#to say nothing that he shared his secret of the narrative with you when he holds most secrets so close | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asukaskerian · 3 months

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prompt 4 for moshang with the mood "incensed" would be hilarous i imagine

Mythology - Foretold by the gods - moshang

So he might have, maybe, at some point -- some late at night or maybe very early point -- tried to figure out an OC for Mobei-jun to ship w fuck. Dude was so perfect, it was a shame his dump truck ass and sequoia thighs remained unembraced. (Also the whole "he's so mysterious and never opens up and unveils his deep thoughts and tender feelings except for me" fantasy but never mind all that.)

He'd gone exactly as far as 'Meeting: why tf would he notice anyone. Dashing rescue? Why does he need a rescue he's too cool and basically untrappable anyway, what are they rescuing him from socializing with his cousins lmao???' on his notes before giving up on making it realistic. The next scribble was 'cuz i said so ok next'.

There had been no 'next'. His battery had died and when he managed to get home and get his laptop plugged in it was time for another word vomit on the topic of Bing-ge's meat truncheon.

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 1/536 discovered. Keep going!][Category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" 1/413]

'System-bro, what the entire fuck!?!' Airplane screeched inside his heart of hearts; ass on the floor (bruising), clothes askew (from sleeping in them!!), and the most gorgeous, terrifying man he'd ever seen staring down at him from the bed they'd crashed into (Mobei-jun first, because unconscious, Airplane later, because idiot) the previous night.

Because he had expected being sneered at; being talked down to; being attacked on sight. Being haughtily ignored, after sufficient groveling at crotch level.

But his most perfect, most unattainable creation, that Himalayan peak made flesh, saying that --

The problem with Airplane was, he didn't trust people. He didn't trust them to share their feelings and decisions with him freely instead of leaving him reeling at yet another swerve of which he was merely collateral damage. He didn't trust them not to lie to themselves, or even know they were lying to themselves, so even if they did tell him what they thought or felt he assumed they were doing the polite 'the real reason is none of your business but telling you to fuck off is rude' thing at best.

So yes, his favorite game from childhood had been to pick someone in the crowd and tell himself stories about their life. This guy is a grandfather of seven and doesn't know the birthday of a single grandkid and his eldest son just pointed it out to him, but not even angrily which is worse because that's how low the bar he failed to clear was, that's why the fancy package and the gloomy expression. That girl just broke up -- she's so angry though -- he was fucking her sister. No wait, her nails are short, it was a girlfriend for sure; she fucked her brother, a double betrayal. It had evolved into telling himself stories about his classmates and his half-siblings and his parents, since they were never ever gonna bother to invite him to take a real glimpse inside, anyway.

He was fully aware that statistically speaking he was probably wrong a lot of the time, but 1. coming up with coherent narratives was satisfying enough to smother the jealousy and loneliness and 2. as far as he was concerned it was true until proved otherwise, which was never.

But a guy who gave him nothing to work with. That was a challenge. That was fascinating.

....

But a guy who greeted him by "You are to be my husband?" with a tone of dismay?!

What the fuck! What the fuck!! What the flying dick-flapping fuck!!!

He was so shocked, he forgot to kowtow.

"You uh. My king?" He hadn't made the guy so above it all that he landed straight back into a a naive ingenue, right? "Just sleeping on the same mattress doesn't -- people don't have to be married to share--"

The muggy air of the inn room went so cold so fast that condensation rolled cold drops down his back.

(The effect didn't last; there was a haze in the air, briefly, and then a suffocating breeze from outside ruined the surprise air-con.)

"You will not speak to me like an idiot child," Mobei-jun-to-be rumbled threateningly, and then ruined the cool by continuing in that wtf vein. "My husband will show respect to his wife or his wife shall reign as a widow."

Holy shit, now Mobei-jun was the wife???!?!??? What? What! Airplane was dead. Again. For good.

He stayed down there sitting on his ass, waiting for the world to make sense. It didn't happen. The man of his masochistic dreams had crossed his arms over his massive bara titties like a barricade and was now sulking up there like an offended wi-- no, he couldn't even think it.

"My -- my king? It's only, ah, your humble servant doesn't... recall... getting married...?"

Eyes as blue as the afterimage of a lightning strike speared him through, metaphorically.

"Not yet. But we must."

He let out a long sigh; and his face didn't twitch when he moved to aggravate his wound, but the way he stilled for a breath was telling. Shang not-yet-Qinghua winced in reflexive sympathy.

"There is a prophecy."

"... Ah?" A prophecy. About his king. That he hadn't put into the story. That he hadn't even scribbled into the margins or thought about. 'System?!'

[Yes, valued User?]

"There is a prophecy for each generation, and most of them don't matter," the ice demon using that shitty inn bed as his throne said with a bitter tone. "But the eleventh ruler of the Northern Desert will be heralded by his foretold spouse; that is how he is confirmed."

"Ohh," Airplane said intelligently and with characteristic eloquence.

"'You will know them by these things," his king quoted sourly, "first, they will heal you; second, share your bed; third, offer their hand, and service, and their soul."

'Their soul! Their soul!! I was offering my sneakiness and maybe my dick, ah?! System!!! Who told you to mess up my creation with made-up prophecies?!'

[The easter egg category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" belongs to the third rung of canon : Word of God.]

But he hadn't told anyone--

But he'd written it down, he remembered now. 'Cuz i said so.'

Oh god. Oh immortals ascended before him. Oh little ancestors in both and either worlds. Someone fix this for him. "My king. Haha. My king, that is -- so vague! So vague?! How can there not be a dozen candidates with criteria so -- so stupid? And if the prophecy is common knowledge then people knew them in advance?! How were you not sabotaged right and left--"

...Oh no. He was gorgeous when he smirked like this, slow and feline, satisfied. My king, so unfair.

"This prince has long since made it a point not to sleep where others may catch him." A delicate pause. "He has also made it a point to return misplaced agents to his most obstinate siblings's chambers at a time his elders may not miss them."

"--Oh. Disqualifying them for trying to disqualify you -- so smart, my king!" For a moment, he had gotten enthused. But then he remembered that they were discussing his sudden non-canon matrimony, and then he started poking it for plot holes. "But -- just anybody can share your bed."

"The language is old, and clear. The prophecy speaks of the only person to ever share this king's bed."

... Hhghhhk.

That stare. So hard. Offended. Those cheekbones. So cutting. That nose, regal; that hair.

"My king," Airplane said as he climbed up to his feet, eyes trained on the floor and his knees and the things spread on the table and anything else at all. "Have you ever thought that the 'sharing a bed' section was metaphorical?"

He met the demon's eyes then, incredulous and angry, buoyant with it. "You haven't even shown me your dick and you think I should be making recompense?! What the fuck! Passing out on the same shitty mattress doesn't mean getting deflowered! I didn't knock you up with a snowball ass egg, why the fuck should I--"

Oh, he was tall. Also wide. Especially wide. Flatten me daddy indeed.

Oh, he was angry.

"It is not. Metaphorical. Though if all you need is to see my body--"

His hand landed on his belt. Shang eventually-Qinghua stopped breathing, body hot and bubbling with too much emotion--

It read like one of his waifu plots, the Joan of Arc types, unconquerable holy virgins except via the pressure of greater good.

A vague scrying over some random-ass kingdom, a little prophecy and welp! Nothing to it, just gotta fuck it out for the marital bed and then never again. At least you getting lawfully reamed has saved Bumfucknowhereistan.

'System. Demerit if I say hell no?'

[The bonus Mobei-jun questline remains optional, and brings User no penalties on opt-out.]

'Great.'

Like hell he was jumping into marriage because he liked some guy's face and didn't want to be bothered by geriatric busybodies tittering over his lack of wedlock. Who was he, his mother?

"I'll pass. Sorry, my king, at least I'm ditching you long before the altar?"

And with a sweep of his hand, he dumped all his things off the table and into his qiankun pouch, and was jumping out the window and doing a sick flip trick on his trusty borrowed blade. Airplane over and out, bro!

Thanks for nothing. Now his spank bank was forever tainted.

Three days later he was still dealing with bursts of anger and anguish and other moronic emotions, which didn't help navigating his miraculous return to the sect ("I was so scared!" lost its impact if he broke a sneery judgmental Shixiong's ankle with a well-placed kick) or the medical peak's nosiness ("Who cares about the bruises, my biggest injury is my blue balls and broken heart, thanks!") or Shen not-quite-Quingqiu's scalpel eyes.

His king's eyes were prettier.

His king was never going to be his king. Optional quest line. Yeah. He vaguely wondered how the System planned to make him betray the sect, then, who for, and then decided it wasn't his problem. Fuck it. He was sure it could do blackout poetry with his notes and pull out some contrived justification that would amount for half as much incentive as Mobei-jun's everything.

His fierce determination, his fearlessness, his skill, his -- his body.

His body that was extremely too visible on Shang in-his-soul-Qinghua's disciple bed, shoulders draped in furs and bountiful meaty muscle on full frontal display.

"I will not," he growled low and quiet, "be discarded by my spouse."

"Hhg."

He had snow leopard rosettes on his flanks in dusky blue, secret patterns never appeared in any cover art Airplane had commissioned.

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 2/536 discovered. Keep going!]

... Oh god, it turned out Shang Qinghua was exactly as stupid as Bing-ge's most ice-cold chaste wives. Because 'lie back and think of England?' Yeah, he was going to think of England and that dick.

#svsss #asuka writes #writing meme

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lullabyes22-blog · 5 months

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Mel x Silco - Something Blue AU - A Drabble Thing

Based on this ask by anonymous <3

Part of an AU meta of the Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO universe.

"You are my daughter! Your future, and your legacy, are mine to protect."

"Is that why you cast me out? Protection?" Mel lifts the blue-tipped brush. The bristles sigh across the canvas. With methodic strokes, she begins to paint. "Or was it because I stood in the way of your ambitions?"

"What I did, I did to keep you safe!"

cw: sex, angst, dysfunctional relationships, abandonment issues

Based on this ask on Tumblr:

In the married AU, how would Mel and Silco reveal their relationship to the public and possibly their inner circles (the biggest of elephant in the room being Ambessa). Perhaps a discreet kiss at a public event or just say yep we're an item.

At the outset, Silco and Mel in the FnF-verse absolutely opted for secrecy during their, er, courtship. Given their alliance is literally struck due to backroom deals and intercity espionage, they keep their meetings discreet and their trysts tightly under wraps, in the guise of visiting each others' cities in the interests of diplomatic galas, festivals, and trade expos.

In these neutral settings, they are the most likely to interact and thus their illicit dealings can be easily masked.

By the time their closeness transitions from alliance to affair, they've actually hit a conundrum. Silco, a born provocateur, delights in stirring the pot to get the upper hand. Meanwhile, Mel, having been trained from childhood to be a savvy statesperson, is more restrained, particularly with a subject as controversial as her private affairs. And yet their reactions are paradoxical: while she wants to maintain her privacy, she enjoys seeing him lose control; while he enjoys the thrill of their secret trysts, he'd also relish the look on the Council's faces once they realize his fingerprints are all over the Crown Jewel of Topside.

And yet, when they finally formalize their agreement, the dichotomy culminates in remarkably different reactions.

Silco, who's always had a subversive flair for dramatics, suddenly loses all his trademark chutzpah. His first instinct is to keep the announcement under strict lock and key, a reaction Mel finds absolutely baffling. Bashfulness, now? Here is a man who's always in control of every narrative, and who is finally in a position to dictate the terms of his relationship.

And yet...

Even among his close circle, he's cagey and close-mouthed. He shares the bare bones with Sevika (to her glowering displeasure). She is not happy with how his fraternization has rapidly crossed the line from business to home. She is also, in her foresight, not the least bit surprised. She warns him bluntly about the future political repercussions, and their impact on Zaun.

Jinx, meanwhile, has already put two and two together. Her reaction is as expected:

Boom.

"No! No no no!"

They square off in his office, where she's burst in, a fitful cannonball. Silco is sitting at his desk, his expression deliberately neutral. Jinx's face is contorted, her blue hair an alarum of distress. Her cheeks are streaked with tears.

"Jinx," Silco begins reasonably. "Please listen..."

"You're leaving me! Just like Vi!"

"I'm not leaving you. I would never—"

"No, no, NO! You're leaving because I'm a monster and I ruin everything and everyone hates me!"

"Jinx, please."

