Based On This Post Of Mine

thank you for your input!! i’m so happy to see that someone else wants james to be utterly pissed at the order’s shortcomings. because i’m still mad that dumbledore and snape knew voldemort was close, and they didn’t go the extra mile to protect them. it genuinely makes my eye twitch.

and i definitely don’t think i’ll be making james involved with anyone. at least not for a long time. i find it impossible for him to get over lily for at least a few decades. i’ll be keeping her ghost very close to him.

as for the order.

james hides away in london. he keeps an eye on the dursley’s for lily’s sake, makes sure death eaters don’t kill them. since it’d just be another bucket load of guilt weighing down the slab on his shoulders anyway.

harry grows up a quiet kid. he doesn’t talk much because he doesn’t have many people to talk to. and he and james rarely have to verbally communicate what they need. he loves dessert like his father, but hates lemon like his mother. he loves to fly around the house on james’ old broom once he grows big enough to hold it upright. james does not approve of it. he watches the cartoons that sirius loved, and the late night comedy shows that remus would change it to.

the hardest part for him was realizing that the last bit of mischief he’d held onto before, was gone. he was anxious and miserable. he pathetically joked that it was karma for the pranks he sprung on his own parents.

snape brought him messages from dumbledore, and allowances from gringgotts. and regulus kept coming because sometimes severus and james got too upset. and even though, one day, they’d both end up crying in each others arms, he’d keep tagging along anyway.

at first, james only let them in because a selfish side of him loved the way severus read books like lily. and he loved watching the way regulus wore rings like sirius, and ate too much chocolate like remus. he loved how to two of them cracked smiles at the jokes he rarely made, even if they weren’t that good.

eventually, voldemort goes into hiding. james hears that it was because he was almost arrested by some nameless auror from one person. but, another swore that it was because he’s grown scared of the new minister of magic.

james believed neither. but he considered checking on what was left of the order, seeking answers to questions he knew would only make him despise his naive self even more.

also, here’s chapter one lololol

@ravishinglavishingluvr (just in case you were interested as well)

harry potter au where james is still alive, but lily still sacrificed herself.

i’m thinking she had her wand, james didn’t, she made him take harry and run. and she was so infuriated and frightening, that james listened to her, praying to the whole universe that she would make it out alive. they had their final, desperate kiss. and then she was running towards the explosion at their doorstep.

he ran into the darkness, grabbing his broom and sobbing with his sleeping son in his arms as blue and green lights flashed through their windows. he took off and forced himself not to look back. because he would’ve ruined everything if he had.

he made it somewhere over the ocean, looking over dark waves as the sun rose again. he was freezing, but harry was watching him silently from his blanket. they were still in their pajamas. harry had always loved their broom rides, but he didn’t giggle like he usually did.

they eventually go into hiding. he reads about lily’s death through the paper, dealing with the grief on his own.

he reads about sirius’ arrest, and peters death. then, he reads about voldemort slowly taking over the ministry one department at a time. making it harder and harder for muggle born witches and wizards to come and go. then, it’s remus’ arrest after killing fenrir greyback in a blind fit of werewolf bloodlust.

he grieves again, because he’s truly alone.

while out shopping, polyjuice potion disguising him as he sorts through produce, he catches a cat watching him from the stoop of the small store. then, a familiar nose that makes him grab his son. then, a rippled vision of his best friend.

he pays five minutes later, because harry was much too thin to go a day without good food. and he tries to run. but, he’s quickly caught, and the flurry of spells he tries to send at the men are deflected with awful, sympathetic grimaces.

he doesn’t relent until the cat finally transforms, a cold hand patting his cheek as his favorite professor pulls him into a tight embrace.

it takes possibly too much convincing, but eventually he’s making them chai, and keeping harry protectively close. they ask him to rejoin the order, to let them protect him. protect harry.

he screamed at them, only catching himself haphazardly when harry began to cry. but he’d been so full of wrath as they spoke, like he hadn’t experienced the torture of own failure. like everyone he’d ever loved wasn’t gone.

all, except his son. he wouldn’t allow the order to fail them a second time.

he’d never seen severus or regulus look so defeated. like he was someone they cared about, and they weren’t sure how to comfort him. like they were friends. he bluntly reminded them that his friends were as good as dead. minerva teared up.

