#Silkat

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun Snippet Got & Have

Silco and Katya put a showerstall to good use

Sightly revised version of chapter 28 of Children of Zaun

CW: oral sex, fingering, p in v sex

Kat had never once thought to be concerned with what the other people in her tenement thought. This deep in the Sump, most kept to themselves. Too sick to talk, too distrusting to foster relationships, too strung out on drugs to care about much else. She and Viktor lived quietly, unassumingly. 

Now, with Silco’s fingers hooking inside her, she was keening and moaning loudly. The realization that she had neighbors flashed on the periphery of her mind. Perhaps she should stifle the grunts and cries pouring from her. Then the heel of his hand circled her clit and she decided she didn’t care.

Earlier, when her apartment door came into sight, her heart’s beat became a furious patter. She squeezed Silco’s fingers, and she was certain she could feel the blood rushing through his hand quicken. Their feet kept the same pace, but the energy between them heightened. Buzzed like a struck tuning fork. They both kept their eyes on the door, for fear that if they glanced at one another they’d never make it inside.

Kat closed and locked the door behind them, and it was over. 

Silco was on her before she’d barely turned around, pinning her to the door, mouth wide and eager. She met him with equal fervor, hands clawing at his back and shoulders. He wedged his thigh between hers and pressed up. Kat mewled into the kiss and rocked her hips over the saddle of his leg. 

He worked her coat off her shoulders, and it fell to the ground in a heap. Unwilling to part in any meaningful way, they each thrashed and danced their boots off.

“It was so bloody hard to stay focused today,” he had breathed between kisses.

“I know.”

“I could taste you all fucking day. Smell you as if you were right under my nose.”

“I couldn’t – hng – stop thinking about your mouth. Having it on me. In me.”

Silco groaned. Her hands went for his belt; his grabbed at the buttons of her blouse. They stumbled toward the bathroom, locked together with greedy hands and sloppy kisses. 

His belt had been freed first – flung haphazardly into a corner. Quickly followed by Kat’s vest and top. Silco knelt, shucking the trousers and underwear down her legs, as she twisted at the waist to turn the shower on.

A yelp burst from her when Silco mouthed at the crux of her thighs. She spun back and watched the man on his knees. Warm, callused hands crept up her legs and held them while he feasted. Intense, blue eyes stared up at her. A guttural moan rippled from her mouth as his tongue flicked her clit. Her hands tried desperately to find some kind of hold on the walls as her legs trembled. 

Before she could tumble, Kat had pulled at Silco’s shirt and dragged him back up to standing. His lips latched hungrily onto hers, tongue prying her mouth apart as they undid the clasps of his shirt and tossed it away. 

Then, Kat had dropped to her own knees. She held his gaze while she popped the buttons on his trousers, and pulled them and his undershorts down in one swoop. His cock bobbed free and smeared a string of precum on her cheek. She kept his gaze like he’d done her, and licked the underside of him from root to tip. That same hot, feral need that had pummeled him in the morning hit him again like a chem-tank. The urge to have her, take her, fill her, a near blinding thing. 

Kat’s tongue swirled his glans, gathering a new bead of arousal. He fought the jerk of his hips as her hands slid up the back of his thighs. She gripped his buttocks firmly and bobbed down the length of him. Silco moaned, chin tipping toward the ceiling, a hand threading itself through Kat’s thick hair. The heat and wet of her mouth felt like summer in Zaun. It made him see stars and forget to breathe. 

She pulled off, and Silco gripped her arms, hauling her up into another fierce kiss. Their tastes mixed and mingled on their tongues, more intoxicating than any liquor.

Mouths linked and bodies pressed together, they had stumbled into the shower. Warm water sprayed in uneven spurts over them. The soot on their skin ran off in rivulets, and spun in gray whirlpools down the drain.

Silco had pushed Kat against the tiles, his hands roaming hungrily. Palming her breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers, sweeping down and squeezing her ample ass.

Now, his fingers were inside her, the heel of his hand grazing the swollen nub at the apex of her labia, pulling wild sounds from her. Her lips couldn’t even pucker into kisses anymore, stuck in a slack-jawed position that allowed moans and whimpers of all kinds to slide out. Her breath came in wet huffs fanning across Silco’s cheek. He watched her intently (had he even blinked?), the muscles of his left arm flexing furiously as he worked her. His body glistened and rippled in the sheen of the water. 

It made him look like a dream, Kat thought. 

Silco’s free hand swept down her left thigh, drawing it up to hook around his hips. The shift in her pelvis opened her more, his fingertips curling, pressing. Kat cried out, trying to move frantically against him. The heel of his hand met her, moving in tandem with the swing of her hips.

“L-less pressure. Pull your h-ha-A-nd back a bit.”

“Always listen when they speak.” Another of Brixie’s lessons. “They will always know their body better than you do.”

Silco drew the heel of his hand back, until it was barely a graze against her. After a few circles, Kat’s breath became increasingly shallow and ragged. The leg around him trembled. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, little crescent moons blossoming beneath them.

“A-almost . . . almost.”

Silco watched her closely, felt her deeply. The way her thick, expressive brows pitched up. The way the plush feel of her choked up around his fingers. She was beautiful, spectacular. He could not decide if he wanted to keep watching, or close the space between their mouths. To swallow up the sounds she’d make when she’d finally crest and tip.

Kat’s insides lifted and tightened as her orgasm circled closer, licking at the base of her spine in teasing laps, until it wrapped around her completely. 

She wailed, hips slamming back against Silco’s hand and grinding feverishly against it. Silco listened to her cue and pressed firmly against her, wrist oscillating furiously  as his fingers arched, and pressed as firmly as they could. 

He didn’t blink as she broke apart over him. Utterly enamored and turned on by how her skin flushed, by how her face tightened into a plea before melting in relief. His hand slowed as her hips did. 

The grip he had on her remained secure as Kat’s body softened and grew post-orgasm heavy. He bent down and kissed her, a disappointed moan vibrating against his lips as he withdrew his fingers. He brought them up as he drew back, and placed the pads against her kiss-bitten lips. Without hesitation she took them into her mouth and sucked, eyes hazy with satisfaction.

“You see how distracting you are?”

Kat’s lips curled into a drowsy smile around his fingers, before pulling back.

“I am not sorry.”

Silco smiled darkly. The head of his dick probed against the top of her cleft, brushing over the sensitive nub there. Kat whimpered. His left hand squeezed her right buttock, tugging at it firmly in instruction. She nodded, flecks of water flying off her head. 

They moved in tandem: Silco stooping slightly while Kat bounced up. She wrapped both legs tightly around his waist, and he gripped her ass, her spine firmly pressed against the wall. While not broad and wide like Vander or Benzo, laboring in the mines for most of his life had laid deceptive strength in his long, wiry muscles. 

Kat – now hovering a couple inches above him – ducked down, tingling lips hungrily sliding across his. Her body jolted at the first press of his cock against her entrance. She canted her hips in his hands, bettering the angle. Silco tentatively thrust forward, and the tip of him nestled within her. They both gasped, bodies quivering, hearts racing. He drew back, and pressed forward again until he was fully sheathed. Kat keened; he gulped down a great breath, face pressing against the warm, wet skin of her throat.

She felt so good. Perfect. Warm, wet, and snug. His mind went blank. Part of him wondered if he could stay right here, forever in her hold. 

Then the clutch of her pulsed around him, and Silco’s brain surged back online, suddenly remembering the need to move. His hips drew back, and he slid home. Again. And again. 

Kat’s breasts jostled against his chest. Water collected between them and then fell to the floor in a sharp, splashing rhythm as the connection between them met and broke over and over. The slick tiles squeaked as Kat’s back shifted repeatedly against them. Up down up down up down. The wall behind her shook. Neither could bring themselves to care. 

If a whole building could be undone by a good fuck, so be it.

Kat pulled Silco back into a searing kiss. Mostly tongues, teeth, and shuddering breath. One of her heels slipped down his wet back. She quickly pressed into his tailbone to keep from falling further, lest their union be broken. The pressure sent him deeper, and she moaned loudly when the head of him hit something so profound it sent sparks bursting behind her eyelids. 

Her other heel hooked itself beneath the cut of one of his ass-cheeks and pressed up. His pelvis crashed closer, wiry pubic hair a near constant tickle against her swollen clit. She threw her head back, vision as blurry as the steam gathering above them. Water from the showerhead splattered over her face.

Some droplets landed in her mouth as it opened, and she moaned, “Yes. Y-yes! Keep d-do-O-ing that!”

Silco renewed the grip he had on her, and firmed his feet against the wet floor, fucking her with single-minded focus. One of Kat’s breasts bounced up, and he caught its nipple between his teeth, and sucked hard. She cried out and clawed at his shoulders, leaving long, red welts in her nails’ wake. 

Her body shook and rattled. 

She was a live-wire, primed to short-circuit in the best possible way.

“Keep going keep going keep going keep – oh! – “

A second orgasm ripped through her with shocking intensity. A harsh cry blazed up her throat with searing heat. Her whole body went rigid, locked into itself as pleasure shook her from the inside out. 

All the while, Silco steadily kept his pace. It was as much for her as it was him. He could feel a similar release building in his own body; navel lifting, balls tightening. The excitement in his belly coiled as her cunt squeezed and pulsed at him. 

When Kat sighed and began to sag, his hips thrusted faster. Their rhythm becoming messy and desperate.

He was close. 

So close. 

He kept a careful eye on that spool of pleasure – waiting, feeling for the first sign of it unraveling. 

He pulled off her breast and hissed, “K-kat.”

Even through the murk of her orgasm-addled brain, she heard and understood him. Her legs loosened around his waist, and he pumped once, twice more before pulling out. Silco thrust forward, across her perineum and through the cleft of her ass, gasping his climax. The sound transformed into a gravelly moan as his cock spurt ropes of cum onto the shower wall. He panted against her collarbone; his skin prickled with goose-flesh. 

“Holy shit,” Kat breathed, head still tilted up against the wall.

Silco could only nod against her.

He gulped and managed, “I need a cigarette.”

Kat playfully slapped his shoulder, and let her legs slide down until her feet touched the wet tiles below. Her legs wobbled, and Silco kept his hold on her, keeping her close. He took in her glowing pink face, her eyes glittering like the hexes they’d stolen. There was nothing to do but kiss her. So, he did.

[kikiiswashere]

AUNTIEEEE 😭😭😭 Thank you for the recommendation and kind words!!!

If anyone has any SilcoXreader/ SilcoxFOC, etc recommendations, plz shoot em over, ya gurl has a mighty need

I don’t mind if they’re first person etc, only stipulation is no X instead of a name, it makes my brain 404 hahahahaha

[kalgo]

Silk Sarees in Mysore – The Timeless Elegance of KALGO

Mysore, a city known for its royal heritage and exquisite craftsmanship, is home to some of the finest silk sarees in Mysore.Among the many brands that celebrate this legacy, KALGO - Enduring Silk Legacy stands as a beacon of tradition, elegance, and unmatched quality.The Beauty of Silk Sarees in MysoreMysore silk sarees are renowned for their luxurious texture, pure silk fabric, and rich zari work. These sarees, woven with meticulous precision, reflect the city’s long-standing association with silk weaving. Whether for weddings, festivals, or special occasions, Mysore silk sarees are an evergreen choice that adds grace and sophistication to any wardrobe.KALGO – A Name Synonymous with Authentic SilkAt KALGO, we take pride in offering premium silk sarees in Mysore that embody a perfect blend of tradition and modern aesthetics. Our sarees are crafted using 100% pure silk and genuine gold zari, ensuring an exquisite finish that lasts for generations.Why Choose KALGO for Silk Sarees in Mysore?Unparalleled Quality: We source the finest silk and materials to create sarees that exude elegance and durability.Authentic Craftsmanship: Our weavers use age-old techniques passed down through generations, preserving the true essence of Mysore silk.Exclusive Designs: From classic motifs to contemporary patterns, our collection caters to diverse preferences.Heritage and Legacy: With a commitment to preserving Mysore’s silk heritage, KALGO stands as a trusted name in the silk industry.Experience the Luxury of Mysore SilkIf you are looking for the best silk sarees in Mysore, visit KALGO - Enduring Silk Legacy and explore our exclusive collection. Each saree is a masterpiece, crafted with passion and precision, making it a perfect addition to your wardrobe.Embrace the richness of Mysore silk with KALGO – where tradition meets sophistication. Visit us today and indulge in the finest silk shopping experience! 

[badshastore]

Experience the Elegance of Pure Silk Sarees in Mysore at Badsha Stores

Mysore is synonymous with regal heritage, majestic palaces, and its world-famous silk sarees. If you're looking to experience the timeless beauty of silk sarees in Mysore,  Badsha Stores is the destination you can't miss. Known for its exquisite collection of authentic Mysore silk sarees, Badsha Stores has earned a reputation as a trusted name for quality, craftsmanship, and elegance.

Why Badsha Stores is the Best for Silk Sarees in Mysore?

Authentic Mysore SilkAt Badsha Stores, we take immense pride in offering sarees woven from 100% pure silk, sourced and crafted in Mysore. Each saree features the hallmark of authenticity, ensuring you own a genuine piece of the city’s rich tradition.

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Unmatched CraftsmanshipOur sarees are handwoven by skilled artisans, preserving the age-old techniques that make Mysore silk sarees so unique. The delicate zari work and smooth silk texture are a testament to the exceptional craftsmanship that defines each piece.

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Mysore silk sarees are renowned for their fine texture, luster, and durability. Woven with pure silk threads and adorned with real gold or silver zari, these sarees reflect the royal heritage of Karnataka. Owning a Mysore silk saree is not just about fashion; it’s about cherishing a timeless legacy.

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[taraross-1787]

Medal of Honor Monday: Edward Silk

At about this time in 1944, a hero launches a one-man attack on Germans who were after his company. Amazingly, First Lt. Edward A. Silk survived his daring run.

Silk was then commanding a weapons platoon in France. He and his men had been tasked with a mission: They were to seize high ground outside the city of Moyenmoutier.

By noon on November 23, scouts for Silk’s company were approaching some woods near the vicinity of St. Pravel. They noticed that a nearby farmhouse had an enemy sentry posted out front.

Our soldiers were soon under attack.

The story continues here: https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-edward-silk-moh

[kikiiswashere]

NAUSICA 😭😭😭😭

My sweet babies! You captured them so well 😭🥹

quick silco & katya sketches (character by @kikiiswashere from their fic children of zaun) i fear for her life but it's fine nothing bad is going to happen RIGHT right

[anastasiaauclaire]

My starwars cat gal Silkat for our new Sunday campaign! 💕 she's a pod/speeder racer and session one she managed to sneak inside an enemy compound, kill the leader, free all the other pcs and get her bike back. So in short I love her.

[douglaspanaresf56]

Asa Namuyo ang mga Datong Negosyante ug mga Pamilyang Silkat sa Cebu?

[kikiiswashere]

Comfort: A Sketch Page

Practicing poses using @kibbi’s awesome reference sheets.

Katya comforts a young Viktor

Enyd comforts a young Silco

Silco and Katya find comfort in each other 🥰

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 38

Free Zaun

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: Councilor Bone's Memorial

Content Warning: allusion to sexual assault, dead body, touching a dead body, p in v sex, police brutality

Word Count: 4.6k

Previous Chapter

News of Councilor Bone’s death reached Rynweaver just before the chimney was set to smoke. He’d stared at the assistant who delivered the message, long enough that they shifted uncomfortably. The squeak of their patent leather shoes drew Rynweaver out of his shock. He thanked and dismissed the grunt. 

Once his office door snicked shut, he rose and strode for the wet bar by the fireplace. He poured himself a stiff drink and downed it before pouring another tipple. 

The news soothed him. Rynweaver had barely slept the night before, his mind reeling from his visit to the Councilor’s office. Not that he feared any serious retaliation from Bone, but he did wonder if there would be any repercussions for his actions.

But even more so than that, what the old man had said as Rynweaver had been leaving the office had shaken him.

There is at least one. And he is angry, Thade. There is enough contempt in that boy to topple your whole bloody empire. It is not my policies that will be your undoing. It will be the consequences of your own actions.

Rynweaver sipped at his tumbler and walked over to the massive, ornate windows that overlooked the Mainspring Crescent, the Pilt just beyond that. And beyond that the Undercity’s Promenade. It was difficult to read from where he was, but Rynweaver could make out harsh strokes of graffiti that affronted Piltover with expletives and demands of sovereignty. 

The liquor slid down his insides, its instant warmth loosening the squeezing grip of anxiety.

It had to be a lie. One last, desperate barb from a dying man. A horrendous blind guess that inexplicably hit a mark. 

He hadn’t thought about that day in so long. He’d been young and stupid. Overwhelmed with the responsibility that had been mounted on his shoulders with his father’s untimely passing. And she - she had given him a demure smile as she had walked passed one day. And she had been very beautiful - 

Rynweaver knocked back the rest of his drink, and set the tumbler down on his desk with a firm thunk. 

No. It was a lie. If - if such a child existed, that woman would’ve come forward. Looking for handouts, trying to raise a fuss. That’s what those people did. He’d seen it a few times in his life. Destitute women coming after some of his peers, claiming their dirty little children were theirs. Such situations caused a kerfuffle in Piltover’s high society, but never reached the mass public-sphere. Houses’ lawyers were quick to shut the situation down. Most women were content with the paltry sum thrown at them to keep away; the others who continued to bellyache were threatened with institutionalization, or having their children removed from their care.

Thade looked out his window again, craning his neck in the direction of the Council building. He couldn’t see it from his office. But he could see the beginnings of dark smoke coming from its direction. 

It was a lie. And Bone was dead.

Grayson sullenly looked down at Bone on the gurney. The mortician had done a nice job applying the make-up. He didn’t look as sickly as he had in life. She had powdered his pallor to a subtle peachy glow, and had expertly added a slight flush to the high points of his cheekbones. He really did look like he was merely asleep.

Her heart stuttered and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She reached out and grabbed his hand. It was cold. 

