#Pre-Canon Verse[Silco]

[shimmerbeasts]

@knightfeared liked for a starter. [Silco & Vander]

"Drop."

The word and the snapping of his fingers almost overpowered one another. As soon as Silco had performed these actions, it was like someone had reverted a switch in Vander's head. The growls and grunts quietened and the pounding of knuckles against flesh lessened. His brother backed away from their target.

Silco stepped out of the shadows to inspect their work. His blue eyes shimmered in a mixture of shock, sick satisfaction and pleasure. Before their feet lay a gasping and wheezing Enforcer. He had been snooping around near what one day people would call the Lanes. However, now you would be hard-pressed to even call this man an Enforcer, let alone recognise that this pile of misery had once been a human being.

The man lay in a pool of his own blood. His formerly fanciful uniform had been ripped into shreds, tethers and threads, hanging from the body. The mask had been broken and blood crusted around it. That same blood was forming a sticky paste around his mouth and a broken nose. One of his eyes had been swollen shut from the blow. His temple was bleeding, blood smearing across his hair.

His body was plastered in larger and larger bruises. One of the swellings, covering the rips, looked particularly severe. It would not surprise Silco if some of the rips had been broken and the man was bleeding internally. However worst of all were the teeth mark, littering the Enforcer's throat and shoulders. They were imprecise and unfocussed, despite their brutality, almost as if Vander didn't have the right set of molars for what he had tried to do.

His gaze turned towards Vander and somehow, Silco felt like he had never seen something more beautiful. Vander's hands were dripping red and even his beard carried the coppery moisture of the blood. He seemed tense as if he still had to remember how to move his own body, now that Silco's conditioning had been turned off. It had worked again and better than the younger man had even dared to dream of.

Silco placed a hand upon Vander's upper arm, drawing his brother's gaze on him. His voice was soft, reverent and excited as icy blue eyes seemed to practically glow in excitement: "Brother, do you know what that means? It means that we can beat the Enforcers. That man threatened to shoot and yet, you moved forward anyway. And look what you did!" He gestured towards the dying figure. "If that happens to enough Enforcers, they will not dare to set foot in the Undercity ever again. We may finally have a chance to get Topside to listen to us!"

He grabbed Vander by his collar, leaned himself up as much as he could and pressed a feverish kiss upon the other's mouth, tasting the blood on his beard, unable to contain his excitement. Silco dropped back on his feet and said: "You were magnificent, Vander. How are you feeling, brother? Are you alright?"

[shimmerbeasts]

The moment, Silco spoke, he could see Jinx's mind stop swirling around like mad and fine-tune itself towards him. He could not recall when she had started hearing the voices as even before this predicament, her emotions were wild and untamed and so intense. Jinx felt everything with the depth and intensity of the dark water in a well. Drop a stone in and it drowns in waves, sloshing against the stone walls, threatening to flood the well.

Silco would never fault Jinx for feeling anger over what had happened. He would be very hypocritical towards himself, but especially towards the young man with the gash on his face if he tried to tell the little girl to be a bigger person and let go of her rage or that it was unbecoming of her. Thus the Eye of Zaun endured the discomfort as Jinx slashed at his sleeves and scratched at his arm. Her claws were already pointy enough to draw blood, though currently the pinch-like grip she was applying to his arms hurt more than her nails. Silco hissed under his breath, yet he said nothing to make her loosen her grip. Instead, he continued caressing her.

Even so, his words and caresses seemed to have some sort of calming effect upon Jinx. Her shaking subsided and she snuggled harder against him as if she meant to become one with him. Silco grunted softly, feeling her head burrow hard against his chest. However, all he did, was wrap his arms even tighter around her, cacoon himself around her and let her be that festering, simmering ball of rage under his protection. He let her speak, not interjecting, as Jinx digested every single thought she had, including the ones, unaware to her.

"There is nothing wrong with dreaming of a better life and drawing inspiration from the world around you", Silco said, "Your desire to see Topside is natural, child. You cannot know how bad your drawn lot is until you have seen the alternative. And Piltover is beautiful. Even I can admit to that, despite me hating its inhabitants for everything, they have taken from us."

His gaze dripped down on Jinx, and he caressed the back of her head. "There is nothing wrong with being curious and wanting to explore the world around you. Your sister is wrong. Your parents were ready to march in this revolution. They took a great risk, something they were keenly aware of. Your sister is wrong to place the blame on you. If you want to seek someone to blame, look no further than the Enforcers."

He gave a soft hushing noise when Jinx recounted what she had experienced, how she could still hear the gunshots, which had felled her parents. Silco stayed quiet and merely met her driven gaze with one of his own. Her nose was wrinkled up, and he could practically see the gears turn in that brilliant head of hers as she compared and contrasted what Silco had told her of his own experiences and how these matched up with her situation. Jinx had always been quick to pick up on his teachings. It was something, Silco was immensely proud of. Even if he never brought it up.

"You are livid, are you not?", Silco helped her connect the dots, "Maybe even a bit jealous? The Undercity has always been hard on all its denizens, but at the very least, the Lanes all have each other. We were cast out of our own community. We are struggling even more than they already are. The fact that Vi seems so oblivious to it all, much like Vander, it is enough to make anyone's blood boil. If your sister truly cared for you, she would have heard your scream and looked for you; she would have come after you, remembering, that she has as much responsibility towards you as to herself. But she hasn't. And one day, she will be sorry for it. They all will be."

The noise in her mind was always so loud and at the moment the voices were doing their best to drown out Silco's. However, the moment he so much as breathed a word, it drowned out the noise. This was the effect Silco had on Jinx, the man who was her precious father, who meant more to her than anyone would ever know. Only he knew how to comfort her in the way she needed it. He always had, even before she started hearing the voices.

Words of comfort sunk deep into her very being as she relaxed in his arms, her shoulders slouching at the sensation of his caresses. Yet still, she couldn't manage to calm her self down quite yet, with her body shaking from pure emotion; from the guilt to the sadness, as well something else, something different she couldn't quite recognize. Something darker that made her want to act out in a fit of violence. To personally find her sister and throw one of her bombs at her and see what it would do.

Whatever the emotion was, Jinx simply let it fester as she listened to every word Silco spoke, not daring to interrupt him. As she buried her head into his chest. Unbeknownst to her, her claws only dug deeper and deeper as Silco put a name to that emotion; Anger. It didn't it even occur to her that his blood was barely trickled around her finger tips. Her claws were only sharp enough to barely break skin at this time.

"I remember I wanted to see topside, I wanted to see if it was as pretty as I'd heard it had been. I don't remember much about then, just that Vi agreed to take me to look. My parents wanted us to see something outside of all this, I think." Jinx tried to collect more memory from her mind for that day, only for nothing else to come, save for what happened on the bridge. She tightened her grip in anger in frustration. "Vi has been punishing me for it since. Telling me that if I kept my mouth shut, kept my wanderlust at bay, our parents would have stayed with us."

Her papa was right, she realized, none of it had been her fault. "Vi left me when I needed her the most. Instead of coming back like she promised she left me with nothing. Nothing but the memory of watching those enforcers shoot mama and papa. Sometimes I still even hear it, the gunshots, the screams." Jinx pulled back then, looking back up at Silco's heterochromic eyes, the anger in which she felt clear as day. Though there seemed to be a bit of confusion as well.

Jinx crinkled her nose in thought, trying to process her answer to his question. The way Silco had described how he had felt, the thoughts and feelings he experienced, matched how she felt. From the way she questioned herself, to feeling like she was responsible for everything, and finally, to the rage she now recognized that she felt. Rage that she felt towards her sister for abandoning her and leaving her to cry out and pain. The tears that had stained her face that night had not been the result of not just death around her, but knowing that her sister left her to die.

"When I hear Vi, sometimes I think it's her fault, too. I remember waiting for her to come back, so when she didn't I tried to find her. Along the way I saw some big guy, he was so scary then, the way I saw him killing someone with his fists. After I saw my parents die, I saw Vi. I tried to scream out for her, but it was like she didn't hear me. And I watched her leave with him, she chose Vander over me." Jinx clinched her fists tightly once more, causing the nails to move slightly deeper. "Seeing her with a family now, she replaced me. Vi, the real Vi, is out there living a happy life with them, while we're here stuck to shadows. The Vi that talks to me, she tells me I was always a burden and that I should be glad I've been left behind. It makes me angry. More than angry..."

[ferinehuntressmoved]

　　　MAIN VERSE : ARCANE

˚ * ˙ ⭒ ⊱　fandom    Arcane (canon) & League of Legends.   ˚ * ˙ ⭒ ⊱　species    human {empath / vastaya ancestry}. ˚ * ˙ ⭒ ⊱　years old    8 - 24.

　Based on the events of the Netflix Series, Arcane. Caitlyn Kiramman is part of the family Dynasty and her mother, Cassandra, is one of the council members in Piltover. She sees to prove the depth of danger from her detective work that people have named "The Great Conspiracy". However, Caitlyn knows what others don't and allow thesmelves to be blinded to: Silco's danger to both Zaun and Piltover.

　In her attempt to prove this, she joins up with Vi, in search for answers to prove the dangers that works unrestrained in the undercity of Zaun.

　　NOTE: This will include anything form pre-canon, default canon, and post-canon (3 different verse tags on blog)

[moonlit-delirium]

independent, selective multimuse & multifandom rp blog . penned by criim main fandoms : baldur's gate 3 , dungeons & dragons / pathfinder current active muses: yul karcsi (oc), astarion (bg3), rex (ffxiv), alfonse (ffxiv), silco (arcane)

will contain spoilers and dark / triggering / sexual content. 18+ only. duplicate , original characters , crossover friendly

carrd ( rules & muses )

mobile rules under cut. please read prior to following/interacting. icon/graphics credits : mirza and me

hello, i'm criim ( they/them, 25+ ). i've been writing for many years now, and i'm here just to enjoy writing and exploring my original characters as well as canon ones that i've grown to love.

heads up and warning: I will be writing characters and topics that may be dark and triggering. I tend to gravitate towards characters that are not 'good' - villains, anti-heroes, etc. I will tag as needed. You may see topics come up such as unhealthy and toxic relationships, torture, gore, violence, death, among others. And with the inclusion of Astarion to my muse list, I will stress that I will not strip out any of his canonical backstory. His entire backstory includes, but not limited to, torture, mental abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, coercion, blackmail, gaslighting, slavery. All of this creates this complex character and survivor, and this dark background has affected how he interacts with the world, so I will not compromise on his story.