he packed everything up with a rushed spell, and took harry away with the three of them still sitting behind steaming mugs.

he took to teaching harry everything he could. going through old books that his own parents had collected. some of his own from school, which held idiotic notes that he’d cry over late at night.

a few months after harry had turned five, it was severus (of all people) who found them again.

lol. this got too long and i’m still thinking about how the plot would go. i’ll possibly post more parts as i think of them. i already know if or when i do write this as a proper fic, it’ll be long. i crave james angst i fear. possible ship recommendations would be appreciated for consideration. i don’t promise anything, but romance can make things so much more tragic 🤭

i have a craving to write some drabbles :,) i want to write fun little snippets and take a teeny tiny break from grinding out full stories!!!

so, if anyone has any head-cannons, au’s, songs that remind them of anything in the tags, or just little ideas they want to spread, let me know in my asks so i can momentarily satisfy my brain :D

before i jump back into the grind.

thank you 😌 much love 🫶

part three of this - moses!viktor au - part 1 - part 2

prepare for a BIG time jump from the other two (lol). i’m still contemplating a title. leaning towards “Bitter Water Made Sweet” though. feel free to leave a suggestion! :)

The streets of The Lanes smelled of tar and sulfur dioxide. Viktor’s staff made fragmented sparks erupt each time it hit the cobble of the empty street.

It was very early morning. But, not early enough to stop the three or so families and four or so dwellers from peeking out their windows and doors to watch him as he slowly waded through the slightly flooded road. The saturated bottom hem of his viridian cloak stuck to his ankles with each new step.

He caught the eye of a little girl, her hair the color of the small gophers that he’d occasionally catch building by the river. Her eyes were bright like wheat in the sunlight. She stood all alone. He paused.

She smiled, and she sprung to life under his pointed attention, sprinting as fast as her short legs could carry her. Her hands clenched around fistfuls of the cotton fabric draped over his shoulders. She did not speak.

“What is your name?” he asked her, holding out a hand.

She stared at his palm and wrist, taking in the lapis lazuli, mauve, and gold that spun through his veins and tendons. Her mouth opened in awe, delicately taking his hand in order to inspect it further. She was mystified, and just for a moment, all his panicked worries melted away. She giggled, looking back up to meet his fond gaze.

“Isha.” The name had appeared his head with such a sudden intensity, that he was not surprised in the least when she nodded in amazement. He bent down, using his staff to balance his weight. “Do you believe in the land of milk and honey?”Isha’s chopped hair flipped up and down like flimsy spikes as she nodded. She nearly buzzed with energy. Like a battery in an engine. Or a wind up toy. He hummed, nodding as well. “Very well, follow me.”

She hid inside of his cloak, hiding herself from the sprinkling raindrops. She shivered, her bare arms full of goosebumps.

His smile faltered, and they continued on with her glued to his hip. Her hand stuck to his own, occasionally tugging the limb up to her eyes to further admire the shimmering details of magic through his skin.

It was easy to tell that she was an orphan. Especially under his own scrutiny. She was thinner than the other children, and unkempt in a way no Zaunite mother would have allowed. Her hair was slightly grown out and braided. But, the plaits were frizzy and loose from passing time. She wore patchy pants and a fraying shirt barely holding onto its seems.

When they arrived to the boarded up bar, Isha made a short noise of protest, tugging on his tunic. It draped to his calves, an ivory white like bare bone. Her fingerprints left dark spots from the soot. He ruffled her hair, the texture like straw from the dust of Zaun’s alleyways.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked her. She looked apprehensive, but she did not leave his side. Her loyalty was strong. Her curiosity even stronger.

The dark clouds hiding what lay beyond the doors only grew darker when they drew nearer. They resembled storm clouds, and one would almost believe that they’d send out bolts of lightening if you drew too close. Mel was distressed.

He bowed for Isha to go ahead of him, his fingertips innocently brushing the dense mist. It was pleasantly toasty, a comfort away from the freezing temperature outside.

Isha steeled herself, sending her shoulders back in stern determination that brought amusement to his own chest. She stomped her way right through the splintering arch of the doorway.

He took one final glance at the sign still hung on its lonely chain, and found himself mildly surprised at the symbol painted in glinting silver over where a business title would be.

