#Structural Fire Resistance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelseraphines · 6 days ago

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ೃ⁀➷ ultraviolence ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, and a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ choosing to take up arms and align yourself with player 456’s desperate plan was not so much a choice as it was an ultimatum. to do nothing, continue playing by their sadistic rules, meant walking the same path to inevitable death. but this? this rebellion, this gamble to strike at the heart of the operation. a blaze of defiance instead of the slow suffocation of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ the gunfire came fast and relentless, each crack like lightning splitting the air around you. the deafening staccato of bullets ricocheted off the metal structures, sharp and unforgiving. you pressed yourself hard against the crimson barrier, your heart a violent drumbeat in your chest. each near miss tore at your nerves, leaving behind the bitter taste of survival.

˚ ༘♡ the red structures were impractical shelter, offering only the facade of safety. around you, the others fought back with what little ammunition and courage they had. some fired blindly, their hands shaking, others aimed with accuracy, faces set with the resilience of people who knew they may never see another day.

˚ ༘♡ the air reeked of gunpowder and sweat, and your own breath came in short, uneven bursts as you tried to steady your hands. the ground beneath you was littered with shell casings and splintered debris, each piece a fragment of the chaos you had willingly stepped into. a thought crossed your mind, whether this was bravery or madness. but the thought vanished as quickly as it came, drowned out by the next thunderous racket of gunfire.

˚ ༘♡ you don’t have time to think, only to act. your fingers find the magazine release instinctively, pressing it hard. the spent magazine drops to the ground, clattering louder than you’d like. your other hand is already reaching for a fresh one, fumbling for a second before finding it.

˚ ༘♡ the cool metal feels heavy in your palm as you slot it into the magazine well. you shove it upward until it clicks into place, a sound that’s both satisfying and urgent. your hand moves to the slide, gripping the serrated edges. you pull it back sharply, feeling the resistance, and let it snap forward with a crisp, metallic clank.

˚ ༘♡ your heart is racing, but your hands are steady. you flick the safety off with your thumb without even thinking about it. the gun is ready again, its weight familiar in your grip. you take a breath that doesn’t seem deep enough, your focus narrowing as you lift the weapon and prepare to fire at the masked men who stand across in another block structure.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 had insisted you stay behind. his voice was grounded, almost gentle, as he took your hand, his rough fingers a stark contrast to the warmth in his tone. “this plan is reckless,” he said, his expression unreadable except for the glint of concern in his dark eyes. “we have enough people. you don’t need to put yourself in danger.” but his attempt at reassurance only fueled your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ “if you’re not staying behind, neither am i,” you replied, your voice firm, though your heart pounded like a war drum. his face darkened with vexation, but he didn’t argue further, young-il knew he could not change your mind.

˚ ༘♡ crouched behind the unforgiving cover of the red structure, your hands trembled as you clutched the empty weapon. “i’m out of ammo,” you called, your voice barely cutting through the raucous chaos around you.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun and jung-bae had disappeared minutes ago, slipping into the chaos to infiltrate the control room. every second they were gone stretching unbearably thin. around you, the others were panicking. shouts rose above the gunfire, “almost out!” player 246 hollered, “running low!” player 120 yelled out, desperation laced every shout.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s radio crackled to life, gi-hun’s strained voice breaking through. “we’re running out of ammo here. there are more magazines on the guards, someone has to get them. hurry!”

˚ ༘♡ the moment the line went dead, young-il turned to the group. unlike the others, he was calm, his face as still as stone, his composure a striking contrast to the pandemonium. his eyes swept over each of you, calculating, deliberate. “four of us will move to back them up,” he said, his voice even, “but someone has to retrieve the magazines from the guards.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt the weight of his gaze settle on you for a moment longer than the others. your stomach tightened. the bodies of the masked men were out there, sprawled in the open, exposed under relentless gunfire. retrieving the magazines meant running into certain danger.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll go!” dae-ho shouted, his voice quivering. his hands shook as he clutched his weapon, his knuckles white against the grip. before anyone could argue, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted into the open, his silhouette a vulnerable target in the chaos. bullets ricocheted off nearby walls, sparks flying like tiny explosions. player 120 darted after him, crouching low and firing in short bursts to cover his reckless charge.

˚ ༘♡ young-il, player 047, and player 015 began moving toward the exit. you didn’t hesitate to follow, the worn soles of your shoes crunching against the debris-strewn ground. before you could take more than a few steps, young-il stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his stern gaze locked onto yours, “stay here,” he said, his voice low.

˚ ༘♡ your chest tightened with frustration, and you met his command with a sharp glare. “i can’t stay out here,” you hissed, your voice barely louder than the chaos around you. “how can i stand by knowing you’ll be in danger while i sit here, doing nothing? i can help.”

˚ ༘♡ his expression darkened, his face hardening as his jaw tightened. the faint lines around his eyes deepened into sharp creases, the wear of age etched into his skin. you could see the conflict inside him, his instinct to protect you clashing with the knowledge that he couldn’t stop you. his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, a reluctant surrender.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t argue further. instead, he turned sharply and continued toward the exit, his steps heavier than before. you followed close behind, the cold air biting at your face and your hands shaking.

˚ ༘♡ once inside, the oppressive silence of the corridors was shattered by the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the narrow passageways. your boots slid against the blood-slick floors, the dark streaks smearing across the ground like grotesque markers guiding your way. shattered shell casings crunched underfoot, their metallic edges catching the dim light as you moved in tight formation behind the others.

˚ ༘♡ the sounds grew louder with every turn, each burst of gunfire sending a jolt through your chest. when you reached the source, your heart sank. gi-hun and jung-bae were pinned down behind a stack of crates, their weapons barking in quick bursts as masked men returned fire from the opposite end of the hall. “the control room is there!” gi-hun shouted, his voice strained as he gestured toward a guarded staircase. the veins in his neck stood out with the effort.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s gaze darted between the staircase and gi-hun, his expression grim. “i’m nearly out of ammo,” he said, his voice undisturbed despite the chaos around him.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun didn’t hesitate. he reached into his pocket, retrieving a magazine with shaky fingers. “here,” he said, extending it toward young-il. “it’s my last one.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s eyes flicked to the magazine, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “are you sure?” he asked, his tone measured, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun nodded. “dae-ho will be back with more. now go!”

˚ ༘♡ young-il looked as though he might argue, yet with a reluctant nod, he took the magazine. sliding it into his weapon, he jerked his head toward the opposite direction. “this way,” he commanded.

˚ ༘♡ you fell in step beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you moved. the air felt thick, you couldn’t help but glance at young-il, his face a mask of stable focus.

˚ ༘♡ arriving at another stairwell, the tension in the air felt suffocating, every step heavy with the weight of what might come next. player 047 and player 015 moved quickly, their rifles poised as they positioned themselves near the walls, peering toward the masked guards above.

˚ ༘♡ you and young-il lingered behind them. he reloaded his rifle with the magazine gi-hun had given him. your hands tightening around your weapon. the cold metal felt heavier than ever, slick with the sweat of your palms. you tried to calm your breathing, to ready yourself for the chaos that was certain to erupt. beside you, young-il raised his gun, his posture steady and unshaken. you followed his lead, preparing for the onslaught, waiting for the inevitable storm of bullets. the shots rang out, but they weren’t aimed at the guards.

˚ ༘♡ the first sharp crack reverberated through the stairwell, a deafening sound that seemed to shatter the air. player 047 jerked forward, his body crumpling to the ground like a discarded puppet. his rifle clattered away, the life drained from him in an instant.

˚ ༘♡ before the echo of the first shot faded, another followed, sharp and final. player 015 collapsed, his body writhing as blood began to trickle beneath him. he let out a guttural, choked gasp, his hands clawing weakly at the ground as he struggled to breathe. his voice, broken and trembling, was barely audible as he begged for mercy, his words dissolving into wet, rasping breaths.

˚ ༘♡ you stood paralyzed, the scene before you unspooling in a sickening blur. player 047’s body lay still, his eyes vacant, while player 015 twitched helplessly, his life draining away with each agonized second.

˚ ༘♡ your eyes went to young-il, who remained motionless, his gun still raised. his expression was cold, unreadable, as if the weight of what he had done didn’t touch him at all. there was no hesitation in his actions, no flicker of remorse in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ the distant echoes of gunfire and screams drowned out by the discordant pounding of your own heartbeat. your mind raced, grasping for something, anything, to make sense of what was happening, but your body refused to move. your breath caught in your throat as young-il turned toward you, his weapon still raised, the barrel gleaming under the light.

˚ ༘♡ time seemed to stretch as the frigid metal pressed against your forehead, the faint scrape of the barrel against your skin sending a chill down your spine. his eyes, once a source of reassurance, now bore into you with an intensity that felt almost inhuman. they weren’t angry, but calculating. you opened your mouth to speak, to plead, to demand answers, but no sound came. the words were trapped, strangled by a fear that gripped your chest.

˚ ༘♡ for a vanishing moment, hope sparked when he lowered the gun. relief struck you so abruptly it nearly made your knees give out. that hope shattered as quickly as it came. he aimed the gun not at your chest, but lower. you barely registered what was happening before the deafening crack of the shot filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ the agony radiating from your shattered knee. it was as if every nerve in your body had been set ablaze, the pain so consuming it blurred your vision and stole the breath from your lungs. blood gushed from the wound, pooling rapidly beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you clawed at the ground, desperate for anything to anchor you as your body convulsed with the shock of the injury. tears streamed down your face, hot and uncontrollable, as a strangled cry escaped your lips. the cold floor beneath you seemed to pull the heat from your body, leaving you trembling and vulnerable.

˚ ༘♡ through the haze of agony, you forced your gaze upward, meeting his cold, unflinching eyes. “why?” you rasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. the word was a broken plea, filled with pain and betrayal, though deep down, you already knew no answer could justify what he had done.

˚ ༘♡ young-il stalked over to player 047’s lifeless body, his demeanor disturbingly composed despite the carnage surrounding you both. crouching beside the corpse, he grabbed the sleeve of the dead man’s jacket, his fingers curling around the fabric. with a deliberate pull, he tore a strip from the bloodied material.

˚ ༘♡ you writhed where you lay, the searing pain in your knee refusing to relent. blood continued to seep from the wound, its warmth pooling beneath you in thick, sticky smears. your breathing came in short, erratic gasps

˚ ༘♡ he returned to you, the strip of fabric clutched in his hand like a twisted tool of control. his presence loomed over you, suffocating in its quiet intensity. you flinched as he knelt beside you, the smell of blood and sweat clinging to him, a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, his hand shot out, his grip firm as he seized your chin. the sudden pressure forced your head off the cold, blood-slick floor, and you gasped, your lips trembling as you struggled to focus through the pain clouding your vision. his touch was rigid, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your jaw.

˚ ༘♡ young-il worked methodically, winding the fabric around your mouth. you tried to jerk your head away, but his grip tightened, holding you in place as he secured the knot at the back of your head. the coarse material bit into the corners of your mouth, the taste of grime and death filling your senses as your cries were reduced to stifled, pitiful sounds.

˚ ༘♡ when he finally let go of your chin, your head hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo inside your skull. the pain was sharp, but it paled in comparison to the turmoil raging within you. confusion clawed at your thoughts, tangled with disbelief so heavy it was suffocating. this was young-il, the man who had stood beside you, risked his life for you. you couldn’t reconcile the murderous figure before you with the person who had once seemed so kind, so loyal. why? the question screamed in your mind, louder than the agony in your leg or the blood pounding in your ears.

