#children of zaun

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 26

The Necessity of Desire

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

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

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

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

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.3K

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

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

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

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

She reached for him instead, grabbing his hands.

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

“Can we talk?”

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

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

“Kat?”

“This way,” she said, tugging at him.

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

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

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

It was beautiful. And she was part of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wanted more.

Such is the nature of desire.

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

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

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

Kat swallowed, thinking.

They should.

But she didn’t want to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably the worst five washers Kat had ever spent.

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

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

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

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

Others weren’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

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

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

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

He would hear it again.

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

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

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

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

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

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

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

She wanted. So, she chose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a joyful laugh hidden within her labored breaths.

“You have me.”

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

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

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

Next Chapter

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

[nausicaaandhermouth]

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

[delsincloud]

[kikiiswashere]

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

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

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

[silvercat-s]

I strongly disagree with the idea that silco's parenting only harmed jinx.

Jinx enjoys being strong, she likes feeling capable and in control and those things did flourished under silco's parenting. He believes in her, he supporters her 'hobbies' and he has complete faith in her potential and abilities (even when she fucks everything up for him).

Unfortunately, silco is a damaged man that sees softness as a weakness in their world, and as her father figure, this is a lesson he tries to instill on her constantly. He wants her to be as strong as he believes himself to be. y'know, the same way Vander tried to instill his own worldview and values in Vi? that's not grooming - its parenting.

The irony is that silco was never truly able to kill that softness in himself. he never really killed that 'weak man', despite the way he encourages Jinx to let Powder die, and if he had, he might have actually survived her.

It's less about Silco seeing jinx as this 'perfect weapon' to mold and more about him projecting himself onto her and trying to heal his 'inner child' in a Very fucked up way. Supporting her and teaching her all the hard lessons he feels like he had to learn on his own

So yes, it's a tragedy that Silco refused to see and nurture the 'powder' side of her, due to his own brokenness, and she did suffer for it. But he wanted her to be strong enough to thrive and survive in their fucked up world, and you can't deny that he did raised one hell of a powerful and capable young woman

[mollysunder]

There is a theory that the way children play serves as a means to simulate and prepare them for the tasks they'll take on as adults. So for all the narrative weight both Jinx and the story give the boxing machine at the arcade it would never have prepared her or the kids to take on Piltover.

What are the two things that Piltovans excel at over their Zaunite counterparts to keep the hierarchy? Weapons and technological development.

When you look at the way Piltovans invest in their children, they don't prioritize hand to hand/melee combat training. Piltovans focus on giving their children experiences in handling firearms, a pursuit that is both leisure sport for the wealthy and a key offense against dissenting Zaunites.

And from the show notes even Jayce, whose family occupies the upper middle class, was sent on educational excursions across Runeterra to explore the world and learn what it had to offer. Without Jayce's education abroad he would never have been inspired to pursue the concept hextech.

It's no wonder that the two figures that are set to be Piltover's biggest threats from Zaun are Jinx and Viktor, becasue they engaged in the same kinds of games and activities as their Piltovan counterparts.

Jinx didn't have an entire forest preserved to help her practice her sharpshooting like the high houses of Piltover, but she did excel in the few games at The Rift (the arcade) that built on her talents. She's the only Zaunite thus far who's long distance offensive is a strong counter to Piltover's forces.

Viktor couldn't travel the world like Jayce did, but for better or worse he managed to stumble into an opportunity to get real opportunity in research not offered to his peers through Singed. It was through that experience that Viktor knew to turn to Singed when he was at the end of his rope, and the consequences of that will be fully realized in season 2.

Ironically, the kind of skill the boxing game champions is only good for keeping other Zaunites in line. Vander's days of fighting Piltover were way behind him when we first met him, and Vi spends season 1 primarily fighting other Zaunites. It's no surprise the Zaunites who embody the old ideal of strength in Zaun that the game portrays, Vi and Vander, are largely at the mercy of Piltover and end up collaborating with them to avoid further harm.

Zaun's future as an independent city-state couldn't happen if they stuck to their old ideals. The people who stand a chance against Piltover are the ones that not only succeed but excel at playing Piltover's games against them.

[linipikk]

I want to say one thing about the setup for Jinx leaving.

The Silco in her mind told her to walk away to be free and she immediately thought about dying. That was the plan.

But THEN-- then Ekko stops her from blowing herself up. The thing is how. Because talking Jinx out of that mindset would require a whole team. And it does.

We can infer he told her that there is another version of her, of course. Powder and Jinx are the same, and as Powder told him "you want me to change" Jinx would think the same! except Jinx believes there is no "good version" of her

But as we know, it is not about one version being superior to the other or how Jinx and Powder being different. But it's about how Ekko has everything to recontextualize something that our Jinx knows deep down.

