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juniper-sunny · 1 year

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A Knight to Remember - Part 1

Medieval AU | Knight!Silco | Silco x Female!Reader | No (Y/N) | Romance | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff || SFW | WC: 5.50k | art by @designfailure56 (full piece here)

ao3 | betas: @deny-the-issue @silcoitus <3

A mysterious stranger is sworn into your retinue as your own personal guard. You have no need for his service, and he seems less than eager to take on his new duties. But he soon endears himself to you in ways you are not prepared for— only for you to surprise him as well…

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests @ilikemymendarkandfictional @ursawastricked @quirkykaty @let-the-monster-out @ariaud

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The rumors came first, that a stranger was to join your household staff for the first time in nearly a decade. A peculiar occurrence in and of itself, as all of your servants came from families that had served yours for generations. Stranger still how he was assigned to be your personal guard when your lord father had previously seen no need for you to have one.

Your mother came upon this man in a rather unfortunate circumstance. On her twice-annual voyages abroad, her retinue had been beset by bandits on her journey home. At first she thought the man one of the bandits until he turned his own sword upon them. Her companions emerged from the struggle with minor injuries and your lady mother herself was entirely unscathed, not shaken with fear but exhilarated by the battle. It was with great enthusiasm, then, that she requested the stranger come to your home so she could properly reward him. As thankful as your father was for the intervention, it triggered an overreaction in him: you and your mother were forbidden from leaving his lands until he deemed it safe, and your new guard was to accompany you everywhere apart from your personal quarters and the washroom.

It was with great reluctance and resentment that you attended the stranger’s swearing, a sentiment you had expressed in no mild terms to your father. After all, your preference was to leave and join your elder brother on his travels. Your father regretfully and kindly acknowledged your frustration, but his word was firm: you were to accept the man’s service as if it were a souvenir from your mother, equivalent to a new scroll or dress. As if it were adequate recompense for being forced to stay home.

Still, you could not help but observe the man with curiosity. He was tall, dark-haired, and slender, carrying himself with a noble dignity more befitting a lord than an attendant. Armored with a severe and solemn manner that made you feel like you should be bowing to him instead of the other way around. His posture was ramrod straight even as he went to his knees, his eyes lowered to the ground as he raised his chipped, battle-worn sword for you to touch. Despite its appearance, the blade was cold and sharp underneath your fingers, as piercing as the look he gave you with his singular, uncovered eye. Turned upon you as he pledged his sword to you.

“Silco,” you declared his name for him and witnesses to hear. A strange name to be sure, the first sibilant syllable flowing smoothly into the next, unhindered by the tip of your tongue touching the back of your teeth. He stared at you throughout his rehearsed speech, swearing himself into service. It was only your training in genteel conduct that enabled you to return his gaze, sure that he could sense how uncomfortable you were with his silent appraisal of you.

After all the pomp and circumstance, your daily life continued mostly unchanged. He was a quiet shadow who escorted your every step. Your attempts to make him feel welcome and become better acquainted were politely but undeniably rebuffed with his short, avoidant answers. Soon the novelty of introducing him to your other attendants wore off, their attempts at engaging you in gossip buffeted by your genuine ignorance of his character, notwithstanding what your lord and lady parents had already shared with everyone.

(Your maids’ hushed giggles at his supposed good looks were especially bewildering, what with his large eyepatch covering almost the entire left side of his face. Perhaps they could glean his handsomeness from what little was visible— a long, distinctively pointed nose; sharply slanted high cheekbones; lined scars carved from his temple to the edges of his thin lips— but any attraction to him was beyond your own reckoning.)

So you ended your attempts at engaging him, speaking to him solely to wish him “good morning” or “good night”, or inform him of your intended plans for the day. He acknowledged all of these with impassive expressions and minute nods.

He navigated the corridors of your home with ease, but the first true test of his capabilities was escorting you through your father’s lands, through crowds of commonfolk and the cluttered arrangement of edifices. You dismissed your father’s concerns that assassins were lying in wait and resumed your thrice-weekly ventures into town. If you were to be caged to his estate, you refused to be confined to your father’s hall. At least the fresh air and sunshine still tasted of freedom.

The knight kept two paces behind you, closer to you than your other attendants who followed at five. You tried to ignore how claustrophobic his proximity made you feel, focusing instead on your usual duties of greeting the townspeople. Only acknowledging his presence when courtesy demanded you provide introductions before turning your back on him entirely. He watched you with a bored but observant eye as you conversed with others. Listening indifferently as you comforted a farmer’s worries about his harvest, gave a tonic to a woman whose husband was sick with fever, or offered honeyed candies to children who hailed you. His lips thinned with some indiscernible emotion when you freely offered silver to a young bride-to-be as a wedding present, but he voiced no remark on it.

All of these passed on the way to your first proper destination of the day, the town blacksmith. As you approached the smithy, you asked the knight a direct question for the first time in so many days.

“Did my father offer to have your sword repaired? Or are you to receive a replacement?” you inquired politely.

“He said that I am to receive a newly forged sword,” Silco said nonchalantly.

“Then perhaps it should please you to meet the blacksmith Talis; he will be responsible for crafting it,” you offered, greeting the artisan in question with a smile as your party arrived at his station. The two men exchanged pleasantries, and for the first time, the knight’s eye lit with feeling, albeit a subtle one: curiosity at what the craftsman was capable of, shining through while he studied the small armory critically.

Talis allowed the knight to handle a sword. The weapon was of an average caliber, a well-used short blade meant more for a soldier’s training than actual battle. Still, he examined it carefully, holding the blade close to observe the quality of the metalwork. It seemed to pass muster, as he next held it in a strong grip, passing it easily from one hand to the other. He handled it gracefully, slow thrusts and circular spins painting a hypnotic dance in the air, not a tool but an extension of his own body. It did satisfy you to see the knight return the weapon and offer his sincere gratitude to the smith, departing with a handshake and a tiny, upward quirk of his lips.

“Thank you,” he said to you, infused with a modicum of warmth. You would have liked to respond with a chuckle, but you restrained yourself.

“It was my pleasure—” the clamoring of church bells interrupted you, a sonorous rally calling everyone to daily prayers. Your party joined the slow surge of peoples making their way towards the church. Deep breaths helped calm you as swarms of bodies pressed in around you, meaningless chatter and thundering footsteps on the stone floor reverberating into an almost overwhelming cacophony.

After entering the church, you peered between heads and shoulders, seeking out the priest. It excited you to see Father Hoskel, one of your favorites. You peeled away on your own, heading straight to him while your retainers looked for seats in the pews. As you hoped, the knight chose not to sit with the congregation but stationed himself next to the only exit, his gaze following you dutifully as you reached the priest.

“Good day, child,” Hoskel received you with a mischievous smirk. Casually stepping aside as you walked around the pulpit to stand in front of him. Maneuvering himself so his back was to the room, his plump form shielding you from view.

“Good day, Father,” you replied cordially. Smiling as you clasped his wrinkled hands in yours, surreptitiously slipping a coin of silver into his grasp. “I trust that all is well with the church and your health?”

“All the better for having seen you today,” he beamed at you. Squeezing your hands in appreciation as he clumsily palmed the coin, tucking it into a pocket inside his habit.

Continuing to chat about insignificant matters, your own impatience rose as the other churchgoers settled down. As their movements quieted, you bade farewell to the priest and left him, not heading back into the aisles but out a backdoor used only by the clergy, your exit concealed by the priest swishing his voluminous robe.

You were careful to keep your steps quick but quiet, exercising the utmost caution lest a careless echo gave away your escape. When you left the church threshold back outside where paved stone met dirt, exhilaration mounted in your heart. A deep breath of fresh air reinvigorated you as you turned towards the woods and hurried—

“Are you not meant to join the others in prayer?” a low, smooth tenor of a voice materialized behind you, startling you. It was the knight, standing formally straight, his hands clasped behind his back in bored ceremony. Questioning you condescendingly as if he were a nursemaid guiding a forgetful child.

Of all the people to be caught by, the knight was perhaps the least desirable one. You hid your irritation with a bright tone, “I prefer to meditate in private, in quiet contemplation where I might not be disturbed by others.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. But when you continued your way out of town, he persisted in following you. His footsteps were so silent, you were only alerted to his presence when an instinct nagged you to look over your shoulder.

“My apologies for not making myself clearer,” you faced him with gritted teeth bared in a false smile, still walking at a brisk pace. “I will offer my prayers in solitary contemplation.”

“Surely the church has a quiet vestry available for use,” he pointed out. “Will your prayers be heard in the woods?”

“Is nature not a part of God’s domain? He shall hear me no matter where I pray.”

“So why pray in the woods and not the church if they are one and the same?” he countered.

You huffed in annoyance, coming to a halt. He stopped as well, and his perfect imitation of your trajectory only served to provoke you even further.

“Please tell me, sir knight, do you answer to my father or myself?” you asked.

“Your father pays me with his silver but I am entirely at your disposal,” he answered with a small smirk, seemingly finding amusement in your exasperation.

“Then I would have you dispose yourself of my company and return to the church.”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” he said. “Your father’s orders were to never leave your side and they supersede your own.”

Does he only offer half his loyalty because he is in possession of only half a brain? You bit your tongue, holding back the retort. “What else did my father command of you?”

“To keep you safe from harm.”

“I assure you, there are no dangers in these woods. He has not compelled you to report on my every movement?”

“No. He will allow you a certain measure of privacy.”

“If you take my silver, would that ensure your obedience to my request?” You flipped him a coin, which flew in the air towards his face before he caught it with a smooth, lazy sweep of his hand.

“Yes.”

“Then I ask that you keep your silence around my father regarding this outing,” you told him curtly, turning briskly on your heel to stride into the forest.

“As you wish, my lady,” he said mockingly.

His unpleasant attitude normally would have chafed you, but it was overshadowed by your delight at his concession. You resumed your journey at a near-sprint, determined to make up for wasted time. A part of you hoped to outpace the knight but he matched your haste with seemingly no effort on his part, his long legs easily keeping up with your smaller stride.

Neither of you made any further attempts at conversation. Your footsteps crunched dead leaves on the forest floor, seemingly amplified by the tension between you. It was entirely one-sided on your part, as you came to the gradual understanding that the knight was merely attempting to adhere to his duties in following you. You might have offered him an apology for your terseness, but there was the thought that he might be annoying you on purpose. After all, he did speak with a humor that was lost on you. If he took some enjoyment out of your sour mood it made you less inclined to ask for forgiveness.

The foliage gave way to wild stones, small pebbles rolling underfoot before lodging into the muddy ground. You were careful to lift the skirts of your dress out of a puddle. Mud sloped downwards into larger, blocky stones bordering a deep lake of clear cold water, shards of sunlight dancing on the surface ripples. An osprey shot down from the sky, diving and reemerging with a struggling fish in its talons.

You sighed as you perched on an especially large rock on the edge of the lake, letting your feet dangle above the water. If you were a free woman you would have liked to go swimming. As it were, stripping all the layers of your clothing would have been too much of a nuisance and you would have no way of drying yourself off. Returning home with your couture soaking wet would disappoint your lady mother and perhaps convince her to forbid any future excursions. But you could enjoy the view, a quiet forest oasis at the end of a river.

“What is your homeland like, sir knight?” you asked by way of making polite conversation. You turned around, expecting to see him standing behind you. It surprised you to find him standing quite a distance away from the riverbank, much too far to have heard your question. He seemed to have shrunken in on himself, not standing with his usual impeccable posture but hunched inwards, arms crossed and hands fisting his sleeves. His eye darted around erratically, looking at the ground, the sky, the trees… anywhere but the water.

You frowned and hopped down from your seat, carefully stepping between stones as you walked towards the knight, calling out to him, “Is something wrong?”

“There was a bear,” he mutters. “We should leave before it returns.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away without another word. Perplexed, you hurried to follow in his wake. You had never seen a bear in this part of the forest, a fact you keenly wanted to point out to him. As upsetting as it was to have your time in nature cut short, the knight was clearly troubled by… something. The exact nature of it was unknown to you, but he seemed to believe that it was in the woods. So determined he was to make his escape that he was indifferent to you lagging behind him, struggling to keep up with his quickened pace.

It was all for the better that the two of you left when you did; you passed the church just as the townsfolk were exiting it, allowing you to mingle in the exodus. No one was any the wiser that you had not attended the sermon. By the time you reunited with your entourage, the knight had regained his stoic composure, giving no indication that he had been so unduly disturbed. You had no opportunity to privately ask if he was well until later that evening when you were about to prepare for sleep. He outright ignored your inquiry— which he had never done before— and instead wished you a perfunctory goodnight.

It was another fortnight until Father Hoskel hosted daily prayers again. Seeing as he was the only priest who allowed you to bribe him and sneak away, you were quite ready for some much-needed alone time.

Well, almost entirely alone— except for the knight.

“Worry not, sir knight,” you addressed him dryly, as the two of you once again traveled into the woods. “I shall not be heading for the river today. Who knows if another bear will arrive to disturb the peace?”

The remark was meant as a weak joke, so it surprised you to hear the knight let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief through slightly parted lips. His tightened, white-knuckled fist released from the hilt of his new sword to drift to his side, loose and relaxed. A curious reaction indeed… but you steered in a direction away from the river, onto a less traveled but still familiar path. It was a longer route, headed southwest instead of east, a carpet of fallen leaves growing ever thicker as you ventured deeper into the forest. Placing your hands on the thin birch trees, flecked with spots and stripes of dark wood underneath their ivory bark, rough and bumpy to the touch. The knight eased his way between them as if they were living creatures who parted to make room for him, such was the grace with which he carried himself.

You arrived at a clearing, a grassy meadow of wildflowers surrounded by a half-circle of trees. Skinny green stems ending in dotted blossoms of yellow, orange, pink, and purple, stretched towards the sky to soak up the sparse autumn sun. You would miss them dearly when they succumbed to the winter frost. For now, you watched a lone bumblebee alight on a golden coneflower, crawling onto a petal toward its seeded heart.

