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anki-of-beleriand · 6 months

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Bad Liar ch.8

Summary: Life is about lessons, and Wanda has been learning some harsh facts that had define her life and taken her to a place in which she was given a second chance. Then, all of a sudden, she meets you, and she realizes why it's easier to lie to yourself than to accpet what's right in front of her.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/ Female!reader - America/Kate - Mentions of past Vision/Wanda - past Natasha/Reader - Some Female!Reader/Carol Danvers

Warnings: Slow burn - slightly Enemies to friends to lovers - Mentions of abusive relationships - Toxic relationships - angst - drama - mentions of abuse - idiots in love - homophobia - more tags as the story progress.

Author's note: Here is a new chapter and Reader and Wanda are getting closer, Reader puts an end to her confusion and the past is at Rader's doorstep.

As always, English is no my mother tongue, so please forgive the grammar, spelling and funny mistakes!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

Chapter 8

Breaking the past

The sun had a way to sneak inside her room, the light rays of light projecting hues of colour with a welcoming warmth that soothed her to sleep again. The memories of childhood days spent in bed, trying to sleep in before being taken away from the comfort of her bed and made to be an avid participant in the house chores. Wanda fluttered her eyes open to see the time gleaming from the digital clock in her bedside table.

9 am.

She smiled knowing the twins must be asleep as well, Saturdays had become one her favourite days of the week. It was a time in which she could spend time with her children, she was able to read and to paint, to do all the things she had denied herself for too long. But that particular morning, her smile was brighter, and the fluttering butterflies at the pit of her stomach were a memory of your words the night before.

I was hoping you would come to my place and we could have lunch together.

Wanda felt a tug on her heart, she closed her eyes for a brief moment only to see your smile from the night before. She never imagined that spending time with you would result in her having so much time, or in you being a complete child while taking the kids with you to form a team during the game. She had seen a part of you that had melted away her heart and her resolution. Wanda turned to her back glancing at the ceiling with her heart speeding at the memory of the kiss you placed on her cheek.

But before she could delve even more in the memory, before she allowed the sweet, tortuous tingling in her body to travel down to her crotch, there was a knock on her door. Wanda sat almost right away, her eyes going big with anticipation, she spoke before she could stop herself with a voice heavy with sleep and confusion.

“Who is it?” Wanda winced, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. She tried to stand up before the door was opened but it was late.

There standing by the door were the twins, they were holding one white rose in their hands and some superhero mugs with big smiles, behind them you were carrying a tray filled with eggs, bread, coffee and orange juice.

The world came to a halt.

Wanda observed the scene trembling like a leaf. Her breath caught on her throat, her eyes going from her children to you then back to them. She opened her mouth and closed it again, but there was nothing she could say without breaking up and giving into panic and tears.

“Hey, sorry, they called America, but she stayed over at Loki’s place and America called me and… Well, you were asleep, and they were hungry, and I thought that you may need the sleep and…”

The twins snickered entering the room slowly, the both of them offered the white rose to Wanda who took them with trembling hands. The look in her eyes cut off you babbling, and you regretted doing what you just did. You had overstepped quite foolishly, assuming whatever had happened last night was an open invitation to… to be a freaking stalker or something equally awful.

“Mommy, Y/N made pancakes like dinosaurs!”

“And we played, and helped her, and she let us pick the flowers!”

“Mommy, Y/N told us that we could watch the whole Jurassic Park movie on her TV, can we go?”

“You like the pretty flowers, Mommy?”

Wanda was bombarded by two hyperactive twins waiting patiently to Wanda

You kicked yourself for just barging in the other woman's home without even asking, for thinking that perhaps this was okay. You and Wanda were not friends. Or, were you?

Your trail of thoughts was cut short by a warm hand on yours. Wanda offered a trembling smile, she opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“I… I…”Wanda snorted, shaking her head. “You didn't have to do this.”

You tilted your head holding onto the tray, it was true you didn't have to do it. You did it because you wanted to, because you hadn't stopped thinking about Wanda. Because you woke up thinking you could have kissed her the night before.

“I just… I'm shocked, I've never had breakfast in bed.” She said, trying to ease out the uncomfortable silence in the room.

“Never?” You asked incredulously, Wanda shook her head and just as you were to say something else Billy came forward speaking loudly.

“Daddy said mommies didn't deserve breakfast and they should be serving us.” Billy made up a face sulking a little. “But Balder told us that his dad serves breakfast to his mommy… Because he loves her…”

Tommy placed his hand on his chin, pursing his lips while glancing up at where you were standing frozen in place after such a revelation.

“Do you love mommy?” Tommy finally asked, and it was his question what broke the uncomfortable tension in the room.

Your face turned in a mask of reds and disbelief, while Wanda was just as mortified as you. The twins, blissfully ignorant of what they had just done, went back to crawl inside Wanda's bed and turned the TV on.

Wanda was afraid to lift her gaze and discover disgust in your face, perhaps to find you looking at her as if Vision had been right all along. You don't deserve to eat, dear, last night I wasn't satisfied as I should be and you have to make it up to me today.

You cleared your throat stepping closer with a grin in place. Your eyes gleamed warmly, tilting your head to catch those green irises in yours.

“Well, boys, mommies deserve breakfast in bed every single day of the week.” You declared casually. “You guys love your mommy, right?”

Wanda's heart shrank with emotion when the twins exclaimed a loud yes, you were now dangerously close to her.

“Then, it is obvious that she needs her breakfast.” You cleared your throat once more and this time around Wanda did look up to see you before her. “Let me make sure you have your first warm breakfast in bed, Wands.”

For a brief moment, you and Wanda stared into one another's eyes without any need to break into explanations. You were not asking for them, and Wanda was too afraid to say something and scared you away. The young woman fixed her position in bed, and you soon placed the trail on her lap. You offered a quick smile nodding to the twins and the tray.

“Now, Wands, you go ahead and eat while you watch some cartoons with the children.”

“Cartoons?” Wanda asked amusedly, whatever nervousness she was experimenting with was diminished by your comment. The twins nodded watching as you surf the channels looking for some good cartoons.

“Yes, Saturday mornings are mornings of cartoons and sleeping in until you can't take bed anymore.” You winked at her, and Wanda melted at the sight.

She was foolish not to think that this was nothing more than a friendly gesture, and Wanda knew later on she would need to provide explanations about the comments made by Billy. But at the moment she could give in the moment, enjoyed the warm meal and the familiarity of the scene.

Soon you found something Billy and Tommy asked for and the room filled with the sound of paw patrol. You smirked at Wanda who winced lightly while Tommy and Billy were hooked from the start.

“And, what are you supposed to do now?” Wanda asked teasingly, you stood there for a moment putting the rose you had in your back pocket out and placing it on the tray. “Are you going to stay with us?”

Wanda tried to make it sound casual, as if she was just teasing you. But the air left her lungs when you leaned in, your eyes locked on hers, twinkling with an emotion that made Wanda's heart jump in her throat and her core tremble with longing.

“Now you enjoy and later on I will wait for you at my place for lunch.”

“Stay.” Wanda said before she could stop herself, she opened her eyes, lowering her gaze. “I mean… You're here now, so you could have breakfast and…”

You chuckled winking at her, “perhaps at another time. Right now I have to run some errands and I want to make sure Billy and Tommy are okay before you wake up.”

“Thank you.” Wanda mumbled, you waved away her words walking backwards with a grin adorning your features.

“Don't mention it, it was my pleasure. See you later, Wands.”

You almost crashed against the threshold, cursing lowly while hearing the snort of amusement from Wanda. Blushing lightly you shook your head and exited the room before you could do or say something that would put you in the spotlight.

Wanda was left with her children, the food was warm and her stomach grumbled reminding her that she had been angry when waking up.

“Okay, guys, I need you to tell me why you call America again.” Wanda finally asked, turning to Billy first then to Tommy.

The twins took their attention away from the TV looking at Wanda.

“She is cool, Mommy.” Billy said as if that was the best argument in the world.

“I know she is, Billy, but she probably was asleep at home and she has things to do.” Wanda tried to reason with them, it was not the first time they had done this and Wanda was starting to think this could be bothering you and America at some point.

“I like America and Y/N.” Tommy said, leaning closer to Wanda. “They make mommy smile.”

Billy nodded in agreement, “mommy, you like them too?”

Wanda flushed at the question, she pressed her lips together and decided to stuff her mouth with pancakes instead of answering that particular question. She let her thoughts run rampant, her body tingling with anticipation for the lunch time to be there already.

__________________

Laughter filled the room, reverberating deep inside her soul at the sight before her.

Billy and Tommy were on the floor, holding onto their stomachs while laughter erupted from them with a young woman poking at them while a grown adult kept on making noises while the voice on the phone demanded seriousness. Wanda sat on the dark blue chair in the corner, she was closer to the fireplace and the window, the rain falling freely right outside the house. If anyone had asked her a couple of months ago the changes she had experimented in her life, she would have thought them crazy. Wanda had never considered herself strong, or even extraordinary, and quite frankly she never thought she would make it out of Vision’s grasp; when the time came for her to make decisions, it came as a surprised just how strong she really was. How ready she was to start fighting for who she was, and what she wanted.

Leaning back against the cushioned back of the chair, Wanda chuckled at the sight of Billy and Tommy enjoying themselves without a care in the world. Her green eyes flickered briefly from Billy and Tommy to America, the young woman was grinning like mad while putting the mobile away before turning the TV on, her soothing voice and clear wording made it impossible for the twins to ignore her. Wanda had seen the growing affection between her children and their babysitter, how that young woman had come over their lives and help the twins out of their scary shell.

For a moment, Wanda kept her eyes on a single spot between the twins and America. She was fighting over with her thoughts, the fluttering in her heart made her tingled until fluttering butterflies awoke at the pit of her stomach. Without any excuses to keep her eyes away from you, she let her green stare to fall upon your relaxed form on the floor.

You were resting your back against the sofa, one leg on the floor and the other bend slightly towards your chest. Your face was a mask of pure relaxation, there was a soft trace of flush on your cheeks and those eyes were completely soft and warmth as they focused on the children. Not for a single moment had you shown any disgust or exasperation against the twins, you were not even bored after answer a million questions and then telling them stories about yours and America’s younger days.

Wanda held her hands closer to her chest, her heart twisted inside her chest making her experiment a spark of longing. Wanda longed for this to be her life, and just for that brief moment, Wanda could pretend this was her life. With Billy, Tommy, with America and with…with you.

But just as this thought sneaked inside her mind, she shook it away with panic rising inside her mind. It was impossible! She was not attracted to women, and she most certainly was not attracted to you! She couldn’t! She shouldn’t! And thus, she would bury those emotions and forget all about them. With time, Wanda knew she would realize this was just her way of developing friendships. Right?

“Woah, earth to Wanda? Earth to Wanda!!”

You were waving your hand in front of her face, the young woman shook her head blushing profusely with you just a few inches away from her grinning amusedly. Wanda could tell everyone had her attention on her, and she just hoped she had not been staring at you in an obvious way.

“I thought you want to either hit me or kiss me for the way you were looking at me.” You teased shaking your head in triumph when Wanda winced mortified.

“I wanted to hit you…” She stated through gritted teeth, you chuckled leaning back.

“Keep telling yourself that, Princess.” You winked at the young woman, before tilting your head back.

Billy, Tommy, and America were now seated on the sofa watching a movie, and while the rain was still falling right outside your windows, it was no late than four in the afternoon.

“I was asking you, if you want to start working on the preparations for the festival.” You lowered your gaze furrowing your brows. “We can use the studio and leave them here watching a movie.”

Still shaken by your early comment, Wanda tried to regain her wits before facing you again.

“Yes, I think we could go and work a little, there are a lot of things I would like to ask you about, and perhaps get to know a little better.” Wanda was about to stand up when you stretched out your hand, offering a support for her to take and stand up.

It took her a moment of hesitation before she came into contact with your hand. It felt warm against hers, and your fingertips were soft under her calloused palm. You offered a half smile, Wanda tried to smile back but it came as a grimace making her wince at her lack of decor to actually return such a simple gesture. Wanda thought you would let go as soon as she had stood up, but instead you took her hand in yours guiding her through the living room down the dinning room to the hall leading a to a single white door.

“My dad built his mancave in the basement.” You started explaining while going down the stairs with Wanda following close behind. “It became the studio for everyone in the house since he was incapable of being alone for far too long. He started bringing my toys and my things as well as some of America’s or even mom’s stuff.”

“This place is huge.” Wanda couldn’t help but admire the room, it had been well-adapted and there was no humidity or coldness sneaking inside the place.

It had a single desk in the far corner, with a lamp and a laptop. There were a couple of inflatable chairs, a sofa bed, and a couple of futons; on the wall there was a TV and Wanda could see three different gamer consoles with the respective controls. This really had become more than a studio and more like a game room inside the house, and whenever America and her friends were up for a sleepover this was the place they stayed in

You were standing at the bottom of the stairs, scratching the back of your neck waiting for Wanda to say something. The young woman walked around the place, her eyes following the different patterns, the furniture, and then to the pictures decorating one of the walls. In there she could see the pictures of your younger self with your parents, some of you and your friends, and then America and her friends. Wanda softened slightly, her eyes falling into one picture that had a baby America clinging to you, behind the both of you were your parents smiling happily at the picture. For all your bravado, and rudeness, these were the glimpses of the real you that Wanda found endearing; she turned around to see you fidgeting near the stairs, as if you had been waiting her approval.

There was a single moment in which she found herself looking directly into your eyes. You were trying to hold yourself in a casual manner, trying always to look as compose and in control as you presented yourself most of the time. But right now, you were just nervous and Wanda couldn’t help but think you were looking cute, and apart of her was hoping perhaps, this sudden nervous trait of yours was because of her.

“This is a game room, you know that, right?” Wanda finally exclaimed, her lips curling slightly. “And it looks like the playground of a 15-year-old teen.”

You crunched up your nose lifting your finger, “now look here, this is a pretty decent game room, and it fits the needs of a couple of orphans that wanted to make this a good place to play.”

Wanda chuckled making her way to the laptop, you followed her soon after sitting down on your favourite chair while putting your mobile out.

“We haven’t changed anything, you know?” You finally revealed, Wanda took a seat right beside you tilting her head with curiosity. “I mean, this is how dad decorated it. Sure, we added some things, and some pictures and games but…dad decorated it himself. He…he was a 15-year-old at heart.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Wanda started but you stopped her waving your hand away.

“Oh, no, no, don’t worry, I just…you made me remember that discussion with mom.” You shrugged then. “I think, America and I never thought of changing this one room, the rest of the house has to go through some renewals, but this place…our last movie night was in this room. I think we never thought this place needs changing.”

It was the first time Wanda saw the vulnerability in you, the way your words tinged with sorrow and nostalgia, how your eyes held onto the glistening tears while your lips quirked upwards. You turned to Wanda, and in there she could see a strong woman that had been dealing with more chaos that she let on. Wanda hesitated for a moment before placing her warm hand on top of yours, her own features softening to offer you a single smile.

“It looks incredible, you know? I think that it really suits you and America.”

You snorted nodding before looking away, “so, let’s get to work then, I have a couple of ideas that may work for this occasion.”

Wanda accepted the sudden change of topic with a short nod, but she didn’t miss the smile playing on your lips or the closeness you two were sharing at the moment. The young woman turned to the laptop to a word document you just opened, ready to start working.

“So, what shall we do?”

Wanda chuckled with her cheeks warming up, she too turned to the laptop opening her mouth to start sharing the ideas that had been in her mind for a couple of days. Your fingers moving fast on the keyboard, your own ideas being brought upfront until you and her engaged in a conversation you would replay in your mind for days to come.

___________________

Time passed by so quickly, by the time you decided to look at your watch it read 9 p.m.

Rain had stopped a long time ago, and the noise from upstairs came muffled by the close door of the basement. You were laughing at some silly story Wanda had told you about her twin, and the young woman was just grinning at the sight of your own smile. While you had never doubt Wanda was smart, this was the very first time you shared a conversation with the woman; her quick wit, alongside her opinions and her own ideas let her shine with a light of her own. She was not only smart, but also funny and soon you found yourself wanting to continue with the conversation, to not let go of the fuzzy shivering of your heart just as Wanda gestured with her hands, speaking excitedly about the arrangements in the main hall of Stark’s compound.

And while you seemed completely hooked by the woman sitting in front of you, Wanda was not in a better position.

It had been far too long since she allowed herself to get closer to anyone that was not pre-approved by Vision. She had almost forgotten what it was to give her opinion and to actually share her thoughts and her knowledge in a conversation. You were not only smart but funny, and while you and her thought differently on many topics, you were always up for a negotiation and a well-thought argument that Wanda loved to retort only to see your eyebrow twitched, and then the glint of disbelief in your eyes. It had been so long since Wanda allowed herself to be this close to anyone, to actually leaned in just to get closer to another person without breaking the distance to steal a kiss.

Wanda found herself relaxing into the banter, and as the night progressed she found herself longing. What for? She was scared to even go behind the answer to such a question. And still, she hoped for you to just do something and ended with her misery and her uncertainty. Of course, as soon as these thoughts flourish in her mind, another darker one came in, and soon she found the face of Carol Danvers sneaking in just to remind Wanda you were already taken.

Her eyes flickered down to her feet, her heart tugging painfully in her chest. She felt tears pricking at her eyes, while her stomach dropped at the memory of you kissing the blond-haired woman, of that woman holding onto you in the Stark event.

“Hey, you okay?” Your hand rested tentatively on top of hers, Wanda let her green eyes focused on the hands before she nodded curtly.

“Yes, sorry I just…” She tried to explain herself, the tears just rolling slowly making her felt like an idiot. She was about to speak when your fingertips wipe the tears away.

You were frowning deeply, Wanda found herself lost in your eyes and the honest concern she saw written in them.

“Wands…” You started but Wanda just shook her head standing up, she put on her best smile stretching her right hand to grab yours.

“Come, I think we need a tea or something, and the kids have been far to silent for my taste…”

Your frown deepened, but you decided to not make a comment about it. You grabbed Wanda’s hand in yours and soon you were following her close behind, her hand was warm against yours, your heart beating painfully in your chest. The first floor was in complete darkness, the only light coming from the living room that had the TV on, a movie was playing there, and on the sofa were Billy, Tommy and America, all snuggled up covered by a blanket and pillows to make it comfortable.

Wanda stopped on her tracks, her face softening at the sight.

She let go of you, stepping closer to the sofa and brushing Tommy’s hair away. The boy sighed turning slightly to snuggle closer to America, Billy was sprawled on the free space, and America had her hand wrapped protectively around to child’s knee. The whole scene was overwhelming to Wanda, the peace in her children’s face, the fact she could just let go of her worries knowing they were safe, that she was safe…

It was overwhelming.

Wanda never thought she would get to where she was at the moment, she never thought the day she met you that she would allow you to engulf her in a hug letting her sob for a moment. You stood there, making soothing circles on the young woman’s back not really knowing what to say, but making sure Wanda was following into the kitchen.

You sat Wanda down on the chair, turning towards the stove to start heating the water for the tea. The room was in complete silence, Wanda let her hand covered her face for what seemed an eternity until she gathered enough courage to start talking.

“You must think I’m weird, that I’m just this crazy person that doesn’t know how to keep her emotions in check.” Wanda blurted out glancing at the counter while wriggling her hands. “We were just having a good time, and I come and mess it up by crying and acting like an idiot.”

You stopped what you were doing, for a brief moment your back was still turned towards Wanda until you turned around facing the other woman. Wanda never looked up, but you didn’t need her too, not yet anyway.

“I think you are amazing, Wands.” You leaned back against the sink, your hands resting on the table. “But I guess, your life has not been easy.”

Wanda snorted bitterly, her arms wrapping around herself, she had not forgotten about Billy’s comment early that morning, Wanda knew you had listened to it as if that wasn’t enough, you had also seen the scars in Tommy’s back. You had seen her at her most vulnerable, after the party thrown for the school; Wanda was afraid to look into your eyes and discover disgust in your eyes. She was afraid to actually find in those eyes understanding, and sympathy…

The world around her froze in time, a pair of fingers placed tenderly under her chin. Wanda felt the air on her lungs tangled in her throat, she trembled to her very core when her eyes found yours in a single stare. Whatever she expected to find in your glance, it was certainly not the warmth emotion filled with affection and something she could not name. You smiled at her, your hand brushing lightly on her skin before putting a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” Your voice was soft, Wanda shivered shaking her head afraid to break the moment.

“I left my husband a couple of months ago.” She whispered placing her hand on your wrist. “He was not good to me or my children, and I just knew I have to leave before anything bad happen.”

It was not the whole truth, and Wanda felt bad at not being completely honest with you but in reality she was not ready to tell you the full story. How her life and that of the twins had been in danger, that the last time he had hit Wanda she was left to dead and taken to the hospital after Vision realized she could actually die. That he had used a cord from the television to hit Tommy on his back, and then had broken Billy’s arm. That he had threatened to kill the twins and then used Wanda like a breeding stock to keep her by his side.

Wanda was not ready to tell you, of all people, these things.

You opened your mouth wanting to ask something, anything, but you decided there was nothing else you needed to know. It is not my story to tell.

Natasha had said to you once, and now that you were looking into Wanda’s face, you realized, it was a story that the other woman needed to be ready to tell. You pressed your lips together, taking your hand away while stepping back a little.

“I’m sorry, Wanda.” You said the first thing that came to mind.

Wanda broke into a bitter smile, her mirthless laughter sending shivers down your back.

“People don’t usually know what to say when I tell the story, so it’s fine.” Wanda shrugged turning her back to you. “I’m still getting use to…everything, that’s why I’ve been going to Doctor Hope, and why I ended up here.”

You didn’t need to ask anything else, it was not secret that Natasha was part of a secret group that helped people victims of violence. You had even contributed at some point with money and contacts, but it had never been your forte, your stepmother was the one involved with the group. Knowing that Wanda ended up at your doorstep because of this, because she was running and hiding stirred something deep inside your heart.

You felt the need to protect her and the twins.

“I guess it doesn’t help that I’m an asshole to you most of the time, eh?”

Your commented caught her off guard, and soon Wanda was actually laughing. You joined her sitting on the counter while leaning against your hand. Wanda put her hair away shrugging.

“You were the only one actually being you around me.” She replied. “So, I kind of appreciated you being an asshole, it helped me focus my anger against someone different than me.”

You snorted, bowing mockingly at her.

“I’m always glad to be of service, Princess.” Then, in a moment of inspiration you winked at her and added. “I can always be of some use, and continue being an ass to you, so you have someone to fight with.”

Wanda shook her head, this time around her face transformed into an expression you were far too afraid to decipher. Her eyes gleamed, and her lips broke into an easy smile.

“Even though your proposal is very tempting, I think I like you more now.” Wanda opened her eyes really big she waved her hands stuttering with a full blush on her face; you arched your brows looking at her amusedly.

“Oh, you like me now? Really?” You teased, and she stood up rather fast stepping back making her way to the kettle.

“Oh, shut it, you know what I mean.” She tumbled over her words, with her back to you to hide away her embarrassment.

