#Silco fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grugruel · 1 year ago

Text

The Game

Pairing: Silco x f!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Silco like to keep things interesting by playing a game. Its your turn now, heat flares and tempers rise.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Established relationship, hints of smut, brief choking, mentioned degrading, tension? Elutions to sub!dom!silco towards the end.

I throw the doors to The Last Drop open, making my grand entrance.

Smoke billows out through the opening, it curls around my vision as it mixes with the impure air of Zaun and all heads in the club turn toward me.

An uscher of whispers rumble through the crowd and the music suddenly halts. A mans low whistle can be heard ringing out through the crowd, aswell as the consequent "ow" and "hush" as the man next to him elbows him in the side, giving him a stern look in warning.

I was off limits to everyone but one man, and that was considered common knowledge in Zaun.

I take a step inside, smiling devilishly, approving of the general public reaction.

I let the doors slam shut behind me, welcoming the familiar embrace of the murky, green tinted darkness of the club as it envelopes me. I gaze around the room, searching for him.

I am counting on him to be in his office already, as It was a crucial part of my plan for dramatic effect. And when married to a man like him, one couldnt help but look for him in every room you enter.

All that im met with though, is an array of mixed emotions, smiles, glances and a bunch of wide eyed men and women. The crowd was divided between those who, had they not know was good for them, would hollar and applaud my confidence or those who would be scared half to death and couldnt even dare throw a glance my way.

Most bastards, however. Had already let their slack-jawed chins hit the floor at the first sight of me, and oh . . . was I a vision to behold.

Everyone already knew who I was of course, my antics were not news to them, neither were the fact that I am wife to the infamouse Eye of Zaun.

So to explain the situation, Silco and I ha'd been playing a fun little game for some time, just to spice things up. We set two rules of outmost importance, no matter what, we had to follow them.

1. Prizes asked for must be given.

2. Revenge is always permitted.

Meaning whoever manages to outdo the others previous actions in boldness, audacity, mischief etc, wins whatever prize they desire from the other and whatever we did to challenge the other, we could always retaliate however we wanted and those asks had to be met

Usually when it was Silcos turn, he'd experiment, try something new, take me in the hall, in an alley, where anyone could see. Just for the thrill if it, because we can, because who would question him?

But as of late, work has been stressing him and hes been using me. He makes a public display out of me, showing everyone just who I belong to. A power play, of course, reinforcing his claim on me and putting on a show of his brazen nature as for Zaun not to forget who he is.

And he'd do it all with a ravenous gleam in his eye, enjoying every second of my embaressment. But god help any man who makes a remark or even looks at you the wrong way.

And since he has a reputation to uphold, an image to keep clean, being the crimeboss that he is, I had never been allowed to play our game in any type of crowded setting. He needed to be respected and more imporantly, feared. Meaning he could not be put into conpromising positions publicly. Privately was a whole nother situation.

But today, that would be coming to an end. I'd been forced to accept the situation since this whole thing came about, but he needed a reminder of who he married. Although I do not have as important of a position as him, my life did not begin when we married. I was someone before him and I am my own person still.

Blinded by love, and lust. I've let him do whatever he wants to me and although that can be a welcome notion betwix the sheets, it is not when he needs to make an example of someone, not anymore.

Sevika stood leaned against the stairrailings, watching my plan unfold, eyes wide. She sprung into action, ripping the jacket off the shoulders from the unsuspecting man next to her and rushes to cover me up.

She knows you're not the kind of woman who listens to anyone who tells you what to do, with the exception being Silco. And knowing she'd get hell from the man himself if she did anything else than try, she tries.

I reject the jacket of course, gently pushing her away from me. I clasp my hands behind me back and walk slowly towards the bar with her shadowing closely behind me in hope of hiding something from the crowd.

She lowers her head to my height, leaning closer to my ear, a shudder runs through me "He wont be happy" she snarles.

"I know" I answer nonchalantly. And a ghost of a smile flashes over her lips as she shakes her head and turns around, sighing.

I sit down on one of the stools by the bar, watching her as she makes her way upstairs. I order a whiskey and take a look around the room once again, noting all the stares.

"Cmon folks, he'll be down in a minute and you know better than to stare. Get back to it." I say in a low chuckle and they do just that, knowing the truth of my words.

Minutes later Sevika comes back down, she throws me a warning glance that tells me "not in the mood" and a new feeling begins to fester within me, uncertainty. I already knew he'd be cross when I schemed my little plan up, that was foreseen. But now?

I had no time to think of the consequences, because another set of footsteps could be heard a few paces behind her, slow and deliberate. He was already punishing me and I've yet to lay my eyes on him. My stumache flitters despite myself, longing to see how this plays out. Turbulence was to be excpected, but the rewards would be gratifying.

The crowd seems to have heard the destinctive sounds of Silcos footsteps aswell, as their attention turn toward the stairs.

Through the gloom of the lowly lit, smoke filled room, the glowing red of his cigar lights up his features, giving an earie glow to his eye. He looks mightly unimpressed, inhaling a puff of smoke his eyes scan the crowd, eventually settling on my form. Clad in nothing more than the crimson red lingerie that he bought me. He was already incredibly annoyed that you would compromise him like this, but seeing you in the set that he stressed were for his eyes only truly set him ablaze on the inside.

I swiwel the barstool so that I face him completley, the bartender slides my drink toward me and I grab it as I lean back against the bar, forearms supporting me. A pleased expressions washes over my face, this was a serious matter. But I should gloat whilst I still can.

He glares at me for a minute, the club is so silent you could hear peoples breathing, very shallow, careful breaths as they try to avoid catching his attention and possibly turning his displeasure onto themselves.

He takes in my appearance, looking me up and down. Sevika had not known the ordeal of this specific set of lingerie, so she had not conveyed its importance to him.

His patience usually wears thin, but seeing me in the lingerie he clearly told me were for him makes his blood boil.

Turbulence stirs within him, feeling incredible annoyance at your clear disobediance, but also a tinge of impatience to punish you especially since you did look brutally ravishing.

And as if his hair sences his stress, a greying strand of his magnificent hair falls over his eye. He sighs deeply, gathering himself before taking action, he catches the runaway strand by combing his free hand through his hair, placing it perfectly back with the rest.

He moves the hand holding his cigar, wafting it back and forth dismissively as he turns toward the people, adressing them "Avert you eyes ladies and gentlemen, that is my wife." he orders.

"Go ahead, leave, scram, flee." He makes a dramatic shooing gesture and announciates the last word, then taking another drag of his cigar.

He turns to Sevika "Make sure they understand that they did not see anything, then leave you too. No one is to be let in." she nods and posts herself by the door.

The people flock toward the exit, creating a bottleneck effect. Carefully, eagerly even, they follow Silcos directions reinforced by Sevika. They did not need to be told twice, they had already forcibly forgotten the incident and had no intention on stickning around to challenge his temper.

As the last of the crowd have left and the doors slam shut behind Sevika, its only the two of us left, so I stand to make my way to him.

"Stay." Silco says coldly, eyes snapping to me. A shiver runs through my body, I sit back down, crossing my legs, anticipation lining my senses as I smile at him.

We hold eachothers gaze "I missed you" I say.

"So I see" he responds, striding closer, one painstakingly slow step at a time and when hes finally close enough to touch I reach out to him, taking the lining of his tie between my fingers, softly tracing it down his chest, stopping at his vest button to undo it.

He snatches my wrist, holding it closer to him, inhaling the scent of my perfume, loving the way it mixes with the cigar smoke. He kisses my wrist before pinning it to the bar-counter behind me.

Not so easily discouraged, I lean closer to him in an atempt to steal a kiss off of those ruthless lips. I let my eyes fall shut and lean further in until I feel his breath on my skin as I've done so many times before. Heat flashes through me as I imagine the taste of him being less than a mere second away, but my expectations fall short as im met by the the savour of his cigar instead.

"Tsk tsk tsk" he shakes his head "Surely you wouldnt dream it to be this easy my dear?" His tone mocking.

I scoff in pretend defeat as I take the cigar from him, taking a drag and leaning back against the counter again. "I was only teaching you a lesson, husband." I sigh.

"Oh" he exclaims, his demeanor unclear. A mix of entertainment and frustration evidens in his voice "You're teaching me a lesson hmm?" His gaze hardens and an frustrated smile forms on his lips as he awaits my response.

"Naturally."

A gleam of irritation lights in his eye, he takes the whiskey from my hand, studying it carefully as if planning his next move. He takes a slow sip, "So.." he begins, carefully phrasing his words, "Would you like to tell me how come? Because frankly, my dear. Im at a loss here." Agitation evident in his tone.

"Truly?" I question, not sure if he actually wants me to answer that. "I love this little game of ours, it can be... Oh so thrilling" I sigh in reminiscence, thinking back to past adventurez when we've enjoyed eachothers rueful challenges.

"But I do not enjoy to be used as someones puppet, not even yours. You've turned this wonderful game of ours into a show of your power, using me. So, I wanted to teach you a lesson." I repeated myself, nonchalantly.

His gaze bores into my own, furious at your choice of handling the situation, but even more so because theres truth in your words. "I have a reputation." He spits the last word, "How will I be respected if I cannot controll my own woman?" He asks, frustrated.

I sneer, "You forget yourself Silco." Theres venom in my tone, "I may not be known as "The Industrialist" but I have a reputation of my own and it is time I reminded you of it. Zaun will not respect you more for treating me like shit, and your blatant audacity to feel bad for yourself is sickening." I state coldly, and he knows your right, yet he cannot help how your words irk him. His face burns hot with shame.

"Ive let you degrade me in front of thousands of people, just for you to earn your power." I spit back.

"But truth be told, husband. Youre not a king, nor a god, and people will understand that you cannot control me. Ive never been know as conceded woman and I believe I have made that clear today." I fix my gaze sternly on his, making sure hes understood. He glares back, nodding.

Certain hes seen my point, I ease up. Work has taken a toll on him as of late, thats not his fault, but how he chose to counteract it is.

I lean forward again, softening my gaze as I carefully stroke his scar and whisper "You might have chosen me as your bride, but I also chose you, you know."

He sighs, closing his eyes, the anger melting away from him as he remebers you when you first met, and thinks of the woman before him now. Hes loved every version of you that hes had to pleasure to know and hes been incredibly stupid to put you in such positions for his own gain, he will simply find others to make examples of. He meets your gaze again, defeated "Im afraid my dear girl, that you're right, my behavior towards you have been appaling. You win, this time." A releaved expression covers my face as I've gotten my point across.

"However," he says soflty placing both hands on either side of my face, cupping it "That wont stop me from earning my retribution, game rules." He points out, pressing a soft kiss to my lips as a hand slides one hand to the back of my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair, earning him a moan from me.

He strokes my cheek gently with the back of his free hand, then tracing his index finger along my jaw and ending it with a tap at the sharpest point under my ear, "Everything." He says concurrently with the tap.

He strokes a strand of hair behind my ear before continuing to trace his finger down my neck, following it with his gaze, he grabs my throat, squeezing lightly as he carefully yamks me closer to him, making me gasp, "Has." he punctuates, finger tapping again, this time on my artery.

He lets go of my throat an continues to trace his finger outward along my collarbone, stopping at my shoulder, "A." He taps again. Silent anticipation linger between us, as I wonder where this'll end.

He takes the crimson brastrap between his fingers, slowly sliding it off my shoulder as he traces it down to the cup, "Price." He ends, the tension between us culminating, as he taps one last time at the soft flesh of my breast.%I shiver runs along my spine, I lean into again, his lips a ghost on mine.

"Naturally" I whisper against his lips, feeling him smile.

His hands continue downward, coming to a stop at my hips, holding me in place as if I'd ever wish to be anywhere else and melting me completely with his sudden tenderness. But his grip hardens, ready to take what is his. And as much as I would love just that, I was not done and he knew it.

"But, I've yet to claim my price. Game rules." I state, he steps back, knowing that he has to abide by the rules. His eyes shift to mine, pleading and lust battling for controll. "Cruel, cruel woman" he whimpers.

One side of him is itching to do whatever he wants to you and the other begging for you to let him touch you. And you're about to make him beg for it.

#arcane silco #silco fic #silco x reader #silco fanfic #silco #silco x you #arcane #silco smut #silco league of legends #silco imagine #arcane smut #arcane imagine #league of legends smut

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cognacandlilac · 1 year ago

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To the Depths - Part Six - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) Promises and Pomegranates

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You come face to face against an impossible creature and it royally screws with your understanding of reality. Will Silco help you? Chapter Warnings/Tags: this chapter is SFW. Don't you worry, more smut is coming <3 A/N: Not beta'd because I'm trying to feed my momentum monster. She's starving and she's mean.

You stand in place, still staring up at the towering monster of living water. A part of your mind understands that it is about to snap at the ship like a wild animal but the thought is simply too impossible to comprehend.

“Torches!” Sevika shouts sharply enough to drag your attention back to the deck and crew. You are not the only one frozen with fear and disbelief. Most of the crew cannot seem to believe their eyes either.

“Torches!” Sevika snarls and shoves the nearest crewmember. This sends them scurrying off to illuminate the ship as much as possible. Your gaze drags back up the column of water to the beastly head and glowing eyes. Its neck reminds you somewhat of a snake, coiled to strike.

When its head darts forward toward the deck, you at least have the good sense to brace yourself. The beast thuds against the ship as though it is made of pure, solid matter. You are knocked clean off your feet, unable to stop yourself from colliding with the railing. Breath leaves your lungs in a sharp gust just in time for a rush of water to slam against your body.

Gasping, sputtering, and dazed, the only thing you can think to do is look for Silco but you don’t see him. An unexpected stab of pain blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with the physical blows your body just experienced.

He left you to fend for yourself.

You should not be surprised. Why would you expect anything different? So what if he danced with you and briefly participated in a conversation that didn’t consist of throwing insults at each other? That does not change the fact that you are a prisoner. Less than that, even. You��re a stolen commodity.

A lump rises in your throat and you tell yourself it’s because the pain in your right side is growing more intense by the moment. No other reason.

You know why you are here. You know where you stand.

The water creature lets out another shrill roar as its glowing eyes scan the deck. Your eyes follow the serpentine curve of its neck to where its body meets the deck and continues, rising over the railing, not unlike the way a snake’s body slides over a branch. Yet, as water pours off of its form, it never changes size.

It strikes again, aiming at Locke who manages to dive out of the way. Like before, the brace of its impact rocks the ship. This time, you are able to see the way water bursts from its body and rolls across the deck the way a rogue wave would roll across a calm sea.

What in the hell is it?

“Princess, you either need to get moving or get fighting. I don’t care which one you do. Just don’t get in the way.” Sevika brushes by you with a vicious look in her eyes as she attaches what looks to be some kind of miniature harpoon to the end of her mechanical arm.

You nod, though Sevika has already moved her attention back to the water creature.

“Bring its head down!” She barks at whoever is within earshot.

You try to make yourself move in any direction for any purpose but you simply can’t. Your mind is racing and grappling with the reality in front of you, leaving your body stuck in a state of awe and terror. It is only when a crewmate, the same one who nearly came to blows with Locke, crashes against the deck in front of you.

“Fuckin’ waterwyrms,” he grumbles as he scrambles to his feet just in time to avoid another wave rolling off the body of the beast.

A waterwyrm. An apt name that scratches along the outer edge of your frazzled memory. You cannot chase after it just now.

The clatter of metal pulls your attention and you realize a thick dagger has fallen from the belt of the swearing crewmate. You call out for him, realizing too late that you never learned his name. Not that it matters. You can’t see him anymore.

You reach for the dagger, figuring it’s better to arm yourself in one way or another while you decide what you’re going to do.

The storm the other day was frightening but familiar. You’d sailed through storms before. You knew what to do, to an extent and if you didn’t, the crew was there to set you right. But that isn’t the case now.

Only a handful of the crewmates crisscrossing the deck seem to know what they’re dealing with. The rest wear expressions you imagine are similar to the one on your face right now. You are not the only one out of your depth with this.

The dagger is heavier than you expected and, truth be told, you do not know how to wield it. The closest thing you’ve held to this is an engraved letter opener that you keep on your bedside table at home, just in case.

You struggle to decide whether or not to keep the dagger or discard it but you cannot remain rooted in place like this. You are completely unprotected. Once you find a bit of shelter, you can organize your thoughts, and pull yourself together.

A flickering instinct tugs at your mind. It whispers to you, urging you to find Captain Silco. He’s supposed to keep you from harm until you are returned safely to your father and fiance. That was the agreement.

A cruel stab of logic reminds you that not even Silco could offer absolute protection against a creature of myth and magic, especially not one that is determined to flood the ship with its watery form. Besides, Silco did not hesitate to abandon you once the waterwyrm rose from the black sea.

Another flash of hurt sears into your chest and you quickly replace the hurt with anger, unwilling to allow your ego to be bruised by that man more than it already has. Enough is enough. The familiar clarity of anger awakens the part of your mind that had gone hazy with shock at the sight of the waterwyrm.

You need to get to a safe place. Quickly. You flee, heading toward the stern, nearly tripping with every step as you do so. As much as you do not want to look at it, you keep your eyes fixed on the waterwyrm. Perhaps, if you were seeing it in a painting or sketch, you would find it beautiful but not here. Not when it’s real and dangerous and hell-bent on fracturing your reality. Things like this only exist in stories.

Then again, you thought Silco only existed in stories, and look how that has panned out for you.

With a soft groan, you keep moving forward. Even in the most dire of situations, the Captain still manages to snake his way to the forefront of your mind. The thought stokes your anger and you cling to it as you navigate around the scrambling crewmates and thrashing waterwyrm. It has slithered around to the port side of the ship, an equal distance from the bow and stern. This would be a good thing if you didn’t feel a spray of water coming from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see its watery, snake-like tail rising on the opposite side of the ship.

You’ve seen plenty of sketches of mythical krakens wrapping their tentacles around ships to squeeze them into splitters. Could a waterwyrm do such a thing?

The tail swings like a whip, heading right toward you. You dive forward, evading the tail but you’ve realized you’re now scrambling to find your footing right beside the great neck of the beast. You gaze up, tipping your face all the way back to look at its head. Its attention is drawn elsewhere, for the moment. Instead of moving away, you feel the weight of the dagger in your hand.

You look at the rippling, translucent body of the waterwyrm. Surely, if it is solid enough to perch on the deck as it wreaks havoc, it is solid enough to feel the pierce of a blade. Without thinking twice, you lift the dagger and stab it into the side of the waterwyrm. The dagger pieces its watery hide like a hot knife through butter.

It does…nothing.

No, that isn’t true. It’s done something. It’s gotten the beast's attention. The waterwyrm’s serpentine neck swivels and bends, bringing its head down until it is looking you right in the eye. Those blue orbs glow and shine like fire. It has no pupils but you know it’s looking right at you, into you.

With a low, gurgling hiss, it opens its mouth.

The anger that propelled you forward evaporates, leaving you with nothing but a cold, hollow sense of fear. You cannot move. You are vaguely aware that the dagger has slipped from your hand and has clattered onto the deck.

Every inch of your skin, every drop of blood, every bone screams at you to run but you can’t. You can’t look away from the waterwyrm’s eyes. Now you see the beauty of such a creature, though the notion is far from soothing.

You will be swallowed up by its hungry maw.

You wonder if it will kill you by drowning or if its teeth are more solid than they appear. You wonder which you’d prefer. Probably the latter. You’ve never seen someone drown, but enough of your father’s men have had close enough brushes with such a watery death that you know it’s unpleasant.

It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve pondered your own death. It always seemed like such a faraway thing. An inevitable thing, like a candle blowing out. You would be here and then you would be gone. You never gave much thought to what happened in between. The act of dying itself.

A crack rings out and it doesn’t fully register with you that something has happened before the waterwyrm’s head reels back. It snarls and snaps, howling with rage. Something bright and sparkling falls in front of your face.

“Yes!” Jinx’s delighted laugh is out of place with everything happening around you as she appears by your side. She scoops up the bright, shining thing. With a slow blink, you realize it’s one of the waterwyrm’s eyes. She slips it into her pocket. Its glow is so intense it shines through the fabric of her pants.

“You should probably move,” Jinx says, putting a hand on your shoulder and tugging you back toward the weather deck. “I just made that thing really angry and I still need the other eye.”

She turns you a little and gives you a small shove in the direction of the weather deck. There, at the top of the steps, you see Silco with a rifle in hand. As always, he looks eerily still amongst the chaos. His ocean eye is bright and focused as he watches the waterwyrm.

You dart forward and start to climb the stairs, but your legs have gone wobbly. You stumble near the top, reaching out and catching yourself on his leg to keep yourself from sliding down the steep steps.

“You’re alright, treasure.” You feel a large, gentle hand on the back of your head. “Stay right there. This will be over and done with soon.”

Several words leap into your mouth but none of them make it past your tongue. You find that you can do nothing but cling to his leg and hope his words ring true.

“Line it up for me, minnow,” Silco orders. You see a flash of blue as Jinx scrambles up the nearest mast and begins to wave and shout at the waterwyrm. The half-blind beast whips its head around, teeth bared and snarling with fury. You close your eyes, not wanting to look upon it anymore but that is worse. The moment you close your eyes, all you see is the waterwyrm bearing down on you, ready to devour you. Your eyes snap back open just as the waterwyrm strikes at Jinx. Its head moves into the perfect position for Silco to take the shot, and he does. Another crack rings out, shooting right into your bones. The second glowing eye comes loose. This time, Jinx is able to catch it before it hits the deck.

And then, you aren’t fully sure what happens. The waterwyrm moans weakly, its head swaying as it struggles to keep itself upright. It begins to collapse, as though it’s been mortally wounded rather than blinded. You cling harder to Silco’s leg, bracing for an impact that could be severe enough to damage the ship. Just before the waterwyrm’s limp body hits the deck, it melts into water. Thick droplets of seawater smash into the surface of the deck like a vicious rain, but that’s all that happens.

Your brow furrows with confusion before you look up at Silco. He sets the rifle aside before reaching down to help you to your feet. Around you, the crew checks for damage to the ship. Some look exhausted and annoyed. Most look as confused as you feel. Sevika looks as though she’s just eaten a whole lemon. You briefly wonder what she must have seen in her life for something like the waterwyrm to be considered little more than an inconvenience.

“Those glowing stones gave life to the water,” Silco explains, his voice gentle and filled with patience that makes something hurt inside of your chest. “Remove the stones, remove the problem. The stones are very valuable as well, as you can probably imagine.”

You nod, though it’s a jerky, automatic response to his words. You hear them. You know what you saw. But your mind just refuses to accept that something like that can exist in your world.

“Are you hurt?” Silco keeps speaking to you in that low, gentle voice. You hate it. You don’t want to see that softness in him. You don’t want it to steady you or soothe you.

“I’m fine,” you manage, though you’re not certain that’s the truth. You feel like you are going to keel over at any second.

“You’re bleeding.” Jinx glides up to your side, ever the helpful little wraith, and lightly touches your arm. Sure enough, there is a gash stretching nearly from elbow to wrist on the underside of your forearm. You can’t even feel it, though you decide that’s a good thing for now.

“Get her down to the doctor, minnow.” Silco’s good eye fills with something you refuse to acknowledge as regret, possibly even worry, when he looks at the wound on your arm.

“So much for not allowing damage to your cargo,” you mutter as you let Jinx lead you below deck. She takes you to the bottom level of the ship. You pass dozens of hammocks strung up and layered over each other as well as an assortment of trunks and personal belongings.

“Do you sleep down here?” You ask her.

“I bunk on my own,” Jinx explains, but does not offer more details.

You pass three iron cells, each fitted with several pairs of shackles. They are all empty and, thankfully, look as though they’ve been empty for a while. You briefly wonder if you were meant to occupy one of the cells. Why did Silco insist on watching over you so closely when he could have thrown you down here and been done with it?

Just past the cells is a solid wall made from spare bits of wood. Though it looks sturdy enough, it’s quite slapdash. Gaps between planks allow you to see glimpses into the room beyond. The wood bulges and indents in strange ways. With a small start, you realize the wall is made of pieces of other ships. Perhaps, ships the Zaun’s Revenge attacked and scuttled while looking for goods.

There are two crude doors set into the makeshift wall.

“I sleep there.” Jinx points to one of the doors. Its placement against the wall implies that it’s the smaller of the two rooms. She points to the other door. “That leads to the laboratory. It’s best if you wait for me or the Captain to bring you down here if you ever have a need to see the doctor.”

“Oh?”

“He’s nice, usually,” Jinx shrugs. “But he gets very annoyed if his work is interrupted. He’ll always help you if you need it, though.”

Jinx raps her knuckles against the door. Through the gaps in the slats, you see warm candlelight but also some kind of glowing, purplish light you cannot envision a source for. There is no answer from inside the laboratory but that doesn’t stop Jinx from pushing in.

The room is small, though the curved hull of the ship that makes up one wall allows for a little extra space. All manner of indistinguishable items have been cleverly stored where the room comes together to form the underside of the bow.

Tucked against the curved wall is a desk cast in shadow by a tall, thin figure whose black coat seems to eat the light around him. Shelves fitted to the curve of the hull contain jar after jar of that strange purple powder. The jars glow faintly in the darkness of the room.

The man does not look up from his desk nor does he acknowledge the presence of two new people in the cramped space.

“This is where I work on projects.” Jinx taps a cluttered workbench stocked to the point of overflowing with metal bits and bobs, screws, nuts, bolts, and plenty more objects that you can’t identify. The walls around her workbench are covered in sketches and schematics, designs of a mechanical nature. You spot a page with the words ‘MAGNETIC CANNONBALL’ scrawled across the top in big, messy letters surrounded by complex equations you can’t ever hope to untangle. The sight makes you smile a little.

“Mr. Doctor, we are in need of your assistance,” Jinx chirps and taps on the bony shoulder of the man. He glances back at her with a foggy look that is somehow both dazed and focused. He wears a cloth tied around the lower half of his face in some kind of makeshift mask.

