Yearning isn’t an easy game. And Viktor’s just gone down to visit the Talis forge for a quick request from Jayce. Oops.
[professional yearner viktor] [nsfw‼️] [jayvik]
“Forge is off limits now. Do not enter before or during work hours. Permissible only upon special request.”
Viktor writes this down in a notebook as a reminder for nobody but himself, because he needs to remember it well.
“Since entering the forge ended in near death, alternatives must be considered.”
Jayce had had his shirt all the way off.
As if Viktor had seen him undressed for the very first time. It wasn’t. But his reaction was a surprise, given how many years they had known each other. Probably what caught him off guard, seeing Jayce in this perspective, glowing, puffing, blowing off steam.
And now he was a like a teenager writing in a fucking diary at the ripe young age of dying and in his 30s.
“In terms of facility benefits, however, muscle tone is understandably healthier upon repeat exertion.”
It’s all he writes down on the topic.
Sweat slicking up a broad neck, his back and shoulders licked by flames. Jayce didn’t even realize Viktor had entered because the blaze of the furnace drowned all else out. It was just Jayce alone, focused, veins very full and pumping and alive. Occasional grunts on a few heavy exertions. Hammer striking molten metal. Hands beating to an intentional rhythm, in just the right spots. Viktor saw it all as if through a glass test tube, and studied its contents for far too long. It was like staring into the sun.
“Additionally, the forge is a valuable asset to the progression of Hextech and its major faculties. J. Talis’s knowledge supersedes its basic functions in both skill and technical expertise. We should request further funding.”
Viktor was supposed to just ask him for an extra hand in one of their prototypes.
His thoughts went very much elsewhere.
By Janna.
Didn’t even bother to approach the man, seeing as he had completely forgotten his whole purpose. Exits the heavy, steam coated room with a pulse on fire. Jayce never looked up to notice a presence.
Bathed in shadows by the coinciding dark, empty hall. Thankful to find privacy, he had pressed his back against the cold wall. Let out a held breath that echoed like a ghost through the chamber. Closed his eyes but then he only saw flames and so much more burning behind the lids.
So Viktor returned to the lab, ignoring the hard pressure that had grown between his legs, indisposed, and did what he could to fix up the damn prototype until he deemed it somewhat stable to hold in his own hands. Jayce would know which frequency to activate it, a job that would have to wait until his return.
But for now…while he waits, Viktor writes down the additions to his recent list of do’s and don’ts. And that list is growing long.
Conclusion: if he finds himself yet again in a…compromising position in front of Jayce —well, dying would be preferable, but that wouldn’t be a productive solution. Jayce had every reason not to want that, and not to want Viktor like that. The early partnership years of Viktor even entertaining the maybe-they-will, maybe-they-won’t game were long behind.
Unfortunately, now that Jayce is taking his solace in the forge more often, Viktor, left alone with his genius, mind numbingly powerful memory, finds himself thinking of Jayce quite consistently. In creative ways that strike him as horrifyingly lewd, horrifyingly anatomically accurate, too, even though he has never seen Jayce fully disrobed in his life. Realistic scenarios in an impossibly unrealistic want. But there is something about watching Jayce more stressed out this week, pent up, extra disgruntled, short in his replies. He was always restless, that one, always needing to do something with his hands.
Now, taking out all that stress and putting it into something physical and raw. Viktor can’t believe he was so stupid to walk in there, knowing what he should have expected to see. He thinks of what he could have done to stay professional and bold. Jayce would be gracious, would be kind, would probably not even notice something was different.
But instead Viktor left the forge with even deeper material to fantasize about, and as an even deeper coward.
And it fucking sucks because he’s in their lab and he is in no position to be thinking or acting on such things right now, but the rhythmic bang of hammer on metal echoes in his mind, does wonders on his faculties to leave him strewn over his papers already wet again and needing that rhythmic, frustrated energy directed his way. And Jayce is still down there right now, working on it all so diligently, so intensely, and if he could only shift his focus on where he uses those talented, rough, callused hands…
And suddenly Viktor finds himself bucking just slightly off of the stool, hips rolling forward as if to catch something to grind onto in the air, at which point he knows he’s too far gone.
Shit, it wasn’t the first time it’s happened here, he just wishes he were anywhere but here to take care of it. But if Jayce had his own space in the forge, well, it was only fair…
Before shame can catch up, Viktor drops his pen and lets his hand wander down. Doesn’t even unbutton, just puts his palm against the bulge of his trousers into a fist, rubs in tight circles, up, down, and up again, friction sparking the fuse, hoping he can be real quick about it. His breath hitches when the pressure in his groin builds surprisingly fast, the image of hot flames blending up a broad silhouette of slick sweat and bulging muscle. Turns an already burning cog from within his mind while deliberately using the tempo of hammer strikes. Working himself up and down to the sounds of hot, exerted grunts, and iron ringing in his ear. And perhaps, maybe, with just a little fantasy added in, the sound of his own name.
“Jayce,” Viktor moans softly back in reply. He should be careful. But how great does it roll off his tongue, like this, even in his own muffled voice.
Cups himself from underneath with his opposite hand, his torso tensed and trying to curl forward defyingly against his brace, his breath a puff of steam just above all the papers and blueprints and diagrams. All the plans for their things, that Jayce is now making down in the forge for them right now. Just for this. For him.
You are so good to me, Viktor imagines telling Jayce. He needs to, someday. He will, he won’t. It doesn’t matter. So, so good.
He doesn’t dare to let more words slip past his lips. His own moans are deep, private. Convinced Jayce would sound even louder and more pretty, with Jayce’s dick right there, under him, trapped behind their all too many layers of clothes, Viktor nearly succumbing to exactly what Jayce wants. Would hear Jayce demanding, “more.” Would edge Jayce until he is growling, and swears, and claws. Until he pulls Viktor against him closer, hammering himself upward to meet hip to hip mid thrust.
Imagining it all, Viktor craves more pressure, and so squeezes his thighs together while both hands work himself harder. Except the stool he is using has wheels, and is rolling too much underneath him with the more frantic and aggressive movement he makes.
In a moment’s desperation, Viktor quickly grabs his crutch, stands himself upright, one hand still working, rubbing, teeth clenched in frustration, because the contact from this stance is not nearly strong enough. He decides to lean his hips forward, groin and fist flush together against the edge of the table, to grind against it where he stands, hips swaying and digging in from side to side and thrusting against the table’s edge as hard as his bad leg will allow.
If Jayce has that much muscle in his upper body and torso, Viktor imagines the sheer strength of Jayce’s legs. They would wrap around him just like this, not letting him fall, not letting him thrust without strong support. Because Jayce was stressed right now and was trying to please everybody in the entire world, and would maybe help pleasure Viktor, too, if he only asked. And Viktor is so close to cumming by this point that he firmly believes it —that Jayce would help him get off, and would genuinely want to, and might be a little unhinged about it.
“Please,” Viktor whines, lightly, for himself, for Jayce. An echo of what he wants to hear back. He slips faster. Lets go of the crutch, and it clatters in abandon to the floor. Jayce laying beneath him now slick and forge-stained on the table, clothes ripped and burnt and falling off, moving flush against Viktor, groaning only carnal things. His beautiful, intense, complex Jayce. Viktor now using his free arm as a support, to lean all the way over onto the top of the desk from upright, above. And with each heavy, powerful grind onto his own hand he is grinding onto the one and only Jayce Talis until he himself is forged brand new in light of the gods.
Melt me. Make me over. I don’t care.
His orgasm comes when Viktor hears Jayce’s swears and grunts turning into sweet, breathy exhales of a release. Viktor follows, too, body and breath, imagining Jayce bracing with him through it, saying something else that digs into his chest. Something raw and unearned. Perhaps it is just idea of Viktor abandoning himself and stripping himself to the bone, Jayce doing the same. And in that quiet aftermath the lab grows a little colder.
Viktor huffs, wipes away a line of drool that trailed from his mouth. Shudders as the last of his orgasm lingers with the dying sparks of live wires, and he begins the process of reorienting himself. Had put more energy into this than he thought he would, ashamed to have taken long because what if Jayce had walked in?