“Yes, you mean you like me, woah, Princess I didn’t know you swing that way…” Your laughter died off when the dishcloth she was using hit you in the face. “Hey!”

Wanda rolled her eyes trying to control her flustered cheeks, she mocked glare at you before spreading her arms rather exasperated.

“Can you help me with the tea, please?” She huffed when you chuckled jumping to the floor.

“Sure, Princess, anything you want.” You said winking at her, “after all, this is why you like me…”

“God, you’re impossible.” She mumbled trying to ignore her beating heart, or the grin threatening to break upon her lips.

You chuckled grinning smugly at her, nothing much was said about the topic, you didn’t press for more information and Wanda was just glad to share her story at her own pace. The silence that followed your teasing was one of pure familiarity, with you working alongside Wanda while making sure the tea was served with honey and milk.

“Have you ever been to Kamar Taj?” Your question came out of the blue, Wanda made a face blinking a couple of times while shrugging.

“Not really…” She answered tentatively not really knowing where this question came from.

“Well, let me show you…” You fumbled with your mobile, the tip of your tongue poking through your lips as you search for the images. “And, let me tell you the story of how America and I got therapy after our parents accident.”

Wanda found herself admiring you from afar, your words held just a tinge of sadness in them, but your eyes gleamed with peace and affection as you located the pictures and started showing them to Wanda. You opened up to her, telling Wanda about Stephen and Cristine, about Tony and Pepper, and how everyone came together for you and your sister. You were talking excitedly, your hands expanding the sights you had seen in Asia, but Wanda’s eyes had never left your face, or your expressions…She had never stopped looking at you, and if you had been paying attention, you would have noticed the deep affection gleaming in those green eyes.

__________________________________

Monday morning came with more troubles than solutions.

You hit your head on the desk, your assistant huffing in disapproval while she continued with your schedule for the rest of the morning and the afternoon. You had just come to the office after an accident in the production floor, some of the computers had malfunction, and half of the operation had stopped until IT and the facilities team to fix everything up.

The only thing holding you up, was the memory of your weekend.

Saturday ended with Wanda staying at your home, the twins were fast asleep and it would have been rather dangerous to just carry them in the middle of a cold night to their house. They were warm, and the chilly night could make them sick, or so you reasoned with Wanda; you won the argument, and she slept with the twins on the basement, while America kept on shooting you knowing glances you didn’t even bother to acknowledge.

Then, Sunday came in and Wanda decided to repay your generosity with breakfast.

Everything had been too damn domestic, and you had woken up on Monday morning panicking. What the hell were you doing? What were you thinking? Wanda was straight as an arrow! She had children! She was married! Sure, her husband was an asshole and no longer in the picture but she was way beyond your league!

She probably didn’t even like women or was curious about being with one! She was probably…

“Really, Y/N, if you’re not going to pay attention to me I’m not going to be here to pass you notes or messages to know what you’re supposed to be talking about.” Maria Hill crossed her arms glaring at you with such intensity you sometimes doubt who was the boss in here.

“Sorry, Maria, I’m…I’m just distracted.”

“No shit, boss.” Maria sighed stepping forward before sitting down. “Spill, I cannot do my job and you certainly can’t do yours if you keep this up, what happened?”

You sighed leaning back on your chair while glancing at the ceiling, you had been an emotional mess all weekend but it only worsened as soon as you woke up that morning and you realized you missed Wanda. Which was completely ridiculous since you had just spent the weekend with her, and it wasn’t even that extraordinary! You both had worked on the preparations for the festival, you had just spent the weekend with a friend and her children. Nothing more.

“I just had the strangest weekend ever.” You mumbled knowing Maria had her brown eyes fixed on you, more than an assistant, Maria had become in your confident whenever you felt the world on your shoulders.

It was a relief, and the woman always had the right words and the right advice for you. She was a good person, and her willingness to usually put up with you was enough to make you trust in her.

“Strangest…how?” She inquired placing her tablet on the table.

You chuckled crowing your hands on your abdomen, tilting your head you locked eyes with her.

“My neighbour, America’s teacher, we…Natasha selected us to organise the Winter Festival for the school,” you shrugged looking away, you missed the flash of recognition in Maria’s stare. “She came home and we just…I don’t know, we just talk and kinda bond…you know?”

Maria cocked a brow not missing for one second your wishful stare, or the inflections on your voice. She had heard from Natasha the strange hate/friendship relationship you had developed with your neighbour. But this was the first time she saw it in action; now Maria understood why Natasha had decided to meddle in it.

“And you bond…physically?” She asked half amused and half exasperated at your reaction.

You jumped startled, your cheeks burning red just as you started stuttering an answer.

“N-no! Of course not!” You shook your head standing up and passing left and right, “I was just…we were just…it was a friendly bond! You know? We talked about ourselves, and our lives and shit like that.”

“Charming.” Maria rolled her eyes once more, she then grabbed her tablet again clearing her throat. “Look, Y/N, I think that you have to wonder why this non-physical bonding with a neighbour you found infuriating is affecting you so much.”

You stopped your passing turning to the window, the sight before you were that of a busy city filled with people coming in and out of the streets. You could feel Maria’s eyes on you, she was waiting for your answer and you knew you needed to concentrate on the oncoming meetings; besides, she was right. Why were you so worked up about the weekend? Why were you so affected?

“I just…I’m not sure.” You dropped your shoulders turning slightly. “What else do I have for today?”

Maria pressed her lips together, she was very tempted to pressing the matter and get more answers out of you. But she had been by your side long enough to know, it would be pointless you were far too confused to actually get into a serious talk. By the time you turned to face her, Maria knew you were in full business mode and whatever had been distracting you was pushed deep inside your mind, avoiding your emotions was something you were very adept at.

“You have lunch with Carol Danvers.” Maria smirked at your reaction; you winced placing a hand at the nape of your neck. “She actually made it official; we still had some contracting with the government and since she is the new liaison for Camp Davis you couldn’t say no.”

You nodded curtly, knowing the meeting was Carol’s way to get your attention on a topic you had been avoiding for more than a week. When did you relationship with Carol changed so much? Why did it change so much?

“And then, after that you have a business meeting with Edwin Jarvis, you know? The CEO from Vision Enterprise.” Maria furrowed her brows putting up some files. “He is looking to get some investment in AI technology and has some interesting ideas.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your mind still on Carol and Wanda.

“I think I’ve heard of him, Tony mentioned him at some point.” Maria clicked her tongue and this time around you did pay attention to her. “What is it?”

“This individual, he is also being investigated.” She replied softly, your eyes open slightly taking a seat on your chair you leaned forward.

“Go on, what is it? Should I cancel the meeting?”

Maria pursed her lips before shaking her head.

“He is being investigate for some fraud and industrial espionage.” Maria put the file in front of you, you turned to your screen reading the file she just sent to you. “It seems this is an ongoing matter, but there is also a sealed file about his wife and his children.”

“He sounds like the kind of individual I don’t want to be relate to, Maria.” You pursed your lips reading over the investigation for tax evasion and industrial espionage, the one on his wife and children was left blank and had a seal from the federal government on top of it.

“I know; however, Tony wants you to meet with him.”

This time around you couldn’t hide your surprised, you cocked your head to the side and then your eyes opened wide in understanding.

“Very well, what do I have to do?”

“I’m so glad that you always catch up once you have your mind out of the gutter.” Maria smirked leaning in while ignoring your sputtering protests.

_______________

The restaurant was packed.

Carol had chosen the restaurant right around the corner of your building, it was an old place filled with golden lights, and white tables with a darkened interior and sweet classical music dancing around the place. It was the home for old and new members of society, and it was the preferred place for the high ranking officers of the military when they wanted to make a good deal.

Your eyes swept the interior trying to locate the woman that was waiting for you, Carol waved at you from the far corner of the restaurant the table for two located it near the window right beside a beautiful fountain made of coloured water. The young woman wore her uniform, the signs that she had been in a formal meeting moments before meeting with you.

“Hey.” You greeted leaning in to place a kiss on her cheek, Carol smiled sweetly at you indicating the chair while calling over the waitress.

“Hey, thank you for coming.” She stated lowering her gaze for a moment before facing you again, you winced grabbing the menu and asking for something light and some water before focusing your attention on Carol.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You had been avoiding me.” Carol didn’t beat around the bush, she grabbed her glass of water and took a long sip with her eyes pinning you to your spot.

You shifted your weight leaning forward, your mouth opened ready to deny her words but unable to do so. In reality, she was right, you had been avoiding her; ever since she proposed to you the trip to Eastern Europe you knew the relationship should stop but you didn’t dare to do so, and this inability to get your relationship clear with Carol had been the downfall of you affair with her.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” You replied lamely, Carol sighed dropping her face her voice marked with the vulnerability she felt at the moment.

“I think you know I’m in love with you.” Carol took a deep breath, her lips trembling as she spoke. “I’ve been trying so hard to make you fall for me, I…I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this relationship, but I always thought…I really want you to come with me, Y/N, let me…let me be the one for you, just as you have become the one for me.”

The room filled with heavy air, and deafening silence.

Your heart shrank at her confession, and your hand stirred at your side wanting to reach out and grab Carol’s hand. The blond-haired woman offered a single smile, but it was quite evident to you that tears were threatening to leave her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled passing your hand through your hair. “I was not fair to you, Carol.”

Carol snorted looking out of the window, the waitress chose that moment to bring the food and, as soon as he was gone you continued.

“I do love you, you know? I never thought of this to be jus an affair, and I…” You trailed off not knowing how to explain to Carol that you tired, you really did.

She had always been special, a friend that you could always turn to whenever things went bad or good, she had been there for you when your parents died and when Shuri broke your heart. At first you hadn’t understood why she was so unconditional until, one day while you were hating on yourself and the world she kissed you and the affair was born. It was supposed to be with not attachments, and yet Carol couldn’t help herself once she got to see a side of you she had never seen before. You wished it had been the same for you, but you always thought this relationship was nothing more than two good friends helping one another.

You had been unfair. And Carol didn’t deserve it.

“I wished I had fallen in love with you, Carol. I really do.” You finally confessed, this time around you did stretch your hand and grabbed hers in yours.

Carol lowered her stare to your hand, tempted to just pull away but giving into the comforting touch. She swallowed down her tears, her lips breaking into a bittersweet smile.

“I thought this meeting would be different, you know?” Carol let out a breath, pressing her lips tightly. “I thought perhaps…”

You lifted her hand, leaning in placing a soft kiss on her knuckles.

“I’m still here, you know?”

Carol nodded hesitating before speaking, “so, will you go with me? Will you…give us a chance?”

You dropped your eyes, your mouth opened then close again.

“Would you stay? Would you try to give me a chance?” You asked back, and just for that brief moment Carol was tempted to say ‘yes’, but the truth was she could not stay.

Carol had worked from an early age on her dream to be part of the Airforce, to get on top of her game and surpass that boy’s club that had dominated the Airforce for far too long. She and Maria had been working hard on this, and when she was offered the position, Carol knew what she had to do. Her love for you was there, and you had been the only one that made her doubt her career choices; Carol had been ready to say no, until she talked to Maria again and was faced with her dream and her goals.

I know you love her, Carol, but are you ready to leave your dreams behind for someone, anyone? Are sure this won’t come back later on as a reproach for missed chances?

“I’ve been waiting so long for this.” Carol mumbled; you smiled nodding.

“I know, and you don’t know how proud I am. You deserve this, Carol, and you will always count with me to be there for you.” You hesitated before standing up and putting your chair closer to the blond-haired woman, Carol opened her eyes letting out a chuckled when you finally put your chair closer to her.

“What are you doing?” Carol laughed when you fixed everything so you would be closer to her, without letting go of the hand you had been holding for comfort.

“Just moving closer to you, you have always been my friend, Carol, regardless of what happened I do love you, and you are my friend, I hope you know that.”

Carol melted under your words, she returned her attention to her food before speaking again.

“You are my friend as well, Y/N.” Carol looked back at you, “and that’s why I have to ask, are you…do you…what’s going on with Wanda, Y/N?”

“What? Why?” You leaned back, eyes opening at the sudden question.

Carol rolled her eyes, this time around she did look rather upset.

“Well, it is quite obvious something is happening, I’m mean the last couple of times you couldn’t stop talking about her, and then when we met at the supermarket you were…weird.”

You sputtered shaking your head looking away from Carol, “no, no, nothing, I just…she is…she is the mother of the children America babysits for, nothing else.”

Carol didn’t seem convince by your words, she took a sip from her water pursing her lips.

“Are you sure? I mean you look…” Carol could see this topic was not something you were ready for, you squirmed on your chair emptying the glass of water while playing with your food. “Y/N…”

“Nothing, there is nothing, she is just a neighbour… nothing else.”

The conversation changed afterwards.

For Carol it was quite evident you didn’t want to talk about the topic, and if she was going to be honest, she didn’t want to know. Those two different times she had seen you interact with the redhead; she had seen a glint in your eyes Carol was not familiar with; it was a glance she yearned to obtain from you, but it seemed to just be for a single individual. You hadn’t even look Shuri in such a way, and this was what made Carol hesitated about the situation.

But the time lunch was over, you and Carol had found peace in the conversation. You two found a common topic, and soon business was on the table while she asked for your opinion on the subjects that would soon dominate her life, while you asked about the oncoming meetings.

“I will miss you.” Carol said hugging you tightly, you hugged her back smiling softly while enjoying the woman in your arms.

“I’m going to miss you too, Carol.” She stepped back, but she was still close enough you could feel her warm breath on your face. “Carol…”

Your words were cut off by a pair of lips against yours, the kiss was slow tentative touch of the lips teasing you. Carol was flustered once she stepped back, she offered a smile that you returned with a shake of your head.

“Just a good-bye kiss.” She winked at you turning around and walking towards the parking lot.

You watched her leave, a heavy heart inside your chest wondering if you made the right decision by letting go of a woman that had shown you so much love in the last couple of months. You put your hands in your pockets turning round to walk towards your building, you couldn’t keep her by your side waiting to fall in love with her, that wouldn’t be fair with her, or with you.

With a last glance to the sidewalk, you stepped back and went back to your office, a weight you didn’t know you were carrying on your back finally lifting up and leaving you lighter and open to the world of possibilities you had been trying to bury deep inside your mind, a world of possibilities that had a name of its own: Wanda Maximoff.

________________

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a woman.” The man smiled charmingly at you, his hand stretched out while he glanced around the room as if waiting for someone else to come forth into the meeting. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you are a beautiful woman, but for some reason I have always thought of Y/L/N instead of your first name.”

You forced a smile at the absurdity of his comment, he merely laughed and went to take a seat to the left side of the table. You crossed stares with Maria who shot you a cold glare as a warning to keep your cool and not to do or say anything incorrectly.

“Right, I bet it is a common mistake.” You sat down as well leaning back on your chair while pointing with your hand the file on the table. “I’m glad I get to know you as well, Mr. Jarvis, I’ve been reading to your proposal and me and my team had a counteroffer for you.”

“Oh, a counteroffer?” Jarvis grabbed the file in his hands, he started reading while ignoring the rest of the room.

You had chosen the conference room of tenth floor for the meeting, the place was packed with only a couple of offices and some storage rooms that were the home of the material used on the production floor and the operations room. It was the most neutral ground you could find, more so after finding out how the man operated. The room was almost empty, no decorations on the walls, with a single window that was left facing the city. You let your eyes wandered to Maria who was sitting at the other end of the table, her hands busy with her tablet and her phone while she too made sure to watch the man closely.

“Everything seems to be in order but, I don’t get it.” He stated pointing to a section in the contract. “It says in here that you would only provide with money if I worked here, is that correct?”

“Yes, I prefer this kind of deals to be in a controlled environment.” You shrugged putting your hands together. “Our contracts go directly under the government, and we cannot risk losing any data because of unknown facilities.”

“My business is very secure, Mrs. Y/L/N.” Jarvis straightened up hardening his stare.

“I don’t have any doubts about that, but you have to understand this is part of the non-negotiables, this is the most secure red in the world and what you intended to do will require such facilities to prevent espionage. I think this is a pretty sweet deal for the both of us.”

Jarvis clenched her jaw close, his cheek burning up with embarrassment at being played at like a child. His eyes drifted to the contract, not only was he being ordered to work in some unknown facilities, he would also be made to sign a non-disclosure clausule and the rights for his technology.

“You are asking for far too much, Mrs. Y/L/N, and I'm afraid I'm not seeing the benefits such a deal will bring to me.” Jarvis leaned forward placing his arm on the table, his hand playing with the pen. “You are not the only company interested in buying this idea, and I have to say their proposals are more seductive…”

“And yet, here you are.” You leaned back against your chair, your eyes examining the man sitting in front of you.

Maria had done a good research of him, a married man he started his business thanks to a small inheritance on his father's part and then to the money left by his father in law. He had built a solid company in the industry of technology and entertainment, nothing too extravagant but enough to make him a notorious and well-adjusted member of society in Westview and Jersey. He had tried to jump into major leagues with a risky inversion that ended up with him almost in bankruptcy. Then, all of a sudden, his business got better and now he was someone selling away his ideas to the best buyer. It was then the investigation started leading Homeland and some federal authorities to be not only after him but also after some red of business people that had dedicated their lives to steal ideas of millions of dollars from others.

You knew you were not risking much in this deal, and quite honestly you would be more than happy if the man decided to go after another buyer, but right now your company was being targeted mainly because you were the number one in the business. Maria had assured you he would bite the bait, people thought your company while one of the most powerful in the world had lost its edge after your dad's death. They were looking for the weakest link to just get their hands in a portion of the business you dealt with. No one could imagine you had been dealing with one crisis after another with an iron fist and good advisors.

Jarvis seemed to think that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for, he didn't seem to like the fact it was you the one he had to deal with. When he first acceded to this he was told he would deal with the old man in charge of Alchemax. He never thought he would need to deal with a young woman, but he could always start the deal before charming his way into her pants and getting something good out of this.

“You are right, here I am.” His whole demanour changed in a second, he opened up his arms, tilting his head he sent a flirty smile your way with his eyes twinkling at you. “I never thought I will be bested at negotiations by such a beautiful and young woman such as yourself, Mrs. Y/L/N, but I can tell you I feel confident of the business we are making today.”

Jarvis grabbed the pen signing the contract with a flourish, you smiled back lifting a single eyebrow to the man who was now trying to be charming and flirty towards you.

“This is the beginning of a great relationship between Alchemax and Vision Enterprise.” You replied standing up while offering your hand to the older man, he stood up as well taking your hand in his and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

You never left the smile off of your face, Jarvis stood dangerously close to you towering above you while pressing you back. Maria was about to stand up but a single gesture from you stopped her. You lifted your head, your eyes going from those eyes to his lips and the smirk in the man's face was all you needed to know at the moment.

“I recognize when I have been bested by someone as beautiful as yourself, what o you say if we go out for dinner and celebrate this new deal?” Jarvis let his thumb brushed the skin of your backhand, he winked at you before continuing. “I know just the place you may like, and perhaps…Who knows? This could be the beginning of something else.”

You giggled, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, the man holding back the victorious smile that was threatening to break on his lips.

“Something like what, Mr. Jarvis?” You asked, lowering your voice, Jarvis this time around straightened up.

“Something more pleasurable for the both of us…”

“Oh, but what about your wife and your children? Are they coming as well, Mr. Jarvis?”

Up until that moment, Jarvis had all but forgotten about Maria sitting at the far end of the table. His shoulders put back, the tension around his eyes heightening the wrinkles in his face, his eyes lost all flirtatious glint while he glared at the other woman. The subject of her wife was a sore one for him, and while he knew these people didn't know the truth it still made his blood boil whenever that fucking bitch was mentioned.

The embarrassment she had made him experiment was something he would never forgive her for, and he had most of his resources dedicated to find Wanda and the twins and make sure they were brought to him before he made sure they would never leave his side.

“Wife and children?” You clicked your tongue stepping back while taking the contract in your hands. “I would love to take your offer, Mr. Jarvis, but I do not mess with married men and, most importantly, with business partners. The facilities are ready for you and your team, and the security access has been approved, so you are free to start tomorrow if you want.”

“Now, wait a moment,” Jarvis stepped in trying to salvage the situation, his face once more red with embarrassment. “My wife and children are away with their grandmother, and I just wanted to make it clear my marriage is more a formality to a poor woman who thought getting pregnant would trap me into her delusions of love…”

You turned to the man, your face à mask of disbelief that soon changed into a blank stare. Jarvis smiled weakly at you, lowering his gaze while putting a hand on his pocket.

“I stayed for the children.”

You were not asking for explanations, but the fact this man was ready to give them told you what type of person he was. Maria had made her way to where you were standing her brows out together while ignoring the heated glare Jarvis sent her way.

“Please, Mr. Jarvis, no need to explain yourself.” You replied, shaking your head offering the same innocent and shy smile you had presented him a moment ago. “it is not my business, but either way, I will ask for a rain check since I already had a commitment this afternoon and was not able to accept your invitation.”

Jarvis sighed in relief putting on his charming smile once more. If he got to score something with you, perhaps he wouldn't need Wanda or the brats to get money out of them.

“Then, let me see what can be arranged for you and I to celebrate at a later date.”

“It's a date, now if you excuse me I have a meeting with the board in five minutes.”

You dropped your smile once the lift doors closed in front of you.

“God, I will need a fucking shower after this.” You shivered in disgust, Mary snorted writing something on her tablet.

“At least Fury is going to be happy.” She replied, shrugging. “It's a win-win situation.”

“Next time we're going to let him kiss your hand and try that creepy smile with you, okay?” You retorted crossing your arms. “The nerve of the man! To think I am straight at all!”

Maria laughed at your comment, she held onto her abdomen shaking her head before leaning back against the walls of the lift. You smiled at her lifting a single accusing finger to her.

“Next time, I would let everyone think you are straight and that Natasha is just a really good friend.” That silenced Maria who blushed profusely, turning away from you.

“That's not funny.” She grumbled.

“Oh, it is if you remember how you and Natasha came to be a couple.”

Maria winced trying to bury the memories in her mind, it wasn't so much she didn't treasure the moment she and Natasha found one another. It was just that it was also the most embarrassing time in her life and remembering That moment made her cringe from time to time.

“Anyway, I found the man disgusting, and I considered his wife.” You commented lightly. “He really is quite the character, you could find something else about his family?”

“No, it is a closed file, so I will need special clearance to see it.” Maria waited for a moment but you shook your head.

“No, it doesn't matter anyway, Fury is after the man for tax evasion and espionage. We don't even know what really happened with his wife.”

“Very well.” Maria exited the lift after you, afternoon was already falling and the lights of yellow and orange decorated the sky giving way to the darkness of the night. “Miguel just finished putting the security measures on the red we gave them, and everyone is already aware of what to do.”

“Good then, let's get this one last meeting over so I can go home to my sister…”

“... And your neighbour.” Maria smirked mischievously at you, her amusement growing when your feet falter at the mention of Wanda. “Are you going to tell her you and Carol are no longer together?”.

“Why would I do that?” You replied sharply trying to hide the blush on your face.

“Oh you know? Because you two are friends and there may be a possibility she wants to jump your bones?”

“God you and Natasha are going to be the death of me someday!”