In light of this, please do not read / follow if you don't want to see this. Curate your space; I'm providing you with the warnings. If you don't heed it, it's on you. And as a reminder, writing does not equal endorsement (AKA ic ≠ ooc).

do not interact if you are a self insert or roleplay as real celebrities or people. I'm very uncomfortable with that. Please don't interact or follow if you participate or deal with drama. I don't want that stuff near me, I'm just here to have fun. I do not support any sort of fandom/fiction policing, and I do not wish to associate with anyone who does.

(Also, I'll be quite selective when it comes to any Cazador muses, so please understand if I don't follow back.)

in regards to shipping and interactions, I am open to shipping, but I do tend to prefer shipping with either friends or anyone listed as a main. I just want to ship with people I feel comfortable with, or with muses that my own muse has formed some sort of solid chemistry with. I prefer exploring my muses' interactions with the world over random shipping - I won't alter my character for the sake of a ship.

all the same, though, I love to plot - how do we know if our characters have chemistry without talking and plotting things? it's half the fun of writing! I'm always down for plotting, and my IMs are always open for it, though I do prefer discord. (also my IMs/discord are open to random OOC chats too!) Another thing in regards to plotting: I prefer plotted/pre-established relations over first meetings/intros. I always get stuck in how to reply to them, unless there's a huge hook.

I'm absolutely down for crossovers though - love them, and I love creating new verses just for the crossover. It's my jam, sticking my characters in different worlds!

about my activity, I am a low activity blog. I won't reply to things right away most of the time - I write based on inspiration. I do tend to reply to my mains much faster though, and becoming a main of mine is not something I request lightly. (I won't be doing any 'mains call', and I'll ask you directly if I can add you as a main.) I also like to take my time with my replies - I will often, out loud, say exactly the words I write and try to hear the character in my writing. Please, don't rush me when it comes to replies. You may ask me maybe in a week or so about it just in case I forgot, but please don't beg for me to reply to you - I'll actually lose my interest. I also won't bug you guy for replies either. I've waited for months to get a reply before, and I do not have a problem waiting.

Lastly, artwork. I am an artist, and I will end up posting art of my characters. Depending on how inspired I become, I may even do art of our RPs unprompted. Please don't reblog them (unless you have permission) as I usually crosspost them elsewhere, on my art blog.

Don't request art from me either. These artworks I post here are unprompted and usually inspired by whatever shenanigans is going on. If you really want to request art from me, head to my art blog for a commissions quotation.

[a-gal-with-taste]

Twelve-Zeros

Summary: When Enforcers come knocking, with accusations of your family supporting an Underground rebellion, the first thing on your mind is to confront this said-revolution, to undo whatever mess has already been set in motion. The second-thing on your mind, is the fact that this mess might just be unstoppable. Consitering the fact that the closer you get to it's base and it's leaders, the numbers on your wrist get closer and closer to zero. (Timer!AU)

3.5K+ | F!Reader/Young Silco

Warnings: SFW, soulmates (soul-timers), pre-canon, first-meetings, tension, banter, teasing, original side/minor characters, revolutionary-shenannigans, hint of a thing for voices, you can't judge reader, it's SILCO, Vander once more earning the best wingman award 👏

A/N: This is all @sweatandwoe doing, and also I took another look at young Silco. Not required read, but here's the OG Timer!verse for anyone interested in a good-old slow-burn Soulmate!AU

It took exactly a minute after the echoes of metal boots on metal floors to fade into silence, before noise was brought into the world again, starting, bluntly, with you whirling to the man sitting stock-still at his desk with a hiss of, “What the fuck have you done?”

Immediately, a frown joined the swift, disapproving snap of your name, “Don’t be crude. The gentlemen came, asked their questions, and found nothing. Therefore, there is nothing further to discuss-” “Nothing to discuss?” You sputtered, marching halfway over to his desk. “Those weren’t casual inspectors making their rounds, father. Enforcers, coming into our office, asking about your connections to the rebellion... That’s not exactly nothing!”

The frown on your parents' only deepened, casting deep wrinkles to appear on his forehead as he stood, abruptly grabbing the leather-bound ledger off his desk as he turned away. Striding to the huge portal to the sea-life outside, your father was illuminated in the deep blues of the deep underwater, and he called your name in a patient, patronizing tone that made you bristle.

For it wasn’t the tone of a father speaking to his only child, but like that of a foreman to an upset worker that he needed to return to business. His be-professional tone . “There is nothing to discuss with you,” He clarified, a rustle of paper as he flipped through his papers. “Any business I have with rebels, theoretically, and hypothetically of course, is mine and mine alone. It doesn’t affect the cannery, doesn’t affect our numbers and, by extension, doesn’t concern you.”

“And when it does?” You challenged, before your tone softened. “Father... dad, come on. This will come back around to me, perhaps not by Enforcers, but I’m your daughter. You know it’s going to come back to me, one way or another... Should I not be prepared?” In truth, you knew little about the apparent revolution, except the fact that there was a revolution.

And this was only evidenced by the raids further up, closer to the river-channel than the sea-harbor the Eastside canneries hosted, though that wasn’t to say that no one felt the stings from a distance. Shipments delayed, prices sky-rocketing, partners and associates suddenly seeking production from other, non-Undercity affiliated resources...

It didn’t matter if the Alcoves, or the Fridges as a whole, were still in full-sight of a sky. Ever since the breakout of fighting between Sumpers and Piltover officers, it seemed that all that mattered to the latter was what side of the Bridge you were on, in order for judgment to be passed like you were the former.

“I do you more favors by leaving you uninformed.” Again, you couldn’t help but bristle, hissing slightly, “I don’t need favors, dad. I’m not a child, I could help you, you know!”

There’s a sudden ripping sound that has you blinking. And a ledger, with freshly torn-out pages, shoved into your face, that has you gawking.

“You can help, by redoing the numbers on last weeks’ Skylight shipment. They appear to have been misplaced,” The man doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that he’s crumbling the ripped-out pages in his other hand, not even under your withering glare. Your father gives you one in response, only half as heated, but thrice as stern. “Do not argue with me. I’ll let you get tangled up with our business, but not with my business, understood?”

You have to visibly bite your tongue when you hold his look, one as fierce as his. But, he has decades of hardened experience on you and, bitterly, you have to glance away, breaking the battle of near-identical stern, demanding gazes between father and daughter. There’s a small sigh, both at your frustrated look and when you grumble as he presses a brief kiss to your temple, “I won’t let you do this alone. I can’t.”

Father counters with a tired, but resolved way. “And I won’t let you get dragged down with me if this all goes sour. I can’t.”

It should pacify you, this rare note of care, affection and protection in your fathers otherwise stern persona, even with you. But it only makes the sounds of your marching echo around the office-chamber as you storm up the metal stairs, swing-open the port-door, and nearly slam into your friend, Cayn. Back just in time from his supply-delivery to visit the aftermath of the Enforcer visist.

He’s known you since childhood, and vise-versa, so you only need to give Cayn one look. And he only needs to look once, before you’re both swiftly walking away from the office with arms interlocked and heads bent together.

“Just got shoulder-checked by a ‘forcer out here. Had to snatch up Decks and send him off with Nan, before he started swinging like he actually cares about me,” He reports, sounding annoyed at having to rescue his sibling, and you sigh furiously at your own experiences.

“Dad’s up to something, they think he’s supplying the Undercity. The rebels,” You clarify lowly under-breath as you cross the factory-floor. A glance around at the workers you passed, proved that the unexpected interaction with Topsiders had shaken them as much as it had startled you when they busted in. “They didn’t find anything...”

Cayn must hear the determined note in your voice. He knows you too well. “You want me to go find something?” Again, your friend knows you far too well, and blinks when you hesitate to answer immediately. “You want to go find something?”

Apparently all men are looking to annoy you today, for you bristle at the disbelief in his tone. “Why not? He’s my father, and it’s our business, someday to be mine. This affects both of those, I can’t just sit by, looking pretty while father Gods-know-what behind the scenes.”

“So what? You want to go play detective in the Lanes?” It’s a joke that you don’t laugh at. “... You’ve never even been past the Promenade.”

“But you have!” You said, and brought your other hand up to squeeze his forearm while you widen your eyes pleadingly. “Cayn, come on. They’ll hear about today’s search at any time and clam-up, but if we go right now, they might actually be willing to talk to me.” Getting your old-man to open up was a non-starter, and though you weren’t exactly jumping at the idea of speaking with members of a group causing so much grief to the Fringes and its associated territories, it was the best bet you had. Not only figuring out exactly how deep this apparent alliance went, between your father and the Children of Zaun, but also how to avoid any further trouble with it.

One less-than-friendly encounter with Enforcers was enough for you, you shivered at the idea of if, or when, they actually found something to connect the two. Better to sever this tie now, before it had the chance to knot the noose around you.

“The Lanes...” Cayn looked incredibly unsure at the idea. “The Lanes ain’t the Alcoves. We’re talking brawls on every street, mean eyes everywhere you look... Gods, I don’t even know if you’ll be able to breathe down there!” “Well, thank Janna you’ve got a mask and I don’t plan to stick around long enough for anything to develop in my lungs.” Your retort made him roll his eyes and scoff good-naturedly, but it was the squeeze on his arm that made him look like he was actually considering it.

