Latest Posts by gardezamour - Page 2

au were silco finds out vi is still alive. much earlier than in canon. and then having vulnerable feelings ensue) sorry silco. :(

here’s a teeny dabble on it while i think about how to go about it:

Silco didn’t make it a habit to travel Topside. He preferred the damp shadows of Zaun. And besides, a step in Piltover meant an immediate risk to his entire means. Which had been proven easily enough when he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Although he covered his bases, and he wasn’t dense, incidents occurred. In addition to the fact that he was unfortunately, still very human, and the bridge of the nation’s boarder made his head swim and his eye ache terribly. He’d ignore the pang of hurt that continued to hit him in the chest until the day he died. Possibly even longer.

Stillwater was probably the closest thing a convicted Piltie would get to living in Zaun. Enforcers at every corner, barely enough food, and enough back-talk to fill the Pilt River. It made him miss work in the mines. Where the labor was absolute shit, but the people kept you coming back. He’d leave with enough pain in his body to knock out an elephant, but with Vander’s arm keeping him warm and Felica’s sass reminding him to laugh. Back when it had all been worth it, without a doubt. Blisters and bedrock.

It was no matter to him either way now, Marcus would correct his people’s error. If he knew what was good for him and his naive child. Silco knew himself, and his people knew him almost good enough. There was a tight deadline ticking away the second the puny rookie with black hair had strapped his wrists. In the mean time, Stillwater was tolerable. Besides the florescent lights that burned his damaged eye.

A flash of magenta made him halt in front of the guard behind him. His shackles clanged as he took a step back.

She almost looked like her mother. Almost. Jinx was a closer resemblance. Violet held a wrath that seemed to seep from her bones, her eyes hardened with so much determination and attentiveness that it made him weary.

What truly made him stumble, was the way she held herself. The slightest slouch, making herself look smaller than she was. Her fists were wrapped by stained scraps of white fabric. They were clenched, making the linen taut around her swollen knuckles. And, by the way a few of the men around her slithered away, she had earned a level of rightful hierarchy inside.

Worst of all, Silco snapped his jaw shut, was the fact that she was so much like him. Like Vander. He didn’t need to venture towards her to know. He knew it by the way she stewed by herself while everyone else gathered in pairs and groups. How her lips twisted upon noticing him. Even the flicker of hope that crossed like a bullet.

A hopelessly lonely soul. Two peas in a pod.

Vander had been alone, before any one of their group had drawn together. He had been alone, and he had stewed. He lived by his brute strength and bravery, and Vi was following all the same footsteps. Like a child in thick snowbanks.

He almost pitied her. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that it was more of a mourning. Of what their lives could have consisted of. If everything hadn’t gone sideways.

The moment was broken when a rounded baton poked him sharply in his spine, “Move.” He glowered. But, he did adhere to the rookie’s insolence. Vi was spinning her food tray around in circles on the table, eyes dark with murderous intent.

The blue of her eyes made him miss Connol, who had always managed to keep their chaos barred. Unfortunately, Vi didn’t seem to even vaguely carry such a patience from her biological father.

She really was Vander’s girl. Fitting.

He felt eyes on the back of head even after he was locked away behind four stone walls and an iron door. She had stuck to him like an oil residue, and he felt dreadful at the realization.

He reflected on the discovery of her life. Knowing he wouldn’t allow himself once his current mess was in the process of being cleaned up, there would be too much to be done after such a discovery. With Violet alive, there were bridges left unburned. And he would have to figure a way to either bury the hatchet, or find a match to strike.

If he could handle disposing of the one person he’d loved and trusted the most, he could deal with just another byproduct. He stared at one of the little glints of light through the cracks of the door.

But, as he was all by his lonesome in a frigid box, his mind wandered to Vander. And, against his will, he mourned some more.

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!

“Camelot’s Waiting”

(merthur dabble)

“The King is here!" A small boy ran past Merlin's tent, leaves sticking out of his curly head of hair. His face was wide with excitement, but the sounding stampede of horse hooves made him revert back to the confines of his personal encampment.