˚ ༘♡ he pulled the portable radio from his pocket, the cold efficiency of his actions cutting deeper than any bullet could. he walked over to where player 015 lay, choking on his own blood, the pitiful sound barely audible between gurgling gasps. kneeling down beside him, young-il’s voice changed, slipping into a grotesque mockery of grief and desperation.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry, gi-hun,” he said, his voice uneven, laced with feigned exhaustion. “it’s over.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in. you thrashed against the bindings around your mouth, your muffled screams raw and desperate as you tried to drown out his lie. gi-hun needed to hear the truth, that young-il betrayed them, but the gag stifled every sound.

˚ ༘♡ young-il pressed the radio closer to player 015, holding it just inches from the man’s face. the wet, ragged gasps of the dying player filled the channel. you watched in horror as young-il’s hand rested on the radio. it was cruel, calculated, a performance designed to destroy any hope gi-hun might have left.

˚ ༘♡ with a flick of his finger, he silenced the radio. the stairwell was suddenly quiet except for your muted weeping and the faint rasp of player 015’s fading breaths. young-il stood over him, his gun raised once more. there was no hesitation, no emotion as he pulled the trigger. the crack of the shot was deafening, the sound of it reverberating off the concrete walls and leaving an emptiness in its wake.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was unbearable. it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, as the weight of his betrayal settled fully in your mind. young-il turned, his face as calm as ever, and you felt your stomach twist. “i’m sorry,” young-il murmured. your heart sank as you convinced yourself this was it. he was going to kill you, finish what he started and tie up loose ends.

˚ ༘♡ instead, he turned and walked away, his footsteps unhurried. the sound of them faded into the distance. confusion churned in your chest, mingling with the pain that consumed your body. why leave you in such a pathetic state? surely, even he wouldn’t be so brutal as to condemn you to bleed out slowly, to suffer alone in agony until death finally claimed you.

˚ ༘♡ time became meaningless as you lay there. blood seeped from your shattered knee in hot, pulsing waves, the sticky warmth swarming beneath you, soaking into your clothes. the air grew colder, or maybe it was you, the life draining from your body, inch by inch. you couldn’t tell if a minute had passed or an hour.

˚ ༘♡ somewhere far away, gunshots cracked. a scream came, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound that sent a shiver crawling up your spine despite your weakening state, unmistakably gi-hun. you refused to consider what might have happened, it was far too devastating.

˚ ༘♡ and then, footsteps.

˚ ༘♡ as the figure emerged into view, a dreadful realization set in. it wasn’t anyone you recognized.

˚ ༘♡ tall and imposing, the stranger was clad in sleek black from head to toe. the fabric of their attire shimmered faintly under the dim light, perfectly fitted, without a single crease or flaw. their face was concealed by an angular black mask, its pristine surface reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, not even a hint of the eyes beneath.

˚ ༘♡ your mind, dulled by pain and blood loss, struggled to comprehend the sight. fear should have seized you, but your body was too weak, your thoughts too fractured to muster a response. when the figure crouched beside you, their movements swift and efficient, you didn’t resist as they ripped the gag from your mouth.

˚ ༘♡ “who… who are you?” you managed to slur, your voice barely audible.

˚ ༘♡ the figure didn’t answer. they didn’t hesitate. one gloved hand cradled the back of your head, tilting it upward with unsettling care, while the other hand brought a cloth to your face. the sharp, chemical scent hit you instantly, chloroform.

˚ ༘♡ panic flared, yet it was short-lived. the edges of your vision blurred, your body growing heavier, like you were sinking into a dark, bottomless pit. the last thing you saw was the smooth, featureless mask staring down at you, icy and unfeeling, before the world faded into black.

a/n: another hwang in-ho fanfiction! let me know your thoughts and if you have any requests! 🤍

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the-thing-inside-your-closet · 4 months ago

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Who Started The Fire?

From the prompts list:

“That’s my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

Batman stared down the two teens standing before him. The boy was pointedly looking anywhere but the Bat’s face, finding more interest in the dirt and gravel crunching under his shoes. Meanwhile, the girl stood with her arms crossed, head held high, meeting Batman’s gaze with a defiant glare that wouldn’t be out of place on any of his own children’s faces.

Behind them lay the smoking remains of what was once a warehouse that had been used as a front for a weapons smuggling operation that the bats had collectively spent the past few weeks investigating. Although their investigation had taken longer than anticipated thanks to this group’s rather impressive security, they had been so close to a breakthrough…when the place had gone up in an inferno.

When the Gotham vigilantes had first arrived on the scene the fire had been so intense that they’d had to put in their gas masks to avoid any inhaling any of the thick black smoke from not only the fire, but also whatever chemicals may have potentially been within the building that would have been released into the air.

Batman’s initial hypothesis had been that the group had become aware of their investigation and burned the place to avoid any evidence being discovered while they moved locations. However, that theory had been shelved when Red Hood had announced the presence of charred bodies amongst the rubble, and evidence of explosives having been used in multiple area where the building’s structure had been the weakest. Whoever had been inside had not had any warning of the blaze that had swallowed the building too fast for them to get to safety, and with the structure being compromised from the explosions all exists had been blocked, preventing the inhabitant’s escape. Red Hood and Nightwing had been discussing potential suspects as Batman and Red Robin searched for any evidence that could have survived the destruction, when a clattering sound followed by the sound of voices hushing each other had altered all of the on scene bats to the presence of possibly several unknowns.

The two teens had been apprehended quickly and ushered to the side, far enough away from the scene of the fire to avoid them overhearing details of the investigation and to prevent any potential tampering. Accidental or otherwise. The teens had been stubborn in their refusal to answer any of the bat’s questions to their presence. Nobody knew why they were there, where they had come from, and they had even refused to disclose their names. Oracle, unfortunately, was sick with the flu and had been gently ordered to rest by Agent A. Batman was nevertheless confident that they would be able to discover their identities quickly either once they had returned to the cave or if they could get the kids to talk.

He would have asked Red Hood to speak with the teens, he was the best with kids. And if caught up in anything illegal they often seemed to respond better to him due to his more ambiguous morals and reputation for ensuring kid’s safety. Both from rouges and in some cases, the rest of the bats and birds. But he had been needed in Crime Ally after he had been alerted to a gunfight breaking out between two gangs who had been more hostile and antagonistic in recent months. Nightwing had accompanied him, and Spoiler had diverted from her patrol route to assist. That left Batman and Red Robin behind to deal with both the police and the frustratingly stubborn teens.

Batman resisted the urge to punch the bridge of his nose as yet another question was blatantly ignored by both kids. The boy had begun fiddling with the sleeved of his letterman jacket and the girl had taken to checking her manicured nails for any dirt or imperfections.

Just as he was about to turn the questioning over to one of the on scene police officers, a writhing mass of shadow had emerged from the girl’s shadow. Two tendrils of black smoke reached out to wrap themselves around the wrists and hands of both teens, who had in turn glanced down at their hands and smiled.

“We’re fine,” the boy had muttered quietly, “no need to worry.”

“What is that?” Batman asked, eyeing the mass with a cautious suspicion. He wanted to believe it wasn’t hostile given the kids reactions to it. But this was Gotham.

The girl shot him another glare, one hand on her hip while the other remained in the hold of whatever the shadowy mass was.

“That sir,” she spat out the first word with such venom to her tone that Batman almost flinched, “is our emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

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nyxs2 · 1 month ago

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Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 3/?)

The fire consumes everything it touches, turning what was into ashes. Curiously, Silco also leaves a trail of destruction in his wake.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, dirty talk, degradation, public sex, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, creampie, blood and violence, biting, threat of death, choking, canon-typical Silco violence, death of secondary characters being referenced, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut). Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1

Part 2

Pay attention to the tags. If you're uncomfortable with violent situations or explicitly intense acts, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Once again: this is NOT a fluffy romance. Our protagonist has her own issues, and to be clear, while there are violent themes, Silco would never harm his dove. You have been warned—proceed at your own risk.

"I heard that Silco seems to be sponsoring a prostitute."

The bottle on its way to your lips stopped midway. Kate's words echoed like thunder, even though they had been spoken in an almost murmured tone. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for a sentence like that, not even the most horrible, bitter drink Zaun had to offer.

Beside you, Kate seemed almost uncomfortable. There was no accusation in her voice, but something about her tone overflowed with sadness, perhaps even anguish. The kind of look that made it clear she already knew the answer even before making the statement. She still insisted on visiting you, despite the apparent control Silco had over the brothel.

The brothel, which until two months ago had been your refuge—a place where the outside world and all its horrors were muffled by artificial lights and drunken laughter—now felt more like a prison. A suffocating space filled with glances you didn't want to interpret. That's why, on the night Kate showed up, you suggested going somewhere else. Somewhere Silco's shadow didn't hang over you.

Vander's statue was a landmark. For many, it symbolized the resistance and hope that had long since vanished. A kind of silent guardian of Zaun, a reminder of better days. Some people even wished the metal structure would come to life, that Vander would return to protect his people. But to you, that monument meant something deeper. Vander had saved you once. You'd made a promise to him—a promise you had yet to fulfill.

"Yeah... I heard about it."

"It's you, isn't it?" Kate shot back immediately. Her voice was soft, almost delicate, like a confirmation rather than an accusation.

You couldn't look at her. The thought of being called Silco's prostitute made something inside you churn, heavy as lead. Dealing with him in the privacy of a room was one thing, but carrying that title... it made you feel dirty in a way no amount of long baths could wash away.

"How did you find out?"

Kate sighed, fiddling with the ballerina pendant on her necklace. She always did that as a way to calm herself, an almost involuntary motion. "I did my research."

"You should've been a cop, not a designer." you tried to joke, but the humor fell flat, hanging in the air with no response, no laughter. Kate didn't take the bait. She simply said your name, with a sweetness that hurt, like she was trying to soothe a wounded animal. Reluctantly, you finally looked at her. That's when you noticed the worry etched into her green eyes, a worry you didn't feel you deserved.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice hoarse, almost harsh. "It could be worse. Silco could've just kidnapped me."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still in danger."

You let out a low grumble, almost childish, like a petulant kid trying to dodge a scolding. She was right, but you preferred to live in ignorance.

"If I figured out who the 'prostitute' was, others can too. And if the chemical barons realize Silco has any interest in you, they'll try to use you to get to him."

"I know how to protect myself, Kate."

"From pickpockets and creeps, maybe. Not from assassins."

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

The words escaped your mouth with force, your voice laced with irritation, hitting a sharper tone than you'd usually use with her. You stood from where you'd been sitting at the foot of Vander's statue, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control. But, if you were honest with yourself, the idea that you still had control was a cruel joke. Overnight, your life had taken a turn you hadn't planned for—or asked for. To say you were angry would've been a massive understatement. And now Kate was pressing all the wrong buttons.

"Come with me to Piltover."

Her voice was firm, serious, but there was something more. A kind of unshakable hope glimmered in her green eyes as they locked onto yours, as if she could see something you couldn't. And there was something else... something that made your stomach twist. Affection. "Alright, so the place I'm staying in is the size of a shoebox," Kate continued, a small, awkward smile appearing on her lips, "But we can make it work together. Silco has no power in Piltover."

Those words. That tone. That damn hope. They doused your anger like a bucket of ice water. What remained was pure, raw shock as you stared into her emerald eyes. You saw it. The resolve. The conviction. And damn it, she was willing to risk everything... for you. Suddenly, it all made sense: why she kept coming back, even knowing the risk. Even indirectly challenging Silco. Because, in her mind, you were worth it.

Kate spoke your name again when she noticed your mind wandering for too long, her tone sweet as honey. "Please, come with me."