The papers, strewn about in a hot mess, his trousers implying more so. Obviously he would not be able conceal the wet stain, and even if he did it would be written all over his face. A tingling sensation prickles in his cheeks, and he’s still catching a breath. He sinks back down into the stool and it is much less comfortable than before. So, he leans down to get his crutch from off the floor and—
“Okay, the alloy you mentioned was kinda tricky to meld, but I think it’s going to work, I just have to—“
Viktor’s world goes bright white. Jayce is paused at the doorway, a clipboard of papers in one hand, the other the glint of an ingot, unpolished and hand-made. “Vik, hey, you okay?” he looks surprised but then with concern that turns into urgency, as Viktor is leaning for his crutch but can’t stop and he’s lost his balance, has to grip the edge of the desk.
Jayce bounds forward immediately, places a steady hand on Viktor shoulder before he kneels to picks up the crutch instead. “Hey, here,” and he places the crutch gently into Viktor’s lap, trying to find his eyes. “What do you need? Is this what you…?”
Jayce, kneeling, can’t miss Viktor’s flush if it hit him square in the face.
Viktor clears his throat, swallows dryly. His voice doesn’t catch up to him, only scrapes deep and fucked out, but he tries to conceal that, too. “I was just about to —go. To finish this.”
“Oh,” Jayce’s face is unreadable, “Sorry, you just looked like you were about to fall. Are you sure-“
“I’m fine,” Viktor says, pats the crutch as a thank you, pressing it closer into his lap as a physical and mental barrier from Jayce’s body that is lingering so close. “The copper and zirconium, it will complete the circuit nicely, look here, I was able to…” and Viktor turns back to the desk and forgets that all of his new calculations are strewn into haphazardness.
Jayce stays silent, Viktor only praying it is just his naturally saccharine politeness kicking in. Manages to pick out the right collection of notes and after a few moments, hands them over, to which Jayce reads through like nothing is unusual about any of this exchange.
Jayce even says, “This will work. Crank this guy out like the others, yeah?” And laughs to himself while his eyes sweep across the page. He’s so much more relaxed than when he left to enter the forge.
Their own inside joke would be just a funny little bit right now if the colorful imagery didn’t drive Viktor wild, now. Imagining the intensity of expressions Jayce had born in his mind. Viktor only stammers out, “Y-yes,” just stoic enough to sound composed.
Jayce lingers on that. Sets the page down slow.
“Well, this is it.” He presents the zirconium blend. “Our bread and butter —I know, I know, it’s small.” It’s about the size of Jayce’s palm, though, so…it’s really not.
And thank the gods Jayce is covered up and washed before heading back here, because why would he not? But there is still evidence of soot beneath the nails, and the green veins that are still bursting out of the wrist, trailing up to kiss the bracelet and its rune and on towards hidden biceps. Calluses richer, on right digits one, two, three. Still a small scar on the left of the pinky from a minor mechanical accident. Tireless and strong in grip strength, probably slightly damaged at the nerve endings from chronic impact. Skillful in soldering, and melding, and pounding away for hours upon hours upon hours—
“It is just enough. Thank you,” Viktor says, halting himself, and takes it and holds it up for better view. A silver sheen is laced into the blended metal. He takes probably way too long to look over it over while Jayce hovers over his shoulder. It has the sparkle of fine silver chainmail. Volatile, when crushed to a fine powder.
Jayce says, “That’s good, I hope.” And here is Jayce, all warm, softened, hardened, empty, moldable. Fit to be created and destroyed and created again, too.
If Viktor doesn’t think of a distraction for himself, soon, he will be eating his own words.
“It is good enough for the both of us, yes,” Viktor says.
Jayce drops his shoulders in relief. Viktor braces for the inevitable, the hand that will rest upon his shoulder. No intentions, no motives. Just appreciation for a friend and colleague.
He stares at the ingot long enough for Jayce to place his hand there for a few moments, and still too after he moves elsewhere in the lab.
Viktor throws himself back into his work tenfold, all but frozen solid.
Viktor and Jayce have built a robot with near-human sentience, and one night, Viktor realizes it is lonely…
[blitzcrank au] [season 1 viktor] [jayvik angst]
It is nine o’clock in the twilight hour, the time when musicians will be setting bows on strings to muster a new tempo. When the clink of champagne glasses will ring to high gilded ceilings as talk of money and music and rank steals the crowd. When gossip spills out of hundreds of pretty painted mouths like a dripping hot drug.
Viktor won’t know for sure if this is how the gala will transpire. He can only guess, because he isn’t there.
He hangs up his keys, and the lab doors shut unceremoniously behind him. Blitzcrank has rolled up immediately, as dutiful, tall, and polished bronze as ever. And Viktor has to tell it, “It is only me.”
Because Blitzcrank holds up two piping hot cups of coffee.
If the robot could blink in confusion it would. It just stands there, wholly uncertain. From one of its extended arms Viktor accepts a mug and wraps it in his palm. From another arm, the mug does not get picked up. The robot does not move, either. There is nowhere for it to go, because the task of “bringing coffee” is not complete.
Viktor notices this, supposes he can re-program the robot’s routine for the night, except he doesn’t have time. A headache isn’t helping the urgency. Maybe coffee will.
It had been so long since Jayce had been invited to a party, Viktor forgot about setting an alternative mode for when he was left alone…
“Jayce will be here tomorrow,” Viktor says, rubbing at his temple. He supposes the robot deserves a bit of explanation, regardless if it will understand the meaning. “You may return the mug.”
On that order, Blitzcrank turns its large metal body around and disappears behind a corner to complete the task. In the dark, the runes that power its body pulse faintly blue inside of the embedded metal hull.
The mechanical whir of the robot can be heard from the small kitcheonette after Viktor settles into his studies. He’s suddenly become more aware of the other sensations around him, heightened by his head, the blue of Hex crystals and runes, the bubbles rising in beakers, the shifting of gears. So much kinetic energy, but there is a lack of…something, a potent silence too noisy to ignore. A voice unheard.
Ah, Jayce, of course it was him. Viktor reminds himself that he will be here tomorrow.
Time becomes automatic. In the first half hour, Viktor fills out a whole paper chart documenting the pulse strength of an acceleration rune at twenty millisecond intervals. In the second half hour, he transcribes an entire mock up of a new transponder in chalk. Runes are carefully aligned to metal components. A list of parts are written in order of manufacturing. The work is diligent, satisfactory, impressive.
It is not the only task, though. Sitting in the other corner of the lab is the Hexcore.
Except now…Viktor is thinking about it while trying not to think about it. His headache gnaws its way to the nape of his neck. Viktor allows himself a glance from the chalkboard, but peels his eyes away at once with a hammering heart. The odd, alien shape of the anomaly glows purple, like…usual. No changes, so that was good.
Nothing needs to change, because Jayce will be here tomorrow. It will be worked on tomorrow.
Eleven thirty, and Blitzcrank returns from the kitcheonette wielding a cast iron pan. It beeps to get Viktor’s attention for a scheduled programming to make a late night snack. Except Viktor isn’t the one that eats while he is working. He waves the robot off, remembering to tell it to return the pan.
Viktor sucks in a breath. If he ignores the other purple…thing…in the corner long enough, he will leave the night without a single urge to approach it. But occasional check-ins are still a necessary safety precaution. Another glance here and there and he sees there are no changes. Again. Still purple. Still dormant.
Midnight, or close to it, and there is a loud startling boom followed by a heavy screech of metal wheels from behind him. Blitzcrank is in haywire rolling around the lab. If it could utter a scream, this might be the sound. Viktor startles, too, immediately searching for a source of the boom. Faulty equipment, a fallen device, an attack?
All manner of colors are spilling across the lab —the Hexcore?
No. It remains exactly as it was, in the corner.
Viktor approaches the lab windows to get a better idea. Ah, fireworks.
A whole symphony of colors, glittering down like falling stars. His first thought is of the gala, marking a midpoint into the celebration. He didn’t realize the display would be seen and heard so close.
It is beautiful, but Blitzcrank is inconsolable, set into overdrive by the commotion. And Viktor’s headache hammers into his eyeballs, overstimulated by it all.