Maria laughed following you inside the main hall towards the conference room. Maria found it amusing how Natasha picked up on this kind of things, now that she and Hope had talked about the topic and that Maria had seen your reactions and the way you talked about Wanda she had to agree that there was something there. Whatever it was, it brought a silly smile to your lips, it made you more relax and open. Maria was certaines you were not ready to admit these changes, or even the implications of your emotions, but there was time and perhaps these moments you were sharing with Maximoff while planning the Winter Festival were the push you needed.

There was only one thing that was worrying Maria and that was the truth behind Jarvis and Wanda. She hated lying to you, and even more so when someone as important as Wanda was for you was involved. But Natasha had assured her this was the best way to trap the man, and to make sure Wanda and her children were protected while Jarvis faced justice for a long time.

Y/N cannot know anything, Maria, please, she is already involved with Wanda as it is and knowing this could make her act harshly and we need to do this with care to trap the bastard.

“Anyway, I don't even think she… Likes me that way,” there is a hint of regret in your tone, your hand hovering above the knob of the door, you licked your lips frowning deeply before turning to Maria. “Not that it matters at all or anything just… WeWe're good friends, you know? And she is straight as an arrow… So,yeah…”

There was a moment of silence, Maria narrowed her eyes at you but you put on your best smile before opening the door and entering the conference room, whatever you were thinking or even experimenting at the moment completely forgotten as you took the reins of the meeting. Maria storing away this moment, she knew she would need to have a serious talk with Natasha once she got home.

------------------------------------------------------

Next chapter: Reader and Wanda are trying to deny what had become evident to everyone, Riri played her cards well and America is at a crossroads. The twins are getting far too comfortable, and the Winter Festival preparations create a tension between you and Wanda that you didn't dare to break.

#fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxreader #female reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #reader #wanda/y/n #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda/reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda mcu

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Text

P&C | Ch. 17: Ruin Our Friendship

➪ Playlist (Spotify) l Series Masterlist

With my breath hitched in my throat, my body is restless, turning under the soft covers as faint whimpers escape my parted lips. Eyes closed, I can see Jungkook’s silhouette standing by the fireplace as his body tenses upon hearing my footsteps get closer. Reaching for his shoulder, his skin is cold, ice cold. Something's off.

“Koo?” I whisper, gentle with my touch.

“Peaches,” his voice is soft, eyes sparkling with yellow hues from the fire as our bodies melt into each other's embrace.

“Where were you? I waited,” he says, gliding my hands up to his chest, pressing them against the pounding of his heart beating.

“Waited? I was right here the whole time,” I whisper with a stutter as my voice shakes from the confusion.

“No love, I was here, you were gone,” he smiles faintly, looking deep into my teary eyes before caressing my cheek with the back of his hand.

“Jungkook, I don't get it. What's going on?” I cry out, eyebrows furrowed as my stomach ties into a knot.

“I miss you more than I can bear Mira, but we had our time together. I have to let you go now,” he says dearly, resting his forehead on mine before focusing his gaze on my lips.

“Koo stop it, you're scaring me. Please, just tell me what's going on?” I scream, tightening my grasp around his torso as I pull us closer. Unable to hold back the tears any longer I feel them roll down my face as I rest my head on his chest, it's warm, really warm, but this time, I feel no heartbeat.

Gasping for air my chest heaves up as I scream out of my dream before looking around to check for Jungkook’s presence. His curtains block any light coming into the bedroom, fueling the panic rushing through my body from each empty space my hands touch until I can finally feel him.

“Shh Miraya, baby, what's wrong?” he inches closer, pulling my shaking body into his arms. Wiping the sweat off of my forehead he places a few strands of my hair behind my ear, eyes searching mine. I was a mess. But, the mere realization that it was all a dream made me feel more at ease, and as my breathing slowed down my focus was now on his concerned expression.

“Koo, please don't leave me,” I whisper, cuddling into his chest as his hands tighten around my waist. Looking up at his soft gaze, my eyes swell with tears thinking about the way I almost lost him. Confused by the words coming out of my mouth he leans his head closer to meet my eyes once again.

“Peaches, I’m right here, what’s wrong?”

“I had a dream. You said you had to let me go now and that you waited for me while I was gone?” I shake my head trying to recall the details from that scene, as the aching feeling in my heart intensifies.

“Baby, please try to calm down now. It was just a nightmare, I promise,” Jungkook says softly, hands still caressing my pale skin. Cupping my face in his palms, he rests his forehead on mine before pressing a deep kiss on my trembling lips.

“Let’s go shower, ok?”

Rinsing the soap off of me, Jungkook is gentle with his touch, leaving a trail of kisses on every inch of my body. Turning towards him, I glide my arms up his defined chest before intertwining my hands in his soft curls. Looking at his soft gaze, my heart is at ease. I’ve said this before, but when we’re together everything just makes sense. Nothing feels forced or rushed, but rather natural. It’s funny because, three months ago, neither of us knew of the other’s existence. Now, Jungkook’s presence in my life is the closest thing I have to a home.

If everything is so perfect, why does my heart's aching feeling hurt so bad? Even when we are inches apart, I fear the distance between us. Have I gone mad? Maybe. I was never good with commitment, feared being tied down, but also, craved the need to belong to someone. Not as an object but as someone whose whole world fits into someone else's. Meeting Jungkook was a step closer to that desire as our souls moulded into one. So, for now, I will cherish the moments we have together, suppressing the haunting voices in my head that feed off the anticipation of our ending.

Placing a kiss on my forehead, Jungkook unbuckles my seatbelt before opening the passenger door. While my back pressed onto the glass, his hands rested on either side of me, leaning in closer as the smell of his cologne filled the small space between us. Searching my eyes, his gaze softened.

“Me and you, baby,” he whispers into my ear, nibbling on the soft skin as I feel the flush rise up my cheeks. Watching my flustered state, a grin forms on his face.

“Stop babying me,” I try to say with a straight face, before bursting into a soft smile. I can’t even hide it, as he truly does have an effect on me. Whether I like it or not, Jungkook has become my weakness.

“Try to stop me,” he grins with a wink before leaning into a deep kiss. Connected again, my breathing is slow, hands now resting on his leather jacket.

“I have to go, Koo,” I manage to let out in between the kiss as his eyes stay focused on my lips.

“Just a little longer,” he whispers, gliding his hand down to my waist as my breath hitches in my throat. Enjoying the moment, Jungkook smiles into the kiss, thinking about how he got me exactly where he wanted. Close to him.

Jungkook’s POV

It’s been hours since I dropped Mira off at her dormitory, and since then I can’t stop thinking about her whimpering body in my arms as she begged me to stay. Nightmare or not, something in her mind has fueled this deep-rooted fear, but why? I’ve never been good at showing my affection, which is why my past relationships were short-lived and I take full responsibility for it. But with Mira, it seems that my heart is working overtime to make up for the lost possibilities. I should be the one begging her to stay because if she leaves I fear that I might actually have to consider adopting five dogs and settling down in the middle of nowhere. Mira has become my favorite feeling and she doesn’t even know it.

Turning in my bed, the thoughts in my head are louder than bombs. Everything reminds me of her as the smell of her perfume stains the soft sheets. This place has become as much of a home for her as it has been for me. So, as I check the time and notice the clock hit 10 pm, I’m saddened by the fact that I can’t even see her because she has her clinical today with Tae. Lucky bastard. Seeing no point in laying in this empty bed staring at the ceiling, I decide to go out for a late-night drive to clear my head.

Feeling the wind on my face, I speed towards the one place I can always find peace in, my safe escape. As moonlight shines down the road across the bridge, I remember the first time I brought Mira here. She didn’t have to, but she kept me company. Deep inside, that’s all I’ve ever wanted, someone to share the sunset with.

Reaching for my wallet, I pull out the snapshots we took at the photobooth as my eyes focus on her flushed cheeks. I never noticed, but her left eye squints a bit more when she smiles. My sweet Peaches, I think to myself as my eyes swell with tears. Caressing the film, I can feel my throat suddenly tighten making it harder to breathe. Unclasping my helmet for a moment, I gasp for air as my vision gets blurry, prompting me to slowly lose control of the handlebars. And just like that, the last thing I remember was seeing the flashing headlights ahead.

My body aches as I head towards the water fountain. God, today has drained me and I wish for nothing more than to be in Jungkook’s warm arms right about now. Day after day, the idea that nursing is an excruciating major is solidified in my head. I know that God gives the toughest battles to his strongest soldiers, but please, believe me, this battle is one more irritating patient away from being not mine. Nonetheless, my so-called break is short-lived as I feel my pager ring, ushering everyone in my cohort to head toward the emergency unit.

“Male, possibly in his early 20s, suffered an injury to his head following a motorbike accident west of the Oceana beach,” one of the paramedics states, rolling in a person from the ambulance as I squeeze past the crowd of nursing students and staff.

As my eyes scan the motionless body, my heart sinks to my feet upon the realization. It’s Jungkook. No, no, no, no, please God, no. Letting out a series of cries, I rush towards him, fighting back the hands pulling me from his side.

“Miss, please stay back, we need to check his vitals,” one of the doctors says, searching my scattered eyes as tears roll down my face.

“No, no, no, please, I can’t leave him alone, please,” I beg, falling to my knees as my cohort supervisor rushes to calm me down.

“Honey, everything will be fine. They’ll call you once visitors are allowed, ok?” she says softly, caressing my palms as we slowly walk towards the nearest bench beside Jungkook’s room.

It’s been about an hour, but it feels like time and my life has stopped since I saw Jungkook’s pale face. His head was bleeding, there was actual blood running down his face. God, why are you doing this? Staring at his room number, 9223, I can’t help but smile thinking about how that was the first day I met Jungkook. On the 2nd of September, at Jimin’s welcome party, as our paths crossed my life was changed forever. Reminiscing those memories, my mind went blank, muting the outside world as I failed to notice the nurse calling out for me.

“Miss? He is all ready now,” she says with a soft smile, before opening the door for me. Taking in a deep breath, I thank her before finally stepping inside.

“Peaches,” Jungkook lets out, his voice softer than ever. His form looks small and vulnerable under the hospital sheets as I run towards his arms, melting into the embrace. Pressing my head onto his warm chest, I feel the tears rolling down my face, as he caresses my hair.

“Miraya, baby, please don’t cry,”

“Don’t tell me not to cry when I saw you lifeless an hour ago,” I snap, gasping for air as my heart begins to ache again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lowering his head, eyes focused on my trembling hands.

“Koo, what happened?” I cry out, moving closer before searching his eyes, which have swelled with tears.

“I don’t know, it happened so quickly. But, the doctor said that it shouldn’t be anything more than a mild concussion. However, they’re still waiting on my CT scans,” he explains, hands fidgeting with the IV tubes. Softening my gaze, I place a soft kiss on his forehead before meeting his eyes once again.

“You got me worried sick, Koo,” I whisper before our moment is interrupted by a group of doctors in charge of Jungkook’s case. Walking in, one goes straight to check the vital machines and another puts in a new IV bag, as the last one focuses her gaze on me.

“Miss, what is your relationship to Mr. Jeon?” she asks, her tone is strict and to the point.

“I’m just his frie…” I stutter before hearing Jungkook’s voice bud in.

“Girlfriend. She’s my girlfriend,” he says confidently, caressing my palms with a smile.

“Alright then, well, it seems that Mr. Jeon will have to stay overnight as we are still waiting on a few more test results. Until then, please rest and feel free to call the nurses whenever you need anything,” she says looking at the both of us before ushering the staff out of the room.

“Peaches, it’s late, you don’t have to stay,” Jungkook lets out, gaze focused on my lips.

“I’m not leaving you, Koo. Clearly, you can’t live without me,” I giggle, even harder upon seeing his bunny teeth.

“You’re right, I need you,” he whispers, pulling me in closer before placing a soft kiss.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, and I guess now is as good of a time as any,” he says softly, taking in a deep breath before looking back at my eyes.

“The funny thing is that I wasn’t even looking when I found you. Truthfully, I had no intention of getting involved with someone romantically again, or at least not for a little while. But, once I met you, I knew exactly what I wanted,” Jungkook explains, laying my hands on his chest.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I love you, Mira. I’ve been loving you this whole time,”

Feeling my throat tighten, my breathing slows as my chest begins to heave up. Noticing the flush rise up my cheeks, Jungkook searches my scattering eyes, which are now unable to keep contact with his.

“You don’t have to say anything, I just need you to know,” he whispers softly, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand before letting out a soft grin.

“I ... I’m gonna go get you some water,” I manage to let out with a faint smile, before rushing out of the room, escaping the suffocating feeling. God, Mira, what is wrong with you? Why can’t you just confess your feelings to him? It’s not like you’re lying, of course, you love Jungkook. Then, why is it so hard to say it? Shaking my head, I make my way towards the cafeteria before my thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Mira? Mira, how are you?” Hanbin says, waving me over to the empty table.

“Oh, hi Hanbin,” I say quietly, mind still not completely present in the moment.

“Jeez, Jungkook really got you worried sick, huh?” he chuckles, analyzing the dried tear stains on my face and scrubs.

“Yeah …” I let out a small laugh, before attempting to get back up as he does the same, offering to walk me down the hallway back towards Jungkook’s room. Before I could reply, his hand rested on my back, helping me get back on my shaky feet. Noticing the change on my face, Hanbin is quick to retrieve his hand as a grin forms on his face.

“You do love him, don’t you?” he shakes his head.

“Sorry?” I say, my tone more serious and deep now.

“Jungkook, you love him, don’t you?” he asks again, and although my initial reaction was to tell him to mind his own business, at that moment, it finally hit me that I've never loved anyone as much as I loved Jungkook.

My moment of epiphany, however, was yet again interrupted by none other than Jungkook himself, as he stood by the entrance of the cafeteria. Holding onto the IV drip bar, his grip tightens upon seeing Hanbin next to me. Looking back at my form, the poor fella excused himself before giving Jungkook a teasing smirk.

Stoned face, Jungkook made his way towards my timid body before sitting on the bench next to me. As I tried to do the same, his grip around my waist tightened, pulling my form onto his thighs. Ignoring my helpless yelps of protest, his gaze was heavy, eyes focused on my lips.

“Peaches, can’t we just ruin our friendship?” he pouts, letting out a deep sigh.

“Haven’t we already? I don’t know many friends who occasionally sleep with each other,” I tease, leaning closer as our lips remain inches apart.

“That’s true, but … ouch,” Jungkook whimpers, breaking our eye contact as his hands hold onto his aching head.

“Mira, it hurts,” he screams in pain, before falling onto the ground.

“Koo! What’s wrong? Someone help! Please help!” I yell out in panic, eyes searching for staff as Junkook’s doctor and her team rush through the entrance.

“Miss, please move back, we need to get him back into his room immediately,” one of them tells me, as they place his weak body onto the hospital stroller.

“What? Where am I? Who are you?” I could hear Jungkook’s voice shout at the staff, his voice trembling with fear as if he was unable to recognize the familiar faces.

“What’s going on? Please, just tell me,” I beg, trying to catch up to Jungkook as one of the nurses stops me at his room.

“Mr. Jeon’s CT scans came back. The head injury turned out to be more serious than we initially thought, and it is now affecting his memory,” she explained, as the entrance shuts closed. Feeling my stomach tie into a not, my heartbeat raises as I bang on the door, demanding to be let in. But, it was too late, and as my eyes met Jungkook's for the last time, they swelled with tears. Everything I was afraid of happening, happened. And just like that, I lost him before ever saying how much I loved him back.

Previous l Continuation

#bts #bangtan #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x yn #bts x yn #jungkook fanfic #fanfic #jungkook smut #romance #young love #college love #slow burn #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x female reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine

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yuzu-all-the-way · 9 months

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⛸️Saitama Super Arena: 4-5 Nov 2023

Broadcasts

LIVE 4th Nov @ 5pm JST on TV Asahi Ch.1

Recorded (5th Nov) 12th Dec @ 5pm JST on TV Asahi Ch.2

LIVE + ARCHIVE 4th Nov on MyBeyond @ 5 pm JST (options available for just Live 32$, Live + Archive 35$, only Archive 35$)

⛸️Saga Arena: 12; 14 Jan 2024 (no performance on 13th)

Broadcasts

LIVE 14th Jan @ 4pm JST on TV Asahi Ch.1

LIVE + ARCHIVE 14th Jan on MyBeyond @ 4 pm JST (options available for just Live 32$, Live + Archive 35$, only Archive 35$)

Day 1 show (12/01) will be broadcast on 20th March on TV Asahi Ch2 at 7pm JST

⛸️Yokohama PIA Super Arena MM: 17; 19 Feb 2024 (no performance on 18th)

Broadcasts

LIVE 19th Feb @ 4pm JST on TV Asahi Ch. 2

LIVE + ARCHIVE 14th Jan on MyBeyond @ 4 pm JST (options available for just Live 32$, Live + Archive 35$, only Archive 35$)

Day 1 show (17/02) will be broadcast on 16th March on TV Asahi Ch2 at 7pm JST

ADDITIONAL SHOW

⛸️Miyagi Sekisui Heim Super Arena: 7; 9 Apr 2024 (no performance on 8th)

Broadcasts

LIVE 9th April @ 4pm JST on TV Asahi Ch.2

LIVE + ARCHIVE 9th Apr on MyBeyond @ 4 pm JST (options available for just Live 32$, Live + Archive 35$, only Archive 35$)

Behind the Scenes Special

Broadcast

5th May @ 7pm JST on TV Asahi Ch.2

Official website

Message from Yuzu - 2 translations (credits: @/axelsandwich & @/marika_yuzu twt)

#yuzuru hanyu #figure skating #ice show #re-pray #ice story 2nd #re-pray schedule

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pupsclawz · 10 months

Text

Gone II

Part I

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Reader

Warnings: Morbid/Dark Jokes??, My crappy writing

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: You were out for an evening stroll when you encounter a stranger that could change your life. Will you meet again or was this a chance encounter?

a/n: Sorry for the VERY VERY VERY VERY Late update! I know some of you have been waiting a LONG time for this but life got busy and you know how life can get. But worry not! I have overcome my deplorable time management and finally finished this ch! I hope you guys enjoy and I'm really really sorry. Also I made changes to the a/n of the last ch basically saying that Jenna wasn't the one on the phone with R when the incident happened. Anyways, I apologize again! Hopefully my schedule would be much more clearer now that I have time to write! As always no beta we die like real writers, enjoy!

Light snow fell from the dark sky, covering the city in a light layer of snow. Most of the roads were empty as were the sidewalks. It looked like a scene from an animated cartoon where as soon as nightfall hits, the whole city sleeps, awaiting the next day. It was perfect. Or so it seemed.

You stood in the middle of the sidewalk, seemingly gazing at the dark starry sky. There was a wide road separating you from the rows and rows of buildings housing offices and the like. You raised your left arm to glance at the watch that adorned your wrist. 3:17 it read. You returned to gazing at the stars as you finally let your thoughts run free.

You closed your eyes as your hands instinctively curled into each other behind your back in preparation for the “scenes” as you liked to call your thoughts. You slowly loosened your mind when.

“Oomph” A feminine voice grunted.

You barely moved from your spot despite literally being ran into. You didn’t move. Not one bit except for your eyes which fluttered open with your head still tilted back pointing their gaze to the glittering stars.

“So you’re not even gonna check if I’m okay?” The girl asked. There was anger in her voice, only curiosity and… playfulness? Teasing?

You hummed. A beat of silence passed and you could feel her staring at you. Another beat passed. She was about to talk when you finally decided to answer.

“People are brutally honest,” you simply said, not elaborating any further.

“How?” The girl asked, looking perplexed when your eyes flickered to her for a second.

You tilt your head to the side in thought, the echoes of her question, “How?” keeps floating around in your head.

She seemed to think of your silence as an invitation to elaborate further, which wasn’t your intention but welcome nonetheless.

“It’s just that I work with people a lot and… y’know,” She shrugged.

You hummed again, your mind now thinking of the incident. With all your will, you

pushed yourself out of the memory before answering, “When you do… Something ‘bad’ that affects people… They tend to… ask for reparations, unregarding of everything”

By the time your sentence ended, your hands were now clenching each other behind your back and your eyes were now closed. You could feel her staring at you. You slowly released tension that had gathered on your body as you slowly opened your eyes. Your hands were now in your pockets. As your shoulders now sported a light layer of snow.

You slowly removed your left hand from its resting place and raised your arm, once again checking your watch, 3:50.

You slipped your hand back to your pocket as you tore your eyes away from the darkened sky and onto the rooftop of one of the tallest buildings in the city.

You hummed in thought as you generated ideas on how to get up there. The girl was now beside you, looking up at the sky with you.

"Do you happen to know how to get up there?" You asked the girl beside you, motioning to the rooftop with your head.

The girl's eyes snapped to you. "What?" she asked before finally realizing what you were asking, "Oh, you're one of those rooftop guys, huh? Like from the movies"

She didn't answer the question. Normally, it would bother you but, you weren't a tiny bit. But it did annoy you that she guessed that you were one of those people, although with a closer inspection, you weren't annoyed at her. Not one bit.

"Actually, no." You said, deadpan. "I was thinking if someone could survive a fall that high"

A beat of silence before your ears were met with a laugh. You finally broke your gaze and turned to the girl beside you, quirking your eyebrow. In response, the girl simply shrugged.

That was when you noticed something about how she was looking at you. You stored the information for later, adding a note t yourself to broach the topic later.

"Well...?" You prompted, signalling to the rooftop by tilting your head towards it.

She looked confused for a moment before her eyes lit up in understanding, "Oh! Yeah, c'mon, I know a way up. I'm not surprised you didn't see me come out of there earlier."

The girl then turned around and walked toward the building, not sparing a glance behind her to check if you were following. You merely hummed in wonder before you started to follow the girl you had just met.

A few minutes earlier, give or take, and a quick chat with the reception, you were allowed up to the roof with the girl. She opened the door to the roof access, giving you a bow and a gesture to go first.

"Here you are good sir!" The girl said in a shockingly good impression.

Deciding to play along, you tipped your invisible hat, "Why, thank you madam!" You said, in a not so good impression which prompted the girl to start gigging.

You shook your head before leading the way up through the stairwell. As you were heading up, you noticed a feeling of being watched. You subtly glanced at the girl's direction and noticed her looking at you like she did before. She looked as if she was trying to figure you out. It made you feel like you should know something but her look clearly says that you do not.

Before you could ask, both of you had made it up onto the roof. The words died in your throat as you looked at the city in the darkness, the snow now noticeably higher.

You unconsciously walked to the ledge and before you know it you were looking at the streets below. You can hear the girl walking up beside you. You glanced at her and her unwavering stare.

"Do you really not know who I am?" She asked in a cautious but curious manner.

You raised an eyebrow at the girl. "Why?" You asked her, "should I?"

The girl just shook her head before letting her gaze drift to the unsleeping city. You followed her lead as you found your eyes getting drawn into the mountains and cliffs that rests in the city outskirts.

You didn't know how long you stood there, basking each other's company too stubborn to admit to have needed this. But before long, you really had to go.

You pushed off of the ledge you were leaning on as you dust yourself of snow that had collected.

