#Ash Benzo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

immortalbumblebee · 5 months ago

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Chapter 25: Burnt Bullet Casings

Masterlist

They burned it all to the ground.

All of them. Gone.

The fire spread quickly in the dead of night, consuming everything in its path. Most were asleep, dreaming their final dreams, unaware that death had come for them cloaked in flames.

They must have followed Mikael back from the meeting. That was the only explanation. The only way they could have known where they—your parents, your family, your blood—lived. Along with an entire row of well-populated homes, packed with lives and memories.

Spikes of pain shot through your knees as you collapsed into the rubble of what had once been your childhood home. The jagged edges of charred wood and shattered glass dug into your skin, but you didn’t feel it. You were numb.

A piece of history—your history—was gone. The walls that once heard your laughter, the people who taught you love and resilience, the voices that comforted you in the dark. All of it, consumed and reduced to ash.

Gone.

You’d tried to find her. You clung to the desperate hope that she, the woman who had always defied the odds, could have escaped. She was a sea-faring, sword-wielding pirate of legend. Surely someone like her could outrun a fire.

But you found her.

Or what was left of her.

Two charred skeletons lay in the wreckage, their forms twisted and fused together. The blackened remains of a wheelchair rested beneath them, melted into the scorched earth. She must have gone to save him. Her closest friend, her confidant—best friends until the very end.

Your shaking hands reached out to touch the last piece of her, a scrap of floral fabric clinging stubbornly to the destruction. Her sleeping clothes. You remembered the pattern vividly. You had chosen it for her yourself, years ago, as a birthday present.

All that remained of your mother.

Your chest heaved with the weight of grief, and the world around you spun, distorted by tears that refused to fall. This wasn’t just a loss. This was annihilation.

Your throat cracks as you let out a piercing scream.

Behind you, Vander’s open sobbing broke through the crackling remains of the fire. It was a raw, unrelenting sound that carried the weight of a man who had already lost too much. You tried to look back, to anchor yourself in the presence of the others, but the tears blurred everything. All you could make out were three hazy figures standing at the edge of the ruins, barely visible through the smoke and your grief.

They hadn’t moved since you ran ahead, stumbling into the ashes the moment you arrived. Vander stood in the center, his massive frame buckling as though the sorrow were too much for even his strength to bear. He doubled over, clutching at the ground as if it might hold him steady, but his sobs only grew louder, more broken.

Silco and Benzo stood on either side of him, both too stunned to act. Silco’s jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the strain from where you knelt, but he didn’t step forward. His hands hung limply at his sides, trembling in a way you’d never seen before. Benzo’s usual spark was gone, replaced by wide, hollow eyes that stared into the wreckage as though refusing to accept what lay before him.

The silence between their sobs stretched unbearably thin, broken only by the faint whisper of the wind through the ashes. You couldn’t look at them for long. Their grief was a reflection of your own, and it threatened to crush what little strength you had left. Instead, you turned your gaze back to the scrap of floral fabric in your hands, clutching it as if it could somehow anchor you to the life you’d lost.

But even then, you knew—there was no going back. None of you would ever be the same again.

You partially stumbled, partially crawled your way back to the boys, the scrap of fabric still clutched tightly to your chest as though letting go of it would break you entirely. Your knees buckled more than once, and each time, you forced yourself up again, the weight of your grief dragging you down but never fully stopping you.

Benzo was the first to move. The shock etched across his face softened into something raw and pained as he stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Without a word, he knelt down and gathered you into his arms, pulling you close as though shielding you from the ruin around you. His embrace was warm, steady—an anchor in the chaos.

You collapsed into him, the dam finally breaking as heavy, guttural sobs racked your body. “They—” you tried to speak, but the words shattered in your throat, choked by grief too vast to articulate.

Benzo tightened his hold, his hand finding its way to your hair. “Shh,” he murmured softly, his voice trembling but determined. His fingers stroked through your hair with slow, rhythmic motions, as though trying to soothe a wound that couldn’t be healed. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But breathing felt impossible. Every inhale dragged jagged edges of sorrow into your chest, cutting deeper with each attempt. Your mind replayed the scene over and over—the wreckage, the flames, the remains. You clung to Benzo like a lifeline, your hands gripping his coat, your face buried in his shoulder as you sobbed without end.

Behind him, Vander’s sobbing had quieted to a strangled kind of wheezing, as if the sheer force of his grief had left him without air. Silco stood rooted in place, his shoulders stiff, his eyes glinting with unshed tears. He wasn’t looking at the ruins anymore; he was watching Vander, his expression unreadable but devastatingly raw.

Benzo rocked you gently, his own breathing uneven as he whispered, “We’re going to get through this. I promise. We’ll make them pay. But right now… just let it out.”

His words were a lifeline, a small thread of something solid in a world that had crumbled around you. You clung to it, even as your sobs consumed you, drowning out the sound of everything else. Your sobs came in heavy, uneven bursts, wracking your body until it felt like you had nothing left inside but sorrow.

Behind you, Vander was slumped on his knees, his massive hands clutching fistfuls of his hair as his chest heaved with quiet sobs. The sound of his grief, raw and broken, was almost harder to bear than the silence that had preceded it. Peeling yourself away from Benzo, you fell back to your knees and wrapped your arms around the fallen man. The two of your shakings came together into one simultaneous source of unbelievable grief.

Silco hadn’t moved. He stood like a statue, his shoulders drawn so tightly they might snap, his trembling hands clenched into fists at his sides. His sharp eyes darted between the two of you and the smoldering ruins, as if searching for something—someone—to blame. His lips pressed into a thin line, the flicker of unshed tears betraying the fury brewing just beneath the surface.

“They didn’t deserve this,” Benzo croaks, wiping away his own tear-covered cheeks. “Nobody does.”

“How could they—“ your broken sobs cut you off again, and you twisted your face to bury yourself into Vander’s quivering shoulder. The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable vibrating with suppressed rage. When you finally managed to lift your head, the floral fabric still clenched in your trembling hands. “She—she tried to save him,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “They died together.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint crackle of dying embers and the occasional shifting of debris in the wind. Then, Vander stands. The hot tears are still flooding down his cheeks, and his whole body is shaking, but his eyes have a rage so…deep and fierce, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Not in a riot, not in the pits. This is an entirely new anger, and quite frankly it scares you.

“Get everyone together and prepare civilians.” He commands. “We’re crossing that damned bridge.”

As your feet hit the pavement, the cool morning air bit at your cheeks, sharp and invigorating against your flushed skin. It was mid-spring, but the lingering chill made your breath visible in faint clouds as you panted, pushing yourself harder. The snippets of sky you could make out from such a lower level were painted in pale hues of dawn, streaks of pink and orange battling against the fading gray of night.

You leapt from rooftop to rooftop, the uneven terrain a familiar challenge beneath your boots. Each jump sent your heart racing, not from fear but from the sheer thrill of the motion—controlled chaos honed through years of practice. Your fingers found chimneys and radio antennae as you moved, gripping the cold metal and brick to steady yourself or pivot sharply around obstacles. Somehow, there was peace here. Angry tears still ran down your cheeks, but here, with your feet running under you…there was control, and thus, there was peace.

Once or twice, your foot caught the edge of a landing, your balance momentarily thrown off. You stumbled, arms pinwheeling for a fraction of a second, but instinct kicked in. Your body adjusted, muscles coiling and releasing with precision, and you pushed forward without hesitation.

Each step felt solid, each movement deliberate, a rhythm born of repetition and necessity. The rooftops were your domain, their precarious paths as familiar as the streets below to those who dared traverse them. The wind whipped at your face and tugged at your clothes, a constant reminder of the height and the stakes, but you didn’t slow. You couldn’t.

Ahead, the gap between buildings widened slightly, the next rooftop just a bit farther than you were used to. Your mind calculated the distance, your legs pumping harder to gain the momentum you needed. Without breaking stride, you surged forward, the edge of the roof disappearing beneath your feet as you launched yourself into the air, heart pounding in your ears.

You landed in front of an all-too-familiar apartment, your feet hitting the ledge with a muffled thud. Without missing a beat, you latched onto the side of the building and swung yourself down to a windowsill, gripping the frame to steady yourself. Inside, the warm glow of morning filtered through the glass, illuminating the scene of a family just settling in for breakfast. You raised your hand and knocked fervently on the pane, the sound sharp and insistent.

Heads snapped up in surprise, startled by the intrusion. Recognition quickly replaced confusion, and Violet, the six-year-old, bolted toward you with a delighted cry.

“Auntie Min!” she beamed, her bright eyes wide with excitement.

You managed a fleeting smile, reaching out to ruffle her hair as she reached the window. But your gaze didn’t linger on her—it locked on her parents. Violet wrestled with the latch, and a moment later, the window swung open. The rush of warm air from inside hit you, but it did little to ease the chill in your chest.

“I’m sorry to interrupt like this,” you panted, your breath hitching as you swiped hastily at the tear tracks on your face.

Connol was already on his feet, his tall frame tensing at your tone. Felicia froze mid-bite, her fork halfway to her mouth as she stared at you. Connol’s voice cut through the tense silence, low and steady, but tinged with concern.

“What’s happening out there?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Sevika stopped by earlier, said there was some sort of fire.”

You choked back a sob, the lump in your throat threatening to swallow your words whole. But there was no time for this—not now. You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to focus, to speak.

“They’re gone…” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “Mikael, Mom, the whole damn block.”