“Hm,” he grunts softly before turning around to face you fully. You bite the inside of your cheek so you do not react to the severe burns covering the previously hidden side of his face. His other eye is surrounded by scar tissue so thick he can barely open it, which doesn’t seem to matter since the eye itself is a pale, milky color. Despite that, you can still make out dark hollows under both of his eyes.

His functional eye quickly examines your body, spotting the laceration on your arm.

“What happened there?”

You open your mouth to explain, but you aren’t actually sure how you injured yourself. “I’m not sure. I fell a few times during the waterwyrm’s attack.”

The doctor’s nonexistent eyebrows shift upward. “Waterwyrm?”

“Yes, one just gave us a hell of a fight.” Jinx’s eyes spark with pride. “Nothing we couldn’t handle though. It looks like everything held up in here just fine.”

She looks toward the shelves and she’s right. Despite the viciousness of the waterwyrm’s attack, not even a single pen looks as if it’s rolled out of place.

“Good, good,” he nods, taking a step forward on spindly legs. “Come into the light, please.”

You do as you are asked, holding out your arm for him to examine. His long fingers wrap around your wrist and put the icy grip of the reaper to shame with their coldness.

“You truly did not notice that the ship was under attack Mr…Doctor?”

“I have learned how to maintain focus in even the most unlikely situations. Besides, the Captain and crew are more than capable of handling any dangers the sea flings at us.” He chuckles softly, the sound reminiscent of scraping bones, before speaking again. “Singed. Only the little one calls me Mr. Doctor.”

Singed. Surely, that is not his true name. You find yourself staring at the ruin of his face until you remember yourself and force your eyes down.

“It’s quite alright,” Singed says as he moves to one of the heavily stocked shelves and retrieves squares of pristine white cloth and two glass vials each the size of your thumb. “For all of my faults, vanity was never one of them.”

He holds up the first vial filled with clear liquid. “Clean your wound with this first and wait for the bleeding to stop.” He holds up the second vial, half filled with liquid the same vibrant purple as the powder. “This will encourage healing. I suggest you ask the Captain for assistance. It is most potent in its liquid form.”

“But what is it?” You ask softly, taking both of the vials as well as the scraps of clean cloth.

“Have you received advanced education in biology, chemistry, anatomy, pathology, and alchemy?”

Your eyes widen. “I have not.”

“Then all you need to know is that this is something that will help you.” There is a slightly condescending tone in the doctor’s voice but you don’t have the energy to let it pinch your pride.

“We call it shimmer,” Jinx says with a helpful smile.

“You call it shimmer,” Singed corrects, turning his attention back to his desk. “That is an inaccurate and purely cosmetic name.”

“It’s catching on with the crew so you should get used to it,” Jinx shrugs before ushering you out of the cramped laboratory.

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder but Singed is already engrossed in his work once more. You follow Jinx above deck, staring at the little vial of glowing purple liquid. The crew has largely recovered from dealing with the waterwyrm. Considering the violence of the attack, it did little damage to the ship.

“Oh, rats!” Jinx groans softly, lightly placing her fingers over the glowing stones in her pocket. “I forgot to give these to Mr. Doctor.” She hurries back below deck, leaving you alone. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful for the solitude or not.

Your mind still feels caught, stretched thin over the gap between what you thought you knew and what you now know to be true. You move toward the Captain’s cabin without thinking about it.

There are stones that somehow bring water to life. You grew up listening to myths and legends from all corners of the world. While many were soaked in magic and impossibility, you also knew the ocean still held many secrets and mysteries. You just didn’t think the secrets would be so close to the myths.

Desperate for something to occupy your mind, you dig through your memories for scraps of any myth containing the waterwyrm. Nothing comes to mind. Frustrated, you push into the Captain’s cabin to find it empty. Both relief and disappointment settle like stones on your chest. You toss the stone of disappointment away and will yourself to be happy for a moment to tend to your wounds alone.

While the bed looks welcoming, you choose to perch on the desk instead. You briefly consider sitting in Silco’s chair but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

It’s…his. Somehow, sitting in that chair feels more intimate than sharing a bed.

You place the vials and the cloth on an empty part of the desk.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the image of your hands intertwined with his, bent over the desk, as he took you from behind fills your mind. Something tugs low in your belly as the need for a distraction attempts to disguise itself as desire.

Your upper lip curls in forced disgust, but you cannot summon any anger behind the motion. You call your anger over and over, wishing to wrap yourself in it to shield yourself from the strange feelings fighting to form within you. It does not come.

With a slow, deep breath, you turn your attention to the clean cloth squares and the first vial of clear liquid. You open it and take a sniff. It’s nothing more than a simple disinfectant if your nose is to be trusted.

Singed instructed you to ask the Captain for help with the shimmer. Even if the idea of asking Silco for help was palatable, you aren’t sure you want to put shimmer anywhere near an open wound without a better understanding of what it is.

You soak one of the cloths in a small amount of disinfectant and brace yourself as you press it to your wound. The stinging pain rips through you, far worse than the pain of the injury itself.

Tears prick at the backs of your eyes and you go stone still, keeping the cloth pressed to your wound. The threat of tears has allowed a tiny spark of anger to rise. You clutch those sparks hard and throw them against the feeling your tears wish to bring forth. The sting grows until you can’t stand it anymore.

Just as you remove the cloth from your wound with a small sound of frustration and anguish, the cabin door opens.

“There you are.” Silco steps into the room and lets the door swing shut behind him. He locks it with mindless movements as his eye focuses on the sight of you sitting on the edge of his desk. Worry flickers behind his ocean eye. “What are you doing?”

“The kind doctor gave me something to patch myself up with.” You hold up the cloth as though it’s obvious. “The experience has been less than pleasant.”

“Have you ever had to tend to a wound like that before?” He asks, that horrible softness returning to his voice as he approaches you.

“I think you know the answer to that.” You try to put a little bite in your voice but fail to do so.

“Perhaps, but I’ve learned several times now that underestimating you is a foolish thing to do.” He takes the cloth from your hand without a word and frowns. “Did you dilute this at all?”

Your cheeks feel hot. “The doctor didn’t mention that I’d need to do so.”

Silco removes the seal on the water pitcher near the vanity and wets the cloth before adding a drop or two of the disinfectant. “This will get the job done and sting far, far less.”

You hold out your hand to take the cloth but he ignores it. He moves close once more and holds your injured arm in his free hand before gently cleaning the rest of the gash. The sting is still there, but its bite is far less vicious. You find that you are able to breathe with some normalcy again, though something heavy still sits on your chest.

“Ah,” Silco murmurs as he spots the vial of shimmer. “Excellent.”

“I don’t want…whatever that is,” you say quickly.

“It’s perfectly safe when administered correctly, I assure you.” He opens the vial and the cabin is soon filled with a sweet, medicinal scent that makes your nose tingle. “I use it every day.”

You tilt your head. “You do?”

He meets your gaze before bringing his fingertips to the scars around his ruined eye. “It is the only thing that keeps the infection from progressing. It dulls the pain as well. I wouldn’t be fit to man a rowboat let alone captain a vessel without it.”

“Oh.” Your gaze dips to the vial in his hand before falling silent.

Silco leans forward, bending down a little so his face is level with yours. “What, no quips? Surely, you can think of some remark to make about such a substance turning me inhuman.”

You say nothing.

“Not even a little jab at my charming personality and wonderful temperament?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice but that softness still remains.

You shake your head. You aren’t in the mood to trade barbed remarks, not that your mind would cooperate with you if you were.

Silco sighs softly and returns his attention to the shimmer vial. He moves away from you for a moment to fish something out of one of the desk drawers. You hear something clinking and glance over from the corner of your eye. He holds a small glass eyedropper, which he cleans thoroughly with the remaining disinfectant.

“This will make it easier,” he explains. “You really won’t need more than a drop or two.”

“Will…?” You start to ask but you swallow your question down, hoping he’ll be gracious enough to pretend you hadn’t spoken at all.

“Will what, treasure?” He finishes cleaning the eyedropper and dries it off before giving you an expectant look.

“Will it hurt?” The sting of the disinfectant nearly brought you to tears. Another strike of pain would be too much for you to fight through and you were not going to cry. Certainly, not in front of Silco.

“Yes, but it’s an unusual sort of pain,” he explains. “It’s intense, but it’s quick. A bit like someone flashing a bright light in your eyes unexpectedly. Your senses will feel scrambled but, like I said, it’s quick.”

He loads up the eyedropper with just two drops of the violent purple liquid and takes hold of your arm once more. He looks at you, waiting for permission. You nod.

A single shining drop falls from the end of the eyedropper onto your wound. You feel a tingling sensation for a fraction of a moment before something unlike anything you’ve ever felt before wracks through your body. Too much air is crammed into your lungs yet it also feels as though the wind has been knocked from your chest. Your veins feel as though they widening and narrowing, wriggling beneath your skin. It’s unbearable.

And then it’s gone.

You gasp hard and brace on the desk.

“Easy, treasure,” Silco’s voice tethers you to reality.

Your mind scrambles to right itself. You feel exposed, vulnerable. Your anger has failed you so you fight to call forth anything else that will shield you from the terrible weight on your chest and the tightness in your throat.

His quick hands wrap your forearm in soft, clean bandages before you have a chance to see what your wound looks like now. Already, you note the absence of physical pain.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of your shirt. Tears spring forth but you quickly scoot off the desk to stand in the middle of the room, out of his reach.

“I’m rather tired.” You keep your back to him as you blink and blink and blink.

“I imagine so.” His boots thud against the wooden floor as he moves to stand behind you but he does not try to touch you again. “You’ve had quite a fright.”

Once again, you feel a tiny spark of your anger ignite but it’s not enough to catch fire and burn away the terrible feeling that creeps in around you. You are not yet in control of your emotions enough to speak, to deny his words.

“Most of the crew is in the same boat as you are, so to speak,” he says. “Waterwyrms are incredibly rare. I’ve only seen three, myself. Seeing something like that for the first time can be rattling.”

“I am not rattled,” you hiss. You clench your hands into fists to hide how much they shake as you move toward the bed. You sit down and fumble with the lacings of your boots until you’re able to shuck them off. “I’m tired.”

For a moment, Silco looks as though he’s going to press the matter. A small part of you, one that you’d like to squash beneath your heel, wishes he would.

He takes a half step back and nods. “Get some sleep, then. You’ve earned it.”

He takes a seat at his desk and goes through the motions of clipping and lighting a fresh cigar. The warm, spiced smell of it banishes the lingering scent of disinfectant and shimmer from the cabin. Something in your chest loosens, but you’re not sure if it’s a good thing.

You slip out of your breeches and crawl under the covers, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you can with your back to Silco. The only sounds in the room are the faint scratching of his pen across parchment and his soft exhales whenever he takes a puff of his cigar. It’s not enough to hold your focus.

Your mind begins to spin again. Your heart slams against your ribs but you tell yourself it’s nothing more than your body responding to the shimmer.

You are not rattled. You are not frightened. You can handle this. You have handled everything life has flung cruelly into your path and you will continue to do so. You will remain in control, just as you always have.

But you know that’s not true. The words float through your mind like a lullaby despite the threat they pose to your quickly fracturing resolve. It’s never been true.

It becomes harder to keep your breathing slow and even. That horrible feeling continues to tighten its grip around your throat, growing stronger and stronger until you fear you won’t be able to break loose. You won’t be able to keep it at bay. You’ll have to feel it and know the truth of it.

You are not rattled. You are not frightened.

You’re terrified.

And the moment you let yourself feel that terror, you’ll be lost.

Fear claws at your throat and sits on your chest, prepared to suffocate you. Already, you can feel it seeping through your skin and stealing your breath.

Fear has come for you before, but you fought it off. It pounced on you the day your mother died but you evaded it, letting grief shield you. It tried to ambush you again the day your father abandoned you at the family estate but your anger was so great and so fierce that fear could not touch you.

Now, your grief was a quiet, content creature resting near your heart alongside the memory of your mother. And your anger…where was it? How could it have abandoned you and left you so vulnerable?

There had to be something you could do. Fear would not reach you this time. It never had and it never will.

Not true. Not true. Not true. The words skitter across your brain, less gentle than they were before.

You fight the urge to scream, choosing to bite the inside of your cheek instead. It's no use. The truth has started to seep through the cracks of your mind and you have nowhere left to run. No place to hide.

How close will you allow yourself to come to madness for the sake of clinging to such a fragile illusion?

You only believed yourself to be capable because you had never faced a true challenge. Now that you had, now that you stared the waterwyrm in the eyes and saw death, you can no longer hide from what you are. A small, scared, stupid girl who doesn’t know a single thing about the world.

You do not have the strength or skills to survive on your own without your father’s money and protection. If you fled your engagement, you might as well forfeit your life. If you allowed yourself to be caged within the gilded bars of marriage and societal expectations, you would never feel alive again.

One way or another, death surrounds you. It does not matter if it’s a death of your body or a death of your spirit. Both are equally devastating in your eyes. There is no escape.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood as you keep fighting the cold sense of fear that tries to wrap you in its embrace. You can’t give in to it. You can’t allow yourself to feel it. You’d never be able to pull yourself out if you did. You don’t bother trying to call on your anger to help you keep fear at bay. You realize now that it did not abandon you. You’ve simply burned it all up.

Only the faintest scrap of pride allows you to hold yourself together. If you are going to fall apart, it will not be on this damn ship surrounded by these damn pirates.

You are so caught up in your own mind that you do not realize Silco has moved until you feel the bed shift beside you. You stay still, pretending to be asleep, not that it matters. Aside from your failed attempt to bring yourself some relief last night, Silco keeps his distance from you in bed.

He shifts and rolls a bit before he seems to settle. Thinking he has fallen asleep, you allow your mind to resume its heavy task of stopping your fears from consuming you.

A hand presses against your back. Your breath catches in your throat and it takes every bit of your frayed self-control to keep up the act of pretending to sleep.

“Brave girl,” comes Silco’s soft whisper, so quiet you are unsure if you were meant to hear those words or not.

Warmth spreads across your back, radiating from his palm. If you focus, you can feel the shape of every long, thin finger. It may be exhaustion, the shimmer, or the fact that you had your toe over the line of madness just a moment ago but you swear you feel him pressing against your back with every breath you take. His movements, if he’s moving at all, are slow and faint. When you feel him press, you extend your exhale. When he lightens the pressure, you inhale. Over and over until your breathing slows and your heart calms.

The urge to check if he’s awake or say his name gently pulls at you, but you let it pass. The peace of this moment is a fragile, hard-won thing that you aren’t ready to give up. Besides, if he actually is asleep and this is all in your head, you’d rather keep that to yourself. You continue to breathe slowly, focused on the way his hand feels against your back, and eventually allow sleep to take you.

********

When you wake, you roll over to find an empty bed. You open your eyes, expecting to see Silco sitting at his desk like he usually does but he isn’t there. A small amount of relief fills you. You’re spared from confronting him after…whatever that was last night.

Maybe you sent yourself into such a deep state of distress that you imagined it. But then that means that you imagined him for comfort, which might be worse.

Your mind still feels clouded and sluggish as you dress and leave the cabin. Above deck, the air is still and there is not a cloud in the sky. The Zaun’s Revenge bobs gently on a calm sea. To the west, you spot a strip of land but no distinguishing landmarks that might tell you where you are. Your eyes scan the deck for Silco, but you do not see him. There does not seem to be any work to be done so you head below deck to the galley.

Arlo has already started preparing for the evening meal, causing you to realize just how late you’ve slept in. You offer to help, he accepts. Soon, you are chopping onions. Your eyes burn and your mincing skills leave much to be desired, but your mind is occupied. Plus, you are learning something new. That always makes you feel better, more in control of yourself.

“You seem a bit out of sorts,” Arlo says. “Something on your mind?”

“That waterwyrm has rudely forced me to reexamine my understanding of the world and my place in it,” you answer. “It’s been horribly inconvenient.” “Oh, I see. That happened to me the first time I saw something like that. It wasn’t a waterwyrm, though. The carcass of an ushkya floated to the surface. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“A what?” You hope you won’t regret asking.

“An ushkya. Merfolk use them similar to the way humans use horses. They’re actually quite gentle by nature. I’ve seen a few wild ones before. Their fangs make them look scarier than they are. I’d go as far as to say they’re more docile than horses.”

Your mouth drops open. You regret asking. “I am not in a position to take in that information.”

“Fair. How are you getting along with those onions?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.” You dab at your onion tears with the back of your hand. “I hope you like a bit of a rough chop.”

“It’ll do just fine. You aren’t cooking for the Council,” he chuckles and rests an affirming hand on your shoulder. “Keep at it. I have plenty of work for you when you’re done.”

Time ticks by in the kitchen as you and Arlo take turns teaching each other things. It will be a while before he can read properly, but he knows how certain words look written down, which is an excellent start. The two of you make a plan to redo all of the labels in the scullery. Having a plan like that makes you smile. It’ll keep you occupied during the days and will hopefully make your imprisonment pass quicker.

“Ah, so is this where I can expect to find you when you vanish from the cabin?” At the sound of Silco’s voice, you are flooded with memories of his hand on your back. You can feel the pressure between your shoulders as you turn around to face him.

“If I say yes, does that mean the longboats will be left unattended?” You fire back.

“Glad to see the stress of last night has not dulled your wit. You’re going to need it.”

“Why?”

“We’re going ashore. I have to meet with an associate of mine and I know better than to leave you to your own devices.” A small smirk twitches in the corner of his mouth but it is not accompanied by the usual mean glint in his eye.

“Scared I’ll ambush you with another oar attack, pirate?” You say, moving out of the kitchen with an indifferent look though you are glad to be back in the familiar territory of banter and quick remarks.

“If I remember correctly, I was the one who snuck up on you,” he says.

“But my first instinct was still to give you a good whack,” you point out, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

“True.”

Silco starts to lead you out of the galley but you pause and look over your shoulder.

“Will you get on without me, Arlo?” you ask.

“I’ll be fine. We can start our labeling project when you return if you’re up for it.” Arlo’s gaze darts to Silco and his face pales a little bit. “With the Captain’s permission, of course.”

You turn your head and look up at Silco, arching a brow.

“Hm,” he mutters before ushering you above deck. He lowers his head so his mouth is close to your ear. “Should I be concerned by how well you are ingratiating yourself with my crew?”

“Probably,” you shrug. “Do I need to put on that beloved harlot costume again?”

“Beloved indeed,” he chuckles lowly. “But no. Port Squawkfeather is not quite as…colorful as Port Fairna. You are perfectly fine as you are. Unless, of course, you secretly liked playing the harlot and wish to do so again.”

“Hold your breath and find out.” You smile sweetly before turning your attention to the port in question.

“Ever the charmer.” Silco stands by your side as the Zaun’s Revenge docks and the gangplank is lowered.

Despite its unusual name, Port Squawkfeather looks orderly and clean for a pirate haven. From what you can see, there is some form of authority patrolling the docks and the shore. They bear a discreet insignia that looks strikingly similar to a waterwyrm.

The small port town is clustered on a spit of land between a narrow, pebbly beach and sandstone rock formations that vary in height. A few structures stand on plateaus scattered across the cliff faces, but most of the buildings appear to be concentrated around the mouth of the port.

“What business do you have here?” You ask, glancing at Silco from the corner of your eye. You don’t expect an answer but you can’t help but ask. Silco is certainly making quite a few stops for someone with a valuable hostage underfoot.

“I’m sure you recall the blue stones that served as the waterwyrm’s eyes. I plan to sell them. They are extremely valuable,” he replies. “Even more valuable than you.”

“I am worth less than a pair of glowing rocks?” You scoff.

“These are not just rocks. The power they contain is unlike anything else in the world. Those stones contain pure arcane energy.”

“And you would sell them to the highest bidder?” You arch a brow.

“Of course. I do not have the resources to harness their power myself so I may as well make a profit from them.”

He offers his arm, which you take, and the two of you disembark.

“Are you going to make me sit in your lap in a dingy tavern again?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “You aren’t wearing a skirt. I won’t be able to have any fun.”

His words bring a hot blush to your cheeks. You fix your gaze straight ahead and hope he does not notice. Once more, you feel the ghost of his hand on your back, guiding you through your breaths.

The entrance of the docks feeds into a well-maintained dirt road that leads right to a lively market. Instead of walking down that road, Silco cuts to the left and walks along the shore for a time.

“I hope you can handle a small climb, treasure,” he says before turning off the path onto a thin trail that snakes up the side of a sandstone formation. “I won’t carry you if you feel faint.”

“I’d rather be left in the dust than rely on you to carry me,” you reply, though a touch of worry reaches your heart. You nibbled on a few things while assisting Arlo, but you haven’t had a proper meal since last night’s dinner.

The trail isn’t steep but it snakes back and forth along the side of the cliff, carrying you higher and higher with each twist. The trail dips into a valley dotted with scraggly bushes before traveling up the side of another sandstone formation.

Sweat breaks out across your forehead and your throat feels scratchy and dry, but you don’t say anything. Silco doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear. It’s unlikely he has anything on his person that can relieve your discomfort so there is no point in opening yourself up to ridicule, especially after he saw you in such a vulnerable state last night.

It is a hot day and the air is dry. Your legs ache from walking at an incline for so long. As much as you want to ask Silco for a moment to stop and catch your breath, you push onward.

Each step gives you a frail sense of reassurance.

You aren’t weak. You aren’t helpless. You’re capable.

Even as your lungs burn and sparks tease the corners of your vision, you take comfort in your ability to keep pushing.

You are resilient.

The panic brought on by the waterwyrm was a fluke. A perfectly reasonable lapse in judgment, all things considered.

You are fine. You have always been fine. You will continue to be fine.

Is there not something better than fine? That wicked little voice whispers to you but you shut it out. Now is not the time. You must focus all of your energy on not collapsing on this forsaken trail.

“Steady now, treasure. Our destination is atop the plateau, just there.” Silco seems a little out of breath himself when he gestures to where the path curves just up ahead.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply, ignoring the slight wheeze in your voice as you speak. If Silco noticed, he has enough grace to refrain from commenting on it.

You round the bend and the land flattens. Straight ahead, the path extends into a flat stretch that overlooks the port below and the ocean beyond. To the left, there is a small, slapdash house that looks to be made of driftwood, thatch, and other salvaged materials but that isn’t what captures your attention. The trees surrounding the home are filled with brilliant-colored parrots. Their feathers are a deep ruby shade that almost seems unnatural. They chitter and squawk as you and Silco approach. They fix you in their beady gazes but do nothing.

Now you know how Port Squawkfeather got its name.

“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” You ask, moving a little closer to Silco.

“An old associate of mine,” Silco says.

Just before he knocks on the door, another parrot flutters over and perches on a specially-made stand near the door. Unlike the others, this parrot is a deep azure, blue as the sea.

“Oooh, visitors!” It screeches as it flaps its wings. “Get your ass out here, ya drunk!”

“Good heavens,” you chuckle softly at the bird. “I wonder where he learned to say such a thing.”

“You’re about to find out, treasure.”

The door to the driftwood cabin flings open and in the doorway stands the oddest man you have ever seen. Spindly legs support a bloated belly that leads to narrow shoulders and skinny arms. He wears a shirt of bold coral splashed with an assortment of random, vibrant colors that resemble tropical blooms. A hat of woven straw sits atop his head, blocking the sun from a leathery face and brilliant blue eyes that are almost white. He also wears trousers shorn choppily to knee-length. On his feet are sandals that look to be made of the same material as his hat.

“Captain Jimmy,” Silco says with a sense of familiarity and a warm smile. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Damn right, I haven’t!” The man cackles. When Silco extends his hand for a shake, Captain Jimmy pulls him into a tight hug. “Glad to see you aren’t dead, my lad!”

You bite back a laugh at the display. Silco looks like a cat that has just been doused with cold water.

“I could say the same to you.” His discomfort is palpable and you see no reason to intervene. The azure parrot makes a squawking noise that sounds like a human chuckle. You glance at the bird with a fond smile. It gazes back at you as if it can read your thoughts. Its gaze is so intense that you find yourself looking away.

Silco has managed to extract himself from the eccentric man’s embrace. “I’m not here on a social call, I’m afraid. I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Captain Jimmy raises a bushy grey brow before sliding his gaze over to you. “Well, she’s pretty but I don’t deal in that sort of trade. You know that.”

“Oh! No,” Silco shakes his head and stammers. “Not her. She’s a different sort of investment.”

You huff with indignation at his choice of words but say nothing.

“I’d prefer to discuss this inside,” Silco presses.

“Shady deal! Shady deal!” The azure parrot screeches.

“Hush now, Barnaby!” Captain Jimmy snaps. “I know damn well Captain Silco brings me nothing but shady deals. You needn’t insult me by stating the obvious.”

The parrot looks abashed. You did not know a parrot could convey such an expression.

“Come in,” Captain Jimmy steps to the side and ushers you and Silco into his home.

The inside of the small home reminds you of Silco’s cabin. It is crammed to the gills with interesting baubles, trinkets, and artifacts.

You try to hide your surprise when Captain Jimmy waits for the blue parrot, Barnaby, to fly into the sitting room. The parrot settles on a perch in the corner of the room.

“You look thirsty, lass,” Captain Jimmy says to you. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” you say, summoning your most charming smile. Once Captain Jimmy has moved out of sight, you turn to Silco. “You should take notes in regards to manners.”

“Oh, I think I’ve been more than generous with you, treasure,” he murmurs with a glimmer in his eye. “At least, that’s the impression I got when you screamed my name-”

“Hush!” You snap just before Captain Jimmy returns carrying two hollowed-out coconuts.

“One for you and one for me, lass,” he grins, showing off several missing teeth.

“You’re too kind,” you say as you take in the fruity fragrances of the drink he offered. You take a sip and can’t help but sigh at the sensation of sweet flavors exploding on your tongue. “Oh, this is lovely! What is it?”

“A carefully curated and blended assortment of fruit juices from the surrounding land. Though it looks rather barren, this place is a treasure trove of natural wonder.” “Oh, I’m sure,” you nod as you take another deep sip of the delicious juice. “I can’t imagine those parrots would stick around otherwise.” Through the window, you can see clusters of ruby-red parrots chirping at each other and fluttering their striking wings.