Because that is the same conversation she had with Silco in the cell, but this time not from a hallucination but from someone who is treating her as a real friend, part of the support system Jinx lacks, but she clings on so desperately.

So I'll go back to Powder for a sec

This is not the first time Vander and Powder have this conversation about her potential, about her leaving

And Vander did say something about it to Ekko. He knows her daughter

As well as Silco's words of wisdom.

Here he might be talking directly about Vander but, we know that it is also about oneself, after all that's what Jinx is all about. She is The Jinx because she destroys everything right? she is her walking reminder of all her failures.

And that's the Ekko's secret knowledge that saves Jinx. We don't need a recap of that episode, we just watched it. and Ekko is there to reach for Jinx, finding her, rewinding the explosion as many times as he has to. He tries very hard for her.

Jinx, as much as she claims to destroy everything, she creates, the one thing she knows how to do, and that's where she is more herself. She builds things and she might find someone worth trying for, not her ghosts or her guilt, but just herself.

Now, here they are: you've seen them, you love them, our acclaimed shimmer ray from the explosion and the ship sailing away.

Jinx leaving is about her following her dads advice and believing in Ekko's words. And I bet she does.

I just.... find it so charming that the glimpse of hope Ekko gives her is not just from himself but also about the fathers she lost so many times.

and to tie up the box, we have the final lyrics of Wasteland (that the series leaves out for ambiguity imo)

bonus monkeys, i bet it is the second Jinx kind of knew that Ekko was talking about her when he said "someone very special"

"someone worth building it for"

[goddessofroyalty]

While I tagged the childhood friends Jayvik ask with Zaun Family it's probably not the version of the verse where Silco gets Zaun Representive.

Because tiny!Jayce is determined enough that he would get over his fear of the big scary Zaun Representative and give Silco letters he's written to Viktor (he figures they can at the very least stay penpals right?). And then Silco, who will ultimately buckle to his children if they are annoying enough, has Viktor begging him to take him to Piltover with him one day so he can see Jayce again.

[vastilyric]

Everyone's issue with the letter.

Just because jinx thinks that silco finding the letter mightve changed everything, doesn't mean that or that alone would have. It doesn't mean THATS what changed in the alt timeline.

Second.

What the hell is Vander supposed to say to silco? He lost sense and tried to kill one of his best friends after their friend died presumably indirectly by silcos hand whether he incited the riot or not which is why he takes it on him. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

And maybe if silco had seen the letter, he would've known that Vander regretted it. Maybe it might've been a first step to reconnecting.

[the-dragon-hearted]

Part 3:

There is a universe, somehow, where Silco saves Vi.

It's... actually not all that uncommon, despite the circumstances.

It's a known fact they dislike each other: Vi's too much like Vander and she takes pride in that. That pride leaves a bitter taste in Silco's mouth.

They fight, often. Well... Vi fights, it's what she's best at. Silco listens quietly and tears her little arguments apart like wings from a butterfly. She curses his name and trashes his office every time one of his endeavors gets people killed. It happens more often than not - the price of freedom is always paid in blood.

Every death toll brings her to his office like a bringer of justice misled by righteousness. But he let hers storm in regardless. Sevika's learned to let her.

Every time, he sits and watches. Calmly. He watches her ruin months of careful notation or scorn a job well done. When necessary, he can chase her out with a few words. Usually, it's a reminder of her temper, her age, or Vander.

She's not Vander; it seems he's the only one willing to make her remember that. She hates him for it. For the death and the suffering and the fact that neither of them can fill the cast iron gloves hanging above the bar. Not really.

He isn't Vander either. He never pretended to be. He has no interest in burying his head in the sand. There's a cost to that... Vi know it.

She also knows that when the chips are down and the guns are aimed, when she's collapsed in an alleyway from a broken rib, and when it feels like it's just her with the Last Drop to her back... Silco's there. He'd do many things, but he'd never abandon her.

He drags her home and leaves Mylo to patch her up. He bails them out of idiotic schemes Vi got the five into. He hides enforcer bodies in the river (he never minds doing that). He pays someone off or makes someone disappear.

She still hates him, probably.

He... can't return the sentiment. She's irritating, in all those familiar ways Vander was, but it's different. He'd looked up to Vander, once. Much like Powder does to Vi - much like they all look up to Vi. But, she is not her Father. She is a child trying to fill shoes too big for her. From such a perspective, her irritating qualities are more... palatable.

She bartends, clenching her jaw and playing diplomat with the remnants of Vander's faction. She's a child, and the underworld knows it. Her hands are clumsier as they clean the glasses, unsure of how to be gentle when the rage burns.

The first time she asks Silco for anything is after she breaks the last of Vander's shot glasses. It's one of the only times her eyes mist in his presence. Nice glass is hard to come by in the undercity, and her going to the surface was out of the question... not after last time.