At some point, the lines had blurred for Kate, and considering Silco's actions, this practically put her neck on a silver platter. Bile rose in your throat, and you wanted to vomit.

"It's better if we don't see each other anymore." your voice came out dry, cutting. The tone was rehearsed, even if you hadn't prepared these words. You took a step back, putting space between the two of you. "Whatever you think we have, it's nothing more than professional."

Kate's eyes widened, shock written across her face as if you'd slapped her. The pain that followed nearly made you falter, but you pressed on. You had to, for her sake.

"I can't believe you're naive enough to think I feel something for you, let alone want to run away."

"What?" Kate whispered, her voice barely audible, but you saw it. You saw her eyes start to glisten with tears.

"I pity you." your voice was a venomous whisper. "Falling for a prostitute? Seriously? Kate, I expected better from you."

"Why are you acting like this?" her voice trembled, heavy with pain. "This isn't you."

"What do you know about me?" you shot back, your voice as sharp as shattered glass. "Oh, come on, sweetheart... it was all an act. Did you really think I cared? It was in my best interest to keep some naive girl paying my way. All I had to do was say a few sweet words."

She called your name again, her voice breaking, a final, desperate attempt to pull you back from the edge. A futile attempt.

"But now I don't need you anymore."

You saw it. The exact moment the first tear slipped from her eyes, just before Kate turned and ran. Without another word. Without looking back.

You stood there, motionless, like an extension of Vander's statue. Frozen. Empty. Guilt weighed on your shoulders like lead, but you didn't allow yourself to feel anything beyond the void. If Silco was horrible, you were a monster. Maybe that's what you deserved. Maybe, in the end, you and he were cut from the same cloth.

But your self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Breaking hearts, are we?" Silco's voice resonated in your ears, low and dripping with acidic humor. "And here I thought you were the merciful one."

The surprise lasted only a second when you heard his voice—low, laden with that familiar arrogance that made the air around you feel heavier. For a moment, you almost believed it was just in your head, a ghost of guilt or confusion tormenting you. But a single glance was enough to confirm it wasn't your imagination. Of course not. It was obvious Silco would know where to find you.

Especially since you'd abandoned the brothel in the middle of your shift. Someone had likely informed him that his latest acquisition had walked out unexpectedly.

The scent of burnt tobacco hit you before you fully saw him, and you closed your eyes briefly, trying to control the surge of emotions bubbling up inside you. Anger, frustration, maybe even a touch of resignation. You inhaled deeply, as if the tobacco in the air could numb whatever was consuming you. But it was futile.

The bottle was still in your hand—a bitter consolation. You lifted it to your lips, letting the liquid burn its way down your throat. The mediocre alcohol was doing its job but was nowhere near enough to drown out the chaos in your head.

"How long have you been spying on us?" your voice came out calmer than you'd expected, a stark contrast to how you felt inside.

It was impressive, even to yourself. You should've been furious; after all, everything in your life had started crumbling because of him. Because of his manipulations, the insidious control he wielded over everyone and everything around him. The last month had been hell, and Silco had been the chief architect of your downfall.

And yet, here you were. Talking to him. Not smashing the bottle over his head.

"Long enough to understand what you're trying to do." he finally said. His voice was calm, but it carried an undertone of subtle disdain, as if the situation were almost amusing to him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Silco move slowly, leaning against the base of Vander's statue. He crossed one ankle over the other, assuming a relaxed posture that seemed devoid of any threat. But you knew better. Beneath the casual façade, there was an almost palpable tension, like that of a snake ready to strike at any moment.

"Driving her away, keeping her safe... all so I have no reason to go after her." he continued, his eyes boring into your back, savoring each syllable in a way that sent a chill down your spine. "Such nobility on your part. A shame it's all for nothing."

The words hung in the air between you, as dense as the cigar smoke swirling around him. You wanted to retort, but your throat went dry, the words catching somewhere between pride and fear. He knew. He knew exactly what you were doing. And worse, he seemed to find it amusing.

Without warning, he pushed off the statue and took a step toward you, closing the already narrow gap between you. Your heart leapt in your chest, but you stayed rooted to the spot, your hands gripping the neck of the bottle, channeling your fury into the inanimate object.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Drinking won't make it go away." he said, his voice now almost gentle. Almost. The soft tone only made the harshness of his words cut deeper.

You barely had time to process the emotions boiling within you when Silco reached out and took the bottle from your grasp. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your fingers stretching out in a nearly desperate attempt to reclaim it. But he held it out of your reach with an ease that made your blood boil.

Your gaze locked onto his, and like a thread on the verge of snapping, you finally broke. It was as if everything you'd been holding back had been unleashed all at once, a storm of emotions sweeping away any control you had left. Before you could even think about the consequences, your body had already made the decision.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the space, the liquid spilling onto the floor in a dense pool alongside the faint clatter of the cigar falling. A small fire ignited mere inches from your feet. It was that sound, along with the smell of smoke, that finally pulled you back to reality.

Your arm was raised, caught firmly in Silco's grasp. His fingers wrapped around your wrist with enough force to stop you but not to hurt. You realized just how close you were to his face—mere centimeters away from striking him.

And that's when you saw it: his face. For the first time, Silco looked genuinely surprised, frozen in place. His good eye was wide, as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. It was almost impossible to imagine a man like him with such an expression. But the moment didn't last. Like a mask falling and quickly being replaced, his expression shifted in an instant. The shock gave way to his familiar façade of coldness and absolute control.

You, however, didn't back down. There was no regret in your eyes, no hesitation in your movements. Your emotions were a haze, but you kept them locked behind a hardened, defiant expression.

"Leave her out of this, Silco!" you said, your voice low but carrying a weight that cut through the silence like a blade. The words were laden with something you couldn't quite name—anger, sorrow, perhaps something deeper. "I'm the one you want? Well, here I am, right in front of you."

The words hung in the air, echoing in the space between you. Silco didn't respond immediately, but his eyes didn't leave yours, as if he were analyzing every nuance of your expression. Searching for something—maybe doubt, maybe fear.

In a swift, precise movement, he pulled you forward, erasing the distance between you until your body was pressed against his. The heat radiating from you was palpable, even through the layers of clothing, and the subtle scent of alcohol mixed with your perfume filled his senses, igniting something you couldn't quite interpret.

His other hand moved just as firmly, gripping your chin with enough force that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. The touch was almost rough, a blend of control and anger that reverberated through you down to your bones. Silco's mismatched eyes burned with a fierce intensity, so piercing it seemed impossible to look away.

"Don't test me." he growled, his voice low and laced with latent danger. "My patience has its limits."

And then, with calculated abruptness, he let you go. The movement was so sudden that you almost stumbled backward. He stepped away, creating space between you as if he needed to regain composure, though his arrogant demeanor remained intact.

"What are you going to do?" your head tilted slightly to the side, your tone laden with challenge. "Kill me?"

You weren't naive. His threats weren't empty words. You knew Silco was holding himself back—why exactly, you weren't sure. Perhaps it was the mounting tension between you, an invisible thread that seemed to pull you closer to something as destructive as it was inevitable. Anyone else who dared to attack him would have already lost an arm, or worse.

And yet, you didn't back down.

"Or maybe with me, it's different." your voice dropped to a sharp whisper as you took another step forward, so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "Because you know, Silco, that no matter how much you threaten me, I doubt you have the guts to actually do anything to me."

Silco's eyes narrowed at your words.

"You think you know me, don't you?" he shot back, his voice laced with disdain. "You think you understand what I want, what I'm capable of."

"Then tell me if I'm wrong."

It was you who closed the distance between the two of you, ignoring the crunch of glass shards beneath your feet with each step or even the crackling fire nearby. The phantom of his grip still burned on your wrist, but you didn't rub it. You wouldn't show weakness—not now.

Every muscle in his body seemed tense, ready to strike, but he didn't move. He didn't raise a hand to push you away, nor did he take a step back. Instead, he let you approach, let you bridge the gap until you were so close you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

"You're right. With you, things are... different." he admitted, his voice now almost regretful, as though confessing something he hated to admit even to himself. "But don't be mistaken. I'm still the man who built an empire on blood and fear, and I wouldn't hesitate to remind you of that if necessary."

The shadows cast by the light made Silco's silhouette even more intimidating. His orange eye seemed to pierce into your very soul, devouring you, like staring into the abyss and having it stare back.

"Go home." his face was mere inches from yours, close enough for you to see every line, every scar etched into his marked skin. He was trying to maintain composure; that much was clear. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

You raised your chin, your body radiating a fierce pride that defied any implicit threat in Silco's words. Any sense of self-preservation had already been smothered by the chaotic mix of emotions boiling inside you: burning anger over Kate's situation, frustration with Silco's manipulations, and, above all, the overwhelming attraction clouding your judgment.

You knew you were tempting fate at this point, provoking the beast, pushing Silco to a dangerous edge. But honestly? You didn't care. Maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted to see how far he would go, how much he could tolerate your words before finally losing control.

"I didn't think a simple fuck would destabilize the great Eye of Zaun this much." your voice dripped with sweet venom, every word as sharp as a blade. You saw the muscle in Silco's jaw tighten, and it only fueled your audacity, like pouring gasoline on a fire. "A whore was enough to make you lose your grip... how pathetic."

The words came out drenched in scorn, and you savored every syllable as though you were exposing an open wound, pouring salt on it with relish.

You barely had time to react before you were slammed against the wall, the cold surface digging into your back with force. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and before you could even try to recover, Silco's hand was at your throat, squeezing just enough to send a wave of panic coursing through your entire body. Your mouth opened instinctively, searching for the little air you could manage to pull in, your chest rising and falling in short, desperate movements.

Your hands shot upward, but not to fight him—you knew that would be useless. Instead, you grasped his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin with force, your nails leaving small marks. The touch was deliberate, as if trying to remind him that you would still fight back, even if the odds weren't in your favor.

"You want to know what's pathetic?" he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You." his thumb pressed firmly against the pulse point on your neck, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat beneath your skin. "I could snap your pretty neck and leave your body here for the rats to feast on."

The words were cold, cutting like steel against your skin, but there was something else beneath them. A suffocating heat seemed to hang between you, an almost palpable field of tension. It was dark, twisted—a desire that seemed to want to consume you both. Your breaths mingled in the closeness, a suffocating dance of anger and something more, something neither of you was willing to admit.

"Keep talking." he murmured, his voice dripping with dangerous, lascivious undertones. "I want to hear what insults that pretty mouth of yours will throw at me."

Your body betrayed you in the worst possible way. The initial fear that had tensed your muscles began to shift, the adrenaline coursing through you dulling the pain and heightening every sensation. Your heart pounded in your ears, each beat echoing like a warning of how precariously your life hung in his grip. But it wasn't just fear making your heart race—it was him.

Silco was close. Too close. His body practically covered yours in that position. His scent filled your senses, erasing any remnants of rational thought. His eyes burned into yours, that hypnotizing contrast—one eye filled with the intensity of anger, the other an empty abyss, equally devastating.

And then you saw it in those piercing mismatched irises. Hidden beneath the anger. An unmistakable flicker of desire. It was raw, overwhelming, and dangerously familiar. You recognized it because you felt the same. Your body seemed to plead against your will, the proximity igniting something dark and unspoken between you.

Your lips parted, and the words slipped out in a rough whisper before you could stop them.

"I hate you."

Your voice broke, but not from weakness. There was weight in it, a hatred so dense it seemed to poison the air around you—a hatred for everything he was and for everything he made you feel. A hatred for him, but perhaps an even deeper hatred for yourself, for wanting him despite knowing how wrong it was. You hated him. You wanted him. And in that moment, it was impossible to tell where one feeling ended and the other began.