“True enough!” Captain Jimmy cackles. “Shame I can’t get rid of this one.” He jerks a thumb toward Barnaby, who fluffs up his feathers as though he’s heard every word.

“Old bastard,” Barnaby croaks.

“Waste of poultry,” Captain Jimmy fires back.

Before you can comment on the odd exchange, Silco speaks up.

“As much as I’d like to chat, I am here for a reason.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a pouch. You recognize the faint blue glow bleeding through the fabric. “What sort of trouble have you brought me now?” Captain Jimmy grumbles as he sets down his hollow coconut. You sip at your drink while Silco spills the two glowing blue stones into his palm.

“We ran into a waterwyrm and got these for our trouble,” he says. “Any chance you can give me gold in exchange for them?”

Captain Jimmy thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No gold but I have a decent trade, I believe. Let me see.” He gets to his feet and walks toward an empty wall before pulling down a sheet of canvas covered in writing. There is so much information and you struggle to understand what you read.

You see a list of creatures listed out in a neat collum, the waterwyrm among them. When it is all laid out in front of you, you understand. The night in the tavern at Port Fairna, you believed Silco and his associates to be speaking in code. Now, you realize you were mistaken. Every mythical creature you heard mentioned that night is plastered on the canvas in front of you. If the waterwyrm is real, you cannot deny that the others must be real, too.

So, what does that make Silco? Is he a pirate? Does he poach creatures of myth for money? Is he more than that? Is he less than that?

“They’re all real?” You murmur softly, more to yourself than either of the men as you take another refreshing sip of the sweet juice.

“All these?” Captain Jimmy responds, rapping his bony knuckles against the canvas sheet. “Of course!” He shoots Silco a withering look. “Have you taught her nothing?”

“She has a talent for learning things on her own,” Silco replies.

You are too caught up in reading the list of creatures to throw a verbal barb back at Silco. At first, you’re pleased that you recognize most of the creatures listed from studying various mythologies but you quickly withdraw your enthusiasm.

After witnessing the waterwyrm, nothing should give you much of a shock but seeing just how many fairytales are actually true makes you feel uneasy. That horrible feeling of uncertainty and imbalance squeezes at your throat again. Your breath comes a little quicker but you hide it by taking quick sips of your drink. You feel lightheaded but you are determined to breathe through it.

“Would you like another drink, lass?” Captain Jimmy offers.

“Yes, thank you,” you say. “It is quite a trek to get to your hidden abode.”

Captain Jimmy takes your hollow coconut to refill it. When he’s out of sight, Silco places his hand over yours.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Just tired. Out of breath. I’m not used to walking over such challenging terrain,” you say. Silco’s good eye narrows just a touch and you can tell he doesn’t fully believe you. Before he can press the matter, Captain Jimmy returns.

“Here you are, lass. Careful now,” he cautions. “Few can handle more than three servings of my juice.”

“Why is that?” You ask before taking a long sip, allowing the sweetness to settle your nerves.

“Well, I mix it with the most potent rum found west of Ionia,” he replies. “It’s not for the faint of heart nor drink.”

You swallow your last swig and summon a smile. “Is that so? I can’t taste anything other than fruit juice.”

“That’s the trick of it,” Captain Jimmy lets out a wheezing laugh. “It sneaks up on you.”

“May we return to business, please?” Silco cuts in, a soft snarl in his voice. You fall silent, more than happy to let the attention move away from you.

Barnaby flutters over, his wings creating small gusts that send your loose hair flying.

“Drink up, pretty one,” he chitters. “Drink up!”

“You are a very clever bird,” you murmur to him. “Do you like to be pet?”

“Pretty lady pet pretty bird.”

“Oh, I see,” you chuckle softly and run a fingertip over Barnaby’s sapphire head. He rumbles softly as you lavish affection upon him.

“I don’t have enough gold to buy a mermaid’s wish, but I can arrange a trade.”

At the word mermaid, you return your attention to the conversation between Captain Jimmy and Silco. Silco’s upper lip twitches as he shakes his head.

“I need gold, Jimmy. I can’t go through the trouble of trade after trade,” he says.

Captain Jimmy frowns. “Then I can’t help you today, old friend. I can check up on some old contacts but you know that will take time.”

Silco goes silent for a moment. He looks at his hands as he appears to be lost in thought. After a while, he looks up. “No trades, but I will leave one wish with you and see if I can’t put the other to use.”

“Wish?” You blurt without thinking.

Silco turns to you with an expression of annoyance. “I’ll explain it later, treasure. Finish your drink. There is no reason to linger here.”

“Are you sure?” Captain Jimmy says. “You look like you could use a drink, Silco.”

“You aren’t wrong, but now that you’ve given my companion two servings of your special juice, I need to ensure she gets back to the ship safely.”

“I’m fine!” You protest with a frown.

“Oh? Stand up for me,” Silco challenges.

With a haughty sigh, you do as he asks. The moment you are standing tall, the world spins. You wobble and make several futile attempts to right yourself before Silco reaches out to steady you.

You are thoroughly drunk. That damn juice was more deceptive than your captor.

“What is it with pirates and their inability to offer any drinks that aren’t spiked with something or other?” You grumble as you finish off the last of your drink. You’re already sauced. There is no sense in letting it go to waste. You do not wish to be a rude guest.

“Why do you keep drinking things without checking to see what’s in them? That seems like the better question from where I stand,” Silco says.

“I never had to think about that until now,” you huff.

“She’s a bit of a mess, isn’t she?” Barnaby asks, looking at Captain Jimmy with an almost human level of intelligence.

“What did that bird just say?” you whisper to Silco. The rum obviously had more of an effect on you than you realized.

“You’re a mess,” the blue parrot repeats.

“Now, see here-”

“Treasure, you do realize you’re about to argue with a parrot, right?” Silco gently takes hold of your chin and redirects your gaze so you are looking into his eyes.

“Right,” you stammer, giving your head a little shake. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“You’re fine, lass. The rum is strong and Barnaby likes to provoke,” Captain Jimmy says before turning to Silco. “I’ll contact you if I get any gold for your mermaid’s wish. Don’t hold your breath, though. Very few have that kind of gold.”

“You know me, Jimmy. I always have to try,” Silco says. “Besides, I still have the other one. I can make something of this.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. Heading out, I suppose?”

“I should get this one to a place where she can’t get into trouble,” Silco says, giving you a gentle nudge.

“Let the pretty mess stay,” Barnaby squawks before landing close to you. You reach out and gently pet his head. He blinks slowly and leans into your touch.

“We have to catch the tide,” Silco says. “I’ll be in touch, Captain.”

“Of course!”

Captain Jimmy waves you off with a flourish as Silco helps you down the trail leading away from the slapdash homestead.

“Is it just me or is something off about that parrot?” You whisper as you lean on Silco, allowing him to guide you.

He looks over his shoulder and takes a few more steps before whispering back to you, “just between you and me, I think Barnaby is a man trapped in a parrot’s body.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “You’re joking, surely.”

“He’s always been more vocal than the other parrots and he doesn’t seem to mimic phrases. Captain Jimmy specializes in trading rare goods. A parrot with the intelligence of a man would fall into that category.”

“Oh, that makes me uneasy.”

The sandstone landscape pitches and you cling to Silco to keep yourself upright. “Why didn’t you warn me about the juice?”

“Honestly? I figured you needed a drink after your ordeal last night. I didn’t think you’d gulp it down and asked for seconds. That’s not very heiress-like of you.”

“I was parched after the trek up here!” You protest. “Of course, I was thirsty.”

Silco chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. I miscalculated. I should have said something. But how do you feel?”

You go still and pay attention to your body. Your limbs feel loose and your mind is pleasantly fuzzy. You know there are many things you should feel stressed about but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“This is a nice respite from coherent thought, I won’t lie,” you admit.

It is later in the day that you initially realized. The late afternoon sun has broken through a thin patch of clouds and now shines on the ocean, turning the water into liquid gold. You move toward the light, forcing Silco to follow you. You do not even notice the edge of the plateau until he prevents you from moving forward and pulls you closer to him.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t fall to your death, treasure,” he says, his voice low and velvety.

“How gallant,” you murmur back. Your gaze settles on the dark silhouette of the Zaun’s Revenge, bobbing peacefully against the dock. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure? Last time I brought up this particular subject I’m certain you envisioned all the ways you could end my life.”

“Now you’ve made me truly curious. Out with it.”

What you thought was a confident question evaporates on your tongue and you’re left scrambling for words through a fruity rum haze.

“The life you’ve given Jinx is a life I would kill to have. You, and those serving on your ship, have the freedom that so many dream of. Why would you work against that in search of what you think is a real home?”

Silco stiffens at your words and you worry you’ve pinched a nerve but he eventually lets out a long sigh.

“Why do you think we are free?” He asks.

“I spent many years at sea with my father. During those years, I felt the most free. I felt like my true self.”

“But during those years, did you not have an estate you could return to whenever you pleased?”

“Well, yes,” you answer. “But I do not like the family estate.”

“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant.” A sharp edge sneaks into his voice. “When you played at being a seafarer, there was always a safe option. You could return to a plush home filled with luxuries.”

“But I didn’t want to,” you reiterate.

“But you were also never in real danger,” Silco points out. “Jinx has no other home. She has nowhere to flee if things become too dangerous. If something happens to me, no one will go out of their way to make sure she’s okay. We need to have a place away from the ship, away from everything we do. I need to give her a home that can never be taken from her, even if something happens to me.”

A horrible sense of guilt fills you. Shame colors your cheeks as you watch the golden water dance.

“I didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say. When Silco says nothing for a long while, a horrible feeling makes your stomach twist up in knots. “It’s good of you to want Jinx to have a safe haven to flee to. Will my ransom go toward that?”

Your question seems to catch him off guard.

“In a way,” he answers. “There are some debts to be paid and some investments to be made, but yes. Your ransom will put us closer to a safe home.”

“And the stone eye from the waterwyrm? What will that do for you?” You ask.

“Eventually, Captain Jimmy will find someone prepared to pay its worth in gold. I expect that will take months, even years. But those profits will go towards making a safe haven for me and mine.”

“But there are two stones. What will you do with the other one?”

Silco looks down at you with a faint smile. “I think you’ve had a little bit too much rum to worry about my trade. We need to head back to the ship. We already docked far later in the day than I would have liked.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Yes, I am,” he grins as he guides you back down the trail. He keeps you close as you navigate the winding path, hugging the sandstone formation. You wobble and trip over your own feet often but he never gives you grief for it. At most, he chuckles and tucks you under his arm more securely.

“Why did you call those glowing stones mermaid’s wishes?” You ask.

“Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, treasure,” Silco urges. “I can’t have you tumbling down a canyon. It’s bad enough you were injured when the waterwyrm made its appearance.”

“Oh, do you care about me, pirate?” You taunt.

“If I have to trek through a valley to find you when you fall victim to your carelessness, I’ll have to carry you back to the ship. If I have to do that, I’ll miss the opportunity to scope the market. That’s bad for business. I dislike practices that are bad for business.”

“Lucky for you, I enjoy exploring markets more than I enjoy falling into valleys,” you say, though you need his constant support as you navigate the thin trail toward Port Squawkfeather.

The sun is just barely kissing the horizon when you and Silco reach the market. He browses silently with a look of deep concentration nestled between his furrowed brows. You stay quiet, not wishing to interrupt him as you take in your surroundings.

As you pass a table filled with exotic fruits, Silco stops. He picks up a pomegranate and inspects it as though he were assessing a diamond.

“One crate, please,” he says to the shopkeeper, who looks both shocked and delighted at such a request. They quickly set about packaging an entire crate of pomegranates while you stare at the one Silco holds in his hand.

Pomegranates are your favorite. Your rum-addled mind can’t conjure a more enticing prize.

“Here, treasure.” Silco tosses the pomegranate to you and you manage to catch it. You bring it to your chest like some greedy little scavenger as he gives the vendor the information they need.

You marvel at the color of the fruit like it’s some kind of precious jewel. You are so absorbed in your examination that your mind barely registers the flash of pink in the corner of your eye.

You go still. You lift your gaze. You turn your head slowly until you spot someone familiar.

Violet. Captain Vander’s first mate. You recognize her hair and her steely demeanor. She does not face you directly, but she is clearly searching the market for signs of you. She must have seen the Zaun’s Revenge docked and idle.

Beside her is a slender young woman with a shiny sheet of deep blue hair. She clutches a pristine rifle in her hands as she scans the market with sharp eyes.

For a split second, you prepare to call out to them. They can take you back to Vander, back to your father. But the words get stuck in your throat.

You look at Silco as he arranges for the crate of pomegranates to be delivered to his ship. You hear his words about wanting a safe place for Jinx echo through your mind. Your ransom will help with that.

“Captain,” you murmur softly. Your tongue feels like lead as you tug on his sleeve.

“Treasure?” He looks at you, arching a brow.

“I…feel ill from that juice. I’d like to return to the ship, please.”

His ocean eye fills with sympathy before he gives you a quick nod. He gives instructions to the fruit seller before tucking you under his arm and guiding you back toward the docks.

“I shouldn’t have let you have that second drink,” he says quietly.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you say. “Perhaps Arlo can funnel some solid food into my system and give me some water.”

“I’m sure he can,” Silco nods.

You are returned to the ship and quickly disappear below deck. You flee to the galley under the guise of helping Arlo, as you promised. You do just that, but as you work on making new labels for everything in the scullery, you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake not seizing your chance to escape. Worse than that, you wonder why you didn’t want to seize such a chance in the first place.

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #pirate!silco #silco fic #to the depths #silco smut

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nausicaaandhermouth · 2 months ago

Text

Like A Bird To You — One

masterlist

victorian!silco x f!oc [6.9k] [1/12] [AO3]

cw: i give silco a last name

summary: Escaping an oppressive marriage and family, Selene Shrike finds herself turning to East Piltover’s de-facto leader, believing him to be the only one with sufficient power to grant her autonomy and retribution against her family.

story tags: victorian themes, f!oc, politics, slow burn, marriage of convenience, age-gap, yearning, sexual tension, eventual romance, silco & oc flirt through ideology convos, oc is morally dubious, eventual smut, implied/referenced/attempted rape, slightly angsty, not betad

a/n short-form multi-chap incoming! been playing around with writing styles and this was one of the outcomes, so here ya go. set in piltover still, but some aspects of victorian england are present. this is basically a songfic, shoutout hozier's 'shrike' and 'be' for inspiring this mess

felt so pretentious while writing this but to fuck with that!! it was fun to write, it's like being possessed by an ancient spirit telling me to write sexual tension and smut for fictional characters.

i dedicate this to the merriam-webster dictionary website. learnt fuckton words just to write this.

requests are open & lmk if you want to join my taglist and for which kind (silco/viktor/a specific story/etc)

How readily the heart, when imperilled, warms to the notion of murder. Such was the lamentable case for one Selene Shrike. It must be noted that she was not, by nature, of a particularly homicidal character—quite the contrary; even in her manner of dress, she bore a striking resemblance to a librarian whose deity was routine, rather than a miscreant of the criminal persuasion.

However, it came to pass that the most unfortunate of circumstances (her husband, Leonard) had befallen (returned from his daily labours) to her immediate vicinity (within the confines of her kitchen) whilst she found herself in a most precarious state of mind (consumed by a scarlet madness so profound that even the most vibrant rose might have cause to envy her).

Selene had been engaged in the preparation of the evening's repast, deftly wielding a carving knife, when she was confronted by her unsuspecting spouse. He, with little wit (and indeed, he had never been blessed with an abundance of it to begin with), proceeded with a shocking lack of caution to inquire as to why she had not instructed the household staff to make haste with the supper preparations.

It was, as fate would have it, the singular day when the domestic help had been granted leave of absence—a fact which Leonard, in his perpetual state of forgetfulness (that is if it was committed to memory in the first place), had failed to recall. Thus, the responsibility of serving the evening meal had fallen squarely upon Selene's shoulders.

Leonard stood in such tantalising proximity, with an air of nonchalance, as if beseeching the embrace of her blade. His very demeanour seemed to wave the crimson flag of incompetence before Selene’s eyes, as though she were a raging bull provoked beyond measure. Her grip upon the implement had whitened in a most alarming fashion, her molars grinding against one another with a ferocity that threatened to shatter the enamel, and every muscle in her being was clenched as though she were a coiled spring.

She envisioned the terrible arc of her arm as it might plunge the blade into his chest—that ghastly crack of bone, that gush of crimson—but no. It was a notion most abhorrent. It was, indeed, a contemplation of utmost wickedness. And what would become of her should she succumb to such base instincts? Her father, that loathsome creature, would undoubtedly lay claim to her person once more. Her financial autonomy (which, in truth, was never hers to begin with, but Leonard was exceptionally susceptible to her honeyed words, such that it was as though she possessed her own fortune) would slip from her grasp. Moreover, she would be compelled to face the even more abominable horrors that lurked beneath her father's oppressive roof.

Thus, in a moment of agonising clarity, Selene found herself opting for a fate far worse. Something along the lines of vengeance: a notion most unbecoming of a lady of her station, which she would have undoubtedly realised had she afforded herself but a minute more of contemplation before hastily departing her domicile.

Alas, Selene Shrike was, much to her detriment, of hare-brained inclinations. This characteristic, while occasionally lending a certain vivacity to her demeanour, more often than not led her into circumstances of a most precarious nature. This particular occasion was, to more rational mind: ill-advised at best, and utterly ruinous at worst.

She had travelled for hours, traversing treacherous landscape by hired hoof then her own foot beneath a most tempestuous storm. Her parasol, that delicate accoutrement so essential to a lady's outdoor attire, had long since been torn from her grasp by the merciless winds. Wherever it decided to flee, it fled with greatest haste and grace as it billowed frantically. But in its stead, she was compelled to employ a coat she had fortuitously packed as a makeshift cloak, shielding both her person and her valise from the relentless onslaught of the elements.

Consequently, upon her arrival at the Vonharker Manor, she presented a most bedraggled spectacle. Her attire, once the epitome of refinement, now hung wind-licked and storm-slopped, darkening their meticulously polished floors with each puddle-forming step she took. Yet, despite their reputation for harsh dealings, the staff had shown a modicum of grace (in the parts where it mattered, anyway. And she did not deem it ‘matter’ enough that they did not smile nor offer conversation), sharing with her a warm cup of tea before ushering her to her desired appointment.

“Good evening, Vonharker, Sir,” she intoned, bowing her head briefly in a gesture of forced deference. Her gaze, however, could not help but drift from the gentleman's paper-littered desk to survey the chaotic scene before her. The state of disarray was positively shocking. She found herself utterly incapable of comprehending how one could function, particularly in a position of such importance, amidst such disorder.

Even the air was stifling; thick, swampy smoke clogged the airways, casting a grey pall over the entire room and obscuring one's vision most dreadfully. Disorganised piles of documents clothed every surface, each stack a veritable tower of Babel threatening to topple at any moment, their contents ready to be misunderstood, lost, or misplaced at the slightest provocation. Even the illumination was offensively inadequate, the dim light casting long shadows that seemed to mock the very notion of clarity—as if the lightbulb itself was refusing to achieve its base purpose.

The gentleman seated behind the desk deigned to raise his gaze towards her, instead proffering a languid gesture of his hand. “Just Silco,” he uttered with an air of indifference.

Selene, with admirable patience, tarried a moment longer, anticipating that he might decide to bestow her the courtesy of his attention, thus allowing her to present herself in the manner she deemed most fitting. However, as the seconds ticked by with agonising slowness upon the mantle clock, the gentleman remained steadfastly engrossed in his correspondence and papers, as though expecting her to simply state her business without the benefit of proper introduction.

This flagrant disregard for niceties rather vexed her, and a slight furrow appeared upon her brow, betraying her indignation at such impropriety. How, she pondered, could a man of such repute and standing in society ascend to such heights when he appeared wholly ignorant of the most basic tenets of polite discourse? It was as though she were naught but a wisp of smoke, utterly beneath his notice.

“It is most discourteous to deny one's guest the common civility of the merest degree of attentiveness,” Selene observed, tone didactic and almost patronising, for which she did not hold back on and deemed necessary in this case. “Sir,”

This utterance appeared to draw his eyes towards her—or rather, one eye, for the other was concealed beneath a sable patch connected to thin leather around his head. The free eye was frigid blue, penetrating the tobacco haze, and showing inscrutable sentiment to which Selene found herself quite at a loss to respond. “Might I be so bold as to remind you, Madam, that it was your good self who so vehemently… banged on the office doors demanding upon an audience with my person, when you had provided neither intimation of your impending arrival nor expressed any prior desire for such a meeting,” he gestured with a flourish towards the documents strewn before him. “And thus, most unexpectedly, I find myself obliged to attend to two matters simultaneously,”

Selene's features momentarily betrayed her astonishment (whether it was his remarkably forthright manner of discourse, especially at a lady, or the smoke-clothed timbre of his voice that so gently lilted in the air—she knew not which, for both were equally unanticipated), her lips parting in a most unbecoming manner as the veracity of his statement dawned on her. However, she swiftly regained her composure, assuming once more the mien of a proper lady, and offered a slight inclination of her head in acknowledgment. “But is it sufficient justification for a want of common courtesies?” she maintained her resolve, observing as he tilted his head ever so slightly, his countenance remaining stone impassive. It was at this juncture that her gaze alighted upon a most grievous disfigurement beneath the his eye patch—a scar that marred one side of his face, as though some feral beast had struck him with its talons, leaving a wound that time neglected to mend.

Once more, and so curiously, she thought, he gave another tilt of the head, the blue eye traversing the contours of her face in such intense study that bordered upon unseemly. “So you have come with the express purpose of delivering a lecture on my want of propriety?”

A satisfied hum escaped her, finding light jest in his riposte. “As well as such an endeavour appears to be at present, unfortunately not, but perhaps we may revisit it at a later date,” she flashed a small smile and shook her head, advancing towards his writing desk and assuming a seat.

Silco’s gaze followed her closely without movement, and she found herself wondering as to the nature of his thoughts at that precise moment—as was the harmony of things, she’d noted, that the less revealed was the more desired.

“I come to offer you my services,” Selene declared, steeling herself for the customary reactions she had grown accustomed to encountering: a derisive chortle, a mocking sneer, or perhaps a narrowing of the eyes that bespoke a profound disbelief in her capabilities. Such responses never failed to elicit a most disagreeable tempest within her chest. However, Silco offered naught but a single arched brow, denoting a measure of interest that she found most unexpected. How very peculiar indeed, she mused, finding herself quite at a loss to interpret his unorthodox demeanour.

“And what precisely is it that you offer?” his voice was laden with a most palpable scepticism, a ghost drifting towards Selene. His singular eye, keen as rapier, scrutinised her with an intensity that might have caused lesser individuals to wilt.

Selene squared her shoulders. “Instruction, Sir,”

“Instruction?” Silco echoed, tone betraying intrigue.

She inclined her head in affirmation. “Indeed. It is my understanding that you wish to better the lives of the impoverished denizens of East Piltover—Zaun, I believe you have christened it?”

He gave a light nod, silently encouraging her.

“And while you have undoubtedly achieved remarkable success in numerous spheres—governance, sustenance, and the like—there appears to be a most lamentable… deficiency in the realm of education. It is precisely this void that I propose to fill. I am not merely educated; I am impassioned. I can bestow upon your… establishment a wealth of knowledge,” she pursed her lips, ‘establishment’ feeling rather inadequate, but she pressed on. “Moreover, I can instruct others in this noble pursuit, so that they, in turn, may do the same. I would posit that it is precisely this that your enterprise lacks and why it may be stalling as of late,”

Silco’s hand ascended swiftly, a wordless command that would have silenced many a valiant soul. However, Selene, steadfast in her resolve, was not to be deterred. She leaned and interlocked her gaze with his—perhaps challenging, perhaps duelling, or perhaps merely an attempt to better discern the soft crystal blue half-lidded in thought.

“I do not come before you as a supplicant seeking employment,” she persisted, though her words belied the truth of her circumstances. In point of fact, her need for gainful occupation was most pressing, as the state of her purse was a lamentable and barren sight, devoid of coin. “Rather, I present to you an opportunity of considerable merit. Your endeavour, as it pertains to this domain, is woefully, and I must confess, surprisingly insufficient,”

A flicker of something—perhaps indignation, or respect—flit across Silco’s features. “Insufficient?” he mused. “A most audacious assertion,”

Selene offered a slight shrug. “Mere astute observation,” she rejoined, punctuating her words with a decorous nod. “Sir,”

He reclined in his chair, lips pursed in a manner that bespoke contemplation upon her proposition .

Selene observed in silence, her hands delicately interlaced in anticipation, gaze floating the expanse of his writing desk. Her attention was suddenly arrested by an ashtray, upon which she discerned the faintest hint of pink pigment adorning one side, as though it had been deliberately turned away from prying eyes. A child, perhaps? Her gaze returned to the gentleman as he sank deeper into his ruminations.

In truth, he bore not the slightest resemblance to a paternal figure—no warmth, no welcoming demeanour that might indicate even a passing acquaintance with such sentiments. One could only surmise that either he maintained a most rigorous separation between the spheres of his existence, or that the child in question was suffering a most deplorable neglect.

“You may take your leave," Silco pronounced with a dismissive wave of his hand as he returned his attention to the documents before him.

Brows rose in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?”

He cast a fleeting glance in her direction, hand once more finding purchase upon his quill, poised in the midst of committing thoughts to parchment. “I reiterate, you may take your leave. It is not my desire to subject you to the tedium of awaiting in this silence,”

Selene regarded him with a studious gaze, her face betraying a thread of uncertainty.

“I concede there is…. truth in your assertions—indeed, I’ve not allocated sufficient resources towards the pursuit of education, a matter which is undoubtedly in dire need of attention,”

She nodded, hope seeping into her posture, pushing her shoulders upwards.