Silco has Sevika deliver the shipment, and neither of them mentions it again. Silco's shots are always served in a new glass, though. It's the closest to a thank you he can bear.

She's Vander's child. They all are. A step too far and the four (five, though Ekko's much better at staying out of trouble than his irritating late-guardian) gain a new title. Silco does not consider himself an emotional man, not anymore. But the first time an opposing crime lord tries to get to him through the children - Mylo, specifically - he finds himself... inspired.

Sevika finds Mylo in their enemy's basement. It's Silco who takes him home, a hand on the boy's trembling shoulder. They walk, tall - at least Silco does, something odd raging in his gut like a tidal wave.

It's a statement for him to walk Mylo home and he knows it. They're stared at - it's probably the first time he's ever done anything visible like this with any of Vander's kids. He doesn't regret it. Mylo doesn't either.

They root out the rot and leave a new scar in Zaun, Sevika is efficient and brutal when the time demands it. She aligns with Silco in that manner. He's never liked these inter-faction fights, but sometimes messages must be sent. Messages signed eloquently in blood are more memorable, and it must be memorable. Zaun's streets are too used to violence - if you want to send a message you must be... purposeful.

Mess with Vander's children and you will be meeting Zaun's ghosts.

It's the first collection of murders Vi doesn't condemn him for. Mylo's behind the bar with her, ranting about shitty air ventilation, nervous, bruised hands calming themselves as they dust glasses. Vi's quiet as Silco sits, not a word spared. She pours him a shot in a cleanly cut shot glass: it almost tastes sweeter.

They are Silco's wards. Vander's children, but under Silco's gaze. He doesn't want it to go any further, and the city would do well not to test it. Piltover too.

The marshall learns quickly enough that the streets play by new rules now. The Lanes are the safest place in Zaun for its children - they're nothing but a death sentence for enforcers.

Vi's... useful, in that regard. The only thing she seems to hate more than Silco is the people who got to Vander before he did. Another rare thing they both agree on. It's why he has no qualms about burying her ghosts when her rage is too strong and her fists too unforgiving.

So, yes, Silco has saved her before. This is different. It's not a glorious or proud moment... it's... necessary, as all things are in his life.

It starts when he slips by the Last Drop - he tries to do it fairly regularly. Not for the children, but for the statement. He's welcome here now. The streets know it. He haunts his old life, a stronger, fiercer phantom than any of his old demons.

It's pride, and he knows it. He strides in and smiles through the glares, Vi's included. She still pours him a glass no matter what fight they're having. She loves Powder too much to chase him away. That power is the halfway point between intoxication and sobriety, just as the shot of Vander's whiskey is.

He's late for his visit this time. Very late. More likely than not Vi's gone to bed and won't be up until late noon. He'll pour himself a drink and be done with it. It's not for the children - it's for himself. It always is.

There are no regulars to grumble at his arrival, just a drunk passed out in the alleyway next to the bar. Vi is still learning the art of cutting people off - sometimes he thinks she keeps the nastier ones drinking to teach them a lesson. Drags them home so they owe her a favor - so they remember they were at her mercy, once.

She's like Vander, but she's not all Vander.

Or maybe she is... Silco's throat is tight and his eye is beginning to throb from the long day. He reaches the door and stops.

It's left open.

Paranoia is an old friend. It keeps two knives on him, always in arm's reach. Danger is the best friend of Zaun's children, and it's taught him well. There's a gun at his belt too - ready. Always ready.

Vi does not keep the door open. It lets a draft in, and the stench of the streets. She's particular about such things.

Silco pushes the door open and takes a long breath. It's a familiar sight, not to the bar, but to Silco: there was a scuffle, of some sort. There's blood on the bartop and a broken bottle on the floor. Stools are tossed aside, and the jukebox is donning a new crack - it was a long fight, then. It seems the dancers danced their vicious waltz all through the bar.

Silco steps into the bar, still lit, but empty. There's... something climbing up his throat as his mind churns out the most likely probabilities. It tastes like river water.

Vi's a fighter, like her Father. The streets know it. They call her the 'little hound'.

Silco has no reason to correct them.

He crouches down to study a skid mark on the floor, right next to a small pool of blood. Someone's been punched, hard. Silco moves faster, passing the ghost of a bar and delving into its hold - the heart of this haven Vander built.

The door to the children's rooms is locked. That means one of two things. Either there's a nasty sight beyond for Silco to find, or Vi did what she does best.

He knocks: a rhythmic game that he knows one of the five will get. It's one of Powder's many games, tapping on his office door before barging in. Or his closet. Or his desk. Wherever her new hiding spot was. She and Ekko found some sort of amusement in startling him. Silco may loathe to admit it, but the pattern made their impromptu visits nicer. The anxiety leaves when the assassin in the belfry turns out to be the two youngest giggling at their endeavors.