"Welp," You sighed as the moments of peace that you had, had come to an end. "I guess its time for me to go."

The girl turns to you, still leaning on the ledge. She nodded in understanding as she took a piece of slightly ripped and crumpled paper and handed it to you.

You took the paper and read it with a puzzled expression before you realized it was her number. You looked back up at her and nodded before you reached into your own pockets and produced one of your business cards and gave it to her.

You both said your goodbyes before you descended back into the streets and out of her sight.

You were deep in thought as you gently held the note as you walked home, not noticing the name elegantly written on the other side of the paper: Jenna Ortega

#fanfic #fanfiction #jenna ortega #jenna x reader #jenna x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #sorry for not posting #sorry for not being active #uhhh yeah

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roughdaysandart · 3 months

Text

Rough Day Comic Masterpost

= Yes I'm making a comic based on Rough Day by @no-droids

= Yes I'm editing the smut out ("Abridged for Christian Roomates") but I acknowledge its sanctity 🙌🙏🏼

=Yes I'm adding filler content/altering the intimacy timeline to make up for editing out the smut (consider this BASED on RD rather than a direct translation)

=Yes it will be just as clever and soft, just less Ooga Booga

= YES THERE IS A PINTEREST BOARD (behind the scenes etc)

= YES YOU CAN CHECK OUT THE 'SOUNDTRACK" I IMAGINE WHEN WRITING

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Book/Season 1: THE EXCEPTIONS

CH 0: PREFACE

PT 1: Other Talents (5/10/24)

PT 2: Rules and Habits (in production)

CH 1: ROUGH DAY

Prolouge: Part 1

CH 2: HEARTENED IN HYPERSPACE

PT 1: Ow, ow, ow, OW-OW-OW

PT 2: All Action/No longer.

Prolouge: Part 2

CH 3: NEGOTIATION SKILLS

PT 1: Useful.

PT 2: Convincing

Prolouge: Part 3

CH 4: REST

PT 1: Unrelenting Interruptions

PT2: Quiet Murmurs in the Dark

Prolouge: Part 4

CH 5: OF METAL AND MEN

Prolouge: Part 5

CH 6: A SHOW OF GOOD FAITH

PT 1: Forget about it. Forget about it.

PT 2: The Deal

Prolouge: Part 6

CH 7: RUSHED

PT 1: Honor

PT 2: Something

PT 3: Natural, Not Normal

Prolouge: Part 7

CH 8: THE FLOOR IS BETTER

PT1: In Memoriam

PT2 : Oil and Water

PT3: Stepping Stones

Prolouge: Part 8

Book/Season 2: THE UNSTOPPABLE, THE IMMOVABLE (Or "torn" idk yet)

CH 9: BROWN EYES

Pt 1: Listen and Learn

Pt 2: Unintended, overheard.

Prolouge: Part 9

CH 10: JUST THE TRANSLATOR

PT 1: TBD ("devastatingly, upper-hand”?)

PT 2: TBD (“Fireside Chat?”)

Prolouge: Part 10

CH 11: CHAPTER 11

PT 1: Promise Me

PT 2: It’s Yours

Pt 3: If You Close Your Eyes

Prolouge: Part 11

CH 12: BEGINNER’S LUCK

PT 1: TBD: (“Lucked out/”?)

PT 2: Shot to the Heart

Prolouge: Part 12

CH 13: KAR’TAYLIR

PT 1: …and to lose.

PT 2: Is to love...

Prolouge: Finale

CH 14: WHENEVER YOU WANT

PT 1: TBD

PT 2: Everything, and then Everything Again (Confessions of a Middle-Age Trauma Queen)

Book/Season 3: THE CHASE

CH 15: OUT OF TRILLION (Parts TBD)

CH 16: ASK ME AGAIN TOMORROW(Parts TBD)

CH 17: WHISPERS OF YOU(Parts TBD)

CH 18: HOME(Parts TBD)

SEASON 4: BE NOT AFRAID (TBD)

CH 19: BE BRAVE

CH 20: ANOTHER ROUGH DAY

CH 21 - End

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ORIGINAL POST BEGINS HERE] (FEB 2024)

"Fuck it I'll try making a Rough Day Comic" 🤦

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I just loved the process of creating that Cantina comic so much, and I really really have been a imagining how cool a comic could look for the entire fic (its just writted so well) and I really wanna make it super clean so...I think imma break out the tablet and get this going. Also I just love this work so much that it would really being mw so much joy (especially as my fiest comic) and thats what's important in the end.

No idea if it'll stick or if it'll be just a few or how soon but...I really am excited to try

Also kinda have to get used to drawing starvwars environments/backgrounds/people in general, as I'm not used to that at all so here's to learning ALOT of new things ahead!

Probs will start out with the backstory drabble from @no-droids masterlist just for chronological sake and then do the chapters in order.

About the smut...🙃

*sigh* I live with my very christian siblings in a one bedroom so.....just no soft or hardcore smut (idk if i can even get away with any spicy gestures at all lol), and will probs have to clean some of the language up or leave bubbles blank until I live alone and can edit them later then re-upload 🤣

At least for now lol

So yeah I hope anyone who also enjoys this fic has as much fun observing this process as I will have making it!

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outpost51 · 11 months

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The 51 Post

so. bad week, if the prolonged absence wasn’t enough of a clue. but! i did write a... moderate amount. listen, i've been coping with sims.

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed

get on my taglists for WIP updates, 51 post, tag games, and ask events!

BRHP: Chapter 17 posted; K A DM O S.

Unlikely Adventures, Ch 2 posted; it’s literally in the blurb but it hurt me to write too

BRHP: Chapter 16 posted; baby's first fight pit, and a family secret is revealed.

Murky Water: the 7th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; our new Keeper finds her answers.

This Week's Jams

aliens (porcelain remix) || xylø, porcelain [spotify/youtube]

avoidant attachment || libby larkin [spotify/youtube]

fire fire || flyleaf [spotify/youtube]

no care || daughter [spotify/youtube]

let the flames begin || paramore [spotify/youtube]

devil’s teeth || muddy magnolias [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

hngggg i am. behind. it’s all outlined but my god i was too tired to write much

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

[affectionately strangles zadimus]

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

[vibrates] hhhhhh i love the orville scene, i forgot how much i love the orville scene, yes i will post the orville scene this week if yall bully me (pls)

Stellar Parallax

elmorise.gif

Lighthouse in the Fog

8th short will be coming out some time tonight or tomorrow, it’s been an uphill battle to write today, anyway things have Developed in a Direction i was not Expecting

In the Works

i have noodled some of those random shuffle prompts. some of you are getting whacked with the emotions stick

From the Skwad

SSSC 006 wrapped up! see the entries here.

@thetrashbagswasteland posted a little too good to be true, a follow up to a little too much like me as their submission for MEBB 2023 and it is rife with snark

speaking of MEBB, @sparatus also published his triumphant return to His Original Bullshit: serpents in the garden and i am living. he also wrote skewed results for FFF208 bc we all need more teia

@uraniumwriting also wrote a submission for FFF208 in which caspian is forced to be a reporter for a day

we have FIVE updates from @teamdilf this week: a sweet piece in which adrien is offered some kittens, ch 20 of in-laws and the grandparents, this drabble that actually ripped my soul out through my eyes, ch 16 of man of many talents, and the first chapter of father, daughter, rocket launchers, and a side of wrex

@bambino1294 dropped the second chapter of upright tower and it was well worth the wait

@equusgirl has given us two more treats for sapphic summer: heaven or hell and if the bird likes it's cage so very much, why is the cage so tightly shut

@commander-krios wrote this squee-worthy despina/theron piece and also this stolen moment between jeff and john

@writernopal wrote a character study with mariel and sartor that i’m still thinking about actually, it’s wild to see how much the characters have developed between the first and third books

@asher-orion-writes posted another installment of fairweather YAY hhhhhh i fucked up and peeked at the last few lines before i read it and now i’m trying to wrap up so i can go eat it

Around the ‘Blr

@tabswrites blessed us with both the second chapter of ascension and chapter 4 of silver sentinels!!!

@vacantgodling’s art comms are open which i will be taking a look at given it does not fall through the holes in my swiss cheese brain, he dropped toph art that i’m OBSESSED with AND a lukewarm rejection sneep bc toph’s bday was the 7th. tell him happy birthday 4 me

bit over a week but i missed it last week — @autumnalwalker announced that the archivist’s journal is COMPLETE, so if you were ever looking for a reason to binge it, now’s the time (the anniversary is july 16th!). find it here @thearchivistsjournal

@captain-kraken dropped a sonhara lore masterpost oh my GOD

screaming crying frothing at the mouth over @liv-is’s fae headshots WOW

@void-botanist gave us the LORE on the revalo tailory & hotel and i will chew off my arm if tumblr doesn’t start giving me gd notifs about this

@artdecosupernova-writing dropped SO MANY shorts this week, so here’s the tag, go nuts; also a post on the planet holeph that i am eating with a spoon

we now have such amazing faces to put with the cast of @elshells’s agent ace (courtesy of @illjustpretend)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Outpost Updates Taglist: @tabswrites @writernopal @freedominique @asher-orion-writes @liv-is @starknstarwars @captain-kraken

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

#my fic #outpost updates #if i missed you throw something in my inbox or tag me!!

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avelera · 1 year

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Giving Sanctuary Behind-the-Scenes: Desire

(+ Desire in "Come live with me")

So a semi-invisible headcanon I have that pops up across all my fics (if you know where to look) is... Desire actually likes Hob. Like, as a person. Not in any sort of nefarious way but they're also not obsessive about him. He's just a guy to Desire, but he's a guy who has defined his life by wanting things, like wanting immortality so badly he basically achieves it through sheer force of will/a little help from Death, and he lives life to the fullest. He doesn't hold back from experiencing the world the way some immortals do. He doesn't pull back from living life to the fullest even when he's been burned, inevitably, over and over.

Desire thinks that's admirable of him and, as a result, thinks he's a pretty cool dude who just happens to be in love with the worst person in the known universe, which is sad for Hob, and Dream should better appreciate how lucky he is that this pretty cool dude actually likes him, because Dream is objectively terrible for Hob.

Desire also thinks that Hob is handsome, in a "wouldn't kick him out of bed" sort of way. They know, objectively, and appreciate the fact he's a good looking man.

(Cut for some minor spoilers for my fics)

If one were to pay closer attention to Desire's actual words as opposed to their overall swanning, semi-malicious mood in "Come live with me" and "Giving Sanctuary" one might notice that their snide tone and pot shots at Dream have a pretty firm stopping point when it comes to Hob. Desire will insult Dream all day but that's because they have history and a lot of cruel, petty shit that Dream has done over the years that has particularly pissed off Desire, largely off screen.

This is where I differ from some other (amazing) fic writers in some way, which is that Desire sees Hob as an individual and does not see him as a way to take things out on Dream. This is, again, because Hob is someone who wants things, fully, unashamedly, and is ruled by Desire more than pretty much any other Endless besides his infatuation with Dream-as-a-person. Desire actually, weirdly, respects Hob for this and sees him as an individual rather than a means to an end because of this. He is, also, immortal which puts his status somewhat higher than any average pawn of a mortal human. Basically, Desire is not and has never been out to get Hob. Dream is their only target and they will actually avoid hurting Hob or at least call out when Dream's actions hurt Hob.

Now, that doesn't mean Desire has never criticized Hob. Desire points out in GS ch. 18 that Hob has terrible taste if he's in love with Dream. But that's not any sort of sin in Desire's eyes, he still wants Dream desperately which makes him a good egg from Desire's point of view. They just don't see what he sees in Dream and they think he could do better.

There is another, more subtle level to Desire's comments about Hob to Dream in the dinner party scene, which I'm not sure if anyone picked up on, but Desire's parting shot to Dream that, "No one can ruin this except you because no one alive has loved you for as long as him and he will never stop," could actually be read as encouraging the relationship with Hob, because it actually was. And earlier in ch. 17, Desire called out Dream for tormenting humans and specifically torturing his "pet immortal", Hob. That was actually Desire being rather protective of Hob, at least enough to find Dream's game of "hard to get" over the centuries and not giving Hob an answer or closure one way or another on whether his affections could ever be returned as, literally, torture. Desire might have found it delicious to taste all that unfulfilled desire of Hob's if it wasn't Dream he was in love with, again, someone they disdain.

But Desire's GS dinner party potshot at Dream was not designed to break them up, rather it was to point out the universal truth that Dream is the one consistent element of every one of his failed relationships and he's gonna fuck this one up again too and even worse, what Desire was really doing as their twist of the knife was saying this:

"It will be entirely your fault, Dream, when this relationship implodes just like all your others. I am telling you this as the actual anthropomorphic personification of Desire, as the being who can literally see the objective truth of Hob's heart: he will love you forever. He already has. You can't chase him away. You can't blame this relationship failing on him. You can't claim that there's any flaw in his sincerity or his ardent affection for you. If this fails and falls apart just like all your other relationships, it's your fault and your fault only. You cannot spread the blame, or sour grapes this, or run from it or claim something was wrong with Hob. It's all, entirely, on you if you desire him in return and the relationship doesn't work out."

That is the reason for Dream's hitch in his breath, why the twist of the knife worked. Desire ripped away any sort of comforting lies Dream might have wanted to tell himself now or someday in the future about who would be to blame if he doesn't spend the rest of his life with Hob: it would be wholly and entirely only Dream's fault. Which is a pretty raw thing to hear.

I know a lot of people were expecting Desire to lie or pull some sort of fuckery to make Hob and Dream separate, but that's not their thing. Actually, deep, deep down, Desire hopes that one day a relationship will help their brother stop being such a dangerous, raging asshole to the entire world. They've just given up hope on that front. They're not going to dissuade him from being with Hob. If anything, they're going to encourage him. But after Alianora and Nada and to some extent Killalla, Desire has largely given up on optimism on that front and is resigned to another disaster in which those who feel love and desire for Dream are once again fucked over by his everything.

And, by the way, as a final note on "Come live with me" because the above point of view of Desire on Dream in GS largely holds true there as well: Desire hasn't had a bad word to say about Hob in all of CLWM. It's actually funny to me how many people view Desire as malicious in CLWM. If you read their literal words on the page, you will see their true intentions. Desire does not lie in either of my fics. They might speak faerie truths, but their words are literally the truth as they see it, always.

It's Dream and Dream's POV who sees malice in Desire in all things that have to do with him and his life. But if Dream were paying closer attention, he too might notice that Desire always, consistently, pulls up short when it comes to insulting his relationship with Hob except insofar as it involves calling out Dream as someone difficult (or impossible, or actively DANGEROUS) to love. Desire has never, ever, not once in GS or CLWM implied directly or indirectly that the relationship would be bad for Dream or tried to discourage the relationship. At most, they've pointed out that it's a difficult, painful, or even impossible one for Hob and therefore Dream should smarten up and stop being such a dick to him. That Dream might learn something if he did, like how to stop being such a miserable bastard all the time, before Desire has to take drastic action.

#arranged marriage au dreamling #giving sanctuary #giving sanctuary bts #desire of the endless #come live with me and be my love

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voraciousvore · 3 months

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Giganterra (Prologue)

A g/t medieval AU featuring characters from my other stories. King Richard, the giant ruler of Giganterra, keeps the human kingdom of Minimaterra under his thumb, and it's up to our tiny heroes to stop his reign of terror.

Table of Contents: Ch. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

General Content Warning: this story will feature vore, violence, death, gore, and NSFW/ 18+ content (sex scenes with giants and giantesses, both romantic and non-consensual).

Prologue: soft, fatal, unwilling g/t vore, and some blood; 2.8k words

------ Prologue: Saturn Devouring His Son ------

“I’m going to put a stop to this madness and confront him.”

Ronny looked up at his older brother Alessandro, the crown prince. His brother was a tall, handsome giant, with a sturdy build, intense dark eyes, and short, slick, black hair. Ronny had always admired Alessandro and hoped to be like him someday. While Ronny inherited the same dark eyes and black hair from his mother, he was smaller and scrawnier, and certainly less confident and courageous.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ronny stammered with uncertainty. Confronting their father the king seemed impossible from his perspective.

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing any longer,” Alessandro declared, clenching his fist with passion. “Perhaps I can reason with him.” He stood up and marched briskly out of the room with purpose. Young Ronny watched him go with a pit of dread forming in his gut.

Alessandro traversed the long stone corridors of the castle, his footsteps muted by the opulent carpeting. He gritted his teeth and tried to dismiss the nagging doubts that pecked at his brain. He would not allow himself to be dissuaded this time. Innocent lives were at stake, even if they were small and humble. He needed to act.

He ascended the steps to the king’s private suite, sequestered in the left wing of the castle. His personal guard stood stiffly at the wooden door, immobile despite the lack of eyes observing him. He was a gigantic, hairy, hulking brute of a giant, with a scar running down his weathered face covered by a leather eyepatch. When he spied the crown prince heading his way, he bowed obediently.

“Ajax,” Alessandro addressed the guard with authority. “I’m here to request an audience with my father.”

“Very well, Your Highness,” the guard acknowledged, rising back to his feet. “I shall return momentarily.” He left to announce the prince’s presence to the king. Alessandro waited impatiently, tapping his foot on the stones and pacing. Ajax finally returned, gesturing wordlessly for the prince to enter. Alessandro advanced forward with a haughty mien, the guard following silently behind. Paranoid as always, the king insisted that his guard accompany the prince to his quarters, even though his guest was his own flesh and blood.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Alessandro,” Ajax announced, holding the door as the prince strode in holding his head high.

“Ah, Alessandro!” a deep masculine voice boomed from within the room. “What a pleasure!” Despite the warm ebullience of the words, Alessandro felt a frigid chill down his spine. His father, King Richard, sat in a luxurious chair of red velvet by the roaring fireplace. Even though the weather outside was bright and sunny, he had the curtains drawn, draping the room in shadow.

“Come, sit,” the king encouraged, raising a bony hand out of the gloom. The fire reflected off his eyes, making them spark from his foreboding silhouette like the eyes of a demon. The twin lanterns turned towards the door. “That will be all, Ajax,” he commanded in a much harsher tone. Ajax gave a deferential bow and closed the door behind him as he left.

Alessandro scanned the room with unease as he sat opposite his father in an identical plush chair. His hand strayed to the slim dagger concealed by his side, under his belt. He didn’t want to use it, but he feared he may have no other option if his implorations fell on deaf ears.

“What brings you to my quarters on this fine day, my son?” King Richard asked. His fingers absently stroked the armrest of his chair, digging into the fabric with thick nails.

“Father...” Alessandro swallowed, trying to bolster his nerves. “I urgently need to discuss important matters of state. Specifically, regarding our relationship with the human kingdom under your... illustrious protection.” He bit his lip.

“Ahh... is that so...” the king mused. His lips peeled back into a wolfish grin, his slick teeth glowing orange in the light. “You have my ear.”

Alessandro took a deep breath to center himself, then spoke the phrases he’d been meticulously arranging in his mind for months now. “Father, I believe our purpose has been corrupted. In olden times, us giants protected the humans from outside forces that would destroy such a delicate people. Our influence was benevolent and mutually beneficial.” He paused to allow his words to sink in.

“But now... now... our touch is more sinister, more avaricious. We are always demanding more, too much. And this business of insisting upon a tribute of young maidens: I will be frank, it makes me ill, terribly ill.” Alessandro attempted to maintain his outward composure, but his body nevertheless vibrated with poignant emotion.

“Mmmmm...” the king hummed. “Why don’t we discuss this over wine?” His flippant attitude spiked Alessandro’s temper, but he didn’t dare protest. To his surprise, the king did not call a servant, but rather collected a bottle and two goblets from a nearby table. When he poured wine into one of the goblets, Alessandro thought he saw something glint between his fingers in the firelight—though perhaps it was merely his imagination.

The king’s pale hand emerged from the shadows to offer a goblet, and Alessandro politely accepted. He held the goblet in his lap and resumed the conversation. “To be blunt, I cannot support these barbaric measures any longer. They are unjust and morally indefensible. We have strayed from the righteous path, and we must correct our course, lest the legacy of our Hardon dynasty be forever tarnished.”

“Oh, is that so?” A taunting smirk played on his father’s lips. “And what would you have me do?” He took a serene sip of his wine.

“Stop this madness. Allow the humans full sovereignty. Release them from this heavy burden of tribute. The resources required to secure our border on that side are minimal. We don’t need the humans to pay us in living flesh,” the crown prince recited firmly.

“Hmmmm. And what would you say, if I rejected your suggestions?” He drank another sip of the red liquid from his goblet and licked his lips. “Have a drink, Alessandro. It will clear your mind.”

“Father, please. This is very serious.” Alessandro huffed, annoyed by his progenitor’s inability to focus on the issue at hand. He brought the cup to his lips to placate him, pouring a small amount into his mouth and swallowing. “If you refuse to listen... I’m afraid I can no longer support you.”

“No longer... support?” King Richard straightened in his chair and leaned forward, setting aside his cup and clasping his hands together. His visage finally entered the light, displaying his wrinkled features, graying hair, and striking blue eyes, cold as glaciers. Alessandro was disturbed to behold, instead of the troubled concern he anticipated, a devious leer spreading across the old man’s face. “Alessandro... that smacks of sedition.”

“Perhaps,” the crown prince replied. He stiffened, his nerves screaming of impending danger, yet he did not flinch from the confrontation.

“My dear son... I’ve sensed your discontent for a long time coming. I’m surprised it took you this long to come to me with your concerns. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that.” His grin faded. “You disappoint me.”

“Father, I—” Alessandro began, but halted as a sharp burning sensation invaded his gut. He placed his hand over his midsection with a grimace. King Richard evinced no surprise as his roguish smile resurfaced. The prince groaned, doubling over as the pain spread through the rest of his body. His goblet of wine toppled over, spilling all over the carpet, but the king didn’t seem to care in the least. His extremities felt like they were being poked with thousands of needles as his joints and bones audibly cracked and crunched. His flesh compressed as if squeezed by the coils of a python, forcing his organs to twist and contort to fill the hollow cavities of his form. His vision swam as the room appeared to distort and warp around him in a distorted mess, the chair beneath him expanding into a sea of velvet.

Alessandro cried out pitiably in a combination of agony and fear, not fully comprehending what was happening as his innards rearranged and he was swathed in blackness. Something incomprehensibly enormous closed around him and lifted him high up into the air, what felt like an impossible distance. He fought against the powerful mass, pushing against the squishy surface with his limbs, but his strength was insufficient to produce any meaningful yield. He let out a frightened yelp as he was dropped onto a warm, soft, ridged surface.

Alessandro was beyond baffled, unable to explain all these wild sensations. His heart palpitated in a frenzy, enough to make him dizzy and disoriented. He looked down and blushed as he realized he’d been stripped of all his clothing, as well as his dagger. He was as bare and defenseless as the day he’d been born. His eyes drifted further down to examine the uneven lined surface he was sitting on. He gazed at the patterns dumbly with confusion, which seemed so familiar, yet simultaneously so alien. Nothing made any sense.