“However, the question of your employment is a separate consideration upon which I must further deliberate,” he set aside his quill and interlaced his fingers. “Pray, enlighten me as to the nature of your background,” he inquired, eye briefly flicking upon her hands before returning to meet her face.

Selene could not figure what it was that was dancing in her chest at the behest of his speech, his voice—perhaps the nerves of conversing with a stranger? “I am... my father is a man of grand operation, not unlike yourself,” she pursed her lips, careful not to utter lies, though curbing the concise truth because, yes, by ‘grand operation’ she meant ‘My father is a part of the council’. “And my siblings and I have been afforded the privilege of a most comprehensive education throughout our formative years,” she swallowed, words plucked from the air with great deliberation. “I harbour profound interests in the realms of language, music, and have had the pleasure of instructing my siblings in both disciplines. I consider myself sufficiently well-versed to undertake the role of an educator, though I must… I must confess a desire to further refine my skills, should such opportunities present themselves,”

His shoulders quivered momentarily, mouth twisting as if holding back an expression. “And what—is this your grand design? Cultivate a society of authors and minstrels?”

It was evident that this image amused him, as if such an outcome were most improbable or undesirable.

“Wherefore not?” she riposted, earnest demeanour swiftly dispelling his comedy. “Is it not the hallmark of a thriving populace?”

He tilted his head, his gaze wandering in contemplation. “You fancy yourself a nation of poets, Ms. Shrike,” he delivered his words with an air of amusement, the idea ticking his lips to a strange smiling curve that denoted his disbelief or disapproval.

Selene shrugged. “Should that be our trajectory, then so shall we proceed,”

“You posit that triumphant uprisings beget poets?”

She tsked. “I contend that triumphant uprisings beget liberty,”

His attention returned to her, one eyebrow arching in curiosity. “And this liberty, in turn, engenders poetry?”

“It engenders art, that is certain,” affirming, she bobbed her head gently, mind awash with the image of a nation of authors and musicians. “One generation toils in politics so that their progeny might revel in science, so that their progeny might revel in artistic expression,”

Her words appeared to seep into the depths of his rumination, causing his attention to drift once more. She pondered which aspect of her discourse had stirred his thoughts so. “Only so slightly naive, and full-heartedly romantical. Then what transpires thereafter?”

To this, Selene found herself bereft of a ready answer. Thus, she offered a subtle shake of her head. “That… remains to be seen,"

He seemed to take this in, eye narrowing almost imperceptibly. “And your husband granted his consent for you to seek employment?”

“My h—” she faltered, composure stuttering and momentarily deserting her. She arched a brow at him, who appeared to derive a slight of satisfaction from having caught her in such an unguarded state. Had she made mention of a husband? She was quite certain she had not. The notion that Leonard should become a topic of discourse was utterly bewildering to her, and she had no intention of divulging her marital status.

Silco inclined his head towards her hand.

Selene's gaze was drawn downwards, her eyes cast upon the subtle pale and smooth line on her finger where her ring had once resided. How had he managed to discern such a minute detail? She found herself wishing he had not, for now it seemed as though he had gained some manner of advantage over her. She raised her eyes to meet his once more, striving to conceal the faintest hint of discomfiture that threatened to betray her.

“Mere astute observation,” he remarked with cool detachment, shoulders rising in the slightest of shrugs.

She found herself grasping for the composure she had maintained earlier in their discourse, squaring her shoulders as if such a gesture might undo his observation. “He and I are estranged," she declared with resolute dignity.

“Then, perhaps, your father," Silco continued, as though consulting some invisible ledger of propriety. “Has he gran—"

“No. He has not," she interjected, eyelids fluttering momentarily as she summoned every ounce of self-possession to maintain a countenance as impassive as his own. “And I should not think it a matter of consequence, at least not as it pertains to your good self,"

He tilted his head, entire being now focused upon her with a burn that had heretofore been absent—his form, his face, his singular eye all fixed upon her person. “And what leads you to such a conclusion?"

Selene offered a slight shrug of her shoulders. “That you do not hold such matters in high regard," she remarked, nudging her head towards the door through which she had entered. “While I acknowledge that such considerations are customary in polite society, I doubt that you subscribe to these… particular notions,"

“And what notions do you believe me to disregard? In exact?" he inquired, rising from his seat behind the escritoire, his palms resting upon its surface as he gazed downward with an air of keen interest.

Selene observed as the gentleman made his languid progression around, his movements as fluid as the wisps of smoke that permeated the chamber. “I do not believe that you harbour any particular concern as to whether a woman’s husband or father has granted their permission for employment,”

“Hm—indeed?” he had now fully circumnavigated the table to stand before her, one hip inclined in a manner that might be deemed informal in more genteel company.

Selene found herself compelled to raise her gaze, silently pondering the necessity of his current position. Was it not sufficient to regard her with disdain from across the expanse of his desk? “I surmise that you are a gentleman of... fervent aspirations. ‘Zaun’ is merely one proof. That you may be one who would not hesitate to employ whatever means necessary to achieve his ends. And to seek permission would be, perhaps, incongruous with such a disposition. Am I correct in this assessment?”

A cock of his head. “Am I thus?”

“Incongruous,” one shoulder nudged up. “With such a disposition,”

He appeared to linger upon her inquiry, his singular eye seeming to bore into her very being, as though he were at that very moment arriving at some momentous decision. What intricate machinations were at work within his mind? What unspoken questions did he harbour that she found herself unable to discern through mere gaze? What further revelations might yet be forthcoming?

Selene's thoughts turned to the ashtray and its curious adornment of pink pigment.

“And I must say," she continued. “That were I to be blessed with a daughter of my own, I should desire nothing less than to bestow upon her the entirety of the world,” she observed him with keen interest as he, in turn, observed her, her mind awhirl with speculation as to whether her words had inadvertently struck upon some particular chord of significance within him. “To grant her the liberty to pursue her heart's truest inclinations—science, art, or otherwise—to traverse life unencumbered by..." a sardonic laugh escaped her, unbidden, as the faces of Leonard and her father materialised in her mind. “Men, and whatever other doors the world deems fit to be opened solely by their hands," her eyes draped down and up his figure as if in slight accusation and jest.

She rose from her seat, positioning herself just shy of his direct line of sight. Yet, she stood close enough to issue a silent challenge to that studious look in his uncovered eye. From this vantage, she could truly discern the pale azure of his gaze, exerting considerable effort to avoid casting her eyes upon the other side of his face.

“And I scarcely think," her voice had diminished to a near whisper, seemingly against her own volition. “That strict adherence to social proprieties is how you hope to win this revolution," Especially against my father.

“Am I to understand that you shall refrain from… chastising me for my apparent lack of social graces?"

A delicate smile played upon the corners of Selene's lips. “We shall see," she replied, attaching a touch of coyness.

He appeared to contemplate her words, his singular eye darting betwixt her left and right, as though perusing some invisible text she held aloft. In truth, Selene's knowledge of this enigmatic figure was limited to the scant reports in the broadsheets and the vitriolic mutterings of her father. The damned snake, corrupt hands, dirty rat, eye of Zaun, he would oft proclaim in fits of indignation.

It was rumoured that Silco held considerable sway over the Eastern district of Piltover, effectively bisecting the state—a feat most impressive, Selene mused, for he appeared to reign supreme in comparison to the seven councillors governing the Western realm. She had, on numerous occasions, lingered within earshot during her father's assemblies, acutely aware of the thick unease that permeated the council chambers, particularly her father's, regarding this man's iron grip on that portion of the nation.

It made her wonder just how much she could prod until an outburst—employment under Silco himself being a fine needle against the pane of glass, testing resilience, and peering near to the precise moment it might finally yield to the pressure and shatter.

The man’s slightest shift caught her attention and she looked up. He had extended his hand towards her in a gesture of formal introduction.

“I believe we must make our acquaintance if we are to engage in business together,” he pronounced.

Blinking in momentary surprise, Selene raised her own hand to meet his, allowing him to execute a brief handshake. “Selene Shrike,”

“Silco Vonharker,” he acknowledged her with a curt nod before relinquishing her hand and taking a step backwards. As he made his way towards the chamber doors, he spoke once more. “I shall see to the arrangement of your accommodations. Would it be agreeable to you to convene later this evening? I will hear your ideas in full and tomorrow meet with the board of barons,”

Selene felt her breath catch in her throat, the opportunity having been granted with such unexpected ease that she found herself nearly pierced with tears. While it had not been without its share of persuasion, it had proven far less arduous than many of her past endeavours. She offered Silco a gracious nod and moved towards the door, pausing at the threshold to address him once more. “Sir,"

He returned the gesture with equal brevity. “Madam," he replied.

With that, Miss Selene took her leave, finding herself once more in the presence of the same woman who had proffered her a cup of tea upon her initial arrival.

Selene endeavoured, with all the fortitude she could muster, to reconcile herself to the altered state of her circumstances. No longer would she find herself ensconced in the luxurious trappings of her former life—exquisite raiment, sumptuous furnishings, and ever-present retinue of servants anticipating her every whim. Though she was well aware that such a life of self-reliance was, indeed, the lot of the majority, it remained foreign to her genteel upbringing.

The privileged existence hitherto afforded to her had (she ruefully acknowledged) shielded her from the exertions common to those of lesser means. Effort. This realisation elicited within her a twinge of remorse, fearing this might be construed as a mark of inadequacy or incompetence—qualities against which she had ever striven to guard herself, in all aspects of her life.

Thus, with a resolute heart, she welcomed the moderate appointments of her new abode: one bed in a room of five. While she could not, in all honesty, describe her lodgings as wholly neglectful—for they did, after all, boast four walls, a ceiling, and modest sheets—neither could she deny that they paled in comparison to the spacious apartments to which she had resided in for three and twenty years.

The woman who had ministered to her needs with an offered cup of tea—Sevika by name, Silco's right-hand, as Selene had come to learn—became an object of intense fascination to the young lady. This curious individual eschewed the traditional attire of her sex, adorning herself instead in a manner more befitting a man of service: trousers, flat boots, and form unencumbered by the constraints of a corset. Even more striking was the maroon fabric draped across her bosom, lending her an air of masculine practicality.

She would avert her eyes from Selene's inquisitive gaze that lingered overlong upon the unconventional appearance—her shorn hair pulled severely away from her face, the perpetual furrow of her brow, and most notably, the pair of remarkably captivating pale eyes. And, to Selene’s dismay, no friendship budded between as Sevika walked her to the opposite wing of the estate.

Vonharker Manor, in all its grandeur, could scarcely be described as quaint. To Selene's discerning eye, the estate appeared to be neatly bisected: the western wing devoted to the accommodation of staff and the provision of entertainment chambers, while the eastern wing was reserved for matters of business, the nature of which remained a mystery to her. Beyond the stately edifice stretched a verdant expanse of cultivated land, its monotony interrupted by dots of crimson, amber, and golden hues—fruits and vegetation, though too distant for her to ascertain their precise nature.

In her room, she had set about the task of drying those garments which had fallen victim to the storm. She attired herself in whatever dry vestments were at her disposal, making do with the limited space afforded her.

It became apparent that she was to share quarters with four other individuals, their berths in various states of disarray, yet still bearing a lived-in comfort that she found oddly reassuring.

As the evening drew nigh, and the last vestiges of daylight faded from the windowpane, she sought solace upon her own bed. With quill in hand she found herself in the most peculiar of predicaments.

She diligently inscribed within the pages of a work of fiction (the only paper she had thought to bring) the salient points she intended to raise during the impending assembly. As she scribbled betwixt lines of flowery prose and passionate declarations, she mused that should her notes be discovered, future readers might believe she had penned the most nonsensical romance novel in all of Piltover—one in which the dashing hero inexplicably expounded upon the merits of educational reform and the intricacies of educational curriculums.

The clanging of a bell from the yard withdrew Selene's attention, and she found herself peering through the window to observe the day's conclusion. A procession of weary souls, shoulders bent with the weight of honest toil, made their way towards the manor house as lamps within were kindled against the encroaching darkness.

She remained diligently hunched over her tome and writing implement, quill scratching across the page with a fervour born of urgency and inspiration. But her solitude was interrupted by a sharp rapping upon the chamber door. Upon glancing back, she beheld Sevika's figure standing beneath the door frame, posture rigid and unyielding.

Understanding, Selene, with graceful haste, gathered her book and followed Sevika's retreating form into the warmly lit corridor beyond.

“I am Selene, if you please," the young lady offered her hand towards the stoic woman, though her gesture of civility remained unreciprocated. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance,”

The taciturn Sevika deigned only to offer a curt nod of acknowledgement, resolute in her silence. Selene, ever the model of decorum, returned the nod with gracious understanding.

The elder of the pair, Sevika, led the way eastward through the grand corridors of Vonharker Manor. The silence that might have reigned between them was mercifully dispelled by the distant strains of lively conversation and melodious tunes, their origin a mystery to the newly arrived lady. She found herself quite intrigued by these sounds of gaiety, so at odds with the sombre demeanour of her guide.

Upon reaching their destination, Sevika, with a practised efficiency that spoke of long years in service, drew open a heavy chamber door. The oak yielded without creak. And a gesture as economical as it was unambiguous, she bade the other girl enter.

Selene crossed the threshold, skirts rustling softly with each step.

She found herself quite overcome by the grandeur of the chamber that lay before her. It was, without doubt, a study of the most magnificent order, a sanctuary of learning and refinement that would not have been out of place in the finest homes of West Piltover. Indeed, she mused, it rather put her father's modest library to shame

One entire wall of this chamber was adorned from floor to ceiling with a tapestry of leather-bound books, a sight that nearly caused her to almost swoon. The shelves, crafted from the seeming finest mahogany and polished to a lustrous sheen, did not even bend beneath the weight of countless volumes, the gilt-edged spines glinting in the warm light like so many jewels. Selene could not help but marvel at the breadth contained within these hallowed walls, fingers fairly itching to caress their spines.

At the very heart of the oasis was a grand piano, ebony surface gleaming like a dark mirror. Undoubtedly Ionian of the highest calibre, seemed to Selene as a sleeping giant, waiting only for the touch of a skilled hand to awaken its voice. She likened it to the one her father had gifted her—how much more marvellous this one felt.

Adjacent to the literary wall, a sumptuous sofa in deep burgundy leather invited repose and contemplation; then at the far end of the chamber, commanding a view of the entire room, stood a desk, standing as if in authority over the room.

The entire study was suffused with a warm, soft radiance that seemed to emanate from every surface. Lamps, flames dancing behind etched glass shades, played upon the polished wood and leather, and cast a golden glow that softened every edge and lent an air of elegance to the scene.

“Good evening, Ms. Shrike,” came the sonorous tones of Silco, his figure materialising from a doorway previously unnoticed by Selene. “What have you to present?”

The young lady inclined her head in acknowledgment, drawing nearer as she unfurled the pages of her rather unorthodox notebook. “Good evening, Sir. I have... one moment, if you please. I have devised some proposals for the implementation of educational programmes in Z—”

“What, may I inquire, is that peculiar thing?” he interjected, his piercing furrow fixed upon the tome in Selene's shuffling hands.

The lady paused, her lips parting in momentary bewilderment as she followed his line of sight. “M… oh, my notations?”

Silco's brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Whispers of Passion?” he read aloud, his voice tinged with incredulity.

A most unbecoming flush suffused Selene's face, her hand instinctively moving to conceal the offending title. “That is—no, I assure you, this was the only... that is to say, the only parchment at my disposal. However, I can attest that my notes are indeed contained within,” she lifted the pages. “See, I—mm, no,” she withdrew it as quickly, offering a sheepish smile instead as she smoothed the pages, having at last located the appropriate section pertaining to her strategies. “If we might proceed—I have formulated some comprehensive strategies for the implementation of educational programmes in Zaun,”

Silco rapped his knuckles upon the polished surface of the mahogany table, gesturing her forward with a slight inclination of his head as he lowered himself into his seat and arranged before him a mountain of parchment. “What else?”

Selene approached and gracefully took her place in the chair. Her gaze fell upon him as he commenced his scribblings with practised speed. After a moment's hesitation, she ventured to speak, her voice soft yet resolute. “If I may, regarding the matter of resource allocation, I find myself curious. Was the apparent dearth of funds directed towards educational pursuits a consequence of limited means, or perhaps a reflection of a certain... indifference towards the subject?"

Though her inquiry had been born of genuine interest and good intentions, Selene could not help but notice a shadow pass over Silco's face, his expression souring ever so slightly.

He fixed her with a look of mild displeasure, eyes drooping in an unmistakable display of vexation. “I assure you, Ms. Shrike, it is neither,” he declared, resuming his writing with renewed vigour. “We possess ample resources, and I hold education in the highest regard,” he continued, casting her a fleeting glance that spoke volumes. “I have simply found myself overwhelmed by the myriad responsibilities that demand my attention. You must understand, there are countless matters regarding—”

“Indeed,” Selene interjected, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “And I have the matter of curriculum development to attend to,” her smile only broadened at Silco's look of barely concealed exasperation, brought about by her rather bold interruption.

He was not, by any measure, a disagreeable companion. She had long been accustomed to Leonard's incessant ramblings about his daily affairs, grievances concerning colleagues, or his fleeting ponderings to which he expected Selene to be attentive, whilst never once deigning to inquire about her own day—it was this as a daily occurrence which made an impression on Selene as though she existed only when he looked at her, talk to her, and that little else outside of him mattered. Now, as she found herself seated beside this man, she came to the profound realisation of how deeply she cherished silence. Save for the gentle rustle of parchment and the occasional soft exhalation, they occupied the space without encroaching upon one another's solitude.

There existed a curious liberty in his company, she felt, that caused a peculiar tightening in her chest, akin to a slight discomfort. He did not second-guess her assertions, nor did he question her intellectual faculties. When she ventured to offer an opinion, he neither dismissed it nor addressed her in a patronising manner, but rather considered each word with the gravity one might afford a fellow gentleman. His inquiries, when they arose, pertained solely to matters of logical inconsistency or strategic criticism, rather than directing any aspersions towards her person. Indeed, never once did he indicate that such a thought had even crossed his mind.

The effect of this unexpected treatment was such that Selene found herself, from time to time, casting furtive glances in his direction. Her mind, much like a boisterous child, raced with fervent activity, pondering what manner of upbringing could have possibly moulded him into such an individual. Perhaps, a mother who had instilled in him such graces? A sister? Lover?

“It is discourteous to subject one’s companion to the common incivility of an unrelenting gaze,” Silco muttered, finger sliding against the side of a page before he flicked his eyes up to Selene’s.

The lady’s eyes narrowed at her own gaze echoed back, then glanced away towards the timepiece, jaw tightening perceptibly. “And what of the common civility of serving dinner to one's guest? The hour approaches five and twenty past eleven,” she remarked, her tone betraying a hint of exasperation.

He, in no shortage of that air of indifference, turned a page of his document, casting a brief glance in her direction. “Was the supper at seven o'clock too provincial for your western sensibilities?” he inquired half-heartedly.

Selene blinked in evident confusion. She had arrived at the manor around the late hour of five. When, she pondered, had dinner been announced?

Silco, seeming to sense the perplexity in her silence, looked up from his papers and rested them upon the table, gaze meeting hers. “The bell rings routinely at fifty minutes past six—did you not take notice of it?” his brow furrowed slightly.

Realisation clapped upon Selene at last, and her eyebrows rose in a telling manner. “Ah, I see. That was the significance,” she murmured, lightly laughing to herself at the recollection.

But the man’s countenance melted from incredulity to apparent annoyance. “And you had not thought to inform anyone of your oversight? Opting to starve?” he inquired, beckoning to a servant who had been standing dutifully by the doors.

“Was I to comprehend, in immediate effect, the intricacies of your manor's routine?” Selene responded, waving her hand dismissively. “A mere bell ringing scarcely conveys the message ‘dinner is served', I should think,” she added, her voice betraying a mixture of defensiveness and mild embarrassment at her faux pas.

Disregarding her protestations, he turned his attention to the approaching servant. “Pray, bring Ms. Shrike a plate and whatever was prepared for dinner,” he instructed, dismissing the lad with a wave of his hand. He then addressed Selene once more, “If be it left-overs, you shall not complain as this was your oversight. But I trust you partook of luncheon, I presume?”

Selene shrugged, reclining in her chair with nonchalance. “A luncheon of storm rain, indeed. I was most diligently occupied with the conquest of the road on my journey hither,” she replied, the hint of mirth overtaken by a yawn.

The gentleman shook his head, brows rising in evident disbelief as he busied himself with the arrangement of his documents. “Am I to understand that you have not taken sustenance since breakfast? And travelled for hours thereafter? Were you intending to be accompanied by Death himself on your journey?”

A most unladylike snort escaped the woman, hastily stifled by the swift application of her hand to her mouth. “If such were to be my fate, alas," she shrugged with feigned indifference. “And no, I do not believe I... no, I last ate on the evening prior. I commenced my journey before dawn's first light. Scarcely any time before my flight and—” she paused, breath catching on a memory. “M’yeah,”

Upon casting her gaze towards Silco, Selene found herself subject to the most impassive countenance she had ever beheld, if indeed such were possible. She could sense a contemplation so intense behind his eye as it bore into her without respite, as though he were attempting to fathom the depths of her imprudence, and she wondered if this was what his documents felt beneath his hands when he was at work. She imagined herself bursting into flames, his gaze match and strike enough to accomplish such a feat.

Finally, he shook his head with a sigh and arranged his papers into orderly stacks. “Bear in mind, for future occasions, the tolling of the bells—I find myself rather partial to my employees remaining on the land of the living. I trust you are not afflicted with an inability to partake in meal-times?”

“How exceedingly considerate,” Selene remarked wryly, eyes following his face as gathered his work and rose to his feet. “Are you not staying?”

He passed her a mildly curious look, though half drenched in impassivity. “Are you also afflicted with an inability to feed yourself?”

Selene’s lips parted then closed, a half-smile threatening to grace her lips. Was that a joke?

With measured steps, he made his way towards the side door. “You may, if you wish, remain here to have your supper. I will take my work to my personal study. Tomorrow, I shall see what I can do regarding your propositions,”

Acquiescing with a graceful nod, Selene commenced the arrangement of her own papers to accommodate the forthcoming meal. “I am most grateful,”

He paused, one last time, his figure half-enshrouded in the penumbra of the adjoining chamber. He refrained from turning, his gaze averted, yet his head shifted such that Selene caught a fleeting glimpse of his profile—how shark-like it seemed, too, gliding betwixt shadow and illumination. With the slightest inclination of his head, he appeared to acknowledge her expression of gratitude. “Do not stain the carpeting,” a nod, then, “Madam,”

She nodded back. “Sir,”

Thereupon, he crossed the threshold into the adjacent chamber and sealed the door behind him, leaving Selene to her solitude.

#arcane fanfic #silco fanfic #victorian!silco #victorian themes #silco x oc #silco x f!oc #silco fic #nausicaas fics

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roxnpens · 2 years ago

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My dearest Roxy,

I request 2 and 13 for Silco pretty please. The details are up to you! Thank you 💜

Dear Kels, thank you for your request <3 I enjoyed writing it a lot.

It also made me think about Silco: Would he be melancholic about his partner? Would be able to trust or love again after his trust was so viciously broken? I think “yes” - because it shows how he treats Jinx and how much he cares for her… so why wouldn’t he trust someone who’s been there for him all the time - from when it happened with Vander?

A walk in the Clouds

TW: [Silco x fem!Reader], [Established relationship], [Melancholic Silco], [Mention of Pain], [Comforting], [Soft Silco]

Tumblr prompt for @ilikemymendarkandfictional :)

Synopsis:

For a long time it as been just you and Silco. You and him against the world. But the ‘Eye of Zaun’ is not always as ruthless and dangerous as he wants everybody to believe - he has a soft side… especially with you…

________________________________

The Lanes were overcast by shadows and clouds, a thunderstorm beginningto draw near from Piltover’s coast. But you were safe from it. Safe inside the Last Drop, on the lap of your longtime lover.

Silcos mismatched eyes are on you, drinking in the sight that you make: straddling his lap, your hands on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, his hands on your hip - kneading small circles into them. Lovingly you stare into his eyes… you’ve been there for him so long, he couldn't imagine his life without you anymore. Especially now… when his medication was due… when he needs to be injected with shimmer… when his pain is almost unbearable. But both of you always take your time when his medication is due.

You always calm him down first, let your hands roam his body, massage his scalp, kiss him all over his face, kiss his scarred lips with an unfathomable softness - that it almost breaks his heart every time. It’s incomprehensible for him how you could love a monster, a lusus naturae like him. He loves it - your little ritual. He loves the intimacy between you and him, how he can let loose of the world, of his problems, of his pain…

“Why did you choose me?”, you suddenly ask, your gaze never waivers its love. Silco had his good eye closed - so just a questioning huff left his lips.

“Why did you choose me, all those years ago?”, you extend the question.

He opens his good eye and now the hot and icy gaze is on you.

“Because it’s you, it's always been you.”, he whispers, every syllable contains his whole heart.

His lips softly press against yours and a tender silence falls over the two of you, occasionally interrupted by the wet sounds of your meeting lips. It's the wonderful stillness between you two that he so passionately indulges in.

After a few more moments you break this kiss which Silco comments with a groan. You grab the injector from behind you.

“Silco… it’s time.”, you say softly, an understanding smile on your lips.

Silco exhales heavily. “I know… I know…”

You put a hand on his cheek and carefully overstretch his neck. You place the injector over his eye.

“Ready?”

“Ready…”

With a snap the needle rushes down, penetrates the eye and pumps the purple fluid into his eye.

It hurts…

It always hurts…

But today… today it burns… it burns like the day Vander cut his face and the polluted waters disfigured his face… the day he came to you for the first time…

Silco clutches at your hips with a force that could break bones, his head first snaps back and then forwards toward your shoulder. You knew he was in a lot of pain before he groaned the first time. One of your hands immediately cradles the back of his head and the other finds its way to his back and strokes it soothingly.