She whispered, “I’m so sorry, Councilor.” A sigh rattled her chest. “I am so sorry we weren’t able to see your vision through. I –“

Grayson’s voice caught on a sudden hook of sadness. Tucking her chin to her throat, she breathed deeply, calling upon the lessons her enforcer training had taught her about staying sturdy in times of crises. 

Eyes closed, she breathed in fully, completely; and released that breath in a steady, even exhale. She repeated the exercise until the tightness in her throat melted. Opening her eyes, she looked back down at Bone.

“I will do my best to see it through. I won’t let the people of the Undercity be destroyed.”

She squeezed his hand, ignoring how the dead muscle didn’t respond to her grip. She released it and looked at him once more. It would be the last time. Tomorrow he’d be lain into a casket, and it would be sealed and prepared for the memorial procession that followed any councilor’s death.

After a minute, Grayson turned on her heel and walked toward the mortuary door, boots tapping on the cold tiles. She thanked the mortician for the privacy she’d allowed her, and began the journey back to Enforcer Headquarters.

When Grayson returned, LeDaird called her into his office. Her brow scrunched at the large map on his desk, little metal pawns dotted across it.

Before she could ask, LeDaird said, “We will have extra security at Bone’s funeral procession.” 

Leaning over the desk, Grayson saw that the map was that of Piltover. The route of the procession laid out in a thick red line. It was standard procedure to have security for such an event, but the number of extra enforcers and their placements were atypical. Grayson frowned.

“Sir?”

“We’re taking no chances,” LeDaird said. “All hands are on deck. Bone’s funeral would be a prime opportunity for the Children to try something.”

Grayson didn’t disagree. But she was concerned about how such a move would impact the increasingly tenuous relationship between the Undercity and Piltover. Guilt coiled in her gut. She wished that things had happened differently. She wished she’d been able to check in with Bone one more time.

“I understand your reasoning, sir. Are we at all concerned about the optics of that choice? Increased enforcer presence at an Undercity Councilor’s funeral? What if that incites the Children?”

“If it does, then we’ll already have officers at the ready.” A heavy sigh blew out through LeDaird’s nose, and his broad shoulders slumped a bit. “I am not making these choices lightly, Dora. It is our job to keep Piltover safe. You may need to make similar choices in the future.”

Grayson swallowed and nodded.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

That was the motto the Children took on in the days leading up to Councilor Bone’s memorial.

Escape routes through the sewers were mapped out and safehouses were solidified. Homes and businesses readied themselves to board up windows and doors if necessary. Alleys with dumpsters and other large items were scouted out and taken note of in case barricades needed to be erected. Weapons were taken stock of and distributed to those who wanted them. Along with a firm warning from Vander that they were not to be used unless absolutely necessary. An order Silco begrudgingly agreed with.

Kat and Sevika took to preparing and organizing all the medical supplies they’d been squirreling away in The Last Drop. It had been months since Kat had brought the first small cache with her, and the hoard of bandages and medicines had grown exponentially. Sevika smiled widely as she took in the bounty.

Kat felt less at peace with it.

It didn’t take long for resources to dwindle.

She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Growing up, Papa had read Kat and Viktor fairy tales about people wishing on stars. They would wish for success, for change, for well-being, for loved ones. The stories always ended with their wishes coming true.  

Kat couldn’t see any stars outside of Silco’s bedroom window. Just the buildings and bridges that surrounded his and Enyd’s apartment. She doubted the lights twinkling in nearby windows counted. 

She sat on the edge of the bed, toes curling and straightening over the worn wood floor. Her hands sat in her lap, right index finger repeatedly running over her thumbnail. A small movement to give her anxiety an outlet. A featherlight touch appeared on the small of her back, and Kat started. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Silco peering up at her, eyelids heavy but gaze clear.

“Can’t sleep?”

Kat shook her head and murmured ‘No’ before turning her attention back to the window. The mattress shifted as Silco sat up. He curled himself around her, his legs bracketing hers as they draped over his bed. His arms wrapped around her upper body, his front melding against her back. A heavy sigh drifted through Katya’s nose at the warmth and weight of him. Silco kissed her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder.

They were silent, watching Zaun bustle before them despite the late hour.

Zaun is alive Silco had said. Kat was certain of that fact, too. As certain as she was of the duplicitous nature of life.

If Zaun was alive, it could be killed.

“I am scared. Scared of what might happen tomorrow.”

There was a nervous tightness in her jaw, afraid to voice such a thing out loud. Afraid that her concern would be misconstrued for uncertainty, regret, or wavering loyalty. She waited anxiously for Silco to respond.

Worry slid from her body when Silco kissed her neck again, and pulled her in closer. “I know. Many are scared. There is much to lose,” he murmured. Viktor’s face flashed in Kat’s mind. “But there is so much more to gain.” Again, Kat thought of her brother. Thought of freedom for the both of them.

“Are you scared?” 

Silco was quiet for a long while. Kat could tell he was thinking by the way his fingers softly drummed against her skin. 

“‘Scared’ doesn’t feel entirely accurate,” he finally answered. “Nor does anxious. It’s not excitement, either. There is a deep calmness in my bones. Not a calm that suggests all is well. Rather a carefully cultivated serenity. A sort of acceptance that there is no turning back now.”

Kat snorted lightly. “Calm before the storm, is that it?”

“I suppose.”

Silence fell between the pair, both watching the cityscape outside the window. Kat took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She smelled the soil and citrus scent of Silco’s room, felt his loose and heavy body envelope her. She imagined what it would be like to feel the way he did. Calm and ready.

Kat opened her eyes. The lights outside shimmered.

“Just so you know,” she quietly said, “my fear does not outweigh my belief and commitment to our people.”

There was a pregnant pause as Silco sat up straighter. His left hand reached up and gently turned Kat’s head to look at him. His blue eyes shone brightly.

“I know.” His thumb extended up to brush the beauty mark beneath her right eye. “Your courage is bigger than your fear. I’ll be at your side tomorrow. We all will. And you’ll be by ours.”

Kat’s chin dipped, heart tapping behind her sternum. Silco leaned forward and kissed her, hands sliding back down to wrap snugly around her. Kat melted into him, body settling even more comfortably into the security of his arms.

The kiss was slow. Their lips rolled over each other’s with unhurried smoothness, their tongues barely grazing in the space between. A kiss to seal promises spoken and unspoken. A kiss that tempered the fear in Kat’s chest.

Silco pulled her back fully onto the bed, laying her down gently, his mouth never leaving hers. The sheets were drawn up around them. Soft but determined hands slid their underwear down. Kat drew her legs up, Silco’s teeth dragged over the sensitive skin of her neck. They joined together, and Kat’s eyes fluttered shut.

There were stars behind her eyelids. 

She wished on them.

The security huts on Piltover’s side of the Bridge were closed the day of Bone’s funeral, their gates left up. It was less a show of good faith, and more to accommodate the number of people pouring in from the Undercity. 

Throngs of Undercity citizens lined the streets, dressed in dark garb, faces stony and eyes bright. They threaded between the insultingly low number of Piltovans in attendance, making their spines stiffen and palm their pockets and purses protectively. Though the people of the Undercity paid them no mind beyond an occasional connecting of eyes. Piltovans looked at them distrustfully; they looked back with restrained contempt.

But they did nothing else. They waited for the procession to begin. They waited for their signal.

Much of Bone’s memorial proceedings were traditional, and thus public knowledge. 

In the morning, he would be interred in the Council Building’s Great Hall where the remaining Council and nobility would pay their respects privately. That is to say: sit performatively in front of Bone’s coffin until it was time to load it onto the caisson. Then he would be marched along Piltover’s streets to the Grand Cemetery, and be laid to rest in a public mausoleum.  

Council, Guilds, and Houses had erected stands from which they would watch the funeral procession. Great, gilded boxes hung with heavy, black velvet drapes that kept those in power separate from the masses, and looking down on the recently deceased. 

An increase in security was not announced, but it was unsurprising.

Silco, Vander, and Kat made their way across the Bridge mid-morning. Annie and Beckett would be crossing over shortly after them. Benzo, Sevika, and Nasha had already wheedled their way into Piltover. Other members of the Children traveled in throughout the morning, interspersing themselves through the crush of other Zaunites coming to pay their respects.

Enyd was unable to make the journey. News of Bone’s death walloped her already fragile immune system, and left her with a fever and a sore throat that exacerbated her preexisting condition. 

She’d watched apprehensively that morning as Silco, Vander, and Kat prepared to leave for the memorial, a bony hand gripping her shawl tightly at her heart. 

Vander and Silco folded Zaun’s flag up into a compact triangle, making sure that the grommeted edge was easily accessible. Silco carefully slid it into the secret compartment Kat had sewn into his jacket the previous day, along with the telescopic pole Mek had forged earlier in the week.

Silco slid his arms through the jacket, and Enyd shook - pride and fear warring inside her small frame. 

“Remember,” she had said, voice a grating rasp, “hide your faces when it’s time.” She reached over and thumbed the black handkerchief strung around her son’s neck. Vander and Kat had matching ones. All the Children did at this point. “They can see us when they hand over our sovereignty.”

Silco pointedly ignored the enforcers dotted about the entrance into Piltover. Officers in reinforced suits and brass masks milling through the waves of incoming Zaunites under the pretense of security. Silco’s nostrils flared. It was subliminal intimidation. Meant to deter anyone from stepping out of line. Especially now that the line-holder was to be paraded through the streets of Piltover.

He rolled his shoulders, the movement adjusting the stiff frame of the flag and pole in his jacket. Kat slipped her fingers between his and squeezed. He squeezed back. 

He was ready for this. 

Zaun was ready.

They cut through the crowds lining the streets, occasionally spying other Children as they went. They would lock eyes for a moment, a resolute acknowledgement, a bolster of morale. 

They passed box seats of Houses and nobility. When they spied Rynweaver’s crest, Vander jockeyed in front of Silco, accidentally butting against Katya as he went. He used his massive frame to shield his Brother from view. It was unlikely that Rynweaver would see them, but Vander would take no chances where Silco was concerned.

The number of Children was thickest near the massive square that interlocked the paths leading to the Council building, the Academy, Blue Winds Court, and the main drag to the Bridge. Where the caisson would be pulled past the enclosure the remaining Councilors would be seated.

Vander, a good head or two above most in the crowd, scanned around once they stopped. His heart was a non-stop rapid beat in his chest, his stomach churned, threatening to evict his meager breakfast. He eyed the enforcers lining segments of the road, armored and masked like those by the Bridge. His gaze lifted. More of them perched behind the parapets of buildings, offering a bird’s eye view.

Vander nudged Silco’s back.

“Lots o’ enforcers,” he whispered. “Some up top.”

Silco’s eyes flicked up. “We anticipated a heavy enforcer presence. It changes nothing.” Katya glanced over her shoulder at Vander. Their eyes locked, and while Vander was less than pleased with the woman, the flicker of concern in her face made him feel less alone. 

Kat turned back to face the square, her eyes lifting to the massive clockface on the large, white marble tower to their left. The procession was due to begin within the hour. It would take the trussed up, black draft horses about ten minutes to pull Bone from the Council building to the square. Then . . . 

Her eyes drifted toward the wide path that led up to the Academy. Classes had been cancelled for the day. She thoroughly searched the faces across from her, and relief bled through her insides when she didn’t spy Viktor. 

She was glad he’d had enough sense to not attend Bone’s funeral despite their friendly report. Maybe Heimerdinger allowed Viktor into the Great Hall to say his respects in private. She hoped he’d been able to say good-bye.

A light hush rippled over the crowd as the Councilors appeared, walking in a line up the steps into their covered enclosure. Heimerdinger at least had the wherewithal to look somber. The rest of the Council - like the Houses and Guilds they’d passed on the way in - appeared disinterested.

“Who do you think they’re going to nominate to take Bone’s place?” a man nearby whispered. 

All three of them glanced over. The speaker looked to be some Topside merchant. He was dressed in simple, but fine, fabrics tailored close to his portly frame. A ridiculous flat-topped hat made to resemble an Ionian benkan was perched upon his head.

“I am not sure,” his companion - a lanky man of about the same age, in a similar outfit - replied. “Surely not another Trencher. Not with all this mess going on.”

The other shook his head, hat drifting to one side. “Utterly ridiculous. Our imports of Ionian silk have already been delayed twice. I’m not sure how much more patience I have for this. They better appoint someone who’s willing to lay down the hammer on those Sump-Rats.”

The pair was hopelessly ignorant to the scathing looks being directed their way. Not only by Silco, Kat, and Vander, but by the other Children within earshot. Vander caught the eyes of a few of them and sent a warning glare their way. 

Say nothing.

Do nothing.

“I thought they taught you lot better manners than to try and replace a man before he’s in the ground,” snapped Silco.

Vander winced. “Sil.”

His thick fingers stretched out to gently press against Silco’s back.

The pair of merchants turned to look at them. Their faces began to splotch with embarrassment, but managed to keep their expressions unimpressed and aloof. They eyed the three up and down before snorting and shifting down the street. Other Children held their ground as the pair went, making them have to awkwardly step around their uncompromising bodies.

Vander let a sigh blow out through his nose as he watched them go. His eyes scanned the buildings across from them, counting the enforcers on the roofs. He hadn’t seen Grayson since they’d crossed over. Not that he would know what to do if he had.

They were here to demand freedom. Not chat with the Enforcer Captain.

The clock tolled the hour. An uneasy ripple agitated the crowd. Bone would be leaving the Great Hall, held inside a coffin of thick, lacquered oak. A far cry from the thin, pine boxes Zaunites were put into - if they were put in anything at all. 

The burial method was yet another microaggression Piltover would have the Undercity suffer. It was customary Below Ground to cremate the dead. It made no sense to bury bodies when that cost living citizens real estate and resources.

Keeping Bone’s body whole and interring him in a mausoleum felt like another denial from Piltover. An insult in death.

Kat loosed a long, steady breath through pursed lips. Her heart thundered and stomach felt leaden. Next to her, Silco straightened and gripped her hand reassuringly. Behind her, Vander shuffled in closer.

A few minutes later the lonely, hollow tone of a singular trumpet playing a dirge bled into the air. As it grew closer, it was accompanied by the clop of hooves and gentle surrusus of steady wheels.

Vander saw the procession first. The musician was in front, a lean, dark-skinned woman with locs pulled into a tumble atop her head. Her brass trumpet shone in the daylight as it crisply crooned its song.

Behind her two black draft horses with black plumes pulled the ornate caisson. Bone’s coffin, covered in a blanket of lilies, was displayed behind the glass panes of the carriage. He watched as the determined faces of the Children slowly turned to follow its journey. 

Waiting.

Waiting for - 

“It’s time,” Silco whispered.

Careful to not draw too much attention to themselves, Vander whipped out his knife and quickly sliced through the seam of the back panel of Silco’s jacket. Kat’s hands slid inside and withdrew the folded flag and pole. With practiced movements, she and Vander threaded the pole’s rings through the flag’s grommets. Silco tugged the black kerchief up over his nose, took hold of the flagpole, fully extended it, and held it aloft.

Later, superstitious and religiously-minded people alike would whisper about how a breeze picked up at that moment, and stretched the flag out in all its glory. The day had been relatively still up until Silco lifted the symbol of the Children’s dream up. As if Janna herself endorsed the movement. 

The initial reaction to the flag rising was stilted. At first, it seemed like no one noticed or cared. Between the bodies of oblivious Piltovans, Children tied similar black handkerchiefs around their faces. 

Just as the caisson rolled into the square, Silco strode forward, the flag a wide ribbon behind him. The Children began marching to the front of the crowds and into the street chanting ‘WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY!’

The Council sat up straight, leaning forward in their seats. Topsiders whispered concernedly, their heads swiveling around madly as if looking for someone to explain what was going on. Enforcers on the ground and above jostled, assessing if the situation was dangerous, waiting for any kind of order from the Sheriff or Captain.

The trumpeter stopped playing, and the caisson’s driver pulled the horses’ reins back as the Children poured into the street, converging on the carriage. The animals snorted and whinnied at the sudden direction, gagging on their bits and stamping their hooves. Both the driver and musician panicked at the sudden onslaught of bodies, and bolted. Before the horses could do the same, Annie and Nasha leapt forward and grabbed their bridles. Strong grips and solid energy helped to calm the unsettled beasts. 

Silco climbed onto the caisson, followed by Kat. The Children surrounded the caisson, the outermost ring held together by their biggest and strongest: Vander, Beckett, Benzo, Sevika, and other broadly-built members meant to intimidate and protect.

Vander kept one eye on the churning crowd of Topsiders before him, and one on Silco behind him as his Brother stepped on top of the carriage’s roof. Kat stood off to the side on the coachbox, her eyes, gold and glimmering above her black handkerchief, stayed on the flag gently waving in the wind.

Silco held the flag and his free arm up high, as much a gesture to quiet the chanting as it was to show he held no weapon. He turned toward the Council’s enclosure. All six Councilors were on their feet. Enforcers had entered their box, prepared to pull the politicians down at a moment’s notice. 

Behind his mask, Silco sneered.

“We are the Children of Zaun, the Storm’s Fury,” he called out. His voice was a blade through the air. “We are here to demand the emancipation of the Undercity - the Nation of Zaun. The city-state of Piltover has shown time and time again that it is unfit to govern our people. The man in this casket is but one small example that proves that. You brought an Undercity citizen onto Council - someone who had the expertise and experience to guide you into creating equitable change - and you did nothing.”

The black-clad crowd bellowed their agreement. The Councilors stared at them with wide eyes. Kat took great pleasure in seeing Heimerdinger’s fur stand on end. 

As the crowd’s frustration ebbed, Silco cried out, thrusting the flag into the air, “Free Zaun!”

“FREE ZAUN! FREE ZAUN! FREE ZAUN!” The Children chanted, stamped their feet, and tossed their hands in the air.

Kat yelled through the cloth covering her face. Her insides vibrated. She’d never felt so certain, so alive.

Pride that threatened to tear Vander’s chest open swelled inside him as he cheered, as he watched Silco atop the caisson.