So, you went for the kill. “You won’t have to watch your brother for the rest of the day~” Despite being an only-child, you could appreciate the power of a sibling-rivalry, as Cayn sighed slightly, but began to lead you to the exit.

You nearly stumbled when you did so, and subtly, pushed up the sleeve of your shirt to glance down at your wrist, and felt your breath catch as you exited the cannery, inhaling the crisp-cut seaside air.

The waves, normally a bit duskier in the natural pollution, were a bit brighter in the gleaming sunlight of the day. They were just as bright, and seagreen, as the twelve numbers on your wrist. Which were now steadily jumping from thousands of days into the future, to a mere three hours, before you would meet your soulmate.

-

It had taken Silco several seconds to start moving again, after the urgent hum beneath his wrist. It came so suddenly, and never-before so strongly, that his knuckles had gone white around his glass of morning-coffee before he felt comfortable enough to put it down on the counter, turn to his Brother, and very calmly inform him, “I believe today is the day.”

Vander had raised his brows, gray-eyes curious, until Silco sighed and raised his arm to wave his covered wrist pointedly, and they widened almost comically. About as humorous as Benzo immediately grabbing a bottle of whisky to spike-up his coffee, which Silco dismissed by covering the top of his mug up, “It could still change. They may just change their mind, or do something else that reverses it.” His insistence was weak, and the fellow young-men gathered at the bar could sense it a mile away.

“Nah, this is it, Sil. I can feel it,” The Hound of the Underground elbowed the slimmer-man with a grin, remembering that this was Silco’s day to run operations at the base, instead of in the field or on-the-job. “On ya day off too, and they’re coming to you. Universe must finally be paying back for those bad-teeth and lack o’ chin.” The scowl didn’t deter the teasing, as Benzo joined in the fun. “Must be an eager one, they comin’ straight for ya... think you’ll get a smooch in on the first meetin’?”

“Don’t get arrested for public indecency while we’re gone, Sil.”

“Or breakin’ tables, just finished wiping those down-”

The Son of Zaun rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, seeking guidance, and also wondering if he should take that shot of whiskey with his caffeine. “Perhaps we should switch,” He gritted out to Vander, once more earning the rapid-rise of bushy dark brows. “Gods know you love catering to newcomers and friends, a true man of the people. It would be a safer option, than letting you do recon."

"And let ya miss out on working on your people-skills?" Vander scoffed, but his frown softened to something concerned at he clapped his hand on Silco's back, only slightly jostling the smaller man. "Silco, this is your soulmate. Ya really want to weasel out of this, out of actually meeting them?"

Silco frowns, picking up his mug to swirl it slowly, glowering at the dark-liquid. "... we're at war. And I've done my best to meet every Brother and Sister in our forces, meaning the most-likely scenario is that this is a civilian." The idea you were an Enforcer wasn't even entertained - Silco didn't like to think that the universe loathed him that deeply. "And we made a pact, remember? After we earn our Nation of Zaun, then we talk about looking for our soulmates. Last I checked, we don't even have the Fringes in agreement to join the cause."

"Silco... we were tykes when we made that promise, and look at us." The young behemoth of the Children gestured around the base, The Last Drop milling slowly with the morning-gathered of fellow Brothers and Sisters of Zaun. "You really think we aren't practically halfway there already, halfway to freedom? Think if the universe wants the two of ya together, you gotta stop and listen." He jerked a nod to the leather band at his companions wrist, and Silco glanced at it with a small frown.

But not at the timer, the one thing that was undoubtedly, wholly his, that signified the existance of his other-half. But at the complications that came with it, complications that, being the other-one of the trio that still had his timer, could relate to. A simple glance was all that was necessary for Benzo to lay-off for a moment or two, again wiping down an-already cleaned counter while Vander leaned in close.

"You... still want them?" The question was a bit hesitant, but the answer immediate. "Yes."

Vander nodded, "Then that's all ya gotta worry about. You worried about them being a civ? Doubt you'd let them get a papercut, let alone clapped by Topsiders. Unsure 'bout if they want you? Pretty sure you'll be on 'em like fleas until they do...." Silco rolled his eyes a bit, glancing out of the corner of one with a dry, "Is this a pep-talk or a session filled with backhanded-assurances?"

Vander raised his hands defensively, placatingly, with a wide-set grin. "Can't it be both, Sil? Think 'm doing a good job with balancing out the reassurances and pointing out how damn clingy ya are."

Silco didn't need a knife in hand; his elbow into Vander's gut was nearly sharp enough to stab.

The next clap of a hand on his shoulder in response, really is enough of a blow to send the slimmer-man flailing out of his seat, but it's secure enough to keep him there as Vander's face takes a serious look. "I won't tell ya what to do. All I will say, is I think 'zo's sober enough at the moment to take the job by himself, so I can stay here to watch the door, and cover the counter if ya need to step away for a moment for... buisness."

Benzo glares over from where he cleans, but sighs and nods in consent. Unhappy to be covering a job meant for two, but begrudgingly, willing to assist in letting Silxo get a chance with his other-half. Silco doesn't find it too touching, because he knows he'll be hearing complaints about it for many, many weeks to come.

A squeeze on his shoulder brings him back. "They're coming to you, Silco." Vander reminds him. "Imagine that, you got a soulmate coming to you. That's nothin' to sneeze at, and nothing I would trade for a million years... I know ya never gonna forgive yourself, if you decide to make 'em wait longer than they want to." Another jostle, this one accompanied by a quirked smile. "So don't, alright?"

It's as close to permission as he's going to get, for the Son of Zaun knows that if he tries to drag this out further, the teasing will make an unwelcome return that might just send him running from the bar, soultimer be damned.

But... he doesn't want to drag this out. Silco knows, not deep down but in close-counciousness, that he wants this. Wants his soulmate, wants you.

The timing isn't quite ideal, but when has a timer ever gone according to ones personal schedule? Silco puts down his mug and gazes down on his covered wrist, trying and, judging by the snickers from his fellow Sons of Zaun, failing immediately to not look too eager.

He doesn't need to see through the leather band, to know more and more zeros are appearing on his skin, and despite bracing himself for another round of juvenile taunting, he feels a smile battling on his lips at the thought.

The thought of twelve zeros, soon to appear on his wrist.

-

From the moment you left the canneries, you had been waiting on bated breath. Not the wisest move, as you had donned the gas-mask Cayn had firmly fitted over your face while in the lift down from the topside Alcoves, down past the bustling Commercia and into the darker, clustered true Undercity, but you felt like you were holding your breath nonetheless.

It became easier when you once more latched onto your friend, nails gripping his forearm as you watched his jaw stiffen when you got off the opened-wall elevator down into the depths of the earth.

“Don’t talk to anyone, don’t answer anyone... hell, don’t look at anyone, okay?” If this were any other situation, you would follow his advice, but there was an instinctive need to glance up at the eyes of every passing stranger, most of which were narrowed, assessing as you kept close to the side of your friend.

You knew immediately that you stuck out like a glowing beacon among shadows. With your breathing mask against the Grey-clog of the air, your lack of Undercity pallor, and the fact that you had the nerve to hold eye-contact with complete strangers this deep Underground. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though, because the deeper you went, and the meaner the looks got, the louder and louder the skin beneath your skin started to hum.

“C’mon, they aren’t that scary,” He murmured under breath while passing a trio loitering a street-corner, guiding you around the thick wad of spit that hit the ground near your feet. “Ugly, need to practice using soap, sure, but they ain’t gonna touch you.” A beat, then, voice slightly strained, “So, you could think about easing your grip...”

Nails left deep imprints on his skin as you slipped your palm down to grip his hand instead, unable to respond to his questioning look with both the mask covering the lower-half of your face, and your inability to exhale fully accompanying an inability to speak as you drew nearer. You didn’t even have to look at it - you knew it was so close, feeling the reverb of time-ticking racing throughout your body with every pulsating beat.

The timer was, ironically, giving you no time to prepare before you and Cayn suddenly found yourselves in front of a bar. And there was a small hiss from your respirator as you let out a small chuckle, partially hysterical, very much anxious, and a bit exasperated already.

‘A day-drinker and a cannery-owner’s daughter,’ You thought dryly. ‘Won’t dad be thrilled.’

This is the base, from what you gather when you see the sight of more armored apparel beneath well-worn leathers and fraying fabrics. And the fact that a larger gentleman, possibly one of the largest you’d ever met, immediately steps in front of the two of you when you near the front door. “Don’t get many fisher’s swimming down here,” He comments in a drawl, slowly drawing his gaze over Cayn, before working over onto you as your friend steps forward. “Don’t get many ‘forcers asking around about what we’ve got to do with the Brats of the Undercity either, but I guess today is full of surprises.”

The man’s gray eyes widen, but not at Cayn’s abundance of scorn and clear disdain . But the fact that, as soon as he glances at your eyes, there’s a flash of recognition. Your breath catches more than it’s already caught at the realization, and there’s a buzzing in your ears that halfway deafens Cayn’s voice. “Just hear to ask ‘bout what business you got up on the Fringes, any deals you been making that could be causing us trouble.”

“Nothing else?” He knows. You don't know how, or particularly care, only focused on the teasing lilt his his booming voice, which makes your companion sigh in annoyance and you nearly vibrating along with the timer that's humming louder and louder beneath your skin.

Perhaps the large young man hears it, because he gives you a faint, lopsided smile, and tilts his head behind him. "Why don't ya go on in, lass? Think ya been kept waiting long enough." A mere glance over at your friend, coupled by a reassuring squeeze of your hand in his, is enough to quell Cayn's complains. His bright eyes narrow but he trusts you, and let's you go, murmuring out something you can't quite here.

For a moment, you think the pounding in your ears as you move around the Son of Zaun might be your heart, but no. Your heart is racing, but as you finally grip the door handle and push the door of The Last Drop open, you realize it's the in- rhythm, paitent beats of your soul-timer that is ringing though your ears as you step inside.