Silco uses Powder's knock. He's met with silence.

There's a churning in his gut because he knows... he knows the costs of affections.

He's made enemies. That's condemnation enough. But Vander's made enemies too. Vander's children are still Vander's children - and the Hound's death doesn't satiate old blood feuds. And if it's revenge against Silco? He's not as clandestine in his affections as he wants to be...

Sevika tells him that much.

So he curses under his breath and slowly places his forehead on the door as he prepares himself.

If he opens this door... If those kids are dead... If Silco kicks this door down and finds bodies, he's going to make someone burn. He's going to carve this little haven apart in a baptism of blood.

A perfectly reasonable reaction. Justified, even. Not even Vander would disagree. It doesn't settle the crashing wave of something other than anger that's ripping him apart at the thought.

There's a scrambling on the other side and Silco releases a long breath he forgot he was holding.

There's a familiar hiss: "Powder - Powder no -"

Claggor's alive at least... and so is -

Powder opens the door taking a large gasp as their eyes meet. She runs to Silco and grabs him in a hug as if he's a lifeline and not an anchor pulling her into polluted river water.

It's not her usual. She'll poke at him or snatch something out of his pockets, but she's never been much of a hugger.

Silco isn't either.

He lets her stay, for now and places a hand on her head. She's warm... breathing and warm. He uses his other hand to push the door further. It reveals a more desperate scene. Claggor's holding a bloodied rag to his head. Mylo's nursing a broken nose from where he lays on the couch.

So it wasn't a long scuffle - it was multiple fights.

"What happened?" Silco only ever demands. Something Mylo hates - can't ask nicely, can you?

"Was one of those gangs Vi chased out a few weeks back," Claggor's always the voice of reason and honesty. Now he's donning a black eye and bruised knuckles. He has Vander's build, but lacks a stomach for fighting. He can do it - and do it well, but not like Vi...

He lacks her conviction. Speak of...

Damn girl. She's missing from their usual nest. Ekko too, but that's at least usual.

"Where is Vi?" Silco keeps his voice level, or he thinks he does. Powder pulls away and wipes her eyes, a familiar guilt dancing over her unblemished face.

"She went after them," Mylo answers, nasally, as he holds his head back. "Told us to hold up here till she got back."

"Alone?" Silco's not surprised but he is... angry.

Not at Vi. She's a fool; always has been. Like someone else he knew. She's doing what she'll always do.

Powder's near inconsolable, as she usually is when it comes to such things: "She told us to stay - I didn't want to but she made us promise and - and we couldn't find Ekko so we don't know where he went. I - I wanted to get you -"

"It's alright, how long ago did this happen?" Silco crouches down to meet Powder's gaze.

"I dunno, ten minutes," Mylo answers from afar. "You just missed it -"

"Which gang?" Silco's impatience is eating at him.

No one has an answer. Powder stares at the floor with tears in her eyes.

"Stay here," he orders in the face of silence. "Wait for me."

"You're gonna get her, right?" Powder pleads as he stands. "I can help!"

It's always about helping, with her. Always about being useful and loved. It's painfully easy to manipulate.

"Protect your brothers," Silco instructs carefully, softly. He looks around the room and eyes familiar explosive devices at her bedside. "If they come back to finish the job, use your tools. Make them regret what they've done."

"We don't need her-" Mylo begins to object before Claggor slaps his shoulder.

Powder doesn't buy his order, but it's enough. She bites her lip and nods. Silco spares her a warmer glance before he departs. The door closes behind him and it seems Claggor and Mylo immediately begin to argue: typical.

Silco's a bit too busy seething to do much else. He gives the bar another survey, trying to decipher what Vander's little prodigy got herself into.

It could be a little collection of street menaces. Faux-tough folks who like to poke and prod at any establishment they can, except of course the actual bastards of Piltover. Silco hated such short-sightedness. That energy would be better aimed at those gold-plated brutes that police the streets they spit on.

There's no chance of beating Piltover if the streets are too busy going at each other's throats. Vi had kicked out a few folks, and broken a few teeth, but retaliation had always been out of the question. She'd been spared from the worst of Zaun's cannibalistic tendencies her whole life.

Though she may hate it, Vi was the closest Zaun would ever get to royalty. The daughter of Vander, protected by Silco's knife edge. So either these bastards were stupid or they knew exactly what they were doing.

And if they were the latter, there was a large chance Vi wasn't just gone. That's the cost of sending messages.

You get sent messages too... in filthy, bloody packages...

"Thought I might find you here," a voice breaks through his concentration as he finds a few discarded coins by a table. It's Sevika. He doesn't even bother looking over his shoulder, as he pockets the change.

"Never a dull moment," Silco curses, standing. "Vi's run off."

"I know," Sevika mutters with a familiar exasperation. "I tried to stop her."

"You saw her!?"