Felicia’s fork slipped from her hand, clattering against her plate before it tumbled to the floor. The plate shattered on impact, the sound harsh and final, the eggs splattering in a messy heap. She stood there, stunned, her lips parted as though searching for words that refused to come. As she did, Violet ran back to her side.

“What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, your jaw tightening as you swallowed hard against the grief threatening to drown you. “We need to get the kids to the tunnel,” you said, the urgency in your voice overriding the quiver. “Now. Grab your gauntlets and whatever armor you’ve got. We’re crossing the bridge at noon.”

Connol blinked, the weight of your words settling over him like a lead blanket. Felicia, however, remained rooted to the spot, her shock giving way to disbelief.

“Wait, what?” she blurted, her voice sharp and trembling.

“There’s no time to explain,” you said, stepping into the room as if moving might make the situation feel more tangible. “We’re not safe here. None of us are. They’ll come this way next, and if we’re not ready…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “Please, just trust me.”

Felicia looked to Connol, her hands trembling as she reached for the counter to steady herself. Connol’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he nodded once. Without another word, he strode to the back room, where their gear was stored.

Felicia’s voice cracked as she spoke, her fear barely contained. “Are we… are you guys sure about this?”

You crouched down, meeting Violet’s wide, questioning eyes. The little girl clung to her mother’s leg, her breakfast forgotten, her small face full of confusion and worry. You managed a weak smile, smoothing her hair once more.

“Yeah,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “But only if we act now.”

“Min-Min…” Powder cooed sleepily, her small hand reaching out to you, her fingers brushing against the fabric of your coat. Her tired eyes blinked up at you, filled with trust and innocence that made your chest ache.

You crouched down beside her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Hey, sweet pea,” you said softly, a flicker of warmth breaking through the storm raging inside you. Violet stood quietly by her side, clutching her mother’s hand, her gaze darting between you and the commotion around her.

Straightening, you stretched out your hands, feeling the air around you, the cool metal fragments stored in your satchel responding instantly. With swift, precise motions of your fingers, a series of lightweight metal sheets zipped into the air, shimmering faintly in the morning light. In a matter of seconds, the sheets disassembled into smaller parts, folding and snapping into makeshift chest plates, perfectly sized for the children.

You turned and knelt in front of Violet, pressing the plates into her small hands. “Do what your parents say and don’t argue, okay?” you said firmly, your tone leaving no room for debate.

Violet looked down at the plates in confusion, her brow furrowing. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice trembling.

You hesitated, your heart twisting, but you shook your head. “Just�� listen to your parents,” you repeated, your voice softer now. “They’ll keep you safe.”

You glanced back up at Felicia and Connol, your resolve hardening. “I’ll stop by the tunnel after I’ve collected everyone,” you said, your words quick but steady. “Vander and Benzo are already gathering at the bridge. Silco’s covering the upper levels. We’ve only got a couple of hours, maybe less.”

Connol nodded grimly, his face set like stone as he wrapped an arm protectively around Felicia, who was already busy helping Violet slip the plate over her small frame. Powder reached out for hers with a curious look, her sleepy haze fading as she watched you with wide, trusting eyes.

You stepped back toward the door, your hand lingering on the frame for a brief moment. “Be ready,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. With that, you slipped out into the morning light, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on you. The sounds of the family behind you faded as you moved, replaced by the hum of your thoughts and the echo of distant footsteps.

A couple of hours later, the city was alive with a chaotic hum, its usual rhythm fractured by urgency and fear. The sun hung higher now, casting sharp angles of light that pierced through the haze lingering over the smoggy streets. Your legs burned from running, every muscle taut with exhaustion, but you didn’t slow. You’d spent the morning darting from one household to the next, gathering who you could, issuing hurried instructions, and fending off waves of questions you didn’t have time to answer. Now, as you sprinted toward the storage tunnel, the distant echoes of shouts and hurried footsteps followed you, a cacophony of people trying to prepare for the unimaginable.

The tunnel was alive with a quiet hum of activity, a stark contrast to the chaos above. This was where the vulnerable had gathered—the people you’d spent the last few hours running for. The makeshift shelter was lit dimly by lanterns, their warm glow flickering over the walls lined with storage crates and bags of supplies. Familiar faces filled the space, many of them etched with worry, some with exhaustion, but all clinging to a fragile sense of hope.

Babette and a few of the older men and women were tending to the children, their calm presence a lifeline for the little ones who didn’t fully understand what was happening. Vi and Powder sat close together, their plates of rations barely touched. Across from them, two boys—a bespectacled one with a thoughtful expression and a smaller one with spiked hair—played quietly with a makeshift game of stones and sticks. You recognized their faces but couldn’t quite recall their names.

The scent of something cooking wafted through the air, a soothing balm amidst the tension. A few of the older folks had gathered around a small camp stove, stirring pots of whatever rations could be spared. The simple aroma filled the tunnel like incense, grounding everyone in this shared, fragile moment of peace.

Your eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Skye. She stood near the far wall, deep in conversation with a pale, thin boy—Viktor. He held himself with a quiet intensity, his sharp eyes darting between her and the schematic she’d spread out on a crate.

You strode over, worry etched on your face. “Skye, my girl,” you exclaimed, your voice sharper than you intended. She looked up in surprise, and you tried to soften your tone, though the tremor in it betrayed you. “What are you doing here? You should be home across the river.”

As the words left your mouth, you couldn’t help but hear the echo of your mother in them—her firm, protective cadence slipping out of you unbidden. You swallowed hard, forcing the thought away.

But Skye only shook her head, a determined look in her eyes. “There was no way I was missing this,” she said, her voice steady. “I took the tunnel to make sure everyone was okay, you know, help out where I could.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a flicker of pride cutting through your worry. You reached out and squeezed her arm gently, the gesture as much for you as for her. “Your aunt would be so proud of you,” you said softly, your chest tightening as you thought of Mikael and the others.

Turning your attention to Viktor, you fixed him with a stern look, though there was no real bite behind it. “Look after her, okay?” you said, your voice firm.

He met your gaze, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. He nodded without a word, his quiet confidence easing some of your concern.

“Good,” you murmured, glancing back at Skye. “Stay here. Stay safe.” Then, with one last lingering look, you turned back to the others, steeling yourself for what lay ahead.

The bridge loomed just across the way, its towering framework cutting through the haze of the morning. You could already make out the growing crowds of Zaunites, gathered in tense clusters as the final moments ticked toward noon. Their voices rose in a low murmur, the sound carrying with it an undercurrent of fear, anger, and restless determination. You slowed for a moment, taking it all in, feeling the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

These people—friends, neighbors, strangers—were all here to fight. To risk their lives alongside yours. The enormity of it hit you like a blow, and you had to steel yourself, drawing in a shaky breath.

Was this the right thing to do? The question gnawed at the edges of your mind, that familiar tug of anxiety creeping in. This wasn’t just a scuffle. It wasn’t a stand to scare off some meddling Enforcers. This was life or death. People were going to die today. You could already imagine the river running red, the blood of Enforcers and Zaunites mingling in the murky depths.

The thought made your knees falter, just for a second. But then your mind dragged you back—to the ashes, to the smoldering remains of your home, to the charred wheelchair with the two bodies strewn over it. There wasn’t even anything left to bury. And even if there were, Zaun didn’t have graves, didn’t have a cemetery to mourn its dead. You’d have to dump them into the river like trash, like their lives hadn’t mattered.

That thought ignited something in you, a fire that burned hotter than your doubt. No. Their lives did matter. And if you had to spill blood to prove that, then so be it.

Your resolve hardened, and without another thought, you broke into a sprint. The bridge grew closer with every pounding step, the roar of your heartbeat in your ears drowning out everything else. This was your fight, your family’s fight, and you wouldn’t let fear stop you now.

Pushing your way through the crowd, you kept your eyes scanning for your guys. The mass of Zaunites surged with restless energy—miners clutching their gauntlets, tinkerers with hastily strapped-together armor, and others wielding whatever they could scrounge: pipes, crowbars, old rifles. The tension was electric, the air thick with the hum of whispered strategies and nervous chatter.

Then you spotted them, of course, at the front. Vander, Benzo, and Silco stood in a tight group, speaking with others, handing out last-minute instructions, and adjusting their gear. They moved with purpose, their presence a grounding force amidst the chaos.

Silco locked eyes with you first, his sharp gaze cutting through the crowd. He lifted a hand, gesturing you forward, and as you approached, he tilted his head toward the far end of the bridge.

You followed his line of sight and saw them—the Enforcers. A small battalion stood gathered just beyond the chain-link fence that had been erected long ago to keep Zaun in its place. Their polished armor gleamed even in the muted light, their weapons at the ready, their posture rigid.

“They called in reinforcements,” Silco said, his voice low and steady as you reached him. “Probably another swarm waiting at the other end, ready to move if we break through here.”

You nodded, your jaw tightening. “So we’ve got a challenge,” you said, your tone even, though your pulse quickened.

His lips twitched into a small, grim smile. “We always do.”

Vander turned at the sound of your voice, his broad shoulders tense but his expression softening slightly when he saw you. “You ready?” he asked, though the question felt more rhetorical than anything.

“More than ready,” you replied, your hand instinctively going to the daggers strapped to your sides. You glanced back at the crowd, then to the fence, then finally to your friends.