He's already looking at you, the moment to step through the door. From across the room and beyond the bar-counter, seafoam-green eyes are flaring wide as everything else comes to silence. It's mid-afternoon - there's few people in the establishment, but it might as well be empty. The world might as well have gone silent, for when you look at him, and he looks at you, the only thing that matters is you, him, and the steady, unending beat of your clocks, turning into twin twelve zeros on one-another wrists.

Someone blinks first. And when they do, everything else comes back in a rush, leaving you staggering forward with your fingers clumsily unclasping the mask from your mouth. You gulp in refiltered air, so different from the Grey-tinged atmosphere of the Lanes outside, but it might as well have been inhaling mustard-gas for all you cared about, with his eyes never once leaving yours.

You're standing right across from him, respirator clenched lamely in hands, and his eyes still haven't flickered from yours, not even to watch you swallow thickly before hoarsely greeting him, you soulmate, in a quiet, breathless tone. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting?"

"If you did, it's already forgiven." He pauses, then chuckles, mostly to himself, but also to the way your breath catches when you hear his voice. As if his didn't do the same. "Do you..." It trails off, and he tilts his head to the side, to booths lining the far wall towards the back-corner. You accept the invitation with a quiet nod, and finally, his gaze tears away when the man guarding the door strolls around the bar-counter.

"We're going to..." Again, another sentence that trails off, but the man you soon know as Vander only smirks, and elbows the tall dark-haired man that's yours, away from the counter. There's a teasing whisper that earns him a snarl, but you don't hear it as Cayn also joins you at the counter, also greeting you with a (much gentler) elbow to the side. "Go for the eye if he's a creep," Was all he said, clearly having been informed of the situation in private, and not looking particularly impressed as he trailed his gaze over the man fate had designed you with. But he looks to you, and offers a small smile of encouragement, gesturing you to follow your other half.

You don't need to be told twice, though your steps are still a bit slow until you find yourself seated across from him at a booth. Not from the anxiety that ate you from the walk down here, but... it's a lot. It's too much, in some sense, but you can't find yourself unable to look away as he sits from you, fingers laced with elbows on the table as he also,seems unable to look away from you.

Again, it takes someone blinking first to get words moving again.

"I need you to lay off the Fringes."

Wow. What a great first-impression.

He seems to agree, dark brows rising up to his hairline, before a bark of laughter sounds as he leans back, a low-smirk toying on thin lips as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Oh?" He says slowly, rolling the syllable out in a curious tone that has you swallowing. "Enlighten me, is there any particular reason for such a demand?"

"Enforcers swung by the factories today," You inform him, and part of that smirk fades. But not all of it, making you stumble over your next words, "I... my father, he owns Eastsides. He can't be caught affiliated with your organization, we have far too many workers that rely on us and our buisness, and they risk losing both if we're caught in league with your force, so..." You pause, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Treating this like a buisness meeting felt easier, and, almost in reverse-psychology, focusing on a calm beat on your timer helped soothed your racing thoughts, and heart, by the time you opened your eyes again.

"So, I need you to spare the Alcoves from the rebellion. I'll wish you luck, and hope you know what you're doing, but we cannot afford to get tangled up in your web. You might strangle us all, if you take us down with you," You say firmly, raising your chin as you meet his gaze full-on. Not as your soulmate, but as an opposing force on the opposite end of the negotiations table.

Your other-half seems to view this as something more personal though, because the faint grin (showing chipped front-teeth that are oddly, damnably, endearing) hasn't escaped him yet. "Is this all you came for?" He muses, half sincere as he tilts his head, inky-black locks brushing his shoulder as he raises a brow. "Nothing else, but critiques about how we should be running a revolution?"

You swallow. "No. Nothing else."

He grins, "Liar." And again, the men in your life apparently seek to exhaust you today, for your soulmate only chuckles as you bristle at the almost fondly-given accusation. "You know how I know you came for me as well? You haven't looked away from my eyes for a second, since you saw me."

Immediately, you go to look away, and just as quickly, there's a touch of a thumb at your chin.

You didn't even see his hand move, and the touch of it was so light, you wouldn't even think it was there, expect for the fact that your body freezes in place at it's sensation. The thumb also seems to freeze in place, with his own seagreen eyes blown wide, as if unexpected at his own actions, before they go hooded as you gaze at him again. "Not that I'm any different," He admits, one shoulder, guarded in leather, rising in a shrug. "But your admiration is a bit obvious, sweetheart. You spend a lot of time looking at those numbers?"

Your tongue, dry, seems to lose it's ability of sarcasm, as only the truth slips out of you at his gentle taunt. "We have skylights, at the cannery. I liked to stand at the walkway, on my toes or on the first-rung when I was little, to look out to sea." Wrist seems to prop up onto the table by it's own accord, and eyes that match the shade of the numbers on your wrist, glance away briefly to stare at the twelve-ticking numbers. "They... matched. The seaward horizon, I mean... your eyes are the same green," You finished, quietly and feeling more than a bit silly at your confession. Even though this was your soulmate, this was still a stranger that you were confessing such childish actions to.

"What about you?" You finally murmur when his hand lowers from your face, eyes releasing your gaze to look down at your hand resting on the tabletop. "What did you think of, when you saw my numbers in the color of my eyes?"

Again, it felt silly.

But, if you were honest, it was something you had just simply, wanted to know, when or if you ever got the chance to meet your soulmate. What was going through his mind, whenever he saw the sole-evidance of hisfate-designed connection to you.

And he answers just as simply, after reaching down and, almost tenderly, grazes the pads of his fingers over the timer beneath your skin. "I just thought of you. Everything, anything, nothing at all... whenever I stepped away from things for a moment, I pulled my wrap away, looked at the timer, and just thought of you."

There's a glance of that piercing seagreen onto your own gaze, questioning, and you find yourself numbly nodding your consent. His fingers slowly trailing before they loop under and around, a thumb left to gently stroke-circles onto your marked skin as he lifts it off the table surface.

"Silco." He says it so quietly, so offhandedly, that you don't hear it at first as he takes your wrist up, turning it just-so for him to examine it with slowly-roving eyes on your marked skin. It's only after he glances up from it, meeting your eyes, that you quickly murmur out your own name and...

The bastard, your soulmate - Silco, doesn't just repeat it. He relishes it, sounding out every syllable, every letter like it's a delicacy. Glancing from his eyes, your utterly transfixed at the way it moves to mouth out the name of his other-half... and remain transfixed as, he leans that mouth forward to brush his lips against your skin, barely trailing over the timer that is rhythmically ticking-upwards in the time you spend together.

For a moment, something tightened inside your chest, and you couldn't breathe.

Lips still to skin, Silco looked up at you in pure ease and relaxation, as if he had all the time in the world to do nothing but press a gentle kiss upon the soul-timer he shared with you.

And with that, you realized you were already well on your way to loving him, as if you didn't already.

'A rebel and a cannery-owner’s daughter,’ You thought, breathlessly. ‘Won’t dad be thrilled.’

That brought you somewhat back to the present, and you managed out a quiet reminder of the earlier discussion. "Hm?" The vibrations of his gentle hum rolled over your skin, raising goosebumps and causing shivers. "The... the Fringes." You murmured back, finding your voice despite a long thumb delicately soothing your prickling flesh. "The... they aren't ready for a rebellion."

"We can help get them ready," Silco said, again shrugging, but unmoving his hooded gaze from yours. "We're a bit rag-tag, sure, but we're halfway to soliders by this point. Any abled-body person on the Uppercity would be welcomed to our ranks." You swallow, thickly, "My... my family. I don't think it's best if we... if we ally ourselves with you. We have connections with the Promenade, even with Piltover-"

"You'd be protected. Enforcers won't lay a hand on you, they won't touch you under my protection."

The way he says it, with such a fierce, unyielding fire in his gaze - it's a promise. A promise from your soulmate, with such complete and honest devotion at the task of keeping you from any form of harm blazing in his bright, green eyes that you know in a color as well as your own...

You really were loving him already, you realized, and hoped it didn't show too badly on your face as you frowned, trying to get your barings. His lips had barely moved from your skin, and your flesh tickled when his lips brushed against it with every passing word.

"I... I will need to bring my father into this discussion. I-i know you probably spoken to him already, but... we need to iron out details." It's at this amendment that has him lowering your wrist from his face, and he nods, poking his tongue into his cheek in thought. "Level-headedness would be good to bring into the fold of our discussion... which I expect would continue, often, in the future?"

The brow-raise is meant to be innocent, you're sure, but find yourself biting back a smile with a small nod. Silco takes a bit of pity on you then, as his eyes soften into something more neutral, or at least more casual, as long fingers slip from around your wrist, and release you, only to hold out slightly. "I don't doubt that this isn't the end of our many, many thrilling discussions, " He drawls casually, again quirking a brow as he looks you down over the arch of his nose. "But for now, we should at least shake on the beginnings of a beautiful companionship, don't you agree?"

Silco's eyes become hooded, and, almost coyly, he can't help but add, "Unless, you wanted to seal this deal in a way other than a handshake?"

Your fingers freeze, just barely curled into his grasp as you just stare at him. Stare into eyes, in the color you've known all your life, but have only seen in the last several minutes in person. They're sharp, they practically see all, and it stuns you how willingly you drown into those bright, seagreen depths that are softening at your lack of response.

His fingers curl around yours, shaking you from the depths with their warmth, and you don't think.

Not about your father, nor Enforcers. No rebellion, no confusing future with you and the Children of Zaun. You don't think of anything else, except grasping his hand tightly with your own, and using it as leverage to raise yourself up, tug him closer, and tilt your chin just-so, in order to collide your lips to his to seal your deal, and your bond with your soulmate, with a kiss.

It's only then that you think. Think that perhaps this is too much, too swiftly. That he doesn't want this, not as much as you're rapidly finding out how intensely you wanted this. That your soulmate status doesn't erase the multitude of complications ahead of the both of you, or that the thoughts of what your father will think of this development will bring...