A booming chuckle, accompanied by a gust of warm air, directed his attention skyward. Alessandro froze in shock. His vision was overwhelmed by a gigantic mouth that loomed over him, as wide across as an entire room, with teeth large enough to lounge on like furniture. The prince scrambled back from the terrifying sight, only to run into a wall made of fingers that towered over him like trees, much taller and thicker in diameter than his entire body. He perceived, with horror, that he was cupped in a gargantuan hand. He whimpered with instinctive terror.

“W-what is this? How?” the prince managed to stammer out, his complexion paling.

Another resounding chuckle made him shirk back into the giant fingers. “I put a shrinking potion into your wine, you ignorant fool,” the mouth rumbled, bathing the tiny man in humid breath that reeked of wine. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you rose against me. I can’t believe you were too blind and trusting to see this coming.”

The prince was speechless as the platform of a hand raised up alongside the cliffside of the giant’s face, so that he was eye level with his father, now a colossal beast of unfathomable proportions. His irises were huge and frigid, like mountains in winter, devoid of any empathy. The black holes of his pupils dilated as he examined his miniaturized son with fascination, making Alessandro shiver. King Richard’s gigantic eyes rolled to the side as the gleam of metal caught his attention.

“Ho, what’s this?” the giant rumbled. He reached into Alessandro’s heap of clothes left behind on his chair and pulled out the dagger. “Ah. I suspected as much.” The shrunken prince gasped as his own blade, glinting with hot flames in the light, was turned against him, the tip touching his bare chest. At his current stature, the blade looked miles long.

“I ought to carve you up with your own knife for even thinking to stab your father,” the king growled. He pressed the tip harder into the prince’s chest, producing a thin trickle of blood. Alessandro winced. “I could dismember you, limb by limb, slice you open and eviscerate you, decapitate you! A fitting end for a repulsive traitor!”

He let up on the pressure and cast the dagger to the side. “However... you are still my son, and I have a merciful heart for my own flesh and blood. I shall give you a more suitable death, worthy of the honor of the Hardon bloodline.” The wicked grin plastered on his features hardly seemed to fit his words. The immense hand beneath the diminutive prince abruptly rotated to the side, dropping him. He shrieked as he fell through the air and splashed into a lake of liquid.

Alessandro resurfaced, sputtering, and rubbed the substance out of his eyes. From the taste, he recognized it as the very same wine he’d drank earlier. As his vision cleared, he was horrified to find himself swimming in a huge vat of wine, encompassed in a circle by smooth gilded walls. He turned ashen as his father’s mountainous face hovered above the edge of the cup.

“No... you wouldn’t...” he choked, as the obvious implications of this action sank in.

“Quite the contrary, my son, I would!” King Richard guffawed cruelly, hurting the prince’s delicate little eardrums with his deafening voice. “What better way for you to die than to add your strength to my physical body? Isn’t that poetic?”

“No... please... don’t...” Alessandro implored with escalating alarm, as the king swirled the wine in his cup, his bloodthirsty leer deepening. The prince flapped his arms to stay afloat, staring in horror up at the king’s mouth, blown up before him in grotesque detail. The slick surfaces of his teeth shined with saliva, marred by a microscopic chip in one of the teeth on the side, a feature that Alessandro never noticed prior, when he was a proper giant. The huge slab of meat that constituted the tongue emerged and dragged along the teeth and thin lips, wetting them further.

Alessandro’s heart jumped into his throat as the vast set of lips settled on the rim. The cup angled, causing the wine to flow, along with Alessandro, towards certain death. The prince frantically swam in the opposite direction, but failed to beat the current as it dragged him closer to the giant mouth. The lips parted, revealing a foreboding cavity of darkness that stretched deep within. Alessandro screamed as he watched the upper lip and incisors pass over his head, and he was sucked into the maw. His last view of light was extinguished as the mouth closed, encasing him in a semicircle of teeth and gums.

The prince struggled for his life, to no avail. The king stirred the sip of wine in his mouth at a leisurely pace, savoring the moment. The tiny prince banged against his molars, bounced on his massive, squishy tongue, and hit his head on the hard curved palate above. He cried out in terror as gallons of wine began to drain down the tube beyond the tongue, carrying him with it. He tried to grab the uvula at the back of the throat to halt his descent, but failed miserably, instead sliding down the base of the tongue and into the dark pit below. The throat received him eagerly and gulped him down in a suffocating embrace.

The poor little prince could hardly move as the powerful muscular contractions forced him down, down a terrifying drop into a nightmarish, claustrophobic new hell. A thunderous heartbeat thudded in his ears, along with gusts of wind from prodigious lungs, as he was constricted through the giant’s noisy chest. He plummeted further, overwhelmed with mindless fear as ominous grumbling resounded louder around him, announcing the next step of his horrific journey through King Richard’s digestive system. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t mentally prepared himself for such unspeakable horrors.

His legs were suddenly free, and he kicked them wildly as he was pushed through the esophageal sphincter into the stomach. He plopped into a puddle of stinging fluid, gasping for breath as rancid, acidic fumes assaulted his eyes and nose. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness, but he could feel the stomach walls churning around him, the excessive heat, the acid sloshing and bubbling and slowly eating away at his skin. The various sounds of the gastric juices stirring and gurgling, the meat walls squelching as they shifted, and the reverberating heartbeat and breathing, overwhelmed him and made him involuntarily shudder.

He was done for. He was going to die. The appalling truth hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. He had utterly failed, and his death would be in vain. He lamented his failure, even as his vision turned gray from the thin air, and his consciousness slipped away from him. His last thoughts were thick with regret. He wished he’d said a proper goodbye to his younger siblings, his little brother and sister, before his death. He wished he could’ve saved the little humans trapped at the castle and shielded the human kingdom from King Richard’s reign of terror. He wished he could’ve made a difference, and his life had held any meaning at all. His piteous pleas for clemency were left unheard, as he suffocated and his life ended, and his body dissolved into the acid like any other scrap of meat.

King Richard sat back down in his chair with a luxurious stretch and drank his wine, reveling in his success. He patted his belly as he felt the feeble squirms within gradually fade. He smirked, running his tongue over his teeth. There would be no rebellion, no regicide on his watch. He did what he had to do, even if the necessary measures including devouring and killing his own heir, his pride and joy. For he wasn’t just some meek pushover: He was King Richard Hardon, the most ruthless and Machiavellian ruler of them all.

Chapter 1

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signiorbenedickofpadua · 4 months

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Ooh, how about 16 and 17 for Risk and Reward?

(For the Behind the Scenes Fic Ask game)

16. What was the easiest scene to write?

That would probably be one of the earlier chapters, before the plot got more intricate than just “get to know each other” (and yes, I will name a chapter rather than a scene, because like 95% of the time those are synonymous 😅 a chapter which contains more than one distinct scene is a rarity in my writing). Perhaps chapter 4 (In which a toast is made) could be a strong contender; that one mostly establishes some backstory which I had already plotted out beforehand, and it helps that it is almost entirely dialogue between Morpheus and Hob, because I love to get swept away in the flow of conversation as I write ❤️

17. What was the hardest scene to write?

Hmm… Likely chapter 31 (In which we receive an anonymous letter). Without getting too spoilery for anyone who hasn’t read it, I’ll say that that chapter was a challenge as there was a lot of plot which had to happen all at once, and a lot of feelings and choices which had to feel like they made sense for the characters even if some of them were irrational. Tricky stuff. But the chapter I think I’ve returned to the most and made a million tiny changes to is probably ch. 23 (In which we visit a grove by a lake) — not because it was necessarily hard to get right, but because I couldn’t stop thinking about it since it was so deliciously dramatic and I kept thinking of ways to make it even more dramatic! 🤩

#Risk and Reward fic #ask games #my writing

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beefromanoff · 9 months

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Going Under Ch. 17

summary: the team flies back to NYC for the press conference, and. Gianna finds out some surprising good news

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: elastic heart (piano version) - sia

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: FINALLY finished this one, it's a lengthy one but also had a lot of the information I've been wanting to get out forever! let me know what you think! this sets the scene for the next stage of the story and where it will be held. super excited xoxo

chapter list

_________________________________________________

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky’s voice cut through Gianna’s stupor, snapping her back to attention.

They were seated side by side in a Quinjet, something Gianna didn’t even know existed until a few hours ago. It was remarkably quiet, with a gentle hum the only indication that there was any mechanical reason they were in the air at all. Pepper and Tony sat a few feet away, with Tony in a heated phone conversation with some manufacturer about the availability of more vibranium and Pepper triple-checking her notes for the upcoming press conference. Gianna and Bucky sat on a bench towards the back of the plane.

“Hey team, we touch down at the tower in 15, get your game face on.” Tony called before returning to his phone call.

Taking a deep breath, Gianna turned to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m good. Just a little nervous. You know, you think you’re good at doing press, but it’s one thing to be chatting away about who I’m rumored to be dating or my new song…and another thing entirely to be asked questions about an attack…on my life. Usually I feel like I’m acting, like I’m playing a character. This time, I don’t have anything to hide behind.”

Bucky paused for a moment, before giving a reassuring smile. “You can hide behind me.”

Chuckling, Gianna leaned back. “I might take you up on that if I get a question I don’t want to answer.”

After the jet had landed on Tony’s private helipad, nearly 50 stories in the air, Pepper had ushered Gianna into an elevator. As the doors slid shut, she caught Bucky’s eye and tried not to look too terrified that they were being separated. Gianna trusted Pepper and knew there wasn’t a place in the world more secure than Avengers Tower, except maybe the compound, but there was a time she felt safe on stage too. She’d only been released from the medical wing this morning, which was a pleasant surprise when she woke up, but she’d been whisked off to the briefing before she even got to ask where she was being released to.

They’d had a surprising array of pastries and fruit set out next to the set of folders Pepper had prepared for them to review in preparation. Unfortunately, they only had a pot of black coffee (Tony’s favorite) for her to choose from. In true knight-in-shining-armor fashion, however, Bucky had been seated at the far end of the conference room table, two styrofoam coffee cups in front of him.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Gianna had called.

“You just saw me last night.” Bucky deflected, holding a latte out for her.

“I was talking to the coffee.”

After that pleasant surprise, it had turned to strictly business. Pepper’s somber expression told Gianna that whatever was inside the folder wasn’t exactly going to give her the warm fuzzies. As they worked through the intel Tony’s team had acquired on the people Bucky tracked down, those responsible for the attack, Gianna felt her stomach turn.

They’d tracked the leader back to a small city called Astapor, basically a hybrid between Las Vegas and Hell. The center of illegal weapons dealing, human trafficking, drug smuggling, you name it. There was a whole underworld of incredibly wealthy people demanding incredibly twisted things. Astapor was the place they’d go to get it.

As it turned out, one of the twisted things that someone was after…was her.

The details had gone fuzzy after Gianna heard the words leave Pepper’s mouth. Tony sat uncharacteristically quietly, hands clasped in front of his mouth and eyes fixed on the table. Bucky had stood up and faced the wall, his torment visible on his face. The only reason he hadn’t left the room is because he refused to leave Gianna alone to face the horrific details of the attack.

“The person behind all of this was former SHIELD and CIA agent Sharon Carter.” Pepper had explained.

“She was…a friend to some of us. When the Sokovia Accords conflict occured, Sharon helped break Steve, Bucky, and a few others out of containment. Turns out, she was fired, and faced charges of obstructing justice. She blamed us for the loss of her reputation, her career. So she took the intel she’d gathered and fled to Madripoor. There’s a strong policy against extradition, no one would dare try and find someone there. Well…” Pepper paused, glancing at Bucky.

“She knew she’d be safe from potential prosecution. So she went to work trying to set herself up financially. Over the past few years, she sold off all the internal information she had, but she ran out of money. When she found out through the surge of information online that Bucky was working with you, Gianna, she made a plan. She knew that if she could somehow…kidnap you, the biggest name in entertainment right now, there would be no dollar amount she couldn’t extract from her buyers. She used her inside information on Steve to set the trap, she knew about his relationship with Bucky. If there was anything that could draw Bucky away from his duty, it was a threat to Steve. She knew that and she exploited it. The plan was to disarm your protection, retrieve you under the shield of chaos, and be in Madripoor before anyone knew where to begin looking. She worked with a team of private contractors, all currently in United States custody. She didn’t have a buyer lined up yet. All loose ends have been tied up.”

There was silence in the room, Gianna couldn’t tell how long it went on. Her ears were ringing, her heart pounding. Her mind struggled to fathom the unspeakable horrors that came so close to becoming her reality.

“Ms. Cruz?” Pepper gently called. “Do you have any questions?”

Gianna opened her mouth to speak, but instead of words, she turned around and hurled into the wastebasket Bucky was holding.

Thank God for super soldier reflexes.

Gianna shook her head, forcing memories of that morning out of her head. “Where are we going?” She tried to force her voice to stay steady, knowing it needed to sound clear and confident in a few short hours.

“I have some people I think you’ll be happy to see.” Pepper smiled gently. The elevator doors slid open to reveal Kate and Tom sitting in yet another conference room. Instead of a light breakfast spread, this time the table was covered by Kate’s arsenal of beauty supplies. As they stepped out of the elevator, both heads snapped up.

“GIANNA, oh honey, oh it’s so good to see you again!” Kate engulfed her in a rib-crushing hug, her familiar perfume immediately putting Gianna at ease. “Oh, you poor thing, look at you.” Kate’s hands grazed over her face, brows knitting together in concern.

“You should have seen the other guy.” Gianna said sheepishly.

The group chuckled, seemingly relieved that she still sounded like herself. After they’d exchanged hugs and Kate had checked for the fifth time that Gianna was still in one piece, they got to work. Pepper had brought half a dozen outfit options, courtesy of her personal buyer, each perfectly tailored to Gianna’s measurements.

The next hour and a half flew by as Kate filled her in on various rumors circulating in the celebrity makeup artist world, her favorite thing to discuss. Based on the fact that neither Tom nor Kate pressed Gianna for a single detail on the attack, she guessed they’d already been briefed and warned not to upset her.

While she felt a much needed sense of normalcy sitting in the chair, Kate’s hands dancing across her face, Gianna was only half listening to what she said. Her mind was full of thoughts, but the most prominent one…I wish Bucky were here.

____________________________________________

Gianna sat nervously in the green room, her newly manicured hands folded in her lap. Kate didn’t miss a single detail. Bucky sat beside her, his metal arm crammed into a black collared shirt that Tony had insisted he wear. After what seemed like an excessively long glam process, due in part to the amount of concealer required to cover all her bruises, Bucky had rejoined them.

“You sure clean up nice.” She’d said, gulping hard and forcing her eyes to look at his, not the fabric stretched across his muscular chest.

“I’d say the same, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you any other way.” God, he was such a charmer.

“You kids ready for this?” Tony said, striding into the green room, the chatter of the reporters following him through the open door.

Taking a deep breath, Gianna met Bucky’s eyes. He gave a tight-lipped smile as he reached out to grasp her hand.

“You say the word and we’ll be gone.”

Smiling, she took his hand and stood to her feet, not letting it go until they reached the podium.

Per Pepper’s executive decision, the press conference was held in a spacious room at Stark Industries, this one equally as sleek and elegant as every other room Gianna had been in since she entered the Tower for the first time. The room was filled with reporters, cameras, and a palpable tension in the air as everyone awaited the statements regarding the recent bombing incident at Gianna's concert.

Taking her place at the front of the room, Gianna rested her hands on the edges of the podium. There had been a flurry of activity the second they crossed the threshold, but this was no different than usual. Even Bucky was beginning to get desensitized to the flashes and frequent shutter noises.

Pepper gave a brief address to the gatherer press, giving an official statement on behalf of The Avengers, seeing as they employed Gianna’s security. They’d agreed in the prior meetings that she’d handle the details and that Gianna’s appearance was mainly to assure the public that there was no need to panic or worry. As Pepper emphatically thanked Bucky for his heroics, he simply nodded as the room erupted into applause. Cameras flashed, this time pointed directly at him. Gianna felt his discomfort but was thankful he was receiving the public recognition he deserved.

Pepper concluded her remarks and turned the microphone over to Gianna, though she continued to moderate. Reporters raised their hands, and one by one, they were called upon to ask their questions. Delivering perfectly rehearsed and media-trained answers, Gianna slipped back into her public persona quickly, albeit a little more reserved given the circumstances.

“What will this mean for the second leg of the tour, the international dates?” One reporter called from the second row.

Pausing, Gianna realized she didn’t actually know the answer to that question. She hadn’t even seen Tom since the incident, prior to that morning, and hadn’t had the energy to check her phone, knowing it would be full of texts and calls from people who only pretended to be her friend. The sad truth was, every person who truly cared about her had seen her within the past 2 hours.

Stepping forward, Tom spoke into the microphone, an apprehensive look on his face as though he were saying something he didn’t want to say. “Gianna’s team is working as quickly as possible to figure out the logistics that will allow her to return to -”

“Actually,” Tony’s voice called from behind Gianna. Turning, she saw him stepping toward the podium so she shifted to the side to allow him to take center stage. “There’s been a change of plans. As of -” He glanced at Pepper who confirmed a detail on her phone before winking at him. “About ten minutes ago, a new holding company has acquired Ms. Cruz’s record label. One who, believe it or not, doesn’t believe in taking advantage of unrepresented minors and enforcing a contract less than a week following an attempted kidnapping.”

Confused, Gianna glanced up at Bucky, expecting him to meet her eyes with the same questioning look. Instead, she found his gaze locked on Tony, not looking surprised in the slightest. Looking almost…satisfied.

“Okay, fine, you guessed it. Stark Capital Group, founded and funded by yours truly, is officially in the music business. Don’t ask me my first order of business, you already know it’ll be to make Destiny’s Child a reunion offer they can’t refuse.”

The room erupted with even more flashes and questions being yelled at the front of the room. Tom looked as bewildered as Gianna felt, whereas Pepper and Bucky both looked pleased.

“Mr. Stark, what does this acquisition mean for Ms. Cruz and the tour?”

“What it means is that she’s a kid who just almost got turned into pop star puree. Anyone who thinks her top priority right now should be putting on a concert can see me after this conference for a complimentary lobotomy.”

“So what exactly-”

“What Mr. Stark means is that we as a company decided to intervene because we didn’t feel like the necessary precautions were being taken with Ms. Cruz.” Pepper intervened, ever so diplomatic, as she elbowed Tony out of the way. “All ticket holders will be fully refunded, as well as given a voucher for any rescheduled dates we may decide to pursue in the future. For now, our top priority is ensuring that Ms. Cruz has the time and resources to recover both mentally and physically. That’s all the time we have for today, thank you all for attending and thank you once again for your support.”

The flashes took up once again, all trying to get one final shot as the crew traipsed out of the room. Tony was in rare form, blowing kisses to the camera while Pepper ushered him out. Bucky’s left hand took it’s place on Gianna’s lower back, guiding her toward the door. She reveled in the feeling of the cool metal through her shirt, something thankfully familiar in the midst of all this confusion.

As the door to the private conference room closed and they were alone once again, Gianna couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Can someone please let me in on whatever’s happening here?”

Pepper smiled kindly. “Of course. Bucky told us the situation with your label and how you didn’t have much room to negotiate for yourself. As soon as Tony heard they were trying to get you back on tour, he asked me how quickly we could buy the company.”

Dumbfounded, Gianna looked from Pepper to Bucky, who stood in front of the door. He shrugged and gave a sheepish smile.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t going to change as much as you think. We’ve already sent word to fire the man responsible for exploiting you like this, I’ll get him replaced with someone much more qualified. Consider your contract reopen for negotiations.”

Mind spinning, Gianna struggled to figure out what to ask first.

“So…what do I do now?”

Tony spoke up again. “Whatever the hell you want, kid.”

“For now, let’s get you back to the compound. We went ahead and prepared a room for you so you can settle in while you figure out next steps. It’s the safest place for you to lie low and recover. I’m sure Bucky can be talked into giving you the full tour when we land.” Pepper’s smile always seemed to extend to her eyes when she spoke, something that made her feel even warmer.

As they left the room to make sure the Quinjet was ready for departure, Gianna swiveled her chair to face Bucky.

“How many times do you plan on saving me this week?” She crossed her arms in mock confrontation.

“As many times as you need saving.” A smirk played across his lips.

“I hope you know I do want the full tour. Every inch of the grounds. Maybe twice, considering I did hit my head pretty hard. Oh, and I wanna see your room. If it doesn’t have that poster of me you said was on your wall, I’m going to rethink everything.”

Chuckling, Bucky held the door open to lead her to the helipad. “Whatever you say.”

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #avengers #bucky fanfic #winter soldier #bucky fluff #winter soldier fluff #sebastian stan

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reliand · 2 years

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Draco Malfoy and the Wheel of Hecate || Ch. 17 Protego Diabolica || by Starbrigid

excerpt from Book 4 of Starbrigid’s The Mirror of Ecidyrue series:

The dim figure of Harry moved from behind the glass cage, and panic spiked through Draco. "Let's see if it works!" Harry called, and Trelawney's prophecy went through Draco's mind- every choice he had ever made- everything he had ever said or done to Harry to bring him here, to his death, because Draco was his enemy, he was lying to him, holding back everything- he was going to be Harry's doom, if he loved him, and he- he-

Draco tried to call for Harry not to come, but his voice died in his throat, and his fear only made the flames blaze higher, like his fear for Harry had wrested the control away from him. He didn't want the fire to burn if it could hurt Harry, and yet it burned.

This series is just scene after scene of favorite cinematic moments. This one is dedicated to arlolovessorrow on ao3, who suggested I draw this moment after I posted my first piece of art for this fic.

This is part of an ongoing series of drawings I’m doing for the fic, which are linked below:

Book 1 || Book 2 || Book 3 || Book 4 || Book 5

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #hp fanart #harry potter art #the mirror of ecidyrue #starbrigid #my artwork #my art #protego diabolica #fanfic

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

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Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 14 - Primal Scene

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Fanart, Meta, Snippets

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |8 | 9 | 10 |11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54

CH 14: Vi makes plans. So does Silco.

Cw: for rough sex with multiple partners in Silco's PoV. There are also brief mentions of underage sex in Vi's PoV. Nothing is graphic, and the activity takes place with a peer, but if such content offends you, please be warned!

Separate tw: for bloodplay, dubious consent, biting, mistreatment of sex workers, and violence/bloodshed. On top of that, another tw: for mentions of mental illness, panic attacks, PTSD and abandonment issues.

Step inside my heart, broken up Show you what it's like, only for the night

~ "Empty Love" – Tech Thieves

"It adds up," Vi says.

The drumroll of rain is swallowed up by her flat's old architecture. It is a two-story townhouse at Sapphilite Row: all folio-colored stucco walls and faded blue windows, calligraphed with marks of age. The place is simply furnished: a tiny livingroom, and an equally tiny bedroom. A colonial-style doorway leads to a balcony, its eaves dripping rain down into the cozy bakery below, where bready scents waft deliciously.

There is an earthiness to the neighborhood that appeals to Vi. Downtown is the curated surface of Piltover: glitzy and modern. But these districts hold a gritty pulsebeat similar to the Undercity. Generations of families living in the same block since the mercantile era.