Silco's fingers tightened around your throat just enough to send another wave of alarm through your body. His eyes—those mismatched irises that burned with something dark and ravenous—studied you intently. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, revealing the jagged edges of his teeth, a threat and a twisted invitation all at once.

"I know you do, dove."

He leaned in closer, the distance between you shrinking until his nose brushed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the scarce space separating your lips. Silco's free hand moved upward, gripping your jaw firmly, though his thumb traced the delicate line of your cheekbone with an almost cruel gentleness. It was a stark contrast to the strength of his grip around your throat, and that duality sent heat coursing through your veins.

He pressed his body even closer against yours, pinning you completely against the cold wall, as if he wanted to crush you there, as if he wanted to make sure you had nowhere to escape—as if you belonged to him. Every inch of his presence was overwhelming, suffocating. You felt the weight of his thigh shift, sliding between your legs and applying an unrelenting pressure that stole any breath you had left in your lungs.

And then he claimed your lips.

It was a shock—a collision as overwhelming as the shove against the wall. His lips crashed into yours with a force that shattered any remnants of resistance you might have had. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was raw, primal, a clash of teeth, tongue, and desire that had been restrained for far too long. He kissed you as if he wanted to devour you, as if every part of you needed to be consumed until there was nothing left but him.

You tried to regain control, but there was no space for it. He allowed no room for anything but his all-encompassing presence, the way he took everything you were, claiming the right to possess every piece of you. His fingers around your throat tightened—not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you aware of his power, enough to make you feel it.

His touch was possessive, almost as if he were branding you, inscribing his presence onto you in a way that no one else could erase. And as he deepened the kiss, you realized, with a mix of anger and fascination, that he was getting exactly what he wanted.

Your hands, which had been gripping his wrists in a desperate gesture, slid downward to clutch at the rough fabric of his vest. You pulled him closer, ignoring the pain that radiated through your body. There was something strangely comforting in the brutality of his touch.

The kiss wasn't a gesture of affection; it was a collision of wills, a clash of searing fury and uncontrollable desire. It was a war with no victors, only the promise of mutual destruction. You matched his every advance with equal intensity, every bite and scratch an attempt to wound him, to leave your mark on him just as he was leaving his on you.

It was twisted, and you knew it. The hatred you felt for him was intoxicating, burning inside you like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. But what was worse—and you hated to admit it—was the fact that a part of you wanted this. You found a strange solace in the shared violence, as though, in some perverse way, it was the only truth between you. This contained violence was a language you both understood perfectly.

Your teeth sank into his lip with force, and the metallic taste of blood spread between you before he finally pulled back. "You don't own me." you whispered breathlessly, resting your forehead against his.

His hand slid down, gripping your thigh with bruising strength as he hitched it up to his waist. You gasped, feeling the hardness of him against you, a visceral reminder of how much he wanted you. Silco pressed his body even closer to yours, the cold wall at your back seeming to vanish against the searing heat of him in front of you.

"Not yet, dove. Not yet."

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco chuckled darkly at her feeble attempt to slap him again, his eyes glinting with humor as he once again grabbed her wrist. However, he released her grip without much resistance, watching curiously as her hands slid downward once they were free. He reveled in the way her hands shook as she fumbled with the clasps on his pants, anger and desperation rolling off her in waves and clouding her ability to complete a simple action that she could do even with her eyes closed.

He grabbed her hands, stilling their movements. With deliberate slowness, he guided them to the fastenings of his trousers, showing her how to undo the clasps and zippers. His hands covered hers, helping her slide the fabric down enough to free him, revealing the hard length of him, already straining towards her.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he felt her fingers brush against him, the slightest touch sending sparks of pleasure racing up his spine. He was so hard it almost hurt, his cock throbbing with need. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her in the most primal way possible.

But first, he had other plans. With a sudden movement, he grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until she was wrapped around his waist. He pinned her against the wall, the rough brick scraping against her back. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt out of the way, revealing the lacy edge of her stockings.

"Look at you," his mocking tone, as if he were not equally thirsty. "So desperate for it, so needy. You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could see?"

He rocked his hips forward, grinding his hardness against her core dress. The friction made them both gasp, pleasure sparking through their veins. Silco's hands slid higher, cupping her ass, kneading the firm flesh.

"I should make you beg for it." the whisper left his lips, his breath hot against her ear. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn't. He was too far gone, too consumed by the need to have her. Right there, at that exact second.

"Don't you dare." her voice tried to be threatening, Silco realized, but at that moment her threat sounded more like a plea than anything else. "Otherwise I..."

"Otherwise, what? You are not in a position to make demands."

Despite his words, she did what she always did. She ignored him. Her eyes rolled back with a boldness only she could muster as she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to wet each one before returning them back down. She fingered him, spitting, with some difficulty due to the awkward angle. Silco's head fell forward, falling onto her shoulder as she continued to pump him. His hands returned to her thighs, adjusting his grip to keep them steady. Then when she adjusted him against her entrance, Silco couldn't help but hold his breath.

The sensation was almost too much to bear, the tight grip of her walls around him sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He gritted his teeth, fighting back a groan as she sank down onto him, inch by torturous inch. For God's sake, how he missed that.

But even as his body reveled in the feel of her, his mind was racing with dark thoughts. This wasn't lovemaking, not by a long shot. This was a fuck, plain and simple, a coming together of two people driven by anger and lust and a desperate need to hurt each other. It was twisted and wrong and so fucking good that it terrified him.

His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her down onto him, burying himself as deep as he could go. The angle was brutal, almost painful, but it only served to fuel the fire raging inside him.

He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that made her cry out. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a physical manifestation of the dark hunger that consumed them both. He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her writhe, that had her clawing at his clothes and screaming his name.

"Mine." his voice murmured, more to himself than to her. It wasn't a statement of possession meant to irritate her, since she seemed so absorbed in her own pleasure that she didn't even notice the words leaving his lips.

His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her tightly as he thrust into her, his movements hard and fast. Silco could feel her body tensing above him, could hear the way her breath hitched in her throat as she neared her peak. The knowledge that he was the one pushing her to this point, that he was the one making her lose control, filled him with a sense of satisfaction. He wanted to break her, to shatter her in a way that only he could, so, remake her in his image.

But even as he thought it, he knew it would be an almost impossible task. She would never give in to him. Not easily. She was too wild, too defiant, too stubborn to be tamed. And God help him, but that was what attracted him. That fire, that passion, that refusal to submit even in the face of his worst brutality. It called to something deep within him, something he'd thought long dead.

That's why he wanted to try. Someone who had been a revolutionary was anything but someone who gave up easily.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, his mismatched eyes boring into hers with an intensity that bordered on frightening. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown with lust and something else, something darker that he couldn't quite name. It unsettled him, the way she looked at him, like he was her salvation and her damnation all rolled into one.

He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. He bit down hard, leaving a bruise in the shape of his teeth. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, mixing with the salt of her sweat. It was a heady combination, one that made his head spin and his cock throb with need.

And then she was coming, her walls clamping down around him like a vice. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the rhythmic squeezing of her muscles pushing him over the edge. He let out a guttural groan, his hips losing their rhythm as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his seed.

For a moment, they were frozen in place, their bodies locked together in the aftermath of their release. Silco could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, could hear the ragged sound of her breathing as she tried to catch her breath. And for a fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to hold her like this, to wake up next to her and see her sleep-tousled hair spread out on the pillow.

Well, if everything went the way he planned he would see this scene.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The post-climax sensation that always followed those moments left you vulnerable, as if every layer of yourself had been stripped away, leaving you exposed and defenseless. This time was no different, though the intensity was greater. It had been quick, physical—an explosion of mutual rage converted into something far more primal.

Your body ached, especially your back. The constant friction against the rough wall during the act had taken its toll. And yet, there was no regret. You had wanted it—the brutality, the intensity, the force. Silco's body also bore the signs of weariness; you could feel it in the way he leaned against the wall, seeking support for both himself and for you. His arms still held you, firm but no longer tense—just enough to keep you close.

His arms tightened around your waist for a moment, holding you firmly against him as if trying to prolong the contact, before slowly lowering you back to the ground. Even then, he kept one arm around your waist, his open hand pressed against the curve of your lower back, steadying you until the trembling in your legs subsided. No words were spoken.

After what felt like an eternity, you began adjusting your clothes. Each movement was mechanical, automatic, as though your mind had shut off, unable to process what had just happened. Across from you, Silco did the same.

Without the sexual intensity or the anger that had dominated the air minutes ago, the silence now felt even heavier. A kind of emptiness that made room for dangerous thoughts to take shape in your mind. But you didn't want to think. Not now. Thinking meant facing the consequences, and you simply didn't have the strength to deal with that yet.

You turned to face him. Silco, as always, seemed ready to say something. But before he could open his mouth, before he could release a single word or give you that smug smile that always made your blood boil, you struck him.

Your slap wasn't as strong as you wanted—it was all your exhausted body could muster—but it was enough. Silco froze for a moment, his eyes widening more from surprise than pain, but he said nothing. He didn't react. And somehow, that infuriated you even more.

Without waiting for a response or reaction, you turned and walked away.

[...]

The following days passed. The path to the brothel, the routine, the people you crossed paths with—it all seemed normal, yet strangely distant. Neither Kate nor Silco appeared, and you were grateful for that. Still, the peace was an illusion. Your mind offered no respite, replaying the memories of that night every time you closed your eyes. The touch, the anger, the desire, and, finally, the emptiness—it all returned like a silent torment.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the movement around you. It was a physical jolt—a body colliding hard against yours—that finally pulled you from your trance. The impact was so abrupt that you nearly fell.

"Hey!" you snapped, irritated, but the person was already gone, running into the growing crowd around you. It was only then that you realized something was wrong. Urgent, desperate voices overlapped around you.

"A house is on fire!" someone shouted, the phrase ringing out like an alarm. "Hurry!"

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your legs began running, following the crowd heading in the same direction. As you turned the corner, the chaos came into full view.

The flames danced wildly, consuming the modest building like ravenous predators. Thick smoke filled the air, burning your nose and throat, making it difficult to breathe. People ran back and forth, some coughing, others carrying buckets of water in a frantic attempt to contain the fire. Children cried as adults tried to organize some form of aid. It was pure chaos—stifling and inescapable.

You stood there, frozen, your eyes locked on the fire that seemed to grow with every passing second. But then, another jolt brought you back—this time, more deliberate.

When you turned, you found a figure that seemed out of place amidst the surrounding chaos. She was tall and muscular, with an imposing presence. The red cloak she wore draped over her shoulders, concealing her left arm in an almost calculated way. She wasn't looking at the fire—she was looking at you.

"Silco sends his regards." before you could react, she dropped something to the ground.

Your breath hitched. The world spun. Pain bloomed in your chest, spreading like poison as realization set in. A necklace with a ballerina pendant. You knew that necklace.

And it was covered in blood. Part 4

┊ TAG LIST ┊

@fandomsinthegalaxies

@defmxl

@aise-30

@cold-blooded-girls

@queenofspades6

@heidiland05 If you want to be added to the list, let me know in the comments.

#silco x reader #silco x you #reader insert #minors dni #smut #arcane fanfic #arcane silco #arcane #no beta we die like silco

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reasonsforhope · 6 days ago

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"In the Canary Islands, in Barcelona, and in Chile, a unique fog catcher design is sustaining dry forests with water without emissions, or even infrastructure.

Replicating how pine needles catch water, the structure need only be brought on-site and set up, without roads, powerlines, or irrigation channels.

Fog catching is an ancient practice—renamed “cloud milking” by an EU-funded ecology project on the Canary Islands known as LIFE Nieblas (nieblas means fog).