A silvery serpent twisted in a vertical, curvy zig-zag pattern, hissing at the onlooker. He also took note, upon further inspection, that there were wings on either side, meager but strong in the way they curled. Its eyes shun green when he looked away, humming in pleasure at the familiar embrace of Mel’s magic gracing his skin.

He supposed he should have been offended at the lack of confusion she confronted him with. Instead, he joined her in the center of the room, sliding down to the blood red carpet she sat on.

Her dress was modest, no patterns or showy cuts. But, it was a deep amber. If he were vain, he’d say it was the color of his eyes. But, he didn’t have to admit vanity to believe that she looked radiant. Her knuckles showcased pink scars that matched his own, etched symbols of an ancient language.

Isha had dramatically fallen into the mountain of pillows that Mel and Viktor used as a resting spot when exhaustion finally grew too intense to bare. Or, the despair.

Her hand linked with his own, “Any news?”

“He is in Piltover.” He did not address Mel’s crestfallen expression at such a statement. And he stated the rest even though he knew he didn’t have to. “He seems to think that you are behind the Black Rose’s schemes. He doesn’t act like himself.”

He stood back up, dragging himself away from her waves of emotion. She was angry, something that tended to soak into his own skin and burn.

He unclasped the iron wings over his jugular notch. His fingers shook slightly as he bent down and draped the dry side of the cloth over the child. She was almost asleep, her eyes already closed and face smoothed out by the time he was standing straight again.

“We need to intervene.” Mel beckoned him back, holding a hand out for him to take. He obeyed, being careful of his askew leg as he joined her once again.

As they sat in considering silence, he wished to make a spot for himself in the cushions as well. His body did not feel the urge to rest, but his heart pulled him in too many directions at once, and he felt it most prominent in this turmoil.

“It will be necessary,” he admitted, “His influence is beginning to strain the faith of the Trenches as well.”

Mel’s lips twisted in a grimace, “Perhaps he was always too weak.” Viktor surveyed her in quiet, his own lips pursed in slow comprehension. “We should continue on without him. I will sever the connection entirely.” She sat straighter, not once glancing up to acknowledge any of Viktor’s shock or disbelief. He took her other hands back as she closed her eyes in order to focus. They flew open.

The pads of his thumbs flattened out the strain of her clenched fists. He sighed at the same time she did.

“Have mercy on him. He does not know better.”

“We trusted better from him,” she argued.

He battled with himself. The faith that had been mentioned previously, the belief they had gained from most of Zaun, was torturing him. Because he was selfish. He was not simply loyal to the cause anymore. It all boiled down to his Mel and his Jayce. The world be damned. The Black Rose be damned. He would rather burn at the stake, or rot in the basement of Stillwater, or drown in the Goddamned Pilt, than give up on either of them.

“He is just a man. A man who acts on instinct, no matter how flawed it might be. He deserves another chance. He has never let us down before.”

He’d grovel at Mel’s feet to give Jayce a second chance. He’d plea and debate until he ran out of breath. He’d comfort them both through the betrayal of it. Mourn the unfairness in his own solitude.

She crossed her arms, looking him all over. Her eyes traveled from the curls of gold and copper wire around strands of his overgrown hair to the rusty iron anklets that jingled around his ankles when he moved.

“And why is that?” Her chin was tilted up, her brows furrowed. She looked a little wild. Her hair stuck up around the crown of her head, like static caused during a storm. Her tunic draped off of one shoulder, showing the soft skin of her clavicle. Her stockings had holes from where she had poked holes while stewing in her stress. He realized with a slight start, that he had been away for three days on his trek to Topside.

Her eyes burned like gas that which met flame. She was filled with an abundance of wrath and disappointment towards the third link to their souls. He felt a strange sense of pity.

“You are not strong enough to rush the plan, Anděl.” He caresses her cheek, tucking one of the braids behind her ear when it slipped into her eyes. He noted that he’d have to retouch them.

“The Rose is the least of my worries,” she waved his concern off.

“I would not be so sure of that,” he warned.

“They are cowards using Jayce as a pawn. And he is just as bad while allowing them to.”

“I do not think—“

“—And how does he believe for a second that they could be me? I would not carry on without you Viktor, what makes him think—.”