If you had been alone you would have plopped down onto your back, the grass tickling your ears as you studied the sky, framed by flower stems in your periphery. But in your present company, that would be unbecoming conduct of a lady.

As you slowly sank to your knees, you tossed a coin in the knight’s direction. You had hoped to catch him unawares but he snatched it out of the air, rolling it over his knuckles before pocketing it.

“Payment for your continued silence and protection, sir knight. The bumblebees can pose quite a danger to a helpless maiden such as I,” you chuckled. He made no response, but you could swear the end of his lips twitched upward before sliding back into place, a downward tilted line bordering on a frown. As the bee flew towards your face, you held up a finger for it. The insect landed on your knuckle. Its face was cute, with large shiny black eyes surrounded by equally dark fuzz. Just as quickly as it landed, it buzzed away, sunlight shining through the delicate webbing on its wings.

“Winter will soon be upon us,” you said idly. “I hope to return to the river by then, as the bears will be in hibernation. It will be safe to visit.”

“Bears are unpredictable creatures. Surely you know of safer hideaways than the river,” a scowl briefly flitted across his face before it disappeared, but the notch between his eyebrows deepened, harsh enough to be seen under the strap of his eyepatch.

“The riverside is my favorite,” you said quietly, unable to keep the wistfulness from your voice. “There is peace in water.”

“Water is not peaceful,” he snarled. The vitriol in his voice startled you, his composure melting in the heat of his anger, radiating out and poisoning the air. The flowers leaned away in the wind as if they were frightened of him. “You play in the woods with such ignorance, knowing nothing of the dangers of the world.”

“I will not deny that you may have seen more of the world than I have, sir knight,” you said patiently. “But do not presume that you— an interloper— know more of my father’s lands than I. When I say the river is safe, it is safe. You will see the truth I speak of in time.”

He clenched his jaw, a tendon in his cheek tightening, making no effort this time to hide his grimace. Glaring at you before he turned away forcefully. But he did not disagree, as if he remembered to hold his tongue around you, the daughter of his lord.

You folded your hands in your lap, watching him closely. He seemed keen to storm off, and perhaps you would have let him. But you had seen this wild rage in a caged hound before when your brother rescued it from an abusive master. It would not let anyone approach it, threatening to bite those who came too close, unable to distinguish between those with good or malicious intent. The knight may not have barked at you with the same frothing wrath as the hound, but it was clear that he was in a similar state of distress.

“How do you bathe, sir knight?”

He swung to face you, his fury transformed into bafflement, blinking confusedly. Raised eyebrows rising above the strap of his eyepatch.

“It is a simple question,” you maintained calmly. “How do you bathe if you have such distaste for water?”

He continued staring at you before closing his eye. His posture relaxed minutely, his stiffened shoulders lowering as he exhaled a long, low sigh. Turning upwards to face the sky as he took another deep breath. This time, it was not to unleash some more barbed words but in anticipation. Steeling himself for whatever truths he was preparing to speak.

“You need not speak of your troubles if they are too painful to recall,” you added belatedly, berating yourself for your nosiness. “It is no one else’s business but your own.”

“No… I ought to tell you. I have already told your lord and lady parents of it, and it is only natural that you should come to know as well.”

You waited in patient silence as the knight swallowed apprehensively, his throat bobbing. His tongue darted out to lick his upper lip. All throughout, his gaze latched onto something far off in the distance, not quite beholding the nature around him.

“I had a brother once, not long ago,” he began slowly, voice low, spoken towards the flowers under his feet instead of you. You scooted forwards surreptitiously, keen to pick up on his words. “We were born into the lowest of poverty. Every meal we had was stolen or begged for or sometimes won with crude but necessary violence.

“I was a much weaker fighter then, an unworthy burden on my brother. But he never minded, or claimed not to mind. It was very generous of him to care for me the way he did. I would not blame him if he left to seek out his own fortune, but he stayed.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips now, but his eye remained downcast and sorrowful. Struggling not to lose himself in whatever nostalgia was left of better times. When you patted the ground next to you, he either did not notice or declined your invitation to be seated next to you.

“We had a shared dream, not of living richly but of living well. Some days it seemed more futile than others; some days we came close to dying. But through it all, we had each other. And it should have been that way until the very end…”

His eye shone, a tear on the verge of spilling out. You were loath to look away, so captivated you were by his history and display of emotion. He clearly needed comfort but you were afraid to prematurely interrupt his telling. Still, he showed no inclination to move closer to you, so lost in his memories that he seemed to forget you were there.

“We often supplemented our meager diet with fishing. I thought nothing of it when he asked me to accompany him to a river… but his intent was to kill me. If not with his knife then to drown me like a witch,” he laughed bitterly.

You stifled a gasp as your hands flew to your mouth. The horrors paralyzed you, legs frozen and rooted to the ground. Heart aching with sympathy for his pain. For there was no denying that he was in pain, and perhaps had been for as long as you had known him or even longer.

“He is the reason why I have such ‘distaste’ for water, and why I only have one good eye,” a snarl burned the edges of his voice, his mourning turning into a jagged hatred for the brother he once loved. The knight raised a hand to his face, fingers trailing over his eyepatch.

“Where is he now?”

“Dead,” he said simply, his tone of voice fell flat and sullen. “What an irony— the only fight I won on my own was against my very own brother.”

He sagged, arms rising from his sides to hold himself. Protection against whatever demons were plaguing him. The sky grayed overhead as if it mirrored the darkness consuming him.

You rose to your feet, taking a testing step forward. Not wishing to crowd the knight but to offer whatever consolation he might find in your presence.

“I— I only wish—” the knight whispered, “Why did you do it, brother…?” A soft, heartbroken plea to a dead man who would never hear him.

It was essential that your next words be spoken carefully. So you spoke, slow and quiet, attempting at compassion and not pity, “You could never be a burden, sir knight. We all must rely on others for our own needs. I am only sorry that your brother and your country could not rise to the task—”

“He was a good man,” the knight spat, the flare of his temper once again threatening to burn you. “Do not presume to speak as if you knew him.”

“He was a good man who tried to maim and kill you? Are good men forced to perform such atrocities where you come from?” you pointed out.

The knight glared at you, but you did not wither. He forcefully turned away from you again. Perhaps your queries had crossed a line, but they needed to be said. This time, there would be no getting him to look at you again.

“I am sorry,” you said again. “But it was a terrible thing he did to you that you did not deserve.”

Would that your sentiments were enough to heal his wounds… but he did not round on you again to shout. He fell to his knees, still facing away from you. A slow stumble like a column of snow collapsing under its own weight.

“Please… leave me,” the knight asked, low and brokenly.

“Do you remember the way back?”

He nodded, a miniscule motion of his head that you almost missed.

You spoke out to him one last time before departing, “I will not tell you to cease mourning your brother. Would that he loved you the way you loved him… But you deserve to live, sir knight; you are worthy of life and good health. I hope that in time, you will accept it as truth.”

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At the time, you were reluctant to tell the knight that he was excused from his duties for the rest of the day if he so wished it. As it were, he should not have been bothered with such mundane affairs amidst his suffering.

No doubt his heart was heavy enough without the additional burden of work.

When your handmaidens joined you outside the church, they inquired as to his whereabouts. You were about to tell them he had returned to his quarters, struck by a sudden illness. But the knight himself reappeared at your shoulder, so stealthily it was almost a miracle. His eye and his nose were reddened but he seemed no worse for the wear. The armor of his impenetrable composure locked back into place. In fact, he thanked you for your patience and divulged nothing further.

For the entirety of the walk back to your father’s hall, you fought the temptation to look back at the knight or pull him aside to speak to him. Such an opportunity did not arise until late into the evening when he escorted you to the staircase leading to your private chambers.

“Sir knight,” you addressed him. He had steered his gaze away from you all day. It was a customary standoffish practice you were familiar with, but he seemed to do it today out of embarrassment for his earlier display of emotion. A man like the knight would have seen it as weakness and preferred that you did not speak of it again.

But you were determined to help him in whatever way he would accept.

“Yes?” he said formally.

“We may part company tomorrow if you wish,” you offered. “An ailment of the heart should be tended to the same as any other sickness, with rest and recuperation.”

He blinked at you, puzzled. Opening his mouth to speak before he cleared his throat, “There’s no need. I will be fully capable of attending to you.”

“Be that as it may, the day is yours to do with as you please. Rest well, sir knight.”

“…rest well, my lady,” he said slowly. Returning your nod with a lower bow of his head.

The knight did not attend to you the next day, sending word of how he felt unwell. You felt sorrow for his pain but were a little gladdened that he was taking the time to grieve. It was unlikely that he would heal overnight from the wounds his brother inflicted, but with time, you were hopeful that the pain would become less overwhelming.

You did not breach the topic of his past again, but on your future outings you were keen to avoid the river. Showing him other places that you liked to visit, more determined than ever to make him feel at home in your father’s lands.

The meadow was home to your favorite bloom, the purple coneflower, with a heart of dark orange and warm pinkish-purple petals, long and straight, a plain beauty but still pleasing to the eye. As a child, you liked to pick them to sneak into your room. But they were hard to preserve as they often got squashed in the small pockets of your dress. At your current age, you were happy to observe them in nature in all their wild glory.

Farther into the woods, there were rings of mushrooms where the air hung still and quiet, with a fog that never seemed to disappear even on the sunniest of days, and no birds dared to sing. The less godly peasants whispered of fae that would snatch away any person who dared disrupt the circles. The clergy heartily disavowed such tales as frivolous. Still, it brought you great amusement to speculate if such otherworldly creatures were real. The knight himself could not be bothered to form an opinion on the matter, but you noticed him keeping his distance from the mushrooms.

To the east of the mushrooms was a wild apple orchard. They dotted both the ground and branches with yellow and red, so ripe and ready to fall without needing to be plucked. You polished one with your sleeve, glad to not be in the company of a handmaiden who would scold you for your indelicate manner. When you encouraged the knight to partake in a fruit, it surprised you that he obliged. He reacted swiftly when you shrieked. But it was only a green worm that alarmed you, skinny and wriggling on the skin of an apple you held.

It was hard to gauge which sites he liked the best, or if he liked them at all. His impassivity never changed. The only exception was when he smiled at the fright the insect gave you. Still, his manner towards you did seem warmer, his voice less frostbitten when he greeted you at dawn’s beginning and dusk’s end.

The times were peaceful, much to your satisfaction. It was proof that your father’s fears were uncalled for. But more importantly, the knight needed peace. His homeland was the sort of place where people could not sleep soundly, but had to guard themselves with one eye open and a knife under their pillow. Your family’s estate was much safer. With the exception of the day you introduced him to the blacksmith, the knight had seen no need to draw his sword while you were under his care.

The day when he unsheathed it to protect you was a frightful one indeed.

Part 2

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #Silco fanfic #my writing #A Knight to Remember #AKtR

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jinxificada · 2 months

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Its okeyii jester is like a performer, similar to a clown🦝

AND YAY ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU, holy shit i need some arcane with this trope, MY SKIBIDI WONT STOP RIZZING FOR IT. For the angstier side of this trope, vi def almost got bitten so jinx assumed she turned to save her😓 which is like, literally ep 3 if u think ab it. Jinx def has a home like bill from tlou, i mean shes hella smart and good w guns (fingers-) and she can also make bombs! Yippie! Murder is okay now that zombies exist! Also silco is a leader of a rebellion or sumthn and took in jinx

ROMANCE SIDE BECAUSE WERE TOUCH STARVED. She lives on her own and you guys met when you were looting the same building, either she went "ur my friend now!" Took you in (and kidnapped you), or she was skeptical to trust you and you guys met a few more times, formed and alliance, and eventually she became ur main supplier. She didnt rlly needed trading w you but she liked your company so she kept you around. Eventually you guys just got closer and much more touchy and clingy (because who is jinx but clingy?) And yall got this "i call her for some cuddles and kisses but we got no label" typa thing. Would def sell you some weed/drugs bec why not i mean its the apocalypse darl' (its up to u if you want to take it)

IDK IF I SHOULD ADD A SEXY SMUT PART BUT LET ME KNOW IF I COOKED😎🙏 skibidi flushed🙏⁉️ (this is my equivalent of a bye for now)

SKIBIDI FLUSHED

ALRIGHT WHAT ELSE APART FROM SHIMMER DID U INJECT EVERYTHING SOUNDS SO GOOD????? if u dont write it asap imma go hunt you down /joking sweetly

U COOKED AND I ATE IT ALL UP do the sexy part go crazy PLEASE

wth imma do a hashtag for you im genuinely amazed

#jinx thoughts 🐵💭#𖥨᩠ׄ݁✉️#skibidi anon 🚽‼️#jinx #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x fem!reader #lesbian

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nightmarefuele · 5 months

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muse directory.

primaries in big. repression is a huge theme on this blog. smut happens (usually in gruesome ways), but don't expect it.

Dune, Star Wars, general gritty sci-fi;

na-Baron Feyd-Rautha ; austin butler ; draws 98% from the '24 film. Verosha Aniseya ; amandla stenberg Qimir | The Stranger ; manny jacinto ; might feature a knight verse in addition to some canon Ren (of 'the' Ren) ; adam driver ; a heavily divergent/'oc-ified', post(usually)-snoke, visceral horror, gritty lean from star wars' kylo ren. Shin Hati ; ivanna sakhno ; ahsoka. Kylo Ren ; adam driver ; as close to kylo 'canon' as i'm capable of writing, but solely draws from tfa characterization. Mae-ho Aniseya ; amandla stenberg Paul-Muad'Dib Atreides ; timothee chalamet ; leans on the book(+ messiah) from time to time. Lady Margot Fenring ; léa seydoux. Officer KD6-3.7 ; ryan gosling ; blade runner 2049 . Ezra ; pedro pascal ; prospect (2018). Cee ; sophie thatcher ; prospect (2018).

