to resurface malignant past experiences in that complete void of distraction… her most valuable tool.  
Chest heaving neath the sheer exertion of pulling scrub pants up thighs still partially damp and tumid from that hot shower, she trod breathlessly into the kitchen and tossed her lunch bag atop the counter beside the stove. From the pantry in the corner, she extracted: the last of her favorite peanut granola bars, a packet of assorted fruit flavoured gummy snacks (shamelessly intended for juvenile consumption, though June had long-since proven to wholly lack the mental fortitude required to leave the store without them), and a foil-topped, styrofoam cup of dehydrated instant-noodles, all of which she threw pell-mell into that insulated tote without even a glance. 
(2) “Okay, but real talk... Are the strudels fair game? Because the one with sprinkles has been begging me to eat it for the last twenty mins and my willpower is fading fast.” 
A shrill chirp from across the kitchen purloined her attention as she reached to collect a clean fork from the drawer at her hip and drop it carelessly atop that pitiful troupe of snacks, the screen of that abandoned device strobing anew with another desperate attempt to inform its owner of her continued negligence. 
“What in Maker’s name…” June mumbled under her breath, brows furrowing neath a potent perplexity as she studied the pair of enigmatic messages she’d unknowingly snubbed. Brunch? Strudels? Sprinkles?   
The once-intentional grip around her beloved holo loosened as she spun back to face the refrigerator, wrist drooping as her focus shifted, narrowed eyes quickly locating the flimsi calendar affixed onto that gleaming appliance by a pair of decorative, faux leaf magnets. Yet, with each second her gaze danced upon those thirty-five blank squares, her mind whirred atop a frantic need to try and remember some lost premise – a strudel-worthy engagement of which she’d likely agreed to participate, but had wholly forgotten to jot down whilst in jumping the hurdles of Challa’s newly bequeathed educational directive. Perhaps one of the nurses was celebrating a birthday? Possibly today marked an anniversary of sorts? An acquaintance from another floor celebrating tenure, or retirement? A student, graduating? Or could it be that the surgical department had managed to notch yet another stupendous milestone into their belts, and the President had been kind enough to reward each of the staff with a sprinkle-covered pastry? 
The thought alone was enough to tug her from that torpor, a dubious snort escaping her nose as she placed her holopad back on the counter and zipped her lunchbag closed; the day the surgical staff was granted a token of appreciation for their unremitting dedication and hard work, would be the same day every Bantha in the galaxy suddenly sprouted wings and forewent gravity to voyage through hyperspace with the Purrgil. 
“Welp,” she grunted. “Whatever this shindig is, here’s hoping it’s not a potluck because I am not sharing my gummies.”
She delayed her departure only long enough to run some organic seed oil through the ends of her hair and hastily braid those unruly locks into a rope, draping it over her shoulder in an effort to prevent the dreaded “skyway tangles”; a label her good friend Alda has once adorned to the abhorrent series of knots that inevitably formed in one’s hair after a trip through the blustering skylanes overhead. 
Barely a minute later saw June emerging from the lobby of her building, doors clunking shut behind her and a sigh of content leaving her lips as she crossed the grounds of the apartment complex toward the parking lot where her speeder slumbered in the void of its call to action. Bearing witness to the way the sun bathed every corner of that stone walkway in its midday effulgence was yet another infrequent privilege allotted by the suspension of her routine, as noon hour typically saw her stooped over a gurney in one of the many, frigid operating rooms. But the breeze had yet to assimilate that spring sun’s inherent warmth, and whizzing through that skyway grid, high above the various peaks and gables of Coruscant's tallest roofs and highest towers, had a series of relentless shivers rolling down her spine, hands beginning to tremble atop those handlebars as she eagerly directed her bike toward the hangar door where hospital staff housed their vehicles for the duration of their shift. 
A trooper clad in a kit of white and scarlett stood to greet her as she approached that viridescent rayshield, appearing from his hidden perch behind the tinted windows of the security booth of which he took refuge in the absence of intrusion, that shiny and unmarred plastoid creaking as he sunk into one hip and folded his arms over that red, painted chest. 
"Slept in, didja doc?” he asked as she slowed to a halt in front of him, the vocoder in that familiar bucket utterly failing to conceal the teasing lilt in his voice. 
“Slept in?” June snorted while reaching to extract her ID card from the pocket on her thigh, near-instantly noting the white crown decal circling the dome of his red helmet. “Me? Come on, King. You oughta know me better than that by now. I wouldn’t know sleep if it danced naked in front of me.”
Though his eyes remained perfectly veiled by the opacity of that dark visor, there was no mistaking the way that trooper intentionally and infuriatingly spurned the extension of her offering as she held her clearance card outward, her lips instantly pursing upon watching those armour-clad arms tighten the entanglement atop his chest in a motion of uninhibited obstinance.   
“And what if I danced naked in front of you?” 
She hesitated for only a breath before a contentious groan escaped her lips, posture slumping amid a swelling impatience she simply could not corral as that question spilled from his lips bathed in the promise that he would not permit her to exit this exchange without suffering yet another round of his relentless advances. 
“What then, hmm?”
“Well first I’d vomit,” June snarked, response free from of the reticence that teaching on the base had begun to imbue in her, hand now vigorously shaking the card between her fingers neath a desperate attempt to attune his focus away from this imminent, noisome standoff and back toward the task of which he remained honour-bound to complete. “Then I’d probably throttle you to within an inch of your life for subjecting me to such cruel and unusual torture without cause, or have you forgotten my response from the last time we broached this particular subject?” 
“Can’t blame a guy for being persistent, can ya?” he attested, shoulders shifting briefly toward his concealed ears while he continued to ignore her increasingly frenetic motions. 
“No,” she grumbled, reinvigorating the violent flap of her hand between them, eyes departing the smirk hidden behind that bucket to affix themselves on the little plastoid card amid a silent plea that he save the unpleasant repartee and simply do his job . “But I can blame a guy for making me late–” 
“Then make this quick. Agree to a date.” 
“I don’t have time to socialize, King," June groused atop a heavy sigh. “Now or later, so can you just scan the card please?”
“Just one date, doc. That’s all I need to convince y–”
“No. It was no last time, and it’ll be no next time. Now scan the dam–”
“Hmph... someone’s feeling extra feisty today,” he cooed following a deep, throaty chuckle, tipping forward to within inches of her scowling expression and wholly rebuking the way she rapped the edge of her ID against his vambrace. “Lucky for you, I’m into the bratty attitu–”  
“Scan the kriffing card, King.”
Her hissed demand elicited nothing from that coy trooper but a small snort, arms slowly unfurling and head shaking neath an amusement of which she would never share. 
“You know, I would,” he purred, sightlessly snatching the wriggling card and turning it over in those gloved hands, fingers trailing tauntingly around its perimeter, “If I thought it would accomplish anything. This is an access card for the combat base… It’s not going to do you any good at GRMF."  
Her stomach plummeted, gaze darting frantically toward that glossy duraplas square between his kevlar-clad digits, dread surging through her veins at first sight of that white Republic cog emblem only partially hidden neath his fingertips. 
“Kriff.” 
“So how about that date?” King probed again, flicking that now useless ID into her lap and securing those arms atop his chest again. “Any more appealing now that I can save you a trip home?”
“I don’t live that far,” she snarled at him. 
“Suit yourself,” he sang atop a sigh of feigned remorse. "See you in half an hour, minimum . That midday Coruscant traffic can get pretty clogged, so here’s hoping you’re not pressed for time or anything. Being a doctor and all, I’m sure time is of no concern–”
“You're nauseating, you know that?” she grumbled under her breath, only-barely containing the potent need to tip her head back and groan to the sky about her own shameful negligence. “Would it be enough to say I’ll consider it?” 
“I’ll take what I can get.” Though his expression remained concealed by the goading shield of that red and white bucket, the snicker that rattled through the vocoder was bathed in a disturbing sense of success, and its sound forced her to near-instantly swallow back a sudden guttural heave.
June wasted no time engaging the throttle and surging forward the moment that humming green barrier disintegrated upon the prod of a button somewhere atop his on-person control system, and she offered him nothing more than a transient glare before rounding the first corner in that overladen speeder lot. 