“—He is under the assumption that we are dead. As far as I could tell, he’s just happy to have someone.” He brought her face closer, nose to nose as the realization dawned on her.

After a long time, she spoke to him in a broken whisper.

“Go to him, Viktor, my presence will be with you.”

has anyone written a merlin au where arthur finds out balinor is merlin’s father, and that’s how he learns of merlin’s magic?

and i mean only arthur knows. merlin and balinor don’t have a clue.

like balinor starts to get through to arthur, telling him how he can still fix the mistakes that have been made. to do so he shares that he had to leave the love of his life in order to protect her and their son. he had to shield them from the dangers that the anti-magic propaganda had created for him. on the run from hunters who either felt entitled to use his power, or set him ablaze in cold blood.

he describes a town much like the one merlin brought him to once. the woman he speaks of falling in love with someone so similar to merlin’s mother that he sees it.

he notices how merlin and balinor laugh the same, ponder with furrowed brows the same, and how they prefer to eat with their hands instead of utensils.

he connects the dots with a flurry of nightmares. he realizes that merlin has magic in his blood and he’s terrified of what might happen if the truth gets out.

and when balinor dies, he yells in horror. not just because an innocent man was dead, but because it doomed merlin unfathomably. the one man he wouldn’t be able to hold back his own tears for.

and he couldn’t stand to break merlin’s heart with the news. so, when he eventually learns of merlin’s magic, he understands a little more what it takes to make someone lie for love.

cause if they have, let me know 🙏

edit: it seems i may write it myself lol

Galway Girl is a Merlin ship song. I don’t know which ship

new thoughts for this post

i really want to do an alternating chapter fic.

i’ve already started said fic here.

and it starts with james escaping with harry, and kickstarting an au where harry grows up with his father while voldemort survives halloween night.

BUT

imagine if the even numbered chapters were an au where lily survives. she doesn’t flee upstairs, she RUNS. she takes her son and she doesn’t look back. she thinks james is behind her, but eventually realizes that it was peter chasing her.

and, basically, at the end, the au’s connect in some way. in as close to a happy ending as possible (😬). i don’t want to spoil everything i have planned so far. but i’m so excited lolol.

just— two alternative universes where both parents are single handedly trying to raise their son in a failed world. trying to stay alive when every corner they turn could be the end.

i love them :,) tragically

The handful of times that Viktor was allowed over the Piltover-Zaun boarder was limited to the amount of meetings Silco was allowed to infringe on. And, because Viktor flashed the sad eyes that made Vander’s resolve fall faster than the rain did every morning, they stayed for two days every trip. Enough time for Viktor to recuperate, and for Silco to overanalyze the words of Piltover’s leaders.

Viktor had a little desire to sit and watch grown ups debate. He had experienced enough of that for a lifetime. So, when Silco left him alone in their Piltie funded hotel apartment, he would slip out and walk around the nearby streets. With his journal under one arm, his crutch under the other, and a pencil clenched between his teeth.

Unfortunately, he was quickly interrupted each time.

“Vik!” The loud, obnoxious voice of the boy with the big eyes.

Viktor paused, fingers just barely touching the wood and lead between his crooked teeth. He turned his head just enough to catch the short bundle of dark blues and browns barreling down the paved sidewalk. Right towards him.

Jayce had knocked them both into the street on Viktor’s third trip into Piltover, and had nearly killed them both in a carriage accident. And, after a plethora of apologies Viktor hadn’t taken seriously, the boy had taken one nosey glance at Viktor’s neat scrawl open in a puddle, and had decidedly begun stalking Viktor from then on.

It was almost impressive; how quickly Jayce seemed to sense his presence in the city.

“Vik!” his name was called out once more, even closer than before. And, refocusing, Viktor realized that Jayce was already linking their arms.

The top of his head barely reached Viktor’s shoulder. Short dark hair had grown into a plouf that fell into light hazel eyes. He was fuller than Viktor was, healthy and fed heartily. But, even with the hunch and the cane, he towered over his unwanted companion. Jayce seemed to have no problem with it, happily dragging Viktor in a different direction.

He dug his heals in, digging his cane even further down on the frayed boot around Jayce’s foot. He chose to ignore the yelp received.