The stomping grew impossibly louder. The ground shook with it. The glass holding Bone’s coffin rattled. The horses, which had been reluctantly content during Silco’s speech, jerked their heads and stepped back. The carriage swerved slightly, knocking Kat to her knees, and causing Silco to widen his stance and nearly drop the flag.

Once sturdy, Silco reached out to help Kat up. She placed her quivering hand in his steady one. It sent a surge of courage through her, and she held tighter. As her gaze lifted to his face, she expected to see those blue eyes looking back at her, ablaze with righteousness. 

Instead, his focus was out on the street. Over the tops of the Children’s heads. Instead of the zeal she anticipated, his eyes were sharp and reticent. Calculated. 

Kat looked over her shoulder, and her insides dropped.

Marching toward them were a squadron of enforcers armed to the teeth, riot shields held out in front of them. They came up the street that led toward the Bridge, parting scared and confused people as they went, effectively blocking the Children in.

Topsiders lining the streets began to cry out and scatter, looking for any means of escape. The Councilors were whisked away without so much as a response to the demands made of them.

Above, enforcers on the roofs got into defensive positions, setting their rifles on tripods and hunkering low.

Vander’s head swiveled wildly, looking to Silco for some kind of instruction. They couldn’t stay like this. It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.

By the time the enforcers on the ground were fifty feet from the Children, they had gone silent. But they did not shy back. They faced the line of brass and blue with equal assuredness.

The enforcers stopped, and after a moment the shields opened to let Sheriff LeDaird step out.

“Listen to me. We are going to give you one chance - one - to drop to your knees and surrender.”

The seconds that ticked by were agonizing. Vander willed Silco to look over at him. He didn’t. His Brother’s eyes, near rabid in their hate, stayed glued on the Sheriff.

LeDaird’s face deadened, and he sighed. He turned on his heel and disappeared back behind those brass shields. Before an order could be given, there was a tinny clank! as a canister was tossed out of a building’s window and hit the street. It rolled between the Children and Enforcers - and exploded.

Sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger 😘

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Coming Up Next: The battle for Zaun begins

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 35

Think

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: Silco leans on Vander's shoulder. Grayson pays The Last Drop a visit.

Word Count: 3.6k

Previous Chapter

Vander let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned over the large cloth laid across the floor. His gaze roved excitedly over the whorls of blue and red. In it, he could see the Winds of Janna. The shapes also mimicked the smoke that twisted out of the chimneys throughout the Undercity. Tilting his head one way, he could see how the forms Enyd had coaxed out of the cloth represented the three layers of Zaun. The Sump’s swirls were thickest, great fat plumes of blue stretching across the flag’s bottom third. The curls of the Entresol loosened, hints of red peeking out from behind their cover. Finally, at the top, the blue dissipated into soft whisps, stark against their red background. And, in the middle of the whole thing, a black ‘N’ and ‘Z’ stood boldly, combined into a strong tower, outlined by a thin border of white.

“Damn Ms. E,” Vander said. “Yuh’ve outdone yerself.”

Sat in her rocker, Enyd blushed and fidgeted with her hair, not looking at him.

“It’s not quite done yet. I want to add some more stitching between overlapping swirls. To add definition.”

Vander nodded loosely; eyes still glued to the flag as he side-stepped over to the rocking chair. Once in reach, he slung a massive arm around Enyd’s shoulders, and pressed his lips to her temple.

“It’s good stuff, Enyd.”

Enyd smiled, crow’s feet, deep and happy, pinched at the corners of her eyes. She leaned into the shelter of Vander’s chest, savoring the candied sweetness of his pride. She’d so often doled it out when the boys were young; it was a rush to receive it back. She pressed her cheek into the pillow of his shoulder, letting his warmth bleed into her perpetual chilliness.

Then her throat tickled.

The lurch out of Vander’s hold and into the crook of her own arm, shocked him. And Silco, who had been sitting just behind them at the kitchen table. He shot to his feet, but Enyd was already waving both of them off.

“Sorry,” she managed after a few seconds. “Sorry. I am going to go take a little more medicine. It’s in the bathroom.”

The propulsion of the rocker sent Enyd lightly to her feet, and she shuffled out of sight down the hallway.

Silco sat back down, grabbing the tumbler Vander had brought over, and the nearly empty bottle of whisky. He poured the dregs into the glass and took a measured sip.

Vander stood back up, eying his Brother curiously. Silco had been in a mood since he’d arrived about an hour ago, and hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him about it. Heart a nervous thrum, he stepped toward the table, his hands coming to rest atop the nearest chair.

“Yuh good, Sil? Y’seem out of sorts.”

“I wish I could smoke in here,” Silco mumbled, fingers pinching and rubbing the bridge of his nose. His eyes squeezed tightly before he opened them, and looked up at Vander. “Yesterday Kat’s little brother went missing. We found him,” Silco added quickly when Vander’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. “But it was a very . . . volatile affair. I managed to speak with Kat after she and Viktor got home, and - “

He broke off, brows furrowing and lips thinning. Vander’s heart thumped and he cocked his head. 

“And? What?”

“She was scared, understandably. The whole situation spooked her. She talked about what she’s been doing is dangerous for Viktor. How this is hurting him. How she’s being selfish,” Silco spat. Then his shoulders drooped. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair. There was a buzzing in Vander’s body. Tepid and carefully hopeful. “She said she needed to think.”

Vander felt conflicted about the promising emotions swirling in his chest. He could see that Silco felt nervous and upset by what Katya had said, and that made him feel badly for his Brother.

But the selfish, lovesick part of him sang. 

“Think about what?” 

“She didn’t specify,” Silco snipped, throwing his back into his chair and taking another sip of whisky. “I don’t know if she needs to think about her place in the Children of Zaun, about what to tell Viktor, about - “

About us.

Silco’s jaw snapped shut and his eyes flared, but Vander heard it all the same. He shifted on his feet, thinking about what to say. How to soothe his best friend while keeping the door for himself open.

“Well, there’s not technically anything to worry about, is there?” Vander offered kindly. He drummed his fingers against the back of the chair. “She didn’ say it was the Cause, ‘r you.” He swallowed as Silco crossed his arms over his chest, eyes staring at the table. “But,” he said more quietly, “if she does change her mind - “a deep furrow appeared between Silco’s eyebrows “- then she changes it. And it’ll be her loss.”

Vander’s heart hammered as he waited for Silco’s reaction. When Silco’s pinched face softened, relief bloomed through his chest in a warm swath. 

“Why don’ you come back to the Drop with me? Sunday, so it’s closed. Just hang out. Have some drinks. Smoke. Git yer mind offa this.”

Silco’s face retightened, and he looked over to the hallway door. Then apologetically up to him.

“I wish I could, Vander. I would like that but,” he sighed, and said quietly, “I don’t want to leave mum alone overnight. It’s been - nights have been dodgy.”

Silco drained his cup, and set his forehead in his hand. A wholly different expression of grief coming over his face. Vander’s heart sank. Both in disappointment at the rejection, and in sorrow of Enyd’s deteriorating condition. He glanced over at the flag again, then rounded the table to take the seat next to his Brother. A large hand reached out and molded itself over Silco’s slender shoulder. Vander opened his mouth to say something, but everything and anything felt woefully inadequate. He couldn’t soothe his Brother through this like he might a romantic breakup. 

Instead, Vander wrapped an arm around Silco, drawing him in and bumping his forehead against his Brother’s temple. After a moment, Silco’s hand covered the one on his shoulder. Vander’s hand tingled beneath the touch, and his whole body melted into the contact, minimal though it was. 

Sooner than Vander would’ve preferred, Silco squeezed his hand and pulled away.

“Thank you, Brother. And thank you for bringing the whisky. You didn’t have to do that.”

“‘Course. ‘Sides, it was the last of the bottle, n’ who knows when I’ll be able to get another.”

Silco reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Soon, Vander.”

As Vander grinned, Enyd rounded back into the living room, cheeks pink, eyes watery and bright.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered hoarsely, wiping at her eyes.

“No trouble, Ms. E,” Vander assured, making to stand. “I should head back t’the Drop. Thanks fer lettin’ me pop in fer a bit.”

Enyd smiled and went over to him. She reached a small hand up to his jaw, and said, “Anytime, dear. You know our door is always open.”

A lump appeared in Vander’s throat as he looked down at her. Enyd was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had, and, like Silco, had also been skillfully avoiding the realization that her time was running out. Feeling her dry, cool hand on his cheek, looking into her glacial-colored eyes, receiving the soft, adoring smile on her lips, the reality that moments like this were now precious and limited walloped him in the chest with tremendous force.

He couldn’t bear to look at her any longer, so he pulled her into a tight hug. She chuckled and held back; the patting of her hands amusingly light against the bulk of his muscles. 

As they drew away from one another, she said, “There’s a spare loaf on the counter. Take it.”

“Thanks, Ms. E. Great work on the flag again. It’s beautiful.”

“Well,” she sighed, cheeks growing rosy, “thank you for inspiring it.”

Vander’s chest swelled and he looked back at Silco, who looked just as content and mournful as he did.

The walk back to the Drop was uneventful. The bag with the loaf of bread, and carefully wrapped up tumblers jostled at Vander’s side. Gently bumping against the holster he had Mek make for the knife Silco had gifted him. He crept through the shadows and narrow alleys, staying off beaten paths and out of enforcers’ ways.

When the front of the tavern came into sight, Vander’s attention was piqued. Someone was peering through one of the sidelights of the front door. He paused in the shadows of the side street he’d been walking, and watched. They did not appear threatening, but one never made that assumption in the Undercity.

Then the person pulled back and looked up at the building, before they headed toward the dark alley that led around the back.

Vander adjusted the bag so that the belly of it rested against his backside, making it easier for him to unsheathe the knife if necessary. He walked across the square, steps slowing as he approached the street the stranger had gone down.

Whoever it was, they were making no attempt to hide themselves, and Vander couldn’t decide if that was a calming notion, or a worrying one. The person - broadly built, androgynous, and of medium height - was looking up and down the back of The Last Drop. Searching for something.

“Help ya?” 

Vander’s voice resonated down the alley, the gruff sound of it filling the air between him and his quarry. The person did not jump, but their head did whip in his direction with alarming speed. Their face was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. 

The stranger, however, took a few steps closer. Something was off - beyond them looking for a way into the Drop. Their posture was too militant, their clothes plain but not patched and scrubby. 

“I’m looking for the owner of The Last Drop.” A woman. Her voice was low and throaty, some accent Vander couldn’t place twisting her vowels. “Are they not open on Sundays?”

She continued to walk closer. Her hair was thick and black, pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Storm-colored eyes glittered against her brown skin. 

Vander pulled himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at her.

“We’re not. Who's askin’?”

The woman tilted her head, then blinked. An expression of recognition bloomed across her wide face.

“You’re Vander.” 

Her tone was perfectly neutral, but did little to put him at ease. His body stiffened, survival instincts on edge and ready to fight. She held up her hands.

“I am not looking for any trouble. I just came to talk.” “Funny way to talk, casin’ a building.”

She held her ground, eyes flicking briefly to the knife at his side.

“Councilor Bone sent me.”

“Sent you?”

Then, in a rush, his mind supplied him with the memory of this woman leaning on his bar many months ago, trying to talk to a thoroughly distressed Katya. She’d worn a blue uniform and a brass mask slung around her neck.

The Enforcer Captain.

Vander stilled. If she was here, surely there was a detail keeping an eye on her. His stomach dropped. Bone had sold them out. Within his veins, Vander’s blood began to boil. His hands shaped into fists, wishing he had his gauntlets.

“I came to talk,” she asserted again. “My name is Dora Grayson. I’m the Captain of the Enforcers. It’s just me,” she said, as if reading his mind. “I have no detail, nor am I armed. I came to talk.”

Vander narrowed his eyes at her, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing. Grayson’s face stayed stoic. Her gaze once again traveled to the sheathed knife at his side.

“If it will make you feel better,” she said, “you can hold your weapon and I will kneel down right here. Agreeable?”

Keeping her hands up, Grayson lowered herself to her knees. With twitchy fingers, Vander took his knife out, but merely held it at his side.

This had to be some sort of trick. He forced the lines of his face into strong, threatening shadows, though his heart hammered in his chest. His skin grew cold and clammy.

Mind racing, Vander didn’t realize that a very long stretch of silence had fallen between them. Grayson was patient, continuing to look at him with exasperating earnestness. “I am not looking for any trouble. I just want to talk to you, Vander. We’ll talk, and I’ll leave. That’s it.”

“You don’ seriously expect me to believe you.”

Finally, Grayson’s eyes dipped down. Shame evident in the twist of her lips. 

“That is entirely understandable,” she said. “You truly have no reason to believe anything I say, Vander. Not after how Piltover, and specifically enforcers, have treated the Underground for generations.”

Vander squeezed the knife’s handle, leather squeaking under his fingers. This had to be a trap. It had to be. But he spied, nor sensed, anything around them. The hairs on the back of his neck didn’t raise. He wasn’t having that slithery feeling under his skin when he knew things were wrong. No.

What he did feel was a guarded curiosity.

“I have been working with Councilor Bone since before the Children made themselves known. He came to me to help bolster his initiatives for Undercity equity.”

“Yer doin’ a shit job.”

Grayson sighed. “I know. With the Councilor’s help I’ve been able to see and understand how you and the rest of the Undercity have been abused by Piltover’s systems of power for generations - “

Irritated, Vander stepped forward. When he wasn’t shot down or tackled, he allowed himself to consider what she was saying was true. Even so, his anger fixed his face into a snarl. “Ya don’ get a prize fer basic empathy.”

“I know. I’m not asking for forgiveness. That’s not why I came.”

“Why did’ja come, Captain?”

Vander knelt down, the hand holding the knife slinging lazily over his knee. The steel glinted in the low light. Grayson’s eyes flicked to it, then back to his.

“Councilor Bone sent me,” she repeated. “He told me about his visit. He hears you, he understands. He wants you to know that the Undercity has friends across the river. Granted not many now, but there are those who are willing to fight for and protect you. Bridging this rift is not impossible, but it cannot happen if there are three sides.” Vander tilted his head at that. “The Children, Bone and his few supporters, and Piltover. 

A deep crease formed between Vander’s eyebrows.  The sneer on his face melted into a frown.

After a beat, he said, “Topside’s run outta chances t’do right by us.”

Grayson squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head. “I don’t disagree with you, Vander. But that does not change the reality that if the Children continue, that Piltover will retaliate. Hard and relentlessly. They have the resources: funds, weapons, alliances. The Undercity would be devastated. You know that. You have to.”

Vander’s fearsome expression remained, but his insides soured and curdled. His mind went back to its anxious ponderings the night Bone came to talk. He knew the odds weren’t in the Undercity’s favor. He knew everything Grayson was saying was likely true. He held the knife tighter.

“No one wants that,” Grayson continued. “Not even Piltover. Bone’s doing it the right way: Get the right people involved and invested, and change can happen. I came to encourage you to get the Children to reconsider their demands. Help Bone instead of railing against him.”

Vander glared at the captain for a long time, thinking. Thinking about how angry he was at Piltover, personally and broadly. About how this felt like too-little-too-late. About how many more would die to achieve independence. And if that price would be worth it.

He knew some - like Silco and Katya - felt differently. Or said they did. But push come to shove, when their lives would be on the line, or the lives of their Brothers and Sisters, would their sentiments remain steadfast?

Katya had to ‘think.’ Vander hated himself for admitting it, but perhaps he did, too. 

“Think about it,” Grayson said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Discuss it with . . . Bone said his name was Silco, I think? We don’t have to be enemies, Vander.”

Vander’s tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth, and try as he might he couldn’t peel the damn thing off. His mouth became a tight, wide line, and his throat flexed. The captain continued to hold his stare with little issue. 

“I am going to get up now,” she said, “and leave. If you need to reach me for whatever reason, go through Bone’s office.”

Slowly, one deliberate movement at a time, Grayson stood. Vander followed, looming over her. Once on her feet, she nodded, and turned away from him; back straight and head high as she walked confidently down the alley.

Vander’s shoulders slumped and his grip on the knife loosened the farther away she got. Panic, disbelief, and worry flowed through him. Anxiety gripped his mind, not allowing any solutions or courses of action to take root and ground him.

He jolted back into his body when the sound of Grayson’s footsteps stopped. Brandishing the knife, he assumed a combative stance; hackles raising, a snarl on his lips. But she had just turned to look at him. Her eyes widened at his sudden fall back into defense. Then she winced in shame.

Or was it pity?

“I want to help, Vander,” she promised. “I became an Enforcer to protect the citizens I serve. You are one of them. As is the rest of the Undercity. Please. Think about what I said.”

Then, she turned and continued to walk away. Vander watched her, remaining in his primed position. There was a growl vibrating in his ribcage, desperate to be loosed. But he kept it locked tight; he refused to let the monster out unless it was absolutely necessary. Grayson didn’t look back, and disappeared into the dark.

The knife fell from Vander’s hand and clattered to the cobblestones. His heart was a runaway horse, galloping a mile a minute, and trying to take his breath with it. The growl in his lungs transformed into a feeble whine as he exhaled. On shaky feet, he stumbled to the Drop’s exterior, threw his back against it, and slid down until his rear hit the street. The gift Silco had given him glittered in the nearby chem-lights, and he’d never felt so uncertain.

In an increasingly rare moment of mercy, the blight in Enyd’s lungs let her be that night. Silco helped her fold up the flag into a neat, plump triangle, and she tucked it away into the safety of her large sewing bag.

Exhausted, Enyd retired early and slept soundly.

Silco lay awake, staring at the ceiling, mind racing and muscles coiled; his body had long learned the necessity to be able to spring up at a moment’s notice should his mother need help. But that was not the thing keeping him up. Part of it was his bed feeling too big, too cold. Part of it was - 

I need to think.

Anxiety clawed at his gut like a caged animal. Deep, painful gouges that his attention just couldn’t turn away from.

An even voice in his head insisted that there was nothing for him to worry about. It petted gently at his fears, promising all would be well. But his fears snapped back, all teeth and learned consequences.