Vander’s gaze flickered between the two guys and you before settling fully on you, his eyes soft yet intense. With a tilt of his head, he motioned for you to step aside with him. Without a word, you followed, moving just out of earshot of the others.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low, carrying the weight of unspoken fears. His eyes locked onto yours, so deeply it felt like he was peering into your very soul. “You know I love fighting by your side, but if I lose you out there—” He stopped, his words faltering as he looked down, shuffling his feet. His hands balled into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. “I just need to hear that you’re sure. In this. 100%.”

You paused, his worry echoing in the pit of your stomach. But then you stepped forward, reaching for his arm. His gauntlets were already strapped on, the polished metal gleaming, but you couldn’t resist tinkering with them. Your hands moved automatically, adjusting bolts, reinforcing weak points. A few scraps of nearby cast iron flew to your fingertips, and you molded them into plates, fastening them over the knuckles with practiced ease.

“You know what I’ve learned about metal?” you said, not looking up from your work. “Everyone thinks it’s strong, unyielding, immovable. But the truth is…” You tightened the buckle around his forearm. “It’s incredibly malleable. You just have to know how to reshape it.” Finally, you met his gaze, your voice steady and unwavering. “It’s time we show these bastards they’re not immovable. They’ve taken everything from us. It’s time we prove they’re breakable.”

A slow smile spread across his face, one that carried both pride and pain. Then, without warning, he lifted his heavy, gauntlet-clad arm and wrapped it around you, pulling you close. His lips met yours, the kiss long and deep, filled with every unspoken emotion between you—grief, fear, determination, and a love that neither of you dared to fully voice.

When you pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling in the tense air. His blue-gray eyes softened even further as he murmured, “Minnie?”

“Yeah?” you whispered, your heart pounding.

“I love—” he started, but you pressed your hand gently against his lips, shaking your head.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Don’t do that, Vander. Not now. Tell me later. After we win this thing… okay?”

A low, genuine laugh rumbled from his chest, the sound so rare and so beautiful after the hell of this day that it made your heart ache. “Looking forward to watching you kick ass out there,” he said, his smirk returning as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

You grinned, leaning up to press a quicker, playful kiss to his lips. “Right back at you, Handsome,” you teased, stepping back toward the crowd, ready for what came next.

Ripping the dagger from the Enforcer’s ribcage brought with it a grimly satisfying squelch, the blade reluctant to part from its victim. The man crumpled to the ground in a heap, his helmet bouncing once on the bridge’s metallic surface with a hollow clang before rolling into the haze. At some point during the chaos, the Enforcers had deployed a barrage of smoke bombs, flooding the bridge with thick, suffocating clouds of gray. The setting sun cast a crimson glow over the Bay Area, its bloody hues mirroring the carnage below.

Pain flared in your knee—a sharp, persistent throb from a graze you’d taken earlier. The bullet had barely kissed the surface, but the damage was enough to leave you limping. Still, you refused to slow down. Your bloodied hands gripped the hilt of your dagger like a lifeline, your movements swift and calculated as you darted from one victim to the next. The metallic tang of blood clung to the air, mingling with the acrid stench of smoke, and your every breath fed the wildfire burning within you.

Your mind had been lost to the frenzy long ago. There was no thought now, no strategy—only instinct, only survival, only the burning need to punish. Adrenaline surged through your veins, sharpening your senses as your body moved on autopilot, propelled by sheer rage and momentum. You were a blur of vengeance, a specter in the fog.

But even in the chaos, one gnawing thought refused to be silenced. You’d lost them.

The boys.

Somewhere along the way, in the endless storm of violence and smoke, you’d lost sight of them. Your heart pounded for more than just the fight now—an icy thread of dread wove itself into your adrenaline. You scanned the hazy battlefield, desperate for a glimpse of their faces, a sign that they were still alive, still fighting. But the fog was too thick, the bridge too vast, and every second spent searching was a second you couldn’t afford.

A shadow lunged at you through the mist, and you reacted without thinking, your blade meeting flesh before the figure had a chance to strike. Another enemy down. Another delay.

“Where are they?” you hissed under your breath, your voice drowned out by the chaos.

The bridge creaked beneath your feet as you steadied yourself, wiping the blood from your brow with a trembling hand. You eyes scanned your surroundings as you darted forward, silently praying to find one of them any of them.

Please don’t be dead.

Eventually, through the suffocating haze, a familiar silhouette emerged—Silco. Relief washed over you like a breaking wave, momentarily dousing the fire of fear and exhaustion in your chest. You staggered toward him, calling out his name, your voice hoarse from the smoke and strain. But he didn’t respond.

His focus was fixed elsewhere, his frame unnervingly still.

It wasn’t something he was looking at. It was someone.

Your steps faltered as you drew closer, a creeping dread prickling at the edges of your mind. When your eyes followed his line of sight, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Felicia’s distinctive hair, vivid even in death, splayed out against the bloodied ground like a broken halo. And Connol’s lifeless eyes stared skyward, empty and unblinking.

Your breath hitched. The sight of them—people you’d fought beside, people you knew—hit you like a bolt of lightning. Grief coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, shocking your system and stealing the air from your lungs.

“No…” The word fell from your lips, barely audible as you closed the distance between you and Silco, your knees threatening to buckle beneath the weight of the moment. You reached for him, grabbing his arm with bloodied fingers, trying to snap him out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.

“Come on,” you urged, your voice trembling but firm. “We can’t stay out in the open like this.”

But he didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. His gaze stayed locked on the bodies, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, hollow, almost unrecognizable.

“This isn’t what I wanted to happen…”

His words hung in the air, heavy and cold, as if they could somehow stop time itself.

You tightened your grip on his arm, shaking it slightly, your desperation mounting. “Silco, please. We have to go. Now.”

Still, he lingered, his expression a mixture of shock and something deeper—something raw and wounded. It was as if the world had shrunk to just the three of them: Silco, Felicia, and Connol. And you, no matter how desperately you tried, couldn’t pull him out of it.

“This isn’t how I thought things would go.” He croaks out, almost a whimper.

“They knew the potential cost,” You explain, desperately. There’s a time and place for mourning, and you’re clearly pushing thoughts and feelings down right now, but the need to save your friend keeps you going. “Now let’s go!!”

“Not here…” Silco murmured, his voice breaking through the chaos, raw and trembling. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “This wasn’t the plan! None of this was supposed to happen!”

“Silco!” you exclaimed, panic sharpening your tone as you grabbed for him again. “This isn’t your fault! And we’re sitting ducks here! We need to move—”

But he wrenched his arm away from your grasp, spinning toward you with a fire in his eyes that nearly made you recoil. “Don’t you see, Minerva? This is my fault! All of it. Their deaths, this battle, the fire—”

“The fire was lit by the Enforcers, Silco!” you shot back, your voice rising, desperate to cut through the storm building in his head. “You know that! This—this wasn’t your doing!”

His shoulders sagged slightly, but there was no relief in his posture. His chest heaved, his breath shallow and uneven, and when he looked at you, it wasn’t anger anymore. It was something far worse. There was a silent plea in his eyes, a vulnerability so rare and so foreign that it froze you in place.

Despite the smoke swirling thickly around you, obscuring the bridge and the carnage, his expression brought clarity, cutting through the haze like a blade.

And then he spoke again, softly, so softly it barely reached you over the din of the battlefield.

“Unless you mean the first fire…”

The words hung between you, heavy and damning, like the strike of a bell tolling doom.

Your heart stuttered, your breath catching as the implications hit you like a physical blow. “Silco…” The name fell from your lips, no more than a whisper. You took a hesitant step back, your mind racing to put the pieces together, your voice trembling with disbelief. “You didn’t…”

He didn’t answer.

His silence was louder than any confession.

The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unsteady, as though the weight of his unspoken words threatened to break it apart. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the distant sounds of battle fading into a dull roar as you stared at him, searching his face for some shred of denial, for anything to prove you wrong.

But there was nothing. Only the unyielding truth reflected in his eyes.

“Silco,” you choked out, your voice breaking, “tell me you didn’t.”

Still, he remained silent. And the smoke swirled around you both, thick and suffocating, as the fire burned on.

The bridge trembled under the weight of approaching boots, but it wasn’t the Enforcers who appeared first—it was Vander.

His massive frame emerged from the smoke like a storm given form, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles shone white even in the fading light. His eyes burned with fury, zeroing in on Silco with laser focus. He must have heard. Every word.

“You,” Vander growled, his voice a deep rumble that made your stomach drop. “You started this.”

“Vander, wait—” you began, stepping forward, but it was too late.

He charged.

Like a freight train, Vander’s heavy boots thundered across the bridge as he closed the distance between them. Silco barely had time to turn before Vander collided with him, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him clear off the ground.

“You lit the fire!” Vander roared, shaking Silco like a ragdoll. “You brought this hell down on all of us!”

Silco struggled, his hands grasping at Vander’s iron grip, but his voice cut sharp through the tension. “And you left me to rot!” he spat, venom dripping from his words even as his feet dangled above the ground. “Don’t you dare pretend your hands are clean!”

“Stop it!” you shouted, lunging forward to grab Vander’s arm. You pulled with all your might, but he barely budged. “This isn’t the time for this!”

“Stay out of this, Minerva!” Vander barked, his eyes never leaving Silco’s. “He knew! He let them die!”

“And we’ll all die if you keep this up!” you snapped, planting yourself between them as best you could. “The Enforcers are coming! You think they’ll wait for you two to settle your score?”

As if on cue, the sound of boots and shouted orders rose over the chaos. A battalion of Enforcers appeared from the smoke, rifles raised, their figures backlit by the flames consuming the city behind them.