"Yeah, caught her chasing down some thugs. She had a few scores to settle." Sevika is far too casual about it as she saunters over to the bar and pours herself a drink.

"And if it was a trap?" Silco's' challenge sounds a bit more paranoid out loud than it did in his head.

"I recognized the poor bastards, they're stupid - harmless in the long run," Sevika shrugs. "They take folks by surprise. Though they're in for a nasty one now."

Silco sighs, heavily, pinching his nose as a headache tries to wrestle into his priorities: "Where did she go?"

"Up towards the fishmonger's, at the pace she was at, she's probably caught up by now. She'll be back. They won't."

Silco doesn't say anything to that. He can't. So he leaves.

"Keep watch," he orders as he goes, because orders are simple, kinder things.

The streets are dark and damp, as always, but they're colder now. It's a bad idea to walk alone - especially given who he is. Not that he hasn't proven time and time again that the cost of messing with him is fatal, but his paranoia reminds him too easily how quickly a knife can come for your back. That being said.. these were Vander's streets and they are his now. Despite the animosity there, the old resistance keeps a watchful eye out on his back. He doesn't trust it, but he does understand it.

You take care of those kids now, or so the old Yordle from the brothel had ordered. Do that, and I won't mind you.

He still walks quickly and grapples with old ghosts. Vi's growing into something - something Vander would be keen on stopping. Something Vander had always been afraid of becoming.

It's a stupid thing, really. Silco's breathing in Zaun's poisoned air and lamenting on all the things that dead fool may have been right about.

Vi's useful as a little hound, but Silco's never gotten good at leashing her. Vander never managed it either. All of those kids were annoyingly stubborn and brilliant and mold them as Silco may, some things don't change. Not the river water of Zaun or the blood on the bridge - not the kids raised in her wake.

For the first time, Silco considers that maybe he's not the only one who drowned on these streets. It's no coincidence the thought comes as he passes the corner Vander died on.

He pushes it aside, quickly. He has something more important to deal with.

He finds her stumbling back. She's a mess. Broken nose, a black eye, and her knuckles are covered in blood. She is covered in blood. She limps along, guarding her side, pausing only when she sees him.

"Oh fuck me," she scorns and Silco has to chuckle at that.

"Hello Violet," he greets with a sarcastic glance. "You look well."

"Fuck off, Silco. What are you doing here?" half of the anger in her voice is from pain. The other half is her earnest loathing of him.

He can answer her honestly, though: "Looking for you."

"Well, you found me." She presses onward, passing him with a glare. He's content to follow.

They walk in silence for a while, Vi spitting out a glob of blood after a minute and cursing a colorful array for her wounds.

"Did you find them?" Silco inquires, once it's clear she intends to ignore him the entire time.

"Course," she spits.

"And, you walked away."

"I won. They're not coming back."

"Good," Silco supposes. The praise doesn't land kindly on her shoulders, but it's earnest.

"If you're gonna lecture me on how stupid going off alone was -"

"I have no such intention."

"I didn't kill them, either."

"I wouldn't care much if you did."

Vi sneers at that and presses onward.

"Call for a doctor, when you get back," Silco orders, gently as he can.

She glares at him - a clear refusal. It's not a bad idea, and she knows it, but because Silco said it, her little spiteful side would rather bleed out on the street.

That's... not Vander. It may be Felicia in her...

"Were you stabbed?" Silco suddenly catches a glimpse at the side she's guarding.

"No."

"So all the blood isn't yours?"

"Can you just fuck off?"

"Violet. Have you been stabbed?"

She whirls around, probably to hiss another insult at him, but she stumbles instead. Embarrassingly enough for both of them, Silco moves to catch her. She grabs a light post in place of his hands, and heaves out a heavier breath.

Silco watches, rolling his eyes at the theatrics. He pockets his hands as if they didn't almost betray him.

"It would kill you to direct your stubbornness somewhere beneficial, wouldn't it?" He jabs, in a whisper.

"I didn't fucking ask for your help!" She snaps back, pulling herself back up and pressing a bloodied hand firmer into her side.

"No. You didn't," Silco mutters, and he's quick to snatch her wrist, stained by her own crimson. He isn't as strong as he once was, but with surprise on his side, he can yank her hand away long enough to see the wound beneath it.

Oh, look at that. She has been stabbed. Who would've guessed?

She rips out of his hold and he lets her. It was a more performative act anyway - she'll glare at him either way. She leans away from him with a snarl of: "Fucking bastard." Like a cornered dog.

Little hound indeed.

"Sit down," he orders.

"No -"

"Violet. Sit. Down."

It doesn't usually work on her. The tone was more useful with Claggor - but she's bleeding out. Seems that some of the stubbornness is going with it.