Silco, like every other Trencher, had never had the privilege of respect or opportunity. That was lost to Piltover’s abuse. Like his Brothers and Sisters, he’d been denied and had lost so much. Lost livable wages, lost meals, lost dignity -

Soon, he would lose his mother.

Silco inhaled sharply and bit the inside of his cheek hard. He kicked off his covers, and dropped onto the floor. Wiggling the loose floorboard open, the cigar case and lighter he’d plucked off that enforcer months ago was revealed. He snatched it up and stepped over to the bedroom window. Cool, damp air blew inside when he cracked it open; goose pimples flocking over his skin. Agitation made his hands clumsy, and it took a minute to pull one of the cigars out, cut it, tuck it between his teeth, and put a flame to it.

Once the tightly packed leaves smoked and crackled, Silco slumped against the window sill. He took a deep breath in, as if he were trying to pull the smoke down to his toes. The heat of it prickled the inside of his mouth. It smothered the anxious beast in his chest.

Silco exhaled a large, thick plume of smoke into the misty night air. He did not know how long he stood there, smoking and thinking. Long enough that the cigar dwindled down to the foil-wrapped end his fingers held. He pulled on it one last time, savoring the smokey numbness coating his insides, before smashing the stub end against the exterior bricks. He let the remnants tumble to the street below, tobacco leaves drifting apart as they descended. He gave the air between his room and the outside one last clearing wave before latching the window shut.

Tomorrow, he would talk to Kat, he decided, as he crawled back into his empty bed. 

He would not lose or be denied another thing because of Piltover.

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Coming Up Next: Silco asks Katya what she needed to think about. Will continues to dislike Silco, and questions Katya's leadership of the clinic. Rynweaver brainstorms creative solutions to his problems.

Next Chapter

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 26

The Necessity of Desire

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: Kat asks Silco to show her Zaun again. And they finally allow themselves to give into their desire.

CW: Heavy petting/groping, descriptions of nudity, cunnilingus

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.3K

Silco stared at her for a moment, the thin line of his mouth slowly falling open.

For the briefest of moments, Kat felt like the rest of the tavern fell away. It was only her and him. Like in her dream. Her throat was a knot, her gut near exploding with the excited thrashing of Desire; her limbs trembled.

He set his drink down on the bar, and the noise and energy of the celebration rushed back in. Kat’s feet began moving again. Like she was a magnet, and Silco was one with an opposite pole.

“Kat,” he said, eyes wide, a nervous curl on his lips. His fingers twitched. Like he wanted to reach for her.

She reached for him instead, grabbing his hands.

Relief seeped from his palms into hers. She held tighter.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, and she pulled him from the main room. She didn’t know at first where she wanted to go, but only knew the tavern was too noisy, too public. They snuck through the backrooms, past Vander’s private quarters, and into the alley behind The Drop.

The chill of the air took Kat’s breath away, the cold pricking her eyes. Her heart was galloping in her chest, an erratic rhythm that shook her body. Silco squeezed her hand.

“Kat?”

“This way,” she said, tugging at him.

Her feet led them to the rickety fire escape that snaked up the side of the The Last Drop like a withering vine. The metal clanged and whined beneath their boots as they climbed. The building the bar was in was tall, and when the pair reached the rooftop, the bustling square beneath spread out before them several stories below.

Kat’s heartrate slowed as she approached the waist-high wall that prevented the drop off the building, and looked out. The square beneath them thrummed with life. The sound of people, music, vehicles, buzzing chem-lights wove together in a symphony of unlikely beauty. The Last Drop’s marquee bled a warm spotlight onto the cobblestones, highlighting merry revelers entering and exiting the tavern and neighboring establishments, arm-in-arm with their friends and loved ones. Their laughter and happiness rose above the main musical theme of the Lanes in bursts, like bubbles floating, then popping playfully through the air.

It was beautiful. Tears shelved themselves along Kat’s eyelids.

It was beautiful. And she was part of it.

A sigh escaped from her lips in a watery shudder. Silco stood closer.

Finally, she looked up at him, gold eyes clear and bright like polished hexes.

“Silco, will you tell me about Zaun again?”

Silco’s voice caught, surprised by the question. His chest ached to see the broken, searching look behind Kat’s eyes. She had been so standoffish as of late. He missed her. Would she allow him to reach inside and help puzzle her back together?

A breath left him, a cloud filtering out through his lips and dissipating over the breeze. His eyes tracked through the crowd; his ears filled with the sounds of Zaun; the warmth of Kat’s palm pressed against his.

“Look down there, Kat.” He jut his chin to the wide open space below, and her eyes slid to look again. “We have made our intentions known. We’ve taken the first stand against Piltover, and they’ve tried to deter and choke us already. But look down there, think of what you walked into in The Last Drop. No one is afraid – at least not enough to cow down and remain small.

“That is what Zaun is: Brothers and Sisters standing against whatever is thrown at them. Loyal and steadfast. Fierce and wild in a way that chafes Piltover. Across the River, Topsiders police themselves and us to maintain the status quo. Their devotion is to their station, not their lives. Certainly not the lives of others. You’ve been over there. You have seen how dour and stagnate that city is. Pretty, perhaps. But it’s only an ornate and bejeweled husk. Piltover is not alive.”

Kat realized she’d been holding her breath the entire time Silco had been speaking. His grip on her hand was tight, solid. She looked up at him and saw the same fiery, passionate profile she’d taken in all those weeks ago when he had first showed her Zaun. When that first inkling of want and desire flickered inside of her. It filled her with awe.

“Zaun is alive,” he continued, voice fervent, eyes wide with possibility. “It is breathing. Look. Even beneath the surface, look how we thrive despite it all.”

“It is not a pipedream anymore,” Kat whispered in a wavering voice.

Silco’s head snapped in her direction. “It never was. We were always meant for this. We deserve it.”

Something unstoppable shifted in the air; a charge that had been building, preparing. Puffs of breath mingled between them like a binding fog. Desire leapt into Kat’s throat so suddenly she nearly choked. Her fingers latched tighter to his as she angled herself into the shelter of his body. He mirrored her, hand sliding out of hers only to rehome itself on the small of her back, pulling her closer. A small gasp hissed through her lips; his hold was warm and right. It caused Desire to shiver down her spine and pool low in her belly.

Thoughtlessly, her hands reached up. One combed through his hair, drawing the strands away from the angles of his face. The same thought as what came up at the Springs struck her: Beautiful. Her other hand cupped his left cheek, thumb running along the pink line that now hatched his upper lip, the stitches having since dissolved.

“We deserve it,” she repeated reverently, and closed the space between them.

The firm press of his lips against hers made Kat’s body lock up in delight. The hand in his hair gripped, while the other slid around his shoulders, holding him close. It was so much better than her dream. It was real. He was; and so was she.

Silco tugged her in closer, the hand on her back wrapping around her waist; the other reaching up to cradle her jaw. He used the hold to gently lean her head to the side, the opposing slant of their mouths allowing deeper access to each other. When his tongue gently swiped along her lower lip, a sharp inhale pulled in through Kat’s nose. Excitedly, she met him, tongue sliding over his with a relieved sigh.

Everything that had not filled out in her dream came into stark, beautiful relief. The eager push and pull of his lips and tongue against hers were warm and hungry. Like hers. The blade of his nose slotted against hers, caressing her cheek as his jaw moved. She could taste the bright-earthiness of the tobacco he used, the woody-burn of the whisky he’d left at the bar.

Desire gave way to lust, seeping lower, oozing past Kat’s navel. Sweet like honey. Her breasts began to feel heavy in their confines, nipples pinching tight.

She wanted more.

Such is the nature of desire.

Silco’s hand slid down from her neck, traveling in a commanding hold to her waist. His hand ghosted over her breast as it went, and her insides went molten. She clawed at his shoulders and back. An undeniable firmness and warmth pressed against her lower abdomen, and their kisses turned frenzied. Less lips; more tongue, teeth, and breath.

Kat snatched his lower lip between her teeth, and Silco finally paused. He watched her with wide eyes, pupils blown out; their hungry darkness having eaten away at the blue of his irises. Kat looked up at him, her eyes similarly darkened, his lip slowly sliding out from the hold of her incisors. When it finally snapped back, Silco rested his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in damp huffs between them, their lips kiss-swollen and tingling.

“Should we go back inside?” he eventually whispered, hand running up her spine.

Kat swallowed, thinking.

They should.

But she didn’t want to.

She bit the inside of her lip, heart hammering, core beginning to throb. Her fingers dug into his shoulders; a sapling desperate to take root in sturdy ground.

Slowly, she nodded her head, but clarified in a breathy voice, “Yes. But not back to the party.”

If possible, Silco’s pupils dilated further. A grin, manic with enthrall, appeared on his face, and kissed her again.

“Come on,” he gasped, after pulling back from her lips in a sharp pop!

He grabbed Kat’s hand, and led her back to the fire escape and down. They tucked back into the lowlight of The Drop’s back rooms, staggering down the hall, ping-ponging off the walls as they grabbed and groped at each other, mouths meeting in messy kisses.

Silco pressed them against a door, pawing at the handle as his lips latched onto Kat’s neck. She mewled and squirmed – then squawked as the door opened and they tumbled through. Laughing, they tripped through Vander’s apartment on lust-sloppy feet until they reached another door that Silco pushed open.

“It’s a guest room,” he answered when the question flashed across her face. “This is where I stay if I spend the night.”

‘Room’ was a very generous term; it was more of a converted large closet. The space was just big enough to hold a twin bedframe and a few stacks of boxes whose use mimicked that of a dresser. None of this deterred Kat, though. She snicked the door shut, as he turned a small, pot-bellied lamp on.

When Silco turned, Kat was reaching for him once more. His hands greedily grabbed for her again, sliding beneath her open coat to grip at her waist and hips. Despite the animalistic tug of his body, a higher part of his brain managed to gutter back online for a moment.

He kissed her, sweeter this time, then asked, “This is okay? You’re sure?”

Kat looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling. Her hands threaded back up into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp in pleasurable tracks. She was moved he had thought to ask. It only solidified what she knew.

“Yes. I want you.”

She pulled him into a kiss, deep and consuming, their tongues intertwining. After a minute, Silco’s lips trailed over her cheek to the space beneath the bolt of her jaw, confidence and excitement renewed by her confirmation.

His teeth nipped at her. “Do you have any contraband in this coat tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Kat chuckled. “Just me.”

She nudged her nose against his head, reeling his lips back to hers. As he kissed her, his hands slid back up to her shoulders, peeling the coat off her back and down her arms in a smooth movement. Her vest was next to follow, crumpling to the floor in a soft pile of canvas and old tweed.

Kat’s hands snapped to the closure of his shirt, ripping it open with a sharp tug. They slid across his sides and up the cut muscles of his back, hungry to feel him. Silco tugged the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and flailed his arms out of his sleeves; Kat’s hands pulling the garment along to help. It landed in a soft wumpf on the floor.

Kat’s eyes were closed, completely enraptured, and lost in the feelings, smells, and tastes of him. Her mind and body basked in the answers to mysteries she had been pondering for weeks. She barely felt the spin, but her eyes shot open when the back of her knees hit the foot of the bed. She flopped onto the mattress with a yelp. Silco chuckled, stooping down to undo her boots, then his own. Kat scrambled to sit up, hooking her fingers around her socks and ripping them off. Silco’s face crashed into hers as she did, bowling them back.

Kat laughed and kissed him. His body was a blessed, grounding weight that kept her right here, right now. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and held him close; legs drifting apart, allowing him to nestle snuggly between her thighs. The warm, hard bulge in his trousers pressed promisingly against her. A sigh loosed itself from her throat. The crown of her head dropped back onto the pillow, and Silco returned his attention to her neck, its creamy expanse laid bare to him.

He licked, then latched on. A smile curled the corners of his mouth as she writhed needily beneath him. One arm burrowed beneath her body and the mattress, pulling her impossibly close; the other came up to palm the heavy weight of her breast.

The taste of sunshine was on her skin – as impossible as that seemed for someone who lived in the Sump. Deep, warm, and sweet. Like caramel being tempered across a confectioner’s marble table. He wanted more. He sucked hard – Kat gasping, her chest arching up into his – before popping off that spot and sucking onto another one an inch lower.

Breath came to Kat in sharp huffs, her hands desperately gripping in Silco’s hair and on his back. Every pull on her neck sent a twinge to her center. Her nails created crescent moons on the meat of his shoulders. Desire and lust looped and swelled inside her. A bright, luminescent ball that tingled her bones and warmed her from the inside out, opening and preparing.

Silco was not her first, and she highly doubted that she was his. She did not know what the statistics were in Piltover, but in the Undercity – where danger lurked around every corner in the form of Enforcers, desperate thugs, and illness – it was commonplace for people to be sexually active at a young age. To get the most out of a most-likely short life.

Kat had been older than the average Trencher; her first being when she was sixteen. A similarly aged boy who lived in the same apartment building as her, her father, and brother. He had been nice and polite, but the backbone of their brief relationship mostly had to do with curiosity and proximity. One day, he was arrested for pickpocketing a Topside woman in the Promenade, and was sent to Stillwater. Kat never saw him again.

The last fling Kat had occurred a few weeks before her father’s murder.  She’d met the young man at a food stall in Bridgewaltz, and cautious, but promising, sparks flew. She met him again the next night, and they went to a nearby boarding house that rented rooms by the hour.

Probably the worst five washers Kat had ever spent.

He hadn’t so much fondled her breasts as he had squeezed and yanked at them. His hips pistoned roughly and sloppily, and did not last long. And he had made a self-congratulatory pussycat joke upon rolling off her. She quickly cleaned and dressed, and never saw him again.

Silco moved to the other side of her neck, nipping at her jaw before sucking a third plum-colored mark right below it. A slight roll was beginning to build in his hips, the movement oiling his muscles and bones.

When his stiffness brushed against the seam of Kat’s trousers again, she panted and choked on a whimper.

Many sensations in her body felt familiar: the heavy, warm ache growing in her breasts, her nipples tightening to the point of discomfort; the wet, insistent pulse between her thighs . . .

Others weren’t.

The lust roiling inside of Kat was specifically for Silco. It was an itch that she only wanted him to scratch. Her other exploits, limited though they were, had not hinged on who her bedmate had been. Only that she had been curious, bored, lonely.

This Desire was specific. It was for him. And she felt hopeful, confident that his was too.

Kat’s hands left their hold on his back to tug at her shirt, pulling its hem from her trousers, before her fingers frantically began undoing the buttons.

Silco joined her, leaving the blossoming purple mark he had been working on to sit on his haunches, and hurriedly slip buttons through their eyelets. He nearly panted and salivated like a dog as more and more of her flesh was exposed to him. She was the color of a pearl and just as precious.

Kat thrashed her arms out of her sleeves, tossing the blouse onto the floor, before her hands wiggled behind her back to undo the hooks of her brassiere. Once undone, Silco shed the straps down her arms and threw the garment aside, revealing what he had been privately imagining since the Springs. Ample and heavy-bottomed, Kat’s breasts arched in their freedom; nipples, the color of her deep pink lips, stiff and proud.

Steadying the hungry shake of his hand, Silco held the weight of one of them, relishing the sensation of its softness. His breath hitched when Kat sighed and pressed into his hand. He dipped down, kissed her thoroughly, before settling prone over her, and began laving her other breast. His teeth puzzled against her nipple, and sucked. Kat gasped and choked on her pleasure, her spine bowing into him. Pleased, Silco spurred onward, his teeth and tongue performing an intricate dance over the sensitive bud.

Kat was no longer in control of how her body was reacting to him. Her hands struggled to find suitable purchase, gripping his body, then the sheets, then the pillow. Her hips undulated needily beneath him, searching for any sort of pressure to relief the maddening ache growing between her thighs.

Silco pulled away from her breast with a vicious tug that left Kat panting, and licked his way over to its partner. A moan that seamlessly wove together the sounds of eroticism and frustration bleated from her as he began nipping and sucking again. Her hands flew to grip his waist, attempting to make his pelvis crush against hers. Silco’s eyes rolled back behind his closed lids. She was so responsive and hungry. His dick strained at the front of his trousers, begging for attention.

Once both her breasts were glossy and rigid, he shifted down her torso, kissing the other moles and deep freckles now visible. His hands swept down the tantalizing curve of her waist as his lips and nose nuzzled the soft flesh of her stomach. Above him, she panted, her voice caught in a net of sharp breaths and half-words.

Silco raised himself again, sitting back on his heels. His own breathing was raggedly warped, a curse on the tip of his tongue as he beheld the woman under him. Kat’s chest heaved, her skin sweat-sheened and flushed; deep purple love-notes blossoming across her skin. Her eyes met his, a hazy, needy fire smoldering behind them.

Carefully, Silco’s fingers touched the waist of her pants. Kat’s eyes snapped open and she nodded madly.

“Yes!”

Together, they made quick work of her button fly, and tore her trousers off. Kat sighed as cool air hit the damp gusset of her underwear and her slick inner thighs. Silco’s fingers greedily gripped the waist of her undergarments, and Kat lifted her hips as he shucked them down and threw them into oblivion.

The curse finally leapt from Silco’s tongue in a disbelieving, “Fuck.”

She was lovelier than any daydream he’d manage to concoct. Luminescent and soft. Perfect. Her supple waist swooped into the generous curve of her hips, the flesh of her thighs quivering in anticipation.

“Sweet talker,” she giggled breathily, cheeks flushing like a rose.

Silco smiled and ran his hands up the length of her legs, marveling at their softness. As his palms grazed up, Kat’s hips canted. A needy reflex. His eyes honed in on the pretty thatch of curly hair between her thighs, at how the curls became dewy at the ends; the deep pink of her sex peeking out from underneath.

Saliva pooled under Silco’s tongue, and he licked his lips. His own aching need temporarily forgotten in the presence of this alter. Like a good disciple, he shimmied himself low, got onto his belly and guided her legs over his shoulders. Kat propped herself up on her elbows, watching him, her chest rapidly rising and falling in excited breaths.