Interview with the Vampire;

Claudia ; bailey bass Armand ; assad zaman Louis de Pointe du Lac ; jacob anderson

HotD;

Melisande Shahrizai ; oc-ified character lifted from the kushiel's series; testing ; some amalgamized version of saffron vadher with myriem boukadida's vogue covers Aegon II Targaryen ; tom glynn-carney Alicent Hightower ; olivia cooke Aemond Targaryen ; ewan mitchell Rhaena Targaryen ; phoebe campbell Jacaerys Velaryon ; harry collett Addam di Hull ; clinton liberty Rhaenyra Targaryen ; milly alcock, emma d'arcy Mysaria ; sonoya mizuno Helaena Targaryen ; hunter schafer (slightly different interpretation), phia sabban Oscar Tully ; archie barnes

villains, antiheroes;

John Constantine ; keanu reeves Loki Laufeyson ; tom hiddleston ; fuck u i don't consider post-tdw canon. ciao Jonathan Crane ; cillian murphy ; selective muse, likely won't be writing him within gotham just for the sake of gotham. want to explore him thru different subjects and lenses.

bleak, flexible, modern;

Shelly Webster ; fka twigs ; the crow (2024). Lisa Nova ; rosa salazar ; brand new cherry flavor.Code ; manny jacinto ; brand new cherry flavor. Elliot Alderson ; rami malek ; mr. robot. Phillip Price ; michael cristofer ; mr. robot. Leon ; joey bada$$ ; mr. robot. Lisbeth Salander ; rooney mara ; the girl with the dragon tattoo (2011) . Berry Rydell ; young josh hartnett ; freelance private security officer from william gibson's virtual light trilogy, based in retrofuturist nocal and socal. just a guy doing his own thing and getting caught up, routinely, somehow, in the national (but very top-secret) dickfight over some expensive glasses. + virtual reality, or whatever. Control (John Rodriguez) ; bob morley ; based on authority by jeff vandermeer, and annihilation, book and film, exploring hypnosis/mind control and consequent distrust, or outright paranoia. operates at the branch-end of a highly bureaucratic and mysterious organization. eventually ends up at Southern Reach, "...a secret agency that manages expeditions into a place known as Area X, an uninhabited and abandoned coastal area of an unnamed country which nature is gradually reclaiming." 'nature', in this context, being a cute/tame word. refers to his guns as 'gramps', 'grandpa', 'grandpap', etc. 6" tall, impassive. Tangerine ; aaron taylor-johnson ; bullet train . Colin Laney ; tbd. ; has a talent for identifying nodal points. Kid ; dev patel ; monkey man. Benny Cross ; austin butler ; the bikeriders ; characters like these are cute. i basically get to make them ocs.

apocalypse;

Joel Miller ; pedro pascal . Imperator Furiosa ; anya taylor-joy. (alyla browne.) Dr. Dementus ; chris hemsworth. Max Rockatansky ; tom hardy..

cyberpunk, modern sci-fi;

Connor (the Android Sent by Cyberlife) ; bryan dechart. Takeshi Kovacs ; joel kinnaman . Jesper Fahey ; kit young . Kaz Brekker ; freddy carter . Yennefer of Vengerberg ; anya chalotra .

cartoon;

Blitzø ; helluva boss Azula ; atla Silco ; arcane Jinx ; arcane Zuko ; atla

aus are fun. hit me with em or forever hold your peace.

ocs, always subject to adapt and update on a thread-to-thread basis;

Viggo Hurskainen ; firstname aliases include vil, nils, lars ; bill skarsgård ; 'soft' but also murdery. deranged and confused. will break away just as erratically as tag along. backdrops include scandinavian/russian/german mafia, interdimensional southern cthulhian gothic, (vampire) cult, serial killer bullshit, et al. sometimes works as 'housekeeping/cleanup crew.' (for assassinations.) (sometimes is the assassin/ation. or spy.) Oeznik Ambroicz ; cillian murphy ; loosely based on a character from an original script. flexible iterations. director of an institute/facility (sometimes agency, depending on setting and historical values) that focuses on exploring the residual elements that paranormal trauma leaves behind. these elements can be purely psychological, physical, combined, or, sometimes, paranormal themselves. in other iterations, to draw further on lovecraftian or cthulhu mythos elements, oeznik may lean more private investigator, or 'freelance', for his own mysterious and often unexplained purposes. focused and preoccupied when fixed securely inside his element; wary and suspicious when not. Nadya ; sara serraiocco, sara montpetit ; lab experiment turned a) runaway, b) interdimensional spy/assassin, c) something something time shenanigans. or simple modern ones. who the fuck knows. Dorian Yu ; christian yu ; tba. loosely based on christian yu's musical creations. relies either on psychological themes (wherein dorian is bipolar), for stories more grounded in realism, or the supernatural. heavily flexible, works into most (if not all) modern environments. can be taken a vaguely sci-fi or heavily cyberpunk route. (he's fun. smiley ball of energy and sunshine, or depressive and vaguely antagonistic shut-in.) prone to delusions, dissociation, and in severe instances, amnesia. Fifine ; anya taylor-joy ; random modern verse shenanigans. (the) Insomnium ; tbd. ; developed and hatched by a cult of space witches moreso than born. derived from an organically inorganic (or just inexplicable) substance. for tumblr purposes, blends the idea of dune's 'voice'. cult functions similarly on some levels to the b.g., but is entirely an unknown. stems from the same gritty, visceral horror environment and themes as the ren. (especially picky about where i throw this one.) space cultists tba.

#.| muse directory.

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ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 29 days

Text

No Truce With The Furies

by DegenFromUpCountry

"The furies are at home in the mirror; it is their address. Never think to surprise them. A mirror's temperature is always at zero. It is ice in the veins. Its camera is an x-ray. It is a chalice held out to you in silent communion, where gaspingly you partake of a shifting identity never your own. There is no truce with the furies."

Night City. 2085. Caitlyn Kiramman, a Vice Detective within the Night City Police Department stumbles headfirst into a conspiracy that threatens the entire city. Vi, an Edgerunner and kid of the streets from The Glenn, would do anything to protect her family and community. Trapped in a rotting and decaying city, the two inexplicably cross paths, and both each other and Night City will never be the same.

Words: 5357, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Mylo (Arcane: League of Legends), Claggor (Arcane: League of Legends), Marcus (Arcane: League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk 2077 Fusion, Crime, Politics, Organized Crime, Slow Burn, Caitlyn needs a hug, Instant Connection, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Lots of Angst, Useless Lesbians, Blood, Gore, Violence, Vi is for violence, Redemption, Conspiracy, Identity, Madness

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

#ao3feed-piltovers-finest #a03feed-piltovers-finest #caitvi #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction

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silcodependent · 13 days

Text

Sway

Chapter 9

Silco x Fem!Reader

1.4K Words

Silco image to remind us what we are fighting for

The hours flew by looking over this piece of paper and that, trying to imagine walls out of two dimensional lines. The way Silco described it was breathtaking, it took the rumble you were surrounded with and painted a picture of the future, both grand and believable. He certainly had a way with words, it made you wonder what else that silver tongue was good for.

“There’s one last thing I want to discuss” Silco’s words brought you back from your daydream as you and Remy followed him back to what had been your dressing room.

Like everywhere else the walls were bare, the countertops, mirrors and vanity lights gone but had been replaced with large sheets of paper spanning most of the walls covered in detailed drawings of a dressing room beyond belief. Two stories, the bottom for dressing, makeup, costumes and a private bathroom to die for despite its size. The upper level was connected by a spiral staircase in the back corner that led into a lounge complete with a space to receive guests, entry from the balcony, wet bar and your own veranda overlooking a slice of the undercity.

Your fingers gingerly traced the designs as Silco described every piece. A stunned silence hung in the air when finished.

“Do you like it?”

You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, lips trembling, stumbling over the right words. But there were no words. All you could do was shake your head in stunned disbelief.

“It's…It’s too much.” You finally forced out, hands still tracing every line of the drawings, completely transfixed.

Silco hummed from somewhere a thousand miles behind you.

“I see. You prefer something simpler.”

His words hardly reached you, everything around you felt as surreal as a dream. It wasn’t until you felt his presence behind you that began to wake.

“Show me.” Silco’s voice as dark as the depths and twice as soothing. You turned to him, your eyes betraying your normal concealment, showing you for exactly what you are: Confused, skeptical, and utterly in awe.

Fire and water searched your face for words you didn’t know how to speak. There was a slight lift in the scar on the corner of his lips and you were lost in it.

“She loves it.” Remy placed a hand on your shoulder forcing you back to reality. You couldn’t help but look at him in hope that he'd be able to speak the words you couldn’t.

Another win for Remy’s relentless charm as he did just that, looking directly at Silco.

“It’s perfect”. Isn’t that right?” This time Remy looked to you but you couldn’t return the gaze finding it impossible to lift your eyes from the floor.

“Yes, perfect. Truly.” Was all you were able to squeak out. Luckily Remy continued as though you were being perfectly normal, asking Silco about materials and details until they exited to the next room.

A moment alone allowed you to exhale the breath you’d been holding since you walked into this room.

It doesn’t make sense. It’s too much. It’s…

You felt naked and vulnerable in the light of such a grand gesture. You were lucky he wasn’t there to see. Or perhaps he already had. You didn’t know. Your head was swimming with thoughts and feelings you couldn’t understand.

The plans in front of you were taped neatly to the wall with intentionality. They were more detailed than any of the others you’d gone over today, complete with artist rendering of the finished design--something that no other part of the club was given.

But why?

The answer was both obvious and elusive. There was a spark between you. You knew that. You were sure he felt it too but to what degree? This was beyond the game of cat and mouse the two of you had been playing for weeks and it left you mystified and speechless.

This was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for you. How do you thank someone for that?

Perhaps you were reading too much into this but the feeling lingered and nagged. What was this and what did it mean?

“If everything looks in order, I’ll have the workers start on it this week” Silco’s words pierced your haze as you joined them both in that hallway.

“This week sounds great.” You replied, finally finding your voice.

“Then I’ll get to work.” Silco said, giving you a soft smile. “I’ll keep you updated as things progress.” He added, turning on his heels and making his exit. Your eyes couldn’t help but linger on the door after he left.

“Care to tell me what’s going on with you and Silco?” Remy’s smile was evident in his voice before you turned to see it plastered even wider on his face.

“Nothing!” You said, a little louder than you meant to. Remy simply laughed and shook his head as blush rapidly rose to your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You repeated softly this time,”I don’t know what all this is about.”

“Well I have a theory…” he teased. You did not appreciate it.

“Enlighten me.” you pushed back sarcastically.

“He’s smitten.”

“He is a flirt.”

“I very much doubt that.” Remy retorted.

You thought back on your moments together.

“I don’t have the look or temperament to be a lover”

“The more I find out about you, the more I’m surprised by your intentionality, strategic thinking, and reserve. We seem to have more and more in common.”

As comfortable and slick as he was trading coy barbs with you, his comments did make it seem like this was rare for him. Or perhaps rare for him these days. Your brain flashed the image of young Silco fighting on the bridge again, and you felt that familiar pang in your ribs. This was rare for you too.

Despite how light and fun you both had kept things, this had gone too far. You had known from the beginning that Silco was bad for business but you could never have predicted this. And here you were stunned and uncertain of your next move.

No investments, no attachments, no situations you weren’t in control of; rules broken. Rules meant to protect you.

“Do you like him?” Remy asked. He was genuine in his question but it didn’t make you feel any less silly.

I don’t know him, was your first thought. How much you longed to, was your second.

But all that came out was a shake of your head as you replied “I don’t date men I’ve met at the club.”

Remy’s eyes were soft and compassionate, which made his next sentence resonate even more.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

The realization now obvious to both of you.

This was going to be trouble. What were you going to do?

You shook your head, forcing that dilemma away until you were alone to unravel its meaning.

“Who else was supposed to be at this meeting?”

Remy’s brow creased with confusion at the sudden change of topic.

“Silco asked you if ‘this is everyone?’. Who else were you expecting?”

You could see from his reaction you were both in the middle of conversations you’d rather not have.

He swallowed hard before he answered, “The Kane brothers. Although I’m not sure ‘expecting’ is really the right word for it.”

“What?” You exhaled in disbelief. The Kane brothers? The Kane brothers? Your mind felt foggy and dense. Today had taken its toll and there was no way to process or understand this information. This wasn’t right. You were mistaken. You were dreaming. You were…

“I reached out to them to try and mend things. Invite them to still be a part of the process-”

“And Silco went for that?”

“Silco suggested it.”

The words washed past you with the idle meaning of leaves in a stream. Except they weren’t leaves, they were diamonds. Foreign and strange and wholly out of place. This was wrong.

“What?” Was the only sentence you could form.

“It hardly matters now..”

You could hear Remy continuing on but your mind was overloaded as it is. Of course it matters. When diamonds start floating down stream you figure out where they are coming from. And why is it that they aren’t sinking.

“--I was hopeful they’d show but not surprised they didn’t. I figured that much after they never responded to my letters, but you know me, I can’t help but hope for the best.”

At least you could count on Remy to stay Remy. That seemed to be the only thing you could count on these days.

#silco #silco x reader #silco x you #arcane #slow burn #eventual smut #burlesque #arcane league of legends #undercity #silco smut #silco fanfic #silco simp

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silcoitus · 11 days

Text

Swapped (Chp 10)

Previous chapter: Chapter 9

Swapped Masterlist

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI

Chapter tags: Silco x f!reader, bodyswap, eventual smut, no outline, just vibes, inconsistent bodyswap mechanics, idk wtf i'm doing, Sevika and Jinx are in this chapter!

Chapter word count: 3.3k

Chapter Beta Readers: @ink-and-dagger

Total word count: 38.7k

Chapter 10—Hangover on AO3

Stay tuned for Chapter 11!

A/N: An update? Wild.

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @eurydicethesage @thepineapplesimp @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @delta-is-here @sirenofzaun @blissfulip @ellhd-imagination @defibrillator7 @cyberillusion-li @scarlettmoon98 @jennithejester @ink-and-dagger @Pinkinthenight3 @pushpop-puppy @dad-dumpster @witheringblooddemon @cuthbertimus @sheacrowley

Join my taglist!