But then, Silco makes all those thoughts go away once more. Not with smooth, low words, nor in a piercing gaze you could happily drown in.

Silco makes everything else in the world fade away, by simply raising his palm to cup your face with such utter tenderness and desire, that you realize you're not on your way to falling in love with him - you're already there.

There, and as far as your concerned, no where else in the world.

No where, that doesn't include the three most important things to you in this moment,, and this eternity: you, him, and the sound of two timers, in unison, counting up with every second you are finally together.

[shimmerbeasts]

He was going to kill him.

That was the only thought, which had preoccupied Silco's mind. When Tomo had returned alone and mumbled something about Viktor having forgotten his suit, grabbing it and then hurrying outside, Silco's suspicions had gnawed at his insides, prompting him to have Deckard trail after the boy while Ran found Viktor. When they had returned, it had taken Silco every single ounce of self-control to not immediately snap his fingers and have Lock track down Tomo and rip him to shreds.

His son was pale around the nose. He looked worse than Silco had ever seen him, and he had lost Viktor almost multiple times during the sickly months when he had been small. His deformed leg, already stiff and hard to manoeuvre, thanks to his birth defect, had been broken. The kneecap was located at an angle, it should not be. The skin around the broken area was red, hot and swollen.

Immediately, Silco had fetched Singed, who had put the kneecap back in its correct spot and placed the whole leg in a cast. He had brewed some chemical concoction, which was supposed to help the infection once Viktor woke up. Placing his son in his bed, Silco could do nothing but sit down in a chair, light his cigar, watch the fitful, strained expression on Viktor's sleeping face and wait.

He hadn't planned to have a child. Viktor had come to be from a one-night stand with a fisherwoman, who had not been scared of his still-healing face. Yet despite it all, Silco still took the responsibility of raising the boy and even grew to care for him. His disabilities filled his furious passion that things had to change for the Undercity. Why couldn't Vander see that? Why did he let them drift aimlessly through life, not even daring to dream of a brighter tomorrow?

Viktor's bright mind was something, Silco had discovered fairly early and immediately fostered. It had been his idea to see whether Viktor could get into the Academy of Piltover, particularly after he had brought his imaginary friend Blitzcrank to life to assist the Lanes in his own ways. Silco had sewn the Academy uniform specifically for his son to fox his way into the Academy. And now Tomo had stolen it and tried to kill Viktor!

Silco was not sure how long he had sat by Viktor's bedside. It was long past dusk when his son woke and darted up in bed rather violently. Seeing Viktor try to get up and move his injured leg, Silco rose, the cigar still in his mouth, and planted a hand upon a narrow, pointy shoulder - much like his own. The older man gingerly eased Viktor back into the mattress.

"Sit back down", he ordered with a softer cadenza to his voice, "You are still injured."

Another pull at his cigar. Silco placed his hand against his hips and flexed his fingers. They tapped against the sheeted knife. Taking the cigar out of his mouth, Silco exhaled a gust of smoke, mindful to not blow it in Viktor's face. His body glided over towards the nightstand where next to the glass of medicine stood an ashtray. His hand slammed the cigar's butt into the rock surface a bit more forcefully than was necessary.

Mismatched eyes, filled with a blend of worry, fury and barely suppressed bloodlust, looked at the golden ones, his son had inherited. Silco spoke: "I am alright. Furious about the state, Ran found you in, and even more furious about what Tomo did to you, but I am alright. I am afraid I do not know what happened to your lab. As for Blitzcrank, do not worry. He is right over there."

A pale hand gestured to the large, round, dirty golden Golem of metal and cables in the corner of the room. Blitzcrank sat a bit hunched over. There were dents on his belly and one of his arms had been ripped in parts, making sparks fly up at irregular intervals. His head rose, spotting Viktor, and he gave a small wave with his hand.

Silco said: "I think he sensed Tomo's bad intentions when he approached the lab and left. Not sure what made him look this busted. I reckon his travel back to my liar was not going as smoothly as he may have hoped. I am sure you can patch him up... Once you are healed yourself."

His expression softened as Viktor revealed Tomo's motivation. Silco sat down beside the boy on the bed. His long, fine fingers brushed away some of Viktor's hair and offered him his hand to take if he wanted to be held right now. He could feel the heartbreak flow from Viktor in waves. It made him think of Vander, but he didn't allow himself to let these emotions linger.

"I am sorry you had to find those things out the hard way", Silco said, "Some people will want to cross this river at any cost. They do not care if they do it on the backs of others. Sometimes, people think acting like Piltover gets them further in life than being true to their roots. It is a lie. They will always see you as an outsider, as from the Undercity. I am only letting you cross that river because I know it will be good for your mind. I want you to use Piltover's ways against them, but not assimilate to them.

"As for Tomo, do not worry about him, Viktor. My men are tracking him down as we speak. I even held back from sending Lock after him. I do not want to be forced to stitch your uniform. Even so, I am going to make sure that you get the killing blow against Tomo. He is your prey, not mine. I am merely assisting you."

Silco picked up the glass of purplish medicine from the nightstand and gave it to Viktor as he said: "Which also means that you need to rest and recover. Singed made you this medical cocktail. It should help with the infection."

shimmerbeasts asked:

✉ - push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed (perhaps involving illness, injury, or sleep deprivation) (Silco for Viktor, also just for emphasis he does that GENTLY!)

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗠-𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗘𝗡 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗟𝗘𝗚 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗛𝗜𝗠 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗, 𝗛𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗘'𝗗 𝗕𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗. The tunnels that ran through the undercity were vast, almost like catacombs. And that was what Tomo had intended them to be for Viktor: a final resting place. He'd planned to steal the inventor's work, use his invention to apply for the Academy in Piltover, and had hoped to destroy his father's burgeoning hold on the undercity in the process.

"Of course I didn't love you," comes the harsh whisper, fingers tangled in Viktor's hair. The brown wisps are pulled so tight that all he can do is yelp against the hard floor as he's yanked. He is face down, nose almost pressed to a puddle.

"Who could? You're weak. The only good thing about your is your brain, but don't worry, I'll put all of your inventions to good use. Blitzcrank will get me into the Academy."

Sudden pressure hits his right knee, jolting and preventing him from a response. A foot, pressing against the soft underside of the joint. Something starts to give way.

"No, please, no - " Viktor cries, struggles, but his cane is out of reach, and his trusting heart had made him carry no weapons. He'd even forgone the augments he'd installed in his cane, because he was in love. He was a fool. Such a fool.

A loud sound, between a crunch and a pop, reaches his ears. The pain that follows makes him moan brokenly, sweat breaking out all over his thin form. The sounds that leave his lips are almost inhuman. That is how much he hurt.

"Poor Viktor. You'll never be anything. You're useless. Hope you like it down here. This is where you'll die. I mean, weren't you going to, anyway?"

Something wet and sticky, a glob of spit, hit the back of his head. Viktor couldn't focus on anything else but the pain, and soon enough, when he took what he thought was his agonizing last breath, he faded into a swirling ink sea, Rio happily running behind him.

It was the scent of cigar smoke that woke him. His head was pounding, and suddenly, the floor was rushing to meet him, all of reality crumbling underneath his feet, though he stayed still. Viktor's golden eyes tried to find purchase on anything to soothe the spinning. Before he knew it, he was attempting to get out of bed, hoping that would make him feel better, and instead of getting out of bed as he expected, he felt a firm hand gently push him down.

His focus became a pinpoint from the action, and the pounding of his head faded to a gentle thud.

Viktor stared up at his father with a look of surprise. Silco was here. How long had he been at his bedside? Though his features were pale, paler than usual, and the young inventor regarded his father with bewilderment, a tender concern laid within the expression.

"Father? Are you well?"

His voice shook. Viktor clutched at his father's arm; oh, how silly it was for the sickly sixteen year old to ask Silco when he was not the one in the bed. And then, as if remembering everything that occured, more panic flashed upon his features.

"My lab. Blitzcrank. Are they - are they safe? How long was I out?"

He moved too quickly, and the pain of his leg shocked him. Ah, Tomo had broken that. The reminder made him wince. His voice was gruff, gruffer than he'd ever allowed himself to get before.

"I want to kill him. He left me. It wasn't genuine. He. Father, he didn't love me. It was a trick. I want to make him bleed. He wants to steal my work, take my interview at the Academy. It was all a ploy to - to. To leave me for dead."

[smallhorizons]

Hi hi! I was wondering if you are still writing your the scientific method series?

Hello! Yes, I am - I’ve gotten rather sidetracked with some other projects, but I have about 3.5k written for the Zaundads meet-cute (it involves labor unions, a protest gone wrong, and a concussion) and lots of notes and unpolished discord ramblings for several other fics in the series. My problem right now is that I have several fics I’m torn between working on, as well as some casual collaborative writing projects with friends, so my attention keeps bouncing around like a ping pong, lol.

To whet your appetite, here are my active Arcane WIPs (not including fics that are just in the outline, brainstorm, or discord rambling stages, because otherwise this list would get ridiculous):

Zaundads meet-cute for the scientific method series. Pre-relationship Zaundads, implied established Sinco, rated teen. 3.5k, 75% of first draft done?)

(Mostly) canon-compliant Silco character study that I’ve been working on off and on for like. 5 months. Lmao. Zaundads, Silco & Jinx, mature. (4.6k, 50% of first draft done)

Two-part omega verse with feral cat boy Silco. Zaundads, first part teen, second part explicit. (6.2k - second part is drafted, first part is 50% drafted)

Extremely filthy alpha/alpha omegaverse bottom!sub!Vander with daddy kink, gender play, and age play that may never see the light of day because I get embarrassed every time I look at the document, lmao. Zaundads, explicit. (1.7k, 50% drafted)

Service sub Silco rewarding Sevika for her hard work. Sevilco, explicit. (1k, 30% drafted)

Short and sweet trans fem Silco transition fic that was MEANT to be written for trans arcane week, oops. Zaundads, teen. (500, 30% drafted)

Thank you for your interest & your patience! It means a lot that you would reach out asking about the series. I was really blown away by the response, and I’m thrilled that folks enjoyed it.