He hadn’t even tasted her yet, and Silco already felt like he was drunk. The smell of her was so potent – a musky tang settling on the back of his tongue – and she was so warm – humidity radiating off her like a summertime rainstorm – that his mind wobbled with hunger and disbelief.

A soft coo from above drew him out of his revery. Blue met gold. His eyes were dilated and starry, hers were wide and waiting.

Silco scooched closer and took his first taste, his tongue a solid press and slide against her. A clipped, relieved groan sighed from Kat’s mouth, her body sagging. Silco’s eyes closed, a similar relief seeping through him. The sunshine taste of her skin boldened into something sharper here. A heady bouquet that he hoped would stay on his tongue for days after.

Silco drew back, and Kat whined at his absence. It was quickly remedied, though, as he snaked his hands up and around the crest of her hips and pulled her into his mouth. His actions were dichotomous: he ate like a man starved; but also licked and suckled at her methodically enough that it was clear her pleasure and experience was the priority.

Kat’s elbows gave way, and she collapsed onto the bed, a strangled cry caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Her gaze went down the length of her torso to the man between her thighs. Her imagination all those weeks ago paled in comparison to the real thing. Silco’s brows and eyelids remained soft, like he was at total peace and had all the time in the world to be with her. His nose rested against the split of her, breathing her in while his lips and tongue thoroughly explored below.

The sight and feeling of it all was overwhelming. Her head flopped back onto the pillow, vision swimming. The heat in her center pooled low and seeped out. She heard him groan against her, and tears pricked her eyes. Desire and euphoria bloomed big in her belly and chest. Her body trembled.

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

Despite his hold on her, Kat rocked her hips as much as she could. Matching the undulations of Silco’s tongue roll-for-roll. Wispy, sex-addled breaths and words huffed out from between her swollen lips. Affirmations and swears.

Silco’s mouth hooked in a smile against her. His eyes cracked open a sliver to watch Kat writhe, a lover’s pride filling him to see her peaked breasts, flushed skin, and pretty face twisted in erotic agony.

He drew back, left hand unwrapping from her hip so he could fill her with his fingers. His dick twitched at the warm, plush feel of her around his digits. His eyes fluttered when she moaned his name.

He would hear it again.

Like a hawk, his eyes honed in on the peak of her slit, to where that small bud sat hooded and sensitive. Bracketing his right forearm across her hip bones and gently shifting up, he unveiled his next target. Fingers hooking in such a way that had Kat gasping, Silco dove forward, flicking at her clitoris with the tip of his tongue.

She screeched and spasmed. A hand flew to his head and she grabbed his hair at the roots. The instruction was clear: Stay right there. Keep doing that.

Silco’s fingers pumped and pressed rhythmically, his tongue a steady dance on that little ball of nerves. Kat’s thighs began to shake around his head. His name was a chant on her lips once more. Delighted, enthralled, Silco took her clit between her lips and sucked.

Kat was teetering. Despite her screwed-shut eyes, she could see her climax barreling towards her. She was overwhelmed with the need for it, her want of it.

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

Despite everything – despite her desire, despite the man she had chosen – she could sense that this release had the potential to be the start of a big, life-altering reckoning. And while she wanted it, craved it, desired it, tendrils of fear slithered back out from behind her ribs. One last ditch effort to protect her from the unknown of choosing Silco. Choosing her life. Choosing herself.

Pleasure mounted. Desire coiled. Her skin grew tight over her bones.

She wanted. So, she chose.

Silco’s fingers pressed, his lips sucked, and Kat screamed her release with a resounding YES!

She renewed her hold on his head, and rode his fingers and tongue through wave after wave, hips rolling wildly as she claimed what was hers. And Silco stayed, dutifully pulling her orgasm along as long as she wanted.

Eventually, Kat’s body gave out, and her limbs became a quivering, jellied mess. Her legs slid off Silco’s shoulders, her hand released him and her arms lay boneless at her sides. Like bellows in the old forges of Augmentation Alley, her ribcage swung erratically. Her teeth chattered.

Distantly, she was aware of the feeling of Silco’s tongue back on her, cleaning her, kissing her thighs. Then, he suddenly scrabbled up the length of her body, hands coming to cup her face. She felt wetness between her cheeks and his palms.

“Kat. Kat. Hey. You’re okay? What’s wrong?”

She blinked, not understanding. There were tears in her eyes, she realized, and on her cheeks.

Sucking a great breath in, she prepared to tell him she was fine. More than fine. But instead of words, a bubbling sob-laugh burst from her mouth. She curled into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his back. He returned the hold automatically, limbs encompassing her without question. She panted and gasped into his neck, trying to speak.

“I got you,” he whispered above, drawing her closer. “I got you.”

There was a joyful laugh hidden within her labored breaths.

“You have me.”

Notes: Ahhhh! The slow-burn finally paid off! If you've been here, waiting for the smut, wow! You're patient! More to come, I promise. And it won't take long, either. The Silkat train had officially left the station ❤️

Comments, reblogs, and recommendations keep me and other author's motiviational fires burning! We love to hear what y'all are thinking.

Coming Up Next: Silco and Katya bask in a sultry morning after . . . until they're interuppted.

Next Chapter

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

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun Chapter 32 Sneak Peek!

It’s my 35th birthday today! And to celebrate, here is a little glimpse in to the next chapter. Domestic fluff abounds!

————

When Kat’s eyes cracked open, she saw the dim, orange glow of light outlining the jamb of Silco’s bedroom door. Signaling that Enyd was already up. If she had managed to sleep at all. Several nights over the past few weeks, the ferocity of her coughing and retching hadn’t allowed for more than a couple hours of sleep at a time. It left the already haggard woman exhausted, her throat raw, and her voice the soft crackle of a dwindling fire. Weak and smokey.

Kat shifted beneath Silco’s arm, and he grunted, muscles flexing and drawing her in closer.

“It’s time to get up, Silco.”

He mumbled something into her hair that she’d since learned was ‘Not yet’.

“There is going to be a delivery of supplies to the clinic today. I need to be there to receive it.”

His body stilled in consideration. Finally, his arm relaxed and she sat up, twisting to face him. In the shadows of the dark room, the angles of his face appeared sharper. They cut against the softness of the pillow beneath his head, hair an ink spill over the light color of the case’s fabric. She reached down and brushed some strands away from his eyes. It was getting so long.

A blue eye cracked open and squinted up at her.

“What?”

Kat smiled sleepily, and dipped down to kiss the summit of his cheekbone.

“Nothing. You’re just handsome.”

There was something about the mornings, when it was just them and a tangled-up sheet. Before they had to open that door and march into the world. Ready to live, lead, and fight. For a few brief, waking moments nothing else existed.

Silco shifted his head against the pillow, setting both eyes upon her. Even in the dark of the bedroom, she saw the color on his cheeks shift, and a careful-not-to-be-too-pleased smile on the edges of his mouth. Kat leaned down and pressed a kiss to it, before suddenly slipping away as his arms attempted to ensnare her and draw her back into the covers. Kat laughed quietly as his arms flopped on to the bed, heavy in defeat. She gently padded toward the dresser she’d left her clothes on and began changing out of her pajamas.

Silco untangled himself from the sheets, grabbed his cigarette tin from the bedside table, and shuffled to the window. The light that filled the bedroom as he drew back the ratty curtain was grey and watery. Soft enough that the brightness did not sting, clear enough that Kat could easily thumb the buttons of her trousers through their eyelets.

Silco cracked the window open, the sounds and smells of Zaun gently wafting into the room, and he struck a match against the sandpaper within the tin of the case. He lit a cigarette, and leaned out the window.

Kat shrugged into her blouse, fingers making quick work of the button-front. Her vest was next, the chain of her papa’s pocket watch catching the light in a joyful twinkle. Tying her hair up in a ponytail, she crossed over to Silco.

“You are going to have to tie this back soon,” she said, tucking his hair behind an ear. Goose pimples rose on his skin as her fingers traced lightly down his neck and shoulder.

He hummed in response, sucking a long drag from the cigarette. The paper was eaten away by a wriggling orange line, and the ash blew away on a soft breeze.

“You don’t want to get it caught in any of the machinery at work.”

Silco lifted his eyebrows in a ‘that’s true’ fashion. Leaning farther out the window, he blew a mouthful of smoke into the air and crushed the end of the cigarette against the bricks of the building. Standing back into the room, he pulled the window shut and turned to Kat.

“Any spares, perhaps?” he asked, reaching out and running his fingers through the thick waves of her ponytail.

“In my coat, probably. I’ll get you one before we leave.”

Kat left Silco in his bedroom to change, and ventured into the apartment. She heard Enyd before she saw her. A steady, wheezing drone whistling from the living room. She dipped her fingers into the pockets of her coat, searching for a spare elastic, before continuing.

The older woman was propped up in her rocking chair, pillow wedged behind her head, a large drop cloth spread over her lap. She held a section of the fabric up to the light at her side, stitching a long, red swatch to it with aching precision. Her eyes flicked over to Kat as she stepped into the room, a smile stretching her face.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Enyd.”

Kat’s eyes gave a cursory glance around Enyd’s immediate space. A water glass on the end table, her medicine (woefully low) next to it; no signs of bloody rags or a sick bucket. Then she looked at the project in Enyd’s lap. A flag. Zaun’s flag. She’d been working on it for a few weeks, desperate to keep herself busy as her ability to consistently leave the apartment lessened. Enyd had presented the idea to Kat and Silco one evening, along with a few rough sketches of a design and emblem.

“Every nation needs a flag,” she’d insisted.

And she wasn’t wrong. Kat couldn’t decide whether to inspect the drawings Enyd was showing them, or to stare at Silco’s utterly entranced face as he took in his mother’s work. Enyd had come such a long way from initially scolding him that one night at Vander’s, to creating the crest of their nation. He’d excitedly taken her sketches to The Last Drop the next day to confer with Vander.

The two men talked for hours, mulling over the scraps of paper, piecing together different facets of the drawings until the final draft emerged. The emblem for the Nation of Zaun. A ‘N’ and ‘Z’ artfully combined in a strong tower, against a backdrop of blue and red whorls meant to pay homage to Oshra Va’Zaun and Lady Janna.

“Did you sleep?” Kat asked, taking a step closer. It didn’t seem like Enyd had much progress from where she had stopped the night prior. Hopefully meaning –

“Yes. Better than I have the past few nights.”

“How long have you been up?”

Enyd blinked, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Only about an hour. Is Silco up?”

“He is getting dressed. I’ll make you some tea and breakfast.”

“Oh, Kat. You don’t have to do that. I can – “

Enyd slipped her needle through the flag to keep from losing it, and began to carefully gather the fabric up.

“No, no,” Kat insisted. She placed a hand on Enyd’s shoulder. “Really, I got it.”

The older woman looked up at her, eyes simultaneously grateful and abashed. She settled into the pillow behind her head, and lifted up her sewing again as Kat went to the kitchen.

Enyd’s kitchen had become as familiar as her own. Kat moved swiftly between either side of the galley. The kettle went on the top right burner, as it was the one that got hottest most quickly. Tea was tucked away in the cupboard above the hood. Mugs were in the second cupboard that faced the stove, along with the plates. Bread was kept in the box below those cupboards. The bread knife and other silverware were tucked in the middle drawer beneath the butcher block counter. The drawer stuck if one did not lift the handle first and give it a gentle, but firm, yank. The marmalade was in the icebox door, next to the yeast.

Like seeing her and Silco’s clothes drying next to one another, the way Kat easily moved about the kitchen was honey-sweet comfort. A warm blanket that wrapped around her heart.

She heard Silco enter the living room as she began slicing bread. Then, gentle and loving ‘good mornings’ shared between mother and son, before Silco appeared in the kitchen, Enyd’s water glass in hand. He went to the sink and filled it. Kat thinly applied the citrus marmalade to the bread just as the kettle began to warble. Silco reached over and turned the flame beneath down.

“Go ahead and take the bread over,” he said. “I’ll make the tea.”

“I’ll take the water, too.”

Silco handed her the fresh glass before turning his attention to the box of tea and mugs, and Kat walked over to the kitchen table, and placed the bread and water glass down.

Enyd knotted off the thread, and slid her needle snugly into the drop cloth’s weave for safekeeping. Gently setting her work on the floor, she gripped the arms of her chair and pressed up onto her feet. Kat watched her carefully, body tightening like a spring. Ready to leap forward should Enyd look at all unsteady. But she managed to the table just fine, though the plop into her seat was a little graceless. Kat slathered a slice of bread with marmalade, set it on a plate, and handed it to Enyd. She murmured her thanks as Kat went to prepare her own breakfast. Silco appeared, placing a mug of tea in front of his mother and Kat, before returning to the kitchen to grab his own.

As he took his own seat, Kat frowned as she scraped the sides of the marmalade jar with the knife.

“Do you - “

“You can finish it up,” he said, sipping at his tea.

Enyd watched as Kat slid the scant amount over her bread, lips pursing.

“I can go to the market today to see if I can find more.”

“Don’t, mum. The marketplaces barely have staples, muchless condiments.” Silco gave her a reassuring smile as he tore a piece of bread from his slice and popped it in his mouth. “We’ll be able to get marmalade soon enough. And butter. And cheese.”

Enyd returned the smile weakly, before tucking her head into the crook of her elbow and coughing. It passed quickly, and she waved Kat off before the young woman could assist her in any way.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” With a quivering hand, Enyd grabbed for her water glass. She took careful sips, her face softening with each one.

“There is a delivery coming to the clinic today,” Kat said. “I will grab another bottle of decongestant. We - we could also try some anti-inflammatories, too. See if that helps at all.”

Enyd’s knee-jerk reaction was to turn down the offer. Out of humbleness, out of fear. But she’d since learned to not fight against Kat’s instance. Especially when Silco backed her up. Even if Enyd said ‘no’, she knew Kat would bring them to her anyway.

Kat’s eyes lifted to the wall clock, and she grunted, biting her bread. She took a few large gulps of tea and made to stand.

“That delivery will be there shortly. I should head out. Oh, here.”

She held out her wrist to Silco, presenting the black elastic wrapped around it. He blinked, then was jolted back to what she had said in the bedroom.

He peeled it off her arm. “Thank you.”

Smoothing his wavy hair across his skull, and gathering its bulk at the nape of his neck, he tied it off. Kat’s eyes were warm as she took him in. Sighing, she folded the rest of her bread and took it up in one hand, as the other went gently rest on the side of Silco’s neck. She used the contact as a counter-balance to hold her upright as she dipped to kiss him. She rounded the table and kissed Enyd’s head.

“Be safe,” Enyd called as Kat walked toward the door.

“I will be.” She twirled her coat over her shoulders, and opened the door. “See you both tonight.”

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 32

Loners

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: Kat's busy, so Viktor's goes out by himself to take his boat for a spin.

Author's Note: Bright Yule, all! Hello again to all the new followers of this little blog of mine, and thank you for being here. My holiday gift is this next chunky chapter 💗

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 7.8K

When Kat’s eyes cracked open, she saw the dim, orange glow of light outlining the jamb of Silco’s bedroom door. Signaling that Enyd was already up. If she had managed to sleep at all. Several nights over the past few weeks, the ferocity of her coughing and retching hadn’t allowed for more than a couple hours of rest at a time. It left the already haggard woman exhausted, her throat raw, and her voice the soft crackle of a dwindling fire. Weak and smokey.

Kat shifted beneath Silco’s arm, and he grunted, muscles flexing and drawing her in closer.

“It’s time to get up, Silco.”

He mumbled something into her hair that she’d since learned was ‘Not yet’.

“There is going to be a delivery of supplies to the clinic today. I need to be there to receive it.”

His body stilled in consideration. Finally, his arm relaxed and she sat up, twisting to face him. In the shadows of the dark room, the angles of his face appeared sharper. They cut against the softness of the pillow beneath his head, hair an ink spill over the light color of the case’s fabric. She reached down and brushed some strands away from his eyes. It was getting so long.

A blue eye cracked open and squinted up at her.

“What?”

Kat smiled sleepily, and dipped down to kiss the summit of his cheekbone.

“Nothing. You’re just handsome.”

There was something about the mornings, when it was just them and a tangled-up sheet. Before they had to open that door and march into the world. Ready to live, lead, and fight. For a few brief, waking moments nothing else existed.

Silco shifted his head against the pillow, setting both eyes upon her. Even in the dark of the bedroom, she saw the color on his cheeks shift, and a careful-not-to-be-too-pleased smile on the edges of his mouth. Kat leaned down and pressed a kiss to it, before suddenly slipping away as his arms attempted to ensnare her and draw her back into the covers. Kat laughed quietly as his arms flopped on to the bed, heavy in defeat. She gently padded toward the dresser her clothes were left on, and began changing out of her pajamas.

Silco unraveled himself from the sheets, grabbed his cigarette tin from the bedside table, and shuffled to the window. The light that filled the bedroom as he drew back the ratty curtain was grey and watery. Soft enough that the brightness did not sting, clear enough that Kat could easily thumb the buttons of her trousers through their eyelets. 

Silco cracked the window open, the sounds and smells of Zaun gently wafting into the room. He struck a match against the sandpaper within the tin of the case, and lit a cigarette. With a sleepy sigh, he leaned out the window.

Kat shrugged into her blouse, fingers making quick work of the button-front. Her vest was next, the chain of her papa’s pocket watch catching the light in a joyful twinkle. Tying her hair up in a ponytail, she crossed over to Silco. 

“You are going to have to tie this back soon,” she said, tucking his hair behind an ear. Goose pimples rose on his skin as her fingers traced lightly down his neck and shoulder.

He hummed in response, sucking a long drag from the cigarette. The paper was eaten away by a wriggling orange line, and the ash blew away on a soft breeze. 

“You don’t want to get it caught in any of the machinery at work.”

Silco lifted his eyebrows in a ‘that’s true’ fashion. Leaning farther out the window, he blew a mouthful of smoke into the air, and crushed the end of the cigarette against the bricks of the building. Standing back into the room, he pulled the window shut and turned to Kat. 

“Any spares, perhaps?” he asked, reaching out and running his fingers through the thick waves of her ponytail. 

“In my coat, probably. I’ll get you one before we leave.”