He knew why they were there. There had been a series of Barghest attacks making their way towards Camelot, and Arthur had never been one to wait like a sitting duck. They must have been desperate to leave the kingdom in such a rush. Unfortunately for them all, it was a waste of time. Merlin had already dealt with the beast. As if he’d truly abandon all he cared for.

He heard the telltale neighing of Llamrei, ever as hotheaded as her owner. She was just as determined to keep moving on a quest as Arthur was. He could remember fondly now, attempting to quiet her insistent complaints about resting. Always nipping and shoving into his shoulder for attention and trying to buck the other knights if they dared stand next to her.

He considered changing appearances. It wouldn't have been the first time. When travelers came looking for Emrys, he had grown accustomed to altering his appearance one way or another. He faltered just outside of the stitched bear hide, staring blankly at the sheen of sunlight that lit up its fibers.

"It's urgent, we need to see him!" Arthur yelled at someone. Merlin nearly burst through the flap that instant, anticipation flooding what sense he had left. He focused on growing his hair out, greying it as light as he could in such a short amount of time, and also adding a few wrinkles. He knew it was the lack of sleep catching up to him that caused his belatedness.

"If he wants to see you, then he'll find you. Do I not look like I have better things to do, My Lord?"

He refastened his white robes, sinching the red and barley yellow twine that a Druid girl had weaved for him. He dared not to worry outrageously about the significance of the colors. And he was unsure whether to feel grateful or not when he was immediately caught behind the gathering accumulating in the center of the camp.

A Druid woman stood with a wooden basket on her hip, berries nearly overflowing over the lip of it. While it must have been heavy, she did not strain. She met Arthur's gaze with an impressive amount of authority for someone without a sword or shield. She didn’t even have shoes on.

"Gloriana," Merlin called to her, a smirk growing despite himself. She leaned around Arthur's big boot, nodding when he gestured for her to continue on with her business. Unfortunately, he hadn't fully prepared himself for when Arthur would look at him. His breath caught in his throat, the gasp drawing the attention of the closest knight.

Lancelot peered down at him, squinting as if the sun had begun to shine from within the ground underneath him. Elyan kept a distance, and Merlin knew that he was more focused on danger outside the premises, than he was of the Druids.

Arthur pulled a prudish face, "You're Emrys?"

Merlin scowled, "You're King Arthur?" At the man's affronted scoff, he huffed and turned to walk down the path leading out of the Druid’s camp. "I suppose you've come for my help!” He laughed a mighty 'HA' as he began to make his way in the direction of the lake he'd found a short travel away. He would do just about anything to get the knights away from the magical people, even by being alone with them. “Fortunate for you, the beast has already been slain, you are free to go."

He'd left Camelot before Arthur had been able to confront him for being a magic user. He hasn’t known what would toe the line of execution, and exile was even worse. He left before Arthur had had to make the difficult choice. And now, as much as he pained to consider his closest friend a threat, he cared much more about the children still learning how to control the pebbles they floated in the air.

He'd barely made it to the outskirts of the camp, when large, pincher teeth clamped down on the back of his linen robe. He was pulled back, an all too familiar whinny making him flail his arms around wildly.

"Llamrei!" he scolded, "How many times do I have to tell y-" His eyes darted to Arthur's, finding it impossible to play off the shock on both of their faces. In his fit of annoyance, his gruff and scratched voice had reverted back to his normal one. He brought a hand up to cover his eyes, turning and pretending as if he hadn't ruined everything.

"Oh my..." He distinctly heard Lancelot murmur. "Merl-"

"Quiet!" Arthur shouted, interrupting Lancelot's quiet realization. Elyan gawked, sharing an astonished glance with his friend. The rest of the camp was eerily silent, and Merlin could not bring himself to see if it was because they were alone or not. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Druid's were hidden in places where they could eavesdrop. A thump in the grass let him know that Arthur had dismounted. Llamrei was finally quiet, Merlin cursed her in his head, trying to drown out the steps of the king drawing nearer.

"I am not M-" A hand on his cheek stopped him abruptly, causing his own to fall like the ball of a flail. He drew in a sharp breath when Arthur caught his eye, like waterfalls in the high noon sun. It took Merlin a moment to realize that they were as wet as his own.