"I knew it." She grabs fistfuls of her own hair. "I knew I wasn't worth saving, or keeping, or—"

"Stop that." Rising, he rounds the desk to encompass her in his arms. "Don't you dare speak that way again."

Jinx wrenches herself loose. "Why should I listen to you? You're a liar! You're gonna marry that Piltie and leave me behind, and I'll have nobody, nothing, ever again, just like before." She's sobbing openly, her voice ragged with rage. "Just like always."

"I am not lying, Jinx." Silco's voice is strained. His is trying hard to hold it together. "I will marry, yes. But you have my word: I will not abandon you."

She laughs wildly. "You already have!"

"Jinx—"

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't do this. You wouldn't leave me all alone, again, with nothing!"

"Jinx, please. Listen to me."

"No! I won't sit by and be left with nothing! I won't! I won't!"

"My lovely—"

"No! Don't touch me!"

She bolts, a blue comet shooting up the rafters. Silco is left, hands dangling, alone.

For the next few weeks, Jinx will remain sequestered in her workshop, either in a manic burst of tinkering, or staring vacantly at the wall. Silco will try to coax her to talk to him. But she'll either ignore him or scream at him to go away. He'll have no choice but to give her space, and hope the bombshell doesn't destroy their bond. In the meantime, he'll try to keep his meetings with Mel discreet, for the sake of easing Jinx's mind. And salving her hurts.

Eventually, she will thaw.

Eventually.

Mel, on her part, is disappointed, but understanding of Silco's need to proceed at a cautious pace. She's seen his girl in the flesh, and can empathize with her fragility. She'll encourage him to do what he can to repair his relationship. But she will also gently remind him of the precariousness of their alliance, and how they must secure the groundwork they've laid. Publicly formalizing their union will do just that. In time, the shock of it will settle, and their families will have no choice but to accept it, no matter the fallout.

As for Mel's family?

She has already informed Ambessa. And, she's done so with a brazen aplomb. Despite being groomed to be discretion itself, she has absolutely no qualms about her affair becoming public knowledge. She's been banished by her clan; in the eyes of her compatriots, she is nothing. Therefore she has nothing left to lose.

Finally free of the chains of her own making, Mel is now ready to stake her claim, and no one else's. She'll take Silco out on the town and proudly declare herself his, even though the news will be met with shock, and its downside, snobbery. The Council will be livid; the public will be baffled; the press will go wild.

And Mel will just smile.

Ambessa, predictably, is apoplectic. Mel, whatever their differences, was always destined for greatness. How dare she throw it all away on a street-rat from the Lanes?

She'll confront Mel at her apartments.

"I don't believe it. Of all the men at your disposal, you'd pick a wretched, half-rancid thing?"

Mel, her back to Ambessa, slowly mixes her paint: a deep, iridescent blue. Her bare canvas sits on the easel. A possibility, beckoning.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Ambessa goes on. "Some last-ditch rebellion? To spit in my face, and that of our entire house?"

"I stopped belonging to our house the moment you banished me."

"I sent you here to carry on the torch! To solidify our foothold on Piltover's shores!"

"Perhaps my idea of a torch differs from yours."

Ambessa's hands ball into fists: ferocious, and yet imploring.

"Don't be a fool, Mel. Idealism blinds the brightest minds. And that man? He only has his eye on the prize—and your heart on a platter."

"My heart, Mother, is made up. As is my mind." Mel, her wrist steady, dips her brush. "Neither are for you to judge."

"You are my daughter! Your future, and your legacy, are mine to protect."

"What I did, I did to keep you safe!"

"Safe?" Mel echoes. The paint spreads, a cobalt teardrop. "You sent me here, alone, without the slightest consideration of how I might navigate an unknown city. You left me to fend for myself. Practically left me for dead."

"Mel—"

"I've made a home for myself. Here. In Piltover. I've built a life, on my own terms. And I am no longer beholden to you, or your schemes. So no, Mother. You will not interfere. And you will not come within five hundred yards of my future husband."

"That snake will never give you what you deserve!"

"What, wealth? Prestige? Respect? I have all that."

"Until he drains it dry—and takes your city for himself."

Mel lets off a mirthless laugh. "Oh, Mother. As if that wasn't your goal all along."

"Mel—"

"You'll not threaten him. Nor our future."

"And if I do?"

Mel stops mid-stroke. Turning, she faces her mother full-on, and there is fire in her eyes.

"Do that," she says softly, "and see what it will cost you. See what it already has." She gestures, all the paintings lining the walls. No scenes of Noxus. No memories of home. Only a thousand different vistas, of a foreign shore. A foreign shore that she will not forsake. "All this time, you've never known me. And now, you pay the price. So go on and call me a fool. Go on and pretend you're the better strategist. But the truth is, our cities are safest when Silco and I work together. Because then we are better equipped to defend ourselves against people like you."

Ambessa's scowl is a blackened storm. She stands, arms folded. "So that's how it is, then."

"Yes."

"It'll come to no good. Mark my words. Your little romance is doomed."

Mel turns away. "We'll see."

"It's a waste." Ambessa turns on her own heel. "A waste and a mistake." Then, a parting shot: "If you'd been half as ruthless as you were cunning, you'd still be standing at my side."

Mel's fingers falter, a fraction. Her spine stays ramrod straight.

"Perhaps," she says, "your side is where the mistake lies."

Ambessa's footsteps echo, fading. Then door slams shut, and Mel is alone. Her paintbrush, poised. It trembles, barely.

Then the teardrop falls, and blooms.

Blue as the sky.

A possibility, unfolding.

In the following weeks, Silco and Mel's plans gain traction. Having shared the news with their close circle, they begin to lay the groundwork for breaking the story to the broader public. Silco is a savvy businessman; Mel, a shrewd politician. Their collaboration is a well-oiled machine. Instead of subjecting themselves to the arduous process of navigating the media storm, they'll let a third party do the legwork. An independent media outlet will build up to the reveal, starting with small, local publications. As the story gains momentum, they'll transition to more prominent outlets and heavy-hitting powerbrokers.

The idea is to slowly begin seeding their relationship into the public consciousness. Two cities arm-in-arm. Two leaders, intimately aligned.

The narrative is the hook; the angle is the bait. And the truth, a bottle waiting to be uncorked.

A bold blend, filling everyone's cup with the scintillating spoils of their union.

By the solstice, the announcement hits the newsreel. The two cities are aflame with shock and a healthy dose of scandal. From the conservative quarters, there is a barrage of criticism and downright hostility. In Piltover's upper echelons, the objections are rooted in classism, with some claiming Mel's union with a Trencher will only degrade her standing, setting a dangerous precedent for future 'downscaling' of the elite, and their social stature.

In Zaun, meanwhile, there are rumblings of discord, particularly from the chem-barons. Many question whether Mel, a Topsider and a Councilor, will throw a wrench in the black market's spokes. There is also an undercurrent of anti-Piltie sentiment, which some leverage to cast aspersions on Silco's leadership. How can a man who's built up his brand on defying Topside now choose to cavort with one of the ruling elite?

And then there are those who question whether this is a ploy. Is the Council using a honeypot tactic to infiltrate and sabotage the Fissures' economy? Has Zaun's Chancellor been taken in by a pretty face and a clever tongue?

Conversely, Zaunites speculate that Mel is merely a stand-in, and that the real love affair is between Silco and the city of Piltover itself. Is his heart really set on the woman, or on the power she represents? The access she grants him to Piltover's wealth, and the influence she has in the city's halls? Is the Eye of Zaun staging a coup to overthrow Piltover, and seize control?

Mel and Silco's betrothal has opened a Pandora's Box. With every question comes a thousand more.

But they know what they're doing. The seeds have been planted. And their narrative is taking root.

Soon, their respective cities are a frenzy of whispers, rumors, and outright slander. Their names are on the tips of everyone's tongues, from the Black Lanes to Bluewind Court.

The press is ravenous, and the public is starved.

Behind closed doors, each respective city's bureaucracy and security agencies begin to dig deeper into the other. They scrutinize Mel and Silco's histories, searching for a chink in the armor. They scour their dealings for the faintest whiff of a trail, for the slightest sign of betrayal.

And yet, as the days turn to weeks, nothing seems amiss.

No backdoor deals. No subterfuge. No secret threats.

Mel and Silco appear to be two trailblazers, united by a common vision. They've been allies for years. They have a solid working relationship, and the fruits of their combined efforts are starting to manifest. Their joint-venture has generated an unprecedented surge in trade and tourism between Piltover and Zaun, as well as a slew of new scientific innovations.

With each passing day, the news cycles begin to shift. The stories change. So do the angles. The whispers have become questions. Questions, answers.

The doubts start to melt into admiration.

Among the younger generation, a sense of glamorous taboo emerges. For the Topsiders, the Eye is a folk myth, an urban legend, a veritable bad boy. Now, his mystique is amplified tenfold, and his relationship with Mel only serves to fan the flames. On her part, Mel becomes an overnight sensation, a risktaker who's not afraid to break the mold, and whose charm has captured the imagination of a dangerous outlaw.

To the Fissure-dwellers, the interest holds a different flavor: speculation, scandal and self-congratulatory schadenfreude. Zaun, after all, was once a backwater slum. Now, their star is on the rise. Their Chancellor—a black-hearted scoundrel through and through—has bagged the Crown Jewel of Topside. What was once unobtainable is now theirs for the taking. Their victory over the Pilties is twofold: their haughtiest is now Zaun's hausfrau. They've managed to seduce, and subjugate, the Council's most formidable.

Marriage, eh? Who knew that the old ball and chain would prove so positive?

Now that the barometer of public adulation has spiked, Silco and Mel deploy a different approach. Rather than keeping their distance, they begin to take calculated risks: public outings, shared dinners, even a gala or two. Their appearances are met with a fervor bordering on hysteria. The press is abuzz. Everywhere they go, they are greeted with the dazzle of cameras and avid calls.

This is, after all, a historic first.

"Silco, Silco! What do you have to say about the rumors that Mel's engagement ring is from the Fissure mines? The same ones where you worked as a child?"

"Mel, Mel! How do you respond to the critics who say your engagement is an act of nepotism, and that it violates the principles of democracy?"

"Chancellor! Is it true that you're secretly building a palace underneath the canals, and that it will be a wedding present for Mel?"

"Councilor! Are you planning on changing your last name as a Medarda? If so, what will it be?"

Mel and Silco answer the barrage with enigmatic smiles, and an equally opaque, "No comment."

Except the wall of reticence won't stave off the tide forever. The pressure is mounting. Emotions are boiling.

It's time to launch Phase Three.

By the solstice, Silco and Mel agree to do a joint interview. This way, they can put the most outlandish rumors to bed, while satiating the public's appetite for their personal lives. The interview is to be conducted in neutral territory, outside Piltover's and beyond Zaun's borders, to avoid accusations of journalistic bias. A balcony in a small seaside town in Tereshni serves as their backdrop, and the interview is a two-part special, aired live on prominent radio stations.

Mel and Silco have agreed on their talking points. They've also laid ground rules: no questions about their sex life, their finances, or their families. The interview is about their partnership, their cities, and their plans for the future. They are there to dispel the rumors, not perpetuate them.

The sit-down is a sensation. Millions tune in to listen to their story, and to marvel at the fairytale of it all. For many, it's as if the couple are speaking directly to them. The audience is starved for content, and the airwaves throb with excitement. Some are captivated by the way the couple engage each other: the chemistry is undeniable, and Silco's sardonic, acerbic wit is perfectly complemented by Mel's elegant, cutting humor. Their affair has a certain dark-and-light aesthetic: shadow and sun.

The questions and answers fly fast. The duo are a masterclass of media savvy. They detail the timeline of their relationship: their first meeting, their alliance, and its transition from diplomatic to intimate. They discuss their respective roles as heads of their respective cities, and how they will each be transitioning to more ceremonial titles to avoid a conflict of interest. Silco will remain the Chancellor, while Mel will become an 'honorary' member of the Council. They'll have less to do with the bureaucracy, and more to do with public affairs and their philanthropic endeavors.

They are, essentially, becoming statespeople. Their primary goal is to ensure a seamless, amicable transfer of power, from their current governments to their respective successors. Silco will groom Sevika; Mel, Jayce. This way, the transition is guaranteed. It is, as they say, a win-win for all parties.

As for their plans?