The next minute Silco groans, breathes heavily and keeps holding himself on your body, while the waves of pain roll over his body.

You caress him throughout the pain the whole time, never leave his side. You softly rub the tense out of his back and shoulders. Massaged his scalp - your nails scratching his scalp with just the right pressure. When he relaxes a little - you kiss his head and whenever possible his lips.

After a while he relaxes slowly and his head keeps being buried in your neck. You notice that his pain episode ended by how he started drawing circles on your waist again. Yet he doesn’t look up to you, like he always does afterwards and you start to worry.

“Silco…?”,you ask carefully, “Is something else wrong?”

"Nothing's wrong, my eye. I just…”, he finally looks up to you - directly into your eyes. You could see a tear gathering in his seafoam eye.

“… I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much.”

His words are so full of love - it almost makes your heart burst. You have been together for such a long time - he let you know that he loves you from time to time, always bought you what you wanted and let everyone pay dearly, if they did you wrong. But this gaze of uttermost true love in his eyes was the ultimate love confession in all these years.

He continues. “You’ve been there for me from the beginning. From the day Vander betrayed me - over the day I avenged my dream by killing this snake…until now…” He gently strokes your cheek and you lean into his touch. Outside a thunder growls in the sky.

“Thank you, my eye… thank you for being my most trusted friend… for being the love of my life…”

He leans forward and takes your lips by storm - just as it begins to rain outside…

#WritingRoxy #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco x oc #silco x you #silco arcane #silco #awesome #silco fanfic #silco fic #silco fluff #Soft Silco

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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years ago

Note

29 and 38 | Silco x Reader

:3c

Oh, you're evil. I love you

You didn't have time for this.

You knew that, and a part of you had always known. There wasn't nearly enough time for this, for anything.

There had never, ever been enough time, and it's proven, by how quickly the ashes dissipated into the waves: forgotten, and swallowed up by the sea.

So, impossibly, horrfiyingly quickly.

Dully, you blink slowly as the current does-away with what remains -- they say death is so permanent, but a mere-blink, and all existence of it is already gone.

You give another slow blink, before you turn to him. In the same instant, sea-green eyes find yours and you immediately lose kinship with thought, with air-

Silco's eyes are as turbulent as the crashing-waves of the River Pilt before you both, dark grey-blues that bleed into the vibrancy of the sea. Fascination doesn't even scratch the surface of explaining what you feel when you normally look into that ever-thinking gaze... but right now, when you look into those bright hues, fascination is not what you feel.

You feel afraid.

Strangling you, choking you, there is a sudden, desperate jolt of fear that courses in your veins as you stare back at him, gazing into eyes so fierce and alive...

And knowing, from recent experience, just how quickly eyes like that can grow dull and dead-

"Marry me."

You don't have time.

You never, ever have enough time.

And you don't dare want to waste another second.

Considering how he only takes a single moment to consider, it's clear Silco has no-intentions of wasting time with you, either.

"Okay. When?"

"Now."

"Now?"

He's moreso curious, rather than shocked or indignant, perhaps even outraged at the demand. Maybe he should be... you are, of course, asking him to wed you at a funeral of friends.

But maybe that's the best place to wed. In the sight of what remains of friends, dead and gone.

Or maybe you've at last lost your sanity, it really feels like a toss-up. "You can say no," You inform him, shrugging a bit limply, letting out a small chuckle that is far from mirthful. "Yes, no... it makes no difference."

"It makes no difference whether or not we get married?"

Again, the Son of Zaun is only curious about the entire situation at-present. Keen for answers, but not seeking judgement or admonishment for your... less-than ideal timing, and lack of ring.

Turning away from the bright green, unjudging and daresay gentle glint of his gaze, your own travels to gaze back down into the waters below.

The waves are already clear.

It's sickening, how clean the water is already.

Fingertips touch your chin, and feeling strangely weightless as Silco tips your head back over, from the waves, to him. His eyes flick over your expression, the perpetual flat-line of his lips curling downwards at the edges and brows furrowing.

"I would prefer not to have a crying bride at my wedding," He says, but it's not meant to be insulting.

Regardless, your eyes still roll and your hand raises to tap-away his fingers. "I'm not crying-"

"But you're grieving." He insists.

You scoff, and it's ragged. "I wonder why-"

"We've faced death before. Personally and at a distance - It's an ever-present constant of Zaun, that you and I have both faced many, many times over," Silco pauses. Takes a small, tiny breath, that cracks at the calm expression on his face while his hand trails down, to grip at your own just a bit too tightly as his eyes darken. "It's... not easy."

Understatement. Zaunites are tough, but tragically, forever human at their core.

"But," He continues, squeezing your fingers until they twitch, and he returns to himself. From murky depths, the bright shine of his green-eyes returns when they mean your own gaze. "Typically... marriage-proposals don't erupt from such finality. So I feel the need to ask, why?"

A pause, where there's only the crashing waves and a distant rumble far overhead to speak in your stead.

You find your voice after a minute longer, when that grip on your hand starts to lessen and pull-away. "I love you."

"And I love you," He says, easily. "But why?"

He's not asking why you love him, because that's obvious enough.

You never have had the security of a promised-future, but your past has been long-since entwined with his. Death may be an ever-present constant for Zaun, but Silco has been your ever-present constant.

From the lowest-streets of the Sumps, to the highest-rooftops of the Fringes. From children of trash, to the Children of Zaun... You've done it all-together.

Again, you don't have the time. The unguaranteed of tomorrow, the nonexisting-promise of the future... that's been proven, many, many times over, and there's ashes already forgotten in the river, to help keep the reminder fresh.

"I can't lose you too," You admit in a whisper. Staying still, no longer dismissive or defiant when his hand comes up once-more to hold your chin, so he may continue to hold your gaze. "Why? Because I can't. I just... I can't, Silco."

"You will. One day."

It's a fact, and it's spoken as such. Silco is the kind that will go down thrashing, clawing, roaring and taking down as many with him when his heart-stops, and such a fact is one you have known for the entire time you have been in his life.

Still, you scoff and glare at him for saying it aloud, so flippantly. "You think I'll just sit by the sidelines? Think I won't go down fighting beside you, before I have to lose you?"

The fingers on your chin squeeze, and you become away of how chilly the air is, when compared to how warm his breath is on your face, and how his eyes blaze at your implication. "And you think I won't fight death-itself to prevent losing you?"

Another rumble from the stormclouds overhead.

The next time you speak, the sky has cracked open, and the fall of rain joins the spray of the sea that is steadily drenching you both.

"We'll lose one-another eventually. It's hardly a contest."

"It's an inevitably," Silco agrees, but it's clear he's not exactly thrilled at the prospect. He'll likely drag Piltover to hell with him, when the time comes... but it's not difficult to imagine he is a man willing to take the entire rest of the world down, should you fall-first.

It shouldn't be an endearing as it is. It shouldn't make you feel breathless as you are, and yet-

"Then if I have to lose you, let me have you first." You whisper in a hoarse tone, somehow still audible for him to hear... though it's equally unsurprisingly. He's so close, you might as well be sharing the same breaths of air. "Let me have you, have me, for as long as we got."

"I thought you said it made no difference, if we got married."

"It'll make no difference to the ashes." They won't care whether or not you wore rings on your hands, one of which turns to grasp onto his. "It would mean everything to me. You... you, mean everything to me."

Sappy as a trashy-romance, but one can afford to be sentimental at a funeral.

And a wedding, if the equal-squeezing of fingers around your own is any indication of Silco's choice.

You lean forward - now truly taking-in every inhale he exhales - to rest your forehead to his, the dark, dripping tendrils of his long dark hair acting as a bit of a curtain as he tips his face down, his lips brushing agaisny your own when you move them minutely.

"Silco, marry me."

"Okay. When?"

Your eyes close, and there's the beginnings of a smile.

There was some old netting up ahead, strong and sturdy despite age and disuse. No one would notice a few inches of twine hacked away, until the tied-loops could be replaced by true bands.

No one would notice two rebels, alone in the rain, with only the waves and ashes to hear the whispered promises, eternal vows Silco and you would speak.

Somewhat of a morbid ceremony. Not many brides would prefer it.

But you only smile at the mental image, that would soon be reality.

"Now?" There's too little time left to wait any longer than that. And you love him, by many, many facts, but also by the fact that he seems to agree.

"Now."

#holy shit I finished something??#i WROTE something?#this was sweaty's fault #and y'all better thank her for it #THANK YOU SWEATY #silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #drabble #request #also i'm not editing this #you're going to take this treat and you're going to like it (i hope)#little different from what i write tone-wise but i had fun with this one #arcane fic #silco fic #arcane x reader

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ink-and-dagger · 1 month ago

Note

What if Astrid find a pic of young Silco by accident hehhehehehhehehehehhe

Snapshot

A Drink With Me ficlet

870 words || Established relationship || Silco x Astrid (but can be read as gen f!reader) || SFW but suggestive || MDNI

“Oh my Gods.”

“What?”

“Oh. My Gods.”

Time has stripped the photograph between your fingers of its glossy sheen and has left the edges blunt and frayed, but you would recognise those features anywhere; no less sharp nor striking through the faded sepia.

“This is you.”

It had slipped from between two ledgers as you’d perused Silco’s bookshelves – an activity more to entertain your idle hands than a genuine search for reading material. The image itself is simple and candid: A young man, seemingly oblivious to the fact his portrait is being taken, sat at a familiar bar, with eyes downcast toward a spread of papers.

That same man looks up at you now from a very similar spread of papers. “What is?”

“This.” You drift over to his desk and perch on its edge, all the while unable to tear your gaze from the photo in your hands. The pitch dark hair swept back into a low bun. The familiar strays – the same ones that even now will always be the first to escape any styling under the combing of agitated fingers – falling forward into his face, only far longer and thicker than you’re used to. His skin, unblemished and smooth, save for the chronic furrow between his brows – etched there long before time and tragedy ravaged the rest.

Silco hums absently; an indication that he acknowledges your discovery but finds little interest in it. You can imagine the man in the photograph making the exact same noise, were someone to distract him from his paperwork for a reason he deemed benign. You flip the photo over. No date.

“How old are you here?”

Silco exhales through his nose, places his pen down with a pointed clack, and extends his hand wordlessly toward you.

“Hah! Do you think I’m wet behind the ears?” you hold the photograph out of his reach, “You can tell just fine from over there thank you very much.”

He cuts you a scathing glance, before leaning forward in his chair with a foreboding creak to peer more closely at the image. His scarred lips purse slightly in thought.

“Mid–late twenties. I can’t say for certain.”

“You were hot.”

“Were?”

“Were and are,” you coo, reclining backwards over the desk into his space, one elbow pitched on his paperwork to hold your weight whilst you flap the photograph in front of his face, “Can I keep this?”

“For what reason?”

“Dirty ones.”

“Hardly necessary,” Silco says, the very corner of his mouth creasing upwards as he catches your wrist to halt your photo-flapping, “You have access to the real thing.”

“True, true, and you can be sure I’ll continue taking advantage of that.” You grin, shoving your captured, photo-wielding arm a little closer to him in emphasis, “But right now I’m talking about some alone time with this guy.”

Silco scoffs under his breath and releases your wrist. You twist onto your front, weight propped on both elbows as you admire the photograph in your grip. You trace a finger down the slender throat of the man in the photo, over the generous wedge of chest exposed by his open crimson collar.

“D’you think he’d notice me? If I came into that bar?”

“Oh I’m certain he would.”

“Yeah?” You lift your gaze from the man in the photo to the one before you – as equally breathtaking. More so. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. “What line would he use?”

Silco hums, low and thoughtful, leaning forward in his chair, closing in on your space. He picks up his abandoned pen, briefly twirling the implement until it’s poised between his elegant fingers like a cigarette. Nib safely facing his own palm.

“After downing the dregs of his drink for courage... he would have approached you.”

With sensual tenderness, he brushes the barrel of his pen along your cheek, warmed metal against warmer skin. Catching at the curve of your jawline, and tracing over your pulse in a way that makes it fumble a beat.

“Cast his gaze over each of your pretty, pretty features. One by one,” he murmurs, slowly drawing the end of the pen down your jugular, down the slope of your collar bone, to leisurely trail through the cut of your cleavage. The corner of your mouth hooks up. The warmth low in your belly coils a little tighter.

“He would have leaned in close,” Silco whispers, demonstrating just so, “Close enough that you’d almost taste the whiskey on his breath.”

Blunt metal drags a purposeful line up your throat, and your lips part softly as he tilts your face toward his with the barrel of his pen flat and firm beneath your chin.

“And asked you – very nicely – to stop leaning on his paperwork.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek while Silco’s dual eyes sizzle with smug mirth. It’d be unthinkable, really – to forfeit either one for the sake of a matching pair.

You straighten and push off his desk, hips swaying as you saunter over to the bedroom with the photograph in hand.

“Well,” you say, pausing in the threshold and turning to him with a smirk, “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

#inky answers #drink with me #DWM ficlet #Silco #Silco x reader #Silco x Astrid #Astro #Silco fic #arcane

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gingernut1314 · 2 months ago

Text

Turkey and Cheese ch. 2

Summary: On the run from enforcers, you collide straight into someone in your rush. Someone whose seafoam eyes take your breath away and all you want to do is spend a little bit more time with him.

Content: female reader x Silco, pre-season 1 arcane, first meeting, gendered terms, reader has water manipulation powers, young Silco, young reader, you share a stolen sandwich with Silco, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: The characters will age up, but the plan I have set up is reader meets Silco and the others when they are all still teens so there is only going to be like...one or two more chapters as teens and then we're getting aged up. I hope you all enjoy!!

↞ to The Water's Cold Embrace Masterlist | Arcane Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

You got too much joy picking on the Enforcers that hang around the bridge that separated the shining city of Piltover and the not-so-bright Undercity. You stole their lunches and their coin, called them every name under the sun, and threw rocks at them from dark corners.

It pissed them the fuck off making it prime entertainment for you.

Your guardian, Janna, disapproved of your shenanigans. The lectures were too long whenever you were caught. Lectures about reasonability and grace and blah, blah, blah .

So, to avoid such mind-numbing lectures, you waited until Janna disappeared for days on end to let chaos ensue.

And this fog-heavy day was one of those days.

Your stomach growled, clenching and twisting in hunger as you knelt on top of one of the run-down tenement houses near the bridge. You watched four Enforcers walk out of the broader toll house, switching posts with the other four Enforcers standing before the bridge.

You had been watching them for most of the night, counting and double counting how many Enforcers were on duty. You counted nine in total, which was one less than there had been last time you’d done this.

Someone must be sick or had been fired or, maybe, they were dead. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter one bit to you. All you cared about now was earning a few coins and getting a homemade meal from someone's spouse for a late dinner.

You rushed into action after one last scan of the area, before rushing across the roofs. When you came to the end of this line of tenements, you hopped down onto the fire escape below, a small grunt escaping your lips before starting down the rusting stairs.

Once on the ground, you yanked your hood up and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to keep a low profile as you walked the short distance across the recently redone cobblestoned road. You disappeared into the large shadows the street lamps cast, walking along the smooth wall of the tollhouse.

“Beth just got accepted into that fancy college she wanted.” A gruff voice filtered out from a small, open window.

“Well, shit--” Was the last of that conversation you heard as you climbed up a ladder around the back of the building.

You stayed crouched low as you made way to the vent in the center of the roof. You had used this vent for years, but, as you quietly pulled the metal covering off and lowered yourself into the vent system, found it might be one of your last times.

You were getting too big to fit in the vent.

This was a child's game, as unfortunate as it was to admit, and at the ripe age of fourteen, you were no child anymore.

“We’ve been saving up--” And blah, blah, blaaahhhh .

Enforcers rarely had anything exciting to talk about. It was always about someone's family or about whatever game they had gone to watch. It had nearly sent you into tears as you crawled through the vents.

Where was the excitement? The danger?

Didn’t Encforcer beat Undercityians up for fun?

You finally made it to the vent in the locker room area. It was bland and hardly fit hardly enough lockers for every enforcer stationed here, but to you, it was a gold mine.

You opened the vent, placing it slowly on the other side of the vent shaft, and hopped into the room, hitting the ground on near-silent feet and a held-in grunt. You waited a few seconds to see if anyone had heard you before starting on opening each locker and taking as many coin potches as you could find. The only good thing the last locker had to offer was a piece of gum instantly shoved into your mouth.

Just as you opened the fridge and grabbed someone's paper bag lunch, the door opened.

Your blood went cold. You've been caught one too many times over the years, but each time it happened it never helped ease your nerves.

A younger-looking Enforcer saw you instantly, his eyes narrowing in something like confusion. You didn’t recognize this Enforcer from past interactions, so you assumed he was new.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?”

“No one.” You pulled on the most innocent look you could muster, hiding the lunch behind your back. “I think I might have taken a wrong turn.”

“A wrong--” The Enforcer then saw the open and ransacked lockers. It clicked then, what had happened here right under his nose.

Before the Enforcer had time to speak, you pushed past him into the small hallway.

“Hey!” He shouted after you but you were already booking it into the office area where six enforcers sat. They noticed you almost instantly, rising from their seats in the blink of an eye. One tried to grab you, but you twisted out of his way and dodged another on-coming man.

The front door open with a bang and all but threw yourself into the street, your gum falling from your mouth in the process.

“Grab her!” One of the enforcers shouted, singling the four others standing before the bridge. Those four were too far away to do any grabbing, so you didn’t feel the need to be worried about them.

You ran downwards, toward the looming city you called home. As you ran closer and closer, the air seemed to get thicker-- dirtier than that of the air by the bridge. This wasn’t anything new to you, your throat and lungs taking less than a second to adjust to the polluted air.

The continuous shouting from behind let you know that the Enforcers were still hot on your tail. You would either lose them eventually in this maze of run-down buildings and streets or they would give up, finding they didn’t want to venture as far into the city as you were going to take them.

Time would only tell which it would be, so you pushed yourself harder.

You made the first sharp turn into a familiar alleyway, an enforcer that had been getting too close to you tripping and falling into a couple of barrels full of fish. You gave a sharp laugh, looking over your shoulder to watch that scene unfold in your utter glee.

And just as you made to turn back around, you collided into something solid and bony.

You and the person you’d just hit at full speed went tumbling to the ground, each giving own round of curses.

A pair of blue-green eyes halted your escape. A pair of eyes that took your breath away…well, maybe it had been from the impact but your breath was differently stolen and these eyes--eyes like seafoam weren’t helping.

The blue-green eyes were attached to a thin, sharp face covered in skin that looked like it hardly got out in the sun.

Though everyone down here always had that “hardly seen the sun” look about them.

This guy was very attractive. Too attractive some might say.

So attractive it almost had you forgetting about the four enforcers running after you.

The blue-green eyes narrowed up at you, completely pissed off.

“Get the hell off--”

“She’s in there!” The enforcer that had just fallen into fish guts shouted to his coworkers. The boy’s eyes widened and he looked past you to find what you already knew was coming into the alley.

“Do you have a canteen?” The boy snapped back to you, anger written clear on his face.

“What? No--” You gave him an eye roll.

Who didn't carry a water canteen with them?

Well…you didn’t, but that was beside the point.

“A flask?” You tried again.

“You ran into me and brought enforcers with you and you're asking me if I have a--” He gave a startled sort of sound as you began patting him down. You’d grown tired of his rambling. You found a flask in his jacket in an inner pocket and gave a little sound of triumph.

“Thank you!” You sweetly spoke, pushing yourself off the guy who looked so bewildered by you it was cute . You turned your attention back onto the four enforcers blocking the exit.

“Thought you could get away with it this time, girl .” One of them hissed through his mask. You recognized this man to be Rufus, an Enforcer that had been stationed on the bridge the longest.

“But whatever did I do, sir? ” He gave a growl, taking a step forward that was meant to be threatening.

“Give it back and we’ll forget this ever happened.” You knew that was a lie. As soon as you got close enough, they’d grab you and throw you in jail.

“Promise?” Rufus was growing impatient, you could see it in his brown, tired eyes.

“ Promise .” He grit out. This made you smile.

“Alright, mister.” You pulled the flask out from behind your back then. “Catch!” And the flask was tossed Rufus’s way.

You let your magic flow through your veins and felt for the water in the alcohol.

Rufus caught the flask with ease. He looked from it to you.

“What is--” With great effort, you made the little bit of water in the alcohol explode. The flask broke into pieces, shooting up into his eyes. He gave a scream and that was your queue to leave.

You snapped around, finding the boy standing there, shock on his face. He had a lean build and was very, very tall. It just added to his overall attractiveness.

Focus!

“Time to go!” You swiped the fallen lunch off the ground and grabbed for the boy in one go, pulling him further down the alley.

It only took the boy a moment to regain his right mind and in a split second, he was the one pulling you along.

You followed the boy, climbing up on top of the dumper closest to the broken fire escape. You let go of his arm so he could launch himself at the escape, slamming into the railing with a bang. Once he was over the rusting railing, you were quick to jump and slam into the escape.

The boy grabbed your wrist once your two feet were safely on the other side of the railing before continuing to drag you up stair after stair until you made it to the roof, which someone had been trying to grow some kind of plants on. Just with a quick glance at the spotting plant, you could tell it wasn’t going very well.

Shouting from the enforcers below had you wiggling out of the boy's grip and looking over the edge, finding one had climbed up onto the dumpster while the others looked defeated.

“If it's any consolation, you’ll be feeding a poor underling for a day or so.” You shouted down to them, waving the bag mockingly.

“Don’t think this is over, girl!” Rufus spat. You only gave him a cheeky smile.

“Tell your wife she makes the best turkey and cheese sandwiches. I’ve been looking forward to it all month.” Rufus gave a growl before storming out of the alley. Slowly, the other enforcers followed after him, throwing you dirty looks as they left.

The boy grabbed you then, whipping you around to face him.

You weren’t always the best at figuring out how people were feeling, mainly thanks to being raised by a seemingly emotionless wind spirit, but you could tell in a moment this guy was angry.

“If this is about your flask, I’m--” The guy was quick to not let you finish.

“What the hell were you thinking, bringing enforcers to the Lanes?” He snapped. You merely gave him a very slow blink.

“I’m fully prepared to buy you a new one.” You finished, earning a frustrated growl from the guy.

You liked what he had going on--this uptight, angry, authoritative thing. You liked it so much it made you want to tease him to no end.

“Why I’m trying to get a child to see reason--”

“Whoa there.” You held a hand up, further cutting him off. “You’re like--what, a year older than me?” He narrowed his seafoam blue eyes at you once more.

“You can’t be older than twelve.”

“Nope! Fourteen.” The guy rolled his eyes.

“A child.”

“Alright, mister-high-and-mighty. How old are you then?”

“It hardly matters.” Your mouth fell open in disbelief, but before you could nag him anymore, he continued. “You realize they will be back.” You pulled out of the guy's grip again and began walking across the roof.

To your surprise, the boy followed.

“The reason I pick on those buffoons at the bridge is because I know their threats are empty.” You opened the brown paper bag and rummaged around until you found a foil-wrapped sandwich your stomach had been growling to get a bite out of. “Especially Rufus.” You took one of the halves out and extended it to the boy. “Want some? It’s the good stuff.” He looked it over for a moment, eyes still narrowed.

You could tell he didn’t want to take it from you, not when he still looked so annoyed at you…so you gave it a little wiggle that pulled a sigh from his mouth.

“Thank you.” He took it from you, his eyes finally softening. His fingers brushed the tiniest bit against yours, but it was enough to send sparks running through your every last nerve.

You watched the boy as he took a bite from the sandwich. Watched as his eyes widened the slightest bit. It was so slight most wouldn’t have noticed, but you had been watching him too intently.

“Right? It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” You gave him a bright smile. One you rarely ever gave--one that was genuine --before chomping down into your own half.

You hopped up on the edge of the roof, which overlooked the whole of the Lanes. From up here, you could spot the tops of the highest buildings and the smoke billowing up from the mines beneath the city. Smoke that danced and twirled upward, illuminating the lights shining from across the city. In the day, the smoke would cast the sky in murky shades of gray, depending on how bright the sun was shining.

It was quite beautiful, despite its run-down and polluted nature.

It was still your home.

“I didn’t mean to bring the enforcers here…but maybe I gave someone the chance to get across that golden bridge--for them to seek their fortune or a fresh start.” You looked back to the boy who had jumped up onto the edge with you. He turned his gaze towards you, scanning you over with seemingly all-seeing eyes. Eyes that made your skin seem to burn.

“Is that what you want?” The question shocked you.

In The Lanes, most didn’t get too close to one another. Not unless they had to. It was a very lonely world, but you endured.

“No,” You scoffingly said. You wouldn’t even last a day over there. You were too wild, too much a part of the Undercity. You gave the boy a look over of your own, though much less all-seeing as his had been.

“What about you?” You cautiously asked. Though you didn’t at all mind sharing things about yourself, you didn’t know how this guy was. All you knew is you enjoyed his company….and you didn’t want to be alone all over again quite yet.

“No,” He replayed, looking back over the city. “There’s too much potential here.”

You liked that. You liked that a lot .

You took another big bite from your sandwich, letting the night air fill the quiet between you two.

You swallowed, glancing back over him as you worked up the courage to speak again.

And once that small bit of courage was wrestled up, you told him your name.

The boy turned his eyes back on you, his longish brown hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He seemed to hesitate too for a moment.

“Silco.” He spoke before finishing off his half of the sandwich.

You liked his name. You liked it almost as much as you liked his face.

“How did you manage to make my flask to explode?” You smirked, turning away from the boy, Silco , once more.

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” Silco gave a laugh. It was a tiny huffing one, but a laugh nonetheless.

You liked his laugh. You liked more than his name and face.

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local-crying-boy · 16 days ago

Text

🅂🄸🄻🄲🄾

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚝!𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚌𝚘 𝚇 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙾𝚗𝚎-𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 ,𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽 2 𝙰𝙲𝚃 2, 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚌𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝙳𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚅𝚒 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: <<𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛>> 𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 <<𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛>> 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚜.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 3k

𝙰/𝚗: 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙰 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙱 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖… 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚅𝚒𝚔𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚌𝚘…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Fighting in the Undercity was an unavoidable situation for all, that was an undeniable fact, one that everyone understood. It was either get beaten to a pulp and left in the streets to pick yourself up, or you were the one who beat everyone else up to make sure that you were getting home that day.