By the time she neared the dueling pair of sliding doors acting a vestibule for the surgical floor, Jacoba’s pair of arcane messages had long since-vanished from her awareness. Instead, every stride into and out of those clanging and chiming elevators saw her fighting to repress the sickening blend of embarrassment and revulsion still simmering in her gut. It wasn’t until she stuck her nose into the staff room to ensure an absolutely vital pot of caf sat gurgling on the counter, did she remember the expectation of some party . But that austere room remained as prosaic and unassuming as ever; a myriad of lunch containers battled to occupy the limited square footage in that shared fridge as they always did, a vast collection of mugs had convened in the sink awaiting the bath they so desperately needed (a task that, rightfully, June should have initiated, as at least half had been soiled and stained by her inveterate caf addiction). Yet, any semblance of celebration remained absent; not a balloon to be blown, not a streamer to be seen, not a noise maker to be found.
“Hm,” she grunted, shoving a hand into the depths of that fridge amid an attempt to ensure those promised, sprinkle-covered-strudels weren’t simply concealed behind several bulky lunch bags. Though, aside from a sandwich whose bread had either been baked with blue milk, or had been abandoned to the callous corners of that shelf for so long that it had grown a particularly fuzzy layer of mold, there was nothing of peculiarity.
“Meh, whatever,” she mumbled to herself as she departed for the open ward, vowing to forgo this mystifying investigation and simply address that duo of ciphered messages when she reached her office.  
The ward itself entirely juxtaposed the bustle of the hospital’s several dozen other floors; as to not completely paralyze that symbiotic metacommunity, each ward adhered to a certified rotation that dictated what day of which week their allotted droid personnel received the temporary reset mandate. Since Lumi was required to comply with the strict policy, June did not bother pausing at the droid station to rouse him, instead veering around the gargantuan welcome desk toward the hidden hall that housed their office spaces. 
But barely a trio of steps passed underfoot down the secluded corridor before that once-placated confusion flared anew. Her always clutter-free desktop coming into focus only short strides down that quiet hall, that gleaming table now wholly replete with an odd arrangement of, what appeared to be …packages, and it was a collection of which she never would have permitted to belitter that cherished space for any longer than necessary. 
“What the–” she queried upon nearing the threshold, lips falling apart and brows contracting as those blue eyes scanned the unheralded assortment heaped in front of her. 
Five. Five oversized, kraft takeout boxes lay in a ceremonious crescent arrangement atop that white surface, their lids erected to expertly expose their myriad of delectable contents. Scones, muffins, biscuits, strudels, cookies, tarts, several different fruit and nut spreads; an entire bakery enclosed in that collection of containers. 
June had never seen such an appetizing display in her entire life, especially not arranged so decorously atop her desk, and her mouth began to water upon first sight of what appeared to be a perfectly baked cheddar tea biscuit nestled delicately in the corner of the middle box. Yet, it was not the exuberant display sending her nostrils aflare and a euphoric sigh from those gaping lips, but the unfamiliar, yet, glorious aromatics of a flavored caf, its enamoring perfume emanating from a spout-adorned takeout box just behind that scrumptious abundance. Flanked between a tall stack of emerald green, disposable cups and pile of matching flimsi napkins, a rolling pillar steam danced through from a small exhaust hole in that kraft container, filling that cramped corners of that office space with an intoxicating redolence of which she’d never known.
“Pastries?” June whispered, frozen atop that threshold. 
“Yes, I ate the strudel!” Jacoba needlessly admitted the moment June appeared, evidence of her transgressions still apparent by the powdered sugar lingering in the crevasses of her dark lips. “I couldn't help myself!”
“What is all this?” June asked her friend, the handles of both her lunch bag and her purse slipping down her forearm as she gestured toward the obscure feast in front of her. 
“You tell me,” Jac answered with a shrug. “What are we celebrating? Or, if it's a bribe, what do you want?” 
“We're not celebrating anything. I didn’t order this…” A soft, incredulous chortle escaped June's lips as she absently let her cargo thunk to the floor at her feet, the notion that Jacoba may have legitimately believed her to order such an extensive collection of finely crafted baked goods was near-laughable. 
“You didn’t order this stuff?” Jacoba probed immediately, eyes widening in something near-horror. “As in, did not? Please tell me you’re joking? I’ve already eaten like four pastries.”
“Of course I did not,” June snorted. “Why the kriff would I order 1600 different kinds of muffins, Jacoba?” 
“Don’t pretend like you haven’t done crazier shit, Juniper,” her best friend snarked back at her with a small roll of her eyes. “Remember the cheese fondue fiasco last year?”
“You always have to bring that up, don't you?” 
June eased somewhat apprehensively into that cramped but dazzlingly bright room, hands finding their perch atop her hips and a small sigh leaving her nose as she reached her desk and peered down at the unexpected assembly. “ Hutchie’s ,” she murmured, reaching for the box furthest on the left and trailing her finger along the ornate, gold signature adorning the underside of each lid. “Never heard of it.”
“Me neither,” Jac chimed in, wiping the remnants of that sweet indulgence from her lips with the sleeve of her cardigan. “They make a kriffing mean eclair though.” 
“Well what do we do with it?” June asked, retracting her hand from its yearning hover over the tea biscuit still silently vying for her attention in that dainty, doily swaddle. “Should we try and find who it’s meant for? Probably for the neonatal ward. They're always getting stuff delivered.” 
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Jacoba objected with a small shake of the head. “The delivery guy asked for you by name. Malya said he showed up at the welcome desk looking for a “ Dr. June ”, so she led him here. That’s kinda why I thought eating it would be fin–” 
“Ah. Good morning, girls.” 
June spun at the sudden sound of her boss’s drawling voice, turning to find Challa framed in the doorway with nostrils aflare and chest twitching atop a series of deep, inquisitive sniffs.
“It’s noon, Challa,” Jac corrected him with a smirk, gesturing with a small nod toward the window opposite where that midday radiance continued to flood every corner of the room. 
“So it is,” he assented, offering only a fleeting glance toward the watch strapped to his lissome wrist before his gaze fell upon the flagrant display of food. “Goodness, what an exhibition. It smells delightful. What precisely is the cause for celebration?” 
“Don't know,” June answered with a shrug, having both posed and denied some semblance of that question several times over the course of the last hour and had yet to find even a fragment of an answer. “I was kinda hoping you might, because neither of us were let in on the secret. We have no clue where it came from.” 
“How unusual,” Challa hummed, though his expression offered nothing but insouciance and mild amusement as if such an oversized and mysterious delivery was simply run-of-the-mill. “It bears no connection to me, unfortunately. Though, just as well– I could not procure the wine you requested. Apparently it’s an opulence not offered at local establishments. I did, however, manage to acquire a Cleanser Tube for your apartm–”  
“You did!?” June gasped, jaw falling open. “Seriously? No way! ”
“What!?” Jacoba protested as Challa pulled a single piece of white flimsi from its clamp neath his arm. “She gets a raise and a fancy new washing ma–”
“Contact the comm channel listed to schedule delivery,” Challa advised June as she collected the document, blatantly ignoring the pugnacious outcry from behind the sugar covered desk on the right. “And pay no attention to the fee listed near the bottom; this is a gift courtesy of GRMF, but it’s imperative the hospital’s parsimony remain intact so please keep this between us, June.”
“Of course!” She answered completely void of coherent thought, an ebullience incited by the unexpected ingratiation sending her near leaping on the spot and cradling that sheet of flimsi against her chest as if its top-secret context bore something of extreme high value. “Eeeee! This is so exciting, Challa! Thank you!” 
Something near an affectionate smile topped those thin lips, though he simply raised a hand to politely deflect her tittering gratitude, waiting until she’d expelled the last of her delight before letting the emergence of a darkened tone diminish the merriment in the room. 
“June,” he began neath that characteristic severity. “I am most eager to initiate the continuation of yesterday’s discussion, but there are a couple pressing matters I must first address. When you have a moment, dissect your surgical schedule and assign me as a second surgeon to whichever case you think might offer us the promise of an undisturbed discussion.”  