“What did we talk about last time?”

Jayce perked up like a flower under light, “We talked about science and magic, and you agreed to be my partner.”

Viktor squinted, “And….”

Jayce didn’t take the hint, talking gibberish in a language he couldn’t quite comprehend. It was pretty. Even if he found Jayce’s undeterred excitement as mildly irritating as he did interesting. So, rather than put in more useless effort into making his garden gnome of a friend put some value into personal space, he relented with a heavy sigh. He wondered if Jayce knew what he was doing, because he only seemed to grin wider.

Viktor stopped them again, thin arm wrapping around one of the steel bars on a nearby fence. He hugged it tighter when Jayce pouted and attempted to pull him along like a mule would a plow. Viktor sneered mischievously.

He used the element of surprise to drag Jayce back the way they’d come, “Come, Jayce. If you behave, perhaps I will order your tea for you.” He didn’t miss the way babyish cheeks tinted red. “Then you will not spill it all over the ground.”

Petulantly, Jayce stomped along at Viktor’s side, “It’s not by fault the food stands are so tall!”

Viktor hid his laugh behind the pencil between his teeth.

*

“Viktor!” Powder nearly knocked him over on her way through the door. She was out of breath, and he almost panicked that something bad hand happens, if it weren’t for the terribly malevolent smirk she possessed. She composed herself just barely, clearing her throat. “You have a visitor on the way.”

He fought the urge to hit her shin with his cane as his beating heart began to quicken up again.

“Who?”

She shrugged, feigning a comic amount of disinterest in her meander over to the stools around Vander’s bar. Nevertheless, he immediately caught sight of who, at the same moment the door opened again and nearly knocked him in the side of the head.

“Vik!” Muscular arms had locked themselves around his middle. Very muscular arms. Very, very large hands that took up most of the slender expanse of Viktor’s torso.

Jayce was broad. His eyes were a little darker than he remember, but his smile was still big and charming with the little gap between his teeth. But, most of all, he was so goddamn tall. Viktor had to look up at him, and he began to count in his mind just how long it had been since they’d last seen each other. Unsurprisingly, Jayce seemed to still be capable of reading his mind.

He stepped back enough to look Viktor in the eye, but not enough to fully drag his hands off of Viktor’s body.

“I know you said to never follow you past the boarder,” he laughed nervously under Viktor’s scrutiny. “But, it’s been three years, Vik! I missed you too much, and I thought you might be less mad if I had help.” At Viktor’s quirked eyebrow, Jayce overly energized gaze flickered briefly towards his blue-haired sister. He forcefully ignored the feeling of eyes on the back of his head.

“I sent letters,” he lamely replied. Guilt filled in the gaps between the frightening amount of relief that flooded his senses at the presence of his favorite person. Between working for Silco and Vander and tutoring four teenagers, time had been swept out from under him. Jayce laughed, not buying the words anymore than Viktor himself did.

“As if that would satiate me,” Jayce laughed, pressing their cheeks together. Viktor sighed, relenting to the touch that also seemed to have not decreased with age.

He made a defiant guffaw in response, “You always were very demanding.”

Jayce laughed, and it was both a sound that caused Viktor’s heart to flutter, and made his cheeks burn. It startled him intensely. Especially when warms hands tightened around him.

“I might surprise you yet.”

The gasp he let out was a telltale sign that he understood. He gawked up at Jayce’s face, star struck at the way Jayce bent over him just slightly to speak privately. Although, it was still beyond improper of them to be so inexplicably close in broad daylight.

He ran his thumb under the gentle shadows underneath Jayce’s eye, admiring the softness of his skin.

“Would you like a drink?”