“In recent years, the Canaries have undergone a severe process of desertification and we’ve lost a lot of forest through agriculture. And then in 2007 and 2009, as a result of climate change, there were major fires in forested areas that are normally wet,” said Gustavo Viera, the technical director of the publicly-funded project in the Canaries.

The Canaries routinely experience blankets of fog that cloak the islands’ slopes and forests, but strong winds made fog-catching nets an unfeasible solution. In regions such as the Atacama Desert in Chile or the Atlas Mountains of North Africa, erecting nets that capture moisture particles out of passing currents of fog is a traditional practice.

LIFE Nieblas needed a solution that could resist powerful winds, and to that end designed wind chime-like rows of artificial pine needles, which are also great at plucking moisture from the air. However, unlike nets or palms, they efficiently let the wind pass through them.

The water is discharged without any electricity. There are no irrigation channels, and no machinery is needed to transport the structures. The natural course of streams and creeks need not be altered, nor is there a need to drill down to create wells. The solution is completely carbon-free.

WATER IN THE DESERTS:

China Announces Completion of a 1,800-Mile Green Belt Around the World’s Most-Hostile Desert

Billions of People Could Benefit from This Breakthrough in Desalination That Ensures Freshwater for the World

Scientists Perfecting New Way to Turn Desert Air into Water at Much Higher Yields

Sahara Desert Is Turning Green Amid Unusual Rains in Parts of North Africa

Indian Engineers Tackle Water Shortages with Star Wars Tech in Kerala

In the ravine of Andén in Gran Canaria, a 35.8-hectare (96 acres) mixture of native laurel trees irrigated by the fog catchers enjoys a survival rate of 86%, double the figure of traditional reforestation.

“The Canaries are the perfect laboratory to develop these techniques,” said Vicenç Carabassa, the project’s head scientist, who works for the Center for Ecological Research and Forestry Applications at the University of Barcelona. “But there are other areas where the conditions are optimal and where there is a tradition of water capture from fog, such as Chile and Morocco.”

In Chile’s Coquimbo province, the town of Chungungo is collecting around 250 gallons a day from a combination of locally-made fog catchers and LIFE Nieblas’ pine needle design, the Guardian reports."

-via Good News Network, December 30, 2024

#water #water shortage #canary islands #deserts #fog catchers #good news #hope

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hawkepockets · 1 month ago

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i really really like taash and i don’t mind that their arc is largely about gender identity, but the way they’re nonbinary just doesn’t make any sense to me—and i’m not talking abt nonbinary characters being “ahistorical” (a flawed premise bc trans/nb/third gender ppl have always existed, bc taash is not the first nb character in da, and bc da is not even predominantly inspired by, much less set in, a specific time period anyway so like whatre we talkin about “medieval” for) or about the tonal whiplash of “mom, i’m nonbinary”—but just abt the fact that they were raised by a devout qunari.

why would shathann be confused by taash identifying as “not a man or a woman?” qunari have a separate gender structure from non-qunari. under the qun or with the antaam, taash would have been given a male-coded role as an adaari. shathann chose to smuggle them out of the qun and raise them as… what? a rivaini girl? a scholar (female-coded) like herself? this is never actually stated. but either way taash’s gender assignment is already different from what it was at birth in par vollen. and regardless shathann is familiar with not just the aqun-athlok, but also the qunari many-gender system. so the argument makes no sense.

and taash’s nonbinary identity, as explained in this script, is a total non sequitur from their conflicted feelings about being qunari/rivaini. but it would be so easy to fix—the lore noncompliance and the jarringly white, modern, liberal torontonian dialogue (which btw characterizes being trans/nb as entirely a matter of correcting others’ verbage and expectations for u and not like. a performance, a condition of gendered subalternity, a political & artistic subculture, or a way of navigating the world) by writing taash explicitly as having been raised as a (fem) scholar like shathann and read as female by non-qunari rivaini people, but wanting to also get in touch with their fire and the fact that with the qun they would’ve been (masc) adaari. they’re multigender because they’re multicultural.

and shathann would be resistant not bc she’s arbitrarily phobic, but because the version of taash who grew up qunari, and assigned masc, is a version of taash whose mother failed them—but also a version of themself shathann can’t give back to them fully, having taken them from the qun.

taash may start out thinking that they have a binary choice between rivaini/female and qunari/male, but ultimately their truth is all of the above.

is this making sense is anyone rockin w me here

#dragon age #veilguard #taash

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thefugitivesaint · 6 months ago

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Someone whose work I greatly appreciated and would suggest you (oh dear reader) seek out and read. In simplest terms, Scott explored the avenues in which people resisted and evaded authority and hierarchical systems of control. A good part of his scholarship involved trying to understand peasantry, one the largest "classes" in the world. Coupled to that was the study of subsistence economies and how people involved in those economies work around impositions made by State actors (and non-state actors). This led to a larger exploration of the above mentioned resistance and the various forms that this resistance took around the world. He also explored the relationship between State and non-state peoples. "What I learned is that centralised revolutionary movements have almost always resulted in a State that was more oppressive then the ones they aimed to replace. In other words, when the revolution becomes the State, it becomes my enemy again. That is why it matters greatly which methods are used in order to achieve power. .... "I am the enemy of hierarchical movements of opposition because I think they replicate State structures in their own organisation."

If you would like some suggestions that offer a peak into Scott's scholarship interests (which are similar to my own), here's some videos for you to peruse (if you have the time): 1. A Short Account of the Deep History of State Evasion 2. Beyond the Pale: The Earliest Agrarian States and “their Barbarians” 3. The Art of Not Being Governed 4. The Domestication of Fire, Animals, Grains and…….Us (Later) Edit: Some revelations concerning Scott's involvement with the CIA in the early 1960s in their anti-Communist activities has come out after his recent death that complicates his legacy as a "radical scholar". Take that for what you will. I haven't been able to find a great deal of detail about that involvement and the revelations here aren't exactly new but people have decided to highlight that relationship in the wake of Scott's passing as a way to discredit or cast a shadow over his later anti-statist research. I just wanted to note this. (Even Later) Edit: The Oral History Center at UC Berkeley released a documentary on Scott called In A Field All His Own: The Life and Career of James C. Scott. Just in case you wanted more Scott related material.

#James C. Scott #seeing like a state #the art of not being governed #anarchism #academia done right IMO #history #anthropology #social history

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mommageto · 6 months ago

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Warmer (Himejima Gyomei x Hashira! Reader)

Title: Warmer

Pairings: Himejima x Hashira! Reader

Word Count: 1349 words

Description: Himejima and (Y/n) were sent on a mission together. But as the temperature decreases, you find comfort in the arms of a gentle giant.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

It's wintertime, which is not a recommended time to travel. Ubuyashiki sent you and Himejima on a mission to a faraway city where the number of people who have died recently from a demon attack has increased. It has been a long week since you and Himejima defeated a group of demons who have been disturbing the city.

All (y/n) could ever think of is to rest after that stressful week as you recently felt frail. Being a hashira is not an easy task. Although you were strong, you used a lot of energy and effort to ensure that no individual in the village would get harmed, which caused you so many injuries that you ended up being poisoned by a demon. Himejima luckily came in handy in the whole scene. The 7-foot-2 giant was not named the strongest hashira for nothing.

You were not close with him compared to the other hashiras, Himejima always felt distant towards you. Every time you come near him, he always finds a way to leave that space. He always avoids making conversation and prays every time you are near.

This was an unfamiliar feeling to you, considering you had established a good relationship with most of the Hashira, even with Shinazugawa. You have always found Gyomei to be captivating, with his size, strength, and dedication. These qualities really make him stand out the most. You have always admired him but felt indifferent because of his being distant towards you. Nevertheless, you handled your unity well in the fight in a professional manner.

Both of you are on your way back to the Demon Slayer Corps to report back from your mission. It was quiet primarily between you, and you kept it that way since you knew Himejima wasn't the type to usually have a conversation with you. You still had quite some time to travel in silence. Your eyes felt weak, but you kept going because you could not bear to be in an awkward travel situation with the giant man with whom you were least engaged. As you cannot bear it anymore, you fell on the ground and passed out.

Your eyes slightly opened, feeling better, and you find warmth in a rock-hard structure you cling on. Looking at your surroundings, snow has finally appeared, yet you see your environment as being inside of a cave that is lit up by the fire you can hear. You can barely get into your senses as you feel comfortable. It was a nice feeling, and it caused you to be curious about your surroundings and try to knock some sense into yourself.

“(Y/n)”

A deep voice called your name, and you took a closer look at the solid rock-hard structure you were clinging to. You saw Himejima. You were startled as you realized the position you were in. He held you with his strong arms as he covered you with his robe to add to your warmth. You tried to move in a jerky motion, making sure to get out of Himejima. Your cheeks are flushed, and you feel embarrassed about your situation right now. You did not expect this to happen. All you ever thought was to go home as soon as you can. You stay quiet as you try to resist him, but as the stone hashira, he proves himself to be super strong.

“H-himejima-san, I…”

"I'm sorry (y/n) if you feel that this is somehow unorthodox. You passed out yesterday, and your body felt cold. I worry that you won't be able to make it, so I thought I should warm you up for now." This feels strange and unexpected.

As you took a glance at Himejima, you noticed how attractive he was. You can't help but keep your cheeks from flushing. Being so close to him, his chest feels firm and warm. You can also hear the beat of his heart. Your perception of Himejima has always been calm and stoic. Somehow, you wonder how he could be like that, considering his background story when Tanjiro defended Himejima when you told him how he avoids you. Despite how much he avoids you, you feel closer to him than ever.

"(Y/n), I can feel your heartbeat so fast. You're also warming up. Are you sure you're okay?" He asks. You shake your head, and you can see a slight panic on his face. Then again, you thought about his question. You nodded, "No! I mean, I feel better!"

You tried to escape from him due to embarrassment and to shun his comment about your heartbeat. This time, you were successful, yet didn't seem too far away from him. There was a moment of silence between the two of you as it was the last couple of days. This was probably the most extended conversation you've had with him. You were puzzled about what to do as you felt how awkward your current situation was.

"(Y/n), I'm really sorry if it felt uncomfortable for you. It's too cold, and I ought to find shelter and keep you warm," you hear his plea. Tears started falling from both his eyes. This didn't make you feel uncomfortable but rather baffled. Though you appreciate him for trying to help you aid yourself, you can't help but wonder why he's acting this way all of a sudden when he clearly tried to keep his distance from you every time. You squint your eyes and carefully say, "Why do you always avoid me, Himejima-san?"

As your head turned to him, you saw the man with tears, stunned by what you said. Though, you said what you said and have long wanted to ask him that question. The man was at a loss for words. Himejima is blind, but he moved his head away from you. You could see from his expression how saddened this man is. Tears streamed down Himejima's face, his voice thick with emotion. "I was afraid," he confessed. He completely caught your attention now, and you were ready to hear more from him. "After losing those I cared for, I vowed never to let anyone close enough to get hurt again. The thought of feeling that pain because of you…it terrified me."

"The truth is, I have always pined for you." You were startled at his words, and you did not possibly know how to feel about that. He completely caught your attention now, and you were ready to hear more from him.

You waited for him to continue, "Ever since you first entered the Demon Slayer Corps, I have always felt how kind and warm-hearted you are. The way you treat others and hearing about it from everyone. I am blind, but I can see through your heart. Due to my monastic background, I never thought I would be able to catch myself wondering about someone, about you but I did."