June offered a nod of understanding, eyes quickly shifting to locate the datapad atop that encumbered desk so she may accede to his request as soon as he departed. Once those magnificent Lekku vanished down the hall, June near-threw herself into the chair behind her desk with an elated sigh, gazing near-glassy eyed down at that flimsi still pinched in her fingers. 
“I hope you know I’ll be doing my laundry exclusively at your place now,” Jac groused from her seat whilst reaffixing her attention to the holocomputer screen currently displaying a particularly nasty looking intracerebral hemorrhage.  
“Yeah right,” June snorted, carefully folding that cherished contract and tucking it into her purse for safe keeping. “You’ve never done laundry a day in your life, first of all. Second, the chances of you breaking my new Cleanser with your atrociously beaded clothes is, unfortunately for you, way too high.” 
“Thechancesofyoubreakingmynewcleanser,” Jacoba mocked in a sickeningly childish voice atop another roll of her dark eyes. 
“Oh whatever… have another snack, Jealous Judy,” June snorted, reaching into the nearest box and extracting what looked and smelled to be a perfectly flakey buttertart, wrapping it in an emerald green napkin and placing it on the desk at her friends elbow next to a steaming cup of that enchanting, flavoured caf. 
“I don’t know exactly what this heavenly nectar is, but I'm about to drink all of it," June advised the room at large moments later, greedily watching that stream of shockingly fragrant, dark liquid pool in the green cup she'd placed in front of her; several deep, slow inhales near-instantly filling what felt like every corner of her being with an aroma so pleasant, she was unlikely to ever forget that intoxicating blended aroma of spiced apple and mild vanilla. 
“You have a keratoplasty in an hour,” Jacoba warned. “Maybe wait to overdose on caf until the jitters won’t permanently blind someone.”
Finally conceding to that herb-infused tea biscuit’s relentless call to be devoured, June ripped off large chunk of that fluffy dough and jammed it eagerly into her mouth, jaw immediately mutinying against the overzealous portion she was now demanding it mash as she reached to extract her work shoes from under the desk, but hardly a breath after she’d lifted her foot to force her toes into that black sneaker, the distressing sound of panicked, laboured breathing met her ears. 
“You okay, Gra’ta?” Jacoba asked as June’s gaze darted upward toward the door where a frantic looking nurse stood stooped in the threshold, one hand desperately seeking stability with a trembling grip on her knee while the other clamped itself atop her heaving chest. 
“Yeah,” Gra’ta near-wheezed, reaching toward her neck to gingerly trail a quivering hand across the first harrowing signs of a dark contusion erupting neath that blue Pantoran skin. “The guy in 11S just had me locked in a chokehold. It took everything Pherto had to get him off me.” 
“What?!” June gasped, black sneaker now forgotten and dangling uselessly in her hand. “Maker, are you okay? Why didn’t you call a code white?” 
“I'm fine,” she answered, though despite attempting to flippantly wave away their continued concern, there was no ignoring the mist forming atop her golden eyes as the need to expel that sudden surge of adrenaline robbed her of the immutable composure she so proudly upheld. “Everything is fine now. He just woke up from a mitral valve replacement, and the–” 
“The post procedure psychosis hit,” Jac finished for her. “Kriff, what is it with cardiac procedures and the idiopathic delirium?” 
“No one knows,” June chimed sombrely, shoving her foot into her shoe and hastily tying a knot in the laces. “But immediate physical therapy and pain control have been proven pivotal in helping it dissipate.” 
“Pherto’s on it,” Gra’ta confirmed atop a heavy sigh. “Listen, I have to run but I was supposed to bring this over a while ago. I found this on the floor behind the welcome desk, June. It’s got your name on it. Malya said it likely fell off one of the boxes that arrived earlier?” 
From the breast pocket of her scrub top, Gra’ta extracted a small dark green card, that familiar gold foiled signet gleaming in the light only briefly before disappearing again as she handed it across the desk. June took it enthusiastically, heart leaping as her fingers closed around the possible answer to this unforeseen strudel mystery. 
“Wait!” she called as Gra’ta heaved one last preparatory sigh and turned to admit herself back into chaos. “Take a snack or two before you go.” 
“Thank you,” the nurse smiled, accepting the stack of donuts June had hastily wrapped in a handful of those emerald napkins before disappearing back into the open ward. 
“She’s having a terrible day,” June near-whimpered upon taking her seat again. “Probably been at work less than an hour and already been strang—”
“Open it open it open it open it,” Jac chanted, interrupting the attempt to commiserate and spinning her chair away from her computer, dark eyes alight with something near a manic curiosity as they affixed themselves on the little card now laying next to that half eaten biscuit.  
Though no bigger than the size of a standard business card, for what that tiny envelope lacked in size, it made up ten fold in beauty. That stunning emerald flimsi, glazed with what appeared to be a graphic rendition of a some sort of leaf, shone radiantly in the sun pouring in from behind its current holder. Yet it wasn’t the detail adorning the little gift that captivated and held the attention of the narrowed blue eyes still gazing eagerly in its direction, nor was it the appearance of that same loopy penmanship, curling it’s way delicately around her name, but the truly marvelous wax seal tasked with keeping those contents private. 
“So ritzy,” she breathed, gently running a finger around the perimeter of that solidified gold before fitting the shredded edge of her thumbnail beneath that sparkly wax button and delicately prying it upward. 
The little card she pulled from its swaddle near-perfectly matched the luxury of its housing, though instead of that remarkably ornate penmanship, the message inside lay beneath a somewhat hurried and disjointed scrawl of which she’d never seen before.  
‘June,
I took you at your word and ordered one of every cheese centered snack they had, plus some other things I thought you’d maybe like. Hopefully something in this bunch manages to brighten your day that way you’ve repeatedly brightened mine. ’  
There was no need for a valediction, no need to see the name of the person who had requested and implemented the delivery of this astonishing  gift. It could only be one. There had only been one capable of doming her cheeks in such earnest, only one of whom could incite such a frenzy in her gut. An uncharacteristic giddiness of which no bite upon that bottom lip could stifle saw her hand darting upward to conceal what she could of that betraying grin, eyes flicking back to where that untidy scrawl had shaped her name.
“Who’s it from?” Jacoba demanded through the muffle of what sounded to be a mouthful of pastry number five. “The suspense is killing me.” 
But, much like the appearance of his lopsided smile, that message had near-instantly robbed June of the ability to form coherent thought beyond the unprecedented glee of which his presence seemed to innately bring her, and she offered her best friend’s curiosity nothing but a cogent silence whilst stealing another moment to reread those scrawled sentiments. 
“I’d much prefer real cheese… nothing woo’s me quite like a snack and a hot caf.” 
“I’ll remember that.”
Her jaw shifted ahead a giggle that she only barely corralled behind pursed lips as the image of that teal-painted captain danced across her mind, amber eyes twinkling, mouth hitched slightly toward one ear as he gazed down at her and uttered that promise with a sincerity she’d foolishly doubted in that moment. 
Heat coursed through her veins toward her cheeks as she banished that image from her mind only long enough to peer sideways at the snack beside her. That glorious caf and cheddar biscuit, his fulfilled promise, now lay long-forgotten, and the suddenly invigorated flap-a-bout in her gut had rendered even the thought of attempting another bite, a task of a near-Herculean quality.
His memory had danced across her awareness several times since their unexpected run-in yesterday, since curiosity and instant recognition had sent him back peddling into both the dead-end corridor where she’d gotten herself stranded and back into her life. And though offering the notion any fragment of affirmation only promised to set her hands atremble, there was no denying that a portion of her had attached itself to the idea of him frighteningly quickly and seemingly without hesitation. There was simply just something . Something about the way his eyes surveyed her so softly yet so knowingly, as if he'd somehow learned everything there was to know about her during the span of those two short encounters, and feared none of it. Something about the way that right side heavy smirk appeared as she spoke, as if he entirely understood the intention behind every word that left her lips— as if he simply knew who she was. 