You were one to make sure that you weren't the one left to pick themselves up. After all, you had learnt long ago how to avoid being knocked down in a fight how to take a punch or two.

Though, that didn’t mean that you didn't tend to come to The Last Drop, the most frequent place yourself, Silco, Vander and Felicia hung out and talked at, with a battered face and a limp to your walk.

The best thing out of all the bloodied mess, though? You never lost a damn fight.

However, one night, after a job where you were meant to get a ton of loot and ended up loosing the whole damn haul, you seemed to have lost the title of 'never losing a fight'. It didn't mean you had to act like it though.

Your hand pushed open the door to The Last Drop the force unintentionally causing it to slam against the wall, but you tried not to pay too much attention to the eyes that were drawn the sudden and sharp noise.

Your gaze was fixated in front of you, which meant that you immediately saw how Vander's eyes shot to the loud slamming noise that you caused. At first, the bigger man had a look of irritation, that was his property that could have been damaged, but it quickly morphed into one of concern.

You felt his eyes burning into the blood pooling under your nose, your busted lip and your crimson and dirty knuckles, not to mention the fact that your were practically hobbling over to the bar. With the stare of Vander, your hand instinctively moved to your face, the back of your hand smearing away the blood that was, no doubt, about to dry on your upper lip.

"What happened to you?" Vander was swift to ask when you were close enough to the bar.

You had slumped down onto one of the stools, an arm leaning on the counter to keep you upright when sitting down. Gods, how your head pounded, the pulsing right behind both of your eyes, making it ache to blink or even look around.

You shrugged lightly, tapping the counter with a finger, you noticed how your nail, which usually just had dirt under them, now also had blood too. "I got ganged up on, it's nothing."

A small scoff escaped Vander's lips, he was hesitant to pour you a drink, but he did it regardless - you deserved one after the beating you got, after all. "Oh, yeah, it looks like nothing, you hobbling on over here."

You let out a little tut, shaking your head as your other hand propped up your head before placing a coin to cover your drink. You defiantly felt worse than you looked, at least that was one thing you were sure of.

"If Silco sees you like this," Vander started quietly, pushing a drink towards your sullen, slouched silhouette. "He's going to lose his mind."

"Can he wait until I'm drunk enough to not feel all these damned hits?" You huffed under your breath, a hand reaching out for the glass in front of you.

“What actually happened?” Vander asked, arms leaning on the counter. “I thought you were just going to Topside to get a simple haul. In and out you said.”

You stared at the dark liquid in front of you, you had no idea what it actually was, but you assumed it was something strong. Though, it wasn't long before you decided against wondering how bad the beverage was going to taste and how it was going burn your throat, before you lifted the glass to your mouth and threw you head back.

“This wasn’t from enforcers.” You scoffed, “This was from coming back.”

You groaned, shaking your head as the, now empty, glass hit the counter. Your face scrunched up in a grimace before you looked up at Vander. "That's a shit drink, by the way.”

He let out an amused breath, but you new that it was something just to cover up how concerned he actually was for your state. "It's not a drink you're meant to down in one go."

"And..." You dragged out the word, sighing quietly, two fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. "You could've told me before I did the thing you're not meant to do."

There was a small 'hm' noise from Vander, a light shrug of the shoulders before he went to go put away the bottle of liquor he poured you mere moments ago. However, you weren't going to let him, your hand halted in the air before motioning for him to leave it beside you.

"<<Reader>>..." Vander started, but you were quick to cut the man off.

"I just got my ass beat," You muttered, looking up at him once more, your head tilting ever so slightly. "C'mon, I need this."

Vander was about out object, tell you to forget it, that drinking the physical pain away wasn't going to help with whatever battle you were having on in that head of yours. Though, before he could even get a word out, someone else spoke up.

"<<Reader>>!" You heard a familiar voice, though, the timing of his appearance only caused a scoff to escape your lips, head hung low.

You noticed the way Vander's head lifted up to where the voice was coming from, but the view of his face was gone quickly from where your eyes were fixated on your busted knuckles.

"Silco, just wait a second-" Vander quickly said, his hand outstretched lightly as if it was going to be enough to still the fury in Silco’s eyes.

“There’s talk that some fool with a ‘nice haul’ decided to fight four guys in somewhere near Topside.” Silco spat out, clearly having not noticed the fact that you were, essentially, busted up. “What in the world were you thinki-”

You slowly lifted your head, it tilting to the side lightly, you were starting to think the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. Seeing how Silco’s eyes widened at the sight, dilated pupils studying each detail of your battered face, you wondered how bad you actually did look.

“What were you thinking?” He repeated, hands rested in the edge of the counter as he looked down at you, though there was a lesser hint of harshness in his tone.

You sighed quietly, blinking slowly at Silco for a moment. “It’s not like I was going out my way to get in a fight after just getting out of Topside.”

Silco's eyes parted from yours for a moment, but only a split second, looking over at Vander. There was certain look of anger in Silco's icy eyes, though, his closest friend, could see the subtle hint of concern that lingered in his gaze. His eyes fell back onto your face shortly, however, looking more intently at the state of you.

"Are you okay...?" He asked eventually, but was only met with a deadpanned look from you, he sighed and shook his head. "Right, yeah, no."

Then it was Vander's time to speak up, his eyes filled to the brim with sympathy as he looked over the fact that there was now blood staining your skin, "Are you going to be okay?"

With that, you did have think for a small amount of time. Where you going to be okay? Your head was pounding, no doubt a headache coming along, it hurt to walk, let alone breathe and-

"That's a no." Silco muttered under his breath quietly, a hand rubbing his face as you turned to face him - clearly you had hesitated too long.

You shook your head, scoffing under your breath as you weakly went to reach out for the bottle of liquor that Vander left on the counter. "I'll be perfectly fine after a drink."

"Don't even think about it." The slimmer man swiftly said, reaching over to push the bottle out of your reach and closer to Vander - which he took the hint and putting behind the counter, only causing you to groan out in annoyance. "You were struggling to reach for a bottle, <<Reader>>."

You opened your mouth to speak, but Vander was quick to shut you up this time. "C'mon, <<Reader>>, you have to realise that you can't stay like this."

You made no attempt to speak up this time, eyes falling to your bruised knuckles, a simple sigh faintly escaping your lips. Your silence only caused Vander and Silco to glance over at each other once more, usually you were so quick to insist you were fine.

"Come on." Silco said with an exhale, pushing himself up straight with his hands, when he was met with your confused look he crossed his arms. "My room, I'll clean you up."

You had stayed sitting for a short while after he told you what he that he was going to help you, it was like the words were failing to register in your head, like what he had just said was something he said years ago and you could barely remember it.

The man in front you narrowed his eyes, wondering why it was taking you so long to actually stand from the barstool - the barstool that you were, really, just slumped in.

He shook his head eventually, taking your arm and carefully helping you up from your seat. His hands were gentle, almost like you were fragile and easily broken when, in reality, you were already broken. Was he just making sure that you didn't completely fall apart in his arms?

"<<Reader>>," Silco said, his voice was soft, just beside your ear as you felt your feet touch the floor. You could have sworn you didn't feel this heavy before you sat down. "Come on."

Silco essentially escorted you to his room, a hand pressed lightly to the small of your back, in fear that you were going to stumble over your own feet at any moment. You would have laughed at it, teased him for the close contact when he was usually so reserved, but you had no energy.

With small, and slow, steps, you and Silco had eventually made it up to his room. His hand was kept constantly touching somewhere on your back or arm while you walked, all the way until he ushered you to sit down on his bed.

The bed creaked with a loud noise, causing a certain pounding in your head - one that you thought was manageable- to flare up. Your body screamed at you to lay down, just give up for the moment and let your eyes rest, but this wasn’t your room, and this wasn’t your bed, so you couldn’t.

Silco walked away for a moment, coming back with cloth and alcohol, then he placed them beside you before going off to search for bandages, muttering something about ‘running low of them’.

Guilt pulled at your heart, the amount of times either Silco or Vander had wasted their own supplies on you and your stupid mistakes - your lifestyle.

He pulled up an old, barely holding together, wooden chair, sitting opposite you. He held open his hand and motioned with his fingers to get him one of his hands, to which you obeyed without another thought.

“Tell me what happened.” He commanded, but his voice held no real command, no real sense of harshness.

His eyes weren’t even focused on yours, more so concentrated on the state of your knuckles. He reached over for the alcohol and the cloth, taking off the lid and pouring it onto the cloth.

“I have a feeling that alcohol isn’t to drink.” You used quietly, dreading how it was going to feel once the damp piece of cloth touched your open wounds, despite it being a familiar sensation.

The man opposite you wasn’t amused, glancing up at you with icy and cold eyes before looking back down at your hands. “Tell me what happened.”

You let out a soft sigh, his request was a poor attempt at trying to distract you from the coming pain. “Some guys saw I had some good stuff.”

One of Silco’s hands waved to signal you to elaborate, he wasn’t going to apply the alcohol until you were occupied with explaining.

“The haul went without a hitch,” you started, shaking your head slowly, before letting out a scoff. “I got over the bridge back fine, then these… these fools-“

You were cut off as you felt a sharp pain on your left knuckles, attempting to flinch away, but he had a tight grasp on your wrist. “You son of a-”

An amused huff came out of Silco’s lips when he heard you almost curse, eyes glancing up at you, it was the first time you’d seen him even crack a smile ever since he walked into The Last Drop.

“Keep going.” He encouraged, his voice light and soft.

“Some guys saw what I had.” You confused after a quiet wince escaped your lips, feeling the sting on the alcohol damped cloth on your knuckles. “Decided they wanted it for themselves, so I told ‘em to fuck off.”

“You pissed off a gang of people, knowing you were going to be outnumbered?” He questioned, his movements pausing for a split moment as he looked up at you, before he moved the cloth away and reached for the bandages.

You scoffed lightly, oh, how right this man was. “I thought they were all bark and no bite.”

“And you thought wrong.” He mused, his head tilting to the side subtly as if to show how amused he was at your comment.

“No shit.”

A moment of silence lingered between the two of you, Silco could really only hear the small hitches in your breath when your knuckles spiked with pain as he cautiously and steadily wrapped bandages around them.

Every movement of his was precise, calculated, he knew what he was doing, he's done this several times and not just for you. He didn't need you to move your hand all that much, either, it was easier for him to simply manoeuvre your hand side to side when he needed a different angle.

He soon finished with your first hand, putting the roll of bandages to one side as he reached the damp piece of cloth again, dampening it once more in the alcohol he had.

This time, he made no attempt at distracting you, seemingly lost in thought as he decided to merely get the whole painful ideal out of the way so you could get the bandages on your other hand quickly.

Just like the time before, you hissed out his pain when the cloth touched your battered knuckles. However, you made no attempt to pull your hand backwards, not like you did he last time.

'Silco knows what he's doing', you repeated in your mind, 'you don't need to flinch away, idiot.'

"You should have run, <<Reader>>," Silco spoke up eventually, his tone heavy with some sort of emotion you couldn't pinpoint. Guilt? Pity? Worry? "You need to pick and chose your battles, you know."

"I wanted to." You said with a huff, shaking your head once more.

He was swift to respond, glancing up at your with his eyes, but his head remained looking down at our hand. "Why didn't you?"

"Because there was four of them." You deadpanned, a scoff escaping your lips, but your expression soon fell to a sorrowful one, an almost exhausted one. "I... I felt like I couldn't."

Silco's hands faltered in their movements, looking up at your curiously with his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He didn't say a word, but you knew that he wanted you to explain what the hell you meant.

"I don't... feel like fighting anymore." You confessed with a hushed voice, though Silco could have sworn there was a slight quiver to your voice.

Your eyes fell to Silco's hands, he was halfway finished with bandaging up your second hand, but his hands were frozen in place when you confessed to him. Although, once he realised that your gaze lingered on his hands, he started to wrap up with bandaging your hand, no pun intended.

His hands ended up resting on his lap when your bandages were done, watching as your wriggled your fingers, getting used to the new, but once again familiar, feeling of the bandages on your hand. You knew they weren't going last long, they were either going to muddied, damp or bloodied within the next twenty-four hours.

He soon let out a small sigh, your sad, defeated expression too much for him to bare for him to just simply sit there are let you wallow in whatever thoughts you were having. A hand moved to your forearm, gently grasping it, causing your head to shoot up to look up at him.

Silco's icy orbs didn't falter from yours, though, his eyes broken with sympathy. You felt as his tender hand pushed upwards from your forearm to your shoulder, and he just left it being planted there.

You couldn't help but let your body lean a little closer to the man in front of you, the man so willing to lend you wordless comfort, without you even having to request for it. This man, who was so often reserved to his own thoughts, his own feelings, his own ideals, was initiating this closeness between the two of you.

"You have to keep fighting." He said, his voice was sharp, almost cold, but there was a hint of compassion within his words, it was subtle, you almost missed the sound of it.

You shook your head slowly, you felt your eyes sting with the threat of tears, but you weren't going to show any waterworks tonight, you were far too exhausted to do so. "I'm tired, Silco."

"I know," He whispered gently, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes slowly fluttering shut as he felt your warmth. "I know, me too, but we can fix this place."

The sensation of his forehead pressed against yours made your heart skip a beat, your stomach to twist into knots, but you didn't pull away. No, instead your felt your hand rest where his neck and shoulder met, your eyes, too, falling closed.

"I'll take care of this." He promised under his breath. "I promise."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Masterlist

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velvetvampyric · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 9 “developed a taste for you.”

Is posted! Hope yous enjoy! <3

#fanfic #silco fanfic #silco x oc #silco x reader #silco x you #smut #arcane silco #silco #ao3 link #arcane #silco fic #silco angst #silco smut #silco arcane

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cognacandlilac · 1 year ago

Text

To the Depths - Part Five - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) The Pirate's Waltz

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You struggle with the terms of your punishment even as you begin to win over the crew. For a moment, all is well even though you are technically a prisoner. Will the sea allow a moment of peace? Chapter Tags/Warnings: def a little nsfw but not nearly as much as other parts, nothing that hasn't been in past parts. Not beta'd bc I was too impatient to get the update posted lol *edited on 8/5 to fix mistakes that would have been caught with beta reading. There is a lesson here...*

You flee the cabin immediately without another word. Your entire body hums, rages, cries, and begs for release and you know you will not find it in that room. Something stings and burns in your chest, wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight. You’re reminded of Silco’s sea serpent tattoo but immediately shake the thought away. His body is the last thing you want to think about right now.

Especially since the ache between your legs only grows with each step. You briefly entertain the idea of finding a dark, shadowy corner of the ship to bring the relief denied you, but that thought flies out of your mind the moment you see the crew standing idle on the deck, their faces all turned toward the short stairwell you’ve just climbed. You freeze on the last step.

Before Silco dragged you back down to the cabin, you’d passionately declared for all to hear that you were the reason they had to spend the night fighting a violent storm and why thick pools of drying blood now stain the deck. No doubt you’ve made an enemy of yourself to every single person staring at you now.

You could return to the cabin but the thought of being enclosed with Silco is unbearable. You are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Almost literally.

Luckily, you aren’t trapped in your frozen state for long. Jinx darts into your field of vision, her eyes wide and frantic.

“You look awful ,” she says, cupping your face in her dainty hands. The coolness of her skin alerts you to just how scorching your face is. No doubt flushed, too. “I hope he wasn’t too harsh with you.”

Harsh certainly isn’t the word you’d choose to describe what just happened in his cabin. “I received the punishment I deserved for my error,” You say, hoping to avoid bringing up any particulars of that punishment, not when your ass still stung in the shape of his hand. Before Jinx can ask another question, you make your way across the deck to the poor crewmate you tricked.

“I owe you an apology.” You speak to him with the same grace and dignity you would reserve for a noble. “Tricking you wasn’t just wrong, it was cruel. If I thought for even one minute that things would turn out the way they did, I never would have done it but that does not make it acceptable.”

You bow your head and sink into a half-curtsy.

“Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”

The walleyed crewmember says nothing at first. Your cheeks grow red from embarrassment as you try to figure out what you ought to do next. He saves you from your discomfort when he lets out a loud, cawing laugh.

“All those fancy words for me, miss?” He guffaws. “In all me days I never thought a lady would speak so pretty to me.” He throws an arm around you in a friendly, but rough, manner and you straighten up to avoid falling over altogether. “So, am I forgiven?”

“Ya ran a bad scheme and it bit us all in the ass. We’ve all done it,” he assures her. “But it’s nice to know you aren’t too high and mighty to take the consequences.” Relief floods you as the other crewmates circle around. They give you approving nods, though you won’t go as far as to say they look upon you with trust or friendliness.

“Surely, the Captain requested more than just an apology,” Sevika says with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“The apology was my own doing,” you say as you approach her. “His punishment dictates that I am to report to you. I am to clean the deck.” Her eyebrows twitch as the corners of her mouth quiver like she’s trying not to laugh.

“I wouldn’t trust someone so soft-handed with the care of my deck but if the Captain insists…”

She trails off as she walks away. You realize you are meant to follow and hurry after her. She doesn’t offer anything by way of instruction. She tosses a bucket and a thick bristled brush towards you, which you fail to catch. The items clatter onto the floor. Your cheeks burn when you hear chuckles behind you. “Get to it,” Sevika grunts. You look at the empty bucket, noticing that it’s…well, empty.

“Where would I find water?” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize your mistake. Everyone who heard begins to laugh.

“I think you can figure that one out on your own, princess,” Sevika smirks before heading below deck.

Jinx appears at your side, silent as a ghost but with the energy of a toddler who has had nothing but sweets all day.

“I rigged up a pulley system so you can fill your bucket. I’ll show you.”

She loops her arm through yours and pulls you across the deck. You fill your bucket with saltwater and approach one of the more gruesome remnants of the morning’s violence. Your stomach heaves as you spot something that might very well be a skull fragment.

Determined not to look foolish or weak, you get on your knees and scrub. You work diligently and without complaint, even when your arms start to ache and the wood remains stained despite your efforts.

It isn’t the approval of the crew you want, exactly. But you are going to be trapped on this ship for two weeks. While you aren’t looking to make friends with your captors, you also don’t want to find your throat slit in a moment of anger.

“How long are you going to keep doing that?” Jinx materializes by your side. Her braids fall into the puddle you’ve created with your scrubbing efforts. She doesn't seem to mind that she might be getting blood in her long hair.

“Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

You lift your head to find wide blue eyes staring at you with curiosity.

“I will keep doing this until the deck is clean.”

She barks out a laugh. “You’re never going to remove all the gross stuff with just water. Didn’t you know that?”

“I don’t often find myself in positions where I am scrubbing up gross stuff ,” you reply. “What else am I supposed to use?”

“Did Sevika not tell you?” Her brows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion.

“Tell me what?”

Jinx studies you for a moment longer before giggling. “Oh, I get it. Sevika’s having a go at you. Don’t worry. Everyone knows you’ll work without kicking up a fuss. I’ll be right back.”

She bounds off, leaving you confused. You take a moment to give your aching arms a break. You are aware of eyes on you, though the crewmates scattered around the deck do a decent job of not staring at you directly. You know this is some kind of test, one you’re determined to pass with flying colors even if the reward is earning the respect of pirates.

Jinx returns with a small tin.

“Watch this.” With a grin, she opens the tin to reveal vibrant purple powder. She sprinkles a little over the blood-soaked wood. “Pour a little water on that.”

You do as she instructs. With wide eyes, you watch the water hiss and bubble. It takes on a pale purple hue as it spreads. It eats away at the blood but leaves the wood unblemished.

“More water,” Jinx instructs. You comply. The bubbles wash away leaving behind smooth, clean wood.

“What is that?” You ask, eyeing the purple power.

“We’re still working on a name. I have several ideas but they always get shot down,” she says as she replaces the lid and tucks the tin into one of her many pockets.

“We?”

“The ship’s doctor. He likes to experiment.”

“This is the same doctor you got that strange drink from before, when I was first brought aboard?” You press.

“Yup!” Jinx beams.

“Well, the Captain tore that drink from my hands and threw it overboard before giving me water. What was wrong with it?” You shudder at the thought of drinking a substance that is capable of dissolving blood and chunks of brain matter being served to you in a cup.

“Nothing!” Jinx raises her hands, palms facing you. “Sometimes it has side effects, but usually it’s completely safe.”

“Usually?” You arch a brow.

“Sometimes it makes your veins swell and glow and you can occasionally develop abnormal growths on your body,” she explains. “But that’s only if the batch is made wrong or you take way too much.”

“None of the words coming from your mouth are bringing me comfort.”

“It’s science! It’s all about trial and error,” she shrugs. “If I thought it would hurt you I wouldn’t have given it to you.”

Despite everything, you believe her. You haven’t seen a hint of malice in her since you were brought aboard.

“But you still haven’t told me what it is,” you press.

“It’s…a tool,” she says with thoughtful consideration. “Depending on how we process it, it can do a lot of things. It can be medicine and poison at the same time. It can clean wood with gentle precision but also dissolve bone. A tricky thing, it is. Truly fascinating.”

“Interesting,” you murmur as your mind wanders to a person who possesses that same versatility. Another tricky thing.

You see Silco’s face in your mind’s eye but quickly shake his image away. You don’t want to think about the Captain right now. You’re still cross from the way he teased you and denied you. You’re even more cross knowing how much you would have begged for your pleasure had he not chosen to punish you the way he did. “Thank you for the help. Can I have some of that powder to help me clean?”

Jinx almost seems like she’s going to agree but she holds back. “I’ll just stay with you. We can talk and I’ll sprinkle a little whenever you need it.”

“That works for me.” You offer her a warm smile, a genuine one. She smiles back and settles between two crates to keep you company as you clean. ******** Though you finish cleaning the blood and gore from the deck the very day they were spilled, Sevika isn’t shy about giving you extra tasks. She never gives you anything too difficult though you know it’s not out of consideration for you, but for the ship.

You’ve scrubbed the deck twice a day for three days. When you aren’t scrubbing, you put your sewing skills to use mending sails. The thick material is hard to work with and the needles are little more than scraps of half-rusted metal but you make do.

With the help of quick hands, fast learning, and the strange purple powder Jinx offers you soon have far too much idle time on your hands.

You aren’t particularly fond of aimlessly pacing the deck. The Captain’s cabin is always open to you, but you spend as little time there as you can manage.

Despite Captain Silco’s demanding schedule, he always manages to be in the cabin whenever you are. The room is small enough as it is, but when you are in there together, the very air seems to struggle for space. You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him unless you can help it. Yet, he never misses a chance to brush close to you. You feel his eyes on you, always. Even when you sleep.

Sharing his bed is a necessity but you keep your limbs tucked close to you and your body curled toward the cabin wall. He never touches you, which brings both relief and unimaginable frustration.

On the third night, you lay wide awake. Your entire body hums with pressure from the release that was denied days ago. The longing never went away but tonight it’s nearly unbearable.

You listen in the dark. Silco sleeps beside you. His breathing is deep and even. Though there is a soft glow from the ember of his ruined eye, you know he’s asleep. Slowly, very slowly, you shift onto your back. You wear only a borrowed shirt to sleep in. Your legs are left bare and your undergarments never recovered from your unexpected dip in the ocean. Tonight, it’s an advantage.

With great care, you slowly lift the long hem of your shirt until you feel the skin of your lower belly. You part your legs only an inch or two before letting your hand slowly wander between your legs beneath the shared blankets.

You listen intently as you move. Silco’s breathing never changes and you keep the rustling of bedsheets to a minimum.

You find it safe to assume that Silco is a heavy sleeper. Between the winds and rocking of the ship, it would be difficult for a finicky sleeper to find peace here. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. As sound as your logic may be, logic is not what drives you at this moment.

The sensation of your fingertips against your skin is enough to make you shiver. You freeze, silently admonishing your lack of self-control before making another attempt. You don’t need much. Just a few light, indulgent touches. Just enough to remove the biting edge of desire that has taken up permanent residence in the back of your mind since Silco bent you over his knee. The pad of a single fingertip brushes against that sensitive, soaked bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. The pain is necessary if it keeps you from making even the softest of sounds.

You wait for a moment, listening to Silco’s breathing. When you are certain there is no change, you allow another slow drag of your fingertip. Then another. And another. Pleasure spins through your mind and soothes the needy ache you’ve carried in your core for days.

Fragmented images from the night of the storm slip through your mind. The memory of Silco’s soft groan when you rode him so slowly sends another ripple of warmth through your body. You can recall the exact sensation of his tongue as he teased your nipples. You can feel the way he throbbed inside of you when you drove each other to maddening releases.

Yet, somehow, you manage to keep your movements minimal, discrete, and silent. Even as your blood heats up and your heart pounds, you have enough self-control to keep yourself quiet as you relieve your desires.

An intoxicating sense of smugness adds another layer to your pleasure. Though it was memories of Silco that fueled that pleasure, he remains asleep beside you. Completely oblivious.

His ability to consistently underestimate you was truly something-

“What do we have here?” His velvet voice slides through the darkness and wraps around you as his hand finds yours. You’re grateful for the pitch blackness of the cabin so he cannot see the redness of your cheeks. Your mind, still caught in the haze of pleasure from your fingertip, struggles to come up with any sort of explanation.

There is nothing you can say for yourself. You’ve been caught.

His hand, still covering your hand, moves. He presses down on your fingers, forcing you to tease yourself. You push your hips down into the mattress to avoid the pressure of your own touch. “Oh, now you wish to follow the rules?” He taunts lightly.

You roll so that your back is to him. You tell yourself that you remain silent because you will not sink so low as to dignify his taunts with a response. Yet, deep in your belly where that spring of desire sits tightly coiled, you know that you cannot trust your own tongue right now. If you open your mouth to slice him with scathing words, there is a chance you’ll simply end up begging for pleasure.