I hope you have a good day! 💜

[wolfsrainrules]

I wish you would write a fic where Silco from Arcane ends up in BNHA-verse and meets pre-canon Izuku, or where Kid!Izuku ends up in Undercity/Zaun and befriends young jinx

now see, I love that idea, but I haven't watched Arcane yet! I know some things, but I don't have a working knowledge. Though I will say the "Don't cry....you're perfect" line gets me e v e r y t i m e. I can see there being a beautifully done villain arc. Having a Crime Lord for a dad? One who probably runs up against AfO's reach? Great fun. It's an interesting thought though. And exposing Izuku to arcane crystals and the potential in them...whooooo. Also Izuku meeting younger Jinx and going forward....he's always been so unfailingly loyal.

[shimmerbeasts]

//Drow is interesting for Bhaal, as he was a mortal human man and seems to still like his old form a lot. Not that he can't, he is a god, but what would be the motivation for it? Does he have a reason to choose this specifically for Jinx? (Comment made by @steel-and-fire)

I hope you do not mind me posting your comment in a separate post as I have a bit to talk about, and that way, I have the advantage of no sudden word limits cutting me off.

First of all, people have to remember, that I am still fairly early in my playthrough, and while I know certain things already about the Dark Urge storyline, I only know bits and pieces. I do not yet have the full picture. However, even if I had the full picture, there may be a chance that I am doing this regardless. I like giving canonical characters and sometimes even the world or their relationships my own flavour. Seriously, look at my worldbuilding for Zaun and you get what I mean.

Anyhow, onto the whole drow and Bhaal stuff. To understand what my idea was here, you have to understand that when I chose to make Jinx's BG3 verse and designed her as my avatar for my playthrough, I tried to draw as much from who she is in Arcane. I did not even try to make Jinx look exactly like Arcane Jinx because that is just impossible.

As you can clearly see here, Jinx's original aesthetic would hardly map completely onto BG3's aesthetic. So, I decided that while I gave clear nods towards Jinx's appearance like her blue hair or her demonic purple and demonic blue eyes, what was more important was capturing the spirit of her character in her design. Ergo more, who is she as a person versus what does she look like.

This is for instance why Jinx is a thiefling instead of a human or elf. From what I heard of the race, they are outcast, but also associated with evil and trickery. And in my opinion, Jinx is an almost tragic spin on a trickster and malevolent character. Other things, I included are nods to the people, she canonically holds dear, wherever I could. Everybody with two working brain cells, who saw Arcane, can tell that Jinx's heterochromatic eyes are a nod towards Silco as is her tattoo, which in my brain is almost like Shimmer leaking out of her eyes. Her horn's red tips are a nod towards Vi.

Anyway, back to your question: How the heck does any of this tie to Bhaal appearing as a drow for Jinx instead of his apparent human shape?

The short answer is: I decided to give Jinx pre-brain damage and tadpole situation a dynamic with Bhaal which is very similar to Silco and her in canon. So I was like "If I go with the whole Silco = Bhaal analogy, why not go all out?" And well, if you look at Silco's appearance, I felt a drow would make the most sense for Bhaal's chosen form.

You see my point, right?

I also thought a lot about how Jinx interprets what "Father of Murder" means or more specifically what murder is. And well, if you look at the definition of the word murder, the topic of intention is very crucial to differentiate it from manslaughter. So, I felt that for Jinx, intention would be a very important element in how she unleashed her dark urge in the past. It is about setting up a kill and the whole chase element of it. Girly ain't a hound, in this case, she is a hunter.

And I was like Okay, what would be easier for a god. Trying to brute force her into a completely different path or you know, taking the path she already is on, and speeding it up. I chose to interpret Bhaal as taking the shape of a drow for Jinx as a nod to Silco, but also because she is very receptive to wanting to make a parental figure proud in her own unique ways. In a way, Bhaal is fitting himself around Jinx's interpretation of who he is. Is he still the quote-on-quote "Father of Murder"? Yes. Did Jinx choose to take that more literally? Also, yes. Does Bhaal choose to play into this because it enables him to control Jinx more easily? Yes.

In my eyes, Bhaal would be scarier if he could accommodate multiple interpretations of the word murder and not just one. And that is exactly what he is doing with Jinx.

[shimmerbeasts]

The man, whom Viktor was facing, was a behemoth. He was large, muscular, burly and bald. His pale skin was covered in tattoos, dotting him like dark patches or stripes. He wore a simple, dirty white shirt and had a long, crude knife fixed to his belt. His eyes were small and underneath his nostrils trembled a small, silver ring as he scrunched his nose. Like a huge bear, which couldn't yet fully decide whether what was in front of him was food or a cub, the man wordlessly grabbed the note from Viktor.

He then pushed the door open wider with his shoulder and grunted as he nodded down the corridor. A silent demand for Viktor to get into the warehouse, lest he let the cold night air in. The moment, the meagre boy had hobbled his way into the corridor, the door fell shut behind him with a low bang of finality. One might as well have buried him alive.

The two men walked side by side through the corridor in complete silence. Finally, they stepped out into a smaller, sparsely equipped room. The dusty sunlight fought its way through a thick, unclean window, revealing strange, dark purple lines in the floor and walls. The lines were twisted like sinew vines and seemed almost like dried blood. Yet their sickly sweet rotten smell marked them out as unnatural and wrong.

The only equipment in the office was a large, heavy desk filled with nothing-saying papers. Next to it stood an ashtray, which was filled with the remains of a few cigar stumps. Their glowing ends had long been extinguished. Behind the desk stood a tall wooden chair. Its padding was moth-eaten and the dark, rich colours indicated that it must have belonged to a Piltovan family once. The man's meaty hand grabbed another simple wooden stool and pushed it backwards.

"You sit there", he told Viktor, "Do not touch anything. The boss will be with you shortly."

With these words, Lock left the small office and closed another door behind him. His steps echoed through the walls as he stomped further down the corridor until one could no longer follow him by ear. With the letter in his hand, Lock made his way towards a larger and more lived-in area.

His wandering had taken him to an underwater area. Through a large, luxuriously decorated window, one could look deep into the depths of the Pilt. In its inky blue swam shoals of fish and the occasional large, majestic, yet heavily armoured shark. The room was bathed in strange, luminescent light, shades of purple and dark magenta, undercut by the occasional sickly green.

Where the office had been sparsely equipped, this room seemed almost a cluster in its own right. On various tables stood medical laboratory equipment from vials to Bunsen burners to tubes, connecting cylinder-esque glasses with one another. The same purple liquid was bubbling and boiling in all of them.

In a large terrain, made of glass, sat a couple of mice and rats, huddled together. There were few enrichments or hiding spots in the terrain. The only noteworthy element of the whole cage was the feeder, which instead of water supplied the animals with the very same purple liquid from the lab set. They gave off nervous shrieks as small, beady eyes watched the two Sphinx cats, which circled their aquarium.

A large ice-blue eye locked onto the rat, he was holding by its tail. Silco critically inspected the animal. It had doubled in size, yet somehow, its body had grown bulges and parts of its fur had fallen off. Its ribcage looked bruised and deformed as if internal organs had tried to expand too fast for the bones to withstand the pressure. However, the worst was the rat's head. Half of its skull looked like it had been cracked open like an egg. An eye socket had been completely crushed and the jaw had gotten wrenched sideways by its hinges. The bitten-off tongue twitched uselessly before Silco's leather shoes. Blood smeared across purplish fur with thick veins and spit dripped from sharp fangs on his boots.

A long, fine finger brushed against the rat's destroyed skull, moving a tiny bit of bone and pressing it into the messy flesh. Silco pulled his hand back and brushed his fingers against one another, feeling out the blood and sinews, sticking to his tips. His lips twitched in thought as he looked back at Singed, who was tapping long, bony fingers upon a vial with the purple liquid, they would one day call Shimmer.

Silco asked: "Do you think you can do something to make the growth remain fast but stabilise the durability of the host's body? I want monsters, not dead men."

"I should be able to", Singed said calmly, "Given enough time. This is still in its infancy, Silco. You have to be patient. Nourishing a monster was never going to be easy."

"I know."

The clearing of a voice made Silco turn around. Lock, one of his oldest henchmen and currently the only Hound in existence apart from Vander, stood in the doorway. He was his current number two. Silco hadn't yet made him deputy, feeling that this position was better suited for someone else. Said someone was currently operating as a double agent in The Last Drop, still feigning allegiance to his brother. Said someone had become a lot more than a mere double agent in the time they had been together. He wasn't trying to fill a void, was he? No, he didn't have time for that.

"What is it, Lock?", Silco asked. He carelessly dropped the mutilated rat and stomped onto its corpse, not minding how the gore and blood would stick to his soles. Marine predators couldn't chew up their prey like their land cousins. They were forced to shake their prey viciously under the water, rip off its skin and sprinkle themselves in gore as they worked the meat over into bite-sized chunks.

Lock thrust the letter towards him with the words: "There is a boy in the office room, waiting for you. He claims to be your son. Says his mother left a note."

Viktor, Silco thought to himself. He picked up the letter and drew Vander's knife across it. Opening the parchment, his brows furrowed as he read. Magda seemed to no longer want to take care of her son due to what she labelled as explosive tendencies. Whatever this meant. She essentially was peer-pressuring him into taking care of Viktor, knowing all too well how Silco thought of familicide.

"Boss, is there any truth to these words?", asked Lock.

Silco folded up the letter and stored it in his cloak. His smile was hard to read. The Eye of Zaun spoke: "There is truth in those words. I shall have a little talk with Viktor. Figure out how we go from here. The poor kid must be awfully frightened, so I will be gentle with him."