Yet, despite this precipice bringing with it unheralded feelings of which June had never previously permitted herself to entertain, she could not deny it was near-perfectly matched by an apprehension of which her consciousness would simply not relent, and no sooner had her nerves found themselves drunk on that rush of gratitude and affection, did her stomach begin to twist atop an equi-potent reservation… a warning of which she’d long-trained her mind to issue when circumstance had thrust her into the unknown and unsafe territory of potentially reciprocating male affection. 
Despite her hearts best efforts, erupting into a cadence worthy of war as if every powerful beat thundered to recruit the service of her other organs in the battle against the grievously imminent reproval, that excitement quickly dissipated amongst the ominous breeze of which that red flag fluttered. The fact remained, he was a man, and June had spent her entire adult life meticulously fortifying a mentality that promised to keep herself free of them. Desires must remain at only that. These feelings, as intoxicating and ineffable as they were, threatened to pave a road away from the safety of which she’d long ago crafted, and though the soft shifts of his twinkling gaze atop her features seemed to set her very nerves alight in a way they’d never experienced, every beat of that bounding heart in favour of entertaining this possible connection was a rhythmic step toward a vulnerability she’d once sworn to never experience. 
Her eyes unfocussed upon that tiny card, written sentiments blurred by inattention as she clamped her thumbnail between her teeth and began its absentminded destruction.  
“Oh, are we doing that thing again? Where we just ignore each other? Because a heads up would have been nice…”
“No, sorry Jac,” June mumbled, wrenching her gaze from that scrawl and permitting a heavy sigh to steal from her lips. Swallowing upon the realization that attempting to conceal the surging inner conflict from someone who knew her more thoroughly than anyone else in the galaxy, would prove largely ineffective and likely only invite one of Jacoba’s infamous wraths to ensue, so she simply closed that little card and extended it outward so that her friend may ascertain the details first hand. 
Collecting the abandoned cup of caf from the desk and drumming her fingers anxiously atop its side, she watched Jacoba’s narrowed eyes dance rapidly across that beautiful little verdant momento. 
“But this doesn’t even say who it’s from!” her friend exclaimed angrily a mere second later, flicking the apparently useless flimsi haphazardly onto June’s desk. “How are we supposed to kn—”
“It’s from Howzer,” June interrupted, attempting to ignore the way letting her lips wrap their way around the shape of his name had reawoken the butterflies in her stomach, and though she pulled that biscuit toward her amidst an effort to locate any semblance of distraction, it now looked as unappealing as the sandwich in the staff room. 
“Who? ” Jacoba asked bemusedly, and had that sudden plague of emotional duality not rendered June near-ignorant to everything else, the look of unadulterated confusion atop her best friend’s face would have been near-comical, as Jacoba had long-since deemed herself the Queen of Gossip and rarely donned such an expression. 
“A guy—”
“A GUY?!”
”Shhhh!” June demanded in the wake of Jacoba’s incredulous outburst, both sets of eyes quickly darting toward the door to ensure that sudden incredulous blast hadn’t roused any attention. 
“He's a soldier,” June answered somewhat lamely atop her mind’s failed attempt at elucidating exactly who and what Howzer presently was to her. “He was the patient I cauterized after Challa pulled me off that thoracotomy last month. I ran into him on Base yesterday and... well... he was kinda flirting with me I guess.”
“Flirting? ” Jacoba repeated instantly in hiss. 
June near-cowered under the intensity of her friend’s wide-eyed, disbelieving stare; it seemed whatever explanation Jacoba had expected to hear from her, the notion of a possible love-interest had not at all been on the radar.
“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Jac sang quietly, “I know I’ve been out of the dating game for a while, but I don’t think he would have sent cookies to someone that slapped him . So– does that mean that you were flirting back?”
Attempting to hide a portion of that shameful truth, June hid behind a long sip of caf before offering a small shrug. “I don't know,” she admitted atop a repressed sigh, fingers continuing their pointless tap atop that cup. “I didn’t tell him to fuck off, so… maybe? I guess? All I said was, if he wanted to woo me, he'd better do it with snacks.”
“Oh, you're open to people wooing you now, are you?”
“I mean, I don't know,” June repeated in little more than a mumble, something near-shame creeping up her throat and threatening to bring that lonesome bite of biscuit with it. She swallowed and dropped her gaze to the lid of the cup in her hand, a tiny shard of shredded thumbnail loitering where she'd unknowingly ripped and tore that keratin apart amidst her torpor. 
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jacoba cast another furtive glance toward the door, ensuring this increasingly poignant conversation promised to remain entirely unheard by any unwanted ears lingering in that otherwise quiet corridor. 
“June…” 
“Don’t ‘June’ me. I know it’s insane. I’m trying to igno–”  
“It’s not insane at all,” Jacoba argued quietly, “So shut up and listen.” 
With lips pursed against the autonomic urge to snark back at her best friend’s command, June simply placed her nail back between her teeth and shifted her gaze to her knees. 
“You've been… strong… for a long time, June,” Jacoba spoke soberly, leaning her elbows onto her knees and clasping her fingers together. “You've managed to uphold this conviction— this ‘I hate men’ mentality for nearly a decade. I know why and I don’t blame you, but while I know you think that’s what’s been keeping you safe, it’s also kept you alone. You are as stubborn as you are strong and you know that. If you have any sort of feelings for this Hazlan guy—” 
“Howzer.”
“—Howzer, then why not just lean into it a little bit this time? Just see where it goes?”
“Jac—” June stammered, placing her cup back on the desk in front of her and shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I shouldn’t. I can’t… and I don’t even think I’d know what to do if I could. ”  
“You're not proposing to the guy,” Jac shrugged, sitting back in her chair. “You don’t really have to do anything. Just don't shut him down. Let him flirt and see where that takes you. If you get a bad vibe from him, cut him loose. A swallow does not a summer make, June. It's been ten years . One foray into the possibility of a relationship is not going to derail the life you’ve made for yourself. Plus, you did four straight years of self-defense… you could probably break every bone in his body if you felt the need.”
FOREWORD | MASTER | NEXT | PREV | AO3
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mightyflamethrower · 2 years ago
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We know the multifaceted strategy of the monstrous Hamas operation of Oct. 7
In precivilizational fashion it wished to kill and mutilate the most vulnerable of all Israeli civilians and thus to shock the world that it was capable of—and proud about— anything, from decapitation to necrophilia. Such animalistic savagery, in the reckoning of Western therapeutic society, was supposedly to be seen as forced upon Hamas murderers by the “occupation.”
The killers felt they would shock the Israelis into concessions given their eagerness to commit the unspeakable. They took captives for tripartite reasons: to barter children and the elderly for their kindred terrorist murderers in Israeli jails; to use captives to force the Israelis to grant cease-fires and pauses in their retaliation; and to bank them as shields to protect Hamas kingpins from retaliation.
Hamas invaded during a holiday in the early hours, in a time of peace, and on the iconic 50th-annivesary of the Yom Kippur surprise Arab attack. Their aim was to prove that  Israeli soil was for the first time porous and 2,000 killers could enter sacred Israeli ground with impunity and kill in one day more Jews civilians than at any day since the Holocaust.
The terrorists shot thousands of rockets into Israel to overwhelm Iron Dome and terrify the entire civilian population.
All these tactics was aimed at long-term strategic goals: stop the Abraham Accords; obey the directives of Hamas’s Iranian terrorist masters as payment for their arms; discredit the radical Palestine Authority and Arab moderate nations as anemic in their opposition to the supposedly shared hated Zionist entity; and prompt an Israeli response that by necessity would involve collateral damage to human shields, and schools, mosques, and hospitals atop subterranean Hamas headquarters.
Yet if we know their despicable methods, aims, and strategies, why did they think the civilized world would support their barbarity or at least excuse it?
One, Hamas assumed anti-Semitism was prevalent throughout the West and was canonical in the Middle East. Palestinian authorities count on the fact that being an enemy of the Jews of Israel wins them empathy of the world and creating their own unique rules of passive-aggressive victimhood.
So Palestinians demand to be the only “refugees” in the world—not Greek Cypriots, Eastern European Germans, and Prussians, Kurds, Armenians, and certainly not a million Jews cleansed from the Arab Middle East.
Israelis are to be “settlers,” not millions of Middle Easterners who surge and settle into the West, form resistance communities, sneer at integration and assimilation, and use Western liberality to protect and project their own illiberality.