#silcoitus #silcoitus writing #swapped #body swap au #body swap #silco fanfic #silco x you #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco simp #x reader #reader x #canon x reader #self insert

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juniper-sunny · 1 year

Text

A Knight to Remember - Part 3

Medieval AU | Knight!Silco | Silco x Female!Reader | No (Y/N) | Romance | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff || SFW | WC: 5.75k | art by @designfailure56 (full piece here) | beta: @deny-the-issue

ao3 || Part 1 | Part 2

Your knight is forced to draw his sword once more, a prospect which worries you greatly…

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests @ilikemymendarkandfictional @ursawastricked @quirkykaty @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @silcoitus

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Mealtimes were always an awkward affair in your father’s hall. The discomfort was less amplified during feasts, but dining with just your lord father and lady mother was more unpleasant. It was their attitude towards the servants that you could not abide. They were treated as living furniture that your parents only acknowledged if they wanted their ale refilled or dessert brought to them. Other than that, they might as well have been as inanimate as the torches that illuminated the room.

Your knight was the sole exception, as he had been granted the cringeworthy task of tasting your meals for poison before you ate. After a bite of each dish, he would retreat to the wall behind your seat where your father could observe him closely for any signs of poor health. Besides your doubt that there were assassins in the kitchen, it bothered you that your knight was not invited to sit next to you even after the tastings. Overall, it was an injustice that he and the other servants responsible for providing such delicious food were not allowed to dine in the same comfort and excess that your family enjoyed.

In the whole span of your knight’s employment, he had never tasted any poison in your food. It did occur to you once to play a joke on your father by pretending to choke and fall to the ground, convulsing melodramatically. The likelihood of your knight landing in trouble due to your antics was unlikely. Still, he would not deserve the potential scolding your father could mete out. Although your knight might find amusement in the lecture your mother would give you on your unladylike conduct.

“Have you grown used to your knight, child?” your father asked. Of course not bothering to ask your knight if he had grown used to serving you.

“Yes, he serves me well. Thank you, father,” you said. If only you could turn in your seat to smile at your knight as you said that, but the backing of your chair was too high to do that comfortably.

“Perhaps he could accompany you during your voyage overseas,” your father said. “I may have been too hasty in forbidding you and your mother from traveling. After all, this year has passed peacefully, has it not?”

“Yes, it has,” your mother said. “I have spent entirely too much time in this hall, darling. I am only reminded how much I should appreciate you after spending time away.”

“And I love you all the more after your absences,” your father laughed. He reached out for your mother’s hand and grasped it lovingly. She smiled and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

They were often prone to such displays, as their affection had seemingly never diminished since the early days of their courtship. You and your brother had often looked upon them with comical disgust, but now you looked on with wonder. Would you ever find something like that with someone?

Could you find something like that with your knight—?

Your lord father called out your name. “I thought you would be pleased to travel again. The ship and crew are still available to escort you to your original destination.”

“I am, father, thank you,” you said hastily. The place you had hoped to visit was a week away by ship, an ocean away with foods and flora you had never seen before but only read about. The language of their people was foreign to you, and you had studied it diligently to gain a better understanding of their culture. Much time had been spent on preparations for the trip, so you were understandably quite upset when your father canceled it.

Now, though… you still could not turn to face your knight as your father was looking at you expectantly. You sipped from your cup before speaking, “Actually, I was hoping to travel north. There are forests there that remain green even through the winter. I should quite like to study a land where spring reigns eternal. There would be no need to travel by sea,” you added.

“Really?” your mother asked, looking at you skeptically.

You nodded and continued eating, keen to put an end to the conversation. If your parents questioned your true motives for changing your mind, then they might think of your knight’s fear of water as incompetence.

“Then it would please me greatly to take your place on that voyage, child,” your mother said. “It sounds like quite the adventure.”

“Is staying home not enough of an adventure for you, my dear?” your father asked.

“Of course. Being married to you is the greatest adventure one could ever have,” she teased. They both laughed. Your knight cleared his throat, which he only did when he was trying to suppress a chuckle.

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Traveling the world was already very exciting, but having your knight’s company in a new land was another prospect you were looking forward to. The gloomy, heavy gray skies could not dampen your good mood. A week later on one of your clandestine trips into the woods, you were about to ask him if there was anywhere he would like to visit. But he spoke first before you could ask.

“My lady,�� he began. His tone was cool and calm as always, but there was a gleam of anticipation in his good eye. “Would you allow me the privilege of choosing where we go today?”

Your knight had never requested anything of you before. It was quite a surprise, the nature of which piqued your curiosity. “Of course, sir knight. Please lead the way.”

He smiled at you, a soft feather of a thing, so precious that you would hold it close if you could. Then he walked off into the woods at a measured enough speed that you could keep up easily.

How strange it was to be the one following instead of leading. Cold winds blew through you as if they were eager to trail him as well, rolling clouds heavy with impending rain across the skies. Curiouser still how he lead you on a path you had not taken in over a year— east towards your favorite river. You said nothing yet. What could his intentions be? You walked carefully in the mud, exercising the utmost caution. A misplaced step could dirty your dress and lead to interrogations and scoldings on where you went, what you did, and why. All very tedious conversations you hoped to avoid.

With his sturdy boots and thick trousers, your knight had no such reservations. He forged ahead relentlessly. He did look over his shoulder at you once or twice and you smiled at him. It was an instinct now, to smile at your knight whenever he looked at you. It was a hard impulse to curb when you were surrounded by other people with watchful eyes that might turn the smallest, most innocent actions into salacious gossip.

He stopped at the edge of the river, where the rocks still lay on dry land before they disappeared under the water’s surface. He rolled a small pebble under his boot before kicking it away decisively. It bounced over other rocks before landing in the water with a splash. Then, he turned to you with a determined expression.

“My lady, would you close your eyes for a moment?” he asked.

You nodded hesitantly, the world falling dark as you raised your hands over your eyes for good measure. You held them there even as a singular raindrop landed on your shoulder, the initial herald to oncoming rains. It was more important to demonstrate compliance with your knight’s request. But the waiting dragged on in boring agony with nothing to look at and almost nothing to listen to, save for the babbling waters.

After a few more minutes by your estimation, he still had not called out to you. What was he doing? You opened one eye and peeked cautiously through a gap in your fingers—

He was standing with his back turned to you. Waist deep in the water.

“Sir knight!!” you yelled, shocked. You ran clumsily over the rocks and crashed into the water. Cursing how it impeded your speed.

He turned just as you reached him. He caught you by your elbows as you grabbed his upper arms, a look of surprise on his face. The current swayed strongly around the two of you, disturbed by your hasty charge into the river.

“My lady,” he chuckled at your panic, ever the picture of serene stillness. “Do not be afraid. All is well.”

It was true. There was no need to rescue your knight from drowning when the river only came up to his waist, his head higher above the surface than your own. In your sudden realization that he was fine, your face flared in heat from embarrassment. Burning hot enough to counter the cold of the weather and the water. You would have looked away in mortification, but the sight was too wonderous to turn away from: He was standing there unbothered and was in fact smiling at you. Such a drastic change from how he acted over a year ago when he first followed you here.

“Please do not avoid the river or traveling by sea on my account, my lady,” he said. “I am no longer afraid.”

“How— but— the water— are you alright??” you asked breathlessly, the cold and exertion robbing you of air. He gently squeezed your arms in reassurance, his thumbs rubbing the inside of your sleeves. The churning waters around you calmed, holding you both gently as if in a cupped palm, the skirts of your dress floating around you.

“I let a weak man die,” he said. “To end the fear of pain, so that it could no longer control me. I am strong now.”

“You have always been strong, sir knight,” you reminded him. “To survive everything you endured until now… there are very few who could bear it.”

“But now I am able to serve you fully.”

“You have always served me well,” you protested. “There is no need to subject yourself to undue distress.”

He shook his head. “I am now able to see the truth you speak of, my lady. There is peace in water… just as I find peace with you.” His smile was so tender, so open.

“Sir knight…” you said, swallowing hard. Stammering as you tried to find the right words to say. He let you stew in your awkwardness, his smile never fading the whole while, his sincerity changing into teasing at your expense.

When you first met, he did not seem capable of such vulnerability, much less sharing it with you. He needed only to carry out the duties you and your lord father assigned him. But to go above and beyond to indulge your desires that you had suppressed for so long… no one had ever shown you such kindness. It was a truly moving gesture.

“Sir knight…” you started again. “I do not have the words to properly convey the depths of my gratitude… Thank you. It must have been quite the ordeal to overcome your fear.”

“You could pass a lifetime without ever facing a challenge like that,” he said. “But it changes you forever. For that, I thank you, my lady.”

You pinched his arm, frustrated at how he was deflecting credit away from himself. “I played no part in your accomplishments, sir knight. Your success belongs solely to you.”

“I believed I had already reached the peak of my strength. You showed me how much stronger I could become.”

“I never meant to give you the impression that your fear of water was a weakness, sir knight. That was not my intention,” you cringed at yourself. “I am sorry.”

“Please do not misunderstand. You did nothing wrong—” your knight was interrupted by water falling on his brow. He blinked in surprise. The scattered sprinkle turned into a consistent splatter, then heavy sheets that drenched you both. Your dress was already soaked from the river, but water was now running down your head.

He let go of you. Just as you were about to mourn the loss of his touch, his hand alighted on your wrist. Pulling you gently but firmly as he trudged out of the river, the surface now hammered by the falling rain. You grabbed a fistful of your skirts and lifted them as high as you could, following him onto land.

He never let go even as he slowed down, allowing you time to carefully navigate over the slippery riverside rocks. As soon as you were clear of them, he sped up again, heading towards the forest. Intent on finding shelter under a tree. Your knight pulled you to his side, his shoulder pressing against yours. Still keeping hold of you, no longer gripping you but just grazing the end of your sleeve, his hand a loose bracelet around your wrist.

You instinctively turned to him. Perhaps he felt the same impulse for you met each other’s eyes at exactly the same time. You laughed as water dripped off his hair to land on your face. “We have been blessed with luck, sir knight. I was afraid we would have no suitable explanation for why we are both sopping wet.”

“I am quite blessed indeed,” he murmured, looking deep into your eyes.

What on earth did he mean? Your face flushed, heat tingling in your cheeks and ears before you could compose yourself. You let the damp locks of your hair fall in front of your eyes as you looked down, busying yourself with pulling your kerchief out of your pockets. Suddenly shy from the look he was giving you.

“May I?” you held up the kerchief. He nodded, and you proceeded to dab softly at him, wiping away the trails of water that trickled down his face. He closed his good eye as you wiped his brow, his cheek, and the bridge of his nose, so gently as to not accidentally prod or poke him. Water had pooled in the bow and scar of his lip, an invitation to touch him in that most intimate of places…

It was too frightening a prospect. You quickly swiped at his mouth, flinging water off his face. He chuckled and opened his eye, but all merriment drained from his face when you made to lift his eyepatch.

“Thank you,” his grip retightened around your wrist, not painfully but in an undeniable warning. “That’s enough.”

“Are you sure? It is quite soaked through. Please, at least let me wring it dry.”

“My lady… I fear that the sight may frighten you. It is not pleasant to look at.”

“Nothing could frighten me, sir knight,” you said softly. “Not if it’s you.”

His good eye widened at your declaration, his piercing gaze returning to determine the truthfulness of your words. When you did not waver or recant, he nodded slightly, closing his eye again.

The eyepatch was large and triangular with a thick band that covered almost the entirety of his left eyebrow. He had owned this particular eyepatch long enough that it molded to the shape of his cheekbone, curving concave to end level with his nostrils. Its color was the deepest black, embroidered with smooth scarlet thread at its edges. Your family crest was embroidered on the patch itself in light gold, as beautiful as reflected sunlight on the river’s surface. The thing was too precious to manhandle, so you patted it dry as best as you could before turning to his face.

His scars were extensive enough that the accessory could not completely cover them. They crawled outwards from his eye to beyond the edge of his temple, jagging through his hairline. You had seen the scars that ended on his lip before; they were not a collection of smaller cuts as you previously wondered, but part of a long line that flowed uninterrupted down from the eye socket. Another scar parallel to it curved towards his chin. A spiderweb of cracked lines concentrated most intensely where the lower lid of his eye would have been were it not missing entirely. The skin itself was ruined, unevenly colored an ashy gray that would not wipe away to match the same, healthier pale tone of his body.

Then there was the eye itself. The upper lid was missing as well, revealing a sclera completely colored black. The shape of the iris was amorphous around the edges, shapeless clouds of ink in water. For such a thin ring, the iris was many brilliant shades of orange, bright flickering flames in a bed of coal.

The ruin of his face was less frightening than what it represented. For such a gentle man to experience such a horrific injury at the hands of a loved one was too painful to bear. A lump in your throat arose as you resumed patting his face dry. Conscientious of starting at his hairline first before moving down to his brow. Did he experience pain when water dripped into the unprotected eye?

“It’s alright, my lady,” your knight said patiently. “You need not look at it any longer than you wish to.”

“Please do not misunderstand, sir knight,” you whispered. “I only hate to imagine how you must have endured so much pain and fear that day…” More frightening still was the irrational but not impossible prospect that your knight could face similar violence in the future. The fact that your knight’s entire tenure was peaceful did not quell the anxiety that threatened to choke you.

“And yet I am strong now,” he repeated, voice low and soft, a whisper of wind over gravel. “Just as I am always meant to be.”

Your knight’s face was as dry as it could possibly be given the circumstances. You raised your free hand as high as you could above him, hoping to shield him from any errant raindrops that might fall from the branches above. You took an unconscious step forward as his hand glided down to your elbow, holding you close. Your hand holding the kerchief cradled his face… such a thin layer of cloth preventing you from touching him unhindered, skin-on-skin.

He was close enough to see and perhaps feel the heat of your blush on your face. Could he also hear how your heart hammered away from both anxiety and anticipation? It was a fearful excitement that would normally have you running away if you were not rooted to the ground, bound to your knight by some invisible compulsion.