Silco’s feet hit the ground as Vander dropped him, the need for survival momentarily overriding his rage. Without a word, both men turned toward the incoming threat, their shared fury redirected at a common enemy.

“Stay close!” Vander barked at you, stepping forward as the first shots rang out.

You moved instinctively, ducking low as a hail of bullets whizzed past, ricocheting off the metal bridge. Silco, always quicker on his feet, darted to the side, his blade flashing as he closed the gap between himself and the nearest Enforcer.

The fight was immediate and brutal.

Vander tore through their ranks like a wrecking ball, his fists meeting helmets with bone-crushing force. Every swing was heavy, deliberate, leaving bodies crumpled in his wake. Silco was more precise, weaving through the chaos like a shadow, his dagger finding weak points in armor and flesh.

You followed, moving in tandem with them, your own blade finding its mark as you danced between attackers. The three of you moved like cogs in a machine, instinct and desperation driving you forward as the bridge became a battleground once more.

But even in the chaos, the tension between Vander and Silco simmered, threatening to boil over. You caught glimpses of it in their movements—in the way Vander’s blows were harsher than necessary, as if still fueled by his anger, and in Silco’s sharp, calculated strikes, each one a reminder of his own resentment. Until, just as the crowd began to thin, Silco was gone. “Silco!” Vander roared, his voice tearing through the chaos like a thunderclap, echoing across the bridge. It wasn’t just a name—it was a battle cry, filled with fury and anguish so raw it cut through the smoke and carnage.

But Silco was gone.

Whether he had fled into the haze or been swallowed by the tide of Enforcers, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t have the luxury to wonder. The Enforcers were everywhere now, pouring in from both ends of the bridge like a tide of steel and smoke.

There was no time to think. No time to mourn. Only time to fight.

You ducked as a baton swung toward your head, the rush of air sharp against your ear. Pivoting on your injured knee, you drove your blade upward, catching the Enforcer beneath his chin where his helmet didn’t protect him. He crumpled with a gurgle, and you barely had time to yank your dagger free before another came at you.

This one was quicker, his movements calculated, his rifle swinging toward you. You sidestepped just in time, slamming your shoulder into him and throwing him off balance. His weapon clattered to the ground, and you drove your elbow into his throat before finishing him with a swift, clean slash.

Blow after blow, you moved through the chaos, a whirlwind of blood and steel. Pain radiated from your knee, but you pushed through it, the adrenaline dulling the worst of it. The metallic stench of blood mingled with the acrid smoke in the air, and every breath burned your lungs.

Vander was a force of nature beside you, his massive fists smashing through armor and bone alike. He roared as he fought, a towering inferno of rage and power. One Enforcer tried to grapple him, but Vander grabbed the man by the chest plate and hurled him into two others like they were nothing more than dolls.

“More incoming!” you shouted, your voice hoarse as you parried a blade aimed at your side.

“Let them come!” Vander bellowed, grabbing a metal pipe from the ground and swinging it like a club. The sound of it connecting with an Enforcer’s helmet was sickening, and the soldier dropped like a stone.

The Enforcers didn’t relent. They swarmed like locusts, their numbers seemingly endless, and every time you thought you’d carved out a moment’s peace, another wave surged forward.

One soldier got too close, slamming the butt of his rifle into your ribs. Pain flared as you stumbled, gasping, but you refused to fall. You turned the momentum into a spin, slashing low and slicing through the back of his knee. He cried out, collapsing, and you ended him with a thrust to the chest.

“Minerva, stay on your feet!” Vander barked, his voice cutting through the cacophony.

You glanced at him, sweat and blood streaking his face, his eyes wild with the need to protect. But he couldn’t shield you from everything—not here.

The two of you fought back to back now, a unit forged in desperation. You could feel the weight of his movements behind you, hear the crunch of bone under his strikes.

Another Enforcer came at you, but this time you were ready. You ducked low, slashing his Achilles tendon, and he fell with a scream. A boot to his face silenced him.

“We’re being overrun!” you shouted, glancing toward Vander.

But before he could respond, an explosion ripped through the air, shaking the bridge beneath your feet. Smoke and fire erupted from the far end, throwing friend and foe alike into chaos. The bridge groaned ominously, its metal frame straining under the onslaught.

“Fall back!” Vander shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. He grabbed your arm, hauling you to your feet as the Enforcers regrouped for another push.

“We’ll never make it across!” you shouted, your voice barely audible over the din.

“Then we fight!” he growled, releasing your arm and charging headlong into the fray once more, his war cry ringing out like a bell of defiance.

And so you fought, side by side, as the bridge became a battleground, a place where survival was the only victory that mattered.

When the last Enforcer fell with a guttural cry, he crumpled to the blood-soaked bridge. The clash of mining gauntlets and the deafening roar of gunfire faded into an eerie silence, broken only by the distant crackle of flames and the groaning of the bridge beneath its grim burden.

You stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving, your dagger trembling in your blood-slicked hand. The haze of smoke was thinner now, allowing the crimson light of the setting sun to bathe the scene, illuminating the broken bodies scattered around you.

Vander was beside you, his massive shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. His pipe hung limply in one hand, streaked with blood and dented from the ferocity of his strikes. Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the cuts and bruises that marred his skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. There was nothing to say, no words that could give meaning to the slaughter around you. The adrenaline that had carried you through the fight was ebbing now, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache in your muscles and the sharp sting of every injury you’d ignored.

Then, more footsteps. You both whipped your head around, expecting more Enforcers, but…

There was Violet, with little baby Powder at her side.

Their wide eyes, shimmering with tears, were filled with terror and confusion. The smoke and blood around them seemed far too heavy for children to bear, and yet they stood there, frozen, their small forms trembling in the aftermath of the carnage.

Their fear hit you like a wave, crashing against the fragile wall you’d built to keep the horrors of the day at bay. Your chest tightened as their gaze shifted between you and Vander, silently searching for an answer, for reassurance that everything would be okay.

But their parents…

Oh god. The thought struck you like a blade, twisting deep in your heart. Felicia’s hair, Connol’s eyes—lifeless now. The memory of their crumpled bodies surged back, vivid and merciless.

As if sensing your hesitation, Violet took a hesitant step forward, her small hand gripping Powder’s shoulder protectively. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, just a choked sound that made your stomach twist. Her eyes darted between you and Vander, pleading silently, the question clear.

“Where are they?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, and you felt them spill over before you could stop them. Your throat constricted as the weight of what you’d have to say—or worse, what you couldn’t say—threatened to crush you entirely.

For a moment, he just looked at them, his gaze softening ever so slightly. Then, with a subtle tilt of his chin, he gestured toward Felicia and Connol’s bodies, still lying in the haze behind you.

Violet’s face crumpled, her brave facade shattering in an instant. Powder’s grip on her sister tightened as she buried her face against Violet’s side, her tiny shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“No,” Violet whispered, shaking her head, her voice cracking. “No, no, no…”

You turned away, unable to watch as the realization dawned on them. The pain in their cries cut deeper than any blade. Your hand pressed to your mouth, trying to stifle the sob threatening to escape, but it was no use.

Vander didn’t speak. He didn’t try to comfort them with lies or empty promises. He simply stood there, a solid, steady presence as the two girls clung to each other, their grief echoing through the smoke-filled air.

It was you who spoke next, your voice muffled and trembling as she looked up at Vander with tear-streaked cheeks. “What… what do we do now?”

Vander’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. For a moment, he didn’t answer, and you saw the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders like a physical burden. Then, with a sounding ‘thud’, his gauntlets fell to the ground, chipping the bridge in the process with their weight.

“We take care of each other,” he said finally, his voice steady but low. “That’s what we do.”

That’s all folks!

The idea that this story is done after nearly three goddamn years…terrifying! Thank you all so much for sticking around this long, it really means the world to me that people out there actually care about my writing. So thank you everyone, especially those of you who have helped me with this process *cough cough @conretewings cough cough*.

And thank you to all who comment and reblog. Yall are the reason I do this.

There will be a sequel in the works, so stick around for more fun in the future and Happy New Year everyone!!

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rarepairdumpster · 4 months ago

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Firelight Viktor AU Part 1

Inspired by THIS ART

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Trauma Discussion, Hint to previous SA, Honestly this AU is a lot of politics with underlying sexual tension

Firelight Viktor taking full advantage of Silco's bad depth perception to race circles around him.

Silco eventually grabbing him and pinning him down and snarling in his ear about choosing the wrong person to be toying with.

And then Silco hears the sound of something priming, and he looks down to see a freakishly advanced pistol a hairs breadth from his belly.

"You sure about that?" Viktor asks, voice carrying an almost mechanical overtone.

Silco smirks and releases Viktor, holding his hands up. "That's quite the weapon you have. Fascinating engineering."

"Keep moving. Don't stop until I say," Viktor orders

Silco complies, but he's endlessly amused.

Finally, Viktor is back on his feet, gripping something to keep his balance. The pistols aim never wavers though.

Next thing Silco knows, a blast of energy hits him. He wakes up a while later, groggy and sore from where he'd slammed into the ground.

"A stunner," Silco growls, anger chasing away his grogginess. And then he laughs. "Ingenious, Viktor."

Because he already put 2 and 2 together.

The next time Viktor comes home from the lab, Silco is sitting on his couch smoking and drinking brandy.

"Do sit down, Viktor. I thought we might finish our conversation."

Viktor can't get over the audacity of Silco inviting him to sit down in his own fucking house.

Viktor chides himself for not grabbing his stunner before he left the lab. "I'm not interested."