Inside, the lights are off. A luminous streak glows through the bathroom's half-open door. In the clawfoot tub, Vi lays in the steaming water. Her hair clings wetly to her scalp. Her body, all taut muscle and whorling gearwork tattoos, feels pummeled from top to toe.

Thank Janna for Piltover’s water.

Clean, hot, unspoiled water.

In the past, baths were never Vi’s thing. Give her a hot blast under a shower any day. At the Drop, they'd had no bathtub. Just a rusty spray-hose with no pressure, and yet she and Powder had to jockey with Mylo and Claggor for its use anyway.

But in winters, Vander let the girls haul down the giant metal tub into the basement. They'd boil water and carry it downstairs in big pots. Then she and Powder would lock the door, strip right there on the cold tiles, and slither inside with happy shrieks. Vi still remembers Powder's blue hair plastered to her skull and crowned with bubbles. Her sister loved the sounds they'd make, tiny planets popping in her ears.

Buoyed by the water, her small body would float into Vi's lap. She'd let Vi check her hair for lice, then wash it and wring it out until it squeaked. Sometimes, Vi would sing to her—old ballads half-remembered from childhood. Powder was especially fond of The Wave-Soaked Maiden. Her eyes would go round and shiny, and she’d barely breathe for fear of missing her favorite lyric:

Behind her lips, her teeth were sharp/Much sharper than his knives/She said to him, "Come closer, sir/And I'll eat you alive.”

Each time Vi hit that part, her sister would kick her feet through the suds, squealing.

Powder was happiest in water.

Vi's eyes burn.

Caitlyn sits at the tub's lip. She is in a linen robe of the palest blue, the fabric sticking heavily to her skin in the bathroom's swelter. Her hair is twisted up off her neck; wisps float around her face. Earlier, she'd helped Vi to disinfect and re-bandage the cut on her cheekbone. It is minor, only three stitches necessary. Vi was told the scars will fade in time.

Caitlyn's fingertips trace the bandage on Vi's cheek. Her eyes are troubled. More than that—sorrowful. And that sorrow is hard for Vi to bear.

Six months without bloodshed. What a sweet six months they were.

"The whole thing felt preplanned," Vi says. "The Council greenlighting my visit to the Lanes. Silco agreeing to let me see Powder. I figured it was a trap to draw me out and start trouble. Then Silco sent his blackguards after me, and I lured myself out. I gave him the trouble he wanted." She scrubs the back of her head. "Silco knew I'd take the bait, too. He was ready. The blackguards, the rotties, the spiel. Everything."

Caitlyn's bitten lip telegraphs concern. "Now he's using your sister as leverage?"

"Leverage for something bigger."

"Three jobs, he said?"

Vi grimaces. "Vander always said bad things come in threes."

No way to determine what the jobs are. Vi doubts they consist of anything pleasant. She wishes she'd pressed for details. But getting brained with a tray did a number on a girl's conversational skills. No concussion. But the throb is her skull is like the mother of all hangovers.

She feels drunk. Worse than drunk. Stoned. Too full of thoughts she cannot digest.

Not all of them are hers.

After Vi was transferred from Silco's chopper to Piltover's yacht, she'd had a short exchange with the Councilor on board. Medarda. Even growing up in the cesspit of poverty, Vi knows that family name. The woman herself was polished in every sense: skin, hair, accent. Not beautiful like Caitlyn; she had the fascination of a piece of art. Stylized—that was the word.

Like all Piltovans, she'd made Vi feel like an unwashed monster.

You're safe now, she'd said, in affectedly soothing tones. In a spot of trouble—but safe.

My sister isn't safe! Vi snapped. I need help her!

You feel she is in danger?

I know so!

Without quite meaning to, Vi ended up giving the older woman the low-down on everything she'd seen. She'd told her about Powder. How her sister was stolen and warped by Silco. How the warping went beyond war or weapons.

Medarda's expression stayed inscrutable as a Sphynx.

I will see what can be done, she'd said.

That was the last Vi saw of her.

They'd remained docked at Zaun for an hour. Vi wonders what negotiations took place abovedeck. She imagines Silco and Medarda in a dialogue like a dance, each one jockeying for the upper-hand. Vi doesn't trust Silco. But she has no reason to trust the Councilors either. They are birds of a feather: all glittering masks to conceal their sharp-edged manipulations, and unless you learn to master their doublespeak, they'll slice you to ribbons.

The Pilties are just like Silco. Under their suave veneers, there is nothing but selfish spite.

Except Caitlyn.

Sweet Caitlyn. Straight-shooting as a rifle.

Since Stillwater, Vi thought of herself, in a ferociously single-minded way, as never needing anybody. She'd never, in her twenty-three years, had much trouble getting out of whatever trouble she'd gotten into. But with Caitlyn, there is no trouble.

Only a profound sense of sanctuary.

When the yacht docked back in Piltover, Caitlyn was waiting at the gangplank. She'd looked as ragged as Vi felt. They hadn't touched. But Vi felt something light her up softly from inside. The late hours of stress dropped away, the muscles locked into tightness loosened, and she felt himself melding back into the living world.

When they were alone, Caitlyn snatched her up in a hug that just about crushed the life out of Vi.

Or shocked it back into her.

Later in bed, they’d made love: slow, syrupy, breathless. But it was a struggle for Vi to stay present. Her pleasure was a clammy shiver, skimming her surface so she barely felt it, so intent was she on not thinking of everything else. Caitlyn held her close and smoothed her hair, whispering comfort. But Vi couldn't hear anything except the nauseous beating of her own heart.

That's when the shakes began. Her palms sweating. Her heart thumping in her chest. Figments of the past tapped Vi on the shoulder, clouding her mind with memories of Stillwater. Not even seventeen years old, chains clanking on her wrists, her feet marching in single file, disembodied voices dictating when to sleep, when to shit, when to shower. And the screams, too many to count. Screams from the midnight assaults, when inmates cornered each other in the shadows to settle a score or satisfy an itch. Screams from before that. The cannery doused in flames. Vander a slab of motionless meat on the pavement. Blood on Powder's elbows and knees. Powder's blood on Vi's knuckles, and the distress in her sister's cries—please Vi please don't go I need you!

She'd started hyperventilating in Caitlyn's arms. Had to wrench herself away and slam into the bathroom. She'd not realized she was going to be sick until the puke boiled out to splatter the toilet. Shivering, she'd knelt there, and begun to cry, one palm pressed to her mouth.

She didn't want Caitlyn to hear her. She didn't want Powder to think she wasn't strong enough. She didn't want Silco to know how thoroughly he'd rattled her.

Ironic.

Powder and Silco weren't there. She was all alone.

In the morning, headsore and heartsick, she couldn't meet Caitlyn's eyes. Instead, she'd asked about the Council. Were they angry? Was Vi going to lose her job as Peacekeeper? Or get tossed out of Piltover altogether?

Caitlyn informed Vi that they'd both been placed on formal three-month suspension. There would be an inquest into the blackguard’s death. Charges could follow if the investigation proved Vi had acted with malice aforethought. If found guilty, she faced termination from her position. If innocent, she'd return to work.

All told, Vi had expected worse. A boot to the rear rather than a slap on the wrist.

Yet beneath her relief sat an unease.

The Council should've been angrier with her for jeopardizing the Peace Treaty. Unless they'd anticipated this outcome. Planned for it.

Just like Silco.

At the Kiramman estate, Caitlyn's mother was furious. She'd called Vi a ruinous influence. She tried to talk Caitlyn into breaking it off with Vi.

It hadn't gone down well. Bypassing a number of smaller spats between the mother and daughter, it had escalated into a championship match, plenty of ammo on both sides. The mansion's elegant halls echoed with screeching female voices. Some of the words would've made a Demacian dowager drop dead in a swoon.

Vi stood frozen halfway up the stairs, with Mister Kiramman paralyzed at the bottom. Their glances narrowly swerved off each other like a car crash.

In the end, Caitlyn had left the estate hand-in-hand with Vi, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was heavier than her typical overnighter. An unquestionable symbol of moving out of one home and into another. Just her and Vi—a fact that had sent Councilor Kiramman into a secondary meltdown. It was disgraceful—Caitlyn was aristocracy—they weren't married—she should be focusing on her career and not playing around with a Fissure-bred girl.

Yet the more they had argued about it, the more Violet realized that Caitlyn had been building up to this move for weeks. The fight was just the well-timed shove out the door. And Mister Kiramman was surprisingly supportive; between the two of them, the Councilor had to pipe down.

Vi should've felt guilty. She'd never meant to wedge herself between Caitlyn and her family. But she was mostly grateful.

She'd wanted to ask Caitlyn to move in for a while. She'd just never plucked up the courage.

She could face down opponents twice her size. But how did you ask the sweetest girl in Topside to abandon her deluxe digs and cohabit with you in a one-bedroom flat? She could only interiorize it with a soapy, tongue-in-cheek narration. Share my creaky mattress and my messed-up life, Cupcake. Forget the riches. I'll take care of you.

Each time, she'd snorted it off as insanity.

Now, Vi glances at Caitlyn. Beautiful, kind Caitlyn. What if her mother is right? What if Vi is a ruinous influence? What if she's dragged her into something shady—again? What if she's safer far away from Vi, back in the comfort of her mother's home, and her lifestyle of immaculately tidy order?

Questions with no answer. Plenty of guilt, though. The familiar stew that nourishes Vi's deepest insecurities.

Her worst self.

"What are we going to do?" Caitlyn whispers.

Vi's guilt curdles into shame.

We.

Already, Caitlyn is making Vi's problem hers.

She whispers back, "If I do the jobs, I see Powder. That's the short and long of it."

"It's a lot of short, and not enough long, Vi. Silco is probably—"

"Lying?" Vi exhales. "I know. It's what he's good at."

"It's not just that." Her fingertips retrace Vi's bandaged cheekbone. "He might have worse plans than blackmail."

Vi’s jaw hardens. "I know. But I need to know if the Council is in on it too."

Caitlyn's fingertips go still. "You think they'd go that far?"

"They had no issues using me as bait." A rottweiler set loose, as Silco described her. "They've got their own agenda. Same as Silco."

Caitlyn doesn't argue. But her voice is halting. "I don't think Jayce would condone it. Not to the point of Silco harming you as part of a larger bargain."

"It might not be Pretty Boy pulling the strings."

"The others, then?"

"The fancy one. The Noxian princess."

"Councilor Medarda?" A gentle smile tugs at Caitlyn's mouth. "She's not a princess, silly. Her family are warrior class. Nobility."

"Whichever."

Vi lolls back against the curved tub. Beads of moisture roll down her jaw.

"My point is," she says, "I don't buy her story about collecting me for cross-border security. Her yacht was anchored in Zaun for a full hour. I saw Silco's chopper through the porthole. Before Medarda saw Silco off, they shook hands. I'm positive they've made some sort of deal."

"You think you're a pawn in it?"

"Or Powder is."

Caitlyn falls silent. Her soft hands curve over Vi’s shoulders, fingers kneading, heels strong. There are knots the size of marbles buried there. The rest of Vi feels the same: a giant knot of tension.

In her mind's eye, dream-shocked, she can still see Powder's curled-up shape in the burning alleyway. Silco's silhouette looming over her with a knife. Then the scene recoalesces, not fire and filth, but liquid luxury. The skyscraper suite. The blue pool. Powder perched on the diving board, swinging a pair of doll-legs. Then diving into the water and climbing out, artfully gleaming, right into Silco's arms.

Her smile for Silco's safekeeping. Her needlework on Silco's handkerchief. Her art decorating his butterfly knife.

All wrong.

In Silco's tent, Vi was ready to kill him. For touching Powder. For taking her away. Taking Vi away from her, and locking her up in Stillwater. Her rage had filled the air. A haze that was nearly alcoholic—or its opposite. Alcoholics needed treatment for their binges. Vi needed to put a monster like Silco behind bars.

Or—if worst came to worst—put him in the ground.

She tries to dispel the thought. She isn't ready to go there.

Not yet.

Deliberately, she puts out her hand and squeezes Caitlyn's kneecap. The furor in her mind softens, a cleansing sort of calm. She relaxes beneath the waterline and Caitlyn's kneading hands. Her eyelids droop, growing heavier as the seconds tick by…

Caitlyn says, "Would it be better if—?"

"Huh?"

"Wouldn't it be better if you refused Silco?"

"It would."

"But you're not going to?"

"I'm not abandoning Powder again," Vi says sharply. "That's why I need to gather my own information. Find out if I can get close to Powder. Get her away from Silco. There's no other way she's coming out of this with her mind intact."

Caitlyn's mouth compresses. "You saw her at his headquarters?"

"In a pool."

"How did she look?"

Vi's gut aches in remembrance. "Like the usual."

"The usual? Violent? Manic?"

Vi shakes her head. "No, she—" She catches herself with a frown. "She looked more like Powder than Jinx. Older, but somehow... younger too."

"You're convinced Silco is hurting her."

For a shuddery second, Vi shuts her eyes.

"He has to be," she says. "He hurts everyone around him."

"He's kept your sister since she was a child." Caitlyn's voice is perturbed. "If that was... the nature of their relationship... surely our investigations would have turned up evidence of abuse?"

Vi opens her burning eyes.

"Same way the investigations turned up evidence he was a Shimmer-baron?" she retorts. "Silco has sneaky down to a science."

Caitlyn considers this. Then—"Have you considered a different possibility?"

"What?"

"That she and Silco see each other as family?"

A chill runs down Vi's spine.

Family.

Like Vander. Like Mylo and Claggor.

"He's going to great lengths to keep her close. It might be an ego thing. A way to assert control. Or it could be—in his own mind—justified. Jayce told me, during the parley, Silco seemed ready to yield to Piltover's demands. Then Jayce asked for Jinx, and he refused point-black. A week later, the Fissures declared war." A beat. "Maybe Silco believes she belongs with him."

Repulsed, Vi shudders. "A matched pair, huh?"

Caitlyn shakes her head. "Just... complicated. This whole mess started when you were children, didn't it? When she set off a bomb to save you all?"

Vi nods.

The memory of that night slices through her chest. Its mere mention is a minefield. She's shielded Caitlyn from all but the barest shrapnel of details. Caitlyn, in turn, has kept a strategic distance: part-concern, part-consideration.

Now she says something unexpected: "Maybe Silco sees himself as her rescuer?"

Vi recoils. "You mean kidnapper!"

"What matters is what he thinks," Caitlyn says, "not what you or I believe." Her palms curve over Vi's shoulders. "You know, when I was a girl, my family would go up to our summer home in the countryside. For me, it was bliss. I'd spend hours outdoors with my rifle, practicing on the posts around the grounds. By evening, I'd stumble back indoors, happy and absolutely filthy. My mother would lock me in the bath, and warn I'd not be allowed downstairs until I'd washed off every speck of dirt."

"A hard-knock life," Vi says, having a halfhearted go.

"One afternoon," Caitlyn goes on, undeterred, "I stumbled on the groundskeeper in the forest. I'd known him for years. We were like family." Her tone tempers. "He was... rogering one of the maids. They'd slipped out by the hothouses for more privacy. A countryside pastime, or so I gathered when older. Back then, I'd no idea what I was seeing. I was absolutely horrified." She sighs. "The Psychickers call it The Primal Scene."

Vi wavers a short laugh. "That's a Friday night in the Lanes."

"What?"

"Privacy's not a thing belowground. We grow up watching plenty of um. Primal Scenes."

Caitlyn is taken aback. It happens sometimes. She'll share an anecdote from her gilded girlhood, with the shyness of a child offering a glimpse into a box of trinkets. In return, Vi will offer anecdotes of her own: heavy as a block of lead clapped in her palm.

But not in retrospect.

Miserable as life in the Undercity was, Vi's times with her family still hold a rosy hue. Maybe because the way things ended was so much worse?

She still remembers being thirteen and vaulting rooftops back to the Drop with Mylo and Claggor and Powder, carried on a flying carpet of adrenaline. She remembers the first time she'd spotted two silhouettes in the ginnel near their home—Vander with one of the barflies. She remembers staring, bewildered, before her mind connected their shadowy movements to the act of sex.

She remembers recoiling, not in shock, but because Powder might glimpse something she shouldn't see.

Casually, she'd chivvied her sister and the boys away from the spot. They'd gotten cherry sodas and gone to the arcade. Later that evening, she'd been unable to look Vander in the eye, nearly to the point where he began to suspect she'd done something awful, and was terrified of spilling the beans. Of course, Vander being Vander, it wasn't long before he'd cornered her and forced out a confession.

They'd had The Talk soon after.

Not that Vi needed it. Most sumpsnipes picked up the facts of life early in the streets. By age eleven, Vi already knew all about fucking. All the ways to do it. How to make it good, how to fake it if you couldn't pull it off. But Vander's advice, imparted with a matter-of-fact intimacy, was different. He'd educated her, not about sex, but its consequence.

To this day, his words linger:

Never touch someone unless they've given permission. Otherwise, you're stealing their dignity. Never string someone along or play 'em for a fool. Always tell 'em straight. And most important: if you're going at it with a lad, always pay the Protection Racket. If he's not keen on paying, then he's not worth messing around with. You don't owe anyone your body. About the only thing you owe is the truth.

His parting shot was ambiguous: Be smarter than I was, yeah?

Vi had barely, at that stage, traded more than a few gropes with the girls in the neighborhood. But Vander's advice proved sound. She'd put it to use, two years later, when sneaking out of the Drop in the heat-shimmer of summertime, to meet Nao, an older cat-eyed girl with a lithe stride and a slow smile. She was a dancer at Babette’s. Spoke barely any Standard, but her coy aloofness made her wildly popular with the clientele.

To Vi, though, she was just plain sweet. In the evenings, she'd take up to her attic by the Old Hungry: a workshop full of sawdust and the slanting red rays from a neon signboard. She'd taught Vi all about kissing; how to coax the lips apart, how to tease with tongues. They’d practice and practice until the very air between them turned electric with sighs.

Two months in, they’d traded a whole lot more than kisses.

Vi remembers how she’d lost her virginity in that attic. Only it hadn't felt like losing anything. It had tasted sweet as candy and shocky as a thousand volts, but afterward somehow lonely too, like the world had gotten bigger and Vi's own place in it full of riskier twists.

Consequences.

Afterward, though she'd stayed sweet, Nao made it plain she wasn't looking for anything serious. She had plans to move to Bilgewater. Sooner rather than later. The Undercity's brothels were a dying breed. The tarts, even the most talented, had a short shelf life. Stop tricking and they'd be swallowed by the grime. But dare to dream big, and the gangs would come knocking.

Nao had ambitions, and a survivor's streak. As far as she was concerned, Vi was only a fun fling. Love was never even a question.

Keeping Vander’s advice in mind, Vi had played their parting cool. But her heart had felt like a bruised slab in her chest. She'd wept afterwards, alone in bed, having learned since childhood to do so in silence. Then she'd felt Powder's small body burrowing under the sheets, her big blue eyes seeing Vi's distress and understanding none of it—though now Vi thinks Powder might've understood more than she realized.

"Did you go someplace scary?" she'd whispered.

"No, Pow. Not scary."

"So why're you crying?"

"Just... missing mom and dad."

It wasn't remotely true. But it wasn't a lie, either.

Powder went quiet. Her small arms passed around Vi's ribcage, squeezing. "I'll always love you, Vi. Even if stuff gets scary."

Another wave of tears surfaced. Vi swallowed them. "Me too, Pow."

"To the moon and back."

Vi gathered Powder closer. "'Cause you're my little star."

Powder nestled her cheek on Vi's shoulder. "And this is our safe spot."

They fell asleep cozied together. And the world still felt too big, full of the twists and tumbles. Full of consequence.

But Vi had Powder.

Someone she could always hide under the blankets with. Someone whose love never had to leave town. Someone who she'd protect at all costs.

Her Safe Spot.

Caitlyn's fingers skim along Vi's jaw. "Perhaps you'll tell me sometime?"

The reminiscing must've shown on her face. Vi blinks. “About what?”

“Growing up in the Lanes.”

"You mean with the drunks rutting in the alleys?" Vi rears away in mock-alarm. "Dirty cupcake! No wonder you got locked up in the bath!"

"Ha ha."

She tickles Vi’s doubled-up right knee—a secret weak-spot. Vi ripples and torques away. Caitlyn’s impish fingers become a caress. Her thumb traces the birthmark there; a red splotch that Powder used to call a Bunny Mark, because it resembled the rabbit on the moon.

"Back to what I was saying..." Caitlyn says.

"Your sex-fiend groundskeeper."

"I certainly thought so. I ran to my father's study. I usually went to him first with trouble. My mother was always busy with social engagements. And she could be rather... reactive… if she felt I was in danger."

Vi tactfully says nothing.

"I'm not sure what I told my father. But he got the gist. He questioned the maid on whether foul play had occurred. She swore it was purely consensual. Afterward, my father requested she and the groundskeeper confine their extracurriculars to the staff quarters. I couldn't understand why he hadn't dismissed the man. I thought—he'd been attacking the maid. Hurting her. Afterward, I saw them laughing together. Like they'd been playing a game."

Vi makes a thoughtful noise.

"'Don't judge, Cait,' my father said. 'Grown-ups are complicated.' True enough, though it wasn't much comfort to me. Anyway, the groundskeeper retired soon after. My modesty was spared further outrage."

There is a beat.

Vi asks, "How's this relate to Silco?"

Caitlyn hesitates. "What I'm trying to say is... I grew up in a bubble of ignorance. You grew up surrounded by adults doing grown-up things. It's natural for both of us to fall back on what we know. To assume we understand who people are. Or why they do what they do."

Vi grunts.

"I'm not denying Silco is a terrible influence on your sister." Caitlyn takes a breath. "But if he does have genuine affection for her... you're in twice the danger."

"He'll do everything possible to keep her," Vi says. "And get rid of me."

"But you're still going after him?"

"Yes."

Silence drips between them.

Caitlyn swallows. "I don't want to see you hurt, Vi."

Vi scrubs a hand across her cheeks. They are tearless, but she feels the burn of chagrin.

"Look," she whispers, "I know it's a risky deal. Even if I get to see Powder, she might not want to see me. Or she might attack me. Janna knows, she's killed plenty of people. I know that. But I can't leave her, Caitlyn. She's—"

Caitlyn squeezes Vi's shoulder. "She's your sister."

Vi cranes her neck to stare. There is a gravity in Caitlyn's voice that matches the twist of her brows. Like she is acknowledging something she'd not fully come to grips with before, a deeper truth emerging out of the cracked shell of the old. Something beyond Piltover's and Zaun's binaries of good and bad, but belonging to a gray-zone of hellish difficulty.

Vi whispers, "My sister."

Caitlyn rubs her fingers together. They are already tired from massaging Vi's tension-packed muscles. She looks tired too. But her downturned eyes suggest more than the stress of last night's hide-and-seek, or the dressing-down from the Council, or the blow-up with her mother. The sight makes something tighten in Vi's chest.

Gently, she gathers Caitlyn's hands in hers.

"I'm sorry," she says. "This wasn't in the cards."

"'This'?"