To be bound to your knight would be bliss. He was quite literally within arm’s reach. He leaned into your palm, raising his own hand towards your face—

“We should return home,” you blurted out, jumping back. You shoved your kerchief and his eyepatch into his still outstretched hand. “There is no telling if the rain will end soon.”

You turned and scurried away, pulling your dress off the ground with both hands. Not waiting for your knight to readjust his eyepatch. But the sound of his footsteps followed behind you soon enough.

Because of course he was still loyal to you. Even if you might be wedded to someone else in the future. Even if he was dedicated to you, you could not pledge the same to him.

You would do better to remember that.

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An illness fell upon you in the days to come. It was nothing serious, only a slight cold from your time in the river and rain. However, your lord father did once again treat it as a disaster. You were confined to your bedchamber and only a select few were allowed to visit you. Unfortunately, your knight was not included among them.

He had only come into your service less than two years ago. But now you could not imagine a life without him, and the days with only your handmaidens and father for company were quite lonely indeed. But on one trip to the washroom, late at night, you found a bouquet of your favorite coneflowers at your doorstep, wrapped in your kerchief. You grabbed it and held it close, clutching it to your chest. In the morning, you placed it close to your window.

Your mother had already departed for her travels before the day you followed your knight into the river. In his haste, your father had sent word of your sickness to her, for which she came back early.

“I am sorry, mother,” you said as she sat next to you on your bed. “You needn’t have returned home for my sake. I am almost entirely recovered now.”

“That is quite alright,” she said, placing the back of her hand on your forehead. “I am only relieved that you are better. There is something I wish to share with you.

“In my time abroad, I attended a sword-fighting tournament. It was quite exciting,” your mother said, eyes bright with giddiness. “We will be hosting one soon for my birthday and I intend to have your knight participate.”

“WHAT?!?” you shouted angrily. You would have said much more but you exploded into a fit of painful, hacking coughs.

Your mother held up a cup of water for you to drink from, disregarding your outburst entirely. “I thought you would enjoy seeing one. It has been quite a while since the last one.”

The last time you attended one was years ago during some celebration you could not recall exactly. You had enjoyed it no more or less than any of the other festivities that day. It was just like your lady mother to impose what she wanted onto others without consideration for anyone’s feelings but her own.

“My knight will not join. I forbid it,” you said as sternly as possible in between your coughing.

She merely looked upon you dismissively. “I must test his capabilities, child. If he is not a worthy fighter then I shall have another join your service.”

“Has he not already proved himself to you? He did save your life, mother,” you pointed out.

“And yet my daughter deserves only the best. This is the only way to determine his competence.”

“You are only interested in watching every able-bodied man of these lands fight,” you accused. “If you are so keen to witness some swordplay, why not take up the blade yourself?”

“Why, I am much too old and delicate to take up arms, child,” she laughed good-naturedly. “And this is much more fun.”

There was nothing more you could do to sway your mother. You were still fuming when she tucked you in and kissed you goodnight.

Another week passed before you were fully well again, and then another few days dragged on when your father insisted you continue resting. You were therefore quite eager for your next chance to find some private time with your knight.

In your time apart, he had accumulated some bruises on his face and neck and moved with a stiffness that spoke of sore muscles. It had taken all your restraint not to descend upon him when you first saw him at breakfast, surrounded by your family and other attendants.

Now in the privacy of the meadow, you fussed over him.

“Are you well now, my lady?” he asked.

“Never mind that,” you said impatiently. “Are you alright??”

“I am fine, my lady. These injuries are not serious,” he said. “I have merely resumed training. In this time that I have served you, I have not raised my sword once. I must not dishonor you with my negligence.” “You could never dishonor me, sir knight,” you protested. “And I care very little for my ‘honor’. I only wish to keep you safe from harm. If only my mother prioritized your safety over her own amusement!!”

He would have replied but was suddenly interrupted by a yawn he could not suppress.

“Are you tired? You should return home—”

“No, my lady,” he said. “I wish to stay by your side.”

He was stubborn, immune to your further attempts at persuasion. So instead you laid on your back, fully stretched out and staring into the sky. “Lie next to me, sir knight, if you insist on accompanying me.”

He raised an eyebrow at you but laid down obediently. As soon as he lay flat, his good eye began to shutter from weariness. You said nothing as he succumbed to slumber, not wishing to disturb him.

───────────────── ●◉◎⚜◎◉● ─────────────────

You seemed to be the only one who was not looking forward to the tournament. If you could magically summon rain and thunder with your bad mood, then you would have flooded the town. As it were, the sun was shining bright and merrily on the first day of celebrations. A low wooden barrier was erected in the middle of town, carving out a circle for the arena. Tents had also been set up for the participants’ use where they could prepare in privacy.

The last opportunity you had to speak with the knight was the night before. Then the morning had been filled with preparatory work of your own, imposed by your lady mother who insisted you wear your finest dress and jewelry for the occasion. Then breakfast had been a feast in and of itself, with many other lords and ladies who had traveled from afar to attend. Forced to play the part of the obedient daughter, you offered as much hospitality as you could while glancing around frantically for your knight. He was nowhere to be seen.

Now, seated next to your father outdoors on a raised wooden platform overlooking the arena, the first match of the day was about to start. At least your mother had the consideration to only have your knight participate in a singular exhibition match, the first one of the day. He would not have to fight in multiple rounds, but that did nothing to quell your uneasiness.

Your knight’s opponent stepped into the ring first. He was a younger man named Finn, just as tall and broad of shoulder as your knight, but more muscular. Brilliant green eyes shone through under his dark hair, cropped close to his ears. He seemed more of a showman than a fighter in the way he stalked around the edge of the arena, arms outstretched and soaking up cheers and applause, banging his sword against his shield to encourage more noisemaking from the audience. His wide smirk grew into a sneer as he turned and pointed his sword at your knight, who had only just entered the ring.

Your knight’s entrance was much more understated. He walked calmly towards the center of the arena in long and confident strides, with a straight back and a proud, dignified bearing. Ignoring his opponent’s attempts to mock him with words you could not make out.

The two men circled each other a fair distance apart. Finn swaggered and jeered, feinting lunges at your knight to intimidate him. Throughout it all, your knight never flinched, stepping at a steady pace, sure and confident. Crouched low behind his shield with his sword raised level, pointing at his opponent. The tip of his weapon tracing small circles in the air.

You gasped when your knight’s shield came into view: he had painted your favorite purple coneflower on it, a dark orange seeded heart on the center disc while long straight petals unfurled outwards, filling the entire shield to touch the rim. If you could have run into the ring to pull your knight to safety, you would have.

Finn charged. Not another feint but a leap and a heavy swing of his sword at your knight’s left eye. An understandable move as the eyepatch would have fooled anyone into believing it was his blind spot.

But your knight raised his shield just in time to catch the blow. Finn’s sword glanced downwards. Quick as a flash, your knight slashed at Finn’s exposed side and jumped backwards. Almost dancelike with how quick and graceful he was on his feet.

The younger man swore and glared at your knight. Dropping all pretense of playing as he snarled, raising his sword and shield once again. Crashing his shield into your knight’s. But your knight never stumbled, still calm and unshakeable.

Another downward slash from Finn. Your knight blocked it with his sword. Then Finn slashed again and again, raining down a flurry of blows. All of them were blocked skillfully by your knight. But he was forced to walk backwards as the sheer barrage of Finn’s attacks pushed him closer and closer towards the edge of the arena.

Your knight was backed up against the barrier. He was forced to dodge Finn’s next blow by jumping sideways. Finn rammed his shield into your knight’s side, sending him tumbling to the ground. A kick to your knight’s wrist forced him to drop his sword.

Finn kicked the blade out of your knight’s reach, dropping his shield to snatch it for himself. He crossed both swords overhead, yelling in triumph. The crowd cheered along while you gasped in horror. Your knight leaped to his feet just as Finn shoved the discarded shield towards him. A surprisingly chivalrous gesture from Finn. Leaving one fighter with two swords and the other with two shields.

Your knight crouched low as he raised both shields. Peeking out over the tops of them. Finn laughed as he charged again, raising both swords high. But it was another feint— just as your knight raised the shields to block again, Finn turned and slammed his shoulder into the shields. Your knight held strong, staying on his feet.

Finn seemed to realize his mistake. Your knight was now a moving wall, made impenetrable by the second shield. He matched Finn’s speed move for move, blocking each attack perfectly. Waiting for his opponent to tire himself out.

A spinning slash from Finn. His back was exposed. Your knight charged into Finn, sending him crashing to the ground. The younger man dropped the swords and rolled onto his back. Only for your knight to pin him to the ground with a knee. Shield rim shoved under Finn’s chin.

Finn struggled but your knight did not yield. Whatever your knight was saying to his opponent was inaudible from so far away. But it seemed enough to make the younger man drop his head to the ground in frustrated defeat. Boos and cheers in equal measure exploded into the air as the victor got to his feet. Bowing in your direction before walking off.

You slipped away from your seat before anyone noticed, ducking into the tents. You passed through several, catching their occupants by surprise.

Finally, you found him. He turned to face you just as you entered.

He was shirtless, his chainmail shirt discarded on a nearby table. His eyepatch was missing as well. Leaving him the most exposed that you had ever seen him. Sweat dripped down his long neck to pool in his collarbone, then traced the contours of his thin but wiry arms. His toned chest rising and falling with each breath. Scars and bruises alike smattered irregularly under his skin. Large veined hands slinging a cloth over his shoulder. Trousers clinging to his tapered waist. Every muscle and sinew threading together to form his handsomely slender physique, tall and elegant even without clothing.

Oh. “I am so sorry—”

“My lady,” he said, surprised. “I did not expect to see you so soon.”

“I wanted to see you,” you said, squinting at the ground.

“Forgive me,” he said. A rustle of cloth, then the sound of him patting himself down. You looked up to see that he was now wearing a loose shirt. The deep V of the neckline ended above his ribs, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of his nakedness that you had so enjoyed.

“There is nothing to forgive, sir knight,” you said after clearing your throat. “I am sorry for interrupting you at such an inopportune moment.”

“All is well, my lady. I wanted to see you too. Please,” he gestured towards a wooden stool, inviting you to take a seat.

You smiled at him, finally relaxing from the stress that had built up since your mother’s announcement. “No thank you, sir knight. You need it more than myself. You fought valiantly! Are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” he smiled back. “It is nothing that a good night’s rest will not cure.”

“I am sorry my mother put you through this,” you cringed at her childishness. “I wish I could promise that she will never do so again.”

“As your father’s wife, I am obliged to serve her whims as well,” he said diplomatically, to which you snorted. “I am glad that she will allow me to remain in your service.”

“Thank goodness… you are the only one for me,” you sighed, then hastily added, “Another knight would be quite unnecessary.”

He raised an eyebrow at you in puzzlement. “Strange… your mother told me if I lost, I would be relieved of my duties entirely. If I had known they would only be halved then I should have been less afraid of defeat.”

Your jaw dropped at your mother’s audacity. Then you ground your teeth, doing your best not to cuss at your mother out loud.

“I should hate to lose the pleasure of your close company,” your knight said, even as he chuckled at your fury. “But I am glad to have your mother’s blessing.”

“Would that I could order you to give her a taste of your blade,” you grumbled. “Thank you for the flowers, sir knight. That was very kind of you.”

“Not at all,” he said simply. “I missed you.”

What a strange thing for him to say when you were standing right in front of him. But perhaps the tournament had weighed just as heavily on his mind as it did on yours, what with your mother threatening to end his employment.

“I missed you too,” you said softly. “I hope to see you again soon, sir knight.” As much as you preferred your knight’s company over your mother’s, it was time you left to rejoin her.

“My lady,” he said by way of goodbye, nodding once. He watched you closely as you departed. Hopefully, it would not be long before you were reunited with him again.

Part 4

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #Silco fanfic #my writing #A Knight to Remember #AKtR

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kikiiswashere · 9 months

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Children of Zaun - Chapter 19

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: Viktor senses something is off. Grayson touches base with Bone. The Children attempt their hiest!

Chapter CW: Canon typical violence. PTSD.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.5K

When Katya picked Viktor up on Friday, she barely acknowledged Ivy. Partly due to her anger, partly due to shame about her behavior the day before. She took the rucksack from the aide, her eyes downcast, hands reaching out to grab protectively at her brother’s shoulders once it was secure across her back.

Ivy watched the other woman sadly, wanting to say something, but not knowing what that would be; nor knowing if it would be wise to say anything in front of the boy.

“Have a good weekend, Viktor,” she said instead, a reassuring smile on her cherry-red lips.

“You, too, Miss – “

“Let’s go, Viktor,” Katya interjected, guiding him away.

Viktor’s brows furrowed as he began to awkwardly fall into step with her guided gait. He looked back at Ivy one last time before turning his attention toward the walk home.

He could sense something was wrong. It didn’t take an especially astute mind to see that Katya was in a foul mood. What was trickier for him was determining why. People had too many variables for his liking – it completely negated the scientific method. The backbone of chemical, biological, and physical theories and laws were their relatively controlled environments. If A, then B. If A, and C is present, then D; and so on.

People did not, as far as he could tell, live by such rules. Their feelings and actions could not be counted on to be consistent. And he found it vexing. And intimidating.

Viktor stuck close to Katya’s side as they made their way to the Bridge, his chin tucked in and eyes occasionally peering up at her, hoping he could glean any information from her stony profile.

“What is wrong?” he finally asked as they stepped into the Promenade.

Katya winced and chewed her lip. The pause scared him.

“Nothing,” she finally said, ushering him toward the Conveyor Car station. “I’ve just had a bad week.”

“Oh,” he murmured. He knew Katya didn’t lie to him, but he felt unconvinced.

“Come. Let’s get home.”

The weekend went by quickly, as it often did. But instead of feeling comforted and refreshed by time away from Piltover, he felt on edge and smothered. Whatever had happened during the week to his sister, clouded their home. It kept her irritable and clingy at the same time. She sat too close, touched him too much, didn’t really speak with him, and didn’t really listen. Despite her near-suffocating proximity, she seemed very far away, and he didn’t know how to call her back.