Hearing Himejima confess his feelings for you made you feel glad because you knew you felt this way about him, but it only stopped you from the way he treated you. A lump formed in your throat. You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Himejima-san," you said softly, "I understand your fear. I know that you carry such pain, yet you continue to protect others with kindness. That strength is what makes me admire you."

A flicker of hope ignited in his voice. "Do you truly believe that?" You nodded, your heart pounding. "Yes, I do…" you hesitated, then continued, "I understand your fear, I just hope you won't keep your distance from me anymore."

Himejima remained silent for a moment and slightly nodded with a soft smile on his face, your hand reaching out to tentatively touch him. The warmth of his calloused fingers sent shivers down your spine. All that cold distance from him was thawed by the warm feeling of that mutual apprehensive conversation you had with him. Despite the chilly breeze of air from the fall of snow, being with Himejima and the light of hope you both share only made you feel warmer.

#kny gyomei #gyomei himejima #himejima x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #himejima gyomei x reader #demon slayer #demonslayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #fluff #kny fluff #kimetsu gyomei #gyomei x reader #demon slayer gyomei #kny hashira #demon slayer hashira #kny #kny x reader #omg thanks for the love #cute

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mommyownsmee · 11 days ago

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About how I learned to love Brats, Pillow Princess behaviour & the Art of Dominance

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot. Something in the way I think changed.

Every Submissive always talks about being a “good girl”—doing what makes the Dom/me happy, always being obedient and eager to learn. I used to think that is the way it always has to be. Used to. For over ten years as a Domme, I thrived on that concept: A “good girl” has to follow rules and submit without hesitation. For years, I thought that was the pinnacle of submission.

But the thing about power is that it evolves. True power doesn’t stay stagnant—it grows, adapts, and deepens with experience. Over time, I’ve come to realize that submission is more nuanced than a simple checklist of behaviors. It’s raw, alive, and deeply personal. Submission isn’t about perfection. It’s really all about connection.

For years, I believed brattiness in every way always needed to be corrected. To me, it once felt like resistance, a flaw, or a rebellion that threatened the structure of the dynamic. But now, I see it differently. Now, I see it as a form of self-expression. A way for my submissive to show her fire, her confidence, and her trust in me.

Yes, trust. Because it takes trust to push boundaries. It takes trust to tease, to play, and to challenge the person who holds the power. And when my submissive does that—when she smirks and says, “Mommy, I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, aren’t I? Others must have it really hard, not being as perfect as me,” or when she pouts and demands, “Mommy, I want it because I deserve it”—I don’t see rebellion anymore.

I see confidence. I see life. I see a woman who knows her worth and isn’t afraid to own it.

And it’s sexy. Damn sexy.

Bratty behavior doesn’t weaken the dynamic. It strengthens it. It adds layers, complexity, and depth. It turns submission into a dance—a playful, sensual exchange of power where no one is truly in control except for me. And yet, her fire ignites something primal in me. It keeps me sharp, keeps me present, and keeps our connection electric.

Being a Domme for over a decade has taught me that dominance isn’t just about control. It’s about responsibility in a other way than I thought it is. It’s about seeing my submissive for who she is—not just the quiet, obedient girl who kneels perfectly at my feet, but the playful, demanding princess who knows what she deserves and isn’t afraid to say it.

Why should I suppress that part of her? Why should I try to mold her into someone different and docile when her strength and confidence are what make her so captivating?

When she teases me, when she pushes the boundaries, it’s not defiance. It’s trust. She knows I’m strong enough to handle it, to match her energy, to guide her through it without breaking her spirit. That’s the real power of dominance—not in silencing her, but in allowing her to roar, knowing I’ll hold her steady when she’s ready to submit.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to put in the effort sometimes. Of course she does. Submission is a two-way street. There are moments when she needs to kneel, to focus, to give herself fully to me. But those moments don’t need to be constant. Submission isn’t about perfection—it’s about authenticity.

Some nights, she doesn't want to exert any strength. She wants to be my Pillow Princess, indulgent and adored. And why shouldn’t she? Why should she always have to work for my approval when my love for her is unconditional?

I’m the Domme. It’s my responsibility to take care of her.

When she looks at me with that confident sparkle in her eyes and says, “Mommy, I deserve to be treated like the princess I am,” not a single muscle in my face flinches—even though my heart skips a beat every time.

“Oh, is that so, my darling?” I ask, leaning forward, my voice soft but commanding. My thumb brushes over her lower lip, and I lock my gaze on hers. “Then show me how much you deserve it.”

She melts, every time. It’s a game we play, a game of confidence and submission, of power and vulnerability. She knows I’ll always win, but she also knows I love the fire in her eyes when she dares to try.

Her brattiness doesn’t threaten my dominance. It enhances it. It reminds me of why I do this—why I’ve spent over a decade mastering the art of control, not to break someone, but to guide them. To make them feel safe, cherished, and understood.

When I pull her close, kiss her hair, and promise her that she’ll get everything she deserves, it’s not just words. It’s a vow. A vow to build her up, to nurture her, and to remind her every single day that she’s mine.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, she’ll kneel. Not just because I demand it, but because she craves and wants it. Because submission is her gift to me, and my gift to her is the freedom to express it in all its forms—bratty, playful, vulnerable, and fierce.

That’s the beauty of our dynamic. It’s not rigid or predictable. It’s alive, pulsing with energy, passion, and trust. And as her Domme, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

For me, there’s nothing more intoxicating than that.

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jpscsolutions · 2 years ago

Photo

There are two types of fireproof paint: in tumescent and contentious. In tumescent paint is a thin film that expands when exposed to heat, creating a foam-like layer that insulates the steel. Contentious paint is made from cement and other materials that create a thick layer of insulation when applied to the steel. Both types of paint are effective in Fireproofing steel structures, but in tumescent paint is more commonly used because it's easier to apply and maintain.

#fire resistant paint #steel structure fireproofing

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tridipanel · 1 year ago

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Explore Tridipanel's groundbreaking projects in fire-resistant homes! Discover innovative construction methods ensuring safety and sustainability. Dive into our gallery showcasing resilient designs, providing ultimate protection. Elevate your home's safety standards today. Embrace the future with Tridipanel's fire-resistant solutions!

#fire resistant home concrete structure #disaster resistant architecture

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cenittxnadir · 8 months ago

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Bad communication (Nightcrawler X FemReader)

Everything had gone well on the mission until Kurt's delicate landing in the Blackbird set fire to one of the abandoned barns near the mansion.

Hank was going to kill them.

Someone take away Kurt's permission to pilot ships please.

They were both trying to catch their breath. A couple of seconds more and both of them could have been trapped in the fire, but thanks to Kurt they managed to get out.

"First and last time I leave you behind the wheel Fuzzball" Y/N was leaning against the tree trying to gain posture.

"Look on the bright side, the mission was a success." Kurt's accent sounded thicker due to the lack of air. Y/N was going to say something but a crash interrupted her. The structure of the barn ended up collapsing on the remains of the Blackbird causing a loud noise.

"Let's blame Scott. He always destroys those things"

Kurt just nodded.

Y/N stood up and looked in the direction of the mansion, they were a little far away and they had no other means of transportation than walking, yes, Kurt could teleport them but the boy was exhausted so they had no choice but to walk back to home.

"Well... let's go, Azulito, there's still a long way to go" Y/N began to go down the hill, determined to get home as quickly as possible, Kurt followed closely behind her.

"What did you say? 'Azulito?' Well, my dear Y/N, how kind of you to give me a new nickname!" He smiled, appreciating the affectionate gesture.

"You needed a new nickname, and it suits you perfectly." She just shrugged her shoulders.

Kurt's heart skipped a beat at Y/N's compliment, a warm blush spreading across his cheeks. "Azulito…" he repeated, savoring the sound of his new nickname. "I must admit, it does have a rather charming ring to it." He shot Y/N a gracious smile.

"Thank you, my dear, for bestowing such a delightful moniker upon me. I shall treasure it like a precious gem."

"The pleasure is mine," Y/N responded mockingly, imitating an English accent followed by a small bow straight out of a Jane Austen movie.

Kurt couldn't help but smile at Y/N's attempt at a charming English accent. He laughed softly, completely amused.

"Ah, Y/N, you really have a talent for mimicry!" he exclaimed, playfully feigning fainting. "Your attempts at a stately English accent are quite endearing. Are you preparing to play the role of the damsel in distress, perhaps?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress Kurt, that position is yours. I always end up saving you." She winked at him.

Kurt couldn't help but burst into laughter at Y/N's spirited banter. He feigned a wounded look, placing a hand over his heart.

"Ah, Y/N, your words wound me! To be accused of being the damsel in distress, when I am clearly the suave and debonair hero of our adventures," he protested theatrically.

"I'll have you know, my dear, that I have saved your fair self more times than I can count." He smirked playfully, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

She squeezed his cheek lovingly "Of course you're a hero, you're my favorite hero Krut."

A soft chuckle escaped Kurt's lips, his cheeks flushed with warmth from Y/N's affectionate gesture. He leaned a bit closer, his eyes twinkling.

"And you're my favorite damsel, Y/-darling," he replied, emphasizing the newfound nickname with a charming smile. He gently reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Y/N's ear, his touch tender and reverent. "Your beauty and bravery make me feel like the luckiest hero in all the realms."

Kurt's words made Y/N feel something strange in her heart, she felt a warmth inside her.

She always knew what to say and now it seemed like her brain had short-circuited, she couldn't answer anything and just babbled.

Kurt watched her reaction with a mixture of amusement and affection. He could tell her words had affected her deeply, and he couldn't resist teasing her further. Closing the remaining gap between them, he gently cupped Y/N's chin, his thumb gently tracing her jawline.

"Have I rendered you speechless, my lovely damsel?" he whispered teasingly, his voice dripping with warmth. "I must admit, I rather like this flustered state you've found yourself in. It's quite endearing."

How frustrating it was! She couldn't speak and now Kurt was making fun of her! That little blue goblin was going to pay for it! Without thinking, he grabbed Kurt's tail and gave it a little tug, enough to take him without warning but without hurting him.

Kurt's eyes widened with surprise as Y/N seized his tail and gave it a sudden tug. He let out a sharp squeak, caught off guard by his quick move. His expression shifted from astonishment to playful indignation, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He intended to stumble, clutching at his heart as if wounded.

"Alas, a treacherous trick!" he dramatically declared, his voice laced with mock despair. "My tail has been betrayed by its own damsel in distress!"

"That happens when you make fun of me." She crossed her arms over her chest, feigning indignation while sticking out her tongue.

Kurt couldn't help but burst into laughter at Y/N's feigned indignation. He held his tail protectively, pretending to pout.

"Ah, you've wounded me, my fiery friend. Not only my tail, but my heart too!" He feigned a heartbroken expression, pressing a hand to his chest. "But I must admit, the sound of your laughter and the sight of your adorable teasing make me forgive you easily."

Y/N understood, she liked Kurt but she was too cowardly to do or say anything. So she was only content with their friendship, if that was the only way to have him close to her and to have a space in Kurt's heart.

She loved spending time with him, no matter if it meant getting into trouble or making jokes. She wasn't a fan of making jokes but Kurt loved them and she loved Kurt.

Kurt picked up on Y/N's internal conflict, sensing her unspoken emotions. He understood her feelings all too well, for he harbored a deep affection for her too. Yet, like her, he also hesitated to express his true feelings. He had his own reasons for keeping his emotions in check, fearing that revealing them might jeopardize their dear friendship.

Kurt loved the time they spent together, treasured their laughter and shared adventures. But he also yearned for more, to open his heart and voice the profound feelings that resided within. Yet he, too, was held back by a certain cowardice.