"You moving in with me." Vi inhales in the clouded air. "I wanted to celebrate if it ever happened. Go someplace nice. Us together."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "I'm here because I'm glad to be, Vi. No celebrations needed."

Vi forces down a reflexive lump of stubbornness. "You deserve them."

"So do you."

She is still holding Caitlyn's hands. Now the delicate bones twist out of her grip, so Caitlyn is clasping Vi's. Her eyes are lit with a fevery glow.

"You deserve to have your family," she says. "Same way you deserved safety, and shelter, and a childhood."

Her voice seems to come from far-off, waterlogged and wavery. It echoes the sensation sluicing in Vi's chest.

"I'm so sorry," Caitlyn says. "I'm sorry for everything you went through. I'm sorry for everything you're going through now. It just… scares me when you keep it all bottled up. I understand there are parts of your life that you don't want to talk about. Parts of you that you're reticent about sharing. But I do feel they're the most important parts." She squeezes Vi's hands. "Your sister is tied up in all that. Or better put? She's the most important tie of all."

Vi's eyes sting. Twisting around, droplets skittering down her spine, she meets Caitlyn face-to-face. Precludes her own messy outpouring, or more of Caitlyn's gentle words, by pulling her close. The familiar smell of jasmine clings to Caitlyn's skin. Vi breathes it in, her heart throbbing in its cage.

Caitlyn's fingers brush the soft hairs at the base of Vi's neck. "I meant to ask you..."

Vi shivers. "Yeah?"

"The blackguard." Caitlyn falters. "You don't honestly believe—?"

"I killed him."

"You're not a killer, Vi."

Now the tears spill. Vi squeezes her eyes shut, cheek resting on Caitlyn's shoulder.

"I don't know what to think," she rasps. "I don't know who to believe. I know there's always accidents in a brawl. Hell, no one knows that better than me. But I also know Silco is a liar. He always has a line of shit." Her throat is a knot. "If he's lying about the—the blackguard—then it's just to knock me off-balance. And if he's telling the truth—" A gust of emotion shakes through her. "I need to take him down, Caitlyn. For everyone he's hurt with his games. Me. Vander. Benzo. Ekko. Especially Powder. I need to get her away from him."

Caitlyn startles her by slipping off her robe and into the tub. Water sloshes the tiles. Her bare arms enfold Vi, and their foreheads touch. Every time she does this, with that look of pure love on her face, Vi's doubts fade into the background.

"We'll find a way," Caitlyn says.

Vi nods, their heads together.

"Whatever Silco is planning against you…"

"I won't let it get that far." Resolve makes a bludgeon of Vi's voice. "I'm going to get Powder first."

"I'll help you."

"Help…?"

"I'll talk to Jayce. See if he can learn more about the blackguard's death. See if Silco is hiding anything."

"You don't need to—"

"Yes, I do," Caitlyn cuts in. "You don't deserve this on your conscience. Not after everything else. Let me help, Vi. However I can."

"You always do, Cupcake. I'm thankful—and so fucking sorry."

"Sssh."

Caitlyn tips her head down and kisses Vi. Her lips are pure warmth and her breath envelops Vi with a sigh that makes her dizzy with the sweetness of it, her whole body attuned to Caitlyn and nothing else.

Twilight glows through the rain-speckled window. Dust motes float around their twined bodies.

All those years Vi had never dwelt on comfort for herself. She was better at giving it to others. Reassuring Powder. Reaming Mylo and Claggor's asses. Rallying behind Vander. She never considered asking for the same, not from her family, not from any of her girlfriends. Not since she'd been a little girl, encircled by her mother's arms.

Home.

Shivering, Vi holds on to Caitlyn as long as she can.

It's where she's happiest, in the end.

***

Of all the nooks in his headquarters, Silco has taken a fancy to the Laguna Lounge.

It is on the twelfth floor: a cantilevered section that angles out from the skyscraper, all chrome and double-glazed glass. It is fitted with aluminum oxynitride. Sleeker and less heavyweight than traditional bulletproof glass, but twice as effective at preventing explosives.

The rest of the rooms on the floor are too barren. Too different from the neon-lit secrecy of the Last Drop. Only this chamber, with its glazed twilit eeriness, feels tolerable.

It is spacious: a lounge, a bar, a bedroom. The interior is an Art Noveau wonderland—ribbons of wallpaper in faded gold-on-blue damask, wooden floors glowing beneath a crystalline chandelier, and intricately carved furniture of black-and-gilt. Like most architecture in the Undercity, it's antique: installed around the turn of the century, and never upgraded since. But it's a good place to hold a private meeting, to fix a solitary drink, or to catch a cat-nap.

He's especially partial to the bath: a vast chamber that holds a seashell's inner-echo, all pearlescent green ceramic and bronze fittings. There is a glassed-in rainfall shower at one end, and a huge sunken-in tub at the other.

And, of course, water.

Clean, hot, unspoiled water.

After a long week, it's Silco's habit to decompress here. He's from a time when running water was a luxury. Now he indulges as he pleases. The steam makes a satisfied haze of his thoughts. The hot soak loosens his muscles. Under his breath, he hums The Wave-Soaked Maiden, his voice a languid glide:

Behind her lips, her teeth were sharp/Much sharper than his knives/She said to him, "Come closer, sir/And I'll eat you alive."

Silco is happiest in water.

In boyhood, he and Vander sometimes slipped off to the oxbow near the mines. Together, they'd climb the creaky train-ties of the broken trestle, and plunge in feet-first. They'd dunk each other with hooting glee, racing from one end of the shore to the other. Afterward, Vander would drift along the shallows, with broad strokes of his arms and legs. Silco would arrow gracefully to the deep end, transfixed by the psychedelic shapes at the bottom.

Take care, Blut, Vander would tease. Mermaids might snatch ya!

Silco nearly smiles.

Memory tightens like a chokehold around his neck. Vi's fist explodes across his retinas before it distorts into Vander's, the scarred ridge of knuckles wrapping around Silco's neck.

Except Vander is dead.

Vi will follow—once she's served her use.

Idly, Silco traces the mottling of bruises on his chest. His expression doesn't change as he contemplates his plans—or Medarda's attempt to blockade them. She's proven quite the chess-queen. In her natural milieu, she’s doubtless a social mastermind; plucking other’s desires like harpstrings.

Doubtless, too, she imagines their blood bargain the same. She’ll play Silco, not as a partner, but a proxy from the shadows. A cipher to keep her family matter from catalyzing a war. If there’s a screw-up, Silco will take a fall; if it goes smoothly, she’ll terminate their arrangement. In the first instance, she keeps her impunity; in the second, she severs the connection.

Silco is ready to play. Not play ball—play along. Her means will serve his ends. For Zaun, and its coffers.

But the real jackpot is Medarda.

On the yacht, he'd seen past her armature of glossy poise into a nucleus of raw neuroses. All the world's wealth at her fingertips, and yet her conflict is base. Mother versus motherland. Silco has known his share of outcasts. One of their most enduring pathologies is the breakage of identity, as war breaks a map.

At Piltover's zenith politically, Medarda is still, at her core, the daughter discarded. So much of her choices stem from proving her mother wrong. On being everything her mother is, and is not. That's why she backed Talis' Hex-tech; that's why she took the boy as a protégé. The Hex-Gates have transcended barriers. They have reshaped history. They have lent Piltover a touch of immortality.

Power in the guise of progress.

But power, on its own, is an incomplete identity. Negation of the inner-wound fills the true void.

Silco’s good eye narrows. He’s glimpsed the wound. He’ll trace it painstakingly to its root. Then all he needs is an opening. Something to slice through decades of emotional callus, so he can access the human beneath. And all humans are fallible.

Unlike monsters.

Shaking out a cigarette from the silver cigar case at the tub's edge, Silco lights up. His body in the fogged-up mirror is utilitarian. Taut and tapered, sinews visible under scarred flesh. A pared-down body, he thinks of it—everything superfluous sliced away. From time to time, he misses the spryness of his youth. But this is the cost of survival, and Silco wears it like a badge of honor.

Like the shrapnel wounds from the Day of Ash. Like the razor cuts from a Stillwater ambush. Like the chemical splatters from the mines.

Like the black-pitted ruin of his left eye.

From behind the half-open bedroom door, low sobbing ebbs. Silco's vantagepoint offers him a narrow vignette of crisp white sheets. Two bodies occupy his bed. One half is dark skin and sultry curves. A young woman; fast asleep. The other half is sun-freckled muscle and red curlicues of hair. A young man; weeping facedown in the pillows.

Both are Silco's regulars.

Not from the brothels, but his own network.

The Undercity is a hotbed of prostitution. In the mercantile era, the illicit trade thrived on the backs of boys and girls trafficked into slavery. Then came the Void Wars, and a never-ending crawl of bodies seeking sanctuary from the horrors of sorcery. Piltover became a magnet for well-to-do emigres. Their social shadows, the refugees, circled down the drain into the Fissures. In time, they became their own social strata: perpetual outsiders caught in a continuum of servitude.

Most fell back on the oldest profession of all.

By Vander's heyday, most Trenchers were hardened to the sight of naked bodies on display in the neon glare of brothel lanterns. For some, it was an attractive career choice—an alternative to the drudgery of factorywork or menial labor. For others, it was an escape hatch from the misery of living hand-to-mouth. They dressed the service up with pretty euphemisms: pleasure parlors, love menageries, botanical gardens.

The bottom line was human bondage.

By the time the Hex-Gates opened, the Undercity's sex industry had begun cooking itself down under the pressures of breakneck progress. Bodies were pushed beyond any semblance of desirability into the walking equivalent of meat-suits. In the clubs, girls ejected pingpong balls from their cunts, and boys shot high-velocity jism down their throats. In the street-corners, they descended on lone strollers like mosquitoes, a desensualized horde of high-heeled boots and leather-studded jackets whipped open to flaunt wares decked in piercings, needle marks and scars.

There was commerce but no carnal desire. Only the perversity of market forces; the insatiable appetite of capital. Nobody was getting off, but everyone was hustling to get ahead, get paid, get out.

There was no way out.

As the Hex-Gates yawned wide, the Undercity's future shrank, choking on Topside's hubris. By the time Silco took control of the Lanes, the sex trade had reached saturation point. If not for his commandeering of the criminal underbelly, the brothels would've gone belly up. Instead, through foreign business-deals and local back-alley bargains, Silco leveraged his influence to transform them into exclusive enterprises.

Today, every tart—whether lounging in the high-end saloons at the Promenade or plying trade in the slush-filled alleyways of Factorywood—belongs to a particular house. They are of varying quality, but each one has been remodeled from a den of insalubrious sleaze into a boutique establishment catering to a different niche.

From ale-house beer to vintage wine, as the Undercity saying goes.

There is Babette's, the oldest brothel in town, whose madam maintains cordial ties with every crime syndicate. There is The Vyx, the luxurious pleasure-house run by Margot, where local chem-royalty rub shoulders with foreign potentates. There is The Cream, which caters to tastes on the farthest edge of forbidden, its workers as talented as they are transgressive.

Each house has a unique flavor—like a slice of pie. Some offer only the tenderest morsels. Others serve a variety of platters. The dishes go by names that tie them to each establishment. Babette's workers have monikers like Sweetmeat or Angel Puff. The Vyx prefers tongue-in-cheek designations like Chastity and Prudence. The Cream has no names, only numbers—Six, Ten, Twenty.

There are many flavors of tart—but few who are truly exceptional. Those rarities are from Silco's own ranks.

The Eye of Zaun owns a share in every brothel, and a piece of every vice imaginable. And yet, he solicits no services from the establishments themselves. No pets or playmates. Not even rumors of a mistress.

Predictability leads to patterns. Men with patterns are targets.

Rather, Silco prefers a totem pole of trophies. None are locals. His talent is imported from Ionia or the allied continents. At the bottom are his Tarts on a Tea Tray. Floozies, flunkies and flings. Higher up, his Fleeting Fancies. Boys and girls game for a dirty weekend or two. Directly above are his Assets. Promising individuals groomed to serve his needs—businesswise and in the bedroom.

He runs them like his factory foremen. Staying apprised on their performances, paying their expenses, cultivating their skills—then dispatching them for special jobs. Some employ their talents in blackmail. Others infiltrate rival gangs. The cleverest spy on foreign powers. They pry political tidbits from Piltovan lips, glean shipping intel from Ionian diplomats, finesse battle strategies from Noxian warmasons.

For their loyalty, Silco grants protection.

And, for the right cost?

Freedom.

His latest Asset goes by The Maven. A former tart from Babette's, she'd left for Bilgewater’s brighter shores. There, she'd been a pirate lord's paramour for seven years, until he'd jettisoned her. She'd ended up back in Zaun: plying her trade as a lowly barmaid under the Vyx’s indenture.

Sevika had pointed her out to Silco at one of Margot's bashes. She had a good eye for pretty girls. She knew what Silco liked. She also knew how he operated. In the guise of kindness, Sevika offered to pay off the girl's debt. She'd been too ecstatic to question whose pockets were deep enough to cover the cost.

Until Sevika introduced her to Silco.

The girl had been petrified. But Silco was faultlessly polite—unlike most chem-barons who were content to win favors by force. The first week, he took her out to the Blue Note for drinks. She'd been braced for sexual demands, but he treated her as any woman whose company he was enjoying. The following week, he invited her to an exhibition of deadly orchids at Chross' hothouse. By the third date, she'd met half the Undercity's chem-royalty. By the fourth, she'd been gifted jewelry: an old-fashioned clasp necklace that stored vials of poison. By the fifth, she'd discreetly dispatched a shipping tycoon who was holding up Silco's Shimmer-cargo.

By the month's end, she'd moved into a penthouse suite near the Skylight Commercia.

On Silco's payroll full-time.

Tonight, she lolls splendidly nude in his bed. A siren's body: breasts to kill for, legs to die for. Long black hair and smooth skin have always done a number on Silco. No piercings: his distaste for body-art is well known. No tattoos, either; he reserves those for his war-dogs in the trenches.

The only marks on her skin are red crescents from Silco’s teeth.

Next to her, the boy sports the same marks. A brazen thing. He'd been a farmhand from the azure fields of Navori. After crossing a feudal lord in a rigged game of cards, he’d fled to Zaun. Silco had taken a shine to him right off. Big strapping hulks are always worth the taming.

He’d put the lad in charge of running errands for favored clientele. Before long, he was working security at the Vyx, and reporting directly to Silco on its goings-on. But a year of the good life spoiled him. He'd developed a habit of dipping into Silco’s coffers for petty cash. Silco had hoped he might be smarter. He keeps hoping one of them will possess a modicum of loyalty.

But no. He’s like the rest—and must pay the cost.

Now the boy sprawls facedown in bed. Sweat glistens down the undulant gradation of his spine and gleams off the curve of his reddened buttocks. His thighs and biceps are stamped with oozing red half-moons. Wounded pride is writ large across his features. He'd fought Silco every inch of the way, defiant and smart-mouthed—right until his mouth was too full of anything but cries and cock.

A tall silhouette appears in the bathroom door.

"In a mood, sir?"

Silco takes a drag from the cigarette, smoke pouring insinuatingly from his lips. "Past tense."

"Never past tense with you."

Sevika leans against the doorjamb. The carpet behind her is a war-path of debauchery: curls of used condoms, the butt of a half-smoked cigarillo, the gleaming curvature of a strap-on. Folded into a white robe, she resembles nothing so much as a goddess in a hellscape.

There is nothing holy about Sevika’s eyes. Only a gleam of half-lidded menace.

She dons the same look during the games with his whores. She goes at them without mercy—a dragon on a leash. That is part of the game too. Once Silco is done playing master-of-ceremonies, she retreats to the background, watching him savage his prey. Sharper teeth than hers; a more slowly savored cruelty. Yet all throughout, she keeps her distance, and her silence.

Only in the aftermath does she transition from one absolute to the other.

Sevika's eyes trace the bruises on his chest. Her expression shades a degree. "Hurts?"

Silco shrugs.

"I know goading Vi into an attack was the plan. But did you need to play it that close?"

"Best way to determine if she's worth the investment."

"Ever heard of keeping a mad dog on a short leash?"

Silco's smile is a flash of jagged bone. "What good's a dog that can't bite?"

A private joke; no joke at all.

Sevika smiles back, but her shadows don't dispel. Last night with Vi, he'd cut it close. Now, with Medarda, he's skating dangerously thin. Sevika is no stranger to his schemes. She also knows that in the act of laying each piece on the gameboard, he can veer from ruthless pragmatism to reckless ambition, so focused on success that he can overlook anything extraneous to the long-term goal.

Part of Sevika's duty as XO is to keep him grounded. Physical stimuli worked best once: a fight, a suckjob, a fuck. It did the trick years ago, when he was just Sil from the Lanes. Sensation had kept him steady; no time to think. Afterwards, played out, he'd actually sleep through the night.

But Sil is long dead, and with him the stupid simplicity of the mind-body dichotomy. Silco has resurfaced with different appetites entirely. Sensation lends no sense of splitting. More a depthless hollow space, that can never be filled. That space being his mind.

It's taken Sevika time to understand what’s returned wearing half Sil's face—and to suit his desires accordingly.

Flesh isn't enough. He needs to taste blood.

"If it were me in that tent—" she warns.

"You'd have tried killing me straight off," Silco finishes. "Fortunately, we've passed that stage."

"And Vi?"

"She's passed too." A shadow-smile. "With flying colors."

One-handed, he beckons. An old shorthand: Time for business.

Cued, Sevika perches on the tub's edge. Her robe is half-open. He can see the curve of one breast, the groove of muscle down her stomach. Unlike the whores, her skin is unmarked by bites. But he knows exactly where the scars sit on smooth bronze skin.

Ownership has different modes. So do secrets.

He and Sevika don't speak. They sign. In mixed company, the Eye of Zaun prefers his language clean. Not in the sense of no profanity, but in the sense of direct orders. Everything is subtext; everything is between the lines.

All the better to strangle loose ends with.

Sevika warns, You're taking a lot of risks.

Playing nursemaid again?

Just reminding you of limits.

Silco draws on his cigarette. The ember flares in the steam like his bad eye.

Limits are a byword for denial, he signs back. Zaun's had its fill of that.

Zaun's had its fill of corpses too.

He nixes this with a jet of smoke. The blackguard’s death was unfortunate. But consider the payout. His family will receive lifelong compensation from Topside. Meanwhile, we now have the Council's ear—and our demands squarely addressed. The next step is securing the means to make them stick.

Through this bargain with Medarda.

And Vi. Silco lolls back in the tub, watching her through the glitter of mismatched eyes. She will remain in Piltover for three months. The administrative suspension will keep her out of Zaun's borders.

What if she stirs up trouble off-duty?

The Council will hold an inquest into the blackguard's death. The runaround will keep her busy.

And the Noxian warmason?

Three months will give our Maven enough time to learn his patterns. She'll pass his progress on to Lock. But I need you to keep her focused. This man and his cadre are a brutal bunch. If she falters, they will kill her without hesitation.

Sevika's jaw grits.

Silco knows she would prefer a simpler problem set. Something more straightforward than a tangled network of intrigue. There are too many variables when spinning a circle dance.

But that's the price with a nation stake.

Sevika signs, You think Vi will be useful?

She's the right resource. Unattached. Neither ours, nor truly the Council's. Swain is clever. If we use our own men to pick his agents off, he will notice a pattern. A wild card like Vi will keep him guessing. We want him focused on what's happening on their side—while we work to obscure what's happening on ours.

Lots of costs to consider.

If we play this right, so are the rewards.

He proffers his cigarette. Sevika accepts a drag. She smells of him, in his robe, and underneath she smells of sex. But her stare is devoid of the usual post-fuck glow. Only wariness inhabits the darkness. His XO can go months on an even keel. But all the while that streak of stubborn good sense simmers away.

No choleric displays, but if she's got a point to make, then she'll be hell-bent on making it.

She's dangerous, she signs, You realize that, right?

She's reckless. She has so much rage, she can't control it. Even if it's in her best interests.

I mean Medarda.

Silco crooks one eyebrow.

That's twice she's trapped you into doing what she wants. Now she's even drawn you into this business with Swain.

Their business benefits Zaun.

But do you need her alliance more, or does she need yours?

The cigarette dangles from Silco's fingers, smoke spindling in the steam. What are you implying?

Sevika is quiet for a moment. They’ve shared all the flavors of hell together. But their roles remain ironclad. Her territory is the brass tacks, and he seldom encroaches it. Likewise the big picture remains shadowy, even to her.

That is Silco's sole domain.

Sevika's eyes consult his face; she takes the gamble. You've made a killing out of getting people to work for you. But the Medardas are in a league of their own. They've finessed deals between nations while we were struggling with gang warfare. They don't kill for real things like territory or survival, either. They kill for status. I'm not saying you can't handle her. But it's worth considering whether you should.

You think I'll lose my grip?

Try your head.

Silco takes a lungful of smoke, and with the same hand reaches over Sevika's left shoulder—the cigarette’s ember sings perilously close to her temple—and balances it on the ashtray by the sink. Their eyes meet. Sevika's body-language speaks sparingly. But her frown is always frank. She's frowned a lot these last six months.

Gratitude is not in Silco's vocabulary. Everything comes down to cost and reward. But Sevika deserves a modicum all the same.

His palm aligns with her jaw. She meets his stare steadily. But he feels the kick of her pulse. It's a soft touch; an IOU for acts and words not soft at all.

"The day I give them a chance to take my head," he says, "is the day you make Zaun's bed in the next fresh grave."

"I hope that's not the end-game, sir."

"It's a starting point."

"Meaning?"

"Means what it means."

His thumb strokes her mouth, copping a feel. Sevika's sigh becomes a hum. Her own shorthand: Yes.

They don't kiss. Still balanced on the tub, Sevika leans in. Her black locks disentwine from her top-knot. Damp tangles unravel around Silco's face, doused with the aroma of smoke and sweat and brightleaf. She presents her breasts. Her nipples are tight rosettes. The left shows a faint calligraphy of Shimmer-veins, luminous in the half-light.

Silco cups the breast in his hand, feeling its soft heat. Takes the nipple between his teeth. She shudders as his tongue whorls along its pebbled surface. She likes it rough, but only if he lets her choose how hard. In that, she has nothing in common with his whores. Her body doesn't cater to his tastes. Her desires aren't tailored to his.

Right now, that's what Silco needs.

With the other wet spidering hand, he traces the inside of her thigh. His palm grasps her cunt—a tender pooch hidden in dark fleece. She is burning-hot and sopping-wet. The sensation startles him every time. She is everywhere scarred and solid. But between her thighs is a dirtysweet secret of purest silk.

Sevika's lips part; she expels a low hoarse moan. Her breath comes with small catches, like beads through a string. Watching her come is always intriguing. It starts with the same brute intensity as when she is slamming down foes. It ends with the softest rippling tremors, like when she is falling asleep. The sharp topography of her face melts. Her eyes go half-lidded: from ready to fight to dreaming of sunlight.

And when she turns her head six degrees to the right, she becomes almost beautiful. Full of tiny tells of truth in a business of its opposite.

Right now, Silco needs that, too.

Sevika gives a sharp cry as she convulses, thighs clamping around his rigid hand; her second cry is softer, her body unraveling into relaxation.