On Monday, when she dropped him off with Ivy, her fingers clawed at him when they hugged. Desperate and lonely.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy kindly said, “but we need to get going.”

Viktor made to pull away, ready to start his week. But Katya held on for a beat more. She touched him for as long as possible, letting her fingertips trail down his shoulders and arms as he stepped over to the aide.

“I love you, Viktor. I’ll see you Friday.”

Her voice was hollow and heavy. He didn’t understand. And he didn’t like it.

“I love you, too,” he replied. He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Grayson knocked on Councilor Bone’s office door and waited. Usually, Councilors had receptionists. Bone did not. Something the Captain took note now only because she wondered if this was another microaggression against an Undercity citizen.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside, removing her cap as she did. “Councilor, sir.”

“Ah, Captain Grayson,” Bone sighed, peering over his spectacles at her. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”

He gestured to the simple chair in front of his desk as he pocketed his glasses, and put the paper he was reading down. Grayson did as instructed, removing the folders from under her arm as she sat.

“I have looked through what you gave me,” she said heavily, placing a palm on the documents. His nod was equally somber, and he waited for her to continue. After a long moment, she added, “I see what you are saying.”

Bone nodded again, closing his eyes. He made to swallow and his throat hitched. He clasped a hand around his mouth as his lungs tried to push an angry retch up his trachea. His other hand fished out the handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. He covered his mouth, and swiveled away from Grayson. After a few more bone-rattling hacks, a warm, slimy wad crawled its way up Bone’s throat and mouth, and landed in the cloth. Very carefully, not wanting to disturb his guest, nor let on the severity of his condition, he coolly removed the handkerchief. Carefully pinching it to contain the bloody lump, he stowed it in his pocket and turned back to the captain.

“Apologies,” he rasped.

Grayson’s eyebrows creased in concern. She’d heard that the last Assembly had been cut short because of an acute health issue of Bone’s; now she wondered just how acute it was.

“I can come back another time, Councilor,” she offered. “Perhaps you ought to go home and rest.”

“No, no,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Rest will not help. I do not want to rest.”

That statement made the lines on Grayson’s face deepen. What he had said did not have the calming effect she suspected he wanted. However, she was not in a position to argue with a Councilor. No matter where he hailed from. Not if the work he wanted to do with her was on a time crunch.

“Thank you for taking the time to look over those files,” Bone said, genuine gratitude shining in his pale eyes. “Unfortunately, those are only a fraction of the cases – “

“I know.”

“ – and Enforcer brutality is ongoing.”

Grayson closed her eyes. “I know.”

She had never partaken, and she had never taken it as seriously as perhaps she should have, but she was well-aware of trainees and rookie Enforcers going into the Undercity and finding citizens to fight. In the name of tradition. For meaningless clout. She had recently reamed a trio for that very activity. Not only was it unprofessional and shameful, but they had had their asses handed to them by whoever they had tried to intimidate.

“I would like us to put the data together in a thorough and concise presentation format,” Bone said, “and present it at an Assembly.”

“Us?” Grayson gasped. “Shouldn’t we get LeDaird on board, too?”

“We will. Eventually.” He fixed her with a sly grin. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, yes?”

“I suppose,” she conceded, settling back into her seat.

She knew from experience (her own and her peers’) that sometimes bending or skirting protocol was the best way to get things done, to solve cases. Even LeDaird knew that. “Hopefully after that attempted robbery at the docks a couple weeks ago, things will be relatively quiet so we can work on this.”

The first step in stealing the money, Katya found out, was sneaking across the Pilt. The airship port was on Piltover’s side of the river; built into the cliff faces on the outskirts of the city. The captain Beckett worked for was also a part of the Children, and was allowing him to use a small dinghy to ferry himself, Silco, Katya, and Annie to the opposite shore.

The night of the job, Katya met Silco at The Last Drop’s backdoor. Vander and Enyd stood behind him; the barkeep looking hopeful, but stoic. Enyd was pale, her hands continually fretting with the dark clothes her son wore. Katya was wearing dark ones, too; something that he had suggested when they had met up with Annie and Beckett to go over the plan.

“We’re meeting Beckett and Annie there,” he said, stepping away from The Drop. Enyd followed and began to fuss over Katya.

She nodded, and asked, “Are we ready?”

“Wait a moment,” Enyd breathed, her hand snaking into her satchel. She pulled a small, folded pile of cloth out and handed it to Silco. “To cover your faces with,” she explained.

He nodded and handed one of the four handkerchiefs to Katya. Taking it, she unfolded it once, a glimmer against the pitch fabric catching her eye. She squinted in the low light, and saw that there was a small ‘Z’ stitched into the corner with silver thread.

“Be safe, yeah?” Vander said, shifting restlessly. While his strong jaw remained set, his eyes shone with worry.

Silco nodded. “We will be back in a few hours.”

Enyd threw herself into him, holding on tightly. He drew her close and reassured, “It will be uneventful. In and out.”

Katya nodded; so did Vander, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Reluctantly, Enyd pulled back from her son, only for her slim arms to reach for and hold on to the young woman. Thrown off, but grateful, Katya returned the embrace.

“In and out,” she repeated. “Like he said.”

Regardless, Enyd insisted, “Be careful.” She stepped back and gave the pair a warning look. They nodded and stole away down the alley. Vander placed a massive hand on Enyd’s shoulder as they watched them go.

Silco and Katya slipped silently through Zaun’s alleyways and to the docks. Annie and Beckett met them in the shadows of the Harbormaster’s hut, both looking uncharacteristically serious. In addition to their dark outfits, Beckett wore a black knit cap over his fire-red hair, and Annie had spun her own dark locks into a tight braid, instead of her usual loose pigtails. There were quick ‘hellos’ – Annie simply jutting her chin in Katya’s direction – and Silco handed the pair the remaining two masks.

The docks were dark and quiet as they strode for the small dinghy lazily bobbing in the water, waiting for them. Beckett took the back and readied the motor. Annie took the middle bench, while Katya and Silco sat hip-to-hip at the bow. Beckett untied the vessel and ripped the motor’s cord. It puttered to life and they began the short voyage to a small grotto just beneath the airship base. The boat would hide there while they executed their plan.

The water beneath the boat was so still; a smooth, black mirror of the sky. Beckett captained the vessel gently, leaving only a glossy ripple in their wake. None of them spoke. Katya’s knee bobbled nervously as they went. Eventually, Silco put a hand on her leg, keeping his touch light.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. He paused, and added in a quieter whisper, “I got you. I won’t let anything happen.”

Katya gave him a thankful smile, but her heart thundered on. It was a moment before Silco realized that he had left his hand on her thigh. Slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself, he drew his hand back. His fingers tingled and he flexed them, wondering why it suddenly felt difficult to breathe.

With the pace they kept, it took a little over an hour to reach the grotto. Beckett harbored the small boat just out of sight of any prying eyes. As they exited the vessel, both Beckett and Annie swung large, empty sacks over their shoulders and handed one each to Katya and Silco. They tucked Enyd’s masks up over their noses, and they ascended the steep cliff face. The climb became easier once the natural, jagged rock gave way to the smooth stone that built up the tower of the hanger. However, the biting wind off the Pilt stung their eyes and cheeks now that the extra rock cover was beneath them.

“The third hanger,” Annie whispered as they approached the first massive cavern in the cliffs. She pointed up for good measure.

While Katya had of course seen airships and blimps far up in the sky, it was very different seeing them up close, tethered and waiting in their bays. Impressive, hulking machines made from metal, wood, glass, and fabric. She didn’t know if it was because it was so late, but they did not have to dodge as many workers as she expected. The few she spied were lazily leaned against the iron gangways that bracketed each airship, smoking and distracted by conversations they were having with one another.

The ship in the third bay up was not as large as the one beneath, a fact Katya found comforting. Less room to have to search through, fewer crew members to have to avoid. The small group huddled together at the mouth of the cavern.

“The delivery from Clapper should already be aboard,” Silco said. “Stowed in the belly of the main cabin. Time?”

Beckett checked the chrono on his wrist. “It’s 9:30.”

“The ship is supposed to sail at 10:00,” Annie supplied.

Silco nodded. “Right. We sneak in, find the delivery, get the coin, and get out.”

Katya swallowed and set her jaw. Her heart tapped and she steeled her nerves. Stealing from the mines medical supplies seemed so much less risky compared to this.

They carefully crept onto the catwalks, mindful to keep their footsteps as soft as they could. They ducked behind crates and kept careful watch of the workers above and below them. They approached the ramp that led onto the ship and paused. Silco and Beckett looked to Annie, who skirted around them and sneaked up to the door, and silently slid it open. She peered inside, and after a beat, beckoned them to follow her.

The cabin was dimly lit and full of boxes. To their right there was a door and a brighter light spilled beneath it. Muffled voices murmured behind it. At once, Beckett began silently stacking boxes in front of the door. Katya joined in and set additional crates in front of that pile.

“Here,” Annie whispered. She handed each member a chem-torch from a nearby shelf. She flicked hers on and held it beneath her chin, making a twisted face.

“Not now, Annie,” Silco admonished, turning his own on.

Annie rolled her eyes at him and began looking absently around the cabin. “Oh! Look at this!”

The other three turned, expecting to see a crate with the Clapper insignia on it. Instead, Annie enthusiastically thrusted a small, metal and glass contraption towards them.

“It’s a camera! I think,” she said excitedly, spinning the object in her hands to look at it. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Put it back, Annie,” Katya hissed. “That is not what we’re here for.”

The other woman ignored her and stuck the camera in her bag.

“Come on,” Silco insisted. “There’s a door over here. It should take us below.”

Indeed, the door opened onto a short staircase that took them below the main cabin. Larger boxes were stowed there and the group dispersed, looking for their target.

“Here,” Katya called after a minute. Her torch’s beam shone over a large, squat box with Clapper’s logo stamped across the wood. The rest of the party gathered around, and Beckett withdrew a prybar from his sack and opened the crate. They pawed through the paper confetti cushioning the delivery until they finally uncovered the curtains beneath. “Nasha said the coin would be sewn into the hems.”

Silco and Annie reached in, feeling for the ends of the fabric.

“Here,” Silco said, lifting the end of one panel up. The fabric sagged and sifted over his hands, gently clinking as it moved. He withdrew the knife from his boot and slashed the hem open. Gold hexes fell out. Katya’s mouth went dry, both Beckett and Annie’s eyes went wide.

“Fuck,” Beckett breathed. “I’ve never seen so much coin.”

“And this is only a fraction of it,” Silco said, and Katya could hear the smile in his voice.

They filled Annie and Beckett’s bags first.

“Fuckin’ Janna,” Annie complained as she slung the pack over her shoulders. “This guy must be in deep shit if he owes this much coin.”

“It’s 9:45,” Beckett announced, adjusting his partner’s bag.

Silco nodded. “You two go. Start heading back down to the boat.”

“Be careful,” Katya implored as they crawled back up the stairs.

Together, she and Silco dug through and cut open the remaining curtains, emptying the gold into their bags. Once they got to the bottom of the crate, they carefully pawed through the panels again, making sure not a coin was left behind.

Above them, a door opened and loud footsteps stomped along the floor. Both Katya and Silco froze, bodies tense like springs, hearts thundering. There wasn’t another way out. Only up, back through the main cabin – where someone was traipsing about, entirely unbothered by the amount of noise they made.

They should’ve checked how many of the crew had been in the main bridge of the airship before boxing it up . . .

“What the fuck is this?” an unfamiliar gruff voice muttered. Then the sound of him shifting boxes around.

Silco turned to say something to Katya and she jumped, knocking into the crate’s lid, and toppling it over. It wasn’t a loud sound, but noisy and unsuspected enough that it alerted the crew member above them.

“Whose down there?”

“Hide!” Silco hissed, pushing Katya into a darkened corner.

No sooner had she stumbled behind another tower of crates, did the door at the top of the stairs open, a large shadow looming down the steps and into the cargo hold. She hurriedly turned her torch off, gulping down a scared gasp. Silco sprang for the shadows. But the light pouring in caught his boot before he could slip away entirely. His own chem-torch rattled and rolled away across the floor. The man grunted an amused tone and began down the steps, each footfall heavy. Meant to intimidate.

Katya pressed her back into the wall behind her, scarcely daring to breathe. This couldn’t be happening . . . This couldn’t be happening. This was supposed to be an in-and-out job. Her skeleton wanted to crumble to the floor; her meager supper threatened to make a reappearance. She shouldn’t have agreed to this; she hadn’t been in the right state of mind when she agreed. What had she been thinking?

She’d been thinking of her brother, she knew. Of how he deserved the world, and that this was supposed to be a way of giving it to him.

She bit her lip under her mask to keep from making a sound. She had also been thinking of herself, if she was honest. She was so angry with Piltover. So, so angry that they wanted to take another thing from her. Like she didn’t deserve it. Like Viktor would be better off without her. That she was nothing, and deserved to fall into soot-covered obscurity in the Sump and die.

“What’s this?”

The man spoke and Katya started, peering out from behind a tower of crates. Her stomach curdled. The crew member – a very large man with a sneer on his face and an iron bar in one hand – had pulled Silco out of the shadows and now stood over him. Silco glared up at him, his blue eyes shards of ice that cut between the space of his hair and the mask. Next to his side, the bag of coins was open, its golden belly glittering in the light.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling. The frame of the airship thrummed and vibrated. And then it jolted forward. Katya’s stomach tumbled. The ship was leaving port! Her mind raced. She couldn’t get caught. And she couldn’t be hauled off to Bilgewater. She couldn’t abandon Viktor. She had to figure out an escape. At this point, whether or not the money made it back to Zaun didn’t concern her.

“Thieving little Sumprat,” the crew member growled at Silco, taking another step towards him. The meaty fist that held the iron bar twitched.

