#meta for chapters 20 and 21

[nevertheless-moving]

STORMLIGHT ARCHIVE AU MASTERLIST

List will be updated with links if/when AUs develop For my Star Wars AU Masterlist: Please See Here As always, people are more than welcome to play with any of these ideas! just please link back to me so I can see! Seriously if you want to write stuff in any form with ideas from any of these aus I will love you forever! 1 to 20: Words of Radiance AUS 21 to 30: Non Words of Radiance AUs (note: these might also be WOR AUs) 31 to 40: Post Winds and Truth Wild Speculation (that may or may not also be a WOR AU)

1 to 20 Words of Radiance AUS

[EDIT, Previous #1 Now #28]

2. High oath Hesina willshaper aus. This is actually many many AUs because the "Mom??" Reveal is great in all contexts. Concept, WOK Era Outline, Brief Fanfic

3. Renarin asks Kaladin for help with radiant stuff during WOR. Secret training. Everyone thinks they're fucking. Chapter 1 and Outline/Meta

4. Elhokar drunk orders kaladin to bedchambers, begs for help keeping away nighmare creatures. Kaladin nearly kills him before scary spren realization, then goes into serious radiant mode when syl gets ambiguously concerned. Everyone thinks they're fucking.[Note: I might be too easily entertained by this trope]. Kaladin is deeply pained by this but also has  people saving thing and really doesnt want to reveal the radiant thing to the whole camp. Earlier third oath. Eventual fucking optional, see above au, except with a bit more pity than vibeing for option a.

5. Crack. AUs 3, 4, and 9 at same time so people just think Kaladin is the Kholin Rhysadium. Bridge 4 offers government overthrow if he's being pressured. kaladin assures them that's not it. Now people keep trying to high five him. Kaladin with head in hands while Moash snarks over his shoulder "you know when i said fuck the lighteyed i didn't -" Kaladin definitely asexual in this one.

6. Hesina and lirin come to shattered planes, shocked/thrilled/emotional to find kaladin. Bridge 4 desperately trying to get approval of [bugs bunny meme our] parents. Lirin reluctantly adopting renarin who wants to learn about healing now for some reason. Blackthorn surgeon mutual loathing/ jealousy son swap hilarity. Lirin is having a time. 

7. Kaladin wasn’t on guard duty the night of szeth arrival. Still warned by syl about assassin, but has to dead sprint while glowing to get across camp fast enough, soft reveal to anyone outside. Only barely figures out wall running on the way over to crash in window just in time. Szeth freaks out and runs away after very short, mildly anticlimatic interaction. And now Kaladin has to deal with Everyone.

8. Kaladin further along in powers during initial szeth fight. Battle of champions degrading to slap fight when they run out of stormlight and get stuck on the plains. Concept/ Ask, Funny Severed Leg

9. Manufactured rumors about adolin/ kaladin. Effective political mudslinging for most of WOR. Shallan plays up things about her relationship with Jasnah to be a more appealing beard. [Previous #9 Is Now #33]

10. Kaladin has a meltdown in prison, breaks out of his cell. Just a little bit more stormlight...Shouts of alarm. Aaah glowing Assassin in white! Kaladin panics more. Adolin handles the situation like a champ. Kaladin maybe briefly kidnaps him.

11. Nale goes after kaladin instead of lift. Ohhh so many thoughts for parallels.

12. Syl immediately dive bombs pattern when kaladin and shallan meet. Really early radiant reveal but just to each other. Kaladin does not trust her but doesn't want to reveal his own status so just watches her super intensely...since she's also constantly watching him too, yes, this gets misinterpreted. See au 3 through 5 but more discreet. Veil is the one draggng him from the barracks for late night 'training sessions' [these are actually training sessions but veil flirts outrageously with kaladin when anyones in earshot. So.] that distracts things a bit.

13. Adolin, suspicious after the Assassin in White fight, was secretly following kaladin at night. Sees him step off a ledge into a chasm (I just reread the section and was like?! You glanced over your shoulder once?!). Adolin spends the whole night stewing in regret, anger, grief, guilt (I was there. I could have yelled. Should have done something. I didn't realize...I didn't know. I didn't know anything). Next morning Kaladin is on guard duty and adolin flips his shit, suddenly remembering that the whole reason he was suspicious of this guy was because he inexplicably survived a several hundred foot drop.