“Stop,” he tells the robot. “We are safe.” Because if he says that, the emergency faculties installed inside of Blitzcrank might cool off. Which they do, almost immediately. Blitzcrank’s engine slows as the firework show ends, and the robot comes to a slow stop at Viktor’s feet. The hinge of its jaw flaps open and closed. Light in its eyes flickers from bright red back to calm blue. The runes in its body resume a duller, arcane glow.
An interesting theory, that chaos makes it near unable to function, and order controls it.
Jayce will be here tomorrow. Viktor should tell him.
They had only been testing Blitzcrank as a lab assistant for a couple of weeks. They needed the extra hands for quite some time — someone who could keep up with their quick pace, and provide them a little reprieve when it came to…physical faculties, like nutrition. Except they couldn’t ask an academy student like Sky or Ekko or, god forbid, Jinx, to dote on trivial needs. And with Jayce being gone more often…it had been Jayce’s idea to build one instead, test the limit of what runes could power, and see how well a forged collection of alloys could follow a pre-programmed task.
But what Jayce and Viktor had ended up creating was…astonishing.
Blitzcrank, called such in a delerious hour of the night when they named it based off an inside joke, had blinked awake right as Jayce embossed the final rune. Like any Hextech creation, it pulsed with a familiar blue glow at its core. But though it was not human, Viktor would swear it looked upon them like men, not objects. Uncertain if it was Viktor’s design or Jayce’s forge work, there was a sense of expectancy inside of its lit up eyes. Life.
“Oh! Ok,” Jayce had exhaled in sheer surprise, seeing what Viktor saw, stepping back carefully to be beside Viktor and gripping the engraving iron tight in his fist. Nervous.
They observed Blitzcrank’s gears spin and shift around to pull its own body upright, towering above Viktor, then even over Jayce. His partner ran a hand through his hair, not knowing what to say. “This is…”
Viktor had squinted in the face of their creation and found intrigue in its nature. “Blitzcrank,” he called to it by name, “please take the iron.” He needed to know an answer right away. How would it follow a command?
Jayce nodded at Viktor, understanding, presented the iron to the bot on the top of his palm. Silently it rolled foward, and in a moment of anticipation it held up its robotic hand, staring down at the little tool like it was calculating a distance, judging a speed, and then…it pinched its fingers gingerly down to pick up the tool as delicately as a flower.
Jayce let out a held breath. “That is…”
“Now put it away, on the rack,” Viktor ordered again. Kept it vague, didn’t bother to point to where. But the robot did so successfully. Knew exactly where the tool lived in the lab, just like so where it hung on the wall.
Viktor tapped the floor with his crutch. “Here.”
And Blitzcrank rolled back beside them, watching, waiting.
Jayce looked dazed. “How does it…?”
Viktor shook his head, “It seems it just knows.”
Jayce gave Blitzcrank a try, too. “Can you…move in a small circle?”
At this, the robot tilted its head, bobbed lightly back and forth, remained in place. This was the first taste they got of it stalling from improperly spoken words.
“It misunderstands,” Viktor realized. “You are asking it if it can. It does not know what that means.”
Jayce turned to Viktor thoughtfully. “No. You’re right, it has no ability to answer that. It needs a concise direction. Blitzcrank, you can move in a small circle. Do it.”
And Blitzcrank whirred around on its wheels, spinning like a graceful mechanical dancer in the middle of their lab. And they knew exactly how to handle it from there on out.
Teaching a robot what it could and couldn’t do was like raising a young child. Patient, tedious, hilarious sometimes.
But pretty soon, Jayce and Viktor and Blitzcrank developed a work rhythm in a brand new way. A sort of odd lab family, where Blitzcrank was the first being ever to exist in their lab that seemed, oddly, natural in there. It was near in tandem with their thoughts. Able to execute routine requests without being asked, like it anticipated what they would say. Falling into place like a perfect spare part.
Except when something went wrong, something out of everyone’s control, and Blitzcrank caved in on itself.
The fireworks, for instance, have ceased, and the robot regains a nobler stance. Viktor’s head rings, but his ache is replaced by a dull static behind his lids. If not for the surprise of fireworks, he’d be battling against the will of the Hexcore right now. Instead, bathed in a sea of muddied thoughts, near exhaustion, exacerbated by a migraine, before any of the rest of his tasks are finished…
He has a theory.
He points to the corner, into the purple shadows, where the Hexcore lies at bay but no doubt lives, because Viktor knows, deep down, that it is very much alive. It calls to him every moment of every waking day.
“Blitzcrank,” he orders, “go pick it up.”
Viktor doesn’t need to say what it is. Because Blitzcrank already knows. Because…and if his theory is correct…
The robot does just as Viktor asks without him actually asking. Rolls its wheels into the glow, bathed in an anomaly of arcane light, a marvel of the arcane itself, and very gently picks up the Hexcore into its arms. The Hexcore hums, allowing it, buzzing with life.
A single moment of clarity rips through Viktor’s skull. It is not a miracle, Blitzcrank’s innate ability to know intuitive thoughts and desires. It can already hear Viktor’s, because that thing, the Hexcore is driving the wheels of their decorated metal friend. And the Hexcore has been wanting Viktor for a very, very long time.
Blitzcrank’s inner core begins to shift from blue to a deep, familiar purple.
Viktor wonders what would happen if Blitzcrank were to be removed from the lab. How the Hexcore would react. How it would feel. What it would do to say how it felt right now.
Another theory comes to mind, one Viktor bravely tests. “Are you lonely?” he asks. The two arcane creations in front of him are inextricably bound to one another. He can see that clear as day. He doesn’t know which one of them he is really asking. The world stops.
Blitzcrank does the extraordinary, and nods its head. Its eyes now flicker into purple, staring. Knowing. The Hexcore itself whirs and spins in its arms while the robot’s jaw moves up and down. An answer without a voice, but an innate, sheer will to be heard. Blitzcrank, a conduit for a…conversation.
Jayce will be here tomorrow.
And no, he does not, in fact, need to know about this at all.
The words he practiced in the mirror that morning seemed so jumbled on his tongue, dried to a prune in the anxious effort of appearing his very best.
Jayce straightened the tie for the umpteenth time, knowing full well that it matched the bundle of red chrysanthemums way too closely to be a coincidence. That was fine. Coincidences were the universe’s way of playing a guessing game and winning. Today there was no guessing, and so there was no reason to be nervous about it looking like one.
Ha. Right?
Jayce had to remember that Viktor had been the one to ask him upfront and personally. Viktor had been the one to say that he liked dining at sunset, and that his favorite restaurant was Chalez Monde. He also gave Jayce the address, the time, and the day. All Jayce needed to do, in Viktor’s words, were, “look sharp.”
“And wear red. It suits you.”
Viktor calmly straightening Jayce’s collar, Jayce doing all he could to stay still and not maul Viktor with kisses, because he was classy, too, damn it, was the last interaction Jayce could remember them having. Was Jayce’s face looking as red as the flowers and tie? It certainly felt so. His hair, he had spent an age styling today. The flowers…the flowers were probably too much.
And, Gods, was it hot out here?
As he sat with hopefully some semblance of composure, despite the restless bouncing of his heels, fancy guests he could see in the interior of the restaurant enjoyed platters while waiters danced between tables. Luckily, Jayce had been offered to sit under the patio, where it was private and peaceful along a quiet street. Though a breeze in the late afternoon sun swept gently by, he was sweating. He had gotten here way too early. Had been asked multiple times by the staff if he wanted to order. He had only accepted a glass of wine.
He swirled it more times than necessary, only taking the smallest sips out of their courtesy. At this point, he didn’t know if he even had an appetite.
Now was the time that he and Viktor were creating something entirely new, and it wasn’t made of hextech or gears or iron. Those he was good at, but this? This was crossing a bridge, down a road a long time coming. What should he even be saying, what should he even do—?
“There you are.”
He nearly dropped the glass.
“Viktor!” Jayce was standing immediately upon the sound of his voice. Viktor’s approach, crutch tucked under his arm, was so much like his usual self. It automatically eased the anticipation of not knowing what to do. “Here,” said Jayce quickly, “have a seat.” He rushed to Viktor’s side, guiding him by instinct with a hand on his back into the opposing chair. Easily, naturally.