Kat left Silco in his bedroom to change, and ventured into the apartment. She heard Enyd before she saw her. A steady, wheezing drone whistling from the living room. She dipped her fingers into the pockets of her coat, searching for a spare elastic, before continuing.

The older woman was propped up in her rocking chair, pillow wedged behind her head, a large drop cloth spread over her lap. She held a section of the fabric up to the light at her side, stitching a long, red swatch to it with aching precision. Her eyes flicked over to Kat as she stepped into the room, a smile stretching her face.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Enyd.” 

Kat’s eyes gave a cursory glance around Enyd’s immediate space. A water glass on the end table, her medicine (woefully low) next to it; no signs of bloody rags or a sick bucket. Then she looked at the project in Enyd’s lap. A flag. Zaun’s flag. She’d been working on it for a few weeks, desperate to keep herself busy as her ability to consistently leave the apartment lessened. Enyd had presented the idea to Kat and Silco one evening, along with a few rough sketches of a design and emblem.

“Every nation needs a flag,” she’d insisted.

And she wasn’t wrong. Kat couldn’t decide whether to inspect the drawings Enyd was showing them, or to stare at Silco’s utterly entranced face as he took in his mother’s work. Enyd had come such a long way from initially scolding him that one night at Vander’s, to creating the crest of their nation. He’d excitedly taken her sketches to The Last Drop the next day to confer with Vander. 

The two men talked for hours, mulling over the scraps of paper, piecing together different facets of the drawings until the final draft emerged. The emblem for the Nation of Zaun: A ‘N’ and ‘Z’ artfully combined in a strong tower, against a backdrop of blue and red whorls meant to pay homage to Oshra Va’Zaun and Lady Janna.

“Did you sleep?” Kat asked, taking a step closer. It didn’t seem like Enyd had made much progress from where she had stopped the night prior. Hopefully meaning – 

“Yes. Better than I have the past few nights.”

“How long have you been up?”

Enyd blinked, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Only about an hour. Is Silco up?”

“He is getting dressed. I’ll make you some tea and breakfast.”

“Oh, Kat. You don’t have to do that. I can – “

Enyd slipped her needle through the flag to keep from losing it, and began to carefully gather the fabric up.

“No, no,” Kat insisted. She placed a hand on Enyd’s shoulder. “Really, I got it.”

The older woman looked up at her, eyes simultaneously grateful and abashed. She settled into the pillow behind her head, and lifted up her sewing again as Kat went to the kitchen. 

Enyd’s kitchen had become as familiar as her own. She moved swiftly between either side of the galley. The kettle went on the top right burner, as it was the one that got hottest most quickly. Tea was tucked away in the cupboard above the hood. Mugs were in the second cupboard that faced the stove, along with the plates. Bread was kept in the box below those cupboards. The bread knife and other silverware were tucked in the middle drawer beneath the butcher block counter. The drawer stuck if one did not lift the handle first and give it a gentle, but firm, yank. The marmalade was in the icebox door, next to the yeast.

Like seeing her and Silco’s clothes drying next to one another, the way Kat easily moved about the kitchen was honey-sweet comfort. A warm blanket that wrapped around her heart. 

She heard Silco enter the living room as she began slicing bread. Then, gentle and loving ‘good mornings’ shared between mother and son, before he appeared in the kitchen, Enyd’s water glass in hand. He went to the sink and filled it. The kettle began to warble. Silco reached over and turned the flame beneath down.

“Go ahead and take the bread over,” he said. “I’ll make the tea.”

“I’ll take the water, too.”

Silco handed her the fresh glass before turning his attention to the box of tea and mugs, and Kat walked over to the kitchen table, placing the bread and water glass down. 

Enyd knotted off the thread, and slid her needle snugly into the drop cloth’s weave for safekeeping. Gently setting her work on the floor, she gripped the arms of her chair and pressed up to her feet. Kat watched her carefully, body tightening like a spring. Ready to leap forward should Enyd look at all unsteady. But the older woman managed to the table just fine, though the plop into her seat was a little graceless. Kat slathered a slice of bread with marmalade, set it on a plate, and handed it to Enyd. She murmured her thanks as Kat went to prepare her own breakfast. Silco appeared, placing mugs of tea in front of his mother and Kat, before returning to the kitchen to grab his own.

As he took his own seat, Kat frowned as she scraped the sides of the marmalade jar with a knife.

“Do you - “

“You can finish it up,” he said, sipping at his tea.

Enyd watched as Kat slid the scant amount over her bread, lips pursing.

“I can go to the market today to see if I can find more.”

“Don’t, mum. The marketplaces barely have staples, muchless condiments.” Silco gave her a reassuring smile as he tore a piece of bread from his slice and popped it in his mouth. “We’ll be able to get marmalade soon enough. And butter. And cheese.”

Enyd returned the smile weakly, before tucking her head into the crook of her elbow and coughing. It passed quickly, and she waved Kat off before the young woman could assist her in any way. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” With a quivering hand, Enyd grabbed for her water glass. She took careful sips, her face softening with each one.

“There is a delivery coming to the clinic today,” Kat said. “I will grab another bottle of decongestant. We - we could also try some anti-inflammatories, too. See if that helps at all.”

Enyd’s knee-jerk reaction was to turn down the offer. Out of humbleness, out of fear. But she’d since learned to not fight against Kat’s insistence. Especially when Silco backed her up. Even if Enyd said ‘no’, she knew Kat would bring them to her anyway.

Kat’s eyes lifted to the wall clock, and she grunted, biting her bread. She took a few large gulps of tea and made to stand.

“That delivery will be there shortly. I should head out. Oh, here.”

She held out her wrist to Silco, presenting the black elastic wrapped around it. He blinked, then was jolted back to what she had said in the bedroom.

He peeled it off her arm. “Thank you.”

Smoothing his wavy hair across his skull, and gathering its bulk at the nape of his neck, he tied it off. Kat’s eyes were warm as she took him in. Sighing, she folded the rest of her bread and took it up in one hand, as the other went to gently rest on the side of Silco’s neck. She used the contact as a counter-balance to hold her upright as she dipped to kiss him. She rounded the table and kissed Enyd’s head. 

“Be safe,” Enyd called as Kat walked toward the door.

“I will be.” She twirled her coat over her shoulders, and opened the door. “See you both tonight.”

The delivery arrived. Kat had the crates stacked and lined up against the wall across from the reception desk. She attached two invoices to a clipboard: the one that accurately reflected the amount of goods in the crates, and the one she’d forged to represent what would be stocked in the clinic’s stores. It was a strategy she’d never done before these last few orders, instead just sneakily slipping bottles and bandages here and there. But with this large of a job, the hard copies of paperwork would help shield her from any suspicion.

She hoped that no miners would come by. The only face she wanted to see peek through the clinic door was Sevika, who would arrive about an hour before Will was due to start. She would tuck a large portion of the confiscated goods in a hollow-bottomed trash bin, and wheel it out of the mine. She would meet Brothers and Sisters near the mine’s refuse trenches and divvy up the supplies among them to take to The Last Drop.

She’d had the foresight after Snowdown to convince the board to stock up on medicine and materials, arguing that the previous cold season they’d been woefully short on supplies. They had ended up being unable to contend with a flare of Fissure Fever that had broken out in the barracks. And subsequently spread to the tunnels. Sixty-two children, twenty-two men, and forty-five women died by the time the Cold broke.

Of course, the loss of life meant little to the Piltovan Board and Rynweaver. So, Kat spun the clinic’s need for preemptive supplies to the tune of the bottom line. If less miners got sick, more miners could work. If more miners could work, the more business the mine could do. A simple deflection, but a successful one. The board greenlit Kat to triple the order of supplies for the cold season. However, due to the intensity of the weather this past cold season and with the continued scrutiny over goods entering the Undercity, the shipments had been parsed out and delayed. Only two of the three orders arrived during the cold months; this was the last one.

Luckily, there had been no major illness outbreak this past Snowdown. And, luckily, that was not the reason Kat had requested the large orders.

More and more weapons were coming in from black market dealers, pirates, and morally dubious traders. Mek and several other augmenteers kept their forges burning bright at all hours, crafting weapons from metal scraps. Creating domed bullet heads and chrome-colored casings. 

In very, very small amounts, the Brothers and Sisters who had access to it were carefully smuggling gunpowder out of the mine. They’d scoop it up in random glass vials and jars, small enough that it wasn’t apparent on their person, and whisk it away to Augmentation Alley. There, blacksmiths became munitioners and assembled bullets. 

To compensate for the minimal amounts of prepared gunpowder, Brothers and Sisters began assembling the ingredients Enyd had listed weeks ago. Those who happened to be chimney sweeps gathered crusts of saltpeter in their satchels while they worked. Everyone who had access to a wood burning stove saved the charred remains left in their hearths. Kat showed Annie and Beckett where the Springs were, and the pair had been leading small crews to the caves to collect chunks of sulphur.

The collected hodge-podge of materials were brought to the Drop. The days Enyd was well enough to venture from her home, she taught the Children how to combine the trinity together, and oversaw the process. Never once did she think being a Slipper would be anything but a killing curse. Using the skills that had been forced upon her by Piltover to rend their own misfortune allowed her to remember what sweetness tasted like.

And in preparing for the inevitable fight, Kat spent Piltovan coin on supplies that would help heal and protect Zaunites injured in the fray. She’d nearly cackled and kissed Rynweaver’s signature at the bottom of the permit when it arrived in her hands. Instead, she folded it up and kept it in her coat as a keepsake.

Kat’s shift was blessedly quiet. Allowing her all the time to intake and craftily organize supplies. Most new items would stay in the clinic. The ‘extras’ she set aside, using empty boxes to hold them. She also stuffed a few items in her coat. Most of it would go to the stocks in the Drop’s walls. The rest she would bring to her clients.

Just as she closed the lid on the final box that was destined for The Last Drop, Sevika showed up with the trash bin. Together, they shoved the supplies snugly into the bin’s hollow bottom. The door snapped shut with a quick tug. Any sign of the door’s outline was hidden beneath the coarse texture of rust. Corroded metal barely received a first-glance, muchless a second one, in Zaun.

“Be careful.”

“‘Course.” Sevika winked and beamed her endearingly cocky smile.

Kat watched her friend go until she turned the corner and headed for the lift.

The rest of Kat’s time passed quietly. She was grateful for that. The absence of hubbub, sirens, and Enforcers meant Sevika had pulled her job off successfully.

It also gave her more time to finish stocking the storeroom. To make it seem fuller than it actually was. Like the window dressers that tended to the boutiques in Main Spring Crescent, Kat placed items in the cabinets and drawers just so. Absolutely no suspicion would be roused. 

A few minutes before the shift bell sounded, Silco swaggered into the clinic. Kat popped her head out from the supply closet, mouth drawing into a bright smile at the sight of him.

“That time already?”

“Already? Were you just having so much fun pilfering Topside that you lost track of time?” Silco cheekily asked.

Kat laughed, and stepped out of the closet, clipboard in hand. She set it on the reception desk, and sauntered over to him.

“I do love taking from them,” she cooed. Placing a hand on his chest, she lifted onto the toes of her boots. Mouth but a scant couple inches in front of his, she said, “It is a nice change of pace.”

There was a grin on Silco’s lips. It existed only for a moment. The tease of Kat so close to him too strong of a thing to keep from kissing her. She met him half-way with a small tug on his shirt. Her other hand wove its way up into his hair. Still in its knot from the morning. 

Silco’s tongue appeared in her mouth, his arms around her hips. His fingertips grazing the top of her ass. She welcomed him with a tilt of her head and a firmer press of her lips. He responded in kind, until it was difficult to know where he stopped and she began. 

The kiss slowed before it grew irrevocably frenzied. Kat loosened the grip on his shirt, and dropped back onto her feet. He grinned down at her, expression ever so slightly dazed.

“Let me grab the medicine. I left it in the closet. Then I’ll grab my coat and we’ll go.”

She patted his chest, went back to the supply closet, and pulled a brown glass bottle of decongestant and a tin of anti-inflammatories from the shelves. Closing the door behind her, Kat handed Silco the two medicines before going to grab her coat off the rack. 

“Excuse me?”

Silco started and spun around. He’d forgotten to shut the clinic door upon arriving, allowing Will to appear with no announcing sounds.

Will’s face dropped into an expression one might make when discovering shit on their shoe.

“Silco.”

Kat had finally given them a perfunctory introduction after the eighth time he had come to pick her up after work. Will had eyed him suspiciously, like he always had. Silco regarded him with a disdainful eye; Kat had told him about Will cautioning her about the Children. Silco had no time and little respect for someone trying to convince the fight out of someone.

“Will.”

“Hello, Will,” Katya said as she stepped over, gently adjusting her coat as she went. “I did the intake of the supplies. Could you call someone to come get the crates?”

Will didn’t answer her. His eyes were focused on Silco’s hands.

“What do you have there?”

The medic knew very well what Silco had. Decongestant and anti-inflammatories. But why did he have containers of each in his hands?

Will’s small eyes traveled over to Katya. He furrowed his brow, and used the knuckle of his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We don’t give patients entire bottles of medicine, Katya. You know that.”

It was Silco’s first instinct to tell the man to mind his own fucking business. But Kat pressed a hand to his shoulder, short-circuiting any hasty reaction. She fixed Will with a firm look.

“Yes, I know that. But a family member of his is very ill, and needs the help.”

“Over half of the Undercity needs help!” Will hissed in a harried voice. He closed the door behind him, and spun back to her. “And you can’t go giving away medicine that doesn’t belong to you. You could get into big trouble. We could get into big trouble!”

Katya frowned. “We won’t get into trouble. I’ll make sure of it. Silco’s mother suffers from the Lung Blight she developed working in these mines. This - “ she gestured to the medicine in Silco’s hands “ - is the least Topside can do.”

“Katya,” Will whined. “This isn’t going to end well - “

“She just told you that there’ll be no trouble,” Silco snapped. “So, unless you want there to be trouble, I suggest shutting your mouth.”

Will stared up at Silco, expression livid. His lips turned downward, as his eyebrows and nose pinched together. His hand lashed out, and pushed Silco’s shoulder.

“You’re a bad influence!”

Silco snarled and went to lunge forward. Kat jockeyed between the two men, a firm hand to Silco’s chest and a gentle elbow against Will’s collarbones.

“Just stop,” she demanded. “Drop it.” She focused her attention on Will. “I am giving him the medicine because it is the right thing to do. No one will know.”

Gently, Kat guided Silco around Will, toward the clinic door. Silco tucked the bottles into his shirt, and didn’t spare the other man a second glance as he and Kat disappeared into the hallway.

Viktor held tight to the clunky model boat tucked under his arm as he and Miss Ivy waited for Kat to pick him up. He’d finished this first proto-type earlier in the week, and could not wait to show her. Miss Ivy had already ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ over it when she came to gather him at his dorm. 

“It’s spectacular, Viktor,” she had said, gently tapping one of the paddle-wheels.

“I’m going to take it for a test-drive this weekend.”

“I’m sure it will go swimmingly.”

She winked at him. Viktor’s cheeks warmed, and he carefully placed his boat into the shelter of his free arm. Miss Ivy took up his rucksack, and together they traveled to the Bridge.

Kat was prompt per usual. Grinning at him as she walked up, her eyes widened at the machine in his arm. Viktor gnawed on the inside of his lower lip in anticipation. He limped forward once she was a few feet away, carefully adjusting the boat against his hip.

“Is this it?” Kat gasped excitedly. “The SS Viktor?”

She held out her hands, and Viktor allowed her to take up the boat. He bathed in the look of awe and pride on her face, in the small little exclamations that escaped her mouth as she turned the boat this way and that.

“I am not going to name it that,” he mumbled, a rosy tint on his cheeks, an awkward smile tugging his lips. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Ivy gushed.

The joy in Katya’s face melted into stony protectiveness as the aide stepped forward. Gingerly, she handed the boat back to her brother.

“It is.” 

The agreement was cool. A small wince crinkled the corners of Ivy’s eyes. Katya held her hand out, and Ivy handed Viktor’s bag to her. Without a ‘thank you’, the brunette shouldered it, and encouraged her brother to begin the journey back home.

“Have a good weekend, Miss Ivy,” he called over his shoulder.

The discomfort on her face morphed quickly back into a kind expression.

“You too, Viktor. See you Monday!”

“See you Monday!”

“Come along, Viktor,” Katya murmured. 

She softly grazed her fingers over his cheek to redirect his gaze away from Piltover, and toward the Undercity. 

Once situated in the conveyor car, Viktor settled the boat on his lap, small hands wrapped securely around it. The other passengers eyed it and him curiously, but kept to themselves. Not that he would’ve noticed; the attention of his bright eyes and clever fingers held completely by his creation. 

“Were you able to figure out the motor?”

His sister’s voice was the one thing that could draw him away from the boat. Viktor’s head snapped up to look at her. The interest in her eyes warmed him.

“Yes, and no,” he admitted, looking back at the boat. A finger pet agitatedly at a slot near the helm. His lips thinned. “The motor needs to be cranked. The key is in my bag. So, it is renewable energy in a sense. But not self-sustaining.”

Kat chuckled, and pet a hand over his head. 

“That is still very good.”

“I want to test it out,” he said, eyes big and pleading. “Can we go to the Oases tomorrow? Please?”

Kat blinked, fingering the duck-tailed curls at the nape of his neck. The conveyor car’s engine rumbled to life, and the cab jerked as it began its descent. Viktor kept his eyes on her the whole time. Bright and hungry and deserving.

She smiled softly. “Yes. Alright.”

Viktor barely slept that night. His mind vibrating with images of his boat pleasantly chugging through water, formulas of acceleration and fluid mechanics dancing behind his eyelids. He leapt out of bed the moment he heard Kat shuffling about the apartment. He dressed in a whirlwind, particularly grateful that his brace was so much easier to slip on and set in place. Shirt only partially tucked in, he staggered excitedly into the hall, and shuffled toward the kitchen on clumsy socked feet.

“Careful,” Kat chuckled as he damn-near tumbled into the table. 