Hatred blooms within the blush on your cheeks. How dare he toy with you in such a way? How dare you struggle so much to keep yourself in control around him? What happened that night, within the violence of the storm, was about control more than it was about pleasure.

But now? You have your hand between your legs, sneaking pleasure when you’ve always been able to go without when it suited you.

He’s made you desperate.

You remove your hand from between your legs and tuck both arms against your chest. You clamp your thighs together and pray that the sweet ache between them fades soon.

“If I catch you doing that again, I will not hesitate to bind your hands behind your back.” Silco’s voice comes through the darkness once more before he falls silent. You continue to say nothing. When the sun rises, you dress as quickly as you can and flee the cabin. Silco sits at his desk and you do not even have to look at him to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. Embarrassment and irritation propel you through your daily tasks in record time. It is not yet midday when you find that you have nothing to do.

The rest of the crew mill about at a comfortable pace. They don’t seem to be in any particular rush. Jinx is nowhere to be found. You assume she’s below decks with the strange doctor you have yet to meet. Disappointment flutters in your chest. As strange as it is, your favorite parts of the past few days were when she would perch near you ask you worked, and ramble on about everything and nothing. She often jumped from topic to topic without rhyme or reason and rarely bothered to make sure you had the proper context to understand anything she said, but you enjoyed listening. She helped you keep your mind busy.

When your mind is not busy, even for the briefest of moments, your thoughts always turn to Silco. More specifically Silcos’s hands. Or his mouth. Or his voice or his cock or his insufferable personality. Without care, it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in a whirlpool of obsessive, never-ending thoughts about that ridiculous, despicable, revolting pirate bastard.

Prickles of pure fury ripple over your skin. With a soft snarl of annoyance, you scan the deck for Sevika. You find her near the bow, watching the calm sea.

“I need something else to do,” you say.

She initially seems as though she does not hear you, but you’ve come to realize that it’s part of the game she plays. She makes you wait before turning slowly and looking at you as though you’re a piece of flotsam.

“Mend the sails,” she says.

“They’re all mended.” Despite their somewhat worn-down appearance, the sails are of remarkable quality. Even after that vicious beast of a storm, little mending was needed.

“And the deck?”

“As spotless as it can be with all of the wood rot.”

“And the spare line?”

“In perfect condition. It may as well be coils of silk.”

“How many pickled eggs are in the barrel?”

“Two-hundred and seventy-three.”

Her thick, dark brows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“If you want to double-check, you’re more than welcome but please give me something to do first before I throw myself overboard.”

Several emotions fight for dominance on Sevika’s stern face. You see flashes of surprise, humor, annoyance, and perhaps a little bit of respect though that might have been a trick of the light.

“Arlo is doing one of his big cooking hauls today,” Sevika says. “I’m sure he can use an extra set of hands.”

You had yet to venture below deck to meet the ship’s cook and see the mess deck. Jinx preferred to eat in the open air and had taken it upon herself to bring an extra serving for you at mealtimes.

You find the meal offerings of the Zaun’s Revenge to be, frankly, repulsive. At first, you assumed it was because your palate was used to Piltover’s fresh vegetables, vibrant spices, and choice cuts of meat. But you’d seen the way others look at their meals with disgust and longing and you knew you weren’t alone in your dislike of the cuisine.

Of course, could you truly expect to find something tasty aboard a pirate’s ship?

Sevika does not wait for you to answer. She turns away as though you are not there and focuses her gaze on the sea once more. You wonder if she’s looking for something or simply pondering. It’s not hard to imagine that those aboard this ship have had difficult lives filled with strife. You have more than most ever will, despite your losses, and you often need to take a moment to deal with the weight of it all by gazing at a soothing view. It clears the mind.

You make your way below deck, passing the crammed tables of the mess deck.

Arlo isn’t difficult to find. The mess deck and the kitchen are one and the same. A heavy-set man covered in a light sheen of sweat frantically tosses…something in a wide pan over a massive flame. The air carries a scent of burnt food and vinegar. Arlo watches the pan as though he believes the contents will jump out and bite him. To be fair, that doesn’t seem impossible.

“Hello?” You call softly, over the violent sizzle of the ill-fated meal.

Arlo looks over his shoulder and sets the pan aside, looking relieved to do so before a stern expression overtakes his somewhat doughy features. You can’t help but notice the red tinge to his watery grey eyes, irritated by the fumes of cooking such a creation.

“No early meals. You should know the rules by now, princess.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not here to beg for food. Sevika suggested you might need an extra hand. She said you were doing some kind of…food haul?” While you understand what each of those words mean separately, you are unsure of the combined meaning of them in this context.

“Aye?” He sniffs as he brings the corner of his apron up to rub at his eyes. “I like to cook big batches of things all at once and preserve them so it is easy to handle mealtimes. This lot is hard to feed.”

“Preserve them?” You ask. “You have enough salt for such a task?”

“Of a sort,” he says. “The good doctor below decks whipped up a preserving powder that works wonders. It tastes like nothing.”

Arlo jerks his chin towards a bowl sitting on one of the stained, cluttered counters. The bowl is filled with a grainy substance the same vibrant shade of purple as the powder that helped you get blood out of the deck.

“What is it?” You ask, leaning forward just a little.

“Beats me,” Arlo shrugs. “It’s not my place to ask questions, especially not when I’m given something helpful for free.”

“I can understand that,” you nod. “Do you need help with your food haul?”

“I won’t say no. Can you cook?”

You hesitate for a moment. “No. But if you have a recipe I can look at, I can surely figure it out.” You’ve always been a quick learner. And so many people know how to cook so how hard can it truly be? You doubt whatever concoctions Arlo makes take much skill.

“I don’t waste my time with recipes.”

“Then how do you cook?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer.

“I do what feels right.”

What feels right often leads to grey foods that are both mushy and crunchy at the same time.

“Did you study somewhere to become a cook?” Your training in polite conversation rears its head before you can stop it. Of course, he didn’t train anywhere. He’s a bloody pirate.

“People are trained to be cooks?” He looks at you with utter confusion.

“They prefer to be called chefs, but yes.”

“Ach,” he waves her off. “I’m no chef and I do not pretend to be. I just do my best to use whatever isn’t rotting or foul to keep the crew fed.”

Well, at least Arlo seems to have some sort of self-awareness. “Were you not able to gather more ingredients when we stopped at Port Fairna?” You ask. You vividly remember plenty of spice sellers and bakers lining the dirt streets.

“No,” Arlo answers sharply. “I do not mess about with such things.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “You do not manage your own stock?”

“No.” Came another curt reply. The cook avoids your gaze, choosing instead to look at his own hands.

You decide not to push the matter and instead, turn your attention to the shelves of the well-stocked scullery. Unfortunately, your confusion only deepens. The shelves are lined with rich spices from all over the world that look untouched. You spy garlic, onions, potatoes, carrots, and all manner of staple ingredients labeled and stored with heaps of the purple preservative.

“What are all of these?” You ask.

Arlo looks at the shelves you point to but quickly looks away. “Don’t know. Never seen ‘em before. Don’t know how to cook with ‘em so I don’t use them.”

“But it says what they are right on the containers,” you point out. “Surely, you’ve heard of garlic and potatoes even if you’ve never had them. Right?”

Arlo goes quiet for a moment and you briefly wonder if you’ve made some unforgivable error in an innocent question. “Aye. Yes, I’ve heard of them but I did not know we had them.”

“But they’re labeled. Did you not label them yourself?” He controls the kitchen, does he not?

Arlo’s cheeks turn a patchy red color that is not from the fumes or heat. “No, no I didn’t. I…can’t.”

You stare in confusion before shame and embarrassment creep into your gut. “You do not know how to write?”

“Or read.”

Arlo can’t meet your gaze. He seems frozen in place. Though he is nearly the side of the large, tattooed crewmember that once pulled you from the sea, he looks like a small child.

“Oh,” you say softly. It’s clearly a point of tenderness for Arlo. You don’t wish to upset him even more. “Well, then this seems like a perfect arrangement.”

He lifts his head and looks at you with a quizzical expression. “What?”

“I can read but I cannot cook. You can cook but cannot read. It seems like an ideal pairing to me.” You offer him a smile.

For a brief moment, you wonder at your own actions. You’d never go out of your way to be unkind to someone who did not deserve it and you always try to do what’s right, but you know yourself. You have a temper and a spiteful streak that prevent you from ever calling yourself a nice person, though you like to think you are kind in all of the ways that matter.. Arlo is a pirate. Arlo likely knew of the plan to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. Arlo is one of Silco’s men and, therefore, cannot possibly be a good person.

Yet, you find it easy to be nice to him. Natural, even. He doesn’t seem like a scowling, sneering member of a villainous pirate crew determined to put you through hell before returning you to your father and fiance.

He’s just…a person.

So is Jinx.

You are surrounded by people. Just people.

You shake away the thought. Yes, the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge are people but they are people who willingly follow a terrible man capable of terrible things. There are no innocent people aboard this ship and you cannot allow sentimentality and loneliness to cloud that fact.

Still, if a little teamwork can yield some decent food, you’re willing to give it a go.

With Arlo’s approving nod, you push into the scullery and examine what you have to work with. The stock aboard this half-rotted ship rivals your larder back home. You gather up ingredients you know work well together and read the labels to Arlo. His eyes light up with inspiration.

“If I had known we had such things, I would have used them ages ago,” he says with an excited smile.

“No one helped you until now?” You press.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly a helpful bunch. We handle our own responsibilities and we don’t gripe to anyone else. No one wants to be seen as a weak link in the chainmail. Weak links don’t last long. Asking for help would mean dumping some of my responsibilities on someone else’s lap. It’s just not done, you see?”

“No, not really,” you answer. “Asking for help is not a weakness.”

“We can agree to disagree on that but let me ask you something.” Arlo took a head of garlic and began peeling and mincing the cloves with speed and precision. “When was the last time you answered a call for help?”

You open your mouth to answer but falter. You cannot remember a time you were last approached by someone in need of help.

“Well, no one has asked me for help in recent memory so I cannot say,” you answer.

“And that automatically means that no one around you needed help?”

“I-” you stammer. “I don’t know.”

“I bet you live in a big, fancy house. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks coloring with embarrassment as you pass a vial of dried green herbs to Arlo.

“And lots of people get paid to be in that house and make your life easier?”

“Yes,” you repeat.

“And you don’t think those people have struggles that you could probably help with?”

You want to say no. You want to believe that everyone working for your family is happy and content with their job as well as their personal lives but you are not that naive.

Except…perhaps, you are.

“I never thought about it,” you admit.

“And they never asked because that’s not how it’s done. Their burdens are their own. My burdens are my own. It is the way of things.”

You let his words sit heavy on your chest as you rummage through the scullery. You’re almost grateful when you smell the thick stench of rot from ingredients kept too long. You clear out everything that doesn’t look right and shove it into a bin to be disposed of later.

You think of your lady’s maid and realize you know little about her. You do not know if she has siblings, a lover, a best friend, or even if her parents are alive. You have no idea why she applied for a position with your family. As much as you’d like to think your family are good employers, you know it’s foolish to believe her greatest joy in life is tightening your corset and brushing your hair.

“Would this be a tasty addition?” Arlo calls, bringing you out of your thoughts as he holds up a jar of dried peppers. You read the label and wince.

“Are spicy dishes popular among the crew?” You ask. “Just one of those would set your mouth on fire.”

“Better leave it for another day, then,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with too many new flavors.”

Though Arlo never had any training, his instincts as a cook come to life the moment he fully realizes just what he has to take advantage of. Vegetables are minced and sauteed quickly. You find some bone broth tucked away in the scullery. There is no shortage of fishmeat to choose from. You read the labels to Arlo who looks on in wonder.

“I thought this was bass and this was carp,” he says, pointing to two containers of preserved fishmeat. “I never knew that was eel. It all looks so different when it’s sliced up and skinned.”

“Who does the fishing?”

“A few crewmembers have a knack for it. All of Sevika’s gadgets make her the obvious choice for skinning, deboning, and filleting,” Arlo explains. “It’s brought to me all packaged up like this.”

It seems odd to you that the systems around food are so sloppy, especially since Silco seems to thrive on order. Upon further reflection, you realize you haven’t actually seen him eat. He left his plate untouched at the tavern. He let you eat his bread and potatoes. You saw him drink from his tankard but you cannot recall him taking a bite of his food.

Surely, he must eat. Though he is a pirate, he’s displayed a sense of elegance and taste on more than one occasion. You simply cannot see him eating the food prepared by his illiterate cook.

But why does it matter to you? He’s obviously eating enough to keep himself alive. Why would you care what he eats?

You don’t care. And you don’t want to think about him. You have an important task on hand that is, truthfully, quite fun. You’ve come across many of the spices and herbs stored in the scullery during your travels. Smelling them brings pleasant memories. While you do not know how to cook, you know how to describe what things taste like. In the event Arlo knows nothing about an ingredient, you are sometimes able to provide some knowledge. It’s a strange system, but it somehow works.

Arlo keeps your mind busy. He even teaches you how to chop a few things. Your hands are clumsy but you make it work. Within an hour, you are dutifully stirring a massive pot of fish stew. While it’s not something you’d choose for yourself, it’s an improvement on whatever Arlo made before. “It’s strange to be a cook on a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean and have access to things I never even knew existed growing up,” Arlo says, holding a potato in his hands.

“You never had a potato until joining this crew?” You itch to ask why he joined in the first place but you allow him to reveal information about himself at his own pace.

“Potatoes grow from the earth, yeah?” He asks. You nod. “Which means they need something in order to grow.” He gives you an expectant look. You know you’re being tested again but potatoes are a safer topic than the unknown personal lives of your staff. “Sunshine, water, and fertilizer, I presume.”

“There is no sunshine where I come from,” Arlo says. “Water can’t be wasted on plants but even if it could, there is no earth. You can’t grow something of the earth if there is no earth for growing.”

“Oh,” you murmur softly. “You’re from the Undercity, then?”

“Almost all of us are,” Arlo says. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Well, I haven’t been in a very social mood as of late. Being kidnapped tends to do that.” You offer a small smirk, which Arlo returns.

“Fair enough,” he nods. “You seem like a decent sort for a spoiled heiress.”

“You seem like a decent sort for a pirate who can’t read.”

Arlo barks out a laugh. “Perhaps, your ransom money will buy me a tutor.”

You can’t help but laugh at that as you continue to stir the stew. With a little thrill of accomplishment, you realize that you’ve not only assisted in the preparation of a meal but you’ve done so without thinking of Silco for more than a few moments. He’s hardly entered your mind at all.

Footfalls thump on the wooden stairs leading to the deck. You spot tall, well-kept boots wrapped around slender legs.

It is as if your thoughts - or lack thereof - summoned him like some kind of devilish moth to a flame that would prefer to be left unbothered. “Ah, there you are,” Silco says as he enters the mess deck. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Working,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the stew.

“I did not assign you to the kitchen.”

“You told me to take orders from Sevika. Sevika sent me here. Arlo and I are getting along brilliantly, aren’t we?” You look over your shoulder at the cook who glances between you and Silco with a look of panicked confusion. Eventually, his gaze stops on Silco.

“I didn’t know you didn’t want her working in the kitchen, Captain,” he says quickly. His voice trembles with nerves and you feel anger flickering to life in your stomach.

“I should warn you, Arlo,” Silco speaks as though the cook said nothing. “Our prisoner does not have a talent for following directions. She can be sneaky and disobedient if she believes she can get away with it.”

Your cheeks burn as you understand exactly what he means.

Before you can stop yourself, you pull the wooden spoon from the stew and chuck it at Silco. He dodges, but barely. His good eye widens in surprise as you search for something else to launch at him. Perhaps a nice sharp butcher’s knife. Instead, you find a whisk. You throw it without hesitation.

“Have you gone mad?” Silco snaps, dodging the second projectile. How can someone with one working eye be so good at dodging and judging distance? Although, you don’t know for certain if the ruined eye still has a vision. Could that be possible?

You let out a frustrated groan as your mind tries to give in to your curiosity about the infuriating pirate before you.

“Oh, I see,” Silco chuckles. “You’re just upset I won’t let you cu-”

He is silenced by a spatula spinning through the air as it hurtles toward him. He dodges once more.

“I have plenty of things to throw at you,” you warn him. “And if I have gone mad, it’s entirely your fault so I will not feel bad if I crack your nose with a rolling pin.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Arlo murmurs softly.

“Temper, temper,” Silco tuts before backing up toward the stairs. “Don’t let her poison me, Arlo. I don’t put it past her to try.”

Arlo gives you a concerned look as Silco vanishes.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a bitter note in your voice. “I won’t poison anyone.”

“It’s not that, though I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But you just threw things at the Captain. Have you lost your bleeding senses, woman?”

“Most likely.” You find another spoon to stir the stew with and continue on as though Silco did not interrupt your work.

“Just be careful,” Arlo warns. “The Captain is not to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I.” ******** The stew is well received, but that’s not a surprise. Even if it still tastes off to you, it’s a massive improvement. The mess deck is packed with crewmembers licking their bowls clean and sniffing out second helpings. You and Arlo made enough stew to last several meals but it is all gone in the span of an hour. Arlo frets about rationing ingredients but his worries are soon put to rest from an overflow of praise. Even Sevika cracks a smile as she sips her broth.

Silco does not eat with the crew, but that doesn’t surprise you. A spiteful part of you is glad that he will miss out on such a delightful meal. It serves him right for being so…so… Him.

As night falls, the crew settles into a leisurely state.

You get to work scrubbing the dirty dishes, eager to have a task that will keep you out of the Captain’s chambers for as long as possible.

“Ach, leave it to me,” Arlo says. “You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t mind,” you protest, even though dishwashing is not an appealing task after seeing the way the pirates eat. “I should be helping.”

“Come have a drink with us,” comes the deep voice of the tattoo-covered man. After listening to the conversation during mealtimes, you gleaned that his name is Locke.

“Oh, I-” You stammer, surprised by the invitation. A slender crewmember with dark choppy hair moves to Locke’s side. You’re fairly certain they go by Ran.

“Come on,” they urge. “You’ve worked hard enough. And none of us have given you proper credit for taking Walley’s punishment the other day. It took nerve to speak up like that. Most of us wouldn’t have done that.”

You look back at Arlo, who gives a nod of approval. Your gaze returns to Locke and Ran. Though they do not look as intimidating as they did when you first came aboard, you wouldn’t call their demeanors friendly, either but that’s something you’ve come to expect. Everyone on this ship comes from a rough place. It makes sense that even kindness looks abrasive in your eyes. “Okay,” you nod. A part of your mind begins to scheme. If you can befriend some of the crew, perhaps you can pull off an escape after all. The other part of your mind is simply glad you have a reason to stay out of the Captain’s cabin. Besides, it will surely irritate Silco that his crew is being so welcoming to you. That’s a lovely bonus to this situation.

You follow Locke and Ran to the main deck where quite a few members of the crew including Jinx and Sevika stand around a cluster of torches bound together in a damp barrel. It doesn’t seem like the safest arrangement, but you don’t say as much. You move to Jinx’s side. She beams when she sees you and throws a playful, but rough, arm over your shoulder.

“It’s about time you started being social,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. You almost want to remind her that you are a prisoner, a captive. Socializing is not a priority. You decide against it. She’s just a kid. She’s happy and she’s aware of the situation. You’ll leave well enough alone.

“Here, princess.” Sevika presses a tin into your hand. You can smell the alcohol even though the tin is nowhere near your face.

“What is it?” You ask.

“The finest vintage imported from uppityland courtesy of Star Crossed Shipping,” Sevika snorts before taking a gulp of her own drink. You try not to bristle at the mention of your father’s company.

“Seriously, what is it?” You whisper to Jinx.

“I don’t know. I only drink coralberry juice,” she shrugs. “Nothing else is sweet enough.”

You’ve never heard of coralberries or their juice. It’s entirely possible that Jinx is making up a random drink for the fun of it. Either way, your cup is filled with something dark and pungent. It is only when you notice that many crewmembers are watching you with curious and expectant looks that you realize they’re waiting for you to drink. They probably expect you to choke and sputter, proving that you’re too soft and fragile compared to them.

You don’t know why the idea bothers you, but it does. You brace yourself and take a drink.

And it is awful.

If you had to guess, you’d say it was some kind of spiced rum but that doesn’t make the burn any easier to bear as you swallow it down. Your eyes water so much that everyone blurs together in a smudgy mess. For a moment, you think you’re going to be sick. Or that your skin is going to melt off. It’s hard to know for sure.

Even when you swallow the liquid down and the feeling passes, your tongue feels numb. Surely, that’s nothing to worry about. Right?

You are rewarded with approving glances but never any outright praise. Not that it matters. Why would you want the praise of a bunch of pirates? Why would you want praise for choking down something that tastes like it was made in a boot?

You shudder as you realize that it likely was made in a boot or something equally foul.

Thankfully, attention moves away from you as everyone settles down to swap stories. Jinx pulls two crates together and urges you to sit on one.

“Every word of these stories is utter shit, but they’re entertaining,” Jinx whispers to you. “I hope Locke tells about the time he caught a deep sea spineshark with nothing more than a stick and some fishing line.”

You listen to the stories and Jinx’s words ring true. It quickly becomes clear that the purpose is not to share experiences, but to outdo each other with fictional feats of glory. Though, when Sevika speaks of punching a ravenous whale right in the eye, you feel as though there is a measure of truth in her words. Especially if that punch was done by her three-pronged attachment.

“I wonder who is going shout liar first,” Jinx murmurs as her eyes scan the faces of those around her.

“What?” You ask.

“Eventually, someone tells a story that’s so impossible, so unbelievable, that someone else calls them a lair. Then they fight over it.”

“Fight? As in, fight ?” You shake your head. How is this considered a fun activity?

“Yup!” Jinx’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “It’s the best part.”

“If you say so,” you shrug and continue to listen.

Sure enough, a skinny sailor with sunken eyes and a permanent scowl tells a tale that is just a little bit too farfetched and it sends Locke over the edge.

“Lair!” Locke booms, spilling some of his drink.

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” the other sailor snarls.

“This is going to be a boring fight,” Jinx mumbles. “No one will throw a punch at Locke and Locke is too honorable to punch someone smaller than him.”

Never in a thousand years would you have looked at Locke and thought the word honorable applies to him. But Jinx’s prediction rings true. The two sailors shout and swear at each other for a little while but they do not come to blows.

“At least I am a decent shot,” Locke grumbles as the argument reaches its head.

“My nan is a better shot than you are and she’s fuckin’ blind,” the other man snarls, earning a round of snickers from the rest of the crew.

“Your nan died three years ago, you twat.”

“Yeah! And she can’t see for shit!”

You nearly spit out your tentative sip of likely-rum at that. You try to rein in your laughter when you realize everyone else is doing the opposite, especially Jinx.

“Bring me a rifle,” Locke snaps. “We’ll settle this now.”

“You don’t have any targets to aim for, you buffoon,” Ran quips as they drain their cup.

“That don’t matter,” the skinny sailor says with a dismissive wave. “I’m so drunk I can see just about as well as my nan.”

“Then how are we going to settle our little disagreement?” Locke demands. “By proxy?”

“Sure, I’ll choose a proxy to defend my honor,” the sailor scoffs. His bleary eyes scan his surroundings before his gaze lands on you. “I bet the little heiress can outshoot you.”

Locke rolls his eyes and your cheeks flush red.

“I’ll bet my life’s earning she’s never even held a firearm before,” Locke mutters.

“Yet she can still outshoot you,” the sailor slurs.

Your apprehension melts away as you realize everything is said in good fun. For reasons you are unsure of, you decide to join in.

“I’ve never held a firearm but I’m certain Locke has never danced a waltz,” you say.

Locke levels you with a hard stare, one brow arched. “Who needs waltzing?”

“Who needs to be a good shot in alone in the middle of the ocean?” You point out.

“Good marksmanship is very useful in piracy,” Locke says. “Waltzing is not.”

“Waltzing requires grace, balance, self-awareness, spatial awareness, and the ability to read those around you. You don’t have only your partner to worry about but other pairs around you. Can the same be said for shooting?”

“Yes!” Jinx exclaims. “Well, maybe not the bit about a partner but that’s all true.”

“What a load of shit,” Locke grumbles.

“It’s true,” Sevika chimes in. Her word seems to make all the difference even if she only speaks up for the sake of her own entertainment.

You look at Locke who still seems to be struggling with the idea that a waltz and a rifleman use the same skillset. “I propose a challenge.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

“If I can shoot better than Locke can waltz, I win,” you say.

“Win what?” Locke asks.

“Bragging rights?” You suggest. You don’t want to trade away any chores since you need them in order to avoid being alone with Silco.

“Done,” Locke nods with a smirk. Despite his menacing appearance, he looks almost…giddy. Like he’s happy to take part in something that’s truly ridiculous. “Come take your shot.”

You stand and approach Locke as Ran brings a rifle to him.

“Do you have any idea how to shoot this at all?” Locke asks.

“Nope,” you admit.

“In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll show you just enough to keep you from hurting yourself,” he says.

“How gallant.”

He shows you how to hold the rifle, which is far heavier than you imagined. As per instruction, you keep the barrel pointed toward the open ocean at all times. As you hold it, your arms start to tremble. Locke prepares the rifle for firing and you suspect he’s taking longer than necessary just to see you struggle.

“If there is no target, how can we know whether I’ve made a good shot or not?” You ask.

“Don’t worry. That won’t matter.”

“But my part of the challenge is a test of marksmanship,” you protest only to be met with a chuckle.

“Okay, princess. Go ahead and fire.” Locke gives you a nod and you gently tap your finger against the trigger. Aiming at the endless, empty expanse of the black ocean, you pull the trigger fully. You expect the loud boom but you do not expect to feel the entire rifle revolt against your grip, slamming into your shoulder. You stumble back with a small yelp, much to the enjoyment of the spectators around you.

Locke tosses his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking.

“What the hell was that?” You stammer. Ran takes the rifle from you, freeing your hands to rub at your shoulder.