The rest of the way was silent and somewhat tortuous. Y/N wanted to hit her head, she ruined the conversation in just a second and now she didn't know how to continue the conversation, for a moment the floor looked more interesting.

Kurt's lighthearted teasing and laughter faded as he picked up on Y/N's internal turmoil. The silence that settled between them grew increasingly uncomfortable, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavily in the air. He glanced at Y/N, noting her distant gaze fixed on the ground.

Curiosity and concern compelled him to break the silence. "Y/N," he began softly, his voice tender and caring. "Is everything alright?"

"Eh?" She looked very distracted. "Yeah, sure, everything's fine." She gave him a small smile. "I'm just a little tired, I guess burning barns by accident is more tiring than it looks."

Kurt's concern deepened as she dismissed her feelings with a small smile. He noticed the tiredness in her eyes and the forced cheerfulness in her voice. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice soft and soothing.

"You don't look alright, my dear friend. Something seems to be troubling you." He leaned in a bit closer, his eyes filled with genuine warmth. "If there's anything you'd like to talk about, I'm here to listen. I hope you know that you can confide in me."

'Dear friend'. God how she hated that word, she didn't want to be his friend, she wanted to just be his darling! Is it too much to ask!

"Thanks Kurt, but I'm just tired" No Kurt! I'm not okay at all! But she decided to bite the inside of her cheek and continue on her way.

Kurt's eyes softened as he caught the subtle longing in Y/N's eyes, a hint of her true feelings beneath her guarded exterior. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was more than just a friend to him. Yet, the words died on his lips, replaced by a warm smile.

"Alright" he finally replied, his voice tinged with a hint of unspoken affection. "If you ever feel like sharing, know that my ears and heart are always yours."

She truly wished that his heart was only for her, but it seemed like a cruel joke and Kurt didn't even notice it; those words caused her pain rather than encouraging her.

"It's not that big of a deal Kurt, that smoke is already taking effect" She laughed "Maybe a bath will take away the discomfort" she tried to calm him down and evade the situation.

As soon as they arrived at the mansion, Y/N said goodbye to Kurt and practically ran to her room without letting Kurt speak.

Kurt watched her run off to her room, his heart heavy with the unspoken words that lingered between them. He longed to tell her the truth, to reveal the depth of his affection, but as always, he hesitated. Instead, he simply nodded and watched her go.

"See you later," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness and longing. With a deep sigh, he turned and made his way back to his own room.

On the way to his room Kurt ran into Rogue.

"Wow Fuzzball, what happened to you, why the sad face?"

Kurt turned his head to see Rogue approaching him with a concerned expression. He masked his disappointment and sadness with a small smile, feigning a cheerful tone.

"Oh, Rogue" he greeted her, his voice laced with a hint of forced optimism. "Sad face? Ah, it's nothing. Just tired after a long day of… hero duties." He shrugged nonchalantly, not wanting to burden her with his emotional turmoil.

"Hero duties? What are you talking about?" Rogue approached her brother "I know you very well Kurt Wagner, I know something is not right with you, come on! You know you can tell your sister anything"

Kurt's smile wavered, his facade cracking as Rogue's concern grew. He let out a weary sigh, realizing that his attempt to deceive her had failed.

"Ah, Rogue," he finally conceded. "You know me too well, sister. I… I am burdened with emotions I can't quite understand. Longing, frustration, and a deep ache in my heart. And yet, I fear to voice these feelings, for they may change everything."

Rogue invited Kurt to sit next to her. "Looks like this is going to take some time. Luckily I have all the time in the world for you, Sugar. Come on, tell me what's bothering you."

Kurt complied, taking a seat next to Rogue. He took a deep breath, releasing a weary sigh.

"It's Y/N," he confessed softly. "I find myself deeply in love with her. The warmth of her laughter, the brightness of her smile, it all fills my heart with a longing I cannot deny." He paused, a flicker of fear crossing his features. "But I hesitate to reveal my feelings, fearing the potential consequences on our friendship."

Rogue couldn't hide her happiness and jumped off the couch "Y/N! You like her!? I knew it!"

Kurt's eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of amusement and unease at Rogue's enthusiastic reaction.

"Ah, sister, please control yourself!" He tried to feign a stern tone, though a soft laugh escaped his lips. "But yes, I find myself enamored with Y/N's charm, her kindness, her everything. However, admitting these feelings feels both exciting and terrifying."

His sister approached and took him by the shoulders, practically moving him almost like a rag doll. "She has to know, brother, why haven't you told her?"

Kurt allowed himself to be moved around by his sister, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Well…" he began, his voice soft and pensive. "I've been hesitant, unsure of how she might react. I cherish our friendship above all, and I fear that expressing my feelings might disrupt the delicate balance between us. The thought of jeopardizing what we have is… daunting."

"Are you kidding?! Kurt, she loves you!" Rogue was definitely into this "Everyone knows, she's dying for you!

"That's true," Gambit's voice sounded from the hallway. "Come on man, you have to tell her."

Kurt couldn't help but chuckle at Gambit's interjection, though his eyes widened at Rogue's revelation.

"Everyone knows?" he echoed softly, a flicker of hope mingling with disbelief. "Could it be that Y/N returns my affection? The idea makes my heart swell."

He took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on Gambit's knowing expression. "Perhaps you two are right. I must find the courage to express my feelings to Y/N. But…" A hint of hesitation clouded his eyes.

"No buts" Gambit approached Kurt putting his arm over his shoulder "If you want to have the lady you will have to overcome your fear, do you want her to end up in someone else's arms?"

Kurt's expression darkened at the thought of Y/N being with someone else. A surge of possessive protectiveness welled within him.

"No, I do not," he replied firmly. "I cannot bear the thought of her being with another. I must find the courage to tell her how I feel."

He straightened his shoulders, a newfound determination in his eyes.

His brother-in-law gave him a few small pats on the chest. "Well said, now go get her tiger."

"Do you know where she is now Kurt?" Rogue's voice stopped them "You'll need a plan"

Kurt pondered Rogue's question for a moment. "I believe Y/N went to wash up in her room. She seemed tired and overwhelmed, but I couldn't quite discern the cause of her affliction." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should take some time to prepare, gather my thoughts and emotions, before I confront her. After all, I want every word to be perfect when I finally confess my feelings to her."

"We'll help you," Gambit offered. "You'll learn from the best teacher."

Rogue punched him in the stomach jokingly.

"I don't think you're the best one for that Sugar, why don't you let me talk to Y/N? We're friends, I can get information about you Kurt"

Kurt grinned at the playful exchange between Gambit and Rogue, appreciating their willingness to help. "Ah, my dear sister, your support means the world to me," he thanked them with a chuckle. "Gambit, while I appreciate the offer to learn from the 'best teacher', I believe that Rogue is the perfect person to gather information about Y/N. Your friendship with her will make it easier, and your understanding of women's hearts is unparalleled."

"Leave it to me, is there anything I should ask specifically?"

Kurt considered the question for a moment, his expression warm.

"First and foremost, find out whether Y/N harbors affections for me. Then, if she does indeed reciprocate my feelings, I want to know how deeply this affection runs, if she would consider a romantic relationship with me." He took a steadying breath, adding with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, "And if she does love me, inquire about her favorite flowers and romantic gestures. I wish to make my declaration of love truly unforgettable."

"Noted" Rogue got up from the chair as she walked out into the hallway "I'm going to go see Y/N, in the meantime you should calm down Kurt, you look worse than a nervous Chihuhua. Everything is going to be fine you'll see. Who knows, maybe Y/N will soon become a my sister in law"

Kurt chuckled softly at Rogue's playful remarks as she left to go find Y/N. He leaned back on the couch, taking a moment to steady his nerves.

"Perhaps she is not far away from the truth," he murmured under his breath, a flicker of anticipation and excitement stirring within him. He couldn't help but hope that Rogue's words would come true, that Y/N would someday become a part of his family. And he was determined to do everything in his power to make it happen.

Rogue arrived at Y/N's room and knocked on the door hoping that she would be in the room, otherwise she would have to look for her in every corner of the mansion.

"Rogue? What happened?" Y/N opened the door, Kurt was indeed right, she had just gotten out of the shower.

"Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you for a while. You know, a girls' night."

"Sounds good" Y/N said with a smile and giving her friend space to enter.

As Rogue entered Y/N's room, a mischievous grin played on her lips. She took in Y/N's appearance, noting the fresh scent of soap clinging to her friend's skin and the way her damp hair clung to her neck.

"Ah, it seems my timing was impeccable," Rogue remarked with a chuckle, closing the door behind her. She took a seat on the edge of Y/N's bed, stretching her legs out comfortably.

"Yes, it's been a while since we've had an afternoon together." Cenitt fell onto her bed next to Rogue. "How have you been? How have things been between you and Gambit?"

Rogue's smile widened knowingly as she reclined on Cenitt's bed. Her friendship with her friend allowed her to feel truly comfortable.

"Ah, Gambit and I are doing just fine," she replied, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "But let's leave aside the talk of my love life for now. I'm more interested in yours, Sugar."

"Mine?" Y/N lifted her upper body carrying her weight on her elbows. She could notice Rogue's mischievous look.

Rogue nodded, her eyes twinkling with intrigue.

"Indeed, yours. I'm curious to know what's been happening in the romantic realm of your life."

She leaned closer, her smirk widening. "Has a certain blue, furry mutant piqued your interest lately?"

"You speak of Beast?" Y/N was pretending not to know what Rogue was talking about. "Don't get me wrong, but don't you think Hank is a little too old for me?" she was trying not to laugh

Rogue chuckled at her friend's attempt to play coy.

"You know very well, Sugar, that Hank is not the object of my curiosity," she teased, her eyes gleaming. "I was referring to a certain mutant with a tail and a penchant for teleporting. A certain Nightcrawler, perhaps?"

"I've never heard of him. Is he new?" She was definitely playing with Rogue, trying to evade reality. She slowly get out of bed with clear intentions to flee.

As Y/N attempted to make her escape, Rogue's reflexes were quick. She darted forward, gently tugging her back onto the bed.

"Oh no, you're not escaping that easily, my dear friend," she teased, pinning Y/N down with a soft but firm hold. "We're going to talk about Kurt and your feelings for him."

Y/N ended up under Rogue, she held her without moving on the mattress "I have nothing to say, you won't make me talk" she tried to squirm.

Rogue kept Y/N pinned with a mischievous grin. "Oh, come now," she teased, her grip tightening. "You don't think I don't know how you look at him? The way your eyes light up whenever he enters the room. The way your breath catches in your throat when he smiles at you. You can fool others, but you can't fool me."

"Am I really that obvious when I see him?"

Rogue nodded, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"Oh Sugar, your feelings for Kurt are written all over your face. It's impossible to miss the way you look at him. Your eyes follow his every move, and your heart skips a beat when he's near."

She released her grip, allowing Y/N to sit up as she continued speaking. "But the real question is, does he know how you feel? Does he know the depth of your affection?"

Y/N looked at Rogue sadly "No, he doesn't know" her voice sounded very sad and almost like a sigh.

Rogue's expression softened at Y/N's answer. "Ah, why haven't you told him how you feel?" she gently asked, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's clear to me that your affection for Kurt is genuine. Why the hesitation?"

"Because your brother doesn't love me, at least not that way. I've seen how Kurt treats other people and believe me, there isn't much difference in how he looks at me and how he looks at the rest of the team." She sat up, leaning her back against the headboard while hugging her knees. "He doesn't love me. Rogue."

Rogue gently shook her head, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. "Sugar, you couldn't be more wrong," she said softly, putting her arm around Y/N in a comforting but firm hold. "Kurt's affection for you is different. There's a warmth, a depth of feeling that he doesn't show towards others. He may not have expressed it yet, but he loves you. I can see it and I know it."