Second, Hamas relies on useful Western idiots. It understands its terrorists repel the majority of Americans. But it figures Western and globalist institutions—academia, the media, popular culture—in their wealth, ignorance, and self-importance, alleviate guilt and find resonance by mouthing the shibboleths of the “underdog.”
In particular, Hamas understands that the Palestinian cause has fused with the leftwing Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion industry. Thus Hamas becomes the Middle-East counterpart to BLM, aggrieved minorities, and, more preposterously, the trans/gay/feminist movement. Meanwhile, Israelis are recalibrated as the demonized Western “colonialist” white supremacists.
Third, the Islamic expatriate populations of Europe and the U.S. have soared. In the strange logic of the Middle Easterner in the West—on a green card, or a student visa, or either as an illegal alien or a first-generation immigrant—he will envision the magnanimity of Americans and Europeans who offered him refuge from the violence, hatred, tyranny, racism, sexism, terrorism, and violence of his homeland all too often as weakness to be manipulated, not as generosity to be appreciated much less reciprocated.
Middle Eastern expatriates brag of their growing numbers and the political clout that Islam accrues in liberal democracies, without a clue of their hypocrisy of supporting illiberal tyrannies whose violence drove them out to the West in the first place.
So, we watch Middle Easterners in the U.S. trying to ruin iconic events such as crashing “Black Friday” shopping, disrupting the New York Thanksgiving parade, or tearing down American flags on Veterans’ Day.
Only in America would the Iranian terrorist theocracy’s ex-ambassador to the UN, Mohammad Jafar Mahallati, be accorded a professorship at Oberlin or a former top diplomat for the Iranian regime Seyed Hossein Mousavian land a coveted billet at Princeton.
From such perches these expatriates are free to promote pro-Hamas, Iranian, anti-Semitic—and Anti-American—agendas. They consider their hosts not so much tolerant as stupid, in the sense that any American expatriate in Iran who whispered criticism of the theocratic regime would either be hanged or used as a barter hostage. Why would those whose careers were devoted to demonizing and harming the United States from their coveted billets in Iran even wish to move to the Great Satan, while keeping warm relations with their theocratic kingpins in Tehran?
Four, behind all these considerations, is the reality of terrorism and the fear it instills in the West, given the 21st century history of Middle Easterners slaughtering thousands of Americans and Europeans. In crude terms, Hamas and its terrorist affiliates signal us, “damn Israel or be prepared for another 9/11.”
Five, Hamas is a death cult, an updated terrorist version of the more organized SS—with the qualifier it broadcasts rather than hides its savagery.
Radical Palestinians brag that they love death more than Israel loves life. So they count on Israel giving up three convicted terrorists to get back one elderly or young Israeli captive, on targeting civilians with rockets while Israelis drops leaflets warning of their bombing attacks, on coercing human shields that they assume Israel will avoid, on sanctioning raping, mutilating, and beheading in a way Israel would never conceive of reciprocating in kind, and on and on.
So will all these tactical and strategic methods work? For all the UN, media, and globalist support for Hamas, still perhaps not.
October 7 was a declaration by Hamas that all barbarity imaginable was now fair game. Yet its sheer evil has unleashed the IDF that perhaps not even Joe Biden, hostages, and “world opinion” can permanently stop.
For all the boasts about loving death, it was Hamas who cowardly murdered the unarmed, scampered back to the safety of their tunnels, and used their own kindred Gazans to shield them from death—delivered to them by supposed nerds who love life too much.
Europeans also have had it with unlimited immigration from the Middle East. Restrictionist politicians throughout Europe are ascending as never before, in Greece, Ireland, Italy, Germany, Holland, Spain, and Sweden.
They all reflect growing public anger that Europeans are hated by the very people who seek them out and wish to destroy their Enlightenment institutions by manipulating and discrediting them.  The thousands who hit the streets to cheer on October 7 and damn their hosts only confirm a growing global consensus—in the West, Latin America, Asia, and even throughout the Middle East—that admitting migrants from Palestine or Gaza, or their supporters, is a veritable death wish.
Pro-Hamas protestors calling Joe Biden “Genocide Joe” and boasting about the Arab or Muslim vote in Michigan is incoherent. Not only do harassing Thanksgiving shoppers and parades, disrupting iconic American holidays and events, swarming highways and bridges, and preying on Jews alienate Americans. But also taking credit for ensuring Biden’s defeat will only distance the Democratic establishment, such as it is, from its embarrassing, loud, but ultimately relatively impotent Islamic constituency.
Shouting for mass death “From the River to the Sea” does not endear the pro-Hamas crowd to half of their fellow Democrats, much less unabashedly strutting their anti-Semitism. The current overt support for Hamas, in other words, has revealed to the nation the bankruptcy of the entire pro-Hamas/DEI base of the Democratic Party and will do much to ensure a conservative president in 2024.
And that president will likely deport anyone on a green card or student visa promoting Hamas terrorism, or violating U.S. law, while ensuring a travel ban from terrorist supporting regimes in the Middle East. Such measures will win overwhelming public support, despite media and academic outrage.
Strategically, Iran, Hamas, and the Palestinians may seem to have flummoxed Israel into endless concessions by metering out hostages for serial pauses. But again, no Israel government can retain power by allowing the mass murdering Hamas to survive and so it will not.
Despite all the blood-curdling rhetoric of Hezbollah and Iran, neither will attack Israel or U.S. assets in force, given no American president could afford not to retaliate disproportionately. And “disproportionately” would mean rendering Iran’s military and Hezbollah to something akin to the current status of Hamas.
So for now, Hamas and its American-residing apologists are full of themselves and feel they are leveraging and manipulating the West. But such haughtiness may be a delusion. Hamas in the Middle East and its enablers in Europe and America have done more to harm the Palestinian cause and the idea of Middle Eastern immigration to the West than at any time since 9/11.
It is hard to anger Westerners, but continue the death chants, the violent demonstrations, the creepy anti-Semitism, and the proud support for the Hamas bloodwork of October 7, and they will be surprised at the growing anger of otherwise postmodern Europeans and distracted Americans.
Just as Israel realizes that there is no living with Hamas killers, so the West is learning that it can no longer sustain universities that despise the culture that nourishes it or Middle Eastern immigrants, visiting students, and residents that use the gift of freedom and tolerance to promote their abhorrent anti-Semitism, violence, intolerance—and, yes, hatred of their generous hosts.
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We said never again. Did we mean it???
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enterprisewired · 7 days ago
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Florida Approves New Law to Ease Financial Burden on Condo Owners
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Source: www.yahoo.com
New Law Offers Financial Relief to Florida Condo Residents
In a significant move aimed at easing the financial burden on Florida condo owners, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis signed a new bill into law on Monday. The legislation provides relief to residents struggling with rising costs due to stringent building safety and maintenance requirements. This new measure grants more flexibility to homeowner associations in managing reserve funds and adjusts safety assessment obligations. The law, effective July 1, is designed to reform aspects of a 2022 condo safety law passed in the aftermath of the tragic Champlain Towers South collapse, which claimed 98 lives in Surfside.
State Senator Ed Hooper, who attended the bill signing in Clearwater, noted that while the 2022 law was enacted with good intentions, its financial impact on residents, especially the elderly, was too severe. “It’s time to make the change,” Hooper said, emphasizing that many retirees were forced out of their homes due to unaffordable homeowners association (HOA) fees.
Surfside Tragedy Prompted Stricter Laws, Now Being Reassessed
Following the Surfside collapse, lawmakers passed strict legislation requiring condo associations to maintain fully funded reserves for major repairs and safety improvements. While the goal was to prevent another structural disaster, the financial implications were far-reaching. Many condo residents, particularly in South Florida, were surprised by high special assessments intended to cover years of neglected maintenance.
These unexpected costs have placed a significant burden on retirees and individuals with fixed incomes. Additionally, residents along Florida’s southwest coast have been further impacted by back-to-back hurricanes, which severely damaged waterfront properties and added to repair demands. Florida condo owners Earle Cooper, residing in Belleair, shared that the effort to manage building repairs has become an ongoing responsibility. “Hurricanes just multiply the problems,” he said, highlighting the cumulative strain on residents.