14. Kaladin barely manages to hold it together just long enough to out himself as radiant right after prison. Part One, Part two

15. Kaladin does NOT hold it together after getting arrested.

16. Kaladin swears third oath early. Next few weeks involve a lot of hiding glowing bridgeman squire antics and gaslighting people about kaladin's intermittently light eyes.

17. In the initial confrontation with Szeth, Kaladin pushes a bit harder about the radiants being back, Szeth spirals a bit more, crashing realization that he isn't truthless...

17a.  Earlier radiant reveal: szeth surrenders the honor blade and then immediately collapses into the ground. Kaladin drags him and the blade upstairs. Has to reveal himself now because 1) kaladin what the fuck how and 2) the assassin is mumbling about radiants. 17b ANGST: szeth surrenders the honor blade and immediately kills himself with kaladin's weapons. Kaladin takes honorblade, collapses on way back because it's draining his stormlight, maybe messing with sylbond. When he wakes up hes injured, surrounded by lighteyes and a handful of his men...handles it badly because Very Specific Shardblade Winning Trauma. Crazy two nickles moment. Downside: cries a lot in front of people he'd rather not have cried in front of. Upside: dalinar believes him about amaram now. Public windrunner powers, but obscured Radiant reveal because glowing assassin sword is very clearly granting magic powers. Weird interactions of honorblade bond and nahel bond. Lot of interesting fallout from Dalinar having his very own Mystical Assassin now.

18. Kaladin sends Syl to spy on the 'horneater princess', one sided radiant discovery. When she sends pattern to spy on bridgeboy, he somehow notices. Shallan does not handle it well. 

19. Something something people put together all the impossible stuff Kaladin's done with all the impossible stuff the Blackthorn did as a youth, combined with one of bridge four drunkenly talking about their best theories for the Captains 'mysterious backstory,' combined with Dalinar literally calling Kaladin son and seemingly overnight the warcamps are convinced that Kaladin is Dalinar's bastard child.

20. (COLLABORATIVE with @gnecrognomicon) Instead of being thrown in prison, Elhokar orders Kaladin be strung up for the Stormfather's judgement. Part One, Part Two

21 to 30 Non Words of Radiance AUs

22. Way of kings au where the beggars of alethkar are rounded up for the war effort. Jezrian, of course, ends up on bridge four.

23. Kaladin time travel au to way of kings only the transition is a bit like a spren going through the cognitive to material realm transfer. Not all there. Heartwarming bridge four bonding slightly to the left - sure the mans crazy but he just looks so...disappointed when we dont help with the injured, and he shares his food like an idiot. How does someone seven foot tall and stronger than a chull make axehound pup eyes. We're not following him though. He's not our lead - holy heralds balls is he glowing??  Bit more of a symbol than a friend, but a symbol that you take turns holding at night because he has such bad nightmares and also hes clingy. 

24. COLLABORATIVE / stone soup with @sweetteaanddragons : adolin and kaladin time travel to way of kings. Kaldin brooding about how to escape AND save all his men AND the world until adolin barges in and buys everyone. 

'Thank the almighty,' Kaladin thought with almost painful relief, watching Adolin argue haughtily with a growing swarm of Thadeus's lighteyes. 'I never thought I'd actually appreciate having a rich friend.' He would, of course, rather die than admit this. "I had it handled," he growled, when the two finally managed to speak inconspicuously, each weaving amongst a thousand confused former bridgeman, speaking quietly with several, until they were able to meet in the middle with reasonable subtlety, all things considered. "That's great, Kal," Adolin said cheerfully, clearly not buying a word. "Say, how would you feel about doing some, you know..." He waved a hand, earning a raised eyebrow from Kaladin. "Glowy stuff for my Father," his voice dropped from a subtle hush to a slightly conspicuous whisper. "So he doesn't disinherit me. I did not have permission for this."  Both pairs of eyes flicked to the side, the Blackthorn's towering figure approaching like a Stormwall. "Uh. Sooner rather than later perhaps."