She sags to the cobblestone with a grimace as she guards her side, hissing through clenched teeth as she lands heavily. Silco crouches down in front of her, pulling out familiar tools from a small pouch he always keeps handy.

Again, paranoia and preparation were identical twins, you could only tell them apart in practice. He was well-versed in both. He's had to stitch himself up too many times...

Well, he'd had to stitch up Vander too many times...

"Oh, fuck this: Get your damn doctor," Vi spits as she spies the small vial of astringent.

And Silco hums to match her scathing tone: "I would. But you've decided to give us a time crunch."

"I - "

"Move your hand."

"No!"

"Violet, I am not going to tell your siblings that you bled out in front of me."

It's the only way to get her to do anything. A familiar arm to twist when it's necessary. She knows it too, which is why her glare burns darker than Zaun's night. She still obeys, even lifting up her shirt a few precious inches to show him the gore beneath. That's enough - it's more than he dares ask from her.

The streets of Zaun are familiar with questionable medical practices, and Silco's familiar with impromptu triage. They'll need better stitches and a thorough cleaning once he's done, but it would stop her from bleeding, for now.

She hisses through her teeth when he pours the cleaner over it.

"Fucker -"

"You're welcome," he interrupts curtly. "And you're lucky."

She says nothing as she clenches her teeth and covers her eyes, breaths coming fast and heavy.

"If this had gone any deeper, or moved any higher, we'd be in a different predicament," Silco continues.

"Well, it'd fix one of your problems," Vi spits between heavy breaths as Silco threads the needle.

He chuckles at that one: "Perhaps."

Vi bites her already bloodied knuckles to keep from screaming as Silco begins his work. Painkillers would be a useful thing to keep handy, but Silco prepares for needs, not comforts.

This may... change that.

The closeness is one of necessity, and it's obviously no comfort to the girl. Silco works quickly. It's messy, but again, he intends to get an actual doctor as soon as the bleeding is stemmed. You can't exactly apply a tourniquet to a torso - and you shouldn't make a habit of stitching up your enemies.

Not that Vi was an enemy... not to him, at least. Not yet.

"Of course, if you did die," he finds himself musing: "I dare say Claggor will end up breaking even more glasses than you did."

She doesn't respond but there is a breath - quick... it may even be a laugh.

"Unless Mylo takes over bartending. In which case I should hike up our liquor order. Something tells me he'll get too eager to test the merchandise."

"Oh fuck off." There she is.

"We'll have to wait until Powder grows a bit taller so she can see over the bare - granted she doesn't kill me first for letting you die."

He cuts off the thin wire now holding the wound together. It snaps quickly and he ties it - tight. Vi's hand suddenly clamps onto his arm and he's thrusted back years by the force in that grip. He tries to hide it and likely does seeing how out of it the girl is. She's leaning forward, breathing heavily. His breaths, in conjecture: feather-light. Too quick.

"She - she wouldn't," the girl manages.

It's Silco who can't respond this time, staring at the white-knuckled grip on his arm. Well, they would be white knuckles if said knuckles weren't split and covered in grime. Familiar... too familiar.

Vi continues though, the pain spilling from her eyes despite the chuckle in her throat: "She likes you too much - looks up to you."

"A questionable choice," Silco finally forces out of his dry throat, carefully dissecting Vi's grip from his wrist.

"Yeah," she spits, leaning further forward, at least until Silco catches her shoulder.

"You'll split the stitching. You still need a doctor."

"Fuck."

Understandable. Silco helps her stand and, as if to scream how much she's truly out of it, she doesn't protest in the slightest. They make their way through the streets, slowly. The Last Drop is the closest safe spot, though the faster they find a doctor the better.

They get halfway there when Vi starts breathing just a little too heavy for his taste. She's shaking and when she starts leaning on him he caves in. They stop and he pushes her to a wall.

Another order: "Catch your breath."

She obeys. That's a problem. Vi does not obey. She seethes and objects and ruminates even when he's right. They're running out of time. He can't leave her here but he can't wait either.

Choices, choices, choices...

"I shouldn't have gone alone," Vi recites hatefully as she slides down to the brick wall, wrapping both arms around her stomach. "I know, it was fucking stupid."

"Well, at least you recognize it," Silco scathes, holding the bridge of his nose again as the ache behind his eye worsens. Brilliant. Who does he know around here? Anyone trustworthy?

"They needed to get the shit kicked out them," she rues, weakly.

"And did you get stabbed before or after you exacted your justice?"

"After. Fucker pulled a knife once it was a one-on-one."

"Predictable," Silco scolds. She glares, good - at least something familiar is still present.

"Maybe for you."

"Don't pretend Mylo doesn't play dirty. You know to expect it." Silco hardly notices he's begun to pace. There's blood dripping on the cobblestone, trickling from Vi's fingers. They need to move. Vi's breaths are still heavy.

The streets smell like river water. Silco can hardly breathe.