And as Viktor settled himself in and leaned his crutch against the nearby railing, Viktor's brows knit. “You make it sound like we are about to enter another boring meeting together.”
Not so easily, that one. “Right…together...” Jayce sat back down slowly. This was all so new, all happening so fast that processing it left him a little dizzy. Was it only last week, only a few nights apart since he…since they-
“Damn, wait, I’m messing things up already,” Jayce fumbled. “I didn’t mean how that sounded. I just…”
Viktor had a twinkle in his eye. Did he always have that twinkle? Had Jayce ever noticed it until now? Shit. Jayce swallowed, but Viktor smiled, his tone warm, with a stout hand on his heart and a small bow of his head: “I jest.”
Jayce laughed through his relief, feeling silly, because of course Viktor was only teasing. Then his anxiety melted away at Viktor’s warm gaze. Now, he could finally process what Viktor had arrived wearing, and it sent him reeling. A black waistcoat over a silky smooth red button up, the former adorned with fine red embroidery and piped in geometric gold.
“Wow,” said Jayce. His smile was a lopsided, dopey thing. “You look stunning.” Daring might be the better word, while Jayce himself looked generally the same as always. Talis red just did not compare. “A zaunite coat, yeah?”
The fashion of the undercity did not make its way up to Piltover very often, though some motifs were incorporated by highly fashionable gala guests to perform an edgy shock factor.
Viktor, well, did not conjure their image at all. So unlike his usual day suits, it was tailored and detailed finely to his sharp shoulders and narrow waist. Every line and curve meticulous, geometrically perfect, an entirely different take on undercity representation. Jayce swallowed his own naivety dryly. Viktor looked more like himself than ever.
“Beautiful,” Jayce added. “I mean, I really like it on you.”
Viktor thanked him while toying with the intricacies of the collar, running nimble fingers over thread. “I do not believe I have worn this piece since inheriting it. It is not quite to the taste of our adoring patrons, anyway. I thought better to save it. For…” Now Viktor’s eyes shifted over to Jayce from the neck and down, sweeping across Jayce’s attire intently with a cute tilt of his head. He seemed pleased, maybe surprised? It definitely caught his attention, in the same way an invention caught his curiosity.
“I took your advice,” Jayce said, feeling a tinge of blush.
Viktor did not break that focus. He said slowly, lips parted, “And I am…flattered, Jayce Talis.”
Oh, how it spread to his ears with a vengeance. Later, he thought. Later he could be free to act so feral he could bury himself a grave under that focus. For now, Jayce remembered the flowers hidden underneath his feet, and hoped it to be even half the gift it was for Viktor to be saying his name like that. “Here,” he produced them above the table, “these also come with, uh, all this. For you. Package deal.”
Real smooth, Talis.
But when Jayce extended the flowers, the bundle of red chrysanthemums exploding into view, Viktor lit up as if out of a trance. “Oh.” He took them in hand, and traced a tiny petal in the same manner he had traced the embroidery, so gently. “Ah, these —are also very beautiful.”
It was so unlike the type of gift Jayce usually found or made for Viktor throughout the years, but Viktor still accepted it in the same way he always did, with awe and compassion.
Which meant Viktor had always loved his gifts, even before now. Before they had—
Jayce grew more flushed. “Yeah? I would say I arranged them myself, but Innovator’s Park had a florist right along the water. I thought the color might have been too on the nose. I couldn’t resist, not when I saw so many of them growing wild this year.”
Viktor softened at this even more, his brows tugging in fascination over the flowers as he brushed across them all. He said quietly, contemplative, “I have never truly celebrated a Valentine’s Day. This is…sweet of you, and very good.” His eyes were even more golden in the orange cast of the sunset, raised just enough to meet Jayce through his lashes.
Pretty.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Jayce suddenly took Viktor’s hand in his, the one that brushed the flowers. He wanted to show Viktor sweetness, too. He kissed it long and tender. Savoring it, surprised to revel in Viktor’s scent up the wrist. That was cologne, wasn’t it? “Mm.” Holy shit, it was, and it was intoxicating. Jayce grinned into the top of Viktor’s hand, his boldness all but rewarded by the subtle sounds of Viktor’s breath catching. “Then, Happy Valenti-“
“I am so terribly sorry, Mr. Talis!”
A hasty voice cut in, and it tore the two briskly apart. It was their waiter, balancing menus, glasses, and utensils in a flustered frenzy, not paying attention to them at all. “Chef is running horribly behind tonight, but I will be sure to tell them you are present among our guests.”
Somehow it was easy in the moment for Jayce to switch gears and say no worries for the wait, trying to cast aside disappointment that they were interrupted. But Viktor was even quicker to hide. He snatched up Jayce’s wine and drank from it quick, the blush across his face screaming behind the glass.
Their waiter set down menus and hurriedly lit a candle in the center. “Please, take your time. Maybe a long time! No, I’m only kidding,” and scurried off indoors where dozens of guests were still cycling through. Jayce was very aware that some of them would be staring at him through the tall glass windows.
After the doorway swung closed in a moment of discombobulation, Viktor tipped the remaining wine down his throat, grumbling, and offered to Jayce the empty cup. “My apologies, if you wanted the rest.”
For courage, maybe, of which Jayce decided he no longer needed. He chuckled at Viktor’s own fluster under his breath. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t care for the aftertaste.”
“You use such generous phrasing.” Viktor’s face soured. “It is terrible. But you, Talis,” Viktor thumped the glass down and whispered low, “are a menace.” He side eyed the windows.
Right. Despite Viktor’s words, his fear over public appearances, Jayce felt Viktor’s shoe brushing up behind his ankle like a hook. And it wasn’t leaving.
Jayce furrowed. “I haven’t seen you for an entire week.” He, too, held his head away from the hypothetical eyes for Viktor. He went so far as to hold up a hand to the side of his face, to conceal his mouth from a side view completely. “Do you know how many years a whole week apart from you has taken out of my life?
Viktor held up his chin. Pursed his lips.
Jayce sighed. “What?”
Stated like a fact again, “You were already showing grey hairs.” He murmured, “More only makes you sexier. Don’t you agree?”
And then Viktor held a tiny grin —damn him —curled just so at the corners. Teasing, unbearably hot. How dare he?
“Viktor, I’m being so serious with you right now. It has been torture ever since we—“
“Nearly fucked that night in the lab, yes. I am sure it has.” Jayce’s jaw dropped. Viktor continued at a whisper, nonchalant, “Among our greatest endeavors that may as well have been our most dangerous. Do you realize how many chemicals I had lying out in the open?”
Nothing more than a statement of fact, again. But the pressure of Viktor’s foot against Jayce’s leg intensified, leaving Jayce jolted from the electricity of it. He thought about how much Viktor looked like he abhorred displays of affection in public. He probably preferred secrecy for the comfort of remaining subtle.
But the tenderness Viktor had for flowers was one thing, the intensity he had for Jayce was another.
And right now, the thought didn’t stop Jayce from feeling the built up heat spread under his collar at Viktor’s blunt choice of phrasing, the feel of his unwavering hold on Jayce’s leg, when he realized Viktor liked to play this back and forth game.
Jayce wanted to draw himself into Viktor more, like a moth. But first…
“Ok, alright, fine,” Jayce held up both hands. “You got me. There are…certainly better ways to,” now he looked around, leaned back, and hollared for the whole world to hear, “ENCOURAGE CORRECT < SAFETY MEASURES > IN THE WORKPLACE. YES, WE, THE FOUNDERS OF HEXTECH, ARE WORKING HARD TO INCREASE < PROPER WORKPLACE HAZARD REGULATIONS > FOR OUR LOYAL, TALENTED STAFF.”
Take that, wandering eyes (and hopefully ears). Jayce returned with a sly brow. “There. Menace, now?”
Viktor glanced at the windows again, so Jayce naturally followed. Unidentifiable faces that he thought were aimed their way had turned elsewhere. Uninterested? Had boring talk of business really worked to curb their private audience?