26. Oathbringer/row au. Adolin doesn’t kill sadeus. Mostly just excuse to dunk on Sadeus for trading one (1) shardblade for mythical warrior who can make his own shardblade. oh look more of your former slaves are glowing now. and THEY make shardblades too!

27. Elhokar and Kaladin time travel from Elhokar's death in oathbringer to way of kings. Part one, Part Two

27B. Elhokar solo time travels back from Oathbringer death to Way of Kings

28. Moash tells kaladin about beef with elokhar early. This derails the entire plot of the series. [EDIT, This au was previously #1, before I abruptly realized it was WOK, Not WOR]

31 to 40 Post Winds and Truth Wild Speculation

31. Szeth kaladin pity fuck time travel au words of radiance. Bridge four roasts the shit out of kaladin. Kaladin is doing everything in his power to avoid implying "knowledge of future" which makes the timeline of their relationship deeply confusing.

32. Szeth kaladin time travel au post book 5, they get their memories back in the high storm right before canon first meeting. Szeth sort of stumbles in, halfheartedly attempting a confused assassination.

33. [EDIT: Previously AU Number 9] Kaladin time travel back to wor, book 5 gone wrong. Deeply terrifying from outsider pov. Captain of the Kholin guard, bridgefour leader, is suddenly Full fourth oath windrunner talking about how humans are the voidbringers, they actually need to support the parshendi in bringing one last controlled desolation, and then kill the heralds and also god. Don't worry not our god. Different god. Our god is already dead. If someone else travels back with him then it swings around to a lil bit funny.

34. Post winds and truth, pre sunlit man, crossover with the twilight of mistborn era 2 (i think the cosmere timeline could make sense but if not, oh well). Kaladin gets a boon from his god(s). Requests to learn more about mental health. Has to go to another planet to do so, because mental health research on Roshar sucks. Scadrial's god seems (relatively) friendly and their planet has developed antidepressants AND wellness seminars. Shenanigans with Very Old Wax and the gang.

35. Jasnah, Dalinar, and Renarin (surviving Kholin Radiants) travel from End of World to right after Gavilar's death. Crack. Outline

All of the above (plus other fandoms if you keep scrolling back) will be tagged with 'my au' The above, plus my canon stormlight and other cosmere meta, technically canon compliant fanfic drabbles, or other things that i've written but don't fit in an au will be tagged 'nevertheless cosmere'

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 28

Hello! This is the last chapter before the epilogue. I'm so grateful for everyone who's still reading this little big story. Longest thing I've ever written. It caps out at nearly 60k words. I want to thank the people who have been reading this since day one and all the people that joined us for the ride along the way.

I love reading your comments and theories. I especially loved reading the freak outs over cliffhangers and the abuse I piled on our poor boys. But I am a sucker for happy endings.

Also a little treat for @goodolefashionedloverboi who wanted this way back in part 21.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24  Pt 25 Pt 26 Pt 27

***

“Steve!” Robin called out. “Your boyfriend is here!”

Steve came running out of the back room. His grin nearly split his face in two.

He lifted Eddie up and spun him around. Eddie laughed out loud.

“Put me down, you menace!” Eddie said between gasps of giggles.

Steve gently put him down. And then kissed him right in front of Robin.

Who promptly fake gagged.

“Shush you,” Steve said. “You should be grateful I didn’t let him keep me in bed this morning.”

Robin gasped. “Betrayal! And in front of my coffee no less!” She covered her coffee with her hands as if to shield it from the scene in front of her.

Eddie laughed. “Sorry there Birdie, it was a very near thing. I had to be bribed!”

She shook her head. “Go on, get! Before you ruin my coffee with your sugary sweetness.”

Steve and Eddie just smiled and walked back to Steve’s room, hands in each other’s back pockets.

Once they got to the room, Eddie was all over Steve. Hands tangled in his hair, lips on that perfect mouth. Gripping the back of Eddie’s shirt was all he could do to keep upright.

“Baby,” Eddie whined when they finally broke apart. “I missed you so much. I promise to never leave you like that again.”

Steve nuzzled their noses together and sighed happily. “I know, Eds. I missed you too.”

Eddie stepped back to take off his shirt and Steve scanned over the expanse of his chest.