@shimmerbeasts

↳ Silco, the Drop Off thread

𝗠𝗔𝗚𝗗𝗔 𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗕𝗕𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗟𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗜𝗠 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗟. Such an inquistive mind to always look at the goods, but she was on a mission:

It had been the fourth time since Viktor had blown up their house, and she, frankly, had had enough of the boy for a lifetime. She loved him dearly, but she was only a fisherwoman in Zaun, and these boundless house repairs were putting her further into debt.

Viktor's mind was quick, and though he had, at first, helped her with her fisher duties, his experiments soon became a liability. Magda knew the father of their child, Silco, had more resources. The man had been supporting Viktor's growth with money, but enough was enough: perhaps he could help the burgeoning prodigy grow.

"Love," she gently cooed, "I'm giving you a fiddle. Promise me you'll play it?"

The child's brow furrowed. Sometimes, his mother's emotions were more akin to a light switch than a spectrum of color.

"Why are you giving me a fiddle?"

Golden eyes, the color of fresh honey, stared up at her. Pangs of guilt rippled through her chest. Would she regret dropping him off? Her precious little boy - "You are going to live with your father, and I won't see you as often as I'll like."

Viktor blinked at that, the fact his mother had him pack all of his meager belongings into his rucksack finally clicking for him. He would never be sleeping on the rug by the fire again, nor would he help her with fish. He was to live with this unknown man, this absent father, instead of his mother.

"When you miss me, you can play it."

Magda gently ruffled that mess of chocolate curls and stooped down. Viktor balanced on his wooden stick, head tilting as she pulled a wrapped package off of her back.

"You've had your moments, love, but you've always tried your best. I can't help you now. Maybe he can."

She grabbed the letter out of her pocket, also, and gave both the wrapped fiddle and scribbled note to her son.

"He's a good man. He's kept you fed. But I don't have it in me to see him again. So you find a man in there, you say you're the son of Silco, and tell him that Magda wrote him a letter. He'll know what to do."

Viktor was shaking by the time she finished, his eyes darkened with anger. "You are leaving me?" his voice was incredulous, high and squeaky.

Magda nodded, "Yes, Vik, I am. Now, run along."

Her words made him flinch. Ever rough about his leg, she made him feel bad for it, because it made him a bad fisher. As he struggled to open his mouth, he blinked away tears, and when he looked back, his mother was gone.

Liquid gold snapped to the building in front of him. The building wasn't run down, but like all buildings in Zaun, it wasn't well-taken-care-of either. Boards were on the iron windows in the front of what appeared to be a warehouse.

He clutched his rucksack tight and the new fiddle that had been his mother's apology, and he grasped the letter in a shaky hand. By the time he had ambled to the door with his wooden stick, Viktor was tired and worn out. He opened the door and found the first man he could.

"I am Viktor, son of Silco, and my mother, Magda, left a note."

He held the note out in a trembling fist, the six year old's expression just devastated. Abandoned on the doorstep of a man he didn't even know. More tears started to spill, and when he offered the man the letter, all Viktor could do was sob, silently, into his hand.

[jynxd]

I thought you could love me, accept me, even though I am different. But you have changed too. So here's to the new us.

An independent, selective Canon divergent Jinx from Arcane blog written and cherished by Bli. (Also including Silco and Ekko)

heavily affiliated with @hexcoremagician, @ferinehuntress, @shimmerbeasts

Graphics and Banners made by : @marsrpresources

General information: Rules | Jinx/verses | Ekko/verses | Silco/verses

Headcanons: Jinx (Overview) | Silco (Overview) | Ekko (Overview) RP: Permanent Starter call | Memes Other blog: Multimuse blog

Follows shimmerbeasts Zaun Lore

For the convenience of those on mobile I will put the rules here!

ABOUT THE MUN:

18 + Mutuals only

Typically writes in paras-novelias

They/Them Pronouns

activity can range from high to low

mature themes might occur on this blog

Mun (30) and muse(s) are of age.

OCS:

I will work with OC’S however, I do ask that the OC be developed enough when I am getting idea of them. I don’t write to come up with your characters for you, so please know your muse! If your about’s have all the information needed, that’s awesome. If you don’t have any of this supplied, I mostly likely will not work with you.

AUS/Crossovers:

As someone who loves to write AU’s I will gladly do them! In fact I find AU’s more hella fun! Please feel free to throw any and all ideas my way!

There are/will be cross over verses, so I am completely open to rping cross overs! If it’s a fandom I am unfamiliar with that might require work, but otherwise I’m down for it

Plotting/messaging:

I use ASKS only for rp sake, so if you want to plot with me send me an IM. I am however not opposed to Ice breakers. So If neither of feel like plotting (which most likely will be mentioned in pms) you can send an ask my way and start from there!

Reblogging:

Unless you are an active participant in ongoing threads, DO NOT reblog any rp posts! 

If I reblog memes, please try to reblog it from its original source material to keep my activity clean. (I won’t say anything if you don’t but it would be greatly appreciated.)

Metagaming:

Remember, even you have foreknowledge, your muse does not! Don’t bring knowledge they shouldn’t know into threads.

Don’t try to control what my character says and/or does. 

Replies:

The muse can be highly selective depending on mood, so if he is a certain mood, he will reply to what he is feeling. OR WHAT IM FEELING. 

There a select few that will almost always get a response first, don’t take this personally, it’s just how the muse can be! (There is a select few people who are going to take complete importance!)

I am not a fast roleplayer, so I replies may sit in my drafts for days to weeks. But eventually they will be responded to.

If a thread is dropped, I typically won’t say anything especially if I’m not feeling it.

If I haven’t responded in a while, you can remind me once, but don’t spam me with reminders

Multiple threads are completely okay!

Relationships:

I am OKAY with pre-established ships but it has to be plotted out or discussed.

Multi-ship friendly and even willingly ship OT3’s

Smut CAN be an option, but it will most likely not be written due preference of the mun unless heavily plotted.

[shimmerbeasts]

So, I gave this situation a lot of thought and given that it is the end of the year, that marks the ideal time frame to basically reshape the way, I wanna handle the blog and my muses, going forward. These changes include how my roster functions, certain limitations I am going to give myself, concerning the amount of drafts I have, and changes in verses and some alterations on the ask box. Basically, quality instead of quantity is going to be the name of the game, so hopefully, I can better organise my hobbies and interests and hopefully also my eventual career as an author.

That means first of all: Every single thread I have is dropped. I want a completely clean slate thread-wise, however, dynamics, which we established, can absolutely carry over. I am not gonna flush all the hard work, I did with so many of you (you are all amazing) down the drain.

Now, onto what changes. Let's start with the formal bullshit. I am going to limit myself to twenty drafts and try to adhere to this limit. Those drafts will preferably be plotted. That way, I hopefully can avoid getting overwhelmed, but also really dig into the meat of our threads.

That does not mean casual stuff or crack does not happen. It can still happen, but it will occur with less frequency and those things likely won't carry over much. If I happen to send you an rp related meme, then please just have fun with the drabble. I will try to limit how much I continue those threads.

When it comes to my ask box, I will prioritise unprompted asks and scenarios over rp memes. However, I will always accept headcanon-related memes or memes for me the writer. Again, all these changes will be done to limit the effects of being overwhelmed and to keep my rps at a manageable medium.

When it comes to my verses, I am going to do a massive cut in what types of verses I have. Specifically, I am going to stick to the verses, which basically form a narrative throughline. For most verses, this will basically be the pre-canon, the default and the post-canon verse. Ergo the past, present and future of a muse. This is done so I can focus on what I wanna explore instead of spreading myself too thin. After all, it is better to explore an idea and its ramifications in detail as opposed to expanding and adding five half-baked ideas at once.

My muse roster will have a bit of an update on its purpose. Because of the fact that I will lean even more into the concept of storytelling and character development, the split between primary, secondary and tertiary muses still exists. Except, there is going to be a crucial change now. The tertiary muses will now be rebranded as supports and are not technically muses on the blog. Let me explain what I mean.

Because of my desire to be more story-driven, certain characters will serve as the supporting cast for other muses. These characters help propel the plot forward but also give your muse a different perspective on the muse they roleplay with. They might also reveal information, you would not get otherwise. Think of them a bit like NPCs but due to the big role, they play in the muse's life or what they represent for the muse, they have a bigger chance of emerging. Your muses might even meet them before they meet the actual muse. There will also be other classical NPCs, which your muse might meet under very specific circumstances.

Now onto the actual muse roster:

My primary muses (who will be focussed on the whole Zaunite lore and story) are going to be Silco, Jinx and Vi. They are the ones, whose plotting will come the most naturally and easiest for me. Their supports are Sevika and Warwick/Vander.

My secondary muses (who have different thematic stories and lore as they occur outside of Zaun/Piltover) will be Naafiri and Ahri. Writing them might potentially require a bit more plotting and forethought. Naafiri's supporting characters will be Nasus and Rek'Sai. Ahri's supporting characters will be Yasuo, Evelynn and to a lesser extent Vayne.

I hope that these changes I am making will lessen some self-made stressors. Again, I do apologise for basically dropping everything right now. I promise, I still want to write with everybody here. I just need to sort out how I wanna make things work. So please, everybody do not be intimidated by those changes. I promise, that my enthusiasm for writing and roleplaying remains unbroken.

[shimmerbeasts]

Even if Silco had known the hardships, they would have come to face, he had never regretted taking Jinx in. Carrying the little girl off the burning bridge, stepping softly over the strewn about corpses, he couldn't have anticipated how much his life was going to change in that one night and yet how consistent it stayed throughout it all.

Having been deemed a monster under everyone's bed and an outcast in the Undercity, Silco's life had already been hard on his own. After he had recovered enough from that garish eye injury, he had been forced to build up a new life from scratch. Clever investments and finding the right allies at the right time had given Silco the leg up, he seriously needed, as well as the resources to finance the development of Shimmer, even if currently, it was far too unstable and volatile to be of much use to anybody, let alone a fully-fledged revolution.