Jayce’s cheeks turned violet, “My treat.”

thank you @stellophile <3

asks are open!

i saw a post with this scene the other day. ⬆️

a lot of people had commented this and that about their depictions of vi being jealous and shocked that jinx was up there with vander instead of herself.

and (as a troubled eldest daughter myself) that broke my heart a bit. although, i think it is realistic for vi to have shown a moment of vulnerability with the audience and then be ripped to pieces by individuals declaring it resentment and selfishness. no shade.

personally, i latched onto that tiny moment where her face falls. the animation of such a flicker of something akin to disappointment is astonishing.

i do think she’s seeing the mural for what it’s lacking. because it is lacking her. but, i think it has more to do with the fact that jinx and vander are there, but she’s not with them. not even necessarily including the political context. just the fact that even a random painting on a random wall lacked her presence just as much as real life.

she should have been right next to her little sister, but she wasn’t. she had both lost that choice, and then made the wrong one.

i can’t help but wonder if the years of being an imprisoned child so incredibly scared that she’d never get another chance for see her sister flashed before her eyes.

i think that mural shackled her to the fact that her world had continued on without her. and she wasn’t needed around to make it function anymore.

vander and their parents’ deaths had instilled in her that her sole purpose was to keep the earth spinning and to keep jinx safe. but, in the end, jinx had adapted. vi hadn’t.

lol

sorry for ranting! i could be entirely wrong, don’t take this to heart. it’s just what i took in and reflected on, and i wanted to share my thoughts. i find it so strangely comforting to see an oldest daughter go through so many punches and such heavy emotional strain and still keep her head up.

she’s so imperfect and i love her.

part 2 of my moses!viktor au - part 1 here

Ideas for a title: "Bitter Water Made Sweet" or "She Named Him Viktor" Which are just a couple of my favorite lines from Exodus (I have a lot though, so these probably won't be the only contenders) Thoughts and opinions are appreciated. I think I’ve officially leaned into meljayvik (as seen quite obviously in this segment), and I’m quite content about it.

Mel’s hands were soft and warm. The caverns of her palms lined up with his own, and her nails dug into the back of his hand every time his right knee faltered and caused him to sway away from her.

They watched each other through the corners of their eyes, catching themselves at similar times and fastening their gazes onto the lanterns and murals along the passing streets instead. Viktor had pretended to find a particular window very interesting, not noticing the woman behind it sensually waving her crooked fingers at him until Mel was pulling him along a little more hurriedly. He slowed them down when she had gotten a little too overzealous, and his cane had begun to drag behind more than it assisted his mobility. She made a slight huff out of her nose, but politely and gracefully stepped to his own slow pace.

He eyed her again, admiring the way her hair curved around her back, the shiny tendrils like a veil as the strands billowed behind her by the breeze. Her eyes shun green again under the warm glow of the lanterns, and her lips were red instead of the black they had seemed by the stream. He felt has jaw slacken as he admired the color that had returned to her aura.

“It is impolite to ogle, Viktor.”

“I am not ogling,” he ripped his line of sight away, instead pointing a glare at half-erased hopscotch markings in the path coming up beside them. What was left of the yellow chalk was almost orange, saturated from the runoff water dripping from the gutters above it. She did not respond to his petty reply, so he changed the subject. "Where are we going again?" She hadn't told him in the first place, but he felt the urge to pretend that he had a say in their exhibition. He caught the corners of her plump lips twitch up before she bore a more neutral expression. He squinted as his eyes lingered on the changes.

"We had not thought it wise to spring this onto you all at once." She did not give him any assurance before pulling him down a side street.

He dug the heel of his good leg into the cobbled road, causing them to halt. "In case you did not notice, I seem to have missed the memo on bringing my minecart for you to push me around in!" His sarcasm filled the air between them as he heaved a deep breath and she finally looked at him with the clarity of a dirty coin run through fresh water. He glared at her wide, dolesome eyes, sighing when her grip loosened and her fingers linked with his own in a more intimate, comforting manner.

"I'm sorry, Viktor," she drew closer to him, her hip inches from brushing against his own. Her shawl was extremely soft when his wrist rubbed against it. It was warm, even with the strong wind blowing against them. While being so close, he realized that she was unnaturally warm, like a personified flame. Small, but fervent enough to make you extract your hand immediately in fear of being scorched.

She paced herself better as she led him along in the direction of a lonesome bar.

It was one of the only dwellings that still had its lights on so late at night. Late enough for the mine and street vendor workers to get off of a shift and still pretend that they had a life. It was bigger than The Last Drop, but it was not better. On the outside, the grout between crooked and graffitied bricks was cracked like a double-paned window, there were shattered lanterns on either side of the door, and the sign was held at a crooked angle by a single chain on the right side. The name was indistinguishable from the grime covering it. Viktor considered falling down like a sack of potatoes into the mud and excrement from animals pulling carriages, if only to prevent their future murders. Less by the inhabitants of such a building, and more so by the indescribable alcohol sold.