He thought Viktor might be mortified, but then he turned back and hummed with a shrug. “The late night endeavors we partake in are none of their concern, I suppose. Not with the interest in the progress aspect of our new and improved Man of Progress. But here he sits, admittedly, mm, still loyal.”
“To Piltover, or to you?”
“Who do you want it to be, Jayce?”
“You.” Jayce said it like there was no choice at all.
“Good.” A small smirk, the look of possession. “The transaction undoubtedly serves me well.” A joke on Viktor’s end, but perhaps a fact, too. Viktor thumbed the flower petals.
Jayce kept the game up, as fast learners do. “Does it, Vik? Or do you just like to see me play dress up for them and then kiss you till you’re ravenous behind the curtain?” He nodded to the restaurant interior. “They might like what they see, you know. Or hate it, who knows?”
Fuck, the joke made Jayce nearly salivate from the imagery, but really, he wished he didn’t feel they needed to hide at all. Only for Viktor’s sake did he hold back from officially announcing their relationship publicly. He wished more than anything to hold Viktor proud and show off his merit to the rest of the world, to the most important. To feel selfishly possessive too, as if to say that their partnership, that Viktor…
…Gods, that Viktor was, above all, the most beautiful creation they were ever going to fucking get.
Viktor only bit his lip to reign in a self conscious laugh, as if reading Jayce’s thoughts. “You mistake the ambition of the upper city, they would never willingly give up their dutiful Man of Progress, no matter the spectacle.”
“Yes they would! He tries to leave dangerous chemicals lying about during sex. Who knows what other dangerous nonsense he gets up to day to day?”
Viktor all but snorted. “I will admit. That night was, eh, not entirely your own doing, either.” Sure, Jayce thought as he tried to recall, knowing full well that together, they would always be daring and slightly unhinged no matter the task. And as for their brand new phase of experimenting, well…
“We never even got that far, at least. Hah.” They would find the right time and place eventually. Hopefully tonight. But at the same time, Jayce picked through more of his own memory of the misfortune. Had Sky accidentally walked in on them to pick up a forgotten notebook? Had Viktor been the one to sober the moment for their sakes? The details were fuzzy, somehow, like it had never even happened. Jayce rubbed across stubble on his chin. “So, a date, then. That’s why you suggested this tonight? Something simple to start us off…officially?”
Viktor paused, then shrugged. “It seemed a correct calculation.” His shoe tapped Jayce’s leg lightly in thought. “Starting over but knowing one another so well like we do…how else do we begin once again?”
“I like to think by continuing as we always have, V. You’re…,” Jayce lost himself briefly, so delighted at how damn easy it was to say, because he thinks he might have said it once before. “You’re everything and more to me.”
Viktor huffed, Jayce not meaning to sound so theatrically dramatic, Jayce knowing Viktor was struck by the sentiment anyways. “At least take me out to dinner first.”
“I mean it!” And then Viktor could not help it, he broke out into a laugh, true open laughter, which made Jayce break his act as well. And that laughter shook their shoulders free —a state of peace that could have carried them through the remainder of the meal.
Or, what it would have been, anyway, because the waiter never returned. Or anybody, for that matter.
The sunset burned into a soft pink when they finally began to research the menu, and dimness set over Piltover’s shining structures by the time they decided.
The oil lamps flickered to life before they figured they should look around for assistance.
And by the time hot candle wax plopped to the tablecloth, there was still no sign or sound to be heard. Were they forgotten?
Viktor only seemed half-annoyed, “Now I see that even Piltover’s Golden Boy is not immune to a holiday dinner rush.” He was picking at the teeth of an empty fork.
Jayce was brainstorming to fill in time. “If we designed some kind of electric machine to automate and serve orders, maybe the staff would be less burdened. How about a dispenser?”
Viktor pointed with the end of the fork. “Conveyer. Allow the individual to see the numbers coming ahead and prioritize what is most difficult to accomplish versus the easiest.”
“And then the force of the most tedious labor would be cut in half? Maybe.”
“In theory.”
Jayce thought for a second. “What’s your favorite thing to order here, anyway?”
“Do not divert the subject. We have a world changing invention forming.”
“Come on, I mean it, a genuine question on a genuine first date. Finally one thing in the world I don’t know about you.”
Only partially true, as there were lots of things he had been learning tonight, already.
“It doesn’t matter.” Viktor brushed the question aside.
“What if I said I need to know so we can order a better wine?”
Viktor only muttered.
“What?”
“As I said, even if I have eaten here or not, it doesn’t matter.”
Jayce blinked. “You haven’t eaten here?”
“No.”
“Your ‘favorite restaurant’?”
“Eh…in theory.”
“Viktor!” It was almost funny, the way Jayce knew he wasn’t kidding. All the planning for tonight, all the build up. Anxiety over a simple dinner plan with the one who Jayce so easily decided he would pledge his life to just one week ago. Or, he thought was a week ago.
And now, the restaurant seemed empty. No, Jayce realized, it was empty.
Viktor resumed his absentminded fiddling. “I’ll be honest with you, Jayce, dining out does not seem to fit our dating style. I believe the stakes are, as they say, quite disappointing.”
Jayce tried not to think how dark it was now inside the venue. The only light as night fell were distant street lights and the candle burning low between them. “So your calculation was…?”
Viktor squinted. “Incorrect. I am not above admitting a mistake.”
“A mistake?!” Jayce was just about to suggest they depart elsewhere. But, hold on, what did that mean? That they should not have agreed to do this in the first place? That it was a mistake to finally act purposefully on their feelings?
The word reverberated in his mind, blurring his reason. Imagination strung its sinister stories through his head, of everything he had done wrong and would soon do again. The feeling of loss struck a deep chord, and suddenly, Jayce realized he was mourning.
Viktor noticed the change in Jayce’s face, too. His eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, no, that is not what I meant-,” he took Jayce’s hand in both of his own, all his lanky fingers fitting around Jayce’s large palm, to give it a strong squeeze.
The surprise initiation caught Jayce off guard. Why the hell was he almost drawn to tears, a second ago? He felt the sting and tried to blink it away. And the air felt thin, like he was floating.
“Come back, Jayce,” Viktor pressed harder. “That’s it. Breathe. I’m sorry. Breathe, my love.”
Jayce did as he was told, noticed what Viktor had just done, moving in so close to him at every angle that he could feel the the heat from his skin. Jayce clung on, didn’t want to lose any of this. If every eye in Piltover were on them now, then Viktor had just cast any fears of that aside for Jayce alone.
Then again, Jayce knew for sure they were alone in their embrace. The streets were dead silent, the restaurant still. Nearly a comfort if it weren’t eery.
Jayce reasoned that the quiet at least allowed him to think clearly again alongside his partner. For, now, the road ahead would be easier with just the two of them. Through every crossroad and over every bridge, including the one they approached tonight.
It was high time they crossed it together. Viktor technically kind of said it first.
Holding on for stability through the heightened emotions, Jayce centered himself not only to the ground and to Viktor but to the lingering truth that he could not deny nor keep to himself. His vow came in a hoarse whisper. “I am just so in love with you.”
“And that is never a mistake, Jayce. It is only….” Viktor thumbed across the stubble of Jayce’s jaw, letting Jayce lean into his touch. Closer now, closer, and their breaths brushed past parted lips. How easy it would be to close the gap, for Viktor to seal that truth, too, with his lips. So easy, in fact, that Viktor, who had risen out of his seat, surpassed the bridge entirely and whispered pure velvet into Jayce’s ear, dripping with intention. “…that I believe we are destined for. So. Much. More.”
And then Viktor as Jayce knew him pulled far, far away— into an oblivion.
In place of lips was a kiss of a God amongst galaxies. Embraced by the cacophony of a million distant stars, no longer above Jayce but everywhere, burning cold in a path winding out of what could only be Viktor’s soul.
“Together,” it said right then.
Before Jayce registered what was happening, he felt his own breath begin to unravel into a galactic kaleidoscope of sinew and carbon and matter. When he tried to answer, his throat wound tight beneath the crushing weight of a hand that claimed him. And when he dared a glance to the side, he saw they had been right all along, that the tall windows of the building before them really did come alive with many eyes.