"No?" Silco smirks. "Then I suppose there won't be an issue when Chief Marcus arrives in ten minutes."

Viktor freezes. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Silco's gaze sharpens. "As far as the firelights are concerned, I'm an unscrupulous monster; isn't that so?"

Silco takes a sip of his brandy, casual as fuck.

Viktor looks down and his grip on his cane tightens. "You flooded the Lanes with Shimmer. You're constantly sending your enforcer dogs after us. What else am I supposed to think?"

"Flooded the Lanes with Shimmer?" Silco laughs at that. Actually, full-body laughs for about 3 seconds. "As powerful as I am, I can't force an entire city to become addicts."

Silco pushes a hand through his hair, laugh fading to a resigned smile.

"I don't make anyone take Shimmer," Silco continues. "It fills a medical need that Piltover has both caused and neglected to treat. Addiction....I can't control that. All I can do is help mitigate the torture of withdrawal."

"It-Its not medicine," Viktor repeats what he's heard Ekko say dozens of times before. "No one has ever been helped by it. Just hurt."

"It is medicine." Silco taps the side of his face and chuckles, without mirth. "Without Shimmer, I'd be dead on the side of the road. I was the first person to use it. To be helped. And I fought to make it available to others. And the firelights have been trained to look at me like I'm an animal with no compassion. Because that boy, the saviour, carries a personal grudge against me."

"He said you killed Benzo and Vander," Viktor spits. "I don't blame him for having a grudge."

"Did he also tell you I killed the enforcer that Benzo and Vander were about to sell us all out to?" Silco raises an eyebrow. "Sit, boy, and I'll tell you my side of things."

Viktor purses his lips, but sits, as far from Silco as he can

"You seem older than the others. Where were you during the Day of Ash?" Silco asks once Viktor has settled in.

"Hiding," Viktor answers, frowning severely, "with my mother. We lived on the Entresol. She was ill and I'm...."

Viktor gestures to his leg. "But we heard the screams. The gunshots."

"We orchestrated it, Vander and I," Silco explained. "Our plan was to take control of the bridge and if we could, the port. If we had something Piltover required to survive, they would be forced to listen and negotiate." Silco's fist balls up and his jaw tenses.

"We had a mole. Within our organization. I had been so careful with who we let in, but I was distracted." He thinks of Vander and Felicia and the kids. All liabilities. All weaknesses.

"Topside knew we were coming," Silco sighed. "We were out manned and outgunned before we even stepped foot on that bridge."

Viktor bows his head, listening. It had been a massacre. He remembers seeing all the bodies piled up the next morning, waiting to be buried. Remembers the flies buzzing around, crawling between parted lips and over open eyes locked in terror. He remembers the smell. He almost smells it now, thinking about it.

"The enforcers cut through us like paper," Silco says quietly, voice little more than whisper now, as if his words might disturb the past. "We never stood a chance. Most of us were slaughtered without mercy. And those of us that survived.....we were hunted like animals, chased through the Lanes so hard we thought we'd never make it. We had to split up, try to separate their numbers, give someone a chance to live and keep fighting."

Viktor is enthralled as he listens, unconsciously leaning forward a bit as Silco speaks. He had never heard this before, from anyone. No one talked about it and now he knew why.

"I ran to where Vander and I said we would meet if things went south," Silco swallows thickly and his fingers trail down the side of his face. "But he had gone mad. He blamed me for all the death. Said that I was the one responsible. His own hand did this to me."

When his fingers trail down the side of his face, some of the foundation/concealer is rubbed away, leaving patches of sickly grey skin visible.

It also reveals how deep the gouges from Vander's nails really are, like craters almost. He looks like he was mauled by an animal. A large cat or a wolf or something.

To think this was inflicted on him by a man?!

"I got away, barely," Silco goes on. "If it hadn't been for the Doctor and shimmer, the river toxins would have taken far more from me than just my eye."

"I...I don't know what to say," Viktor says softly, mind reeling.

Silco smirks. "You don't have to say anything." He finishes his brandy and sets the glass down before standing up. "You're smarter than this, Viktor. Just think about what I've said."

"Wait," Viktor says, raising a hand. "What did you mean when you said Vander and Benzo were going to sell us out? You've explained why you were at odds, but not that."

Silco sighed. "When the rebellion failed, Vander became weak. The only reason the lanes were saved was because he made a deal with topside." Silco's expression turned sharp. "He peddled our lives like tokens in the name of 'peace' when all it did was allow Piltover to keep their boot on our necks."

Viktor hesitates, uncertain.

"And Benzo encouraged him," Silco spat. "An insidious voice whispering in his ear. I don't have proof of who betrayed us on the Day of Ashes, but I have my suspicions."

Silco took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't blame Ekko," Silco finally says, causing Viktor's eyes to widen in surprise. "He didn't know what Benzo really was like. I doubt many people did."

his mind flashes back to a time in the last drop where Benzo was too drunk and cornered Silco and wouldn't take no for an answer

"At the end of the day, Ekko is just a misguided child looking for someone to blame for his heartache."

Silco can see that Viktor is lost in thought, so much information overloading him a bit. "You know where to find me," Silco finally says, tossing a card with a neon symbol that resembled an eye onto the end table.

Silco is gone before Viktor emerges enough to say "Hm?"

Part 2 Arch + Woods

#vilco #silco arcane #viktor arcane #viktor #silco #rarepairdumpster #fanfic #firelight AU

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out-there-tmblr · 3 months ago

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Young Zaundads wip (50)

***

Vander recognises the familiar signs of Silco with a new project. Whenever they have spare time, Silco has his notebook out, carefully writing out lists of ideas. He goes to the harbour in the morning, starts spreading word that they'll be looking for building materials soon and negotiating prices.

It feels a little too soon for Vander. They don't know if the ventilation will work yet, but Silco's promising funds and making commitments.

"It's a risk," Silco agrees, "but we don't want to miss this opportunity because we weren't prepared. We need to be ready."

Part of that involves talking to Babette and explaining Silco's grand plan. Babette listens to Silco's entire spiel, only moving to occasionally ash her cigarette and blowing out faint blue smoke rings.

"There are three things you need to make a place a town," she says, her furry ears flicking. "Somewhere to fuck, somewhere to drink, and somewhere to pray. I can supply one of those."

"We'll build the bar," Silco promises, as if they've actually discussed that, "but I'm not building a temple. Gods don't listen to our prayers."

Silco rolls out a map of their land and they start talking prices and location. Babette wants to be closer to riverside, on the pathway for easy customers. Silco agrees to pay for half of the building costs in return for a quarter of Babette's takings. Babette argues for a set weekly rent instead, thirty bronze a week. They bicker back and forth, but eventually settle on fifty bronze a week and they'll only contribute a quarter of the building costs.

It eases Vander's worries when Babette finally agrees and actually hands over coin so they can start buying materials straight away. Silco volunteers Connol's time to plan the building and Babette promises that her workers will help with the labour during the day.

Babette also suggests that her workers can spread the idea. The miners that have enough funds to pay for their company might have the coin to build.

Vander asks Connol, Benzo and Felicia to start mentioning it too. To spread the word that they're waiting for the vents to be built and once they're tested, they'll start allocating plots to any interested miners.

They only open the market every fourth day, but each evening there's another miner or two asking about the land, the cost and how it will work. Vander recognises their expressions, the pre-emptive look of defeat when you ask for something out of reach.

Silco has worked out estimates, a list of prices for materials. How much it will cost to build a shack the size of their room and how long it takes two adults to build. The cheapest option is still over two hundred bronze, and that's out of reach for a lot of miners.

It's Vander that suggests working groups. "Talk to your friends," he tells them, "see if anyone else is interested. If you worked together, you could build a place and then save up, once you don't have to pay for a bunk every night. It'll be tight quarters for a little while but if you work together, in a month you could afford a second place."

There's something amazing about seeing that spark of hope take hold. He sees men and women start to cautiously believe their lives could be better. Start to hope.

***

While the Pilties keep working underground, Vander and Silco have to work out how they're going to organise this. Some miners already have coin and want to secure a plot now, which is a problem when they're still waiting on materials to be delivered.

"They'll get impatient if we don't work out something," Vander says, getting undressed.

On the other side of the room, Silco carefully hangs up his jacket, and then pulls his shirt off over his head. "We can't sell them something we don't have."

"So when do they arrive?"

"Next week." Silco folds his shirt carefully and places it on the desk. "More the week after."

"So we'll make it at month end. Give everyone a chance to withdraw some money, and then allocate lots."

"How?"

Vander frowns, pulling down his pants and hooking them on the wall. "I don't know. Lottery?"

"Maybe," Silco says, shrugging. "We could draw out numbers to assign a plot."

In the end, they decide to assign everyone a number and then draw a lottery. First called out can choose their plot. It seems as fair a system as any.

Vander's main concern is timing. They get closer and closer to the end of the month and the Pilties are still working.

"We'll have to go ahead with it," Vander says, as they walk up to riverside at the end of another long day. The first delivery of wood is due today; Vander's not exactly looking forward to moving it all away from the docks tonight. "There are too many people coming to try to call it off."

"We'll assign the land," Silco agrees, "but we'll have to make it clear that they can give up their claim if the ventilation shafts don't work. This isn't a sham."

"Of course it's not. We're not charging them."

From the suspicious look Silco shoots him, he sees right through Vander's empty reassurance. It's a risk and they both know that. Doing something like this, standing above the crowd and trying to lead them somewhere new makes them a target. If things go wrong and people are disappointed, it won't take much for the crowd to turn against them. People always love having someone to blame.