"Merlin." Arthur all but gasped, drawing him into a bone splintering embrace. His arms were stuck at odd angles while he was stuck to the king's body, but he knocked his head affectionately against Arthur's, allowing a slight smile for the occasion. He'd relish the affection while it lasted.

"I've missed you." His voice escaped him, albeit muffled from where his mouth pressed against a red cape. He heard the other two knights lead the horses away, leaving them alone without a word.

"Why did you leave?" Arthur sounded incredibly exhausted, and Merlin's observation proved correct when the he slumped slightly, weighing the leaner man down. They collapsed to their knees. The dew of the grass quickly soaking through their clothes.

"I was scared." Arthur hooked his chin over Merlin's boney shoulder.

"That isn't like you, Merls."

"I was scared you'd kill me."

"What?" Arthur drew himself back, looking over Merlin's anxious and crestfallen face, "I would never."

Merlin used his wrists to wipe back the tears flowing down his cheeks, "You don't have to lie to me Arthur, I’m sorry for lying to you. I deserve your anger, and I am prepared to live with the consequences of my actions. Even if I can never come back with you.”

"Oh, shut it, you idiot!" Arthur scoffed. And Merlin startled at the sudden anger laced in his tone. But it was not hatred that fed the outburst, it was just annoyance. Merlin would recognize that look on Arthur any day of the week. Merlin gaped at him, watching in disbelief as Arthur stood and crossed his arms defiantly. "If anything, I should be apologizing to you, apparently! If I truly had you believing that I would hurt you because of something so mindless, then I guess I haven't been as good of a King as you've always surveyed." His gaze softened as Merlin's brows knitted together in disagreement. Arthur kept going, "I would have never allowed them to take you from me, Merlin. Not in a thousand years."

Merlin's bottom lip wobbled, his emotions bubbling over and spilling out like an overflowing cauldron of water. He pressed his palm against his lips, holding back the distress he felt as his walls began to blow up around him. Arthur enveloped him in another embrace, a gloved hand on the back of his head as he pulled Merlin's face down to conceal his vulnerability.

"I thought-" He broke off with a sigh when his throat clenched up in disapproval.

"Do you really think that lying to me would make me love you any less?"

At Merlin's lack of response, Arthur tugged his gloved off, tossing them into the grass. He cupped Merlin's jaw on either side and pulled him closer, so they had mere inches between their faces. He felt the warm span of Arthur's breath across his nose and cheeks. Thumbs ran across his cheekbones, Arthur's eyes looked over his face like a man would a vault of gold. Merlin had definitely caught Gwaine eyeing a piece of pie the same way before. He shivered as Arthur bumped their foreheads together.

"I can't stop doing magic, Arthur. It's who I am." He looked at the king through his eyelashes, waiting for a sign of disappointment. Arthur grinned, his eyes staying blissfully closed as their noses brushed.

"All that matters is that I found you."

Merlin hummed, relaxing his tense hands at Arthur's sides and contentedly pressing back into all of the king's caresses.

Then he added, "And Gwaine is going to owe Percival so much money."

"You really are an absolute clotpole, you dolt." Arthur's breathy laugh hit Merlin's face once more, making him smirk through his mild irritation.

"You can't speak to your king that way, idiot."

"Who do you think you are?" Merlin opened his eyes, leering playfully at the blond. "The king?" Arthur hummed, brushing Merlin's dark hair out of the way. Distantly, he wondered when his identity spell had fallen.

"Just Arthur."

"Just Arthur?" Merlin quirked a brow at him.

"I'll always be your Arthur."

"Even if that Arthur is an unrelenting clotpole?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "I'm trying to make this a moment, Merlin."

Merlin recentered the clasp of Arthur's cape, fingers lingering on the outline of a toned chest underneath. He tilted his head and stepped out of the other man's hold.

"That wouldn't be my Arthur, my Arthur is a grumpy king that hates romance.” He was stopped from distancing himself further by a hand grasping the twine around his own waist. Arthur grinned as he admired the colors.

“I’m not entirely against the idea.”

Merlin scoffed defectively at the man's much too pleased smirk, "Get a hold of yourself, sire!"