A wedding, for starters. In a year's time, they will tie the knot.

After that?

Well. Who knows. The future, as they say, is up in the air.

Any children?

That is where the interview stalls. Family is a no-go subject. Now the interviewer is pushing boundaries. Attempting to address the elephant in the room:

Jinx.

"You are aware, Councilor Medarda, that your fiancé has an adopted daughter. A rather volatile one. Correct?"

The mood changes in the venue. Silco's expression is darkly-inscrutable. Mel's is a mask of pleasant ice.

"I am aware, yes," she says.

"And do you plan to accept her into the fold?"

"The fold?"

"As your step-daughter. As a potential Medarda."

Silco's expression is granite. Mel's, steel. He opens his mouth to impart a succinct response. Mel lays a hand on his arm. Then, with a serene smile, she says:

"I do. If she'll have me."

Silco narrowly hides his shock. There's a silence. Then, a susurrus of whispers, as the crew react to the news.

The interviewer blinks.

"Do you mean that, Councilor Medarda?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Jinx is not a child, but one of Zaun's most innovative minds. One that has been linked to multiple attacks, and countless counts of homicide. To say nothing of her role in Zaun's independence." The interviewer is careful not to be confrontational. "Many still consider her a terrorist. And yet you would take her into your family, as a future Medarda?"

"One's past needn't define one's future. Especially one so young, and full of promise."

"But aren't you concerned? About your safety? About the safety of your city?"

"My city is her home. As hers, I hope, will be mine." Mel holds the interviewer's shocked stare. "The Chancellor's and my union is meant to herald a new age of cooperation. I see no reason why it should be confined to the political arena. As far as I'm concerned, we are family."

Silence.

Then, a flurry of flashbulbs, as the camera shutters whirr. Mel's smile is sweetness itself. But her gaze is steady.

Silco, meanwhile, is eyeing her with hooded eyes.

The interviewer is floored, but scrambles to move the conversation forward.

"Thank you, Councilor Medarda. Your statement is... intriguing."

"I expect we'll be hearing much more about it," Mel says, and shoots her fiancé a glance.

Silco gives a single nod.

"Indeed."

"Then, before we end, is there anything you'd like to add, Chancellor?"

Silco is silent for a moment. Finally:

"Yes. You asked me at the outset, why I agreed to this union. At the time, I said the reason was obvious. Now, given Councilor Medarda's answer, I'd like to make an amendment."

He turns to Mel.

"Councilor Medarda and I made a choice to enter into this union. It was not the most prudent course of action. But it was the right one. It was not borne of convenience, or obligation. It was not based on any form of calculation, or expectation. It was founded upon one simple premise: two cities, one family. And, perhaps, a chance at something more. I know this won't be the last criticism. I'm aware of the risks involved. And yet, as of now, I'm certain of only one thing."

He takes Mel's hand.

"There can be no progress without sacrifice. No victory without adversity. But most importantly, no family without trust. So if we are to build a bridge between our cities, it must start from within. Ours will be our family. Our foundation. And Jinx...will be its heart."

He smiles a crooked little smile.

"And anyone who takes issue...had best watch their step."

His tone is mild. His meaning is not.

The interview ends on a high note.

Hours later, hot off the press, the cities are abuzz. The story dominates the newsreel for the next several days. In Piltover, everything is dissected ad nauseum: from the Council's official stance on the union, to the general consensus on whether the Medardas are abetting a terrorist, to discourse around historic reparations. In Zaun, meanwhile, the conversation is more nuanced. Some are ecstatic, believing Medarda's acceptance is proof that Zaunites are finally gaining social clout. Others are wary, wondering what the lineage of known conquest will bode for a city that prides itself on working-class roots.

The only certainty: the union is now, irrevocably, a fact.

Jinx, meanwhile, stays holed up in her workshop.

She'd flung her radio against the wall because she couldn't bear the newsreel: Zaun Chancellor (that lying snake), and Councilor Medarda (that gilded bitchqueen) have been spotted at the opera-gallery-theater-exhibition-club-restaurant, and were they holding hands, or kissing, or dancing? What does this mean for Zaun’s future? Is Topside being sold off to the Undercity? Is Piltover getting the keys back to the Fissures? Or is it a trick, a ruse, a scam, a lie, a betrayal, a—

From her shoddily-assembled radio:

"I expect we'll be hearing much more about it," the dulcet female voice says.

"Indeed," replies the low sardonic rumble.

Jinx, in a blind fit of fury, nearly blasts the damn radio to shreds.

But the broadcast continues, and Jinx falls still. Her ears are like little gravity-wells, and the voices are a pair of comets: hurtling straight for the core.

"You asked me at the outset, why I agreed to this union. At the time, I said the reason was obvious. Now, given Councilor Medarda's answer, I'd like to make an amendment."

She creeps closer. Despite herself, she leans into the crackling speaker.

"Councilor Medarda and I made a choice to enter into this union. It was not the most prudent course of action..."

Got that right, buster.

"But it was the right one."

Suuuure.

"It was not borne of convenience, or obligation."

What a crock.

"It was not based on any form of calculation, or expectation."

This man is a pathological liar.

"It was founded upon one simple premise: two cities, one family. And, perhaps, a chance at something more. I know this won't be the last criticism..."

Jinx rolls her eyes. The rest is a blur. The spiel, the spin, the sales pitch. It's a load of horse manure packaged smartly into soundbites. Silco's expertise is selling stories, and he's good at it. He knows how to make a sucker look like a genius.

Too bad it won't work on her. She's his daughter, after all. She knows the game for what it is. She's heard enough, she's seen enough, and she'll hear and see no more. It's a trap, and she refuses to fall into it. She'll have nothing to do with him, or his Topside trophy wife, and she'll certainly have nothing to do with—

"Ours will be our family. Our foundation. And Jinx...will be its heart."

Jinx stops. Transfixed. The radio is crackling in her lap. Her fingers are locked around the dial. But her mind has gone blank.

Jinx.

Her name is a throbbing echo. A hammer striking a chord. A lifeforce.

"And anyone who takes issue...had best watch their step."

Jinx stares down at her radio. It's an ungodly piece of junk. One of the antennae is bent and the dial is loose. The batteries are corroded, the knob is a tangle of exposed wire, and the paint is peeling. The damn thing should have been thrown out a long time ago.

Except Jinx can't bring herself to let go.

Not when it's her only connection to Silco.

His face has gone blurry over the past weeks. She can't recall with exactitude the shape of his mouth or the seams of his scars. Sometimes, the memories feel like a dream: the way he'd stroke her hair and hum her a lullaby; the way his hands would enfold hers when she struggled to aim the rifle, or steady the drill; the way he'd sit at her bedside, reading a storybook, when she was scared or feverish. Those memories are a salve, soothing the hurt.

Then the fever breaks and it returns. The guilt. The anger. The hurt.

He's found someone else.

He doesn't love me anymore.

I'm not worth saving, or keeping, or—

Jinx's thoughts are a vortex. But Silco's voice is a hook. It drags her back. Back to the moment she saw him in the rainfall, the flames eating closer and closer, Vi gone and Vander fallen. She'd been sobbing, begging, absolutely alone, and he'd stood there. His face was a Jack-o-lantern: glowing eye and jagged teeth and a knife tucked behind his sleeve.

And Jinx had wondered, in a delirious haze: Is this how I die?

And the answer had come.

Not from her. From him.

"It's okay."

His arms enfolding her, a shield against the rain. His breath, soft and smoky in her ear. The shape of his palm, gentle against her spine. The smell of cigarettes and gunmetal and blood in the weave of his coat. His heartbeat, a counterpoint to hers. The words he'd said. The realest thing in the world.

"We'll show them."

"You're safe."

"You're home."

And, cradled in his embrace, Jinx had closed her eyes and believed.

Now, with her head in her hands, Jinx lets out a shuddering breath. Then another. Then another. Until she's no longer trembling. Until the tears have stopped.

Until her choice is made.

She's had enough.

Enough of hiding, and running, and losing. Enough of the pain and the nightmares and the ghosts. Enough of feeling alone, and scared, and forgotten. Enough of the grief and the fear and the hate.

She wants it gone.

And she knows how to get it done.

****

Dear Jinx—

If I may be so bold as to call you that,

I know we've had our share of misunderstandings. Truthfully, I cannot blame you. I understand you were hurt in the past. And I understand your suspicion, as I'm sure it has been warranted. Like your father, you have a reputation for a long memory. And yet I also know your father is a man of his word. That he has a sense of honor, and humor, and loyalty. That, above all else, he is a man who will do anything for his family.

Perhaps that is why I agreed to our union. For, although the idea was mine, the decision was his. When I told him of my desire to see both our cities prosper, he did not hesitate. He accepted my proposal the same night. I think, deep down, he has always wanted this: two cities that share a common cause, and a shared legacy. And I am glad he chose to accept my offer, as it is a chance to make it so.

Not just for our cities. But for us.

Family means different things to different people. For some, it is a blood tie. For others, a bond. And for still others, a choice. To me, the definition is rather simple: family is the place where you belong. The people who care about you, and who are willing to protect you, no matter the cost. To whom you owe a debt of gratitude. And whose debt, in turn, you are honor-bound to repay.

As your father's bride-to-be, and as your future stepmother, I want to make a vow to you.

I promise to never leave you. I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. I promise to care for you, and hear you, and see you.

In short, I promise to be your family. If you'll have me.

With sincere hopes of seeing you soon,

Mel Medarda

P.S.

I've included a painting, which I hope will serve as a gift. I've titled it: "Something Blue."

Please let me know what you think.

P.P.S.

I hope the wrapping paper suits your taste.

It's not easy to find a pattern with pink explosions.

****

The wedding is a spectacular affair.

The logistics are a nightmare, and it has taken weeks of coordination between Piltover and Zaun to streamline the process. Everything from security checks to seating arrangements to catering is meticulously planned. The event is meant to symbolize the future: two cities united by a common goal. In the spirit of this partnership, the nuptials are hugely publicized.

They are also split between both cities.

In Piltover, it's a regal, understated affair. The time is late-morning, under the blue curve of a cloudless sky. The venue is the grandest hall in the city, an ancient estate whose history dates back to the mercantile era. Beneath a classical pavilion of limestone and marble, a close-knit collection of guests are present: Councilors, nobles, diplomats. In a testament to the changing times, they rub shoulders with Zaunite dignitaries: chem-barons and clan leaders, who've traded their usual flamboyant finery for sober suits and demure dresses.

A few steps away, Sevika and her blackguards stand at attention.

Jinx, as predicted, is absent.

Silco's eyes scan the scenery. Behind his ribs: a pang.

He can't help it.

Today's ceremony, pure spectacle, is still a step forward. For Piltover, and Zaun. A step he'd planned to take, but not alone.

Not alone, but with his little blue urchin hanging off his arm—

"Ready, sir?"

Silco turns. Sevika, in a smart deep-viridian suit, regards him inquisitively.

Silco squares his shoulders, and nods.

"Let's get this over with."

Sevika gestures, and the doors swing open. Silco steps out. The sun is a brilliant glare. The flashbulbs are a barrage of gunfire. He and his entourage are instantly besieged by the press. Everyone wants a close-up of his nuptial finery: a black double-breasted charcoal, sleek and slim-cut, with a burgundy silk waistcoat and matching gold accents. His slicked-back hair is neatly-styled, and his eyepatch boasts a glinting blue stud.

An accessory—or a tribute.

Depends on who's asking.

"Chancellor Silco! Any final words before the big event?"

"Any last-minute jitters?"

"Is it true your bride-to-be is pregnant?"

"Will Jinx not be attending?"

Silco's good eye cuts like a blade. The questions taper off. The reporters fall back.

Satisfied, Silco walks on.

At the altar, the officiant is waiting. A string quartet plays a lusterless traditional hymn. The guests have taken their designated spots. The air is a shimmer of sunlight and a buzz of whispers.

Silco keeps his posture straight and his expression bland. But his eyes stay alert, scanning the crowd, searching for a flash of blue, a peek, a hint—

A hush descends.

The quartet strikes up the familiar strains of a marching waltz. The bridesmaids, a trio of gilded cream-clad swans, are gliding down the aisle. Silco keeps his gaze straight ahead, on the ornate mirrored archway at the end of the aisle. It shows, between its curlicued filigree, a view of the courtyard behind him. Its stone pathways and leafy hedges are a lush green maze. Beyond it is the Topside cityscape: a dazzling vista of rooftops, spires, and the glittering sea beyond.