Eddie caught the look and grinned. “No new tattoos, sweetheart. I don’t trust anyone else but you.”

Steve blushed. “That’s nice to hear, beautiful. But I was just ogling my boyfriend.”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.” He walked over the chair and straddled it, resting his head on his folded arms.

“Let’s get this bad boy done, shall we?” Steve sighed happily.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” Eddie murmured. “Can’t wait.”

Steve started up his gun and got to work. All the while they chatted about the lighter stuff of the last three weeks. Eddie caught up on all the shop gossip.

“Honestly,” Steve said, “if Robin doesn’t pick soon, she’s going to be in the world’s most awkward polycule.”

Eddie laughed. “She’ll figure it out. But I guess Birdie really has a thing for redheads.”

Steve chuckled too. “Oh, yeah. Pretty much always had. Except once with Nancy back in high school. But that was more a ‘everyone had a crush on Nancy’ thing then a specific crush.”

Eddie hummed. “You said you had a thing for curly haired smart people with soulful eyes. You were talking about me too, right?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Oh yeah. I’m not a subtle person when it comes to my crushes. Pretty much everyone figures it out before I do. Except in your case. I’ve had a crush on you since high school.”

“Me too, Stevie.”

“It’s about time we got our heads out of our asses, then.”

Eddie murmured his agreement and they settled into a comfortable silence.

*

Robin was still going to kick Eddie’s ass for making Steve sad for two weeks, but after hearing it from him how much he hated touring and how much he missed Steve, she forgave him for the most part. He sounded like he had been more miserable than Steve and that was honestly saying something.

So she went to Corroded Coffin’s return concert at the Nightmare Holes and cheered loudly for them.

She also knew she had to chose between Chrissy and Vickie soon otherwise they were going to have a cat fight.

But Robin didn’t want to chose. She liked the attention from both girls plus it would be super awkward if she chose Vickie and Chrissy stayed at the shop. But it would also be awkward working with Vickie at the front desk if she picked Chrissy.

It was a mess.

But then a lightbulb dawned over her head. Maybe she didn’t have to chose.

She spoke to them on their way to the club and ended up dancing with both of them all night.

*

Steve waved at the rest of the band as Eddie dragged him to his car, eager to get back to Steve’s apartment.

Steve laughed as Eddie shoved him into the passenger seat of his own car and got in the driver’s seat.

“Someone’s in a hurry there,” Steve teased.

“Stevie darling,” Eddie said. “I am vibrating out of my skin here with anticipation and if I don’t see that tattoo of yours soon, I’m might go absolutely feral. Do you understand?”

He laughed. “Yeah, baby, I hear you.”

Eddie breathed out and drove to the apartment. They walked up the stairs and once the door was closed behind they were all over each other. Hands and mouths all over as they tumbled onto the sofa.

Shirts were the first to fly, Steve careful with Eddie’s still healing tattoo.

“Baby,” Eddie whined. “Is your tattoo healed?”

Steve wiggled underneath him. “For the most part, it’s been about two weeks.”

Eddie let out another whine. “This won’t hurt you?”

Steve shook his head. “The scab is already gone. I heal fast.”

Eddie undid Steve’s jeans and slid them down his legs. He looked up at Steve for permission for the final layer of clothes to be removed. Steve nodded and lifted his hips for Eddie to slide off his underwear.

Eddie gasped when he saw it.

His thumb gently rubbed over the tattoo. It wasn’t very large, about the size of a half dollar. It was a simple heart with bat wings and a little crown.

“Baby, is this us?” he asked, breathless.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I love it, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered. “And when my back is done, I am going to get it done on me, too.”

Steve’s eyes glistened with happy tears. “Okay, yeah. Suddenly I need that.”

Eddie kissed him deeply. “Me, too. I need you so much.”

They got Eddie’s pants and underwear off and Steve moaned at the long, graceful lines of his boyfriend’s lean body.

“Fuck, Eds,” Steve murmured. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

Eddie threw his head back and moaned. They had to be careful with Eddie’s still healing back, but they managed to make do and had a great time.

Once they had cleaned up and dressed, Steve began making dinner.

“So how did your meeting with Murray Bauman go?” he asked as he fried up the chicken for fajitas.