Arthur only laughed, pulling him in once again, disregarding the lackluster complaints.

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

Ok I read this amazing fic yesterday (basically a sorta rewrite/canon divergence) by @gardezamour and it gave me a burst of inspiration regarding Viktor's codename in my crossover AU with P5R as in this, he goes by "Canary" along with Powder's "Jinx" (she kinda doesn't become Jinx tho at the same time) and it actually dawned on me that canaries were used in mines and Zuan had such! Yeah... I was a little slow there... But anyhow! Read it! It's so good guys!!! 😍

Tho idk if it's final or maybe a variant of the word will be considered because aaaaa it's too good so I tip my hat to you author! It's also inspiring HCs in my brain too so there's that at least if anything! ^_^

a dabble of a moses!au - based on this post

Viktor wasn't entirely sure if he believed in Janna. Enough debilitating and unfortunate circumstances with zero relief would do that to you, and he was already feeling especially helpless in that moment. But, he considered that the closest thing he'd ever experience to a cosmic deity was probably right in front of him.

"Are you lost?" He titled his head at her, squinting when she startled and the gold that had pulsated between her hands, like a star, dissolved much like water would as it touched fire. She looked like the last type of person to be hiding behind an overgrown patch of cattail. Her hair fell in loose coils along the ground where she sat. Her skin was dark, with peeks of gold under the red shawl and white gown she adorned. More directly, she was the most angelic person Viktor had ever seen.

"I believe I am exactly where I'm meant to be," she responded. She looked him up and down, her dark eyes calculating and confident. She smiled, and although it was comforting, it still made him stand a little straighter. As though he were back in the the city he had once called home, under scrutiny of the council because he had empathy. The devil on his shoulder. The reminder made his shoulders sink.

"Right," he tried to hold back his sarcasm, but he could tell it did not work when she quirked a neatly kempt eyebrow at him. He toed the ground with his holey boot. "You shouldn't be down here, Piltover does not approve of nonconformists."

Her smile relaxed, turning more curved at the edges, "I am more than capable of managing myself, Viktor."

"Well-" The sound died in his throat; hand frozen in the air where he had begun to make a mild sweep of a gesture. She turned back to the stream at his stuttering, splashing her feet in the shallow waters. She giggled into her blood red shawl, the sound slightly muffled. His arm fell back to his side as he squinted at her profile. Her bubbling amusement broke with a sigh, and she did not look at him again as she began to speak.

"I have heard your urge to free your people of the affliction caused by Piltover. I would like to help you. I could assist you and yours, to make this desolate land into one of fresh milk and rich honey." She smiled, as though she could imagine such a paradise with the smell of faint smoke and oil in the air.

"Who are you calling desolate?" He knew he should have been slightly more offended, on behalf of where his loyalties were. But he still took a few steps forward as he attempted to catch a closer glimpse of her face.

"What is that in your hand?" she deflected his rhetorical question.

He glanced down at his cane, unimpressed, "A walking stick."

"Throw it on the ground." She peered at him, smiling slightly devilish. Her magnificence did not dwindle though. Unfortunately for Viktor. Her teeth were perfectly straight, he realized.

"I will not be able to walk without it," he refused, clawing his stare away from her. She hummed, still taking in the expanse of his unsure expression. He sighed, long and suffering, before letting go of the silver knob his body had been leaning on. It didn’t clamor as it usually would have.

He gasped, loud enough for her eyes to flash up at him with invigorated excitement. There was a snake in place of where the wood should have landed in the uneven stone. Black and luminous with yellow eyes like the sun on burning hot days. It hissed at him; it's tongue like a tiny black ribbon as it flicked out. The cold of sinister fear felt like he'd mistakenly fallen into the river a few feet away. He looked away just to ensure that he hadn't.

"Come," she held a pliant hand out to it, not bothered in the slightest when the serpent sped towards the limb and immediately constricted itself firmly around her thin arm. When Viktor had not moved, she looked away from the reflective pattern of its scales to share an expectent tilt to her head. "Come."

"Absolutely not," he nearly tripped over his inverted leg in his haste to put distance between himself and the glimmering eyes of burning coal.