Silco's gaze shifts, and settles.

His lip curls at the corner.

Mel is here.

As ever, she is radiant. Her dress is a masterpiece. A sumptuous ivory gown, cut in a classic bias-cut silhouette and embellished with an intricate golden overlay and delicate floral detailing. Her features are dusted as if with stardust. A golden band affixes the diaphanous veil to her richly-coiffed updo. She holds no bouquet. Instead, she is the sprig of flowers in motion, the enticing waft of jasmine and hyacinths suffusing the air with every step. As she approaches, she looks every inch the Noxian noble: chin up, gaze direct, each motion unerringly graceful.

At the altar, she takes her place.

Her fingers, fleeting, skim Silco's knuckles.

"Hello, Chancellor," she says, a coy purr.

Wryly, Silco tips his head. "Councilor."

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Just passing through."

The officiant clears his throat. The crowd hushes.

The ceremony begins.

The vows are conducted with somber dignity, and conclude with a chaste kiss. Afterward, the bride and groom lead the procession down the aisle, arm-in-arm, amidst a storm of confetti and camera flashes. Outside, a motorcade surrounds a lone limo, the black lacquer gleaming under the sunlight.

The newlyweds slip, soundlessly, into the backseat. The doors slam shut.

And they're off.

They travel along the coastal road, parallel to the scenic blue seaside. The motorcade keeps a discreet distance. In the limo, the couple sit side-by-side. Their smiles are stiff. Their muscles, frozen into pleasantly neutral masks, need time to thaw. Then their eyes meet, and formality gives way to something else.

Their lips twitch. Their expressions quaver. They both turn away. They can't help it.

Silco bites the inside of his cheek.

Mel struggles to maintain her composure.

But the visage is cracked. And the flood is inevitable.

The laughter escapes in a rush. Mel's hand flies to her mouth, her shoulders quaking. Silco lets his head loll back against the headrest. The pale curve of his Adam's apple thrums with a chuckle. The car continues, a sleek black bullet, slicing through the cityscape.

Their gazes meet sidelong.

Mel twines her fingers with Silco's. He squeezes, once.

The partition between them and the driver's seat rolls down.

"Where to, Mister S?" Dustin asks.

Silco smiles.

"Home," he says.

In Zaun, twilight slips like a silk stocking down bare skin. The Undercity, in a display of festive splendor, is decked out in fairy lights. Zaunites relish a good spectacle. A wedding is always a riot. And this one's rare as black diamonds. The bride is a Topsider. The groom is a Zaunite. The most unlikely pair in the most unlikely story.

There's already a betting pool.

Odds 3: 1 for a marriage of convenience.

Odds 2: 1 for love match.

Odds 1: 1 for a marriage borne of a single night's indiscretion.

But everyone agrees on one thing. It'll be a miracle if this doesn't end in disaster.

Meantime, hope springs eternal. So does booze.

The wedding party is held at the Last Drop. The club, decadently decked in red and black, is packed to the rafters. A livewire band plays the Sumpside Waltz. Dancers sway exuberantly to the beat. There is laughter and ribaldry; parlor games and prize fights; bed-hopping and burlesque. It's a celebration the likes of which hasn't been seen in years.

Not since Zaun's ascension.

In a private lounge upstairs, a handful of guests have gathered. They are an eclectic mix: clan leaders, business tycoons, merchants, all with a stake in Zaun’s finances. A toast, a bit of networking, and the party will resume. Meanwhile, a line of bodies—admiring, avaricious, or just plain curious—are queuing up to pay tribute to the bride.

Mel sits, a picture of poised elegance, receiving their well-wishes. At the outset, she was dressed in a sequined black-and-gold gown. The bodice was intricately embroidered with pearls, and her train was a glittering, trailing cascade of crystals. Then, as the hours waxed, the costume was peeled away, strip by tantalizing strip, until the gown lay in a shimmering pool at her feet. Her true garb, emerging from the translucent carapace, is a dramatic jet-black number, exquisitely-tailored, with a sheer panel cutting a daring swathe from décolletage to belly, and a deep slit riding each thigh. The back is a dramatic, plunging swoop. At her brow is a gold diadem with a single black diamond. Her lips are red, her eyes are lined with kohl, and her feet are encased in a pair of heels so sharp they could cut a man's neck.

It's a far cry from the pristine Piltovan bride she'd played above. Here, in Zaun, she is a siren of sinful splendor. The sight of her elicits lingering stares.

For a Topsider, the Eye's new missus is packing serious heat.

Silco, idling by the mantelpiece, is a picture of louche elegance in a smoky bespoke suit. The lapels and button-holes are edged with gold brocade. His cravat is pinned by a single blue gemstone. His hands are encased in sleek leather gloves, the hems studded with matching blue buttons. A cut-glass of bourbon rests loosely in his grip.

He and Mel have spent the evening tag-teaming. She is the center of attention, the shining lure. He is her shadow, the sharp-eyed hook. They'd prearranged the dance beforehand. A flirtatious smile from Mel, a wry aside from Silco, and their targets are snared. Soon, conversation transitions from platitude to business. By the time the Old Hungry strikes nine, Silco and Mel have secured a slew of new investments. And the party is just getting started.

Two cities: one agenda.

In between, they trade veiled glance. There's no missing the glow in Mel's eyes. The fire, simmering low. The promise, implicit and enticing. It's a look he knows all too well. One he's yet to tire of. And yet, with the nuptials still fresh, he finds his mind drawn elsewhere.

The party is in full swing. The hour is late.

Jinx is nowhere.

He'd known it would be a long shot. The chances of her showing up had been slim. The chances of her appearing as a happy-go-lucky bridesmaid had been infinitesimal. Still, the fact that she'd stayed away—

Silco's grip tightens around the glass.

"Silco?"

He turns. Mel regards him from beneath her lashes.

"For a bridegroom," she says, "yours is a singular scowl."

Silco's mouth curves, wry.

"I thought we'd agreed," he says. "Tonight, you'll smile for the both of us."

"If I smile any more, I'll split a seam."

"On your dress? I'd pay good money to see that."

"That's why I had it tailored with your tastes in mind."

Mel runs an idle finger along the sheer neckline. Silco's eye follows the movement, then flickers up. Their stares lock. Mel's expression softens.

"Dance with me."

"Now?"

"Of course, now."

The band is playing a languid waltz. The dance floor is dotted with a handful of guests. It's the perfect opportunity to make a discreet exit. And yet—

Silco hesitates.

Mel, seeing the conflict, modulates her tone.

"Please?"

Silco sets his drink down. He offers his hand. She rises and slips her fingers though his.

On the dance floor, she lays her cheek against his shoulder. They sway in a graceful circle. They've spent the day trading pleasantries and playing the game. It's tiresome, but they're both old hands. Thankfully, the night is drawing to a close. Soon, their guests will depart. And they can finally rest.

And, finally, have a moment alone.

"She'll come around," Mel murmurs.

"Hm?"

"Jinx. She'll come around. Later, if not sooner."

Silco's lips twitch, a bitter reflex.

"Your optimism is a wonder to behold."

"I can hardly let your pessimism have a monopoly on the market." She smooths his lapel, and sobers. "I understand. Neither of us is much for ceremony. But having family at one’s back. It makes a difference. Part me wishes my mother could see this."

"See what, exactly? You, in a hellpit."

"Me, brokering a historic truce. The start of something greater. Better."

"Truce is not a word the Medardas esteem."

"That doesn't make it less valuable." Her eyes dip. "Times like this, I wish she could see me. Not the heir she wanted. The person I've become."

Silco's palm settles on the small of her back.

"She sees you," he says.

"Just not the way she would've liked."

"Her loss."

Mel lifts her gaze to his.

"I see you," he says softly.

A flicker, there and gone. Then, Mel melts into his embrace. They glide together in the glow of the neon lights.

By midnight, the festivities are ebbing. The guests, trailing congratulations and well-wishes, trickle out. Sevika, who's been keeping guard by the entrance, comes up and makes a discreet report.

"No sign of her, sir."

Silco nods, once.

"Should I alert the crew?"

Silco shakes his head. "That won't be necessary."

"You're sure?"

Again, a single nod. He knows Jinx. Tonight's vanishing act isn't a warning, but a rebuke. He has no idea where she is. And if he did, he'd still keep his distance. If he's going to reach her, it won't be by coercion or cajolery. The choice must be hers.

In the meantime, he will wait.

Sevika's eyes are on him, a knowing appraisal.

"I'll have the crew check in on her tomorrow," she says, preempting his order.

"Do," Silco says.

Sevika nods. "Enjoy the rest of your night, sir."

She turns on her heel.

"Sevika."

Sevika glances over her shoulder, irreproachably aloof.

"Thank you," Silco says, quietly.

Her gaze, level, softens a fraction.

"You're welcome, sir."

Silco watches her leave. Then, a light touch on his elbow.

"Are you finished?"

Silco turns.

Mel's eyes are bright circlets of green and gold beneath heavy lids. Her updo is unraveling into sultry corkscrews. Her dewy make-up has begun to fade. Her costume—because that's what her risqué little get-up was: a costume to match the theme of tonight's theatrics—is a study in artful disarray: the bodice unlaced, the straps slipping, the buttons undone. She's practically an avatar of Undercity debauchery. And, Silco knows, she is reveling in it. Shedding the trappings of decorum, and coming alive. It's the side of her she typically keeps under wraps: the sybarite. A side he's always known was there.

In baring it now, she's not only privileging him with her trust. She's inviting him to join her. To play. To lose himself, a little. Forget, for a night, his worries.

And, perhaps, a little, the hurt.

"Your ride is ready," Mel says, a breath against his ear.

"Ride? Well, well. You're already picking up our vernacular."

"I wasn't referring to the limo."

"What then?"

Mel's lashes lift, a slow, inviting sweep.

"Three guesses," she whispers. "And the first two don't count."

Silco says nothing.

He only encircles her, and guides her deep into the shadows.

The limo drive to his private quarters is a torturous tease. The doors are barely shut before Mel's mouth is on his, hot and seeking. Silco's palms are gliding up her thighs. Their journey back is a breathless blur of lips and teeth and tongue, and Mel, in her lapse, letting loose a throaty little wail.

Silco smiles and drags his teeth down the arc of her throat.

Dustin, beet-red, has long rolled up the partition.

Upstairs, they slip arm-in-arm through the doors. The apartment is a sprawling maze, a sumptuous affair of black, mahogany and gold. The Art Noveau furnishings are elegant, the artwork striking. Mel spares a cursory glance, then sheds her heels. Silco shrugs off his jacket and begins to undo his waistcoat. She beats him to it, her palms, a whisper of satin, coasting down his torso. Fingers, deft, undoing the buttons on his trouserfront. Her mouth against his, a slow burn of need. The kind that goes on and on, steeping and simmering. The kind that's been under the skin all night, waiting to be let loose.

Silco's hands, encased in leather, skate down her spine.

He knows the feeling.

Without warning, he traps her wrists behind her back. Mel's breath catches. He takes her mouth, sliding his tongue inside and sucking out all the heat he can find. She cries out, a delicious contralto, and his teeth close around her lower lip. Her scent is a cloud of sweet heady motes—hyacinths, smoke, champagne, sweat—and he breathes her in.

"What do you want?" he whispers.

"You," she gasps.

"How?"

"Any way you like."

Silco drags his mouth away only to bite the hollow of her throat.

Then he backs her, dark-eyed, toward the bedroom.

Afterward—a languorous stretch of bodies, tangled sheets, and ragged sighs—Mel lays her cheek against his shoulder. Her body is a sated spill of sweat-sheened silk. Her hair is spread in a dark cloud across his chest. Idly, Silco loops a finger into one of the curls. She sighs, a spent little hum.

"Extraordinary night," she says.

"Hmm."

"The media likely took enough photographs to fill an album."

"Likely."

"And my mother will burn every single one."

"Doubtless."

"And between Piltover and Zaun, we've amassed enough enemies to start a civil war."

"Mm-hmm."

Mel nudges his jaw with her temple. "So. Overall, would you call it a success?"

Silco's smile is a ghostly twist.

"I'd call it a marriage." The twist deepens. "Shame, though, about your dress."

"I'm sure I'll find its shreds between your teeth."