At the same time, Silco did not just have his revolution to contend with, but his daughter as well. Thus he soon grew used to using some of his resources to ensure he and Jinx were fed. Throughout it all, he always gave her the lion's share. Jinx got more food than him, she was given utensils and tools to tinker with to her heart's content, and she even got the chance to ask Renata Glasc herself about chemistry. She was a monster as much as she was a genius, and Silco did his hardest to ensure, he nurtured both.

Even so, there were still things, which not even he was always prepared for.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Jinx", Silco said, "Sometimes, our mind is our own worst enemy, making us believe things, which, in our hearts, we know, aren't true." He barely flinched as Jinx clawed deeper into his arms, still developing claws creating a small dent in his sleeves. Her face was scrunched up in pain. Silco caressed her back soothingly and placed his chin on her head.

"There could be many reasons why she didn't come back", Silco said, "Maybe she lost you in the chaos. Or maybe, as much as I hate to admit that, maybe she felt that you were holding her back. It is often the people, whom we trust the most, who are the most ruthless to stab us in the back. They leave you writhing in pain and collecting the pieces of your life, they made fall apart."

His expression darkened. For a few seconds, his stomach felt heavy and the hair on his neck stood up. Vander and Vi had both committed the same sin: Leaving them to rot when they needed them the most, after inflicting damage, they could never take back.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Jinx", Silco said, "Neither when it comes to wanting to see topside, nor when your sister left. It is not fair that you are left to feel guilty for something, you never did. Though, maybe it's not just guilt that you feel. Perhaps, there is anger there too. But you don't want to admit that you are angry, so you cover it up with feelings of guilt. Guilt is self-punishing and sometimes easier to face than rage."

"Back when I was recovering from my eye injury", he continued, "There were so many thoughts swirling inside my head. At first, I kept asking myself very similar questions to what you are asking yourself right now. What did I do wrong? How could Vander betray me like this? Did I deserve this eye injury? Was he right for hurting me like this? I blamed myself just like you did. However, after a while these feelings faded, and what I was left with, was anger. Hatred even. I allowed myself to recognise that this had been a murder attempt and not just a betrayal. I was so furious at Vander. I still am. But recognising that I was angry, was in a strange way cathartic. I needed that epiphany to move forward: Not just that I was angry, but that it was okay that I was feeling angry. And I believe you feel the same. Deep down. Am I right?"

At the age of 10, Jinx had to deal with with trauma that most much older than her would never experience. Unlike them, however, her fragile mind wasn't quite built to deal with that trauma. As adult most had a way to properly process everything; they had grown up and matured. Jinx didn't have that as a child who had suffered such losses at a significantly young age of 5. She had witnessed raw brutality and death. It was a massacre, one that had taken everything from her.

The only good thing that had come out of this was Silco, who had found her that day after the smoke had cleared. After the enforcers had cleared out without a single care for the lives they took. Silco had found a broken child and took her home. Held her in his arms as if she were the most precious cargo. He gave her a home, gave her a reason to survive. She was smart enough to realize that he was trying to give her the tools to be strong, but Vi always found a way to undo all that work.

Jinx at first looked away in shame, afraid that she had earned Silco's ire as he head was lifted. However, the caress of her cheek proved the opposite. Bluish silver eyes looked up at Silco, slowly her body began calm as it only barely shook now. However, the memories were still fresh in her mind as she could see hear the gunshots echoing in her mind.

The reputation Silco had garnered was that of a monster under the everyone’s bed. Jinx didn’t need to get out to know that. However she had ventured out just enough to hear all the whispers. It was on one of those occasions that she had spotted her sister, with a tall burly man, whom she discovered was the notorious Vander. That same man was spreading lies, warning people about her papa. But they were all wrong.

Monster or not, it was Silco who was with her now, comforting her when she needed it most like he always would. He alone knew her struggles and was there to tell her the voices were lying, too. Just like he was now, and the look in his eyes told her he believed what he was saying. But he wasn’t angry at her, either. No, his ire was directed at the lies her voices were telling her. The ones that always told her everything was her fault.

“I’m sorry papa, they keep telling me all of things and I keep believing them…” Jinx said was tears continued to run down her cheek and onto his thumbs. Never once did her eyes stray from his, as if pleading him to forgive her. “I see them when I close my eyes, my parents, even though i don’t remember their faces or their voices. They never say anything to me, but I always feel like they are blaming me. If I hadn’t convinced Vi to take me across the bridge to just get a peek at topside…” That’s why Vi blamed her, too.

“But if I’m not the reason Vi left me, than why did she never come back? I called out her name but instead she just… left me.” Jinx’s face scrunched up in pain of it all, her claws sinking deeper into his skin and created an indent. Why was she even feeling this way about a sister she barely remembered? “I have you, but it’s like a sister I barely remember is punishing me for something. What did I do wrong? Why can’t I move on without everything hurting?”

[shimmerbeasts]

Jinx had been precariously young when Silco had discovered her on that bridge. She could not have been older than five years of age. It was not fair that such a young daughter of Zaun had been forced to pay witness towards the brutality of the conflict, she would have to inherit like her forefathers before her. Only a fool would have assumed that such a massacre did not leave ugly traces upon the young soul.

Had it made Silco regret throwing the Molotov cocktail, which had set the entire battle on the bridge in motion? No. Even with this price, Silco would have always made the same choice. Vander had always been a domesticated dog and as such, he could not make a choice of his own. Somebody had to do it for him. On the bridge, it had been Silco, who had forced the Hound to remember his bloody calling.

After the bridge, it had been the Sherrif with the brown skin. Vander had bargained a shaky peace deal and the only way he could do this was in grovelling before the very power he had tried to overthrow. By siding with Grayson, he had given the Enforcers free reign to march down here and do whatever they wanted. The Hound had handed over his leash towards the very people, he was supposed to tear to shreds. It was like being betrayed all over again.

However, when worst came to worst, Silco was a grown adult by now. He had seen the ugliness of the other side of the river in all its pastel colours. He had even seen the shoddy paints on his side of the river as sometimes, even someone from Zaun could fall for Piltover's charm. Someone like Asik, who turned the charm into ruthlessness, as opposed to Vander, who had become complicit to everything.

Jinx on the other hand had not been given a chance to grow up. Her mind was both her greatest asset and her greatest curse. She was perfect - a genius and a monster, all rolled into one. Silco was sure of it. One day, this now ten-year-old girl would do great and terrible things. However, right now, she needed him to guide and nurture her, and help her learn to win the fight against her inner demons.

Over the years, Silco had learned when Jinx was haunted by the voices in her head and the visions, which felt so real, she believed them. Thus as she showed the familiar symptoms from closing her eyes and curling in on herself to uncontrollably trembling and whispering, Silco addressed her by her name with a calm and clear voice before he sat down beside her and after a moment, wrapped his arms around her. He didn't stop speaking until Jinx finally uncurled and pressed herself tightly against him. Her wolverine claws dug themselves into his sides, little stubs, which did not yet have the strength to cause pain.

Her tears stained his dirty shirt and slim, pale arms. Silco let her find refuge in his arms as she continued to tremble and finally speak of what bothered her so much. Hearing her words, Silco drew in a gust of breath sharply. He placed his hands on the sides of her neck and lifted up her head, thumbs caressing her cheek.

"Never say that again!" Silco's voice trembled from care and fury. "That's rubbish, you hear me! Your parent's passing wasn't your fault. Vi leaving wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault! Ever! Don't you dare listen to what the voices in your head say! None of this is your fault. And if Vi honestly dares to blame you, she is gonna have to answer to me!"

@shimmerbeasts "Shh, I know it feels overwhelming right now, but you're not alone. I'm right here beside you, and I'm not going anywhere." (Silco towards Jinx)

Moments like this happened every so often ever since that night on the bridge. Moments where it would all come back to her and induce a state of panic for the little 10 year Jinx. Sometimes there was a reason for it, sometimes she would hear gunshots and those gunshots would trigger the memory if it sounded similar enough. There were also times that Jinx would see enforcers crossover the bridge to do dealings with the underground’s current leader, Vander. Both had been on the bridge that day, so it was like a double trigger to lay the trauma on thick. This time was not like those times.

The hallucinations of that night had seemingly come out of the blue as minutes prior Jinx had been her usual, strong, cheerful self. Silco had been braiding her hair, which barely long enough to do even the two small braids he did. It had been five years and still she experienced the memory as if was happening all over again. Gunshots echoed around her, drowning out any other noise as Jinx squeezed her eyes shut. Her body curled up in a ball as her body began to tremble at the sounds. Though closing her eyes did no good for an active imagination images still bleed through.

The bodies of her dead parents were in front of her, riddled with gunshot wounds and faces horribly disfigured. ‘It’s your fault they are dead, powder. If we just stayed home they wouldn’t be here. You and your stupid desire to look at topside.’ Vi screamed in her ear, voice dripping with pure hatred. “It’s not my fault.” Jinx whimpered out loud, though it was hard to speak whilst in tears. ‘Do you really believe that pow-pow? Why else would I run away? Couldn’t let you get me killed too. God you were such a burden.’

Vi was stood in front her now and gave her a patronizing smile. ‘Dont worry, I found a better family.’ It was when Vi patted her cheek, that dealt the biggest blow. All made worse by her walking away towards the silhouette of the monster. God she was alone all over again. The powder that was left alone on that bridge amongst all the carnage. Until Silco’s words broke through the barrior of her mind and she could feel his arms around her.

“I saw my parents again…” Jinx’s body was still trembling as she buried her face into his chest. “Papa, do you think it was my fault that my sister left me?” She sobbed out as she clung tightly to him, her wolverine claws just barely sharp at this stage. “Is it my fault they mom and dad died? Vi said it was my fault…”