Viktor sucked in an excited breath the way children do - one wet sounding around the edges, as if they’re about to salivate around their joy - and shoved himself into his seat. He’d left the boat and his notebook on the table the night before. He pulled the items closer, eyes sparkling, and flipped the notebook open.

He heard Kat chuckle beneath her breath before she stepped over from the stove, and placed a hot mug of tea at his side.

“Don’t spill.”

“I won’t!”

His sister returned to the stove, and continued preparing their bowls of oatmeal. Viktor continued pouring over his notes, periodically mumbling to himself, and looking up at his boat. His breakfast appeared before him with a sudden clunk, oats thickly sloshing about within the bowl. Kat took up her seat beside him, and carefully moved the boat back to the center of the table.

“Eat, Viktor.”

Reluctantly, he closed his notebook and set it aside, tugging the bowl in front of him. Internally, his mind tantrumed a bit from having to be pulled away from its preferred activity, but he knew the faster he dealt with breakfast, the faster he’d get to the Oases. That was motivation enough to keep him from grumbling. Kat knew this, and smiled to herself as her brother tore through his oats and tea. 

When the bowl was empty, Viktor pushed it away, reached for his crutch, and hauled himself to his feet.

“I’m going to go brush my teeth!”

Kat glowed under his excitement, gathering their breakfast dishes, and bringing them to the sink.

Just as she finished washing them up, Viktor enthusiastically trundled back from the washroom. He made for the kitchen table to gather the boat, heart pattering excitedly at the thought of getting to test it out for the first time. 

Then, Viktor was unfairly pulled from his boyish excitement by surprising, rapid knocks at the apartment door. He looked to Kat - whose own face conveyed her confusion - to the door, and back to his sister. The knocks started up again. Frowning, Kat set the dish towel in her hand on the counter, and made for the door. She peered through the peephole, and Viktor watched as the color drained from her face. Her eyes flicked to him before pulling the door chain loose and unlocking the deadbolt. Opening the door only enough so she could slip outside, Viktor saw the silhouette of the visitor slink back to make space for her. She pulled the door mostly closed behind her, and he heard her hurriedly whisper. There was concern in her tone, though he could not make out the words. A voice, a man who sounded distraught, answered. A pause. Then his sister murmured an answer. 

She whisked back inside and closed the door. Turning to face him, Viktor felt his heart splatter to his feet. The heat of unfairness prickled his round cheeks. 

Despite having some idea of what Katya was about to say, he still asked: “What’s going on?”

She sighed, stepping toward him. “I’m so sorry, Viktor. Something has happened, and I need to go help someone.”

Viktor’s eyes, burning with tears he refused to let form, flicked to the door. Then back to his sister.

“Who? What happened?”

“It’s not anything you need to worry yourself with. If I am back before it is dark, we will go to the Oases. If not today, tomorrow - “

“But - !”

“Viktor, please.” Katya crouched low and grabbed his shoulders. “A . . friend of mine who is sick had a fall. She needs someone to check on her. Please.”

Viktor’s lower lip jutted forward, and he averted his gaze. Waves of anger roiled in his body. Flotsam and jetsam of disappointment and hurt frothed under his skin. Stiltedly, he nodded. Katya’s hands softened in relief as she leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

Then she whisked away. 

As she shrugged into her coat, she said, “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Do not leave the apartment. Yes?”

Viktor opened his mouth to respond, but his voice hitched in the back of his throat. His jaw snapped shut, and he nodded instead.

Katya’s shoulders slumped. Remorse bled over her face.

“I am sorry, Viktor. I will try to be back as soon as possible.”

Lips pulling into a tight, tight line, Viktor looked away and nodded again.

“I love you,” Katya promised. 

He mumbled it back, and she stole out the door. In the brief moment before it shut, Viktor got a peek of a tall figure with black hair and pale skin.

Then he was alone.

Again.

Finally, the tears escaped his eyes, streaming in near-unstoppable rivers down his cheeks. He limped back to his seat, laid his head down on his notebook, and cried. And cried. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger, yes. Disappointment, for sure. But those emotions did not quite fit in the cracks of his heart. There was something deeper there. Something that wrenched at his gut and strained his bones.

Eventually, his anger became hotter; drying up the tears from his eyes and burning his face. He lifted his head up, and glared at the boat in front of him. It sat cock-eyed on the table, as if it were asking a question. 

Viktor sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. His brain was beginning to buzz, an agitation fizzing under his skin. The insatiable need to do something. The strange, foreign sensation of defiance thrummed in his chest. He looked over at the clock, then the window. Then the boat. Then the door.

He knew how to get to the Oases. And he wasn’t nearly as fragile as his sister and teachers at school treated him. He knew how to move his body, he knew his home-city, and he was eleven. Twelve soon! Other fissure children scurried about on their own far earlier!

Viktor decided. He would go to the Oases himself. With any luck, he would be back before Katya. If not . . . Well, then, she’d know where to find him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Viktor shoved himself out of his chair, grabbed the boat and made sure its key was still in his pocket, and left the apartment.

While he knew the way to the Oases, it felt strange traveling there alone. An odd cocktail of sadness and excitement swirled inside him as he limped through the Lanes. Most did not even acknowledge him as they walked by. Those that did, did not look at him like they were wondering why he was alone. 

Viktor’s chin lifted higher, and he pressed on.

His confidence wavered slightly as he descended the incomplete iron steps that led down to the tributaries and lagoons of the Oases. It wasn’t graceful, but he and his boat managed to clamber down in one piece. 

As he carefully hobbled down the soft sandstone, high squeals and excited whoops echoed off the rocks and retention walls. Nerves dared to sully his feeling of independence, and he shuffled as quickly as he could past one of the larger lagoons. He glanced over his shoulder as he went, and spied four or five children splashing about in the oil-slicked water.

He followed the stream that led to the Springs down deeper into the small valley. Sidling up to the bank, Viktor sat down, placing his boat and crutch on either side of him. The water before him trickled pleasantly, softly lapping at the light beige stone. He fished the turnkey from his pocket, and pulled the boat into his lap. Nerves began to dance under his skin again, but this time in anticipation. It was time to see if his creation worked!

The small, metal key slid into the slot easily. Viktor turned it. The gears within clicked and clacked as they were supposed to, and Viktor’s concerns began shifting into careful elation. He turned it again. More lovely mechanized sounds issued from under the boat’s hull.

Viktor turned and turned and turned the key, winding up the mechanism that would spin the paddle wheels and propel the boat through the water. 

Next to him, the shadow of the rock ledge above grew and shifted. Viktor saw it in his periphery, and glanced up. He half-expected to see Katya, but instead a young girl peered down at him. A slip of a thing with tan skin, dark, unruly hair pulled back into a ponytail, and green eyes that glittered with interest in the day’s sun.

She didn’t say anything, and nor did he. The girl eyed him and his boat curiously, and he found himself unable to look away. He didn’t have any friends his own age. His throat went dry and his heartbeat quickened under her scrutiny. Nervous she’d stay; nervous she’d leave.

Under his fingers, Viktor felt the motor fight the last turn of the key. Wrenching it out, the boat vibrated lightly and whirred. The paddle wheels began spinning. He glanced down, a thrill rippling up his arms. Aware that the girl was still watching him, Viktor looked back up at her. Was she going to say something?

“Sky!” A voice called from over the cliffs. One of the other children back by the lagoon.

Sky’s eyebrows lifted, and she turned to climb back towards her friends. She threw him one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing over the other side of the rocks. Viktor’s chest deflated a bit. Equal parts relief and disappointment.

The boat shook gently in his hands, like it was begging to be placed in the water. He gave it one last look over, checking for any gaps or cracks in the metal.

Holding his breath, Viktor delicately put the boat into the stream, and let go. Just as he had designed, the wheels pulled his creation smoothly through the water. He bit his bottom lip, and grinned, feeling very pleased with himself.

Viktor grabbed his crutch and hauled himself onto his feet. He walked along the bank, following the boat, the intoxicating sense of accomplishment welling up within him as he watched it chug along.

Readily, the boat cut through the water, heading further and further downstream. Going faster and faster. Viktor’s own pace quickened, his weak leg dragging behind him as he went. But he cared little about his scuffed shoe, his inability to keep pace with the boat. All that he could hear in his head was “I did it!”

Until the gap between him and his invention widened. And widened. Panic that he’d lose the boat began to drown out the happiness he felt. The dissonance between his spirit and physical body became frustratingly apparent as he willed his legs to move faster, and they simply would not. 

After a few, sloppy, hurried steps, his legs tangled and he fell to the ground, crutch clattering out of his hand. And the boat kept paddling along, following the stream into a crack in a sandstone wall.

Embarrassment welled heavy in Viktor’s chest, threatening to keep him plastered to the dusty bank. He lifted his head, and glanced over his shoulder. Sky, nor any of her friends, were peering down at him. 

He was alone. 

Ignoring the stinging pain in his shins, Viktor gathered up his crutch, pressed himself up, and timidly followed the stream toward the gap in the rock. There was a tumble of gravel leading down into a cavern, the stream babbling next to it, his boat near the bottom of the slope. Gritting his teeth and crutch in determination, Viktor began down the rocks. 

The stream fed into a large underground pond. Pockets of glowing purple flowers lit the cavern eerily. Viktor’s brow furrowed. He remembered Papa telling him and Katya about this subterranean flora. About its fickle nature, and how above ground its phenotypic state morphed into that of an algae-like substance. He also remembered Papa saying that there was no apparent use for the plant. It wasn’t edible, nor did it survive beyond its natural habitat. 

As Viktor shuffled lower down, the air became cool and moist. It smelled of petrichor, aquatic funk, and . . . Something he could not put his finger on. A light, metallic sweetness. Something about it sent a shiver down his crooked spine.

So distracted by the environment, staying upright, and keeping an eye on his boat, Viktor hadn’t realized that there was someone seated on a boulder on the opposite bank of the pond. A man, Viktor could see. A great swath of daylight poured in from above where the cavern’s ceiling broke open. His heart stuttered in his chest. Looking from his boat, to the man, up to the opening in the rock from where he came, he steeled his resolve and crept closer. 

When the boat gently bumped against the boulder the stranger sat on, the man reached down and scooped it out of the water. He moved as if he were unsurprised. Like he’d been expecting the little boat to arrive. Viktor hunkered behind a stone peppered with the strange purple flowers and watched.

Suddenly, a large pink and purple waverider slithered out from behind the boulder the man sat on. It moved like water, slipping and flowing easily around the rock until it perched itself atop it. Viktor let out an unstoppable, fearful gasp, and pushed himself to his feet. Despite having no apparent ears, the creature responded to the soft sound, bracing in a protective stance. Appendages on its back and around its head flared up defensively, a strange barking-trill bleating from its throat. 

“Don’t be afraid,” the man said in a soft voice.

Viktor didn’t move. Nor did the waverider.

The man, gaunt and ghoulish-looking, held the boat up into the light and said, “You built this.”

He was pale with beady, but intelligent, eyes. His mouse-brown hair was cut close to his head and receding. Mismatched, ill-fitting clothes draped over his slender frame. Despite having no idea who this person was, Viktor felt an inexplicable and strange pull towards him. He swallowed, and nodded.

One of the man’s long, spider-like fingers tapped one of the boat’s rearmost paddle wheels, and it gently spun.

“Why aren’t you playing with the others?”

Warm anger and embarrassment pricked at Viktor’s cheeks. But he held himself up as tall as he could, and stepped forward, letting the sparkling sunlight present his crutch and handicap. He kept his eyes on the ground, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. The waverider keened as he took a few more hobbled steps closer. The man did not seem to react to Viktor’s body, nor reveal.

Instead, he said: “Loneliness is often the byproduct of a gifted mind.”

He lifted the boat in emphasis. Viktor took a couple more steps forward, curiosity growing. The sense of alienation that had been building up for months in his chest receded a bit. His eyes shifted to the waverider. The creature slid down the rock to peer over the man’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Viktor asked.

As if trying to answer the question itself, the waverider opened its mouth and squealed, a multi-tipped tongue flashing in its pink maw.

“This is Rio. She’s a rare mutation that I cultivated.” The man stood, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He withdrew one glowing, purple flower and offered it to Viktor. “Here. Go on.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. The pull of curiosity was too strong, and he limped forward, stepping over the shallow, lapping water to the bank the stranger and Rio were on. He handed Viktor the flower. It felt strange. Warm, somehow. And spongy. It was unlike any plant he’d ever come into contact with. 

Rio’s frills pulsed, her jaw smacking and head cocking as she eyed the plant in Viktor’s hand. He stiffened on instinct as she crept closer, but kept the flower held out. Her snout was cool and moist when it bumped against his fingers as she inspected the offering. Then, her mouth opened wide and that multi-tipped tongue slid out, and wrapped around his hand before pulling the treat in. Viktor giggled at the slippery sensation of the bifurcated muscle sliding over and around his fingers and palm. It left a viscous trail of saliva in its wake, and the smile on his face spun down in a grimace as the heavy ooze stuck between his fingers.

Pleased, Rio drew back, smacking her gums, and settled back against the stranger’s side. He placed a hand on her back, and gently stroked it.

“She’s dying,” he said suddenly. 

Despite having just met her, Viktor felt sadness and grief wash over him. Rio let loose a low, shuddering vocalization. 

“I am attempting to prevent that,” the stranger said, almost breezily. Then, more ominously: “The mutation must survive.”

Viktor watched the waverider, listened to the man. He sounded like a scientist, talking about mutations and cultivation. He’d discovered that Papa’s purple plant wasn’t so useless after all - 

“Can I help?” 

“You want to assist me?”

Viktor glanced down, thinking. He was so alone. And this man hadn’t looked at him pitifully, nor spoke to him like he was incapable. Or a child. He’d recognized Viktor as a burgeoning scientist, what with his boat and lack of friends. And in that recognition, he felt a small flicker of tantalizing belonging. 

He looked back up at the man, and hid a nod in the shrug of his thin shoulders.

“Very well.”

The stranger stepped forward, and handed Viktor back his boat. He held it tightly against his chest as the man placed a large, cold hand on his shoulder and leaned in: “We can be loners together.”

With that, he glided away toward a rusted metal door set cockeyed between slabs of rock. Rio scuttled after him, looking back at Viktor once more - her nictating membrane flashing over her bulbous eyes - before disappearing behind the door with a flick of her tail. 

Despite being left in the cavern, Viktor suddenly didn’t feel so alone. He held his boat tighter against his chest, and smiled. 

When Viktor got home, Katya was not there. He wasn’t sure if she still wasn’t back yet, or if she’d returned, saw he was gone, and was now scouring the Undercity looking for him. His stomach swooped guiltily at the thought of the second scenario. Not only did he not actually want to worry her, he didn’t want to get in trouble. Heart thudding in his chest, Viktor set his boat back on the kitchen table, retrieved some homework from his school bag, and waited for Katya to come home.

It was another few hours before the apartment door’s locks rattled, and Katya stepped in. Viktor, still seated at the kitchen table, went very still over his assignments. Waiting, praying, not breathing.

Then Kat sighed heavily. She buried her face in her hands for a beat before running them back over her head. Her eyes landed on her brother, and she smiled weakly. Viktor’s muscles sagged in relief. She didn’t know he’d been gone.

Kat slipped off her coat and hung it on its peg.

“Is everything okay?” 

She walked over, head bobbing heavily. Sliding into the seat next to him, she ran a hand through his hair. She looked tired, and a touch piqued, but glad to see him.

“Everything is fine,” she murmured. “My . . . friend is fine. She will need bed rest for a couple days - “ 

Her voice snagged in her throat. She cleared it, and then looked at Viktor’s boat. Her amber eyes grew bright and glossy.

“I am sorry we could not take your boat out today, Viktor.”

He squeezed the pencil between his fingers and chewed the inside of his lip.

Looking back down at his notes, he said, “It’s alright.”

“Perhaps we could try again tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “Sure. We can try.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kat’s smile tighten. Then she stood, and kissed his head.

“I am going to start supper.”

Viktor nodded, pretending to be absorbed in his homework. As she moved about the kitchen, he sketched purple flowers and thought about Rio the waverider. About how he was going to help save her. About how he now he had his own secret. And it made him happy.

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Coming Up Next: Grayson and Bone meet up, and Viktor's goes missing.

Next Chapter

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

[kikiiswashere]

Happy Mother’s Day!

Have some quick Sunday sketches ✍️

In happier AUs, Katya and Silco end up having two children. Their oldest is a boy named Roein. Their daughter comes along some time later, and is named Edyn in honor of Silco’s mother: Enyd.

Thanks to @kibbi for all the great reference material!

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 34

An Understanding

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: Katya and Viktor reach an understanding. Mostly.

Word Count: 4k

CW: Reactive parenting tactics

Previous Chapter

The walk home was painfully quiet. Viktor’s short, uneven hobble led the way; Katya at his heel. He wondered if she wouldn’t walk with him because she was angry, or because she wanted to make sure he didn’t try to peel away and not go home. 

Or both.

Part of him was glad she wasn’t at his side. He was angry, too. In fact, the pulsing rage in his body scared him. He’d never felt like this. It ached like a rotten tooth: pulpy and throbbing, impossible not to focus on.

Another piece of him - a softer part that appeared in the brief moments between the pulses of anger - wanted her to be there. Her presence at his side would’ve felt like a promise. A reassurance that while she was upset, she still loved him. That there would be something to go back to once they got over this hurdle. 

But she stayed behind.

A couple times on the way home, Viktor peeked over his shoulder at her, pretending to stretch his neck. He had been hoping that he’d see her face tired and upset, but softening. 

However, when he glanced back at her, Katya’s face was as hard and sharp as it’d been in the Doctor’s lab.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and pressed on.

When they reached their door, Viktor shuffled aside and let Katya stab the key into its lock like it had wronged her. She pushed the door open, and he limped inside.

“Go to your room.”

He froze; certain he’d misheard her. Turning, he watched her set his boat down carefully before shrugging out of her coat. Her furious eyes looked back at him, sparking like the forge in Pok’s Parlor. Viktor’s face twisted. Fury pulling it one way, disgust tugging it another.