Glowing gold orbs, in the husks of a thousand porcelain bodies. All moving into view out of the darkness behind the glass, a single, hollow hive that hovered, patiently. Waiting for it to shatter.
Waiting for him.
“Join me, Jayce.” A voice strung by many others begins to ring, echo, multiply. “Join me.”
But there is rapping on a door. Cold sweat seeping from a pillow, the hinge of a door yawning open.
“Jayce.”
Jayce awakens when he feels the touch of five metal fingers across the forehead, when his screams are drowned out by the sound of a clock tower.
It is only Caitlyn. “Get up, we do not have much time.”
Commander Kiramman.
The arcane always lingers briefly outside of sleep, making him dry heave when he shoots up. Today, image after image of a mask with glowing eyes swirls inside a vision of which he can’t comprehend the meaning. He might never comprehend the meaning.
Caitlyn pauses when she is faced by Jayce’s sorry state of affairs. The commander attempted to act imposing, but his little sister takes her place instead. Is it pity, or disappointment in her eyes, softened after posing such a harsh summons?
“What day is it?” Jayce asks roughly, sleep caught in his throat where he still feels the cold embrace of metal. He doesn’t want pity, only answers.
“The eve of the war. Reinforcements arrive tonight—“
“No. What day is it?”
“…February fourteenth. Are you sure you’re alright?”
Jayce wipes the damp hair from his eyes, aids his bum leg to the edge of the bed, and picks up the brace waiting for him on the side. Every metal trapping and clamp is cold, pinching, and needs work on fine tuning. But who really cares when it’s purpose is to only serve a basic function. To get him from here to the other side of the room.
Beautiful creations — those were no longer meant for him.
He moves forward like every step is a weight being held down by an anchor. He must move forward, though. Whatever twisted vision the arcane is trying to send him now, he throws on his coat and clicks in place the armor to thwart it. He catches Caitlyn’s eye as she waits patiently for him to complete the tedious, necessary rituals. She even offers her hand once he finally brushes his way past the door — past her, because he does not offer his back.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Cait.”
And he makes his way down to the counsel, praying to every God that tomorrow he is able to defend the rest of the world’s beauty for her, for everybody else. To die for it, he thinks, would be ok, too.
Besides. Someone he once knew would have smiled to hear him say that.
The last thing he can remember is picking up his crutch, because it seems as if the councilors were ready to disband for the day. There was a strong sense of accomplishment back then, in the circle of the small counsel, like they all committed a good deed. With a few words and a small vote, the city had been saved, because Zaun was in their good graces. War was over.
Silly as the notion was, he found himself bathing in relief. After a lifetime of effort, at least something good might open its gates for Zaun, and having hope like this was an unfamiliar but welcome bridge over the horizon. He sighed with satisfaction, deep enough to make himself cough, and the little slip caught Jayce’s attention. It was no matter, though, because when he finds Jayce’s intense gaze standing proudly beside him, sees Jayce’s determined jaw clicking, they share a nod without saying the words:
We have our chance.
A glimpse of it being all right with the world, until the next moment, when that world all but shatters apart in an instant.
Blinding, bursting shatters, to be clear. A pulse of intense pressure, knocking him backwards. His own limbs moving out of his control. A flash of gold, a deafening blast, and soon…
Darkness. Heavy. Something very heavy.
The smell of metal. Metal and dust. Metal, dust, soot, and…blood? My blood. No.
Someone else’s.
But there is weight, so much weight. Crushing. Hurting. Warm. Why?
Voices are sharp yet distant. Floating. Shouting.
“Help—-! He-elp!”
“Get —- off! Get it o—-!”
“Mel? Mel! Are ——- alright? You need —— out of —.”
And laughter. Wait, no… screaming, crying, sounds of suffering. Voices growing in urgency. Heavy. Still so heavy.
“General, search ——— more survivors.”
“Get ——- here!”
Boots, sounds of bodies. Shifting, scraping. More screaming.
Then…lifting.
Yes, lifting. Sudden weightlessness. Ah. Weight lifting from lungs. Gasping for air. Taking deep, sucking breaths. Air that is full of dust. The warmth is gone.
Yes, black spots start dissipating. Oxygen, carbon, dust, and dirt. Vision swimming, and a light glowing beyond the mask. Bleary. Blinking. Trying to rise slowly. Limbs stitching back together.
“Viktor?” scapes a voice. It is close. “Viktor!” Hands now, firm on his shoulders. A face swimming into familiarity.
“Mel?” Viktor cracks. Weak. The dust is heavy. Now coughing again, tasting blood. His own blood. “What…”
“Lie still. You have —-“
What she says next never mattered. Not when Viktor looks up, sees what was lifted, now in the arms of an enforcer above them. White tatters on a limp form, shoulders scraped in red and embers. Flesh burnt. Mangled. Brow slick and dark. Gold in those…
Eyes..? Yes, gold eyes. They are glass, staring unseeing through thick, dark lashes, and the porcelain husk of a perfect doll.
But they are not that at all. He clambers to reach them, pushing all else aside. No…
“J—,” Viktor chokes. What had Jayce done? “N-no. This cannot—“
Jayce’s eyes, his face still warm in his hands. Breathing? Not breathing. He would know that breathing.
Viktor chokes because there are no words, just ringing. A world that tilts on its axis when he realizes they are taking Jayce away. The hands that do not leave his shoulders pull him back, saying nonsense. “Viktor. Listen to me, your —.”
All else fades. A voice is screaming closer now, howling. He thinks it might be his own.
More shifting, more pulling. He must resist. More figures moving in, and more hands— large, callused, gloved, that prod and poke. Shoving him back down into the dust. They are taking Jayce away—
No, stop it. Stop it!
“Lie still, sir.”
Do not do this to me. A memory tugs at the back of his mind, his own voice.
“Carefully, do not hurt—-“
You have to destroy it. .
“Tell the medic we found them bo—“
I can’t do it. You have to.
“Then get them both into the infirmary now!”
Promise me.
“I’m sorry, madame counselor. But Talis, he’s—“
And another voice.
I promise.
A sharp stab in the arm brings Viktor out of that dream. But how could he not still be in one? “No, no…!” Hands over his ears to block out the endless roar. Thousands more voices joining in. He is writhing. Clambering. Reaching through a terrifying darkness that is quickly encroaching once again. Nobody is listening, only holding him down. Why? Why?!
This is all wrong. This is not…this was never—
How it was supposed to happen.
***
A soft voice stirs behind his lids. It is in his imagination, most likely —the first piece of the environment Viktor notices.
The second piece he notices when he awakens in a pool of smooth calm is his mouth tasting of cotton and iron. To be fair, everything is always calm in the beginning, because of the nature of the medicine, but he is all too familiar with the way a sedative tastes.
Same for the room. Even blinking into pitch black, he knows the shape of its walls. The distinct sound of its machines. They hum away to his left. Mm. Must have been admitted onto the fourth floor this time around.
A dull ache in his upper arm. Not a shock, there. Though, he must not have felt the original prick of the needle. Or did he? Hysterics could have that effect.
A broken femur? This was very likely, by the way his leg is anchored to the bed. Just another obstacle to be dealt with.
But he wished to every god and beyond that nothing had brought him back out of that darkness.
What a blessing it was, feeling nothing, remembering nothing. How lucky of him to be shut out from the world for who knows how long. The gift and curse of medicine.
Because despite all of this calculation. All of this deduction for where he is. As soon as he awakens, as if by instinct alone, he remembers so, terribly coherently that—
“Jayce is dead,” Mel’s voice cracks loudly beside him, and she sobs.
***
WIP ***
The voices are gone. There are no more screams. But he can’t tell if they were ever real or not, laying in this dark hospital room. After some time, the sobs begin to subside, more exhausted than anything. Mel has released her tight grip on Viktor’s hand, since he had never really returned it. He wants to, desperately. But it would only make it all too real.
Side by side, when Viktor’s disease brittled his posture, Jayce saw the ease at which he towered at 6’2’ over Viktor’s 5’7” (he remembered this for scientific reasons, of course) and he hated it. Jayce stuck out like a sore thumb. And Viktor, well, didn’t show a sign of being anything other than Viktor.