New Provisions Aim to Reduce Financial Pressure and Offer Flexibility
The new legislation introduces several measures aimed at easing financial strain. Florida condo owners associations are now permitted to use loans or lines of credit to fund their reserve accounts. Moreover, residents are given more freedom to delay contributions to these funds while addressing urgent repairs. The bill also extends the deadline for completing structural integrity assessments and exempts certain smaller buildings from this requirement altogether.
Governor DeSantis expressed confidence that these changes will offer much-needed relief but acknowledged that further adjustments may be necessary. “To the extent that there needs to be some cleanup next year when the legislature reconvenes, we’ve got to be willing to do that,” he said.
The bill represents a recalibration of previous legislation that, while well-intentioned, resulted in unintended financial consequences. Lawmakers hope this more balanced approach will continue to ensure building safety without displacing residents due to unaffordable fees.
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sepblogs1211 · 13 days ago
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11 Strategic Forex Trade Setups Amid Market Volatility
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Market Analysis
GOLD
GOLD remains below recent highs as traders reassess after the surprising decline that followed bullish geopolitical developments. Despite expectations for a rally—given Middle East tensions and a weakening U.S. Dollar—larger profit-taking likely drove prices down temporarily. For strategic forex trade planning, this presents a key area for reassessing long positions. While the MACD indicates bearish growth and RSI shows overbought signals, a normalization may provide a better re-entry point.
SILVER
SILVER is holding firm near support at 36.7308 following its retreat from recent highs. Metals seem to be consolidating, partly due to shifting safe-haven demand into Oil. However, we anticipate further bullish follow-through. These levels remain important for traders applying multi-pair forex strategies or looking at commodity-currency correlations.
DXY
The Dollar surged following the Fed’s rate hold and Powell’s comments on tariff-driven inflation. With traders recalibrating rate cut expectations, the MACD and RSI both confirm bullish momentum. The DXY’s move above the EMA200 supports near-term strength. However, forex analysis and predictions suggest this may be temporary. Price action traders should monitor whether this move continues or corrects after the FOMC fallout.
GBPUSD
The Pound broke key structure levels, continuing its bearish trend. The MACD and RSI both show heavy selling volume and momentum. As part of a broader EUR/USD trend analysis, GBPUSD shows how political divergence and inflation fears impact currency flows. We are now actively looking for sell opportunities.
AUDUSD
The Australian Dollar is consolidating, showing relative resilience compared to the Pound. In light of global risk-off sentiment, this move is surprising. We wait for a break of structure before applying strategic forex trade planning to AUD setups.
NZDUSD
The Kiwi is pressing against the lower edge of its range. A sustained move below this level could lead to new selling opportunities. Traders using multi-pair forex strategies should closely track NZD correlation with commodity trends and overall market sentiment.
EURUSD
EUR/USD is under pressure but still structurally bullish. Currently, the pair is retesting the upper band of its previous consolidation zone. RSI and MACD show bearish volume and momentum, while EMA200 acts as resistance. We’re on watch for a bullish breakout or further confirmation of a trend shift. Price action trading for EUR/USD remains central to current forex positioning strategies.
USDJPY
USDJPY shows signs of bullish continuation but remains in consolidation. Despite risk-off flows, JPY isn’t gaining as expected, possibly due to domestic policy hesitations. We'll stay on hold until structure gives way in either direction—essential for high-confidence forex analysis and predictions.
USDCHF
USDCHF has re-entered consolidation and broken the EMA200. Although MACD and RSI show bullish signals, we remain cautious. Strategic forex trade planning suggests waiting for structure confirmation before shifting our bias from bearish to bullish.
USDCAD
USDCAD shows strong bullish momentum after bouncing off the EMA200. RSI and MACD confirm follow-through to the 1.37261 level. With no immediate rejection, we maintain a bullish bias. However, as with all multi-pair forex strategies, we remain alert for rapid shifts tied to oil and Fed sentiment.
Final Thoughts
This week's volatility underscores the importance of strategic forex trade planning. With inflation outlooks, geopolitical escalation, and central bank divergence shaping currency flows, a methodical approach to multi-pair forex strategies and EUR/USD trend analysis is essential. Stick to the technicals, follow the price action trading for EUR/USD, and remain responsive to macro news for optimal trade execution.
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prestongelman · 28 days ago
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How Shareholder Perception Informs Business Strategy
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Strong corporate performance no longer guarantees investor confidence. In a market shaped by rapid changes and constant transparency demands, perception now guides action. Shareholder views, once measured to review past communication, have become inputs for directing forward strategy. This shift redefines perception studies as proactive tools rather than reactive check-ins.
Investor relations teams increasingly use perception research to close gaps between internal intent and external interpretation. These insights refine tone, clarify direction, and prevent credibility loss. Companies now gather structured feedback early to sharpen updates and disclosures with greater precision. The result is stronger alignment and fewer surprises.
Relying on price movements or analyst reports alone misses key context. A declining stock may reflect timing or sentiment rather than business fundamentals. A stable price can mask growing unease. Perception studies uncover themes such as skepticism toward growth plans, concerns about executive discipline, or doubts about capital allocation. Addressing these directly improves alignment and reduces speculation.
Consider a mid-cap industrial company preparing to announce an acquisition. Internally, the strategy appears sound because it expands capability and fills a clear gap. However, perception research reveals hesitation around integration risk. In response, the company revises its materials to include synergy timelines, leadership roles, and historical benchmarks. Added clarity strengthens confidence ahead of the announcement.
These insights also inform when to speak, not just what to say. A company planning a guidance revision might delay its message if investors signal unease. A brief pause allows for outreach that reinforces the rationale. In markets where timing influences interpretation, these adjustments reduce volatility and improve message reception.
Small cues in perception feedback can reshape leadership impressions. If executives are viewed as overly optimistic or unclear, delivery adjustments help recalibrate. Offering greater specificity and less hyperbole builds credibility. These refinements may be subtle, but their long-term influence on investor judgment is significant.
A healthcare company illustrates this well. Facing pushback after increasing its dividend, leaders found that investors preferred increased investment in research and development. Rather than reverse the decision, they clarified that the dividend was sustainable and part of a disciplined capital strategy. This reframing preserved goodwill and realigned expectations.
Perception studies support more than isolated announcements. By identifying gaps early, companies reduce the chance of activist pressure or strained relationships with key stakeholders. Regular insight into investor sentiment helps avoid missteps and improves decision-making across the board.
Different investors value different things. Long-only funds emphasize consistency. Hedge funds look for inflection points. Retail investors often want clarity and simplicity. Perception research allows companies to tailor their communication without fragmenting the message. A refined strategy respects these differences while keeping the narrative cohesive.
Building these capabilities takes practice. Organizations that integrate perception analysis into planning cycles, rather than treating it as a one-off task, develop stronger instincts over time. Feedback becomes part of the decision-making rhythm instead of a disruption. This cultural shift helps companies anticipate market reactions with greater precision and respond with confidence.
Internally, the benefits extend beyond investor relations. Strategy, finance, and operations teams gain sharper focus when they understand external expectations. Decisions become easier to defend when they reflect both business logic and investor trust.
Listening well has become a hallmark of effective leadership. Shareholder perception is no longer a trailing indicator, but a guidepost. Organizations that read the room with purpose and adapt with discipline strengthen engagement and support long-term value creation.
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accapitalmarket · 1 month ago
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Gold Shines, Oil Wobbles, Yen Surges – What’s Next After PCE?
As markets digest another week of shifting macroeconomic expectations, price action across key assets has been shaped by U.S. dollar softness and a broader recalibration of risk sentiment. While gold surged to new highs, oil struggled under demand concerns, and USD/JPY saw sharp downside amid speculation of policy intervention from Tokyo. With U.S. core PCE inflation due at the end of the week, volatility could remain elevated across USD pairs and commodities alike.
Below, we break down the week’s movements and what may lie ahead for three major markets: Gold (XAU/USD), WTI Crude Oil (USOILRoll), and USD/JPY.
All times mentioned in this report are in BST.