"You're only saying that because you're my friend Rogue, Kurt likes pretty girls like Amanda or Wanda, not simple girls like me. He deserves to be with someone like them."

Rogue's expression turned firm yet compassionate. She gently turned Y/N to face her, holding her friend's gaze earnestly.

"Listen to me, Y/N. You are not 'simple'. You're intelligent, kind, beautiful in your own way. Don't underestimate yourself or underestimate Kurt's capacity to see the beauty within you. And trust me, he does see it. I wouldn't lie to you about something like this."

"How do you know? How do you know he's not lying?" Y/N looked at her eagerly awaiting her response.

Rogue met Y/N's eyes with a steady, sincere expression.

"Because I've seen the way Kurt looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. There's a depth to his gaze, a longing in his expression that he simply can't fake. When he gazes at you, his eyes light up as if he's looking at a treasure he can't quite touch. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

"So… do you think I have a chance?" The color seemed to return to Y/N's face. "Do you think Kurt wants to be with me?"

Rogue chuckled softly, a mixture of amusement and affection in her voice. "Sugar, if there's one thing I know for certain, it's that Kurt Wagner would be a fool not to want to be with you. You have a chance, and not just any chance - a great one. Trust me, he's just struggling with his own insecurities, but deep down, he feels the same for you."

"And what should I do?" At one point she felt like she was going to hyperventilate. "What if I tell him and ruin it? You know I get very nervous being with him."

She thought for a moment before agreeing with Rogue. "Yes, you're right. I'm going to tell him." She got up from the bed and walked out the door, leaving Rogue confused by the change in attitude.

Not two seconds passed when Y/N came back through the door.

"I better tell him later"

Rogue got up from the bed and grabbed her by the shoulders. "No, no way. You'll go right now and tell him what you feel." She turned her around as he pushed her toward the door. "The both of you are like a pair of love-struck teenagers."

"Well, tell me what he likes. You're his sister, you know what he likes." Y/N began pacing back and forth in front of her. "Maybe I can prepare his favorite food."

Rogue rubbed her chin thoughtfully, a smirk playing on her lips. "Ah, Kurt has a weakness for good food. He does have a sweet tooth, and anything involving chocolate usually puts a smile on his face." She chuckled softly, then added with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "And speaking of things that make him smile... don't forget, he's a gentleman at heart. Acts of kindness and thoughtfulness mean a lot to him, especially from those he cares about. Just remember, my friend, be yourself, be genuine."

"I'll make Kurt a chocolate cake, maybe I can get a German recipe." Y/N took out his cell phone and started searching for recipes on the internet. "I can get the ingredients and maybe write him a letter. And, Since you're so interested in my romantic life, are you going to help me with the cake" Y/N took Rogue by the hand and together they left the room laughing on their way to the kitchen without seeing that Gambit and Kurt were behind them.

Rogue shared a secret smile with Y/N as they made their way to the kitchen. She had no idea of the duo following behind them. As they entered the kitchen, Kurt and Gambit silently crept closer, their curiosity piqued.

Gambit whispered to Kurt, who seemed on the verge of panicking. "Easy there, mon ami," he said, trying to maintain his cool composure. "Rogue and Y/N don't know we're here. Let's just see what happens, alright?"

Y/N was finishing measuring the flour when someone entered the kitchen and greeted the two girls. He was the new boy, he had not long arrived at the mansion, he began to talk to the girls, paying special attention to Y/N.

"Oh that's not good" Gambit said quietly turning to look at Kurt.

Kurt's eyes widened as he watched the newcomer's attention on Y/N He glanced over at Gambit, a mixture of anger and jealousy evident in his expression.

"No, it's not good," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I know that look. He's eyeing Y/N!"

Y/N didn't realize the boy's intentions and was just being nice to him. She was more interested in the cake for Kurt but Rogue was beginning to doubt the boy's actions. At one point the boy was very close to Y/N.

As the boy came closer to Y/N and leaned in an all too familiar way, Rogue's protective instincts kicked in, her eyes narrowing.

"Hey, buddy, you're getting a bit too close to my friend there," she interjected, her voice tinged with warning. "Maybe dial back the charm a bit."

Rogue's response calmed Kurt but left Y/N confused. "Come on Rogue, he is just being nice, right?" She looked the boy straight in the eyes.

The newcomer, emboldened by Y/N's naive response, smirked and leaned even closer, his intentions becoming quite clear.

"Nah, Rogue's just jealous of our chemistry," he said, his tone oozing with false confidence. "We have a connection, don't we, sweetheart?" He reached out to touch Y/N's hand.

Y/N tensed when she felt the boy's hand on her and it was worse when he pulled her to his side.

and Kurt didn't like that

"Okay, enough. Hit him." Gambit moved from the door, letting Kurt pass.

Kurt, filled with a mix of protectiveness and anger, stormed into the kitchen without hesitation. His gaze landed on the newcomer, and before anyone could utter a word, Kurt's fist flew straight into the boy's face, sending him stumbling back.

"Hands off," Kurt growled, "Y/N is not a toy for you to play with."

"Kurt!" Y/N expected anything but this, she had never seen Kurt so upset, but it didn't stop her from moving away from the boy.

Kurt's eyes met Y/N's, the intensity of his gaze softened as he realized his reaction might have startled her. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and regret. "I couldn't stand the thought of that guy touching you or disrespecting you. I acted before I thought."

"Don't worry Kurt, I'm fine" Y/N gave him a small smile to reassure him "Your hand…" She reached out to take his hand in hers but she was shaking.

"I think it's better that we go somewhere else" Rogue was upset.

Kurt's expression softened at Y/N's concern for his hand. He glanced down at his bruised knuckles, a small grimace on his face.

"It's alright, Y/N. Just a bit of bruising," he muttered, his tone a mix of annoyance and resignation.

As Rogue spoke up, Kurt turned his attention to her. Recognizing the tension in her voice, he nodded in agreement.

"Yes, let's leave this place."

Everyone left the kitchen in silence, they chose to go to one of the rooms on the second floor, at that time there was no one in that part. All the way Kurt didn't let go of Y/Ns hand. Once they arrived, Rogue went to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit.

"You have blood on your hand Kurt." Y/N caressed her knuckles.

As Y/N gently caressed his knuckles, Kurt couldn't help but cringe slightly at the sight of the blood.

"Oh, don't worry about that," he muttered, a hint of pain in his voice. "It's nothing serious. These hands have been through worse. A little blood doesn't phase me."

Despite his dismissive words, Kurt secretly appreciated Y/N's concern for his injury.

Y/N took the first aid kit that Rogue brought "Can I?"

I take out a couple of gauze and bandages.

Kurt was going to refuse but out of the corner of his eye he saw Gambit moving for him to accept the offer, giving him a thumbs up.

"This is your chance" Gambit was trying to tell him, Rogue understood what Gambit was implying and followed Gambit's plan.

"We'll go make sure we haven't gotten into trouble."

Kurt hesitated for a moment, feeling slightly self-conscious about the attention. However, taking a deep breath, he decided to accept Y/N's offer. "Well, fine… If you insist," he said with a hint of reluctance, trying to sound indifferent. As he extended his injured hand towards Y/N, he shot a subtle glance at Gambit and Rogue, silently acknowledging their plan.

"Tell me if it hurts." Y/N began to carefully clean Kurt's hand. "Thank you... Kurt"

Kurt watched quietly as Y/N tended to his injured hand with gentle care. He winced slightly as the cloth touched the wounded area, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "It's alright," he muttered softly. "I've suffered worse. Besides, I would do it again to keep you away from that disrespectful fool."

"I'm not going to lie to you, that boy scared me a little. I didn't think he would try something like that."

Y/N was finishing cleaning the wound "But I guess I have the best hero on my side"

Kurt smiled slightly at Y/N's words, feeling a mixture of pride and humility in his heart. He could feel a tinge of blush on his cheeks, but he tried to suppress it, keeping a composed expression on his face.

"Ah, you flatter me too much, my dear friend," he replied with a hint of humility. "I'm just doing what any true friend would do. Protecting you from those who don't deserve your kindness."

Y/N couldn't help but feel a pain in her heart when she heard Kurt call her friend. Rogue was wrong, Kurt was just being nice to her.

"Yes… It's good that you're my friend" She said, turning to look at his bandaged hand.

As Y/N grew silent and tears threatened to spill from her eyes, Kurt gently reached out to cup her chin, tilting her face gently to look at him. His gaze held a deep affection and sincerity as he spoke softly.

"Y/N, please don't feel like you have to say anything. I just wanted you to know that my feelings for you run deeper than mere friendship." He spoke with a gentle vulnerability, his words holding a genuine love for her.

"Please stop" Her voice sounded so broken

"Don't play with my feelings Kurt."

Kurt's heart sank as he heard Y/Ns broken voice, her pain evident in her pleading words. "No, no, Y/N." He rushed to reassure her, pulling her into a gentle embrace, "I would never play with your feelings. You mean too much to me for that. My words come from the deepest depths of my heart. I care for you deeply, and my love for you is -"

Y/N looked at Kurt interrupting him "I like you Kurt"

Kurt's heart leaped in his chest as Y/N confessed her feelings for him.

He gently brushed away her tears with his bandaged hand, a tender smile on his face.

"Y/N," he whispered softly, "I feel the same way. My heart has known for a while, and now my mind understands it too. I like you, Y/N… No, it's more than 'like.' "I love you."

"I love you too..." She hugged him "Why you never said anything?"

Kurt wrapped his arms around Y/N, encircling her in a tight hug. As he held her close, he let out a soft chuckle. "I suppose... I was afraid." He admitted quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and contentment. "Afraid of ruining the friendship we had, and of jeopardizing something so precious. But... I can no longer deny the depth of my feelings for you. It's become too powerful to ignore."

"We both think the same thing, I liked you from the first day I met you but I was very afraid to get close and when you offered me your friendship I knew that I didn't want to be far from you, I accepted it but I always wanted to be something more"

Kurt listened intently to Y/Ns words, his heart swelling with a mix of joy and regret. He gently cupped her face between his hands, his touch both tender and filled with passion. "We were both fools," he whispered, a hint of self-deprecation mingling with his affection. "All this time, we've been yearning for something that was right in front of us. But now... now that we've confessed our love, we can finally make up for lost time."

"I would love that" She looked at him lovingly and rested her head on his shoulder.

Kurt's eyes sparkled with affection as Y/N rested her head on his shoulder. Softly wrapping his arm around her, he gently squeezed her closer, relishing the closeness they now shared. "Then it's settled," he whispered, his voice filled with adoration. "From now on, we'll cherish every moment we spend together. No more hiding our feelings or fearing what could have been. We'll love each other openly and passionately, just the way it was always meant to be."

"I told you they ended up together" "We already know that, everyone in the mansion knew it except them" Gambit and Rogue were leaning against the door listening to the conversation between Kurt and Y/N

Kurt's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as he heard Gambit's teasing remark. He had completely forgotten that they were listening in on their heartfelt confessions. With a sheepish grin, Kurt turned his head towards the door, locking eyes with Gambit and Rogue. "Oh, come on," he groaned, a mix of embarrassment and amusement in his voice. "You didn't have to eavesdrop on our private moment, you two."

Gambit chuckled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Well, what can I say? We couldn't resist witnessing this long-overdue romance unfold." He shared a knowing glance with Rogue, both of them smiling at Kurt and Y/N's newfound relationship.

"Azulito = Bluey in spanish"

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #x men 97 #kurt wagner x reader #xmen #comics #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler xmen

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