"The wrapping never tastes as sweet as what's inside."

"Mm, flatterer."

She nestles closer. Silco, his good eye sliding shut, enfolds an arm around her.

It's a moment of strange incongruity. An entire day spent conducting themselves according to the strictest rules of decorum and shrewdest stratagems. The next, nakedly twined in bed, exchanging lazy barbs and banter. In a few hours, they'll wake, and enclose themselves back into their respective armors. Silco will slither into his tailored suits, Mel will pour herself into her sumptuous gowns, and together, they'll don the mantles of rulership. They will play their parts. They will conduct themselves without fault. They will carry on.

Until the next time, they can be alone.

The dynamics of their old affair, he thinks, remain intact. It's only the intimacy that's inverted

Something new. Something stronger. And the thought—of being known, and strong, and seen—makes him...

Mel's lips nuzzle his collarbone.

"Where are you, husband?"

Silco opens his good eye. The window, half-open, throws a pale rhombus across the bedspread. Outside, the cityscape is a mapwork of neon, as familiar as the lines on his palm.

"Here," he says. A wry aside: "Wife."

"I've always preferred the term 'Ball & Chain.'"

"Sounds like one of Jinx's pejoratives."

"Does it now." Mel's lips are a petaled curl against his shoulderblade. "Have I told you what the media are calling Mother?"

"This ought to be good."

"Zaun's Monster-in-Law."

Silco blinks. A beat, and a scoff breaks loose. Mel's smile blooms full, and she buries her laughter against his skin. It's been a long day, and a longer night. Now, passions spent and tension drained, there's only this: a rare, tactile, transitory joy. Hell, Silco thinks, if this is his wedding night, it hasn't been such a bad one. Not if he can still smile. And, for a moment, forget the ache.

For himself. For Mel. And for—

A burst of blue is framed by the windowpane. The crackling boom holds an eerie echo.

Silco goes still.

Mel stirs. "Was that a rocket?"

Adrenaline sluices. Silco disentangles himself.

"Stay inside," he says, and slips from the bed.

Mel sits up, watching as he drags on his trousers. Barefoot, he creeps out into the balcony. The night holds a biting chill. The sprawl of rooftops is silvered by the moonlight. A surreal haze of blue flecks floats in the air.

Bemused, Silco sniffs. There is the unmistakable whiff of gunpowder.

A premonition coils down his spine.

"Silco?" Mel, draped in one of his shirts, is standing by the threshold. "What's going on?"

Instinctively, Silco pivots to drag her back inside. His ears have already caught the low whump of a second rocket being launched, followed by the whistling shweeee as it arcs through the air.

"Down!" he snaps. "Get down!"

Encircling Mel, he dives for the floor. The round passes almost directly overhead, erupting fifty feet beyond them. The atoms in the airwaves jostle. The explosion echoes across the rooftops. In the ringing silence that follows, Silco's mind races. Two rockets in rapid succession. His place of residence targeted. Either it's a coup, or a terrorist attack, or—

Beneath him, Mel gasps, "Look."

Silco follows her gaze. Tiny pink lights, like fireflies, float through the air. They suffuse the cityscape with a kaleidoscopic glaze. Then, with a series of pops and hisses, the lights erupt into fireworks. A spray of corkscrewing sparks. A dazzling, dizzying, disorienting dreamscape.

Silco drags himself to his feet. Slowly, he approaches the balcony's railing. Mel, finding her feet, follows. Her shock is palpable.

Then it happens again.

A third rocket blasted skyward on a straight trajectory. The velocity peels it to nothing but a needle of smoke. At the top of the arc, the missile detonates. A bloom of cobalt explodes, a starburst of light.

Then, a cascade of blue teardrops.

Each one blooms in different patterns. Some spread with the slow-motion tendrils of a breath of frost on glass. Some erupt into a spray of butterflied shards. Others plume into a cloud of shimmering spangles.

The effect is hypnotic.

Each missile, when it is fired, has an intense familiarity. A single shot, a precise aim. Silco recognizes it in an instant.

Then he sees her.

Jinx.

She crouches, elfin, on an adjacent rooftop. Fishbones is slung over her shoulder, a sharklike silhouette. Her braids, wind-tossed, dance to separate tangents. Her face, tilted skyward, is a picture of glee. She watches the fireworks with a rapture so total, so triumphant, that Silco is struck still. His heart, in his throat, beats a drumroll. But what's most overwhelming is the sense of relief, because—

Jinx fires the last rocket. It arcs and detonates into a pyrotechnic delirium, umbrellas of brilliants color blooming open against the dark. The haze drifts back and forth. Jinx, her handiwork done, stands. A small, solitary silhouette, the moon washing over her like a baptismal tide.

Her head swivels. Her eyes lock with Silco's.

Her smile takes a shot and scores a direct hit.

In a blur, she is gone.

"Jinx," Silco breathes.

Mel, enfolding her arm through his, whispers, "Something Blue."

He stirs. "What?"

Mel's features, glossed in the radiant blue remnants, are soft. "It's the painting I sent Jinx. 'Something Blue.' It featured a panoramic view of Zaun. Bathed in blue, like the aftermath of a fireworks display. I chose the color with care. I wanted it to be the same hue as the Hex-Gates. But also to capture the shifting shades of Jinx's hair. I think I was hoping to convey a sense of homecoming." Mel's eyes lift to his. She smiles wistfully. "Now I realize that I was looking for the wrong hue. Jinx did a better job than I could've imagined."

"You—sent her a painting?"

"I did." Mel squeezes his arm. "I told her I'd like us to be a family. That I was hoping we could all belong. Together."

"I see." Silco's jaw flexes. "Did she reply?"

"She didn't have to."

Mel's stare returns to the sky, a dappled mosaic of lights. "I find booms to be a popular Zaunite mode of discourse."

Silco stays silent for a moment. Then, he dares a smile.

"You might," he says, "be on to something."

The fireworks fade, the glitter dissipating on the wind. Soon, all that's left is the lingering waft of gunpowder. And a city, brighter, somehow, in its glow.

Silco and Mel, side-by-side, contemplate the vista.

Jinx's gift, for the world to see. And, in its own way, a sign.

Blue means forgiveness.

Blue means family.

Blue means home.

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

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angelofthepage · 6 months

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Memory Joey - What is your source?

Hi I did not get my full eight hours of sleep, and I am chomping at the bit with a new thought, so prepare for a slightly unhinged Kat theory about Joey.

Last night I was chatting with my partner in crime Beth about a number of Bendy things, but one of my many takeaways from that conversation was a new angle of looking at Memory Joey. So, recently I shared that I was frustrated with the narrative shift of Henry and Allison being ink copies, because it feels like it cheapens the original BATIM and doesn't do anything to serve the Joey Drew Redemption Arc (tm) narrative. We as the player know the man has a body count. Even if you take these two characters out of the mix, he's still responsible for the deaths of multiple other characters, mostly in the books, but like, come on, the whole "I own thousands of them" comment about souls in BATIM? The coffins with secret names on them? Joey you ain't slick. We spent too long establishing that Joey used his employees for their souls across MULTIPLE MEDIUMS to suddenly throw all of that out the window, and I don't entirely buy the idea that these two aren't the real deal. Granted, it still leaves us with questions about how the ink demon works given, there was also time dedicated to establishing that he was imperfect because he's soulless, but that's for another day.

But then, last night we talked about how none of these characters know Audrey is the daughter of Drew. And if they did know that, would their reactions be different? Would they still try to help her? I'm not sure. But it got me thinking about how there's a lot of things we the player know/believe that the characters don't. And that's when it hit me.

Memory Joey's story wasn't for us. It was for Audrey.

Now, that sounds obvious, like no duh, he's talking to Audrey for the whole scene, of course it's for her. Memory Joey doesn't know we as the players exist, he's got nothing to prove to us. But hear me out: that sequence wasn't meant to give us as players new information or prove he's a changed man, we weren't the ones who were supposed to believe in it. Audrey was. He has EVERYTHING to prove to Audrey. That's the daughter of the man he came from, his precious little girl, the first time he made something with the ink machine out of love, and she doesn't even remember that he's her father. Joey Drew, throughout his lifetime, cared a lot about how people saw him. Having shoes and a suit that didn't make him look poor, appearing financially stable to investors, the nasty things he had to say when he thought he wasn't being recorded, acting like he had control when everything he knew was falling apart, Joey was always trying to keep up appearances. And while I'll believe that he can mostly let go of that with time and growth, I don't think he could deal with Audrey, his daughter, seeing him as the bad guy. Especially when she doesn't remember Joey? Trying to make a good impression, sharing that yes, he did bad things, but he wasn't all bad? That he changed? That's covering Joey's ass something fierce.

Audrey isn't aware of Joey's body count. She doesn't know what happened to his employees. How Sammy became a cultist, how Susie was mistreated and manipulated to be desperate to be Alice. The entire story of Buddy Lewek and Norman Polk. She knows NONE of it! She doesn't know what he did. She doesn't know there were so many teenagers, just a little younger than her, that DIED because of his machine. And until you get the note about the kids that came before her, she has no idea she's not the first.

I often give Memory Joey a pass, he doesn't strike me as someone who would want to lie, especially to Audrey since he clearly cares about her. He delivers his slideshow presentation so earnestly, it feels like he truly believes this is what's true. But then I'm left questioning, what is his source? Why does he believe that they're clones? But maybe...maybe he is lying on purpose. I think it could be an equal opportunity for both. Joey was a liar in life, he lied about so many things (which is frustrating when he's the one giving us most of the information we look to to figure out how the heck ink works, Gent can you please give us some notes to cross reference?). Why wouldn't he lie to appear better to his own daughter? Memory Joey making that distinction for himself, that he himself cares for how Audrey sees him and Joey, would be a really valuable detail for his character, but him not knowing and believing all the information that someone like Joey left behind for him (since I'm assuming that's where his understanding of the cycle comes from) would also be interesting for his characterization.

But here's the kicker: by introducing the idea that Henry and Allison are not truly their human counterparts, if that turns out to be untrue, you've made a grave mistake Memory Joey. Audrey doesn't know any of these people were human before they became ink. I mean maybe she can deduce that other humans are in here given Allison's whole "I remember my first day" speech, but then Memory Joey throwing this at her, Allison is a creation rather than someone who was once alive? Who's to say she'd think twice about it? Wilson treats everyone like they're just ink and not worth caring for after all. But if she finds out about the sacrifices? That many of these ink creatures were once human? Oh Broseph my dude, you are gonna have a lot to answer for, more ways in which her trust in you will be utterly broken. That is a very messy, delicate balance. I kind of want to see that. I want to see him have his world view turned on its head, learning that he was wrong about Henry, and have him genuinely not know that he was fed bad information. Let him process that, let him struggle, and let Audrey grapple with the truth too.

Yeah, I don't necessarily think Henry and Allison are clones. Inhuman, yes, but clones? I think we need more than Memory Joey's word to know that for sure. So I ask again, sir, what is your source?

#batdr #bendy and the dark revival #memory joey #joey drew #batdr theory #bendy theory #audrey #long post

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sleepy-gee · 5 days

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henry fell in love with richard by mistake.

he wasn't supposed to love him, hell, he wasn't supposed to be able to tolerate him to begin with.

but then they spent the summer together. rose and fell, shared drinks, traded books like secrets. fingers brushed and thighs touched. glasses were passed around and sipped from freely. they became comfortable.

too comfortable.

now, whenever the greek class inevitably meets, henry can feel his throat tighten when richard walks into their classroom. sometimes he'll wave. sometimes he says 'hello' in that smooth voice of his. sometimes he says nothing and takes his seat. henry prefers when he says nothing.

he never loses his composure, of course. no one can know of his.. affinity for the strange new student. if they did, they'd make a fool out of him. so, he guides his romantic interest towards camilla. sweet, loveable, dumb camilla.

but it's not the same. when she smiles, poets don't write. they hardly even breathe. when she talks, angels don't join the chorus. it doesn't make sense. he gets bored. but he shouldn't.

he entertains it for a while. he flirts, laughs, and gets to piss off charles as a bonus. dances with the devil on the line of reality and fantasy. he can see himself falling for her. perhaps not in this life, but in another. if things were different.

when the gun ends up in his hand, seconds before the end, he's faced with three options. one, put the gun down and explain.. which is pointless. two, shoot the housekeeper. again, ridiculous, and three, cover up the incident by making himself the main victim.

he'd prefer to live, but his story has been told. he's entered the falling action. what else can he do to top this? to tell such a story and speak such things? another murder is the only answer. but who would affect the narrative so? throw it off course as it was before?

the answer, of course, is henry winter himself.

he turns around and is faced with both parts of himself– richard, the one he loves but can't, and camilla, the one he should love but doesn't.

a final dance with the devil. the clock is ticking, everyone is looking at him expectantly.