“Recoil. To be honest, I expected to you land on your ass,” Locke chuckles.

“You might have given me some warning.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The pirate says.

“Well, once I confirm that my shoulder hasn’t been launched from its socket, I’m going to make you waltz and we’ll see how you do,” You mutter, still testing the soreness in your arm and shoulder. “If you complete the waltz without tripping, you’ll win. Is that fair?” That seems fair to you since Locke expected the rifle’s recoil to send you to the ground.

“Easy enough,” he agrees.

“Good. Stand here.” You direct him to stand in front of you. “Watch my feet.”

With a phantom partner, you demonstrate the basic steps of a waltz before returning to Locke.

“Got it?” You ask.

“Yes,” Locke nods though he does not seem very confident.

“Good. Remember, if you trip, I win.” You place his hands in the correct positions and do the same for yourself. He’s much taller and broader than anyone you’ve ever danced with. Your arms feel suspended in an awkward way that almost makes you laugh.

“I don’t suppose we have any music?”

“Depends. Can one play a waltz on the side of a barrel?” Jinx asks.

“Likely not,” you chuckle. “It’s no matter. I will count out the beat. That won’t be too difficult for you, will it?” You taunt Locke who only nods.

You begin to count, but nothing happens. Locke stands stock still.

“You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead,” you prompt him.

“Right. Naturally,” he grumbles and waits for you to begin your count. When you do, he steps forward instead of backward, trampling your foot. You hold in your laughter as you shake your head.

“I didn’t think you’d stumble on the very first step,” you tease. “Had I known such a game would be so easy to win I would have joined the fun sooner.”

“I’ve never done any of that fancy Piltover dancing before. Let me try again,” Locke mutters. “It’s a stupid dance. It’s not that hard.”

“If you say so,” you shrug before taking up position again. You begin to count once more. To Locke’s credit, he manages two steps before stumbling, earning a round of laughter from the crew.

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice like a burst of cold wind blew over the deck. Silco stood at the top of the stairs leading to his cabin. The laughter amongst the crew faded into nothing. Only Jinx looked unaffected by the Captain’s sudden presence.

“A friendly challenge,” you explain. “Nothing more.”

“I can see that,” Silco says as he steps closer to the cluster of burning torches. The firelight casts his face in harsh shadows that make him look even more inhuman than he already does. “But I cannot allow the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge to look incompetent. Locke, step aside.”

“Aye, Captain.” The confusion is clear in his voice as he stumbles back. You are unable to fully hide your confusion as well, especially when Silco steps before you and takes your hand.

“The honor of the Zaun’s Revenge is at stake. You will not leave this ship under the misbelief that no one here can execute a decent waltz.”

Well, that’s an unexpected development.

“Do what you are able,” you reply with a note of challenge in your voice that does not go unnoticed by your new partner. You bring your hand to rest on his shoulder as you prepare to dance. “One more thing,” he says before looking to his crew. “Walley, do you still have that old fiddle?”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Fetch it.”

The crewmember scurried away and quickly returned with the promised fiddle.

“Play Across a Sea so Clear and Blue, ” Silco orders before looking down at you. “I doubt you know it but it will suffice for a waltz. Surely, you can adapt.”

“Surely,” you bristle.

Walley beings to play his fiddle. Though you do not know the song, the time signature is well-suited for a waltz. You wait for Silco to lead you into the dance, expecting him to miscount or falter but he doesn’t. The pair of you move across the deck as though you’ve done this a hundred times before and plan to do it a hundred times more.

You quickly adjust to each other’s movements and soon he leaves room for you to add flourishes to the simple steps, which you do without hesitation. Your movements are slow and precise. As you dance with him, you cannot help but think of how different this is from the passion you shared during the storm. Silco leads you through the dance expertly, trusting you to be a competent partner. This isn’t a show of dominance or power but a display of grace and unity. Two bodies moving as one to create something elegant and lovely.

The song ends far too soon, as does the dance. You feel breathless even though the dance was not at all physically demanding. You’re speechless even as your body moves you through the motions of curtsying to your partner.

Thankfully, Jinx appears at your side. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement.

“How did you do that? You looked like you were floating!” She says, looking between you and Silco. Her question is a good one.

Where does a pirate learn how to waltz, let alone waltz so well?

“I…” You start only to trail off. “I need a drink.”

You move away from Silco, back to your abandoned cup. You force yourself to take a sip and you are grateful that it goes down easier this time. The alcohol settles in your belly and dulls the unwanted feelings swirling through you.

Jinx joins you soon and within minutes, the crew is back to swapping stories and boasting as though the waltz never happened.

Your gaze wanders to the bow. Though that part of the ship is kept in darkness, Silco’s figure is even darker and you can see him easily.

Curiosity and something deeper that you do not wish to think about tugs at you. You do your best to ignore it for as long as you are able, but it’s like a persistent buzzing fly hovering around your head.

With a resigned sigh, you get up and move toward the bow. No one stops you or questions you.

You reach Silco’s side and stand quietly in the darkness for a moment. You can hear the gentle lap of the water against the ship’s hull and you can see the sparkling array of stars above, but everything else is black.

“If you’ve come to beg for another dance, I’m afraid I will disappoint you,” Silco says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, as though he does not wish the stars to overhear him.

“I wasn’t going to,” you say. “But I was going to ask where you learned to dance like that.”

“It does not take much to learn how to waltz,” he says. Though you cannot see his face, save for the glow of his ruined eye, you get the sense that he’s avoiding something.

“It’s not just that,” you say. “You dance like a gentleman. You carry yourself like a gentleman. You speak like a gentleman, for the most part. Yet, you’re…”

“A pirate? A sea hound? A scoundrel? A criminal?”

“You could have stopped at pirate but yes,” you nod, earning a soft chuckle from Silco. “But even still, you’re nothing like the pirates my father has encountered.”

“I’ll admit to that,” he says. “I am not like any other pirate roaming the seas. I have no wish to scavenge from trade ships. If I wished to fight for scraps with a thousand other desperate fools, I would have stayed in the Undercity.”

Silco does not need to see your face to know his words have thrown you.

“Is it more believable that a pirate can carry himself well than it is to believe a gutter rat can do the same?”

“I have not known what to believe for several days now,” you say. “I’d be willing to believe almost anything.”

The chuckle that leaves Silco’s throat is dry and humorless. “The Piltover Naval Academy loves bottomfeeders with a sad story.”

Your eyes widen in the darkness.

Of course, that makes perfect sense. He wasn’t daunted by the storm. He runs his ship with precision and discipline one would not attribute to ordinary pirates. He’s managed to instill a sense of both fear and loyalty in his crew. And those who attend the academy are taught etiquette, dance, deportment, and anything else that can shape them into shining jewels of society.

Your mind snaps back to the day you were kidnapped, before everything went to hell. Captain Vander spoke of the academy briefly. There was a moment when a shadow fell over his features as he spoke of his past. And he knew Silco. As did Quartermaster Benzo.

“Did you know Captain Vander?” You ask softly, unsure if you wish to know the answer or not.

Silence stretches out between you and Silco. Even though you are within arms reach of him, you feel as though you may as well be an ocean away.

“Yes.” His voice is soft yet somehow still harsh. Bitter but sad.

“Were you…close?” you ask, unsure if there is a better way to phrase it. The way Captain Vander looked at Silco aboard The Hound went beyond normal anger. There was history there.

“For a time,” Silco replies.

You’re shocked that he gave you any kind of real answer.

“What happened?” You press, wanting to see how far you can take your questions.

“Professional differences,” Silco mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

Silco turns to look at you as silence falls once more. Though you can barely make out his features, you can see he is fighting some kind of war within himself. You are about to take the high road and apologize for prying, as the rules of polite conversation demand, when the ship suddenly heaves hard to one side.

Unable to right yourself in time, you start to fall. Silco’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you to him, allowing you to use his body to steady yourself. Farther down the deck, the crew voices their confusion amongst themselves, unsettled by the sudden jolt.

“What was that?” You ask, turning your gaze to the sky as though you expect another terrible storm to blow in out of nowhere. But the skies are perfectly clear and the wind is calm. The ocean, however, tells a different story. The faint light of the torches reaches the water closest to the ship. Instead of the calm, docile sea, the Zaun’s Revenge glided on only moments ago, the water was as violent as a bubbling cauldron.

“Get back,” Silco urges, guiding you away from the railing.

“What is it?” You repeat.

Silco does not get a chance to answer. In the blink of an eye, the sea erupts. At first, you fear the ship has nudged some kind of explosive. You can think of nothing else that would explain the towering column of water rising just off the starboard bow.

The water crashes back down to the ocean’s surface except that it doesn’t. Water rolls off the form of something huge, something that also looks like water. You blink over and over, trying to make sense of what you are seeing.

You spot two glowing orbs that shine brilliant blue, brighter than any star in the sky. They look like glowing stones that are somehow perfectly round. Your stomach drops as the crew leaps to action around you and more torches are quickly illuminated. The glowing stones are not stones at all.

They are eyes.

Glowing, unnatural eyes deeply set into a massive head made entirely of living water. The head boasts a long snout. Water vapor floated like smoke from what you believe to be nostrils. Its long, curving neck ripples as the water that made up its body somehow managed to keep its shape. Its serpentine body vanishes into the sea as its proud head takes in the sight of the ship. Its watery jaw opens revealing long, sharp teeth that look deadly despite also being made of water.

The creature let out a shriek that makes your vision go blurry for a moment. Your mind still grapples with what your eyes attempt to understand but there is one thing you know for certain. You are not safe.

The water monster shrieks once more and dives toward the deck with open jaws.

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #pirate!silco #silco fanfic #silco fic #silco smut #to the depths

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zvdvdlvr · 5 days ago

Text

Ill never be normal about him

Penance X

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A nsfw multichapter little fic, dedicated to @purpurniymstitel‘s inspired prompt. One last chapter of fluff and fuckery before the proverbial shit hits the holy fan. This one fought me, guys. If you want warnings its just breakfast and blowjobs. Not even a little sorry. So much thanks to @ink-and-dagger and @x-amount-verbs for their support and help. 🖤

“Come have breakfast when you’re ready, lamb.”

It was terribly tempting, the sudden whim that struck you to slide out of bed and make your way across the loft and into the kitchen completely nude. Just to see what he’d do. To relish the look on his face and see if he’d drop eyes respectfully once more as he’d done when you’d sat up in bed and the sheets had pooled under your bare breasts. Or if he’d stare, perhaps leer silently in that sternly amused way of his, so constantly stoic save for that thin hint of a dark little smile that consistently flipped your world upside down and shook it like a snow globe.

Keep reading

#penance #silco #silcoxreader #arcane au #silco fic #silco x reader #priest!silco #priest silco #silco arcane x reader #arcane fic #arcane #arcane silco

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roxnpens · 2 years ago

Text

Firefly

Chapter One: Rumble in the far

[Silco x f!reader] [gore] [blood][angst] (all other tags follow as the story progresses 🙃😉)

_______________

Fic Summary:

You’re a youngster of the Undercity, dreaming of a better world.

By chance you get an opportunity that will change your life.

A revolution will take place - will it change the world you live in … or will it change your destiny?

The story takes place before the occurrences in the Arcane animation. You are a young woman entering the Revolution, which should finally save the Undercity from their oppressors. However, in this revolution you will find more than revolutionaries, colleagues, friends... you will meet a man who will be your closest confidant. Your everything.

Taglist: @juniper-sunny @deny-the-issue @fantadym @mmartos @astudyincontrasts @averagecrastinator @ace-of-zaun @artwithvivien @zaunitekiwi @x-amount-verbs @chaoticlicense @silcosentropy @silcoitus

Can you hear me?

Sleeping in the shadows, could be making history

(Walk) through the fire, (walking) on the water

Used to be a slave, but now you are a conqueror

The Lanes.

Some people consider it the most filthy, disgusting place in all of Runeterra. Some people have another name for the city across the shiny, powerful metropole named Piltover.

Home.

You’re one of those people. You grew up in this dump, filled with the failures, the gamblers and the Lost. In the city where the possibilities of having a good life are as limited as the knowledge about good manners.

Like many of the kids born in the Undercity, you had a rough start into this world, your mom worked as a bartender while your father sat at the other side of the counter. Yup - your daddy dear was a drunk at this time. Whenever something didn’t go the way he wanted or you were playing too loud with your nice little red ball, he gave you a good beating. Sometimes when you’re vast asleep in your own bed, you still could feel the rough calluses from his mine worker hands. In the very beginning of your life those were the hands that cheered you up, as you fell down on your knees. The hands that had mined minerals and ores on a daily basis. The hands that protected you, while they still had work to plunge into.

When your father lost his job, your mom and you quickly became the subjects of your father's wrath. But what really broke your little world, was when your family discovered that you’re able to cast magic - “arcane magic” as some Piltover douches called it. And your father couldn’t think of something smarter, than to sell you for an extremely low price and break your mom's heart. The buyers on the other hand… well…

You had to leave the Lanes, to be observed, trained and … yeah - even tortured by those Piltover douches. You learned the hard way, that you can trust only a few people and sometimes just yourself. After 15 years of training, missions and a lot of hurt and crying, you finally made it out of there and returned to the Lanes.

By then it was much too late when you found out that your mom died soon after you left, because she drowned the loss of her daughter in booze. Your father followed soon - he died of a broken heart, they said… not that you really cared about that asshole anymore. So in the end you could never really come home… because there was no “home” anymore…

You had to learn every rule of the Undercity anew, because you’ve been away so long. Every little trick, every single Undercity manners - just everything. You kept yourself living, with little jobs - which could hide your background of a well trained killer, who lived quite a while in Piltover.

You had a hard time adjusting to your actual home again… but when you made it, you had a good name around the bar- and club scene. You took a good amount of pride in your timekeeping, accurate way of working and a little bit in your trained body.

The mud under your leather boots make a wet sound, as you walk your way through the small alleys on your way home from work. The work you lost, because the owner wanted a “favor” for keeping you in his service. A favor including your body. The blood of his broken nose dripped from your clenched fist as you walked out the bar, where you worked as a bartender. You really liked working there - the patrons were generous and polite, you got paid in time and there was always backup for the ugly situations.

But when your employer had the audacity to ask for your body in exchange for a safe working place - you kinda lost it. Damn your temper sometimes. At the same time you could feel a well known knot placing heavy strings around your heart and squeezing it painfully.

Situations like that happen all the time, when your employer is a man from the Lanes - at some point they either ask you to work for less money, cause they can’t afford to pay you the full wage or they have enough money… but they think money can buy willingness.

But you are not someone to be bought… at least not anymore…

Your black and red coat is soaked with the rain pulling in long heavy strings from the clouded sky and you’re glad to have picked the black pants made from a thicker, more water resistant material. You still have two problems pending in your head at the moment: you still have a long way home AND you need a new job, or your lunch plate for tomorrow will stay empty. You filled your lungs deep with the polluted air of the Undercity and it left your lungs in a sigh of hopelessness. You hate your situation, you hate people like your former boss and you absolutely HATE that the Lanes are never going to change…

Perhaps you should consider the offer of becoming an entrance guard in front of one of the many new night clubs.

You shook your head under the hood of your jacket. No you do many things for money,…but this might be a bad idea considering…

“Oi Lassi!”

The rather deep voice of a man shouting at you from the side of the road makes you jump out of your skin and instinctively grab the hilt of the knife that's hanging hidden on your outer left thigh. Your adrenaline already sends you into a fight-or-flight mode, you try to locate the man whom that voice belongs to. Just like the killer that you’ve been trained to be. You suggest that it could be a goon of the bar-owner you just beat the crap out of, but are surprised to see a young, broad-shouldered and good looking man. His confident, yet relaxed step tells you that he’s either very unbothered about the people staring at him or that he means no harm. Since you can’t say anything for sure, you still keep your grip on the knife, but hide the tension in your body as the man approaches. He has short brown hair and wears typical miners clothing, a torn greenish shirt and thick brown pants. His body is very defined and his t-shirt tenses over his well used bizeps. The outfit is rounded up by some worne miners boots that have a strong metal tip.

“May I ask you something?“, he asks with a smile on his face - an emotion you rarely see in the Lanes.

The situation is still surreal, so you try to answer him the best way your mind can manage, while you position yourself sideways to him, ready to swiftly strike like a viper, still in an inner fight mode and answer: “Depends…”

He laughs - a deep, reverberating laugh, which makes your chest rumble and you involuntarily step back a few steps.

After laughing he holds his muscled midsection and states: “ Damn Lassi, you really remind me of a friend.”

Your suspicious look makes him turn serious again and he rises to his full height, towering over you by a good head and a half.

“But I actually wanted to ask you, if you would want to help me and my friends build a new nation. In the meaning of separating the Undercity from under Piltover's boot - bringing every person in the Undercity a happy and meaningful life. To break free from the slave like life, that those bastards in their high palaces are imprinting on us. Thiskind of life is meant for nobody and yet they still keep doing it. That has to change! Or we and every next generation after us will still be the cockroaches under their heels. My brothers, sisters and I want to give everybody good jobs, close those damn mines and factories - which make everybody sick, cut Piltover‘s fucking strings from our back…”, his spirited speech pauses and he looks down on his shoes like what he says next, really hurts him, “… and giving the many orphans a home… a good education…”, he looks at you directly, “… a bright future. Everything that we could never get.”

Future.

That word, that idea makes your chest clench and spreads an emotion across your whole body, that you forgot you once had…

Hope.

But still you’re not really convinced. It sounded very cheesy, like one of those romantic novels, that you had to read in your childhood. But things run differently in the Undercity - everybody knows and your best guess is that that boy is just playing innocent so he can get you into something VERY unorthodox. So you set your mind straight, looking at him just from the corner of your eye and answer „Yeah… not interested.“

The man looks at you like you just shut down the power of his body. With a low voice and sad eyes he asks you: „Don’t you care about your people?“

Anger shoots into your veins like fire on a pool of dropped spirit.

You think angrily to yourself “Of course I care, numb nuts! This is my home and I hate to see people dying on the streets, because they catch death and disease in those fucking mines. But how are a bunch of kids like us gonna change ANYTHING - huh?!”

“It will work, because we’ll be many and everyone deserves it. Now don’t turn away and hear me out!”, he states and intends to grip your visible wrist. But in one fluent motion, you instead take him by the wrist, twist his arm uncomfortably and sweep his dominant leg away from under him, so that he falls onto his back. Your other hand pulls your knife from beside your thigh and moves it to the man's throat.

There you are - him lying on the ground and you sitting on his midsection - ready to end his life. You both breath heavily and since the rain cooled the surroundings a lot, your breath is visible in damp clouds.

The man looks at you - his eyes are the size of the Piltover moon and he finds his voice back first. “That...” he kept panting, since the throw pushed all the air from his lungs. “… was awesome. How… did you… do that? Where…” he wheezed and coughed for a moment. “Where did you learn that?”

Your anger did not evaporate a bit yet and you ignored his question - now you are more suspicious than before. “What made you think that you could just touch me - huh? Do you always do that with women?”, the venom in your voice could not be overheard and you press the knife harder at the man's throat. His eyes wide and he moves his hand in defensive movements.

“Hey, hey, slow the horses. I didn’t mean to harm you - really. I just… wanted you to listen to me.”, he whispers - you could hear the caution in his voice. You apply less pressure on the knife and on the man's throat. “Ok… you got me listening now. But you better don’t pull a stunt like that again.” You say in a low tone voice, finally standing up from his tummy, extending your hand to him. Without saying a word, he grabs your hand and you lift him up to his feet. He blinks over his shoulder to assess the damage you did to his shirt, but since he can only see dirt on his back, looks satisfied.

In this moment, two Enforcers cut the corner, in full gear and fully prepared for a fight. Some of them always patrol the Undercity to “uphold the peace” as they say, but everybody knows that they just come here to blow off some steam - beating up some “Undercity-rats” and leaving when their counterpart is near death bleeding on the ground. They go straight for you and the man beside you and you can feel their eyes scan you top to bottom. “Is there a problem?”, asks one of them - already grabbing the hilt of the baton on this belt. The man as well as you look unimpressed at the two Enforcers, their breath leaves their mask in a steamy cloud. You step forward and the Enforcers with the trigger finger on his baton move backward with you “Easy there, Missy.”

Missy? Really?

You lift your hands in a defensive movement and put your licor-selling little smile on. “Now, now Officers… I see no one in trouble or any problems. So…”, you put your hands down and gesture with a slight bow to the way beside you. “… you can continue your patrol throughout our beautiful Undercity.” Your smile gets even bigger and you notice a quick glance between the Enforcers. The Enforcer with the baton in ready action raises his chin high - so high that you wonder if he can still see something. “Oh yeah, what are you two rats doing here? Eating some garbage or planning on fighting the big bad cat?”, he puffs out and the two Enforcers start laughing while you and the man keep straightfaced. Their laugh makes you want to murder them cold blooded - until… you could think of something more fun.

The smile creeps back to your face. “Well we just thought of a new way to entertain ourselves like… mud wrestling - wanna give it a try, dear officers?” And with that you raise your right knee almost behind your ear and smash it with full force down the ground. The man beside you caught up with your idea the moment you had raised your knee and did the same, so that when both of your feet hit the ground the mud splashes around the both of you like a dirty firework. The enforcers stepped away from the huge splashes and after the drops settled on ground again, both of the heavy armored men started charging at the both of you. But you raised a hand - saying with your most daring of smile “Oh - was it not to your liking? My, my - my bad - seams I interpreted your looks wrong. My sincerest apologies, … officers.” One of the Enforcers already started to walk away, while the other with the hand on his baton walks in front of you, letting his body twitch short and quickly in your direction and you can barely withhold yourself from sending him to the ground. He looks pejoratively at you and the baton hits your face like a comet - but since you’ve been through worse, only a drop of blood leaves your bottom lip.“Yeah - says the rat in the dumpster. Fucking stink hole this is.” After they are gone some feet, you let a sigh of relief slip out of your mouth and your cramped body relinquishes the state of constant electricity. The man also relaxes again. “Hui - that was kinda close. Thanks for having my back.”

He turns his head back to you and repeats his question, “So where did you learn that throwing-thing?” You hesitate for a moment. Is it wise of you to say, that you’ve been trained in Piltover to keep the Lanes in check and murder eventual suspects…? ‘Hell no!’ You decide for yourself and think about a way to get around it. “I uhm….”, shit - you can’t think of a good excuse, so you go with the first best answer, that’s on top of your tongue. “I… learned it myself… you know - dad kind of beaded me up sometimes… and … I learned to defend myself. Kinda…”,

The man raised his eyebrows and turned his head a little. “You learned all that by yourself ?” Your chest clenched your heart painfully - you still had no reasonable explanation to how you nearly killed him, but he picked up the conversation again. “Then your dad must have been a real dickhead to do something to his daughter, that she learned to do the heavy shit.” He looked away again and he started pacing on the spot. He was shy about something and the way he could not say still made him look like a cute overgrown schoolboy. “You know… we definitely need someone like you. You know - teaching us how to fight properly… what else can you do by the way?”

“Well I can fight with a knife - obviously… and I’m a bartender.”, you answered casually. For reasons of self protection, you kept everything else a secret.

The man looked at you, questioning “A bartender also? Hmm, I definitely could use one more in my bar. But anyway, can I get you excited about the revolution? We definitely need more hands and unless we don’t do something, nothing's gonna change…”

You think about the offer - but, what better chance of change (or work) do you have? But that guy was right… nothing is going to change, unless you stand up and do something about it. But you also think about: if this endeavor should work, then there is a LOT to be done in advance and Piltover sure is not gonna give it all up without a good fight. You finally look at him again and ask just one honest question: “ How many are you by now?”

“Not many, but we keep recruiting.”, again a meaningful pause. “…does that mean you’re in?”

Now it’s your turn on the meaningful pause, but actually you’ve already decided. You tuck the knife away and let your hand hang loosely beside your body. You shrug and a small smirk makes it to your face.

“Well… I just fired myself from my last job for rearranging my employer's face - since he wanted my body over my work potential. Sooo I think I got some time to spare.”

The man looks a little worried and his head leans a few degrees to the side. „You’ve been asked to be a whore in exchange for work? And you punched your ex-boss in the face? Damn Lassi… are you safe? If not I have some people from the revolution who can have an eye out for you.“ „It‘s ok…“, you answer quickly, „… the offer is nice but as you may have found out for yourself, I'm pretty good at defending myself.“

His face starts lightening up like the oven of one of the Undercity factories and he smiles over his whole face.

“That’s pretty true, but can I conclude from your `I got some time to spare’ that you agreed. If you want, you can go down the road in the house to the left. It’s a bar called “The Last Drop” - that’s my bar. Tell ‘em 'Vander ' send you …”,his hyper energy stopped for a moment like he remembered something. “… oh… ehh… I‘m Vander by the way.” and holds out his hand for a handshake. You tell him your name, take his hand and add a short “Nice to meet you.”

Vanders hands are big like that of a bear - you could feel the power leaking between all those calluses on his hand, but he didn’t crush your hand - instead holding it firm and gently. It surprises you a little, but you could pay no further attention to it, because he lets go of your hand - on the run to find the next recruit for the course.

Over his shoulder he shouts “GO TO THE LAST DROP” and runs into the next alley.

You look after him… what a weird and funny guy.

Since you really had nothing to do, you walked in the direction Vander led you - right to the Last Drop. While you were walking with your head down on the dark alley - you thought about Vanders words - about the kids … about a future. When you were a kid you would have embraced the change that's now dawning. It maybe would have changed your life back then. You shake your head again, as you pull the hood of your coat back over your hair. It’s no use to you now, to think about the what ifs and what could have beens - the only thing that matters right now is the here and now. And maybe a little bit of future - yeah maybe the future… if there is one…

End of chapter 1

Lyrics from Skillet “The Resistance”

#Silco x Aurelia #silco x you #silco x oc #silco arcane #silco x reader #silco #arcane #silco fanfic #silco x f!reader #repost from AO3 #silco fic #arcane silco

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