“It went great,” Eddie said. “Cec is still going to bring the contract to one of his law professors to make sure he didn’t miss any hidden bullshit, but yeah. It seems like Corroded Coffin is going to make an EP.”

Steve hummed. “And that different than a full record, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, nodding. “It’s about five songs. But it’s what most new artists get. The record company doesn’t want to spend a boat load of money on an LP only for the band to not go anywhere.”

“That makes sense,” Steve murmured. “And you guys are going to keep working at the Nightmare Holes?”

Eddie nodded again. “Yeah, and if the record hits big, we can renegotiate our contract with Rick to get more money each week.”

“That’s great,” Steve said with a smile.

“And you and your genius schedule is going to work out great,” Eddie said with an answering grin. “They’ll even send a car for us every time, too.”

“Wow,” Steve said. “That’s awesome. Looks like I’m going have a rockstar boyfriend.”

“A perfect compliment to my tattoo artist boyfriend.”

Steve came over to where Eddie was seated at the table to kiss him. “Perfect indeed.”

They had dinner and sat down to watch a movie. They curled up on the sofa and just enjoyed each other’s company. Like they had so many times before.

Other than the sex, they were still Eddie and Steve. They still enjoyed the same movies, food, and music that they did before they got together.

They were just finally on the same page.

Once the movie was over, Eddie pulled out his guitar.

“You ready for this, baby?” he asked as Steve turned to face him on the couch.

Eddie played the first song he wrote on the road, the one that made Jeff and the others cry.

Tears streamed down Steve’s cheeks, too. “I’m sorry you were so lonely, Eds. I’m glad you’re home now.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he murmured. “But I think you’ll like this one more.”

And he play the most beautiful, heart-stoppingly romantic song Steve had ever heard and it was for him. About them. And he was crying for a completely different reason now.

“Sunshine,” Steve said through his tears. “That was amazing. They both were. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

Eddie kissed him fiercely over the guitar. “Just you wait, Stevie. You’re going to get a life time of sappy love songs.”

“And I’ll cherish every single one.”

They got ready for bed and snuggled up together, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

*

The next morning led to morning sex, showers, and breakfast, never too far apart.

They were getting ready for a walk in the park when they got to witness a Robin Buckley walk of shame.

She opened the door and jumped when she saw them. “Shit!”

Eddie and Steve shared a glance.

“And what time do you call this, young lady,” Eddie teased.

Robin blushed all the way to her roots. She pulled out her phone. “Uh...11:13am?”

Eddie cackled as Steve grinned.

“And which lovely lady did you go home with last night?” Steve asked.

Robin’s blush deepened. “Both?”

Eddie and Steve glanced at each other again.

“You want to repeat that?” Eddie asked.

She shrugged. “I couldn’t decide. And Chrissy had hit on Vickie before, which lead to us talking to Vickie and once it was made clear that it wasn’t just a one time threesome she decided she was down for poly relationship.”

Eddie and Steve both held up their fists for her to bump and she fist bumped them both at the same time.

“You go girl!” Eddie crowed.

“Hell, yeah, Robs,” Steve said. “That’s awesome!”

“Where are you two love birds going?” Robin asked.

“Just for a walk in the park.”

“Have fun.”

***

Epilogue

Tag list: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

[pinkestmenace]

Broken Hato

IT'S DONE! I'VE FINALLY ESCAPED YOMI EDITING HELL!

ଘ(੭'°▿°)φ__ Holy shiitake, this thing is 110K+ words. It single-handedly makes up a third of my Ao3 word count!

NOTE: I'll be posting one chapter a day again. (23 total) Complete!

* * * * * * * * *

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23

* * * * * * * * *

Summary:

All's well that sleeps well in Dream Land. But peace never lasts long here. When a strange meteorite crashes in the Jam Jungle and rumours of a frightening bird monster follow, the locals ask Dream Land for help. To honour the new alliance, King Dedede volunteers Meta Knight to help them get to the heart of the matter. As the complications pile up he realises he may be dealing with a threat of Galactic proportions. Did he bite off more than he can chew?

Back in Dream Land, Galacta Knight grows agitated. He cannot keep hiding forever, can he? His aching body, his growing restlessness, his ruinous memories and unanswered questions...this cannot last! It must come to a head! But before he can vent his frustration he must sate his gnawing hunger.