"put the gun down."

"open the door!"

"we can talk about this."

damn it all. he's already going out with a bang. why not add a few extra sparks?

"i love you," he says to no one in particular.

before the door opens and the gun is fired.

#the secret history #tsh #the secret history fandom #tsh fandom #the secret history donna tartt #henry winter #richard papen #richard x henry #henry x richard

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kopfkino-o · 1 year

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In Defense of Azriel: A Dissertation, Part One

One thing I see a lot within this fandom is the suggestion that Azriel, somehow, feels entitled to Elain, that he is some raging incel or some torture-loving freak or a white knight only interested in pursuing unattainable women, etc etc. And I am just not okay with that.

Azriel is SUCH a nuanced character and the fact so many people fail to see the context of his personality, his role within the narrative, and the obvious themes SJM is using in regard to his character is just... baffling to me. Especially when he has the potential to be such a powerful male character with an important story that deserves to be told.

So here we go, I'm defending Azriel with my whole chest. This is obviously a pro-Azriel post with pro-Elriel undertones, so if that isn't your thing then SCROLL.

Thx love you all bye.

1) Azriel suffers greatly with his sense of self-worth, so much so he thinks he is deserving of nothing.

We learn first from Mor that Azriel thinks so little of himself, no doubt a direct symptom of his childhood, that he harbors a deep sense of unworthiness. So much so that even if he were a prince, even if the woman he loved (I question this, but that is a whole other post I'll save for later, so I digress) stripped naked before him he wouldn't feel worthy enough to act.

"The issue, actually, wouldn't be me. It'd be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn't move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it wouldn't matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris--he'll still see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me." - Mor, ACOMAF, Chapter 52

I think this is a great line to turn to when trying to understand the value Az places on himself. Mor says it herself, she could strip naked for him and he would still see himself as undeserving, still see himself as someone who shouldn't be granted the chance to have her affection. If he feels his way with Mor, someone who he supposedly has loved for centuries (again, I question this lol), then I think it's fair to claim he probably sees himself this way with all women.

This feels like the furthest thing from entitlement to me.

We can also see this inclination towards self-loathing come up again in the ACOSF Az bonus chapter when he gifts the necklace to Elain for the first time.

"He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin." - Azriel, ACOSF, Bonus Chapter (1 of 2)

These thoughts don't come from him thinking that he and Elain are wrong for wanting to be together, that their shared moment of affection (both now and as hinted at by the "This was the furthest it had ever gone" line) is wrong, but rather from this innate feeling of unworthiness. Az sees himself as nothing (see point below) and cannot fathom why someone like Elain, lovely Elain who resembles hope and the sun at dawn, would ever stop and see him. Give him her time, her offer and permission, would ever call his scarred hands-- the physical reminder of his trauma--beautiful.

He thinks it's wrong because he believes someone like him could never deserve a woman like her.

"Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all." Azriel, ACOSF, Bonus Chapter (1 of 2).

LIKE COME ON. This man sees himself as nothing. The fact he spoke up regarding his thoughts on the Cauldron potentially being wrong to begin with was a big thing for him, he who has many secrets, and Rhys SHUT HIM DOWN. 500+ years and even Cassian states Az is slow to open up, see below:

"Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn't push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up." - Cassian, ACOSF, Chapter Nineteen

Az did speak this time, he felt so strongly and questioned fate itself so fiercely that he opened up to Rhys. He questioned the Cauldron, the fatemaker itself, not because he is entitled to Elain, but because there is something between them, something that has been brewing between them ever since their first meeting, something so fierce he is (finally) compelled to open up, to speak because he was ready. Think about how important that is for a character like him. Azriel, whose brothers of 500+ years could move a mountain more easily than get him to open up, did in fact, open up...

And he was shot down.

Of course, he wasn't going to wax off a lecture about Rhys's suggestion being wrong--because it was Rhys, not Azriel, who suggested entitlement.

Rhys's face drained of color. " You believe you deserve to be her mate?"

Azriel never suggested anything like this. An overwhelmed, distraught Rhys who feared for his mate and unborn child did.

And Azriel shut down, just as he did when he first confessed his feelings to Mor, and immediately abandoned the conversation in favor of silence. Not because he was pissed, or felt he was wronged, but because he saw these moments as validation of his nothingness, proof he was nothing, would always be nothing.

2) "If I Fail, They Will Leave Me" Complex

One thing I think that is important about Azriel's character that is often overlooked is his liberation from his father's dungeon. He wasn't set free when his hands were burned, rather returned to his "dark, airless cell" where was forced to continue on, burned and broken, for three years.

Three bloody years.

It was only when/sometime after his shadowsinging gifts first emerged that he was granted freedom. If you can call it that. Not because he was a little boy who deserved freedom, but because he had magic: a tool of value, a weapon to be used.

And used it was.

We learn from Rhys that Shadowsingers are highly coveted...

"Shadowsingers are rare--coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can't." - Rhys, ACOMAF, Chapter 16

And that Az was sent to the camp only AFTER his gifts were discovered.

"Az's father sent him to our camp once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger." - Rhys, ACOMAF, Chapter 16

This all goes to say that Azriel's freedom was largely granted because of his magic. What would this say to a literal child? He was only valuable because of his magic, because of what he could do.

And this need to please, this need to serve, and the subsequent fear of failure are very prevalent within Az's character. He runs himself ragged, he brings too much onto his plate, he is so busy he doesn't sleep, he always volunteers to put himself into harm's way because he thinks that is all he has to offer. I suspect his time working as the personal spymaster for Rhys's father might also have contributed to these feelings, but I don't have enough info at current to delve any further into that.

Moving on, all this also goes to combat the "pro-torture" argument I sometimes see. Do I think Azriel loves slicing and dicing? No, not really. Same as Rhys doesn't like breaking into people's minds. I suspect Az sees his work in Hewn City as a similarly necessary evil, something he must do (rather than anyone else) because he is already "tainted", something he has to do to be worthy. Something he does because, regardless of how it makes him feel, provides value to his loved ones. I suspect Az probably feels if he were to stay no, if he were to refuse, then he would be deemed useless, unworthy, and abandoned as a result. Not that this would ever happen, but I think Az probably sees so little value in himself he thinks only his magic and skills are all he can provide his brothers. Not because they don't love and support him, but because years and years of trauma reinforce this idea.

It's really, really heartbreaking if you think about it.

Anywayssss, that's all I have in me for tonight, but I've got a few other points I will be adding to expand this post! I love (civil) fandom discourse, so feel free to drop in thoughts and opinions below.

Thanks for reading this behemoth!

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #pro azriel #acotar #elriel

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eosofspades · 3 months

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no bc you’re SO right that kai is WAY weaker as a villain than tai lung or shen (shen especially, bc imo he’s the best villain of the trilogy) and i’d love to hear your thoughts on why <3

100% agree shen is my FAVORITE villain of the trilogy and possibly one of my favorite villains of all time. and tai lung is an incredibly close second! however, i really didn't care for kai.

the biggest thing about kai for me is that, as a villain, he is way weaker than the other two because he is extremely lacking in a personal connection to po, and also much weaker when considering how his character reflects the themes and narrative of the movie as a whole.

tai lung, as a villain, worked so well because he was obsessed with the concept of being the dragon warrior, and the supposed "power" that would come with that. the lesson of kfp1, though, was that there WAS no real magical power given by the scroll - there is no secret ingredient! it's just you! it was never about the scroll; it was about choosing to be good and do good for the sake of being good, not because you wanted power for it. tai lung couldn't accept this, which is why he made a fantastic villain for this one, thematically. (and ALSO a fantastic foil to po, who is so humble and doesn't NEED power, he's just passionate about kung fu and wants to have a good time with his friends.)

lord shen as a villain who reflects the themes of the story, though, takes this to the absolute HIGHEST level. the entire story of kfp2 pivots around po's struggle to reconcile his origins with who he is now, and both of those things are directly related to shen - he leads the massacre that ends up getting po sent away, which sets him on the journey to BECOME the dragon warrior, and po's destiny was always going to be to defeat him. both then and now, the course of po's life is being shaped by shen. shen is also a fantastic foil to po in the same way that tai lung was - shen cannot let go of the past, he clings to his anger and his fear; while po is able to accept what happened, accept that it is part of who he is but not what defines him, and is able to find healing and peace.

kai, by comparison........ has almost nothing to do with po. kai actually has NO personal connection to po! his evil scheme is related to the pandas, but absolutely nothing to do with po, specifically. tai lung had no shared past with po the way lord shen did, but he still had personal and specific reasons to hate po because po was getting the title and role that he so desperately wanted. but kai's only beef is with oogway! he didn't even seem to know that po existed until oogway says "it was never my destiny to stop you - i have set another on that path." and kai just says "then i will find him, and take his chi as well." his motives are also much weaker than the other two's - who both wanted power, yes, but tai lung was also deeply desperate to make shifu proud, to live up to the legend that he had been raised to believe he would become, and part of this was shifu's fault! that's extremely interesting and tragic!! and shen was motivated by fear - fear of his prophecized defeat, of the inescapability of his fate - and by grief over his (perceived) inability to make his parents proud, or get them to love him. kai, by contrast, was..... mad that oogway wasn't okay with letting him become a magical chi-stealing warlord??

kai also doesn't tie in with the themes or po's arc in this movie. in terms of other characters, po's arc in this one revolves way more around his fathers - trying to handle his new responsibilities of being the teacher to the five, trying to figure out how to balance the two different identities he has as the son of these two different fathers, but the only connection he has to kai is that he needs to be a master of chi to defeat him, which he can only learn how to be from the pandas, which incidentally happen to be his family. (and the fact that at the end, everyone is doing chi makes it seem like him being a panda or not might not have even been that relevant to begin with!) and kai's defeat is also sort of weak - he's defeated by the "too much power" trope, but nothing else in this story was about being power-hungry or the dangers of it. it wasn't something any of the pandas struggled with, hunger for power was NEVER a part of po's journey, and at least in kfp1 tai lung's desire for the dragon scroll was about more than just power (he wanted to make shifu proud), but also, because the entire theme of that story was that you didn't NEED power to be the dragon warrior. kfp3's narrative isn't ABOUT power; it's about identity and culture and balancing different aspects of your life to find your truest self. kai's character has nothing to say about ANY of this, he doesn't struggle with or care about any of these things - he is JUST power-hungry.

he also lacks that character foil aspect the other two had. the ability to take chi is never even presented as an option to po. what MIGHT have been interesting would have been if the only way to defeat kai was to take HIS chi - something a master of it would be able to do! - and po was forced into the dilemma of having to choose between risking going down the same path as kai for the sake of protecting his loved ones, or the risk of endangering them even more by refusing to. if the conflict had been about the good vs evil uses of chi powers, then that would have made kai a foil to po as well. but as it is now, kai has nothing to do with po, personally.

basically what it boils down to is that kai, as a villain, is serviceable, but when held up in contrast to the previous two, it becomes very obvious how much weaker he is narratively. his motivations are much shallower than the others', his connection to po is tangential at best, and as an antagonist, he doesn't have anything to say about the themes or messaging of the story OR the protagonist's arc.

#i said 'this one is gonna be a way shorter rant' and then promptly made myself eat those fucking words #WHY IS THIS SO LONGGGG FHGHSHFHSGHSDSGH #well. kung fu panda rant be upon ye #i had no idea how many thoughts i had about this until i started writing fhjfdgfdjgk #mine #long post #kung fu panda #kung fu panda 3 #kfp #kfp3 #kfp 3 #rory rambles about movies #analysis

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goodtimeswithlife · 1 month

Text

Double Life One-Shot!

Before Reading:

1. This is the first time I’m sharing any of my work on here so I apologize if it’s not a good format

2. Some of the events from Double Life were changed a bit to fit the narrative of this one shot

ENJOY!

—————

Grian didn’t even have time to think. He knew somebody was coming up to kill him and the others and that they had to be stopped.