Golf (XAU/USD)
Gold (XAU/USD) has rallied with conviction this week, lifting from a low of $3,261.97 to reach a session high of $3,340.98, before easing slightly to trade around $3,325.57 at the time of writing. This climb reflects growing risk aversion and ongoing U.S. fiscal concerns, which have dented the dollar and reignited safe-haven demand.
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XAUUSD H1
Technically, the H1 chart reveals a clean impulsive wave from the recent bottom, followed by a measured correction and another leg higher, a structure often associated with bullish continuation patterns. The bounce from $3,261.97, which now acts as short-term support, confirmed buyers are willing to step in aggressively on dips. The price currently sits just beneath the $3,340.98 resistance zone, which marks the week’s high and remains a key breakout level.
If bulls manage to push through this ceiling, we could see an extension toward $3,360–$3,375, while failure here might trigger a short-term retracement toward $3,300 or even $3,280. Volume through the most recent upswing has been relatively stable, not euphoric, suggesting healthy buying interest rather than speculative exuberance.
Fundamentally, gold is underpinned by a softer dollar and stable-to-lower yields, as traders anticipate next week's U.S. core PCE inflation data. Any surprises to the upside could pressure gold lower via rate-hike repricing, but for now, the yellow metal retains a positive bias supported by macro uncertainty and technical momentum.
Crude Oil (USOILRoll)
WTI Crude Oil has struggled to maintain bullish momentum this week, falling sharply from a high of $63.857 to a low of $60.628 before attempting to stabilize near $61.334. A weaker demand outlook and mixed macroeconomic signals have weighed on energy markets, driving increased volatility across oil contracts.
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USOILRoll H1
Technically, the chart highlights a classic reversal pattern, with a steep bearish impulse dominating from the peak. A series of lower highs and lower lows culminated in a heavy selloff, before a modest rebound off the $60.628 floor. While this zone now acts as key short-term support, the broader structure remains fragile, with resistance overhead at $62.20–$62.50 likely to cap immediate upside attempts.
The recent price stabilization may suggest some near-term exhaustion in the downtrend, but without a clear fundamental catalyst or strong bullish structure, upside potential looks limited for now. Traders may view the current range as consolidation within a bearish channel, with a break below $60.60 exposing downside towards $59.80 or even $59.00.
From a macro perspective, attention now turns to upcoming U.S. inventory data and any updates from OPEC+ on output policy. Additionally, broader risk sentiment, particularly concerns over slowing Chinese growth, may continue to pressure demand-sensitive commodities like crude. Until momentum flips decisively, traders may remain cautious on long positions at current levels.
USD/JPY
USD/JPY has come under significant pressure this week, retreating from a peak of 145.261 to a current level of 143.236, just above the weekly low of 143.038. The move reflects a combination of broad dollar softness and rising speculation that Japanese authorities could step in to curb excessive yen depreciation.
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USDJPY H1
Technically, USD/JPY is showing signs of exhaustion after failing to sustain the recent upside. The sharp decline from the 145.261 resistance level was unaccompanied by meaningful rebounds, suggesting strong bearish control. The breakdown through previous structure around 144.00 confirmed a change in short-term sentiment, with 143.00 now acting as a critical pivot.
The pair currently trades in a vulnerable position, hovering just above key support. If this zone gives way, the next downside targets could emerge near 142.50 or even 141.80. To reverse the current bias, USD/JPY would need to reclaim 144.20–144.50 with conviction, ideally supported by stronger U.S. data or a hawkish shift in Fed rhetoric.
On the fundamental front, the USD has lost momentum amid softer U.S. economic indicators and falling Treasury yields. Meanwhile, the yen has gained marginal ground amid market whispers of potential currency intervention. Looking ahead, Friday’s core PCE inflation data could be pivotal, a softer read may further weigh on the dollar and add fuel to the yen’s rebound.
Volatility in this pair remains high, and with Japan’s Ministry of Finance having already expressed discomfort with excessive yen weakness, verbal or actual intervention could become a real near-term risk factor.
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Forward-Looking Considerations
Looking ahead, the focus turns to Friday’s U.S. core PCE inflation release; the Fed’s preferred inflation gauge. A lower-than-expected print could deepen the dollar's correction and extend gains in gold, while also adding weight to bearish USD/JPY sentiment. Conversely, a hotter PCE read may revive hawkish Fed bets and reinforce the greenback.
Also worth watching: any OPEC+ commentary on oil production, and continued BOJ/Ministry of Finance remarks related to yen strength. All told, the combination of key U.S. data and policy-sensitive levels across JPY and commodities make next week critical for trend continuation or reversal setups.
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greattime07 · 2 months ago
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Everything You Need to Know About the Rescheduled IPL 2025
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Cricket fans, mark your calendars! The TATA IPL 2025 has officially released its revised schedule, promising a thrilling climax to an already action-packed season. With key fixtures reshuffled and the race to the playoffs heating up, excitement is at an all-time high. Whether you're a die-hard fan of your franchise or a cricket enthusiast tracking every stat, this rescheduled phase is where everything counts.
TATA IPL 2025 Revised Schedule: Dates You Can’t Miss
Here's the full revised fixture list for TATA IPL 2025:
May 17, 2025 – Royal Challengers Bengaluru vs Kolkata Knight Riders
May 18, 2025 – Rajasthan Royals vs Punjab Kings            Delhi Capitals vs Gujarat Titans
May 19, 2025 – Lucknow Super Giants vs Sunrisers Hyderabad
May 20, 2025 – Chennai Super Kings vs Rajasthan Royals
May 21, 2025 – Mumbai Indians vs Delhi Capitals
May 22, 2025 – Gujarat Titans vs Lucknow Super Giants
May 23, 2025 – Royal Challengers Bengaluru vs Sunrisers Hyderabad
May 24, 2025 – Punjab Kings vs Delhi Capitals
May 25, 2025 – Gujarat Titans vs Chennai Super Kings            Sunrisers Hyderabad vs Kolkata Knight Riders
May 26, 2025 – Punjab Kings vs Mumbai Indians
May 27, 2025 – Lucknow Super Giants vs Royal Challengers Bengaluru
May 29, 2025 – Qualifier 1
May 30, 2025 – Eliminator
June 1, 2025 – Qualifier 2
June 3, 2025 – Final
With each franchise now recalibrating their strategies, team selections, and training plans, fans can expect a high-octane finish. The shift in schedule allows teams to regroup and make their final push toward the coveted trophy.
The Road to the Final: What This Means for the Teams
As the league phase narrows down, every run, wicket, and point will matter. Teams like Chennai Super Kings and Mumbai Indians, known for their late-season surges, will look to capitalize on momentum. On the other hand, dark horses like Lucknow Super Giants and Gujarat Titans could prove to be this year’s game-changers.
Expect more aggressive captaincy decisions, surprising team changes, and last-over thrillers as the final approaches. Each of these rescheduled games will shape the destiny of the TATA IPL 2025 playoffs.
Match Predictions, Betting Buzz & Strategy Talks
As the tournament reaches its critical juncture, TATA IPL 2025 Match Prediction has never been more intriguing. Cricket experts and analysts are debating everything from team combinations to pitch behavior. For fans and fantasy players, this is the ideal time to tune in to expert commentary, track form guides, and update your fantasy teams.
Platforms like Winexch have seen a surge in engagement as users seek insightful predictions, odds, and statistical breakdowns. From powerplay dominance to death-over finishes, every prediction tool is being pushed to the limit.
Stay tuned with Winexch for more information on the Tata IPL 2025 Match prediction, Tata IPL 2025 match predictions, and cricket updates. Whether you're playing fantasy cricket or analyzing team forms, Winexch offers cutting-edge insights to elevate your game.
Spotlight Fixtures: Key Matches to Watch
Some matches are set to be absolute blockbusters. Here are a few that you shouldn’t miss:
May 20: Chennai Super Kings vs Rajasthan Royals – A must-watch clash with CSK's playoff legacy on the line.
May 25: Sunrisers Hyderabad vs Kolkata Knight Riders – Two well-balanced teams battling for a top-four spot.
May 27: Lucknow Super Giants vs Royal Challengers Bengaluru – A virtual knockout game with superstar talent on display.