Meanwhile, Kirby stands in as a delivery driver, bringing pastries to a weirdly shy customer. Someone who knows him, and says he's not allowed to tell anyone about them. But, uh-oh, he lets something slip to Meta Knight! Will they be okay?

Now the stage is set and the collision seems unavoidable. But that's just the start of act one. Can they pick up the pieces and build something new? Improvise a better ending this time? Or is the script of fate set in stone?

[heademptysimirror]

STAR TO STAR MASTERPOST

Marx and Magolor have been tasked by King Dedede and Meta Knight to obtain an artifact hidden somewhere in Ripplestar's side of Gamble Galaxy.

Will the planets they visit survive their shenanigans? Will they survive EACH OTHER? It's up to you to find out!

Chapters/Pages below!

Prologue

Pages 1, 2 & 3

Page 4 & 5

Page 6

Page 7

Pages 8 & 9

Page 10

Chapter 1

Pages 11 & 12

Pages 13, 14 & 15

Pages 16, 17 & 18

Pages 19 & 20

Pages 21, 22 & 23

Pages 24, 25 & 26

Pages 27, 28 & 29

Pages 30, 31 & 32

Pages 33, 34 & 35

Pages 36, 37 & 38

Pages 39, 40 & 41

Pages 42, 43 & 44

Pages 45, 46 & 47

Pages 48, 49 & 50

Pages 51, 52 & 53

Pages 54, 55 & 56

Pages 57, 58 & 59

Pages 60, 61 & 62

Pages 63, 64 & 65

Pages 66, 67 & 68

Pages 69, 70 & 71

Chapter 2

Pages 72, 73 & 74

[indigovigilance]

Sodom and Gomorrah: A Speculative Meta

on Ao3: Sodom and Gomorrah: A Speculative Meta

Sodom and Gomorrah is the story of a land so steeped in sin that many prayed to God for intercession, and God sent two angels to see for themselves if the rumors were true, and determine based on their testimony whether the cities should be destroyed.

In Season 1, we learn that Sandolphon was there, doing a lot of smiting and turning people into salt. The way that Aziraphale talks about it, we are led to believe that he was there too, bearing unhappy witness to the destruction, his plastered-on smile faltering as his vision fades into the middle distance:

In this meta I am taking an alternate stance to the wonderfully presented interpretation by @queerfables in my speculation of what happened in Sodom and its relevance to the GO story arc overall, if canonized. I hope that readers will consider the merits of both arguments in their own formulations of Aziraphale and Heaven in the GO universe.

TW: discussions of homophobia, sexual assault, death & destruction

Verses are taken from this translation of Genesis, chapters 18 and 19.

Genesis 18

20 Then the Lord said, “The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great and their sin so grievous

21 that I will go down and see if what they have done is as bad as the outcry that has reached me. If not, I will know.”

(Notably, the allegations made against Sodom and Gomorrah are never discussed. It is simply left at “sin so grievous.” Though it seems like there may be more information in Genesis 12)

But God herself did not go down to Sodom, instead sending two angels. I, like queerfables, read this and quickly came to the conclusion that for GO narrative purposes, the two angels that God sent to Sodom were Aziraphale and Sandolphon, where the former is playing tour guide to the latter, who has the real authority in the situation.

Upon arrival, the angels are met by Lot; he invites them to stay with him. At first they refuse, saying they will stay in the square, but he insists.

Genesis 19

4 Before they had gone to bed, all the men from every part of the city of Sodom—both young and old—surrounded the house. 

5 They called to Lot, “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us so that we may know [have sex with] them.”

There is a lot of baggage to unpack from these two lines, especially in the 2023 context of politics in the Western hemisphere. Same-sex marriage is nearly ubiquitous, a near turnaround from only twenty years ago, but so is homophobic rhetoric, and the story of Sodom and Gomorrah is cited a lot for those purposes. Intersectional communities of faith have done a lot of work to try to reinterpret these two verses, insisting that what God finds so abhorrent about the actions of the men of Sodom is not that they are homosexual but rather that they are attempting to gang-rape two newly arrived strangers in their city.