The stalagmite on the top of the ceiling was put there as a trap before in case something like this were to happen.

Without hesitation, he took his pickaxe and swung right through it. A crunching sound as the pickaxe scraped through the stalagmite and came apart, falling to the floor below.

A loud crash could be heard. As Grian looked down, he could see a body lying beneath the stalagmite, a small pool of blood pouring out from behind them.

He smiled and laughed, sounding both relieved and maniacal. He climbed down the ladder and observed the body closer.

It was Ren. He wasn’t a friend, but also not a foe. But at this point in time, anybody could be his enemy.

Grian could suddenly feel a sense of emptiness overcome him. He had never felt this before. It wasn’t like any sort of pain he would feel when Scar would do something stupid and cause an arm or a leg to snap. It felt like a part of him had suddenly left. But Scar was technically his other half, and nothing had happened to him, otherwise he would be dead as well.

Just then, the announcement could be heard:

“RenDog was killed by a Stalagmite. BigB died.”

BigB. Ren’s other half, his secret lover. He had killed him as well.

Grian fell to his knees. Etho and Scar both ran down to help him. They saw the look of defeat across his face. Etho immediately knew, Scar wasn’t sure.

“Grian, what’s going on?” Scar asked.

“BigB…” Grian mumbled, tears filling up in his eyes, “I’m so sorry…”

Etho placed his hand on Grian’s shoulder. Although he could never get Bdubs to be his secret lover, he would’ve felt the same exact way if it were him. He slowly helped Grian stand up. Grian kept his head down, tears strolling down his face.

Grian looked up at Scar, “We need to have another funeral…”

“A-Another one?” Scar asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For BigB…” Grian nodded, “I just… can’t believe what I’ve just done…”

“But we just killed Ren, why would we—?” Scar paused, slowly but surely putting the pieces together.

He slouched, shaking his head and sighed, “Fine…”

He walked out of the castle.

———

There was no body to bury. All the bodies just disappeared a few moments after they died. Grian simply took out some stone and carved Big B’s name on it like a gravestone.After he was finished, he sat down and just stared at it. He sat there silently for several moments before he finally spoke.

“BigB… I’m so sorry…” Grian said, “I hope you’re able to forgive me… I never intended for you to get killed…”

He felt a soft breeze pick up from behind him. His eyes suddenly glowing a bright purple, and he could hear voices in his head.

It was going to happen either way… With or without you…

“Well I’m not going to let this happen to me as well… As long as I’m staying alive, I’m keeping a part of BigB alive as well…”

Scar… He’s a part of you as well…

“He is… but not by choice…” Grian responded.

He has been of great help to you…

“He almost got us killed quite a lot! That’s not very helpful if you ask me…”

The voices grew silent. The purple in his eyes faded away.

He could tell they wanted to say more. That usually wasn’t a good thing. But what was wrong with what he had said? He wanted to stay alive. That was the whole point of this!

He needed to come up with something. Something that would potentially cause everybody to lose lives, possibly even permanently.

Tango had brought up the Warden before. However it wasn’t very successful. Grian knew he could pull something like that again, and with more lives on the line this time it could work.

But that would mean he would have to go all the way down to the deep dark to get it. That in and of itself was going to be risky, but he wanted to do it.

And he has never wanted to do something that risky before, at least by himself.

He should at least tell Scar what he was doing. He knew he wouldn’t care. But they were on their last life together, what if he did? What if Scar tried to stop him from going down there?

No, he was just going to go.

As he finally stood up and walked past his base, he saw Scar tending to his pandas.

Those damn pandas… I don’t understand his fascination with them…

Scar noticed Grian standing behind him out of the corner of his eye.

He frowned, “Are you done with the funeral?”

Grian was caught off guard, not knowing he would actually say anything to him. He thought he would only smile and wave, maybe be completely oblivious altogether.

Grian simply nodded, “I’m… going to talk to Joel real quick…”

Scar was silent. He knew Grian was plotting something. What it was, he couldn’t tell. He knew that they were on their last life, and that they both should be cautious.

“Maybe I should go with you?” Scar suggested.

“I won’t be long.” Grian said, “It should only be five, maybe ten minutes.”

He couldn’t tell whether Grian meant it or not. If he was telling the truth about anything.

He sighed, “Alright… just be careful, it’s getting late.”

Grian stood there for another few seconds, took a deep breath and nodded as he ran off.

Scar turned back around, tending to his pandas, and hoping that this wasn’t going to be a mistake.

———

Grian made his way down the long stairwell that led down to the deep dark.

As he turned the corner, he stared into the ancient city. He watched as the sculk sensors were swaying back and forth, the shriekers only a few feet away.

He didn’t have to go too far, he just had to summon the warden with the shriekers and run out of there.

This might be easy. It could be done.

He stepped foot onto the sculk, the sensors going off.

RRRRAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Grian’s heart began racing, chills going down his spine as everything grew pitch black before what small amount of light was inside the ancient city returned,

He took another step, the sensors triggering once more.

RRRRAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Everything grew dark again. He knew the third time he moved, the shrieker would go off and the warden would be summoned.

His mind was racing with second thoughts. Maybe he should turn around and run. Even though the sensors would still trigger the shrieker and summon the warden, he still could run out of there and have a chance at making it out alive.

The other part of him, however, told him to stay. That he’s made it this far and he shouldn’t turn back now. He could make it through this, get the warden onto the surface and hopefully cause as much harm and chaos as possible.

RRRRAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Grian’s eyes widened. How did the shrieker go off again? He hadn’t even moved!

He could feel the ground shake beneath him and could hear the loud, thunderous noise as the warden came out from the ground only a couple feet away from him.

His legs started trembling, feeling like Jell-o, he couldn’t move them. The warden appeared much more ominous and threatening than it had the few times it had been summoned before.

The warden slowly started moving towards him.

I need to move! Why aren’t I moving???

Finally, as if a snap of a finger, he could finally move again and began running out of the ancient city and towards the long stairwell.

Nothing else was on his mind at that moment, he just wanted to get out of there, with or without the warden following him.

He suddenly heard a large gasp that almost sounded like it came from directly behind him.

Before he could even turn around to see just how close the warden was to him,

BOOOOOOOOOMMM!!!

A loud, thunderous, almost explosive sound erupted from the warden. Everything around him started to shake. His eardrums popping inside of him and everything within his body violently shook back and forth, several bones snapping, his organs beginning to melt inside of him.

He was still alive while all of this was happening. His unheard cries of pain and help echoed throughout the stairwell. He kept stumbling, trying to regain himself but it was of no use. Blood started trickling down from his ears and from both nostrils.

His body no longer had the strength to keep climbing. He just laid there, almost in defeat.

He couldn’t hear or see anything, but he could feel the vibrations of the warden continuing to climb up the stairwell.

Please… spare me… I’m sorry…

Another explosion rang throughout the stairwell. This time, it had finished him within a second.

———

“He’s not here?” Scar asked Joel.

“No, we haven’t seen him since he had killed Ren…” Etho shook his head.

“He told me he was coming to talk to you, Joel.” Scar explained.

“To me?” Joel asked. “What about?”

Scar sighed, giving a shrug, “I don’t know… but I think he lied…”

“I don’t know why he would lie to you and run off.” Joel said.

Etho thought back to when he saw Grian last. He looked heartbroken, almost defeated for having killed BigB. He knew with Grian disappearing so suddenly it wouldn’t end well for Scar.

“I think I might have an idea…” Etho said. “And I would try to get to him as quickly as possible.”

“Where do you think he could’ve gone?” Scar asked.

“That I don’t know but you need to go now.” Etho responded.

Scar had more questions, but Etho’s urgency kept him from doing so.

“Thank you.” Scar said as he ran outside and went on his horse.

Well, it wasn’t his horse, but that wasn’t important.

As the horse began to gallop away, Scar suddenly grew an uneasy feeling. Was it Etho’s words? Or was his connection with Grian warning him of something?

Almost as quickly as the uneasiness grew on him, he suddenly felt everything in his body tremble. Bones were snapping, his organs felt like they were burning and melting away. He fell off his horse and rolled down the hill as he lost his grip. He slowly began loosing his ability to see, hear and feel anything.

His body was in fight or flight mode, trying to do whatever it could to stop him from dying but it was no use.

He was so confused and scared as to what was happening to him.

GRIAN… WHAT ARE YOU DOING??

Everything around him was now blurry, and sound was muffled.

He saw two figures running towards him from a distance. The voices were muffled, but he could still recognize them calling his name.

“SCAR!” Etho and Joel shouted as they ran closer to him.

Scar couldn’t even move his mouth to ask for help, and just as they made it to him, everything grew dark.

Joel and Etho froze as they saw Scar go limp, his lifeless eyes staring back up at them.

In the distance, they could hear an announcement.

“Grian was killed by a sonic boom. Scar died.”

The two of them looked at one another.

“What the hell was he trying to do with the warden?” Joel asked.

Etho didn’t respond. He just shook his head and walked off.

———

Grian opened his eyes. Darkness surrounded him. He couldn’t tell whether he was alive or dead.

It wasn’t until he saw the purple glows around him that he knew where he was.

“What am I doing back here?” Grian asked.

You’ve disappointed us, young Grian.

“All I did was try and win…and the Warden killed me.”

The warden didn’t kill you… it was you who did that to yourself.

“I… was upset that I had killed BigB…”

And you chose to end your life and Scar’s in the process…

Grian nodded.

Have you no shame?

“…If I’m being honest, I really don’t know…”

You will make this right.

“How?”

That is up to you. But you will not let us down again…

The purple glow disappeared once more, Grian sat in silence. He thought back to the first trial. It was just him and Scar. He had grown an almost familial, loving bond with him and couldn’t bear to live with the thought that he had to kill him.

The second trial, he never really had that same bond with him. In fact, he almost bullied him a few times, only reaching out to him because he was desperate for more lives.

This, the third trial, he never even gave Scar a chance. He just kept running off to try and avoid him as much as possible and deny the fact that they were partnered together. Even going so far as to start another relationship to try and make up for it.

He understood now. Why they were paired together, and it only took until now to realize it.

Grian felt guilty. He felt terrible knowing he couldn’t go and apologize to Scar now or give him a hug. He had to wait until the next trial, and hope that by some miracle Scar doesn’t want to kill him for what he’s done. Although he wouldn’t blame him if he did.

He knew what he had to do now.

The fourth trial, that one was going to start soon. He couldn’t interfere with that one.

The fifth trial, everything was still being worked on. He didn’t have much control over these trials, but every once in a while he could suggest something and it was up to them to approve or deny.

I’m sure they wouldn’t deny this…this is my way of making things right…

The fifth trial… being Secret Life.

#double life #grian #one shot #goodtimeswithscar #watchers

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probablynoposts · 1 year

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I’ve Been Reincarnated Into The Male Lead! (Part 2)

Malleus Draconia x Gn!Reader - Isekai AU Again, villainess is a gender neutral term. Also constructive criticism on writing and how to make the characters act more canon is always welcome! Also sorry if my punctuation and grammar is bad. part 1, masterlist

Malleus dislikes you. That was, and still is, decidedly untrue. He loved you. He didn’t know it yet, but his heart did. The way his heart sped up when you snuck him out of his princely duties to go for a secret picnic in the royal gardens. Or when he’d wake you up at night to show you the stars, only to then almost bore you back to sleep with facts about gargoyles he somehow knew.

When he wasn’t entirely focused on you, he was busy doing other things. Like listening to Lilia teach him how to be a proper crown prince, an explanation of Malleus’ previous life made Lilia understand why Malleus caught on so quickly.

“You really are like Malleus, huh.” Lilia said, he later said that about other things and instances as well, but that was the first time.

Of course, Malleus wasn’t ignoring the original plot line. He kept an eye out for signs of treachery from you, even if it made him feel all bad and weird inside. He also tried to listen for rumors about the female lead, Rosette. Turns out, there was a healer rising in ranks who could cure any ailment. Injury or poison or otherwise.

There was something strange though. There were some things that didn’t align with what the book said. At first, Malleus though it was due to him, but things weren’t lining up from the beginning. The way Lilia defended you. The way the so-called stuck up knight, Sebek, would somewhat let his guard down around you. And how Silver, another one of his knights, would get his animals to help you if you needed it. Though not everyone deviated from the narrative. Servants and nobles still made snarky comments and started rumors. Malleus had asked you several times about this, but you acted like you didn’t know or didn’t care. He could tell it got to you though.