She hummed, petting the smooth head of the creature, "In order to save the Zaunites, I will have requests for you, Viktor. In order for me to believe in your abilities to do what it takes, I must ask you to follow my directions without a doubt holding you back. You must gain my trust."

Viktor was suddenly hesitant to look at her. She stood out against the falling night, glimmering and pure as she all but dangled a notoriously dangerous offer in front of his face. Even so, he was spurred on as he sensed their time coming to a close. Even if she presented herself as a divine entity, her wet feet would eventually grow cold from the vacant sun and freezing waters of the rushing water. Viktor himself ached from the long day he had had, suddenly desperate to sit down.

He limped over to her, unintentionally kicking up gravel as he went. The snake's head piqued at his nearing proximity, curling itself down the woman's arm to her flat hand. It reached for him as he did the same. Its jaw was wide open, opalescent fangs on display. But one daring stare from darkly shadowed eyes made him commit anyway. He stared, attempting to conceal his terror as it snapped its jaw shut and opted to lazily slink up his forearm and bicep.

She smirked, looking him up and down once more, her gaze dragging along his legs, waist, chest, then face. He shivered. He blamed the cold.

"Who are you?" He shivered once more as wet scales slid across the back of his neck.

"I am who I am. And I am your provider."

He gaped at her, "You are a woman I have never met before, and you are handling poisonous vermin with no sign of concern. I have it in my right mind to drag you up to Piltover myself. Before you catch a cold sitting there." He turned away from her, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from raising his voice to the yellow eyes in front of his own as well. He had a feeling that the animal wouldn't hold back as much as their other companion. Its tongue hit his nose before encircling around his pale neck.

"You may call me Mel, if you insist on belittling my endeavor so soon." He spun around, slightly dumbfounded by her pouted lips. He couldn't stop his snort, quieting almost immediately when her disappointed eyes hit the light just right and he realized they were green. They shun under the moon's florescence like jewels.

"Endeavor?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes," she nodded plainly, crossing her arms over her shawl, "I deserve to act esoteric after how long it has taken me to catch you alone." Viktor's hand dragged themselves over the sharp slopes of his own face in an exaggerated huff.

"Just- Could you get to the point?" The snake got unnecessarily close to his eye. He glared at it. “Please?”

She stood, her gown of starlight draping elegantly down to her heels, and the motion was so fluid that he wondered if she were also a serpent. Her drenched feet left a dark path as she took three steps closer to where he stood. He let the suspicion go.

"Take a firm grasp of her, then she will return to your trusted walking stick." Her sarcasm made him grin, giving a short and sweet chuckle to her offence at his sudden nonchalance. For a moment, he thought he shouldn't believe her; that touching the serpent was a sure way to get him bit and killed. But, when he wrapped a hand around the onyx tail, the painted body of his cane was suddenly slung over his right shoulder.

"Oh," he gaped at it, mouth hung open as Mel drew nearer. Her hand landing under his left elbow caused him to startle, dropping the object once again.

They both watched as the wood transformed to flesh. The snake looked slightly dazed, as if it hadn't intended to turn back so soon. Or, she, Mel had said. He repressed the urge to apologize.

Mel's untarnished giggles drew him back to reality once more. He felt his jaw shut tight and his shoulders melt like sugar under a high flame. She squeezed his arm, grinning wild enough that he could see the soul of her. Mischievous and cunning, caring and ravishing. Her laughter deflated to priceless wrinkles in the outer corners of her eyes. Her soft gaze lingered on him, but she eventually knelt down to pick up the serpent, neither of them acknowledging whether it changed back again.

She offered her hand.