“You lied to me!”

“Go to your room!”

“Who were they? Who’s he?”

“Go.To.Your! Room!”

With each word, Katya advanced on him until she loomed over. As imposing and upsetting as the crows that gathered along the electrical and chem-cables that crisscrossed over the shaft of the Undercity.

A terribly youthful rage bubbled in Viktor’s chest. He badly wanted to yell ‘You’re not my mother!’ at her. And while it was true, it didn’t matter. He glared at her as angrily as he could before stomping off to his bedroom, trying to indent the floor with the foot of his crutch as he went. 

When he got to his room, he used all his strength to slam the door shut. It banged in the jamb, and the wall around it shuddered. Viktor looked up, expecting to watch little spider-thread cracks form in the plaster around the doorframe. None did, and it incensed him. A great, feral need to slam his bedroom door again and again until the wall began to crumble clawed inside him. His skin pulled unbearably tight over his bones, and his limbs shook. The near-painful need to do something overwhelming him. 

But there was nothing to do. He couldn’t actually keep slamming his door. Katya would stop him. He couldn’t throw his crutch, or beat his bedroom furniture with it. They couldn’t afford for him to damage his cane, nor replace broken things.

Instead, he stomped over to his bed, threw himself face down on it, and screamed.

When Viktor slammed his door, Katya felt it in her bones. They shook as much as the wall did, and it rattled the hot fury out of her. Her body sagged. She put her back to the wall (swearing she could feel an echo of her brother’s anger through the plaster) and slid to the floor. Staring at the toes of her boots, she wondered how things had gone so, so wrong. 

Then, a long, muffled wail came from Viktor’s bedroom.

Katya twitched, body attempting to propel itself in his direction, but ultimately remained useless and seated.

He wouldn’t want to see her right now, anyway. Viktor did not tantrum often, even when he was young and such things were more expected; when he did, he pushed away and turned his back on any sort of companionship their papa or Katya offered him.

Katya would need to wait Viktor out.

When another cry swelled up on the tail of his last, Katya’s knees tucked into her chest, and she covered her face with her hands.

How had things gone so, so wrong?

She winced. In the black of her palms, that nasty little fear-creature reappeared, strutting and pretentious. She felt it waltz across her rib bones in a nasty told-you-so dance. 

In gorging herself on her own singular-identity and desires, she’d lied to him. Kept him separate, and away. In part to keep him safe. But also, because she was selfish.

A small yip of a sob hiccuped in Katya’s chest. 

She wasn’t sure how to fix this. Her mind strained to think after being wrung dry from stress. All she could hear in her head was that she had monumentally fucked up. She hurt her brother, and thus failed him. The life she’d been building outside of the one with him teetered precariously. 

There was a knock at the door and Kat jumped. 

Wiping her eyes, she staggered to her feet and peered through the peephole. Her heart gave a complicated twist. 

She should’ve known Silco would trail behind her and Viktor. Most of her was grateful to see him on her step. Part of her wished he’d listened to her, and gone home.

Hands shaking, Kat unstrung the lock-chain and slipped out the door. Unwilling to put two, fully secured boards of wood between her and Viktor, she kept the front door slightly ajar. 

“Hey,” Silco breathed, stepping closer. “Are you alright?”

His hand had begun to reach up, preparing to inspect the slight bruise starting to bloom across her cheek. Kat took it in hers before his fingertips could touch her.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and lowered it. “Yes. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Silco swallowed and took another step closer. His free hand came up to rest on Kat’s hip, and she savored it. And wished he hadn’t. Everything felt so unbearably muddled. She let go of his hand, only to let both of hers rest lightly against his chest. It would feel so good to lean in, and just let him hold her for a moment. 

So, she did.

Her hands fisted and she fell gracelessly into the shelter of him. Long arms twined around her back and held snugly. She felt his cheek mold over the crown of her head, and both their bodies loosened.

Before she could fully drift into his presence, Kat drew back, but kept her hands on his chest. 

“Thank you for helping today.”

“Of course,” he quickly replied, hands shifting to wrap around her arms. His eyes flicked to the door behind her. “How is your brother?”

“Upset.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. Her jaw shuddered, then words tumbled out. “I don’t know what happened. How Viktor found that man. Why would he do something so dangerous? I’m afraid I’ve ruined everything. He’s so angry with me. What if he hates - “

“Kat, stop.”

Silco jostled her lightly. Kat gulped, and finally looked up at his face. He gazed at her intently. His thumbs massaged little circles against her biceps. 

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Kat stared up at him. Feeling desperate and confused. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to kiss her, or go away.

Silco’s expression sombered. “Maybe it is time to tell him.”

Panic tightened her ribcage, choking her lungs and stilling her heart. 

“I can’t,” tumbled from her lips without much thought. 

“Kat, when I tried to hide this from my mum - “

“It’s not the same, Silco. Enyd is an adult. And lives here. Viktor is a child, and spends most of his time in Piltover.”

“He would not give you away - “

“I know that!” Agitation was rising in her now, overtaking the panic. “Of course he wouldn’t. But if something were to happen, something to jeopardize his spot at school. Jeopardize his safety - “ 

Kat took a great shuddering breath and covered her face with her hands. Silco inched closer, his hands a heavy, grounding weight on her arms. 

It felt like a lifetime ago that they’d stood before her apartment like this, loading a wounded Benzo up in a cart.

“He’s my responsibility, Silco,” she whispered, hands dropping. “I must keep him safe. I am being selfish.”

Silco’s attention zipped tight. His hold on her tensed, but he did not back away.

“You’re not - “

“But I am! I’m hurting him by keeping this from him.”

Silco’s temper sparked. “Then don’t! I understand you want to keep him safe. I understand he is your responsibility, bu -“

“It’s not just that.” Her hands came back up, hiding her face. As if not looking at him made this gross admission any easier. She took a shaky breath, bile rising in her throat. “I have not wanted to share this part of my life with him. I wanted it for me. Just for a little bit. My own life.” A small sob burst from her, spittle wetting the heels of her hands. “I’m such a monster.”

Silco ripped Kat’s hands away from her face, and held her wrists tightly. The look he fixed her with was not quite a glare, but it was close.

“You are not a monster.” He shook her for emphasis. Her eyes were wide, glossy pools of honey, sticky with unshed tears. “It is not wrong to want things for yourself, Kat. You know this.”

He knew it, too. Reveled in how she writhed on top of him chasing her pleasure without a second thought. Took pride in watching her grow bolder around Enforcers, taking up the space she deserved. How she had not backed down in the face of Will’s cowardice. 

Kat looked up at him, watery eyes searching. She gnawed on her lower lip, and Silco’s eyes dipped to the motion before locking back onto hers. Her head gave a small nod as she slipped her wrists from his hold.

“I know,” she whispered, though neither were sure if she meant it. Her eyes dropped and she shrunk back. “I need to think.”

Silco’s insides went cold, and his hands twitched, stopping himself from reaching for her. The invisible cord he sensed between them twanged painfully. He fought to keep his face neutral as his mouth went dry. 

Kat’s fingers laced together, and squeezed. She sighed and looked back up at Silco. Relief, timid and hopeful, flushed in his chest as she lifted on her toes, and chastely kissed him. He clenched his hands at his side, fighting the urge to pull her in. Wanting to kiss her deeper so the anxiety bubbling in his chest would quell. 

She dropped back to the soles of her shoes, and repeated, “I need to think.”

Unease swelled again as Kat slipped behind her door and closed it.

Kat reset the lock-chain. Her forehead bumped against the cool doorframe, and she closed her eyes. She felt numb. And exhausted. 

Wearily, Kat turned and saw that Viktor’s door was still closed. The room beyond was quiet. She couldn’t decide if that made her more nervous or settled. Her admission rang in her throat.

I have not wanted to share this part of my life with him. I wanted it for me. Just for a little bit. My own life.

The sentiment was quickly followed by a flash in her mind. How Viktor had stared down at her at the Oases. His face twisted in anger and hurt. He’d never looked at her like that. And it scared her; made her feel ashamed in the aftermath. 

She shouldn’t have lied to him. 

Not like this, anyway.

Legs stiff and wobbly, Kat stepped towards Viktor’s bedroom door. She leaned in and listened for a moment. The softest, little whimpers made it through the wood, and her heart cracked further. Tongue gluing itself to the roof of her mouth, cheeks growing preemptively warm, Kat knocked and let herself inside.

“Viktor?”

He was laying on his side, back to the door. His shoulders stiffened at her voice, and his legs pulled in toward his chest.

“Viktor,” she sighed. The doorknob creaked under her hand. “Viktor, I am sorry.”

His body didn’t soften. But his head did turn ever so slightly toward her voice.

There was a long, heavy silence that threatened to crush Kat where she stood. Even so, she waited. 

Finally, Viktor croaked: “What’s going on?”

Kat bit the inside of her cheek, and slowly made her way into his room. She sat just on the foot of his mattress. Perched lightly like a nervous canary ready to take flight at any moment should she be batted away.

She opened her mouth, but the words floated out of her mind before they could form on her tongue. She owed him everything. But could not ask him to hold it all. 

“I have friends who are part of the Children of Zaun, Viktor.”

He stilled, before wiping his nose and gingerly sitting up. He kept Kat at arm’s length. Eyes, red-rimmed, puffy, and cagey looked at her. His cheeks were splotchy, and his nose was chapping from being wiped repeatedly.

“Those were them?”

She nodded. “Some.”

“Are - are you in the Children?”

Kat hadn’t necessarily planned on devolving that information, but she stayed quiet for too long and her eyes flickered tellingly. Viktor swallowed, an audible crinkle in his throat, and the hurt on his face began to morph into fear.

“I am . . . on the periphery,” she finally said.

Not an outright lie. Since the airship crash, she had not been part of any altercation with Topside or Enforcers - something she would consider more direct. She’d just continued treating people and smuggling. 

New tears began to well in his eyes. Viktor’s breath caught in his chest, and Kat saw the beginnings of a panic attack in him. Calmly, she scooted closer to him and laid a grounding hand on his leg. 

“Big breath, Viktor.”

His shoulders hiked up as he sucked in air through his teeth. It left him in a spitty wheeze. Kat would’ve preferred to slip in behind Viktor and hold him to her chest. Like Silco had done for her months and months before, but she did not feel confident that such a gesture would soothe him.

Instead, she said: “One hand on your heart, the other on your belly.” He obeyed. “Good. Let your fingertips slip beneath your collar. Touch your skin. Good. Breathe again, focus on moving the hand on your belly.”

Viktor did so, closing his eyes and putting all his effort into breathing deep enough that the hand over his stomach moved outward. It was hard, being upset and having weaker lungs to begin with, but it worked eventually. Calming him enough so that he could look at his sister again and talk.

“Why?”

Kat felt the corners of her lips curl up ruefully. “Because we deserve better. You. Me. All of the Underground. Everyone who came before. And Everyone who comes after.”

“B-but what if you get hurt?”

Of its own volition, Kat’s body inched closer.

“I won’t.” Perhaps it was foolish to promise him such a thing, but she would not allow him to entertain anything else. “I do my job for the Cause: treating sick and wounded people. I am not putting myself in any direct line of fire. And I have people looking out for me.”

“Is that what was happening with that man coming in the middle of the night that one time?”

“Yes.”

“And where you’ve gone sometimes in the evenings?”

“Yes.”

“And when you promised to take me to the Oases a couple of weeks ago?”

Kat closed her eyes slowly, and then reopened them. “Yes.”

Viktor’s arms tired, and he let his hands drop into his lap. 

“Your friends.” Kat nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The tears welled up again. This time too fat to stay balanced on his eyelids. They streamed silently down his cheeks. The quietness of it punched Kat in the gut.

She answered honestly. “Because I did not want you to carry such a burden. Especially when you are so often in Piltover. Because I was trying to protect you. I see now I have failed, and hurt you. I am sorry, Viktor.”

Her brother sniffed and wiped at his cheeks. “It - it felt like you were going away,” he sobbed. “Like - like you didn’t - “

He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence, and Kat couldn’t bear to hear it. Finally, she closed the distance between them and dragged him into her arms. A joyful, relieved warmth filled her chest when he readily held her back. 

She gripped tightly, and said into his neck, “I will always want you, Viktor.”

The boy cried and nodded, pressing himself firmly against her.

The embrace lasted a wonderfully long while. Kat was more than aware she’d only shared with him a half-truth. She would not tell him of her selfishness and resentment. Children can and will mistakenly make everything about themselves. And her shortcomings and trauma were not his to hold. They weren’t his fault.

Eventually, Viktor peeled himself enough out of Kat’s arms just to take a deeper breath. Her own hands came up, wiped his eyes, and petted his hair. 

“Can I meet them?”

Kat shook her head before really thinking about it, and Viktor wilted.

“Not right now, anyway,” she rectified. “I don’t want you knowing their names. Should,” a breath, laden with reality, left her, “should something happen, I want you to have as little information as possible. You understand?”

Viktor’s eyes grew wide. He looked disappointed, but nodded in agreement. His hands fidgeted with a loose thread hanging off her vest.

“He called you ‘Kat.’ The one you said wasn’t following us.”

Kat’s lips thinned and the apples of her cheeks pinkened. “Like I said, they are my friends. And they are looking out for me. For us.”

Viktor dipped his chin. In the stretch of silence, his own shame creeped up on him. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and shifted uncomfortably.

“I am sorry I hit you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”

Kat hummed an ascent, then blinked. So lost in her own guilt she’d nearly forgotten about Viktor’s transgressions.

“Viktor, what were you doing today? Who was that man?”

His face turned the hue of a stoked coal as he averted his gaze.

“The Doctor. I am helping him with his research.”

Kat held him, but he felt a subtle undercurrent of protective anger beneath her skin.

“That day we were supposed to test my boat for the first time, and you had to go help your friend,” he mumbled, “I still went to the Oases. I met him there.” He winced as Kat stiffened. “I’m sorry.”

A heavy sigh blew through Kat’s nose. “That was very dangerous, Viktor.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Nothing happened.”

“Then you are lucky. But,” her fingertips guided his eyes back to hers, “you are not allowed to see him again. Nor venture off without my permission.”

Viktor’s heart sank, but he was too tired to fight. He nodded numbly before falling back against his sister’s chest.

The rest of the weekend was quiet. Brother and sister moved around each other carefully, but lovingly. Even though it felt stilted and awkward, Viktor could feel Kat’s presence more clearly. With her secrets laid bare, he saw her again. Her eyes clear, voice less distant, touches more grounded.

Her revelation still worried him. And he was feeling resistant about her instructions to stay away from the Doctor and Rio. As they sat together Sunday evening, Viktor’s back resting against Kat’s side, he pretended to read a book while he debated disobeying her. He could still sneak away during the week. But what if he got caught? What if the Doctor didn’t want him around anymore?

Kat’s fingers scratching his scalp pulled him from his thoughts.

“It is time for bed, Viktor.”

Closing his book, he grabbed his crutch and shifted off of the couch. They readied themselves for bed, brushing their teeth and washing their faces side-by-side at the bathroom sink. Viktor adjusted his brace for bed and donned his pajamas. He laid back on his pillow, and Kat drew the blanket up around him. She watched him for a moment, a strange pensiveness on her face.

“I am sorry, Viktor,” she whispered, eyes shining. 

He swallowed, hands fidgeting beneath the covers. 

He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

This time, Kat’s chin dipped and a weak smile hooked her lips. She kissed his forehead, and wished him sweet dreams. The room slipped into black as she dimmed the lamp on his bedside table. He felt her lift off the bed, heard her footsteps shuffle to the door. He watched her slip out.

It was a bit before sleep finally found him.

Ivy stood a few feet in front of the checkgate as Katya and Viktor approached the next morning. She smiled at them, the corners of her mouth broadening when her eyes locked with Viktor’s. 

“Good morning, Viktor.”

“Good morning, Miss Ivy.”

Viktor adjusted his hold on the boat tucked beneath his arm as Kat handed the aide his rucksack for the week. As had been the norm for the past several weeks, his sister said nothing to her. Knowing what he knew now, Viktor worried the inside of his cheek about it.

With her arms free, Kat wrapped them around her brother, mindful of the project in his free arm. With neither hand free to hold her back, Viktor pressed his head against her heart. 

I’m sorry.

I know.

He looked up at her. “I love you.”

She smiled, and brushed a hand across his cheek. “I love you, too. Have a good week at school.”

Be careful.

I will be.

Viktor stepped away from her and turned toward the gate that was lifting. Ivy paused, lips tightening. 

“Wait for me on the other side, Viktor,” she finally said. 

He paused, looking confused. His eyes went between Ivy and his sister. Gripping his boat tighter, he nodded and stepped through the gate into Piltover. 

Ivy turned to face Katya, who, now that Viktor was out of sight, looked at her like she was something stuck to the underside of her boot.

“What?” she spat. Her shoulders pinched, preparing for some other form of terrible news Piltover was so gleeful to distribute.

Ivy’s eyebrows curled upward and she carefully stepped toward Katya, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. Her eyes glanced to the guard hut, and back. 

“I’m not your enemy, Katya.”

Katya’s brows dropped low and suspicious over her eyes. A frown pulled her mouth down. Ivy dared to step closer.

“I know there is much unrest and tension between Piltover and the Undercity. That certain peoples are demanding freedom from what they feel is an unjust leader. And perhaps there is a case for that.” Katya’s face softened infinitesimally, listening but unwilling to give the aide any quarter. “But, I want you to know that Viktor is safe with me. As are you. If,” her voice lowered, “if you or he need anything, I am here. I am not your enemy.”

Katya’s mind cramped, unsure if it should absorb or repel Ivy’s words. She seemed genuine. She’d never given any indication that she despised Viktor. Or her. 

But she was still a Piltie.

Katya allowed her shoulders to drop an inch. An acknowledgement that she heard the other woman. The expression on her face shifted from one of contempt to something cold and distant, but not hateful.

She nodded, and walked back to Zaun.

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Coming Up Next: Silco leans on Vander's shoulder. Grayson pays The Last Drop a visit. Silco asks Katya what she needed to think about.

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