Which is why, “Viktor, you need to eat. Here.” Jayce silently sets a plate on the table adjacent to all the papers Viktor has strewn in little piles. They’d all been blank at dawn, and Viktor was still sitting here, at sunset. Every page, Jayce discovers, has been filled.
“I know, I know,” Viktor waves him away, and continues writing. Shorthand flies from his nimble fingers until he reaches the end of a paragraph, and then emphasized words and numbers in two very heavy, perpendicular strokes.
Jayce wonders, “Good or bad?”
“Bad.” Viktor frowns and starts a new line. His tongue peeks out a little, and his good leg jumps anxiously up and down. A tell that his mind is wanting to move much faster than his hand.
“Viktor…”
But Jayce is silenced again with a sharp shush. Viktor hunches over the papers as though catching a momentum. Each paragraph gets hastier than the last, trailing to the very corners and ends of the margins. He flips one over for another, and another, and another—
“Viktor,” Jayce insists.
The last pen stroke accidentally slips over onto the table, and in a cry of frustration Viktor pushes it all away. “It’s bad, Jayce.”
“I know.” Jayce in turn pushes the plate close. “Eat anyway.”
Viktor pauses. While slow to the taking, wringing out the cramp in his writing hand, his eyes lift to Jayce and then the food. He reaches hesitantly for a quarter of the meaty sandwich. His nibbles are slow, distracted.
Jayce allows for the silence. If Viktor needs his peace to think of their work, that was fine. But he couldn’t sit idle when one of the two accidentally neglects their basic needs. It was actually something they agreed to work on together, as of late. Two scientists, both alike in genius, could easily forget the basic practice of maintaining a healthy diet.
Jayce quietly occupies the chair beside Viktor and clears his throat. “Any news?”
Viktor grumbles with an annoyed tilt of his head. “Perhaps. Is it news to you if the gate stabilizers cannot be fixed until our source of mishap is identified?”
Jayce sighs, expecting as much. An answer that he had heard many times before. For nearly a week, now, the problem remained their big secret. For everyone else’s sakes, it wasn’t allowed to leave the lab.
Because if the counsel had any reason to doubt the integrity of their own hex gates, they might try outsourcing the patent to other engineers, of which Jayce and Viktor’s funding relied. But the hex gates were starting to show signs of failure in subtle ways that, frankly, had no good explanation. Odd rips in time, misplaced trade goods, the occasional crack in a city gate’s infrastructure. The public was growing suspicious, while the only tangible proof of anything actually changing in quality was a single misshapen gear Jayce discovered at the heart of Gate Zero in Piltover.
Clinggg-ingg-ing-ing
When he found it, it rang like a bell when it hit the floor. It stopped rolling when it hit the side of his shoe. At first it looked like it was coated in a wash of sticky, rainbow oil slick. Only, the texture was embedded into the metal itself, something which Talis factories should have well regulated.
It looked, in no uncertain terms, like corruption.
Jayce remembers bringing it home, the look on Viktor’s face. Their mutual panic. Viktor looked at the problem pragmatically, but even he was growing stressed the longer they sat with that gear weighing down their pockets. Jayce runs a hand over his stubble. “There can still be more than one, you know. We just need to find more gears that are out of place. But it’s like looking at a needle in a haystack when there are thousands of hex gates across the globe. Not every city regulates their construction in the exact same way, despite our checklists.“
Viktor turns loses himself amongst the sea of notes. “No,” he says quietly. “No, it is not just some simply incorrect gears. A systemic failure relies on the cascading effects of one incongruity. True, there will be a variety of human error in the manufacturing, but, but, the real source of failure,” he starts shuffling papers around, picking up his pen yet again. “is somewhere in here. If I could only—“
“No. It’s been a whole day.” Jayce has to put his foot down for this one. He plucks the pen out of Viktor’s hand. “Eat. That hand cramp? Low electrolytes.”
Viktor shakes his head and settles for muttering under his breath, begrudgingly taking a bite. Are Viktor’s gears turning correctly? Jayce wonders. He guesses they are well passed overworked by Viktor’s frazzled attention span. Jayce knows the feeling.
“I’m going to investigate the heart of Gate Zero tomorrow morning,” Jayce says, “if you’re up for coming down with me. But we need our rest first. It’s a long descent and the elevator can only carry us part of the way.”
Viktor considers it. Considers his notes. Considers the request. “You mean my rest,” he says, with a quirk of his brow.
Jayce shrugs. “If you don’t sleep, then I don’t. Simple.”
He can’t see it, but he knows the sound of Viktor’s smirk better than anybody.
“I suppose one can only do so much with hypotheticals on paper. Yes, Jayce, I will follow first thing.” He sighs into a large stretch. “Gathering evidence first hand, thinking out loud with you —you are probably right that I need it.” He reaches for his cane and adds with a pause. “But, em, not because you told me to. It’s just been a while.”
“Right. Okay,” laughs Jayce, and smiles hopefully, when he sees that Viktor finally resigns to yawning.
But before they leave the lab that night, he helps Viktor organize his notes. A novel sized booklet full of them. With what mountains of knowledge Viktor could pen in a day, Jayce hopes Viktor could also be as capable to join in for an on site investigation. He needed the extra mind, because nothing in this world seemed to ever be fixed up right without Viktor’s. This was their dream on the line, wasn’t it? Not just the expectation of worldly politicians, but of something so much more?
Jayce finds the words that Viktor had emphasized, while he’s at it. Surprised to not know what Viktor is talking about.
I do not hail from the northern shores. Constellations of Roegadyn adventurers in ages past, sailing seas and conquering worlds, dot the stories of my crew-mates like the blood that runs through their veins. These men who share the blood of the Sea Wolf spend their lives wanting to die and be remembered. Me, I want to live to tell their tale.
Marwyb knows it. She has given me a hell of a teasing for not waking up as early as usual. Two days from Gridania as the crow flies and for some reason I cannot bring myself to rise. Aye, I haven’t slept well. The dreams are returning, some more viscerally than others. Maybe I’m just nervous. The port we are sailing into is known to be friendly to Limsans. But a crew of Iron Wolves? Uncertain.
At least Marwyb has stewed up more silverfish for breakfast than I could ever eat, so I know I haven’t missed much.
My crew is also used to seeing me at first light, walking the bow bright eyed and cheerful. Anxious to keep our sail on the right side of the tides. The new maps I collected from our last spoil should have given me a huge boost of energy, too, but they sit collecting dust.
I ponder how best I’m going to translate the Sahagin script etched into their fine print edges while I chew on my fish porridge. Someone laughs aloud and I am once again brought back among the circle of my crew-mates. Rowdy, rough, cacophonous banter fills the morning air.
“Got a fresh target for us in mind yet, Roe?” Broenwyn asks me to my left. He leans in. “Or are ye still shaken up by those Sea Snake bastards that made fun o’ yer ears?”
I give him a quick jab to the temple with the butt of my spoon.
“Shut your fish-face, Broen,” I say with a snort, “I’m in no mood for that ugly mug o’ yours this morning.”
The Roegadyn shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, Trout. Be nice to have you back on morning watch. Grynjolf can’t go more’n two minutes without breakin’ a sweat when he sees dolphins, much less another ship.”
“Mmm. And who says dolphins can’t be spies, aye?” I grin over another bite of porridge.
“Aye, and they already steal from our fishing hauls as it is,” says Grynjolf quietly from across the pot. I do a double take. Bloodshot eyes rimmed by dark circles says he’s gotten just as much sleep as I these last few weeks. We’ve fought off raiders too many times for comfort lately. It seems it’s not just me who feels like we’re being followed.
“See?” I nod my head to our resident bard. “A man with some sense.”
Broen dismisses me with a wave. “Bah. Not with yer instincts, Roe.”
“It isn’t instinct, it’s jus’ skill,” I reply, but Broen has turned his back to me and his eyes to his breakfast.
An animated voice calls from behind, “Would ye mind putting those skills to the test with me this mornin’ again, lass?”