"This would be a lot easier if they'd hurry up and test it," Silco mutters and Vander has to agree. Any sign of progress would be reassuring.

Silco pays the captain and orders more wood. He gives the harbour master a few coins in thanks, and the harbour master lets them borrow a two-wheeled cart for the night. The path is too uneven and steep to simply pull and push the cart to the market, but it gets them halfway there and then they have to lift the planks between them, and carefully walk down.

"We need to talk to Connol about this," Silco says, adjusting his grip as he steps carefully on the loose gravel. "There's got to be a better way to do this."

"You want your own personal elevator?"

"Ideally," Silco replies drily and Vander snorts. "Although I doubt even Connol and Benzo could figure that one out."

"You should say that to Benzo's face. He might do it just to spite you."

Silco sneers, breathing heavily as the path gets steeper. "How long will it take him to forgive me for stealing his best friend? A decade? Two?"

"I'd give it three to be safe." Silco shakes his head but he doesn't seem bothered by it. If it was Vander, he'd take it personally. "It really doesn't get to you?"

"It's comforting, I think. I know you'll have his sympathy if you throw me over for someone new." It means something, Vander thinks, that Silco says it like the idea is silly instead of inevitable. Silco gives a tiny shrug, shifting the weight in his hands. "Let's be honest. Connol and Felicia would be torn between us. It's good you'd still have one friend who'd still like you."

***

#zaundads #title idea 1: Brush off all the dirt (“Battle for the Sun” by Placebo)#title idea 2: Too Early for Surrender (“Can't Go to Hell” by Sin Shake Sin)#as always when I'm stuck for title ideas I go for the song lyrics #fic: brush off all the dirt

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weirdagnes · 29 days ago

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feeling extra evil today.

AU where Felicia lives and Vander manages to kill Silco at the river but he doesn’t tell her.

The timeline is this:

The riot happens. Felicia is injured and thought dead when Vander saw her.

He sees her kids and took them to safety.

He went out again to hunt Silco. Kills him.

Lost in grief and guilt, he aimlessly wandered back to the bridge, only to find Felicia struggling to get up.

He saves her.

Felicia emotionally clung to him, the only friend she has left. Vander saving her and her kids made him a “savior” in her eyes.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, too afraid to lose her too, to shatter the peace they’re building after the failure of the revolution. He couldn’t bear the thought of breaking the hearts of the children when they see him for who he truly is.

Vander knows it’s selfish, but she’s all he has left too. He knows what he’ll do to himself if she leaves him. He knows she’ll never forgive him.

So he never talked about the Day of Ashes. The guilt of killing Silco and keeping the truth from Felicia weighed heavy. As much as he can, he avoids bonding with the children, afraid he’d hurt them too.

Felicia summed it up as trauma, but she wanted to know where Silco is. She knew her husband died, but she never heard what happened to Silco. She refuses to accept the possibility that he died along with the others until she sees evidence.

Benzo is being tight-lipped about it too. She’s starting to suspect something else happened and began investigating.

#if theres already a fic of this. i beg you comment the linkkkk #this au is kinda fucking up my day #arcane #arcane au #fanfic idea #arcane felicia #arcane vander #arcane silco #arcane benzo #arcane connol #zaun trio

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mangohgeckoh · 6 months ago

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Chemical Reaction (Chap 4)

Chemical Reaction Chapter 4 "Day of Ash, Day of Water" Chapter Summary: Vander finds out about the child's death and leads the rebellion against Piltover. - Song of the chapter: "Zombie" by The Cranberries "Another head hands lowly, Child is slowly taken, And the violence caused such silence, Who are we mistaken?" -

The bar fell silent when Ophelia trudged into the crowded establishment. Arms behind her back, she had used her shoulder to push the door open. Her clothes were stained with a mix of sand and blood, her eyes were irritated from her tears. Vander rushed to her, taking her shaking form in. “Oh, Oph,” he rushed behind her to see her hands restrained from enforcer handcuffs. Silco, who had been sitting at the bar, also sprinted towards her. His eyes were wide by the sight of distress she was in. A crowd slowly began to form consisting of the Last Drop’s regulars who had been worried about a fellow trencher.

Ophelia tried to form words but she could only let out dry sobs as she stared at the floor, guilty. “A-Allie,” She tried to speak. Vander froze. “The child?” He said from behind her, working the handcuffs off her sore wrists. Ophelia nodded frantically. “What has happened?” Silco spoke, concern stricken across his face. Now that her hands were free, she brought them to her face. “Dead.” … Silco took the cuffs from Vander who had been too surprised to say anything. The customers of the crowd exchanged worried looks. The children of Ophelia’s camp were well known around the Drop. It was one of the only safe places they could play. Silco’s blue-green eyes gave Vander a weak look. “Enforcers. This is Piltover handcuffs.” He said after examining the cuffs. Vander’s brows furrowed, anger taking over them. “She was a child.” Ophelia cried, throat burning with each word. “She only wanted to protect me.”

Silco watched Vander’s hands ball up into shaking fists.

“This ends today.”

A meeting was called to order. All of Vander’s patrons, who knew each other very well like a secondhand family, gathered in The Last Drop. Except no drinks were exchanged. Ophelia sat at one of the tables that lined the sides of the bar, Silco wrapping bandages around her wounds. “My fellow Zaunites,” Vander’s voice bellowed from the middle of the dimly lit room. Everyone Ophelia knew everyone that was present. Felicia, Anton, Benzo, Connol, everyone this side of the Undercity turned up and more. The bar had hit max capacity shortly after Vander’s speech started. “Today another one of our own has fallen,” Pain was present on his face but he pressed on. “Except this time it was a child that suffered from Topside’s cruelty.” He glanced over at Ophelia. Her yellow eyes were trained on the floor while Silco patched her up, he was listening intently. She was now a broken young woman, grief stricken. “How many more of our own will suffer? How many more of our children will face the same fate before we show Topside we are people too?” Aggravated whispers fell over the crowd. Vander was getting to them. “How many more murders from these enforcers will need to happen before we show Topside just how powerful we can be?” His voice had risen, rage overcoming him. Suddenly, he turned and stomped towards the bar. His large arm reached over the counter before he pulled two large crude-looking gauntlets out.

“It’s time we show these Pilties how loud we can be!” He roared after putting them on. The room fell quiet. For a moment the bar was filled with heated exchanges before a voice rose over everyone else's. “It is time,” Silco stood, unsheathing a blade from his miner’s coat. “It is time we show these bloated Topsiders who we are. What the children of Zaun can do.” With that, the crowd erupted into rage-driven cheers.

Zaun was ready.

Zaun was ready for war.

It started at the bridge connecting the Twin Cities, Piltover and Zaun. Two large groups gathered on each end. Armed enforcers formed a line, blocking the entrance to Piltover’s gate, the entrance to equality. Vander stood at the head of the mob, his people behind him, his arms disappearing under the sleeves of his gauntlets. He eyed the enforcers blocking their path. The foremost officer opposing Vander had a cocky attitude. “Tell your people to disarm and shove off. This doesn’t need to get ugly.” He threatened. Vander stared daggers into the man’s eyes. “The way I see it,” Vander looked over his shoulder, his greasy hair flowing in the dry wind, “Things are already ugly. You’re outnumbered, so you’ll be the ones shoving off.” He inhaled before spitting on the officer’s shoes.

The leading officer blew a whistle. Everything happened fast. Enforcers pushed their way into the crowd, mowing down anyone in their way with imposing metal shields. Ophelia watched as her own people were trampled into the concrete of the bridge. “Load up!” Anton crashed a box onto the ground behind her, she turned and saw a glimpse of molotov cocktails before they disappeared into the hands of enraged rioters. Surrounded by the crowd, her senses were buzzing, her adrenaline pumping.

Ophelia quickly scaled one of the bridge’s support cables. From her new perch she could see the riot unfold, molotov explosions boomed like fireworks across the bridge. Without thinking, she unsheathed three feathers from the plumage on her back. Her grip was so tight and the blades so sharp that they cut into her palm, but she was too focused on the battle below to care.

Nervous she'd hit one of the rioters, she flung the feathers towards the enforcers’ rear guard. Each one pierced the target’s armor, one slicing clean through the officer’s mask. She continued ripping and throwing her feathered blades until she began to bleed from her plucked plumage. Time slowed for her as she watched fire erupt across the bridge, the sound of shouting, fighting the sound of battle. Vander brutalizing an enforcer with his gauntlets, Silco throwing a molotov, Anton giving out Molotovs, Benzo and Dart helping an injured rioter away from the violence, Connol in a fist fight with an officer but his wife was nowhere to be seen.

She was brought back to the moment when she heard a familiar scream. Her head whipped around to see Felicia on the opposite side of the bridge, an enforcer slowly approaching her with a baton. She didn’t think when her legs started to move, focusing only on reaching her friend. Connol was quick to tackle Felicia’s attacker to the ground. Ophelia had almost reached Felicia when a bottle of liquid was tossed from her peripheral view. She froze as her friends were enveloped by flames. Ophelia’s ears were ringing as was thrown back by the blast.

The revolution had failed, it’s members consumed by rage as the riot grew increasingly violent and costly. Zaun would not gain it’s freedom today, Piltover again had shown their dominance over the Undercity. Smoke filled air and burned the lungs of those in the crowd not wearing a mask. Black clouds grew from the parts of the bridge in flames. The riot was starting to simmer down, enforcers now having the control on the crowd, but smoke still clogged the air around the bridge. Coughing, Ophelia moved as quickly as she could towards the exit she came from, trying to dodge corpses that scattered the ground.