Sadly, he didn’t know if tomorrow night was going to make anything better. It was an annual ball to celebrate a battle Briar Valley won several decades ago, but with the long-living fae, it was a relatively new celebration.

On top of that, that was you and Malleus’ monthly night together. Malleus, or the new Malleus, hadn’t experienced this yet. His heart raced at the thought. Even though all you do is sleep, nothing scandalous(yet).

After a day of tiring ball preparations, Malleus headed to bed. As per usual, you were already in bed and asleep. Malleus walks over to you, brushes hair out of your face, and smiles faintly. He then gets on the other side of the bed, careful not to get to close as to respect your boundaries. As much as he wants to get closer, Malleus doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

But when he wakes up in the night to you pacing around the room, he gets worried.

“Are you okay?”

“Ah! Oh Malleus- I just-” You can’t seem to collect your thoughts. “I just don’t want to make a fool out of you, or I guess us.” Malleus chuckles softly and then picks you up.

“Malleus what are you doing-? OH MY- what are you doing!?” Malleus took you onto the balcony and then jumped into the air. “Shh, be quiet, you’ll wake the whole palace.”

You chuckle slightly. “If someone heard my screaming and what you just said, they might think we’re doing something else.” Malleus face heats up at what you implied. But despite your sarcastic remark, you lean closer to Malleus, eyes closing for sleep.

"I didn't even have to say anything about gargoyles tonight." He whispers, though you're already asleep. "Good night." He kisses your forehead and goes back to your shared bedroom. He puts you on the bed and then gets in the bed as well, of course, giving you your space. He wishes you one more goodnight and falls asleep.

The next day the last finishing touches for the ball was completed. The ball was to start at sundown, so hypothetically, you and Malleus should have been able to see you throughout the day. But Lilia was keeping you away, saying something about a "grand reveal" at the ball.

Though saddened, Malleus still had duties to attend to. He wished you would sneak away from Lilia to relieve him from his princely duties. Yet it didn't happen, Lilia didn't let you sneak out. Then as Malleus was awkwardly sipping drinks and greeting guests, he realized that you were worth the wait.

You descended the steps with the most elegant hairstyle and with the most perfect outfit. The outfit was your favorite color, but it still had accent colors, so it still went perfectly with your hair, skin tone, and eyes. As much as Malleus wanted to take his eyes off you, he didn't at all, his heart wouldn't let him. Sadly, Lilia whisked you away again. Thirty more minutes passed before Malleus could do anything more then make eye contact with you.

The music started, and less then coincidentally, Malleus saw you. And with how stunning you looked, how could he not ask you to dance. As the music went on, so did your conversation. You and Malleus talked about the past few days, he of course complimented you. You did the same. Lilia was making jokes in the corner.

"You know, I've missed you these past few days." Though it was said it a joking tone, what Malleus said was completely true.

"Honestly, I've missed you too." A blush crept onto Malleus' face as you said that. The next few minutes contained silence, and dancing, though the silence was comfortable, not awkward.

At the end of the dance, you had a cheeky smile on your face.

"Hey Tsunotarou," a nickname given to Malleus by you, "can you bend down? I have to tell you something."

"Hm? A secret perhaps?" Malleus joked. He put his ear close down closer to the level of your mouth to hear your words.

"Thank you for everything." You paused. "Always remember that." Then before Malleus could pull his face away from yours, lips were pressed to his cheek. Yours. Your lips. When Malleus was done processing, his face flaired red. He wanted to say something, but you already seemed so far.

"See you later, Tsunotarou."

Sorry if anyone is ooc! Also we're just going to pretend that Malleus got his nickname in a way that makes sense. Hope you enjoyed and sorry it took so long!(part 3 is in the works)

[taglist]: @naroshinozaki @animesimpanon @starriwonderland @jumiver @thedianaclark @younganarchist

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kikokus · 1 year

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Trafalgar Law Character Study, Part 16/? (Dressrosa, Part 6)

So. It’s been…just over eight years. But I’ve had some requests to continue the analysis posts I’d been doing way back when and since I’m finally caught up with the manga again it seemed like as good a time as any to start doing that!

[Part One] // [Part Two] // [Part Three] // [Part Four] // [Part Five] // [Part Six] // [Part Seven] // [Part Eight] // [Part Nine] // [Part Ten] // [Part Eleven] // [Part Twelve] // [Part Thirteen] // [Part Fourteen] // [Part Fifteen]

The first thing I want to say is that I haven’t gone back and read all of the previous posts in this series so just a general warning that there might be questions/speculation within those that we actually have concrete answers to almost ten years later so if something doesn’t quite match up with canon that’s probably why! Most of the actual character-related things about Law should still be accurate, though…

Oh boy I picked a good group of chapters to come back to, huh? Let me just say that reading these in real time was…an experience…a very stressful experience…so back then the last thing I was worried about was character analysis but looking at it years later there’s actually a lot of important things that happen!

The first of which is that obviously we know by now that this isn’t what Cora wanted at all, but Law’s spent so many years convincing himself that it is that this…specter of Doflamingo that’s been haunting him is almost more powerful than the real thing and that’s caused him to combine Cora’s wish for him to be free with Doflamingo being defeated to the point that he can’t separate the two any longer.

This whole section is to set up Law’s reveal that he also carries the Will of D but it’s still kind of amusing to have him asking these seemingly random questions about Luffy during the middle of a literal life-and-death battle. There’s also this running theme with Law where despite the fact that this is something both he and Luffy share, he always seems to place more importance on Luffy than himself. Obviously we know that he has no idea what the Will of D actually is so I think this is more just based on his own personality, but it’s interesting nonetheless.

Somehow I still see people discussing whether Law’s any good with Armament Haki when he’s using it right here and certainly not at full strength but it’s very interesting that Doflamingo becomes one of the few characters in the entire series to know this about Law. Law’s never really flaunted the D initial like a lot of others that have it but that seems to mostly be due to his family wanting to keep it a secret and not based on his own feelings, though this scene in particular I think is meant to mirror the reveal of Doflamingo being a Celestial Dragon because that was something Law could never have accounted for but now he’s got an equally pertinent piece of information to catch Doflamingo off-guard.

And while it doesn’t exactly work as intended, Law was trying to distract him enough to get Doflamingo to make a mistake and that’s exactly what happened so if nothing else he gets a good hit in. Still, for all of Doflamingo’s denial that the whole ‘fated enemies’ idea isn’t true, he’s getting very defensive about it so it makes you wonder…

So Law’s not…wrong about this, since Cora overhearing his full name was what seemingly first got him interested in this whole quest to save Law so in that way it could certainly be looked at as a catalyst of sorts. And it’s also true that Cora probably wouldn’t have been able to kill Doflamingo despite going so far as to point a gun at him, but I do genuinely believe that—in a different series where the narrative would allow such a thing—Law would have killed Doflamingo here.

I really like this group of panels because Doflamingo is seeing Law as he was the first time they met: as someone so angry and disenchanted with the entire world and so resigned to their fate that the only thing that registers is this compulsive need to cause destruction. At the time Doflamingo had said he saw himself in Law because of that, but now that it’s being directed solely at him I’m sure the impact of that is quite different. It’s also a bit of a sign for us as readers to connect the two since Law’s grown and changed a lot from that time and he attributes it mostly to being ‘saved’ because of Cora but this shows that side of him that was created out of losing everything and everyone he loved all at once is still something he can bring out under the right circumstances.

Doflamingo actually says a lot of things in this part that are kind of an insight into what Law’s thinking, and this is one of them. Law’s usually a lot more calculated and careful with his plans, but because of Bellamy deciding to distract Luffy he’s completely alone and has pretty much no tricks left so the only thing he can do is throw whatever he’s got at Doflamingo and hope something works.

This, however, isn’t exactly accurate. I do believe that if all of Law’s initial plans had come to fruition that he would have been content with Kaido taking care of Doflamingo in his place (since, in the end, he’s at least accepting of the fact that Luffy’s the one to do it) but for a variety of reasons that…didn’t happen, and with him being by himself in this position and being so close I think he does let his emotions get the better of him in the end.

Law’s still so calm and rational here and I think it’s because he’s resigned to whatever’s going to happen, but this is an interesting comment because Doflamingo loves trying to make people feel guilty for things that weren’t their fault and he’s attempting to blame everything that happened in Dressrosa completely on Law giving that letter to Vergo instead of any other Marine. But this is the first time that Doflamingo acknowledges that what he did to the Riku family and the country as a whole was a ‘tragedy’ and you can tell from his reaction that he didn’t even realize he’d done so until Law pointed it out.

Looking back at this now it holds a bit of a different connotation but in this moment Law was fully prepared to die and content with that in terms of him feeling as though he’d achieved Cora’s goal (even though he really hadn’t). However, it also still holds true in the present because while his own goals have changed drastically, everything is still being done with Cora in mind…though now it feels far more like a tribute as opposed to the pure revenge it became up until the end of Dressrosa.

Doflamingo’s fully capable of using his ability to kill but he prefers a gun instead and once again we get the mention of lead bullets so between those (twice in this arc now) and amber lead Law’s having a bad time with that particular element. I won’t get too much into how Doflamingo considers the executions he’s done as mercy killings and the only way for people to ‘atone’ for the sin of having the audacity to stand up to him, but I’m still amazed that Law was already almost running on empty and got his arm chopped off and he’s somehow conscious and coherent at this moment.

I have no idea how Law managed to get a tourniquet for his arm with everything going on but in this instance Doflamingo’s completely right: Law hasn’t been living for himself for a long time and everything he’s done has been with this singular goal in mind to the point where he really can’t pull himself away from it.

Considering the repetition that Law has some higher power looking out for him that happened throughout his flashback, I’m inclined to think this is actually foreshadowing that Law’s going to get out of this somehow even though reading it week by week it…didn’t exactly seem like it at the time… Doflamingo’s got some real guts still trying to get Law to make him immortal after everything, though.

Look, Law flips him off in the very next panel, but this is as blatant a ‘go fuck yourself’ as he could have ever given. Earlier in the arc he claimed to not care about the people of Dressrosa but now that Doflamingo’s been trying to guilt him into feeling responsible for their plight he’s using that as part of his way of firing back at Doflamingo for things that were done entirely by his own hand. At the very least, it’s good to know Law isn’t blaming himself for any of it.

Besides the callback to him doing this when we first met him, what’s really important here is that even facing certain death (and at this point I’m inclined to believe he did think it was certain, but I’ll get into that more in the future…) he’s trusting not only in Luffy but in all of the Strawhats to see the plan through and succeed. That’s a lot of faith to have in people he hasn’t known for very long and speaks to how he truly views them and what he thinks they’re capable of.

Doflamingo gets careless when he’s angry and I think this was Law’s final Hail Mary in the sense that if anything was going to save him it was Doflamingo’s rage making his aim unsteady. It’s also somewhat ironic that Doflamingo is listing all of these things that were born from Cora’s love for Law and Law’s desire to acknowledge and remember that as if they’re something he has ownership over and is solely responsible for when that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

This has nothing to do with Law himself but let me tell you that this image of Luffy only noticing the state Law’s in because there’s so much blood on the roof that he literally slips on it has stuck with me since the chapter came out and it’s so visceral and such a visual indication of how intense Doflamingo’s rage was in that moment.

‘He really seemed to trust you’ just hits me in the gut because once again Doflamingo’s up to his old ‘make someone else feel guilty’ tricks (and for Luffy it would hit especially hard given what happened with Ace and how he feels about not being able to save the people he cares about) but also it’s just…true. Law trusts Luffy so much and even at this point some of the fandom was convinced he was going to betray the Strawhats when that shouldn’t have even been a consideration any longer.

And again we get the idea of the Strawhats being able to work ‘miracles’, though in this case it’s simply Doflamingo mocking Law’s words and not putting any belief in it himself, but this was…probably one of the worst chapters to have to wait a week for the continuation. The one bit of hope we get is Law’s single speech bubble at the end telling Luffy to listen to him but that was…very little to go off of…

Well, that seems like a great and happy place to end this part! I hope you enjoyed (?) and please do feel free to like and reblog; especially after so long I’m not sure how many people are still around who want to read something like this so it helps inspire me to keep going!

#one piece #trafalgar law #tlcs #*shows up eight years late with starbucks* oh hey

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