"I broke his face."

And that, Silco can laugh at: "I don't doubt it. Now get up. We need to go."

She closes her eyes at the order - a bit too long for his taste. He couches down and grabs her shoulder - fiercely. "Violet."

"I'm moving," she grumbles, taking his hand and weakly standing once more. Immediately, she collapses and Silco barely catches her, lowering her to the floor gently as he can as it all trickles out of him in hollow realization like the crimson from her side.

He sits her up against the wall and, heavily, takes a seat beside her. He can't carry her back. He's not that strong - maybe never was. And she's bigger now. He needs to go - get someone who can help.

He can not leave her. Not like this. Not like this.

He's lied millions of times, he'll lie a million times more before his life is through, but he made a promise, to a dead man, but a promise nonetheless. He cannot leave her to die another one of Zaun's orphans. Her last cradle in the cobblestones. He will not leave her to die alone.

"Fuck." It's weaker now, wet. She's crying.

He can't stomach it.

"We need to move," he tries to find a sternness to press onward. It ends up sounding desperate. His hand is over hers, applying pressure she doesn't have the strength to.

"I shouldn't have gone alone," she repeats. The anger's gone... it's fermented into regret.

"You should have called me," he hates the rage that is slipping through his teeth like the blood between his fingers. "I would've handled this."

"They kicked Claggor," she breaths - like that's some sort of defense.

"You are dying."

There it is: in the air. No taking it back now. He knows it. She knows it. Zaun knows it.

"You are dying because of your own idiocy," he seethes regardless.

"Keep Powder away from your fucking war," is her answer - always the fucking martyr, so much like her second father, it's disgusting. "Mylo and Claggor... keep them away -"

No. No he will not -

"You want to keep them away? Do it yourself," he hisses as he pulls her up again. This time he has one hand under her shoulders and the other pressed against her side, firmly. Her blood is warm against his cold hands and he tries to ignore it: "Move."

"Silco -"

Not fucker. Or bastard. Or the many other colorful names she's deemed him worthy of.

"Move." That's his answer. It's his answer for the next few blocks. Then, there's a stirring from one of the rooftops and Silco almost breathes in relief to hear a familiar rhythm of taps, asking if the coast is clear.

Vi notices nothing, she's limp, and in a moment of weakness, he digs into her wound, inciting a gasp. She's still alive and she'll fucking stay that way.

"EKKO!" He calls and the boy is there, peeking over a roof's ledge. His eyes are wide and Silco doesn't help to soothe the fear there. "Get a doctor! Now!"

"Who?" the boy cries back, eyes locked on Vi.

"Anyone! Closest one you can find." Silco's done with plans currently. No one will try anything stupid with Sevika staring over their shoulder. Time's not on their side. On Violet's side.

Ekko's smart enough to not get himself kidnapped - probably. Tonight's just been full of all sorts of lovely surprises. Though if he has to chase another child down he can't promise he'll maintain his patience.

They press onwards. The streets are dead this early in the morning. It's nearly time for the early risers to stir. What fools do creep the streets vanish at the sight of Silco and his fiery eye.

Vi's a heavy weight on his side, her feet dragging more and more with every moment.

"I seem to recall one of Vander's teachings warning against this exact situation," he mutters.

The sound of her late Father stirs her just a bit - it's all he needs. Her eyes flicker over and he drags her onward.

"Something about being careful about the fights you pick - and the causes you die for," he scorns.

A familiar warning. One he'd almost died for. The hands around his neck are heavy, but still lighter than Vi's weight on his side.

She doesn't answer.

"How did it go?" Silco breathed rhetorically. "Every time you raise your fist, make sure you're ready to die for it?"

"Make sure... you're ready... for someone to die for it," Vi breathes and it's not relief, but it's something similar that fills Silco's flooded lungs.

"Ah, of course. He was always so worried about collateral," Silco feigns ignorance. "And murder."

"Yeah," Vi barks a weak laugh. "You... wouldn't... know..."

"I wouldn't," Silco agrees. "Everyone has something they'd die for. I happen to think certain causes are worth killing for. Vander did too, he liked to pretend he didn't."

Vi goes silent so Silco clears his throat: "Not this though."

She does huff at that.

"It will be embarrassing if you die from this," Silco mutters.

No answer. He begins to calculate the next way phrase that could stir her up when she breathes a weak laugh.

"He wouldn't have died from this."

"Neither will you," Silco states.

"He... wouldn't have been stupid."

Silco does roll his eyes at that: "He absolutely would have been."

"Should've... seen it... coming."

"Yes. But you'll learn."

"I was... angry."

"I know." Silco breathes. Because he does. He knows it better than anyone else. Better than Vander would've.

Like a blessing from Janna, there's a golden light spilling from down the street, and they turn towards the Last Drop. They aren't a step towards it before Sevika is at the door, throwing it open and running towards them.