Inside was not much better. While Vander kept his bar swept and lit, this one was littered with coal dust and heavy shadows. Each tiny table had a dying, flickering candle. While it could have set a romantic mood, the muscled women in the corner throwing punches, the bartender sending a empty bottle flying at a singing man attempting to climb the counter, and the five or six knives that laid on tables of card players, caused all image of such to die.

Mel did not flinch when more than one pair of eyes landed on them, but she did step in front of him as she continued to the darkest corner. Her grip tightened, nearly strangling his hand's circulation. She tossed warning glances with her chin up, and Viktor watched her with amazement as she made the atmosphere return to normal. No one said a word to them.

"How did you do that?" he asked as they sat down. He very briefly felt embarrassed when she made it a point to help him sit comfortably in the booth, not letting go of him until he was surely planted.

"Do what?" she asked, beguile. As she flowed into the seat opposite of him, her smirk returned. She sat straight as an arrow, but he could tell that it was out of habit and not in a tense manner. She seemed relaxed, never more on edge as she had been when daring the other patrons to interrupt her. Even Vander had to do more than look at his clientage to get them to knock it off. And he'd witnessed Vander punch someone through a window on more than one occasion. Which made him wonder….

"Can you move things with your..." he searched for a word to describe what he had caught her doing just barely an hour beforehand. He made vague swishing motions with his fingers, attempting to mimic what she had done with the golden sparks. She giggled into her closed fingers, eyes flickering to something on Viktor's left. He smiled marginally, following her gaze. He had expected to find a funny painting on the wall, or possibly a crude remark etched into the fake leather of the seat. Instead, he was flailing in an attempt to escape as he met a new set of eyes.

His scream was cut abruptly and effectively off by a salt sweaty hand over his mouth. He made a muffled sound of affronted anger, twisting roughly to at least get a better look at the stranger. The man had dark hair, slightly tousled from what had once been a neat slick back. His skin was beautifully healthy tan, but he had silvery scars along his hands and arms as a result of some type of physical labor. He didn't have a beard, but he was not clean shaven either. Finally, Viktor seethed at ale-colored eyes, wrenching his jaw out of the offenders hold and biting down on the flesh of his thenar eminence.

"Fuck!" The heat around the back of his neck and cheeks was gone, a string of saliva breaking once the man's hand was clutched to his broad chest. Viktor grunted and wiped away the moisture across his lips, all while keeping an unrelenting glower on him. The man laughed after a moment, his cheeks blowing up like a balloon and his eyebrows lifting in shock. His head flung backwards as his boisterous rumbles carried across the room. Viktor slowly turned to gawk at Mel, who was almost as amused as the other.

Viktor felt a furious, revengeful urge to hit them both in the head with his cane. But when Mel lifted a brow, he kept his fingers back from reaching for the stick at his side.

A hand in his peripheral vision made him begrudgingly look over. And his annoyance abruptly dropped, his mouth parting just slightly when the man tilted his head in a much sweeter acknowledgement. He hummed at Viktor's lack of requite, none of his pleasantry dropping as he took Viktor's free hand in his own. He had large hands, which was what he took note of immediately. It wrapped his own like a gift, a span of callouses digging into delicate bones.

"I'm Jayce."

He blinked, "Vik-"

"-Viktor." The way Jayce said his name felt like how the sun warmed your skin on a breezy day. He said nothing back. "I know who you are." Jayce didn't let his hand go. He noticed that their hands had only held each other's in a frozen grasp, and the thought made Viktor look back at Mel.

She smiled at him, the motion capacious and delightful. "Now that you two have been acquainted, let us discuss why we brought you here, Viktor."

Viktor looked between them, at Jayce's glee and Mel's pride at a job so far well done. Jayce's hand broke from the professional grasp they had adhered to and instead tucked his fingers under Viktor's palm. He regarded Mel with the same simmering excitement as he had Viktor.

"Go on," he nodded to her, attempting to ignore the broadening smile on the other man's face. It really was distracting. He found he didn't hate it as much as he normally would have. Or, the way he should have.