Her eyes stung as tears fought their way out. ‘Dart’. Her best friend, the young woman helping run her orphanage, laid lifeless against the bloodstained concrete. Ophelia’s body trembled, her knees crashing on the ground next to Dart’s corpse. “No…” She sobbed, trying to shake her friend awake but to no avail. After a minute of crying over her friend’s body, the enforcer’s screams got louder and closer. Ophelia had to leave if she didn’t want to get arrested. With a heavy heart, she gently closed Dart’s eyes before standing.

Before fleeing, Ophelia stole a glimpse of the City of Progress. It had been unscathed from the riot thanks to the enforcers, the city’s towers glowed golden in the sunlight. Ophelia’s ears ticked at the sound of heavy boots beginning to push further onto the bridge forcing her to flee.

She pushed through the door of The Last Drop. It seemed to had been turned into a makeshift infirmary. The survivors that made their way back were being tended by those who stayed behind. Ophelia felt blood trickling down her face but she had other priorities, walking past volunteer medics. She saw two young girls sobbing in the corner of the room, Benzo was trying to calm them down. "Benzo…" Ophelia started, realizing who the two children were. Powder and Violet's bodies shook violently against Benzo's embrace. "Shhh," He hushed them. He looked up knowingly at Ophelia. "I know." He whispered. He had also seen their parents burn to death. Anger pricked the back of her neck. "Where is Vander?" Before Benzo could ask, the pink haired girl spoke up. "I saw him," Her voice shakey as she wiped her eyes.

"He went to River Pilt."

Embers lazily fell from the bridge, ash blanketed the ground like snow. Ophelia was following the set of footprints, it seemed Vander had been pursuing someone. Her heartrate quickened as she heard a voice. “You!” It was Vander’s. “I saw you throw it!” Her ears trained on the voices. “Don’t do that, I know you did it.” His gruff voice was shouting at someone until a shaking one spoke up. “I-I..I didn’t mean to-” Her ears perked when the other voice was interrupted by the sound of force. She listened in as her pace quickened, hoping to dissolve the situation. ‘Snarling’. ‘Grabbing.’ ‘Choking.’ “They are dead because of you!” Vander’s voice roared.

Ophelia found a clearing and saw her friend in the shallow of the lake under the bridge. “Vander! Stop!” Ophelia ran down the bluff overlooking the lake. He didn’t turn, body slumped to focus on the water beneath him. She halted to a stop when Silco was nowhere to be seen. Her ears honed in on the sound of bubbles erupting from the water where Vander’s arms were submerged.

Her heart sank. ‘Silco.’

In less than a second, Ophelia had run and pounced onto Vander’s back. Her talons sank into his shoulders as she threw weak punches against his head. “Stop! Please!” She begged, her cries echoing off the water. He didn’t relent and, from her position above him, she could see Silco’s silhouette under the water.

‘Drowning.’

Her pleas grew louder, fists beating against him. Suddenly, he screamed in pain when a knife struck him from the water. Ophelia lost her balance and fell off Vander into the water. Her face broke the surface, gasping for air. Despite the toxic filth of the water blurring her vision, she could see red spreading out across the surface. She looked for where the color was the deepest and dived in. Her eyes burned, like she had rubbed them with spice, but she had to persist, she had to find Silco.

There he was. His body was moving lethargically. He was fighting against the water. She’d never seen Silco as frightened as he was in that moment, drowning. She quickly grabbed his shirt and began to pull him to the surface. She struggled, the physical and mental fatigue from the riot, made her feel as if she was lifting a bag of bricks. Knowing he was losing consciousness, she mustered up every bit of her energy to yank him to the surface of the water, it was by sheer will that she managed to do it.

Clouds twisted above them, the sky just as garnet red as the blood flowing from Silco’s face. The feathers on her ear’s ruffled. “How could you!?” She screamed, as Vander faded into the smoke, fleeing. Her voice was coarse, her throat burned from the screaming. Silco’s body laid limp in the murky water, blood pooling around him. Her muscles burned as she dragged Silco ashore. With one final tug she pulled him out of the toxic water, laid on the bank of the river.

Ophelia toppled over in exhaustion, her palms disturbing the ash covered sand beneath them. Trying to remain calm, she scrambled back to her injured friend. Deep gashes had torn through the right side of his face, piercing his eye and continuing down his cheek. She choked on a sob, ripping a piece of fabric from her clothing, pressing it against his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Everything happened too fast for her, but at least her friend was breathing. She cradled his head with her other hand, praying to Janna that he was going to make it. His shallow breaths were weak…

…but he was still alive.

#arcane #arcane fandom #silco arcane #silco #fanfic #silco x oc #silco fanfic #silco x reader #arcane vander

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blood-starved-beast · 5 months ago

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You know what would be really cool and a hit and thus something Riot will never do? Make an Arcane Encyclopedia/Guidebook.

Basically a book full of cool details and lore facts that didn't get into the show itself cause of time-constraints/never came up, or simply wasn't relevant but would be cool to know. You know, details such as how the Firelights worked/routes/day to day things, names of some of their prominent members besides Ekko and Scar, so forth. Same thing with Silco's faction, or heck Vander and Benzo's. Life in the lanes, some lore about the initial Day of Ash Revolution and such. We learn more about Felicia. Heck info on Viktor's family life or backstory. More details about Vi in prison or Jinx being raised by Silco. Sevika's backstory and what she did after s2ep4. Some lore on the Kirammans and their Ionian connections. You know, stuff that would really enhance the lore.

#Arcane

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karlenal · 2 years ago

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Ashley Benson and her mom, Shannon Benson spend a Mother Daughter Day together on Saturday Oct. 7th in LA

#ashley benson #shannon benson #benzoholic #benzo #ash benzo

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chvisevans · 14 days ago

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Chris had always loved England but a few memories had put a damper on it till now. Ashely had come to visit him while he was filming and seeing her face and her bright smile had turned things around. "I'm glad you were able to come with me. I would have hated to be apart from you for so long." He pushed her hair back behind her ear and then cupped her face as he bent to kiss her. "Did you want to do some sight seeing?"

@benzo-ashv

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discowingneckline · 4 months ago

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snippet of my arcane one-shot

working title: this truth drives me to madness

i'm exploring jinx's time in the "bunker" when she is imprisoned. it will feature a dual perspective between jinx and caitlyn as they (reluctantly) learn more fundamental truths about the other. this is not a ship fic. i just thought it'd be neat.

With a harsh shove, Jinx found herself stumbling as she entered her new home. Faintly, she could hear the jeers of enforcers, but they were drowned out by the sound of metal hitting metal and the twisting of keys that locked her in. Her eyes flickered from corner to corner, taking in her surroundings. It was a relatively spacious cell, and she found herself not really caring there wasn’t a bed or sink or toilet—those were reserved for people, and Jinx wasn’t a person but a monstrous thing.

Knowing this fact, it was easy deciding where she wanted to hide away. One corner was absent of the lighting in the hall, as far from her guards as she could get, and perfectly fitting for a jinx. She found herself sitting down, facing one of the corner’s walls while leaning on the other, drawing her legs up and curling in on herself as her chest burned itself empty and her mind turned over the last few hours again and again and again.

Helplessness was something Jinx had thought she’d gotten rid of within herself—working tirelessly to be the scary monster, the one who shouldn’t be tested because she would handle whichever sorry motherfucker that tried. Yet here she was once again, frozen where she stood with her eyes wide and mouth gaped.

In front of her was Caitlyn fucking Kiramman pressing down on Vi’s wound, trying to slow the bleeding while some dude who came out of absolutely nowhere was talking. Whatever he said was lost on Jinx as her eyes drifted up at the gaping hole in the ground and the dust that spun with the growing flames. Just a bit to the left and much closer to them is a helmet, and Jinx was screaming at her legs to move and collect it—the one piece of her baby left—but they refused. Distantly, someone called her name once, twice, and finally a third time as they yanked her arm.

Jinx looked down to Caitlyn who was yelling at her.

“—and your sister needs medical attention! Is there a doctor near here?”

Vi looked so pained even while unconscious. The edges of her vision started blurring, and something wet was coating her cheeks. Her lips pulled back, and her eyebrows furrowed. How did she lose everyone in a split second? How did she—

“—JINX!” Caitlyn barked, commanding her attention away from Vi’s pitiful state. If Jinx didn’t know any better, she’d say Caitlyn looked scared, but that couldn’t be right. “A doctor. Is there one close by?”

It took her a second, maybe another too, before her question clicked. She shook her head and watched as Caitlyn’s eyes darted around. Another brief moment passed before Caitlyn opened her mouth again, “Jinx—Jinx, I need you to help me carry Vi. We need to get her to the Upper City. Can you do that?”

This time, Jinx found herself nodding, crouching down to help move her sister. They moved almost in sync, putting an arm under Vi’s to pull her up.

“Okay,” Caitlyn muttered, eyes baring right into her own. “On the count of three, Jinx. One…two…three!”

It was almost laughable to Jinx—the whole fight, maybe even her whole life—how she somehow had gotten her entire family killed: her mom, her dad, Vander, Mylo and Claggor, Silco. Hell, she even got Benzo killed. If it wasn’t for her in the apartment, he wouldn’t have died. Another face popped into her head then, with dark skin and bright white hair, and Jinx’s blood went cold, closing her eyes as she tried shaking him from her thoughts.