Strategic Shifts: Impact of the Rescheduling
The revised schedule brings new challenges. Player fatigue, recovery time, and squad rotation will play crucial roles. Additionally, doubleheaders add to the intensity, demanding sharper on-field strategies and better squad depth management.
Coaches will need to consider pitch wear-and-tear, particularly for venues hosting multiple matches in quick succession. Expect to see spinners dominate in these conditions, especially in the subcontinent heat.
Winexch’s Take: Who Has the Edge?
As per current performance metrics and match predictions from Winexch, here are the teams with the best chances:
Mumbai Indians – Strong finishers with depth in batting.
Gujarat Titans – Balanced side with strong bowling options.
Chennai Super Kings – Tactical masters known to peak at the right time.
With plenty of twists still to come, fans can count on Winexch for the most reliable TATA IPL 2025 Match Prediction insights throughout the remaining fixtures.
The Final Push: What’s at Stake
From now on, every game is a virtual knockout for some franchises. The Top 4 race will be closely contested and likely decided on net run rate. All eyes will be on key players like Virat Kohli, MS Dhoni, Hardik Pandya, and Shubman Gill, as they take the field with national selection and pride on the line.
Final Thoughts
The TATA IPL 2025 is entering its most thrilling chapter. With the rescheduled matches offering more suspense, fans have everything to gain—whether it's cheering from the stands, building fantasy teams, or making accurate predictions.
Make the most of every match with Winexch—your go-to destination for in-depth TATA IPL 2025 Match Prediction, live scores, fantasy tips, and expert analyses.
Stay tuned with Winexch for more information on the Tata IPL 2025 Match prediction, Tata IPL 2025 match predictions, and cricket updates. Let the cricketing fever rise!
FAQs About TATA IPL 2025 Revised Schedule & Predictions
Q1: Why was the TATA IPL 2025 schedule revised? A: The schedule was adjusted due to logistical changes and broadcasting requirements. The revised plan ensures fair play and audience convenience.
Q2: Where can I get accurate TATA IPL 2025 Match Prediction? A: Platforms like Winexch provide trusted and data-driven predictions. Stay tuned with Winexch for more information on the Tata IPL 2025 Match prediction, Tata IPL 2025 match predictions, and cricket updates.
Q3: Which teams are currently leading the points table? A: The standings vary with each match. Follow real-time updates on Winexch and the official IPL app for the latest rankings.
Q4: Who are the top players to watch out for in the rescheduled phase? A: Key performers include Rohit Sharma, KL Rahul, Ruturaj Gaikwad, Rashid Khan, and Andre Russell. Their form will significantly influence match outcomes.
Q5: When is the TATA IPL 2025 Final? A: The grand finale of TATA IPL 2025 is scheduled for June 3, 2025. It promises to be a spectacle worth waiting for.
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From Predictive to Prescriptive: AI Forecasting for Inventory Optimization
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When you're managing inventory, accuracy is everything. If you're still relying on static models, you're likely dealing with frequent overstock, stockouts, or both. Predictive forecasting helps, but it doesn’t tell you what to do with those predictions. That’s where AI-driven prescriptive analytics steps in—turning data into decisions. Instead of simply projecting future demand, you're using machine learning to recommend real-time actions that match supply with actual need. In this article, I’ll walk you through how to move from predictive to prescriptive forecasting using AI, where it fits in your inventory strategy, and how it makes you faster, smarter, and more competitive.
Predictive Forecasting: The Starting Point
You’ve probably used predictive tools to forecast sales or stock requirements based on past behavior. These systems identify seasonal trends, sales spikes, and slow-moving items. They’re useful, but limited. They don’t react fast when reality changes. A sudden surge in demand, a supplier delay, or a warehouse bottleneck can all throw off your plan. And that means manual fixes, emergency reorders, and lost revenue.
Predictive models also struggle with granularity. You might get an accurate forecast for a region, but still be blind at the SKU level. That’s where AI-based forecasting offers the next step. Instead of just predicting what might happen, you’re telling your system to recommend what to do—and do it dynamically.
Prescriptive Forecasting: AI That Tells You What to Do
Prescriptive forecasting doesn't stop at probability. It takes demand forecasts, supplier performance data, lead times, and even external variables—like weather or economic indicators—and tells your system how to respond. For instance, if AI predicts a 15% demand increase in the Midwest, it can automatically recommend reallocating stock from other regions or adjusting reorder levels at specific distribution centers.
This isn’t just automation—it’s decision support built on machine learning. Instead of making you choose between stocking up or staying lean, AI simulates different scenarios and picks the best one. That helps you stay nimble when conditions change—and they always do.
Why You Can’t Afford to Wait
Here’s where the value becomes hard to ignore. If your warehouse has $5 million worth of inventory and you can cut 8% through better forecasting, you’ve just freed up $400,000. Add that to labor saved through fewer emergency picks, fewer write-offs from expired goods, and tighter alignment between procurement and fulfillment—and you’re not just saving, you’re growing smarter.
Customers expect accurate fulfillment and product availability. AI helps you meet those expectations while optimizing your supply position. That means faster turns, better working capital, and fewer unpleasant surprises when month-end reports roll in.
What Makes AI Forecasting Actually Work
The effectiveness of AI comes down to the data it processes. You’re not just feeding it sales history—you’re integrating POS data, supplier lead times, shipping logs, promotions, and even market sentiment. AI doesn’t just analyze—it learns. That means the more you use it, the more accurate it becomes.
You also get constant recalibration. Instead of setting a forecast for the month and hoping it holds, AI can adjust it every few hours if needed. That lets your team make smarter moves faster—whether that’s shifting inventory, delaying a shipment, or doubling down on a trend.
How to Implement AI Forecasting in Your Inventory Operations
You don’t need a massive team of data scientists to get started. Many inventory platforms now have built-in AI or partner APIs that plug directly into your ERP or WMS. The real work lies in cleaning your data. Make sure your inventory records, order histories, and supplier data are complete and up to date.
Once that’s handled, roll out AI forecasting gradually. Start with a product category or region and compare system recommendations to human decisions. Refine the model, retrain it with real-world performance, and scale from there. Eventually, you’ll find yourself trusting its prescriptions more and interfering less—because it works.
Common Pitfalls and How to Avoid Them
AI doesn’t solve everything out of the box. If your historical data is noisy, missing, or siloed, your forecasts won’t be reliable. That’s why integrating your systems is crucial—your AI engine needs a full view to make sound recommendations.
Another mistake? Expecting instant results. Machine learning takes time to calibrate. Set clear benchmarks, review outcomes weekly, and expect your first few months to be more about learning than savings. And always train your team to work with the system—not against it. When users understand how AI arrives at its recommendations, they’re more likely to trust it and act on it.
What’s Coming Next in Inventory Forecasting
The future of forecasting will combine AI with even richer data sources. IoT sensors will feed live stock data from your shelves. External APIs will bring in economic shifts or social media signals. You’ll see forecasting systems that not only predict and prescribe—but act, automatically ordering stock, adjusting routes, or rebalancing inventory without human intervention.
Prescriptive AI will evolve to include automated negotiation with suppliers, price optimization, and even carbon-efficient stock allocation. The tech is moving fast—but you don’t have to wait. The foundation is already here.
What Prescriptive AI Offers in Inventory Forecasting
Recommends real-time actions, not just predictions
Adjusts automatically to market or supply shifts
Improves forecast accuracy at SKU and location level
Reduces excess stock and stockouts
Supports automatic replenishment and smarter planning
Scales easily with more data and complexity
In Conclusion
The leap from predictive to prescriptive forecasting isn’t about replacing your team—it’s about freeing them to make better, faster calls. AI lets you shift from reacting to planning, from firefighting to fine-tuning. You’re not just looking ahead—you’re acting ahead. The accuracy, efficiency, and adaptability that come with prescriptive forecasting mean less waste, more value, and a supply chain that runs on intelligence, not guesswork. And once you see how fast it works in one part of your operation, you’ll want it everywhere.
Explore more logistics and supply chain insights from Benjamin Gordon on Substack, where tech meets execution in real time.
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