"Come. I have someone to introduce."

part 2 - part 3

merlin in an au where arthur, gwen, and the knights know about merlin’s magic.

gwen and arthur’s wedding is coming up, but merlin hears of a plan to raid the wedding (idk, maybe they’re mad that neither a royal or a proper suitor is getting the queen title, or something or another against arthur for extinguishing the ban on magic). but, either way, something’s going on.

merlin panics. he doesn’t know who is behind it, he doesn’t have time to figure it out, and canceling the royal wedding that close without explanation would be suspicious and cause a big ruckus within the kingdom and with the visitors from other kingdoms.

so, he impersonates gwen and magicks the coup away like they were nothing. (note: we’re talking FULL coverage. gloves, thick veil, long gown. in fact, it’s frankly embarrassing that the goons didn’t catch onto the fact that ‘gwen’ was suspiciously overdressed for the warm weather)

and something about the sight of merlin in a pretty gown, his hair wild from dramatically revealing himself to the would-be assassins (and also so that he could see where he was aiming his hands), and seething absolute wrath that they would even think that they could get away with even touching his king and queen.

it changes something in the trio’s relationship…

once again, if this already exists, GIVE IT TO ME. feed me my gwurther sedatives.

leaning into viktor becoming jesus:

moses au where baby viktor is found in a basket in the pilt by cassandra. he’s raised piltovian with caitlyn.

he speaks out regularly about the mistreatment of zaunians as he grows up. constantly starting arguments at galas, breaking into council meetings to state his opinions. (mind you, this is before he’s aware that he IS a zaunite, so cassandra is in her chair like ‘this boy is dooming us BOTH’)

eventually he starts sneaking down to zaun, wanting to help but not knowing how to. the other councilors thinks he’s committing treason or something, so they order to have him sent to stillwater or some kind of confinement. viktor finds out and flees to zaun.

he helps vi and powder escape from some goons trying to steal from them and vander invites him to stay for a little while out of thanks. he eventually begins working for vander, maybe involving himself with political matters on the down low after a while (idk).

and then comes mel medarda, same age, showing up with magic and scaring the shit out of poor viktor with her gold sparks. i’m thinking the spot where singed’s cave is, behind a bush that viktor OBVIOUSLY has to investigate. (the angel of god, my love 🫶 mel medarda).

mel ‘throws’ jayce at viktor and there’s a whole explanation about how viktor’s super genius intelligence was still talked about by heimerdinger, and jayce needed a partner to figure out his magic crystal thing. jayce can be viktor’s aaron (minus the brother thing, and more because he’s viktor’s right hand man)

blah blah blah, viktor’s touched by the arcane, blah blah blah, viktor uses magic with mel’s help to convince piltover to free zaun (after MANY trials and errors). many waters parted, many firelights covering the sky and taking away piltover’s sun privileges, possibly a plague.

and they all live happily ever after (probably)

i don’t even know about ships…i haven’t thought that far. i just really want god-is-a-woman: ~*MEL*~

could be melvik, could be jayvik

but, even better, it could be ~*meljayvik*~

or just a quirky story about magic, and who doesn’t want that??

( i have a sneaking feeling that all of my fic ideas are going to be viktor finding a family )

NOTICE: if someone’s already written this, or something like it; for the love of THE LORD link it because i love the chaos of moses’ story. and viktor would double the chaos like a bee in a bus. if not… i’ll do what i have to 🥸

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

Fuis Moi

Jayce Talis x Viktor - Arcane (League of Legends) - 1 Chapter - 36,806 Words

AO3 Masterlist - AO3

Arcane (League of Legends):

Fuis Moi - Jayce Talis x Viktor - 36,806 words - 1 Chapter

BBC Merlin: Something to Feel - Arthur Pendragon x Merlin - 2,130 Words - 1 Chapter Cry - Arthur Pendragon x Merlin - 4,974 Words - 1 Chapter Over and Over I Keep Going Over - Arthur Pendragon x Merlin - 13,431 Words - 1 Chapter Harry Potter: Come Right Back - Ronald Weasley x Harry Potter - 26,657 Words - 7 Chapters Marvel: In This Blue Shade - Logan (Wolverine) x Wade Wilson (Deadpool) - 7,671 Words - 1 Chapter Stanger Things: House of Kot - Steve Harrington x Billy Hargrove - 9,943 Words - 1 Chapter Two Steps Forwards, Half a One Back - Steve Harrington x Billy Hargrove - 5,248 Words - 1 Chapter Rip Him to Shreds - Steve Harrington x Billy Hargrove - 10,142 Words - 1 Chapter