"The trick about anger, Violet -" Silco breathes as they slow. He looks at her and finds a determination in those eyes - "It's all in knowing how to use it. That rage will either kill you... or keep you alive. It's time you decide how you'll use it."

Sevika is there and she picks Vi up like she weighs nothing. The doctor arrives a few minutes later, Ekko on his heels. Some kinder neighbor who lacks prowess but is willing to do it for free - to repay an old favor to Vander.

Good enough. He's too tired to play Zaun's usual games.

Powder's crying next to him. Mylo and Claggor fret the whole time. Ekko takes his place next to Powder and watches with a mixture of grief and horror. Sevika is strangely quiet.

But Vi? She refuses to fade. Refuses to pass out. She grips the chair beneath her and grinds her teeth on a twisted rag from Sevika as the doctor works. Her nails carve into the wood until splinters bloody her cuticles - and sometimes, she looks to Silco.

He doesn't know what she sees there, doesn't know what she's looking for. He just knows she's going to survive.

She knows it too.

She's not Vander, never was. It's not a bad thing.

But it changes everything.

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun Chapter 32 Sneak Peek!

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

————

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

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

“It’s time to get up, Silco.”

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

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

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

A blue eye cracked open and squinted up at her.

“What?”

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

“Nothing. You’re just handsome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Enyd.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have you been up?”

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

“Only about an hour. Is Silco up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take the water, too.”

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

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

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

“Do you - “

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kikiiswashere]

NAUSICA 😭😭😭😭

My sweet babies! You captured them so well 😭🥹

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

[delsincloud]

timebomb

[violent-viscera]

i understand that vi being a piltover enforcer was inevitable. i genuinely and truly do. but the answer to “how” it ended up happening feels pretty dissatisfying to me personally.

[mollysunder]

Caitlyn's Objectives for Zaun are Vague and Terrible.

"Locate Jinx."

Plenty of people have already talked about this one, but there's a clear "and" missing to this statement. Caitlyn isn't going to just find Jinx say mission accomplished and go back to Piltover. She's left her intentions for Jinx ambiguous to her superiors (Ambessa) and subordinates alike, which leaves room for the situation to escalate.

"Dismantle shimmer."

I cannot overstate how bad of an idea it is. It seems simple in excution. Secure the refineries, detain Singed and other chemists that manufacture it, and destroy any existing supplies. But everything else that comes with it will turn the situation even worse.

I'm not even talking about the fact that Caitlyn is suggesting everyone in Zaun addicted to shimmer immediately go cold turkey without warning, preparation, or their consent. It's that fact that she's essentially destroying the only form of healthcare infrastructure that exists in Zaun.

For all the bad shimmer can do, it's still an effective medicine when used right. It's not a coincidence that once Silco took over and introduced shimmer there's suddenly people with visible disabilities and prosthetics on screen existing in Zaun. They exist because shimmer makes it possible. Even 5 out the 6 chembarons, the richest and most powerful people in Zaun, are disabled or use mobility aids. Chembarons like Smeech quite obviously use shimmer (his eyes are pink in every scene including his character sheet) to manage his prosthetics, he's had all four limbs replaced.

How many people live like Silco, with a chronic illness (probably a dangerous infection because Zaun is Piltover's human/industrial wastepit) that needs to be treated daily? How many people are practically dead and buried if the enforcers manage to destroy all remaining shimmer?

"Neutralize any agents still loyal to Silco."

What does that even mean? What does being loyal to Silco mean when he's dead? They're getting rid of all infrastructure related to shimmer production. The only thing that remains of Silco that anyone can be loyal to is the belief he left behind (and maybe Jinx but that's complicated).

Above all else (except Jinx), Silco wanted an independent Zaun. Will That's his whole thing, and shimmer was just the mechanism to make it happen. Will anyone who agrees that Zaun should be independent be considered a Silco loyalist? If so, then Caitlyn's mission isn't just about finding Jinx and getting shimmer off the streets, this is about crushing an independence movement AGAIN.

How will she characterize Silco's loyalists? Is she talking about chembarons that worked with Silco? Former members of his gang? People who worked in Silco's factories and liked the paycheck? Silco was the defacto leader of Zaun, most if not all figures in Zaun with influence were essentially complicit in his agenda.

Is there any real difference between anti-Piltovan sentiment and pro-Zaunite independence at this point?

[bubblesandpages]

Okay no, but Ekko did save her in the end. From all her deaths in the first episode, and convincing her that there was something worth living past all of this. And she did, she's free sailing away on that airship. And maybe he'll never realize that, maybe he'll go his entire life never knowing that that little girl from the Undercity with all that promise, and potential to change the world (and she did, she did change the world) is now free of the bonds of the sister cities, leaving them both reconciled and whole for the first time in living memory.