The one that took his place was worse—far worse. Her brown hair splotched with blue dye, determined eyes baring into her soul, a finger-gun shooting at her. Jinx could feel her soul pouring out with her tears, a sense of longing that surpassed all else. Her baby was gone, turned to ash and scattered on dirt as though she was never there. She’d never feel her daughter’s warm skin against hers, never hold her world in her arms again.

It was all her fault, always had been. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Cool handcuffs snapped close, digging through her gloves and itching her skin. Jinx didn’t really know what she expected to happen when she told Caitlyn she was done. Vi was getting treated by one of the best hospitals in Piltover, and without the urgency of getting Vi there, they both were at a loss.

A glance to her left revealed Caitlyn, now relieved of the duty of monitoring her, sat in one of the hospital chairs, leaning forward with her head in her hands. For all the shit she gave Vi about her sorta ex-girlfriend turned fascist dictator, Jinx couldn’t say Caitlyn didn’t care for Vi in her own fucked up way ‘cause, well, Jinx was the same.

But Jinx’s love burned everyone.

She shouldn’t be here. If she didn’t jinx her sister’s operation, she’d surely fuck something else up. Shit, her mere presence was already scaring off nurses and patients alike, who’d all scurried away from her. A small, deep part of her rejoiced in their fear, but it was smothered within the next second by the reminder of who wasn’t here to enjoy it with her. She wasn’t perfect like her dad said. If she was, he’d be alive; if she was, Isha would be too.

One of the enforcers by her shoved her forward, towards the entrance to the hospital, and maybe this was what she deserved.

#op #arcane #ao3 #my fanfic #jinx #arcane jinx #arcane caitlyn #caitlyn arcane #jinx arcane #isha arcane #isha and jinx #jinx and isha #snippet #current wip #isha is dead #sorry #tw: hallucinations #tw: mental health #arcane fanfic

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spagetroach · 2 months ago

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Okay okay, so midnight on a random day, I was talking to my bestie, and we realized that it be crazy interesting to swap Jinx and Cait. Here me out cause I've got plot on how it could play out and happen. There's gonna be other changes too btw.

Day of ash, Caitlyn sees the smoke rising from the bridge from wherever she is, probably her manor, she ask her mother, she spares not many details, telling her it's the under city rebelling, it's the smallest of foundations for resentment towards the enforcers.

We're now robbing Jayce's lab, Powder picks up the crystals and gets out of there, almost getting caught, she drops a few more than in cannon, boom. Claggor gets stuck under rubble, they think he's dead, they have to leave fast and can't do anything to get him out of there, but they get out.

Next up is Benzo's shop, ekko sees it all, he also sees Silco and jacked dude, with a cuffed Vander, dead Benzo, dead Grayson, but something, a girl with dark blue hair with a bandaged right hand, tries to shoot the beast with her left hand, she misses, but it gets the attention of Silco, who swiftly knocks her out. Silco tells Marcus to shoot Vi, and to make it quick, they hear a gunshot, Marcus comes out after, Silco has Vander knocked out and goes, Ekko, probably crying, begins to follow Silco, but sees Marcus going back down, coming out with a bleeding and dead looking Vi, he doesn't stick around longer than that, he follows Silco, who has picked up to unconscious blue haired teen.

He then tells Mylo and Powder what happened, where Vander is.. what happened to Vi. Powder holds out hope, going into Piltover to try to find Vi, she won't leave without her.

Ekko and Mylo went to the warehouse, only to find no one there. Mylo ends up joining the Firelights, running it with Ekko.

But what also is happening at the same time, Caitlyn had an argument with her parents, they disowned her best friend, Jayce, she broke her hand, badly, she already is thinking her mother is disappointed in her because she won't be able to shoot quite as well as she used too, she's been trying to with her left hand instead though. Shooting is her entire legacy, a family of shooters, and she can't do that very well anymore, that was what her mother was proud of her for, and she can't even do that anymore. And now she's losing her best friend too. They get in a big, big fight, yelling and all that, they both say things they'll wish they hadn't, namely Caitlyn saying something along the lines of, 'I hate you,' Caitlyn runs.

She, while running away from the house, spots marcus, looking suspicious as he goes to the bridge? She's already slightly suspicious of enforcers, not very, but she's a natural born investigator, she follows Marcus into Zaun, only to watch the stuff go down at Benzo's shop. She trues to save Grayson by shooting the beast with a dropped gun, but since her hand is broken, she shoots with her left hand, narrowly missing, which gets the attention of Silco, who knocks her out and picks her up.

Powder, while searching for Vi in Piltover, runs into Marcus, who realizes this is another one of Vanders kids, he tries to get her, but Powder is slippery, and runs, she runs into Cassandra Kiraman, who takes pity on this poor child, and sends Marcus away, saying Powder is under her care now.

Powder is stubborn, and refuses to trust Cassandra too much, nor will she go back to the undercity without Vi, but she won't tell Cassandra that. Eventually Cassandra takes her to the hospital for a checkup, where Powder spots Claggor, and sprints to him, refusing to let go, despite the enforcers trying to make her, Cassandra stops them.

Claggor lost a leg in the explosion, Cassandra knew that he was going to get the full blame for the explosion, and she knew there was nothing she could do about it, so she decided she could at least make sure he got proper healthcare before being sent off to Stillwater. He refused to talk to anyone, refused to say where he was from too, so nobody could tell Vander and the crew that he was still alive, and Cassandra was keeping it as underwraps as she could, to hold off press and the trial for until he was fulling healed. She realizes as soon as Powder hugs him, that she can't let this boy go to prison, she has to fight much, much harder.

Cassandra has begin to like Powder, her sassy, yet smart comments, and despite how closed up Powder thinks she's being, she actually talks quite a lot, especially when Cassandra got her going. Cassandra had grown somewhat attached, she knew she couldn't let this boy, Claggor, as Powder had practically yelled when sprinting to him, go to prison.

Caitlyn wakes up in Silcos basement, she keeps trying to run, refuses to really listen to Silco, she does hold resentment towards enforcers and hard emotions towards her parents, but she misses them. A lot. Especially right now. Silco realizes that she's smart, determined, skilled, and useful, but she isn't useful if she doesn't want to stay here, so, the next time she tries to run, he let's her.

Caitlyn runs, she manages to make it back topside, only to find that her mother has replaced her with another blue haired girl. She hates her. She hates her mother. She hates everything. She ends up running right back to the person who promised to value her and her skills, she goes back to Silco, ends up crying for the last time in a long time. She doesn't know that Cassandra has not stopped trying to find her, since the night she ran out of that manor.

She becomes the Eye of Zaun. Quiet, few know she exists, but she lurks in the shadows in high places, never missing a shot. Carrying out assassinations in the name of Silco.

Powder ends up going to the academy at a young age, she's smart and desperately wants to learn more, she ends up in Jayce and Viktor's lab, despite how many times they, quite literally, pick her up and put her outside of the lab, eventually after finding her there for the tenth time, they put a chair in the corner and say she can stay as long as she doesn't touch anything, and she stays in the corner. Of course she still talks and comments on the things they're doing, asking way to many questions.

Eventually it comes in handy, because they give her genuine answers and don't dismiss her, she ends up asking questions about small things that don't make sense, ending up correcting their equations sometimes, do to having a completely less complicated thought process, going to look at the bigger things instead of looking for small issues.

We get to the first shimmer deal, where ep2 enters, Caitlyn is waiting, watching, as this is a big deal, she's there incase Firelights come.

Powder likes to go hangout on roofs and look at people traveling on the airships, coming and going, it helps calm the voices, by chance, she sees the Firelights come in on hoverboards, she's entrances by the machinery, she finds Caitlyn on the roof, with a rifle about to shoot at them, they end up in a fight, Powder feeling more violent from the voices already, and the Caitlyn trying to stab her, Powder manages to turn the knife on Cait, stabbing her eye, but Cait manages to push her off, making her fall off the roof, Caitlyn runs.

Cait loses her eye, she hates Powder even more now, she very stubbornly adjusts, making sure it doesn't effect her shooting abilities, that's all she has, why would Silco keep her if she wasn't good at the one thing he keeps her around for?

Caitlyn and Vi meet in the brothel. Vi freshly out of jail, goes looking for Powder, she gets food and then goes directly to the brothel for information, Caitlyn is going out as she's going in, Vi instinctively sends a flirty look as she passes, seeing a hot woman obviouslyshe does, she doesn't even mean to, she's panicking slightly right after, Caitlyn is super flustered but shows none of on her face, she's mentally thinking about murdering Vi, something about her hair reminds her of the day of the explosion that left her right hand halfway crippled,, wonder why. Vi finds out that her family all left, according to rumors, that Vander took all his kids and left... everyone knew what that really meant, the brothel owner looked at Vi in pity, she was suprised that Vi was alive.

Powder, who was entranced with the hoverboards machinery, tries to make her own, she realizes after a while that it might work better in the fissures, so she, for the first time since she was seven and looking for her sister, went into the fissures to try to replicate the hoverboard, where she briefly runs into ekko, who got word of someone with similar technology as the Firelights, but was definitely not a Firelight. He recognizes her, but doesn't say anything, gives her a tip on pitching the blades to fit the fissures better, and leaves quickly after that.

Feel free to take this and make an actual fic out of it if you want, just give me credit and a link if you do please.

Btw @alcohoelicroach was my bestie who I was talking too, love her, she came up with half of this and helped plot out everything. <333

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