Katya’s hand twitched too. Toward the small revolver tucked in her trouser pocket. She had debated leaving it at home, and was now glad she hadn’t. Before the man could raise the bar over his head, she took the gun out, aimed, and fired. The pop of the gun was sharp, and rang off the metal hull of the ship. The bullet lodged itself into the back of the crew member’s knee, and he howled in anguish, crumpling to the floor. Silco lurched forward and grabbed the iron bar, and cracked him across the head.

The Enforcer fell. Katya’s father stomped on his ankles.

Bones crushing. Hollow wails.

From the ground, the Enforcer delivered one blow of his baton to Katya’s father’s head.

Katya’s mind spun and her body froze, cold terror leaching out any warmth in her. Her vision began to white out around her periphery. Silco shouting her name, and reaching for her shook her out of the memory and back into her body.

“Kat! Are you okay?” He gripped her shoulders tightly as his eyes scoured her body. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Katya took a couple shaky breaths and shook her head. “No. Are you?”

“No. We need to get moving. The other crew members will have heard that – “

“The ship is moving!” Katya suddenly cried. The floor was softly rumbling beneath her feet.

“I know,” Silco said. His hands flew from her shoulders to cup her face. “We’re going to get back home. Okay? You hear me? I got you.”

She swallowed and nodded. Her eyes flicked over to the prone man behind him. “Is he . . .?”

“No, just knocked out. I think,” Silco assured. He stepped over and quickly assessed the man. “No. He’s breathing. Come on.”

As they scrambled up the stairs, the rest of the crew was shouting and ramming into the door Beckett and Katya had blocked off. A fair amount of boxes had been knocked away, the door open enough that one of them could shove his shoulder and arm out, trying to topple some of the crates just out of reach. His eyes bulged seeing the two stow-aways skitter to a stop.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

His outburst caused the other members behind him to scuffle and fight to get looks at who he was referring to.

“Thieves!” Someone yelled.

“Move!” Another screamed, knocking the man in front aside. A gun barrel appeared in the doorway, and it fired.

The shot was not aimed at anything, and Silco and Katya ducked as the bullet hit a crate. It exploded in a burst of splinters and paper. Another shot was fired; this one ricocheting off a metal pipe, causing sparks to rain down from the ceiling in a fine mist.

“Stop wasting bullets!” Someone yelled.

The distraction was enough to let Silco and Katya throw themselves into the door and crush the people behind it. The gun went off again as the nose of it was flung up by the impact. The bullet sliced through a tube slung on the ceiling, and fluid began spraying out of it in wide swaths.

Katya screamed and leapt back. She tripped over a crate and fell. Silco went after her, grabbing her arm. As he went to pull her onto her feet, he paused, sniffing. They both looked over to the decimated crate. It was smoking, orange embers slowly licking to life, eating away at the wood and paper. Growing bigger, stronger.

“Fuck,” he whispered. For the first time, he sounded uncertain. Scared.

Behind them, the door to the bridge finally burst open, the three remaining crew members tumbling out, ready to fight. Katya’s eyes immediately picked out the woman who held the gun – a rifle, judging by its long barrel. She pulled her own gun back out and fired at her shin. The woman screamed and collapsed to the floor. Silco tackled into the man that had been trying to wedge through the door earlier, bowling both of them over back into the airship’s bridge.

The second man eyed the growing fire behind Katya with big, terrified eyes. He froze up as his counterpart on the floor yelled at him to do something. So, he did. Wrenching open the sliding door on the ship’s hull, he let a huge gush of air into the cabin. The embers sucked the sudden onslaught of oxygen up in a mighty WHOOSH. The flames ate and grew, licking up the walls and lapping at the ceiling. All three screamed, Katya scrabbling away from the fire. The heat bit at the sliver of flesh visible between her bangs and nose bridge. The smell of burning chemicals, hair, and heat filled the air. The crew member who had opened the bay door looked out at the view below him, back at the fire, to the woman on the floor, to Katya, to the gun in her hand, and jumped out.

The woman on the floor screamed and thrashed, trying to grab Katya’s revolver. Panic sluiced over her body, taking control of her limbs, as her assailant grabbed at her pant leg and attempted to pull her down. Katya’s limbs locked up a moment before exploding into action. Her free leg swung, the toe of her boot connecting with the underside of her attacker’s jaw. There was a sickening crack! and a garbled, anguished howl as the crew member was flung to the side. When she didn’t move, Katya lurched forward and grabbed the rifle before running into the airship’s bridge.

Silco had taken care of the final crew member; the man was slouched against one of the seats, blood dribbling from his lips, one of his hands pierced to the floor by a knife. Silco himself was at the consol, frantically looking over all the levers and buttons.

“The fire is spreading!” Katya cried.

Silco looked over his shoulder at her, and saw the blaze in the other room. The sweat trickling down his back was not only from the heat. Above them, there was a loud metallic groan and crash as the flames began eating away at the frame around the canvas balloon. Katya shrieked and jumped to Silco’s side. His mind raced, but no idea landed. He stared out the windshield at the expanse of black in front of them. Below, he could see the stars reflected off the Pilt, the orange fireball he and Katya were now engulfed in.

“We need to jump!” she shouted. He looked at her, eyes wide. “It’s our only option! Jump and swim to shore!”

Behind them, another gust of wind fanned the fire, and it surged up and around. Each of them could feel the thread of their clothes beginning to burn, the buckles of their boots becoming blisteringly hot. Silco agreed with her: jumping would be their only chance. He grabbed the rifle in her hand and beat it against the airships windows until they shattered. They scrambled up onto the consol and peered down below. The cool, briny air was a welcome relief from the heat and smoke. Less appealing was the very large drop between them and the water. Katya felt Silco freeze next to her, his body going rigid with fear.

“Come on!” she screamed, grabbing his hand and knocking her shoulder roughly into his. “Please!”

Silco grit his teeth, his fingers clamping down around Katya’s. “I got you,” he promised.

Katya wasn’t sure what made her say it, but she nodded and replied, “You have me.”

Together, they leapt from the airship. Plummeting down, down, down to the water below.

Notes: Cliffhanger! Cliffhanger! Wuh-oh!!!!

Coming Up Next: The Children of Zaun make their prescense known.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dreamyonahill, @pinkrose1422, @altered-delta, @truthandadare. @sand-sea-and-fable

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #vander #viktor #original characters #young silco #young viktor #young vander #my writing #silco fanfic

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charlottepriestly · 2 years

Text

Sevika x Reader wlw fanfic

Summary:

You’re a medical engineer who works for Silco, dreaming of making a difference and helping the Undercity become a better place. One day there’s an explosion, and suddenly you find yourself taking care of Silco’s second-in-command: a powerful, imposing woman who despises being taken care of.

Despite her attempts to keep you at arm’s length, you don’t give up so easily. Especially when your unexpected patient is so much more than meets the eye.

Tags:

Slow burn, Eventual smut, Enemies to friends to lovers, Some angst

Category: f/f

Rating: E

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43842973/chapters/110237524

#sevika arcane #sevika x reader #femslash fic #wlw fic #arcane women

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

Note

NSFW

Maybe spoilers for your fic, if too much info you dont have to answer.

Will Mel be put off by SIlco's penchant for rough sex or is she kind of into it?

Is Silco going to modify his sexual style for her?

I kinda liken Silco and Mel's seduction in FnF as part chessgame, part ambush predation. We'll have Mel making a lot of the more flirtatious/bold moves early in their affair (she's the one who initiates the first kiss, the first sexual encounter, and in general begins behaving as if he is 'hers' - and yet within that desire is a sense of both acquisition and addiction, as if he's a curiosity she's sampled, then developed a horrible dependency for.)

Silco wants this.

On his part, he'll play the rakish beau, all the while engineering situations that shed her control, her poise, and finally her sense of self-preservation, so by the time she realizes how deep she's down his jaws, it's too late.

Re: modifying his sexual style - he's no one-trick pony, as future smut stuff makes plain, and while he likes it rough, it's far from the only thing he likes. He'll meet her halfway, but it's camouflage rather than compromise. She's got a hidden dark side, and he instinctively latches on to it, and begins upping the ante (every 'romantic' gesture she makes gets subverted into something kinkier), so by the time they have sex, it's degrading in terms of both venue and mood, and yet she's into it where she'd have expected to be put off.

Eventually, she does get a full taste of the monster, and it does shock her - but more because of how raw and vulnerable she's left in the aftermath, and how many stupid risks he's made her take. In her own words the first time after they do the do - "I'm usually the one calling the shots. Now I'm being leveraged."

Matters become complicated when he develops feelings for her too.

I have notes on MelxSilco and their trajectory in FnF up here, if you'd like more details<3

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #fanfic #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane mel #silco x mel #mel medarda #melco

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ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 1 month

Text

what if it went like...

by smuttianna

same universe, relatively same timeline as the show just with *more of the good (gay) stuff*

Words: 3758, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn & Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, POV Caitlyn (League of Legends), POV Vi (League of Legends), POV Alternating, Vi Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Not Beta Read, Horny Caitlyn (League of Legends), Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

#ao3feed-piltovers-finest #a03feed-piltovers-finest #caitvi #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction

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silcodependent · 6 months

Text

Sway Chapter 7

Silco x Fem!Reader

4.2k words- Mature (but not explicit)

Warnings: Light BDSM Vibes, Smoke Play, Suggestive Everything

Additional warning: I have doubted my ability to write so much lately that I was convinced that this would never see the light of day. It's mostly unedited but please know that If if had edited it would have stayed in the drafts folder for the rest of time. I want to tell this story, I know exactly where it's going and I'm excited but sometimes I wonder if I am capable of telling it well. So I'm putting this out here to keep me from waiting until it's perfect and posting nothing. I hope you like it and that there are other people who are still as obsessed with this little rat mat as I am.

Silco was bad for business. You knew this from the start but your small number of interactions relentlessly reminded you of this information. Last night was tantalizingly fun. Your dreams after caused you to uproot your whole routine and bumping into him during your practice time was now causing you to be late. The man was infuriating. Infuriating and dangerous.

He simply cannot be forgiven for the agony of inconveniences he is responsible for.

That thought was fresh on your mind when you tossed open your dressing room door to find a surprise that stopped you in your tracks; A single red rose with a black ribbon tied around it and a note.

You should be used to gifts from adoring fans but you always found surprises to be an eerie sign of something grim to come. This was no exception.

Placing your bag down on the opposite side of the counter you inspected the gift before you with learned skepticism, tentatively picking up the note and turning it over in your hand. It was addressed to you, your name scrawled beautifully in ink from a fountain over heavy weighted stationary. Expensive.

You had been here before. It was enough to make you want to drop the note there with no regard to whatever message lay inside and pack your things as fast as you could.

But you weren’t running. You never ran. That was half of your problem. And even though there were things in your past that wanted to chase you, the likelihood of them finding you here was so small it was next to impossible. Right?

Beating back any other intrusive thoughts, you flipped open the card to reveal a single sentence.

“Thank you for the lovely performance. -Silco”

You stared at the letter in your hand in stunned disbelief for what would have been all night if Remy knocking at the door hadn’t pulled you back to reality.

“Good crowd tonight!” He exclaimed, poking his head through the crack in the door.

Remy’s eyes landed first on the note in your hand and then on the rose on the counter.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing…Just a thank you note.” You’re certain that no one would fall for that performance but it didn’t stop you from trying. You placed the note back down on the counter and proceeded to get ready with haste. Silco was distracting you--again.

“Admirers already. I just wonder what took them this long.” Remy flashed that heart winning grin before disappearing back out the way he came but not before shouting back…

“Tonight’s going to be a great show!”

Remy was wonderful. He really was. Kind, supportive, friendly and he didn’t linger. Who could ask for anything more?

And you had a feeling he was right.

Once your first costume was on and makeup perfectly done, you picked up the rose and reveled in its sweet scent. Of the many stalls lining the streets of the Undercity you had never seen any flowers. Your fingers pulled the silk ribbon from its stem and tied it carefully around your neck. This choker was the perfect finishing touch to such an ensemble.

Tonight was going to be a great show.

And it was - regardless of how your eyes searched the audience for a particular face each number, never finding it.

The audience loved every moment. You even managed to create a new group of regulars out of a rowdy table of gentlemen that had posted up in the front row. Your crowd working skills were now rivaling your dancing and it certainly kept things fresh. But once the curtain fell you couldn’t help but let out a little sigh of disappointment. There was no denying that when you had strung that ribbon across your neck, you’d hope to share in a silent understanding. A small nod to your own Phantom that no one else who saw it would even notice.

It had been a small thing, a silly thing but a mistake nonetheless and one you weren’t willing to repeat. Just another piece of evidence that Silco was distracting and eliciting sentiments that were out of bounds for how you lived your life. This pang of disappointment would serve as a perfect reminder of why you kept these rules in the first place. No investments.

And it did. Days turned to weeks and there was no sign of the infamous Eye of Zaun in the club or in your dreams. He was much harder to banish from your waking thoughts as his note still sat on the counter of your dressing room, but his absence aided you in that regard as well. You had stopped looking for his handsome features in the crowd all together. Life continued. You channeled your energy and debuted a new show with aplomb that had the audience on their feet night after night. It’s amazing what you could accomplish without any unnecessary distractions.

Your focus was at an all time high but that came with some…troubling observations. Silco’s people still came in without him but there was tension growing between them and your front row regulars, a group of three brothers. It was odd. Silco’s operation seemed to be far too big to take issue with these three nobody’s but you had noticed their minute changes in clothing and demeanor over the last couple weeks. They were certainly spending more and more money in the club each night as well. You knew that meant the heart of this dispute had to be business but the less you knew the better. It had already gotten so bad that Remy almost had to call security over a disagreement between the two groups. Things were escalating.

Remy made every effort to work with them, keep things civil and make sure everyone was welcome here but enforced peace can only last for so long.

It was a slow night Monday night at the Sweet. You had come to show some face and perhaps try out a couple of new combinations on stage with the victrola as accompaniment. It didn’t surprise you at all to see Nox Kane, the youngest of the Kane brothers, occupying his usual table beside the stage. He was already past tipsy and barreling towards drunk with every passing moment.