"I want to prevent war," Mel's sound dropped significantly. Viktor had to crane his neck closer to hear her clearly, brows pinched in concentration. "In order to do that, I have compiled a series of warnings to frighten Piltover into letting Zaun go. They will refuse, but we will punish them until they are burdened with guilt too heavy to carry further." She leaned in closer, elbows folded neatly on the greasy table. "It will take time, but it is my goal to manipulate the city in preventing further deaths."

Viktor bit back his wave of inquiries, sieving through them to find an easier one to portray his interest. He barely noticed the way his silence made concern flicker across his companions faces, or how Jayce's hand constricted around his own.

"How do I play into this? I do not hold any significant power."

"Of course you do," Mel held her chin up with one hand as she stared prettily at him. She was unrelenting, that was for certain, and was full of enough spirit for an army. He couldn't help but believe her.

Jayce nudged him, "Well," he whispered into Viktor's ear, "Are you in?"

He thought of Vander and his daughters, of Benzo and Ekko, of his entire block that protected him from being dragged back to Piltover for exile. In the back of his mind, he recalled memories of Cassandra and Caitlyn doing the same. He shuddered at the memory of the heartbreak they had observed him with before he had fled.

"Are you aware of my connections to the council?" They nodded, respectfully solemn. He sighed, the hairs in his face flying up like a broken parcel.

Jacy scooted himself even closer, "If we pull this off, you'll be able to see them again. In the sunlight, without the fear of getting sent away."

Mel reached a hand out, fixing his crazed whisps of hair that had fallen back into his eyes, "We will protect you, Viktor. But you have to trust us as much as we do you. And if that is too much to ask, you have to ask yourself if you can at least give us the chance to gain it ourselves." He felt his head grow heavier as he caught himself leaning into her touch. He straightened, weighing the options over again.

He could let it go. He could leave like he had never met these people before in his life. He could watch as Zaun fought for their own freedom, just as history naturally went. He knew he would have to watch his friends die, and that that would be inevitable in the case.

He had never delt with loss well. When Cassandra had told him the story of his real parents, how they had sent him down the Pilt in a last-ditch effort of saving his life, he had hidden away and ignored his own health for so long, that they had kept him in private, consistent company for weeks afterwards. Just the loss of people he had never met weighed heavy enough to cause a spiraling case of grief. He feared what a war would cause him to do. And, even as the lingering light of his family up in Piltover turned grey, he had his answer in mind.

"Can we get out of here?"

part 3

jayvik au where jayce keeps getting sent back in time to fix what happens to viktor instead of killing him. (mage viktor met kid jayce, why couldn’t jayce just go back?? (and maybe i CAN think of a couple reasons why not, but i’m ignoring them))

so over and over again (similarly to ekko preventing jinx from pulling that pin) jayce is brought back to the day of the explosion in the councilors room.

it gets worse before it gets better. either jayce dies in the explosion because mel couldn’t get to him, or viktor gets upset with him because he abruptly cancels the meeting to bring peace to zaun and viktor just ends up growing more distant from him, or viktor dies anyway because he was getting sicker by the day before the explosion killed him, or viktor gets addicted to shimmer and bad things happen between that and the hexcore all over again (this specific outcome nearly makes jayce go insane, because he had been SO close before it all went to shit), or (most common) NOTHING he says will make viktor stop from leaving after using the hexcore to save him.

he. just. keeps. walking. out.

jayce can’t figure out why, but keeps trying. it’s incredibly debilitating watching your soulmate die dozens of times. but he keeps going, getting more and more desperate each time he wakes up to a new dying viktor.

it might be easier to have been brought back farther. before viktor’s collapse, before sky dies, before viktor was already fused with arcane and shimmer. before he’d made the mistake of choosing fame over his purpose. basically, before viktor started to realize that he was all alone. but who said changing fate was supposed to be easy?

what it comes down to is an au where jayce has to trial and error his way into getting the life back to viktor’s very destroyed soul in…like…three days. and he has to learn that he c— sorry i can’t say what the lesson would be! because that would be spoiling it!! you silly goose!!!

it’s basically a love story :D

bonus: (meljayvik bonus: because we know i love mel too much not to include her) she senses something going on through her empath powers. and at some point she’s unintentionally being dragged into it. power of teamwork to save their doomed dying partner!