Silco withdraws his fingers. They are dripping wet.

"Better?"

Snorting, she shakes her head.

"Still?"

"Gets this way before the curse hits," she says. "Every nut makes it worse."

“Poor you.”

"Or them."

In the bedroom, the boy and girl lay curled together. The disturbed silence in the bathroom has roused them.

Sevika signs, Time to send 'em off?

A not-quite-smile twists Silco's lips.

He nods.

Sevika cracks a sharp whistle. The whores jerk. The Maven sits up, pushing the dark hair out of her face. Her drowsy demeanor morphs into an enchanting smile.

In Va-Nox, she calls out, "War das genug oder willst du mehr?"

Lazily, Silco crooks a finger.

She obeys. Her long legs sashay-stagger toward the bath. She kneels by the tub, hands in her lap, demure as a pussycat. Between her breasts, a pendant gleams. Silco’s gift; bearing the Eye’s insignia. She is seldom without it except when undercover. In the lamplight, it becomes a sly erotic adornment.

"Du hast mir so gut getan," she purrs, "dass ich Monatelang krumm herumlaufen wird."

Whore-bluff, but she says it with such sincerity. Silco’s lessons have worked wonders.

Playing along, he tips his chin toward Sevika. "Wer ist besser," he asks, "sie oder ich?"

"Wenn ich mich für einen entscheide," Maven rejoins smoothly, "verliere ich den anderen."

Silco's notched lip curls. A good answer.

That's why he keeps her around.

Gracefully, Maven joins Sevika on the tub's edge. Her hands span the breadth of Silco’s shoulders, expertly kneading. She knows well enough to avoid his neck. In a wrong mood, he can invert from stillness to savagery. But not here. Here, no inch of Silco's skin counts as a vulnerable spot.

These nights are about a different need entirely.

In Standard, Maven asks: "Shall you have my report?"

Silco nods.

She is a polyglot both off and on her feet. Fluent in the arts of Demacian, Shuriman and Piltovan—i.e. in the cunt, up the arse, down the throat. The latter two are Silco's favorites of long-standing: less mess, and more peace of mind. But Maven speaks real languages too. Her Va-Nox is impeccable. So is her Efric.

It's a convenience for Silco: pleasure and practice in one place. It also makes her a useful scenery prop during meetings with foreign envoys. Her pretty ears stay pricked for exchanges in the background.

"Our Noxian warmason," Silco says. "Is he enjoying the scenery?"

She nods. "He visit the Vyx. I service him with another girl."

"Serviced. Anything of interest to share?"

"He write a letter."

"To?"

"His wife. To tell her he will be… be away."

"Why to his wife of all people?"

"She is... she is... Wie sagt man schwanger?"

"Pregnant."

"She is pregnant. He will be a father. Five years."

"Months."

"Month bedeutet Monat?"

"Hm."

"Oh, das ist leicht zu merken." She smiles a little. "He will be a father. Five months. So he write a letter in Efric. He write second letter in Va-Nox, with address to Piltover."

"Where in Piltover?"

"Bluewind Court."

"Their diplomatic quarters?" Silco muses. "Interesting."

"I made copy of both letters. I already gave to Lock."

Satisfied, Silco nods. The plan is in motion. The variables are volatile, but their motivations are predictable. In that predictability, Silco can employ safeguards.

And for the rest?

Wildcards.

Coyly, Maven whispers, "Soll ich den Jungen wecken?"

Silco glances back at the doorway. The boy lays still, framed by the oblong glow from the bedroom lanterns.

Silco's smile shows the barest bite.

"Noch lebt?" he calls out.

The boy shudders. His eye, red-rimmed, peeps out from a disorder of curls. Silco brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, but never removes his own his eye off the boy's. Watches the flush creep up his face, a rising tide of adrenaline.

He's always relished the effect his mismatched stare has. How it can turn a burly swain into a jellified mannequin.

Hoarsely, the boy says, "What—what d'you want?"

"You. At my own time."

The boy is too petrified to move. None of the Eye of Zaun's playthings are under illusions of his compassionate nature. But they are paid to take him as he is—a monster with a penchant for pain.

Silco snaps his fingers. Reflexively, the boy jerks to his feet.

He crosses over, with an inebriated side-to side that echoes the Maven's stagger. Silco smiles grimly. He's had them both every way to Sunday, but his body's no musket. He's got a spare round left. Blame a three-week deficit paired with the side-effects of the new Shimmer-strain.

He'll reload, discharge, and get back to work.

That's another reason the Laguna Lounge is convenient. His toys are delivered ribbon-wrapped to his doorstep. His crew stand guard outside. They escort the guests in and out at a moment's notice.

No imposters stealing in. No assassins sneaking out.

His office at the Last Drop was less ideal for assignations. Especially with Jinx skulking in the rafters. Or hiding under his desk. Or stealing into his closet.

His child was naturally gifted at spy games. Silco's lessons had perfected the rest. The problem was that once Jinx became adept at spying, she weaponized it for her own ends. During wharfside negotiations with rival gangs, she'd creep along the rooftops to eavesdrop. During his meetings with Marcus, she'd hang from the rafters. During her Night Stalker phases, she'd even pounce on unsuspecting guests in the VIP lounges.

It could be quite inconvenient, as when someone would lean in to speak with Silco—only to leap away in a shrieking apoplexy when sludge dripped from the vents to splatter their heads, while a disembodied voice boomed—"Keep your cooties to yourself!"

Sevika branded Jinx a possessive freak. Silco begs to differ.

Deep down, his child is a sensitive little body. Vi's abandonment left her fearful of a reprise. In the early days, Silco had to finesse his way around Jinx's moods before even contemplating a block of uninterrupted adult-time. He still remembers the first—and only—time she'd caught him in bed with one of his whores. Eleven years old and honing her skills at sneaking about (the girl crept like a phantom!) to pop up at his door with a cry of "Boo!"

When she realized what she'd stumbled upon, her face cycled through a dozen shades of scarlet.

The Psychickers call it The Primal Scene.

Silco calls it a bloody nuisance.

Girding his hips with a sheet, he'd primly escorted Jinx to her own room. In the morning, he'd found her cross-legged with a pile of trinkets. She'd X'd out all of their eyes with tape, and refused to meet Silco's own. It was mystifying. She wasn't an ignoramus—by eleven most sumpsnipes knew all about the bats and bees.

So why was she so silent?

Later, Silco heard that someone had dumped a bucket of corrosive chemicals on the whore. The boy leapt out of the way—barely. His hair was badly scalded. On the rooftop, the perpetrator had left a calling card. A monkey-face spray-painted in neon green.

Jinx never hid her handiwork.

Sevika told Silco to punish the brat by lopping her hair off. She needed to be taught that actions had consequences. Except there seemed no bigger consequence than Jinx herself. Later that day, Silco found her in their quarters, gripped by a fit. That was the only way to describe it—a fit. Mother had them from time to time. Her eyes would darken into black-noise. She'd start throwing books and glasses and candles. She wouldn't speak except in garbled shrieks.

In those moments, she was a stranger. Nobody Silco knew at all.

Jinx's fit was different. A dirge of despair so pure it couldn't survive except as rage. A rage so familiar it was like a cracked mirror. A reflection of all Silco’s old cuts. She didn't respond when he called her name. She threw toys and trinkets helter-skelter. She thrashed and snarled when he grabbed her. Her sharp little teeth sank into his wrist.

Flesh wasn't enough. She'd needed to taste blood.

It took hours to calm her down. She'd wept and babbled and wept, before subsiding into exhaustion. In the morning, Silco opted to stay at their quarters. He'd made Jinx's favorite confetti-sprinkled waffles. Handled her gently, using soothing tones. At last, between cheerless bites of breakfast, Jinx had at first evaded, then equivocated, then yielded the truth.

Was she frightened by what she'd walked in on last night? Nope. Upset? Ummm... maybe. Why? 'Cause Vander never had anyone over. Correction, child. Vander had plenty of boys and girls over. They just handled their business in the ginnel. Well—why do you have boys over? Grown-ups have needs. I'll be grown up soon. So you will. So you won't need more friends, right? My lovely, you misunderstand... Will you leave me? Why would I do that? 'Cause he slept there. Slept where? My Safe Spot.

Jinx's Safe Spot.

The three-quarters of mattress Silco had allotted for her nightmares.

Oh, Silco realized.

She'd had a bad dream, and he wasn't there. She'd wanted comfort, and he'd shut her out. An unfamiliar emotion—remorse?—curdled his gut.

Under a gentle palm, Silco smoothed her hair.

That spot is yours, he said. For as long as you want it.

And you—?

Me? A bittersweet smile touched his lips. Always.

Jinx pounced tearfully into his arms. But he still remembers the look on her face. The dread that he'd turn her away. Abandon her altogether. To Silco it verged on unthinkable. Yet it was also a reminder of Jinx's fragility. Like all fragilities, it must be handled with care.

Afterward, he'd never allowed a stranger into his and Jinx's quarters again.

So: yes.

The Laguna Lounge is convenient.

Nearly as convenient as the tub, large enough for four heat-slicked bodies. Nearly as convenient as the buoyancy of mass in water; effortlessly malleable. Nearly as convenient as the soundproofed tiles, absorbing the reverberations of the boy's and girl's cries.

Water sloshes everywhere. Their shapes are joined in a twisting chimera. The boy is trapped between Silco and Sevika. Two dark bookends with his body like a pale parenthesis in between. Silco grips him back-to-front, shoving slowly up the boy's ass. It's a doddle: a lubricated sheath, and he is already nicely loosened up.

Silco isn't particularly gentle about it. Just steady. The boy begs and bleats through every inch of it. His spasming shoulderblades cut into Silco's chest. Hips jerking forward, grinding back, again and again. Meanwhile, the Maven guides the boy's pretty wrapped prick between Sevika's splayed thighs. It's only sporting. All evening Silco left it untouched, even as it stood stiffly upright against its owner's belly. Twice, it had splattered the sheets with spunk from everything Silco was subjecting him to—ever the bridesmaid; never the bride.

Now its patience has paid off.

Silco feels the moment Sevika takes the boy in—a subvocal tremor through his chest and out of her mouth. Bracing her strong elbows against his shoulders, she rolls her hips, a hypnotic sway. She knows exactly how to move, how to match the changing rhythm. A born fighter; just one syllable short of a natural dancer. Meanwhile the Maven displays her specialty, slithering frictionlessly in between bodies, soft fingers here, softer tongue there. Everything she does is slow, deliberate, exquisite. Eager to earn her tip.

That's another reason Silco keeps her around.

Lazily, he withdraws, all that hot flesh slipsliding, only the flared head clutched by the taut ring of muscle. The boy makes a begging sound, swaying backwards instead of forwards—and Silco knows he has him. He slams back in, a snapping swivel that makes the poor bastard shudder all over, mouth loosing delirious croons.

The rhythm is all Silco's now. He rides into the boy from behind with rapid, brutal, merciless thrusts—every upstroke shoving the boy's cock deeper into Sevika, knocking sharp cries from both their throats, a jittery tenor to a jarred contralto. They are each in a zone of single-minded greed now. The boy scrabbles frantically at the tub's surface, bracing himself. Sevika grinds back against him without mercy, taking what she needs. She is rigid from top to toe, a dark flush blotching her skin, hands clutching at the boy's shoulders, before reaching across to reflexively pluck at Silco's.

Silco shoves in deeper—the boy howls—and reels Sevika in by a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck. Again, they don’t kiss. He bites her throat, gnaws the humid crook where her pulse throbs. Between them, the boy is already starting to spend, with breathy helpless sounds like a virgin overcome.

Not that Silco gives a toss either way. He redoubles his thrusts. Slick skin on skin, the boy's crucified body just a proxy now. A meat puppet dragged along for the ride. Grunting with frustration, Sevika rocks against the softening heft of the boy’s cock. He’s finished, Silco is nearly there, but her own body is lagging behind. On a rare impulse of generosity, Silco reaches around the boy's torso and wedges a hand between her thighs. Her clit pulses between his pinching fingers. Her thighs spasm; she comes with a sharp oversensitized snarl.

A moment later Silco yanks the Maven in, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She shrieks, the boy sobs—and Silco seizes up and spills.

Afterward, the whores lay sprawled like corpses in the tub. Their pretty faces are glassy-eyed; pretty bodies splay-limbed. The bite-marks turn the bathwater a delicate pink. Neither one is good as dead. But they are no longer good for much.

Idly, Silco gestures for a towel. Sevika obeys. Climbing out, he dries off, the water streaming off him. His movements are insouciant despite his nudity. Snipers in the shadows; assassins in the corners—these are seldom his preoccupations.

The deadliest killers lurk in plain sight.

Humming, Sevika comes out behind him. Devil’s Got the Blues. She still has license to touch him—but she won't. Once the games are done, they both expect permission for such things, unspoken but stark.

Instead, she relights his half-smoked cigarette, passing it over. Taking a lungful, Silco exhales a satisfied stream.

"Well done."

It's shorthand for: Get them out.

Fully-dressed, Sevika oversees the whores' departure. She rarely considers these tasks any different from patrolling the streets. Something done for the maintenance of order. Part of her role as XO. If she harbors any further complexity of judgement, Silco has never witnessed it.

And Silco, who has entirely too much complexity in his life, approves.

The Maven is seen off with an affectionate pat to the arse. Giggling, she kisses Sevika's cheek, then imparts a more respectful nod to Silco. His crew will keep him apprised on her progress with the warmasons.

Before the boy can follow her out, Sevika stops him.

"What now?" he asks, almost a whine.

Sevika replies, "The Boss wanted to tip you extra."

A glint of greed enters the boy's stare. Even without past misadventure to disqualify him, this barefaced show of self-interest is enough to pass the sentence.

In the corner, Silco snaps his fingers.

On Pavlovian reflex, the boy turns. The moment he does, Sevika seizes his arm, yanks it taut, and snaps. Howling, the boy drops to his knees.

Silco, calmly dressing, and preoccupied with locating a missing cufflink, spares the barest glance.

"Remind me," he says to Sevika, "what spoils a good fuck?"

"Dying," Sevika replies.

"And what's the reward for disloyalty."

"Dying," Sevika repeats, and gives the boy's arm a vicious twist.

He screams, a high keening wail.

Silco crooks a finger. Sevika desists.

Half-dressed—red shirt, black trousers—Silco threads gold cufflinks through the buttonholes. There is no anger in his movements, but that means nothing. The monster has stirred awake. It inhabits every lineament of Silco’s frame. It is in his body-language; slow, measured, precise. In his voice; the smoothness abraded down to a slither. In his eyes; with their dark gleam of ruminant bloodlust.

As he said—flesh isn't enough. He needs to taste blood.

"You," Silco says, "were skulking at the outpost near my suite yesterday."

"I-I was just—"

"Spying for someone. Your camera obscura is in our custody."

The boy's breath hitches. The exact sound he makes whenever Silco grips him by the bollocks.

"Can you say it?" Silco’s voice holds the softness of bloodstained velvet. "Can you give the name of the one who bribed you?"

“I—”

“Because I think you should say her name first. It makes matters simpler. Don’t you agree?"

Defeated, the boy says, "M-Margot."

“Dear Margot. What’s got her so curious about my private affairs?"

The boy swallows. His eyes pass over Silco's face, like fingertips tracing for seams in an impenetrable mask. There are none.

He dares, "Jinx."

The silence stretches tight as a noose.

Hastily, the boy says, "Margot and the—the chem-barons want to know her whereabouts. So do folks on the streets. They say—"

"Hm?"

A tiny vein beats at the side of the boy's neck. "They say she's dead. You hid her bones."

"To pick my teeth with?"

"In exchange for—for the Hex-gem."

Silco trades a glance with Sevika. Her expression shows disgust but no shock. Caught up in these infernal games with Piltover, Silco’s attention toward his inner-circle has been remiss. Now they're creeping in from the corners, eager for gaps in his armor. That's the trouble with politics. Every moment one faces a forked road; a choice between two theoretical extremes of risk.

Meanwhile, the real nuisances are closest to home.

In the mirror, Silco arranges his hair, slicking it back with pomade before shaping it with a comb. The routine task is a backdrop for black plans. When he's done, he resembles any well-heeled Topsider ready for a night out in town. Not that a Topsider could so much as knot his own cravat, let alone dress in a half-minute without a manservant's assistance.

Silco is no Topsider. Not even a pale imitation.

Zaun plays by different rules.

One-handed, Silco gestures. Sevika's blade juts out from her prosthetic arm, a glowing-hot flash. Before the boy can react, it cuts a lightning arc across his throat. There is a sound not unlike butter on a hot skillet. A gaping slash appears across the boy's throat. The torn edges sizzle.

His eyes widen in shock. Then they glaze over, and he slumps. Blood oozes from the gash. Not much. Sevika's blade was so superheated it cauterized the wound. She knows Silco's distaste for messes.

Pity the chem-barons missed the memo.

Sevika grabs a handful of tissues from a box on the sink. Kneeling, she wads them into the boy's seeping throat. Then she seizes him under the armpits and drags him away. Outside, Lock is waiting with a body-bag. The corpse will be delivered back to the Vyx—and straight to Margot's doorstep.

No shorthand necessary. The chem-barons will get the message.

Stay away from Jinx.

Jinx—who is asleep in Silco’s suite.

Nestled under the blanket, she is radiant in repose, girlish and soft-looking. In the old days, lamplit, she used to put Silco in mind of the Celestials from old myth. Real flesh; warm and living. And yet somehow otherworldly too.

Without sound, Silco glides past the bed and lays his silver smoking case on the dresser. He snaps it open, clicks the hidden compartment, and stares spellbound. Blue fractals of light suffuse the ambient dark. The Hex-gem glows like a stolen comet.

Glows like Jinx.

She's won him a nation—and this gem was merely a means to that end. The prism to channel the mad colors of Jinx's pure rage, and set Piltover ablaze. As if Jinx herself is the spark of magic; the gem only amplifies her power.

Power.

The word is Zaun's lifeblood, and Silco possesses it. Destruction incarnate. Beauty inviolate.

He holds it in his palms. And it thrills him.

Terrifies him.

Because when absolute power manifests, there are no ifs or Buts. It is all or nothing. That's why Piltover is eyeing up his affairs, while the chem-barons sniff after his secrets. That's why Noxus is angling for alliances in the guise of conquest. Same as Bilgewater. Same as Ionia. Same as every other bastard vying for a piece of the pie.

With two fingers, Silco rubs the skin at his left temple. His bad eye burns like fire.

Like rage.

A kingpin's throne isn't won with mercy. It is seized with savagery—in deed and reputation. For years, Silco has fed both with fresh blood. He is adept at playing his enemies, and preying on what they hold dear. In the Promenade, jukebox musicals play Mack the Knife to allude to his ruthless rise to the top. In the Sumps, they don't sing at all; they whisper from firsthand accounts.

He's never concerned himself with going too far. The essence of power is going further than anyone else dares.

Politics is different. One's sway must be more diffuse. For that, it's critical to keep a finger on the delicate pulse of his city. Silco's cadre of spies—tarts, pickpockets, hustlers—play a vital role.

But they aren't the crux of his success.

That is Jinx.

To Piltover, she is the catalyst of carnage. To Silco's network, a tool for chaos. But for Silco, she's been a prophetmaker. The girl who broke his empire, then resurrected it. Whose genius cracked the code of magic; whose artistry unlocked the secret of warfare.

She'd made the Eye of Zaun as much as he'd made her.

Same way she'd remade Zaun—from a slag-heap into a metropolis. Once, the Undercity’s social psyche was one of self-defeatist apathy. Chem-barons ruled the roost while Enforcers wielded the bullet, leaving the ordinary Fissurefolk in the cold. Their homes were cramped, their lives short. They scraped together enough coin to buy themselves a bell or two of relief each night. Some sold tools and trinkets. Others sold themselves. But each one coveted the rarest commodity of all: change.

Jinx is change.

For the commoners, she embodies decades of pent-up emotion run rampant. With every bomb, she knocked Piltover's pride down a peg. She unleashed hell above, and they cheered her to high heaven below. In the taverns, chem-punks even composed Get Jinxed with all the pathos of an anthem.

Jinx wasn't a hero so much as a daredevil. And they adored her for it.

Now Zaun is free.

And Jinx has vanished.

Silco has no right to mourn with the masses. And yet he does. Because Jinx isn't gone—and yet she remains so altered in herself, so discombobulated by everything she's endured. Almost six months, and Silco still isn't certain whether she is floating towards recovery, or going deeper around the bend.

Since Zaun's birth, she's gone from loose cannon to loose end in a single agonizing blast.

He stares at himself in the dresser mirror. His good eye is a black hole, the bad one a red pit glowing balefully. She's won him a nation—and broken herself in the bargain. Now Silco must keep his own end. Keep her safe. Safe from Vi, from Piltover, from the threats looming and the nuisances swarming.

Safe from herself?

"Silco?"

When he turns, Jinx has shifted up on one elbow. Neon beams slant from the blinds. Her heavy-lidded eyes hold a feline gloss. A pang goes through Silco. A night spent scheming, and yet the moment he enters the suite, his senses are so full of Jinx that he filters out almost everything else. As if the world, inside and outside, goes mute.

Sanctuary in the eye of chaos.

"Sssh," he soothes. "Go back to sleep."

Her gaze flickers from the smoking case to him. "Where’ve ya been?"

It is as if she knows.

(The Bilgewater dogfight to threaten Vi.)

(The Piltover yacht to bargain with Medarda.)

(The Laguna Lounge to sodomize a pair of whores.)

"Nowhere in particular."

"You smell like a cathouse."

As if she truly knows.

Except—no. It's just Jinx being Jinx. Irreverent, brash, bratty: a collection of volatile impulses distilled down into a fierce purity of heart. She's never, Silco thinks, known a moment's vice in her entire life. Even with blood on her hands. Her every desire is hers, and burns purer than any magic.

Whereas Silco is all vice. All secrets, shadows, scars.

All for her.

He smiles, barely. "How, child, are you so familiar with Eau de Cathouse?"

"Pffft. Like I've never been hit over the head with a fancy cologne bottle." She stares for another second, scrubbing the hair back from her slit-eyed face. Then as if she's flipped a switch, suddenly she is leaning forward, holding her arms out, hands starfished.

"Stay?" she whispers.

Silco hesitates. He is too wired to lay down. Dawn is creeping against a skyline whose contours shimmer. Zaun beckons. So much business left undone. Scores in need of settling and ledgers in need of balancing.

But Jinx...

She needs only him.

Without quite meaning to, Silco removes his coat and stretches out slowly on the bed next to her. Sighing, Jinx nestles closer. Foreheads together; fingers entwined. Her warmth spills like water into the parched dryness of his body. In the mattress's declivity, their shapes meld together.

"Stay," Jinx whispers.

"Always," he whispers back.

By degrees, Jinx drowses off. Her arm holds him in place; her breath makes a moist hot patch across the curve of his throat. On his feet, a touch that triggers nothing but a violent reflex. Here, it’s the most soothing sensation he's yet known. The only one he needs.

His and Jinx's Safe Spot.

Home.

It’s where he’s happiest in the end.

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