Each of the Kane brothers seemed to fancy you in their own way but Nox was the least subtle. All passion and impulse, no restraint--he was a bit of a live wire and often the source of much of the trouble between the two ‘gangs’. But after spending more than one evening talking with him in the club you saw that beneath his raw edges he was sweet, ambitious, devoted to his family, and committed to living life to the fullest. Young without a doubt, and his eldest brother intended to keep it that way.

Gabriel, the eldest, had grown up working in the mines and was determined to save either of his brothers from such a fate, pushing them into factory work or anything else that kept them out of the fissures. He had opened to you about it once when he had first started coming to the club. The two of you polished off several bottles of champagne without any trouble and completely lost track of time laughing together as the club went from crowded to nearly empty. He told you about his brother’s and how he wanted to make sure that they never had to struggle to survive like he had in the early days. He also mentioned in vague terms that he was onto something now that would make it so none of them would have to go back to the factories, let alone the mines. That they would finally be given the better life he had always hoped and worked for. Gabriel’s green eyes were a light that night with the promise of the future. A future you were sure would have had a spot in it for you had you chosen to pursue it. His hand, warm and callused, had reached for yours that night, exposing the tattoos on his forearms, maps that detailed places he dreamed of going. You traced the letters of the city you fled lightly with your fingers down the veins of his arm, noticing how much more appealing they looked on his skin. He had eyed you so tenderly that night that the memory of it was surreal even now.

In the last city you lived in, someone like Gabriel would have left a trail of broken hearts longer than the Piltover bridge. Life here seemed crueler to its people but you suspected that someone as alluring as he was didn’t stay lonesome too long. Whether his stories and smiles were intended to cast a spell for the night or for longer you never found out. Gabriel kissed your hand as you parted that night and never pressed the issue again, but eagerly brought his brothers back every week since.

And like that, the Kane brothers were front and center for every performance. You always made it a point to spend time at their table after each show, so it was easy to notice the evolution. It had started humbly, a shirt that looked so new it could still have tags on it, then the pants to match, but over time there had been a shift in tone. Where there had been new clothes, simple and not thoroughly threadbare, now there were flashy new ensembles, jackets, hats, and jewelry. The bar tab seemed to grow each time they were in too and Nox was in every night.

Spared the hardships Gabriel had described, Nox was prone to enthusiasm, impetuousness, and excess, and tonight was no exception. So far he had asked you to marry him on twelve separate occasions, with a glance at his current state you sensed unlucky number 13 was mere moments away. Without Lucas and Gabriel to reign him in you wondered just how far this little display would go.

Before you had a chance to approach Nox, a loud BANG of Remy’s office door swinging into the wall with more force than you had ever seen froze you in your tracks.

“Gabriel-!” Remy shouted as you saw Gabriel emerge, jaw set and tense, from Remy’s office.

Remy called after him again but Gabriel ignored him, making a B-line to his brother and roughly pulling Nox to his feet before practically dragging him away. Gabreil brushed by you in his pursuit to the exit like you weren’t even there, his eyes empty and cold, so unlike the evening you had spent in his company. So unlike him. Nox’s hands reached from you but found no purchase as he was hauled away without so much as a word, Remy still calling after them. At least that was one problem you didn’t have to deal with tonight.

The exterior door slammed closed and they were gone, an uneasy silence stilling hanging in their wake.

You couldn’t help but stare at the scene before you, your mouth comically open in complete confusion at what you had seen. Remy hated to break the atmosphere of the club, hell--hated to raise his voice unless it was over the roar of the crowd. Something was wrong.

More movement caught your eye, as you quickly turned to spot another tall figure emerge from Remy’s office. It was Silco.

He stood in the doorway and looked disinterestedly after where Gabriel had made his exit. Remy let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, running his hands through his hair. His nervous tick.

Remy disappeared back into his office with Silco for a brief moment. You could hear hurried exchanging of words, voices tinged with distress, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then you noticed the unmistakably cool even tones of Silco, filling in the gaps of your mental picture. A moment later they both exited Remy’s office, Silco with a nearly empty glass and Remy with his keys. He proceeded to lock the door behind him and hastily out the exit after Gabriel.

Whatever peace meeting this had been had gone poorly.

You couldn’t pull your eyes off of Silco and it wasn’t long until he noticed, his bicolored eyes locking with yours sent a jolt of electricity through your body but you didn’t look away. It wasn’t long until he took a seat in one of the back booths and you retrieved a bottle of bourbon to join him.

“Do you cause trouble everywhere you go or are we special?” You asked, brandishing the bottle of liquor in a bid for an invitation to sit.

Silco flashed a sardonic smile in response to your words, but nodded toward the empty seat opposite of him anyway as he reached into his inside coat pocket for something you couldn’t see. Hopefully not a gun. That was a terrible joke to be shot over.

“Rough night?” You asked in a hurry to distract him from your last comment as you uncorked the bottle and poured you both two fingers of the amber alcohol.

“You could say that.” He said, placing a silver cigarette case down on the table before returning his hands to his coat to find it’s companion; the lighter. “You keep the most interesting company.”

You knew he was referring to the Kane brothers, specifically Gabriel. But this was business and that was something you left to Remy. Keeping out of business is one of the things that made you successful in this industry. Behind the scenes Remy and you worked together to keep things running like a well oiled machine, but when it came to the ins and outs of client disputes, you kept to the safety of your rules of ignorance and neutrality.

“Not really.” You responded blandly. “I haven’t had any interesting company here in weeks.” Your eyes lingered heavily on him with the weight of your insinuation.

The corner of Silco’s lips twitched upwards, “I’ve been busy.”

“Clearly.”

Your eyes wandered back towards the door, patiently waiting for Remy to stroll in, the picture of cool confidence. But the door remained closed.

A sharp sound pulled your attention back to the present. Silco was holding a lighter to the end of a cigarette, his eyes freezing on you.

“Care to join me?” He asked around an inhale before exhaling the smoke above him and leaning back into the velvet of the booth. He really was a sight.

“Remy doesn’t like smoking in here.”

“Well, fortunately Remy’s not here.” Silco lifted the sleek elegant case in your direction. An offering. An invitation.

“I’m the reason he doesn’t like it.”

This surprised Silco, he raises a curious eyebrow at you for further explanation.

“I quit a year ago. He doesn’t want me to be tempted back down that road.” Although he was making that rather difficult. If cigarettes always looked this good you would never have quit. Even the way Silco held his cigarette was refined, he was like every suave black and white movie you’d ever watched but there was something not quite right about the image. Something about it was out of place and spoiled it, something subtle but what?

Silco Indulged in another deep inhale staring lazily at the ceiling and you couldn’t help but watch as the svelt muscles in his neck moved around the smoke, fascinated by what must be happening below the knot of his tie.

“And how are you with temptation?”

Your eyes widened and you averted them into your glass as quickly as you could. If the pause wasn’t telling enough, you were sure your grip on the glass would be.

“Well?”

Your eyes darted up to see the cigarette case, open now, in his hand again and a wave of relief fell over your body.

He was talking about the cigarettes. Wasn't he?

“Terrible.” You made no move to accept his offer. Silco’s eyes studied you, your words contrasting your actions.

With little effort he blew his smoke across the table, meeting the skin of your face in soft swirling spirals that only aided in the clouding of your judgment. It was impossible not to drink in. Not to allow yourself this one small enjoyment from the buffet of poisonous delights. And he knew it.

The smirk lingering on his lips was just as irresistible.

“I’ve always found a little indulgence now and then to be helpful to my mind.” Silco extended the offer of his own cigarette. And perhaps it was the nicotine that was causing your head to spin or the company but such delicious indulgence had to be tasted.

Your fingers lightly traced his as you turned his palm to face you and lowered my your lips to take a drag from the cigarette in between his fingers. It was dizzying and delicious indeed. Taking in the last of the inhale, you glanced up at him through your lashes to only find his eyes locked on you with a burning intensity.

Releasing the cigarette from your lips, you allowed smoke to dribble out of you mouth before releasing it fully as you relaxed into the comfort of the cushions on the back of your seat. Silco stared openly, almost hungrily as you took your enjoyment and relaxation; eyes working over your mouth, your neck, your clavicle, your chest, then further down the rest of your body.

“Like my dress?” I asked, a wicked smile forming on your lips.

“You call that a dress?”

He had a point. This dress was nude and intentionally tantalizing, covering the most interesting parts in sparkling crystals meant to allure equally as much as it obscured.

“What would you call it?”

“A trap.”

You chuckled, reaching your hand out to his for another drag of his cigarette as he continued to study you. Silco was a mystery and there was no telling how far this game of cat and mouse would go. Your exhale came with more force this time, blowing smoke past his sharp features before offering the cigarette back. Silcos hand reached for your but instead of the cigarette you found his fingers firmly wrapped around your wrist. There was little doubt he noticed the small jolt of surprise he sent up your spine but he didn’t comment. Instead, he turned your wrist towards him and lowered his head to take a drag from your hand, exhaling his smoke inches from your face. A perfect imitation. No, much better.

Smoke washed over your face and clouded your mind and your senses until there was only this. Only him. Pinned both literally and figuratively to spot he wanted. His instruction was clear as he held your wrist still and removed the cigarette from your hand, raising it to your lips. The fire behind his dual colored eyes was truly mesmerizing. You held his gaze as you lowered your lips to enjoy another drag from his cigarette in sweet surrender.

“Good girl.”

Your eyes locked, breath hitching in your chest.

Danger. There was that neon sign again saying to run. --And it wasn’t the only thing turned on.

Silco is bad for business. Bad…so bad…

But it was impossible to deny the thrill that ran through you at the sound of his words. And if the sly gleam in his eyes was any indication, he knew it too.

The smoke exhaled slowly between your lips, your last tease as it swirled into the space between us. Neither of you able to look away.

He raised the cigarette to his lips again, revealing the tail of a scar that traced its way up the left side of his face to join the others around his treacherous eye. Its glow nearly matching that of the cigarette in his hand.

What happened to him?

No sooner had the thought occurred than it was chased away by the loud crashing of the front door into the wall of the club. It was Nox, even more intoxicated than last you’d seen him. He spoke loud and lively as he walked through the entryway, one arm heavy over Remy’s shoulder who seemed exasperated by the evening and the company. Truly a feat for someone so agreeable. One that immediately raised your concerns.

Silco was eyeing the same situation with a precise intensity that was impossible to describe or ignore. That same danger that had drawn you in earlier had sharpened somehow. That’s when it hit you: Silco was a knife. A dagger. A blade.

He kept himself sheathed politely in most scenarios but there was no doubt about what was under the surface. You could draw it to butter your bread or slit a person's throat but the danger was there all the same. He was not soft or warm. He was sharp, cool, precise, and deadly.

Suddenly it gave you pause to interrupt whatever dark calculations he was making.

“I probably should relieve Remy of Nox duty” You offered lightheartedly.

Slico cast that sharp look at you briefly before returning to watch Remy wiggle out from under Nox’s weight as he placed him gently into a barstool.

“Be careful with that one.” Silco’s warning was just above a whisper and he didn’t even spare you a look as he said it. His attention was entirely focused on Nox.

“Nox is harmless” you chuckled. But the lingering look from Silco was starting to give you second thoughts.

“We all start that way.” Silco muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. What was it that he saw in Nox that you didn’t? The question alone sent a shiver down your spine. Did you even want to know the answer?

Before you realized it Silco had gotten up from the booth and stood at the edge of the table, still watching Nox as he harassed the last bartender on duty for another drink.

Your fingers involuntarily gripped the velvet cushions beneath you. Was this it?

God, please, not now. You thought so loudly you were afraid you’d accidentally said the words out loud. Another conflict might actually break Remy and you certainly weren't ready to see the kind of damage Silco could inflict that had earned him such a fearsome reputation.

You released a shuddering breath into the still air, heavy with the weight of your fear/expectation. Silco turned to you, relieving your worry and composing his features back into the perfect gentleman you knew him as. His long slender hand reached for his whiskey and took the remainder of his drink in one go before turning back to you.

“Thank you for providing a respite from the rest of this night.” He said in low tones that only the two of you could hear as he lifted your hand to his lips.

The warmth that started in your chest spread slowly to your cheeks with a gentle blush, then to the soft smile of your lips and finally down through your core to pool in between your legs.

“But unfortunately I cannot put off my business any longer.”

You were sure Nox was safe tonight, that Silco would leave and busy himself with other concerns. But it was the leaving part that you found harder to grapple with, even if no one knew. He’d been gone so much recently, your time together seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

“So you say.” you sighed.

“Perhaps it’s my company that’s not interesting enough for you.”

Silco’s eyes narrowed at your remark. In a flash// with out warning, his grip on your hand changed, suddenly pulling you out of your seat and into him. A startled gasp escaped your lips as your chest collided with his. Long fingers slid skillfully over your hip and along your lower back. His other hand still held your wrist firmly. Provocatively. Both a statement of control and a dare for you to defy it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you miss me, Ms. Sweet '' Silco whispered in a near purr, his nose pressing against the shell of your ear. Silco sent chills throughout your body that rivaled surgical precision. You couldn’t see his face, but there was an aire of arrogance about the way he held you that said he knew.

“Perhaps” You melted into him, making no moves to resist him. Your fight lay in another vein.

“But I’m not sure I can remember why anymore.”

His grip on you relaxed and you withdrew, it seemed as good of time as any to make your exit. Always better to leave with the last word. It wasn’t until you had turned your back that you felt his dark presence on you again.

“Are you asking for a reminder?” He punctuated his question with the press of his body against yours. His front to your back, with an unmistakable stiffness. That felt like a win.

“I’d hate to distract you from your work. It sounds very important.” You struggled to keep the sound of your smile out of your voice. Silco’s fingers were caressing your hip, almost as though he was debating something.

Without warning a loud BANG cut through the thick atmosphere of the club, stealing your attention away from Silco’s touch. That damn door again. A long line of fresh Academy recruits staggered their way to the bar with slurred celebration on their lips.

“Unusual crowd tonight.” You commented into the empty air beside you. Silco was gone.

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