From below deck, Loetmyrgan has emerged in his blue captain’s cloak presenting a rope and a net. “I reckon I’d do some last minute fishing before we set to port. See if we can’t trade the lot fer some landlubber’s provisions.”
The Roegadyn captain towers over those of us sitting for our meal. His flame red hair and mutton chops are whisked by the gentle sea breeze, and his pronounced chin holds a bright smile. His teeth are bared for all.
I feel the crew eyeing me expectantly.
“Aye, Pa,” I say. I slide my bowl towards the pot. “Mar? Thanks for the porridge.”
Marwyb waves a quick hand. “I better get my hands on those fruit and vegetables soon, lass, or all ye lads are going to grow flippers before ye know it.”
For a time, Loet and I set up our net silently. Confidently. We knot the ropes to the starboard side one by one. Together, we can manage the job quickly. I feel the kick of excitement emerge with a belly full of fish and anticipation. After casting out our net and checking the strength of our ties, we meet back in the middle.
Loet whistles low. “I think that may be our record time, Skip.”
“And who’s counting?”
“Me!” Loet cries, and from his burly arms I am suddenly whisked into a spin as he bursts out a shanty that resonates across Eorzea.
“From o’er the waves,
A bonny maiden set
Her sights upon the moor.
But little did he,
The sailor see, the
Gills and fins and
Scales she bore!”
The song is infectious. I can’t help but laugh. I spin back and we begin to dance. I chime in,
“Then from her mouth,
She set the south winds,
Wailing for that sailor poor -
A maiden he was
Proud to see and shouted,
‘Be my lover whore!’”
Loet cheers, and we yell the final line together, throwing our hands high. He wipes an eye, teared by our laughter.
“Ahh, yer mother always hated that part.”
I punch his arm. “By my arse! Those were your first words to her, you lout!”
“And she never let me live them down for the rest o’ her days.” He leans over the hull to gaze across the ocean’s expanse with a warmth in his smile and a glimmer in his eyes.
It is here in this private spot of the ship that we laugh and chat as the winds churn our ship on course. Soon, the sun closes upon its peak, and we see the clouds dissipating so that the water glints like silver coins across the horizon. Due East, all is crystal clear.
“May yer thoughts be at ease today, Roe,” Loet says to me, his hand ruffling my hair. He knows what’s next. “Ye have it in you this time.”
I nod, roll my shoulders, and inhale nice and slow.
From the ocean floor to the tips of my ears, I ground myself to the deck. I feel the wood creak beneath my feet and hear the waves lapping below. I taste the salt that flows through my veins. I close my eyes and smell the air that sustains me day in and day out. I fill my lungs like I have nothing to lose. And when I exhale, I know that the real work has begun.
“Stand back,” I tell Loet. Like he hasn’t already. His silhouette, like the rest of the ship, is lost amidst a cloud. Suddenly, I am not standing on a deck. I am floating. I do not know if it is space or aether that entangles me, but my mind is free. It moves like the waves with an ebb and flow that carries me somewhere else entirely.
In this sea of energy, I know I do not have much time before I am taken by it. But with the altered senses I possess, I focus my attention below the water. A hundred miles deep, the oceans’ maw opens, all consuming. I resist the temptation to dive into it and focus instead on what lives near its surface.
Hundreds of silverfish swim past my vision, glinting in the light. Their bodies pulse bright blue, brighter still with what I decide to do next.
I call to them.
I beckon with an impulse of will, a deep longing sensation that pulls from my chest. A state of knowing and understanding – not just belief – that they will do what I bid.
With this knowledge, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction, and with our tethered connection they feel it too. Like moving towards a bed of safety, the flow of the school turns in my direction, and I have them in my grasp.
I begin to swim with them and decide it would not be so bad to do so forever, when I hear a voice pull me back in.
“At ease, lass! At ease!”
Loet’s call is unmistakable, and I start to drift back into myself completely. At first all I sense is the sunlight, and it is blinding. But color drips slowly back into the world as the spell is lifted. I reach out to Loet and see his smile.
“Pa.”
“The luck o’ the sea is with us today, dearie. Look at the size!”
I peer over the hull to see the net bursting with my — our — fish. More than enough to sustain us for a couple weeks, much less for a few days.
“Think the Gridanians have a taste for silverfish porridge?”
Loet’s laughter punctuates the air as he slams a fist into his hand. “Aye, they better. Just say they were caught by the finest arcanist to sail the seas, an’ they’ll pay us double.”
Last year, I posted a two-month series of recipes suitable for the autumn season, which everyone seemed to enjoy very much. I’ve been too busy this year to make up a new queue, so I thought I’d compile a big long list of links for anyone who’s looking for recipe ideas this fall.
Appetizers, Sides, & Snacks
A Pair of Stuffing Recipes
Asparagus Salad
Baked Apples
Beets with Cloves and Cinnamon
Bree’s Cheddar-Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Bree’s Homemade Colcannon
Carrot Fritters
Cheese & Bacon Pinwheels
Cheese Toasties
Cranberry-Orange Sauce
Fish Cakes
Irish Stout Apple Fritters
Oatmeal & Potato Bread
Parsnip & Apples
Pumpkin Seeds
Sprouts au Gratin
Soups
Butternut Squash and Pear Pottage
Cheese Soup & Dumplings
Chestnut Soup
Garlic Soup
Gingered Pumpkin Soup with Molasses Cream
King’s Arms Tavern Cream of Peanut Soup
Mashed Potato Soup
Mushroom Soup
Entrees
Acorn Squash with Cinnamon and Honey
Bree’s Baked Ziti
Bree’s Crockpot/One-pot Chili
Bree’s Fried Chicken Parmesan
Bree’s Honey Baked Salmon
Bree’s Poppy Seed Chicken Casserole
Bree’s Roast Chicken with Apples and Potatoes
Bree’s Sesame Ginger Chicken
Bree’s Turkey Hash Casserole
Dill-Crusted Salmon
Irish Stew
Meat Patties in Crust
Michaelmas Goose with Sage & Onion Stuffing
Pan Haggerty
Pumpkin Plenty
Roast Pork Tenderloin with Orange & Onion Sauce
Rosemary-Orange Beef
Spiced Pot Roast
Stuffed Acorn Squash
Stuffed Braised Beef
Surry Sausage, Squash, & Apple Bake with Savory Streusel Topping
Welsh Potato Pie
Welsh Trout in Bacon
Baked Goods
Applesauce Buttermilk Biscuits
Barm Brack
Beer-Bacon-Onion Muffins
Caerphilly Scones
Christiana Campbell’s Tavern Sweet Potato Muffins
Drop Scones
Gingered Pumpkin Muffins
King’s Arms Tavern Apple Cheddar Muffins
Tea Table Goodies
Apple & Potato Cake
Apple Raisin Cider Teabread
Bree’s Cranberry Pumpkin Bread
Irish Apple Cake
Irish Apple Teabread
Irish Whiskey Cake
Isle of Wight Farmhouse Cake
Marmalade Loaf
Porter Cake
Seed Cake
Welsh Crumpets
Desserts
Bramble Dessert
Bree’s Easy-Peasy Molten Chocolate Cake
Bree’s Semi-Sweet Chocolate Pumpkin Bundt Cake with Chocolate Liquer Glaze
Beverages, Jams, and Sauces
Mulled Cider
Samhain Wine Cup
Wassail
Blackberry & Apple Jam
Bree’s Dad’s Sauce Recipes
Delectable Dressings
Irish Whiskey Marmalade
Sources
Celtic Folklore Cooking (Asala)
A Kitchen Witch’s Cookbook (Telesco)
A Witch’s Brew (Telesco)
Kitchen WItch’s Guide to Brews and Potions (Telesco)
The Kitchen Witch (Soraya)
Witch in the Kitchen (Johnson)
The Colonial Williamsburg Tavern Cookbook (Gonzalez)
Mary Elizabeth Winstead (as Kate)
Miku Patricia Martineau (as Ani)
Jun Kunimura (as as Kijima)
Critics missed the point.. We enjoyed it loads!
Scenes from the action-packed Netflix movie, KATE (2021)
[+] BOOM BOOM LEMON