For the real world, this is a very important discussion and a solid position to maintain, if one wishes to defend the concept of a benevolent God who made homosexual, bisexual, transgender, and every other flavor of human as lovingly and intentionally as was made every cisgender heterosexual person.

But we’re not talking about real-world God. We’re talking about the God in Good Omens. And She is not a very nice person. 

We have only to look at the contract that would allow the murder and then replacement of Job’s children, or the abject poverty under which Elspeth suffers that forces her to commit [apparent] atrocities, and ultimately drive her to attempt suicide. Whatever your feelings may be about the God of our shared meatspace, the God of Good Omens is not a character we are meant to admire, sympathize with, or make excuses for.

Returning to Sodom in the Good Omens universe.

I propose that it is thematically in keeping that the men of Sodom were not attempting to commit gangrape, but rather, they saw Sandolphon and fell in love on the spot. Because yes, Aziraphale is a fine scholarly-looking fellow, but it’s approximately 2000 B.C., the Bronze Age. Sodom and Gomorrah are most likely agrarian societies, and Sandolphon looks like he could throw a bale of hay like a javelin. He’s a whole lot of man, and the men of Sodom are into it. I mean, c'mon, Paul Chahidi in some biblical garb, is, uhh...

...not an eyesore, iykwim. [image source: imdb.com]

So they go to Lot’s house and ask if they can see this man, in hopes that they can ask him on a date. They are smitten by Sandolphon. Sure, the ultimate goal may be to have sex with them, but not right there on Lot’s doorstep, and the gross misquoting can be attributed to Sandolphon’s own libelous report of events, not to the Sodomites themselves. History is written by the victors, after all.

While we’re at it, let’s consider Lot’s response:

Genesis 19

6 Lot went outside to meet them and shut the door behind him 

7 and said, “No, my friends. Don’t do this wicked thing. 

8 Look, I have two daughters who have never slept with a man. Let me bring them out to you, and you can do what you like with them. But don’t do anything to these men, for they have come under the protection of my roof.”

In the true spirit of Good Omens comedy, I can envision Lot walking out among these men, complaining that not one of them has asked permission to court or marry either of his daughters of maritable age, and perhaps rather than simping for his houseguest, perhaps they would consider dating one of them instead. Is it homophobic? Sure, but I’m not here to defend Lot; he doesn’t need it. Because standing next to Sandolphon, he’s an absolute poppet.

(The remaining stanzas regarding the Sodomites breaking into Lot’s house, I am going to selectively set aside and chalk that up to Sandolphon blowing some Sodomite choice statements about Lot being a homophobic asshole way out of proportion.)

Sandolphon, a True Believer, is not about to stand for this insult to his heavenly purity. Angels do not have relations with humans, and to insinuate that he would even consider it is blasphemy. He takes it as a personal insult that the Sodomites would propose such a thing. He finds this to be evidence enough that the Sodomites are truly corrupt and worthy of destruction.

I feel the need to emphasize here that while this contains some distinctly queer themes, Sandolphon is not angry because they are men; he is angry because they are human, a different species from himself (in the same way that angels are different species from demons), and furthermore that anything resembling love the way humans do it is disgusting and vile to him.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, is standing helplessly on the sidelines, desperately trying and failing to de-escalate the situation. But it’s no use, Sandolphon has already made up his mind. There’s nothing left for Aziraphale to do but to try to save as many people as he can, beginning with Lot and his family.

Genesis 19

12 The two [angels] said to Lot, “Do you have anyone else here—sons-in-law, sons or daughters, or anyone else in the city who belongs to you? Get them out of here, 

13 because we are going to destroy this place. The outcry to the Lord against its people is so great that he has sent us to destroy it.”

Again, in the fashion that GO takes liberty with biblical narrative, I propose that it is Aziraphale alone who warns Lot that Sandolphon will destroy Sodom come sunrise, and sends him out into the night to gather his family and get them out as quickly as possible. I propose, additionally, that Aziraphale is the one who leads Lot and his daughters by the hand out of Sodom and then protects the village of Zoar from destruction so that they can take shelter there.

Genesis 19:

15 With the coming of dawn, the angels urged Lot, saying, “Hurry! Take your wife and your two daughters who are here, or you will be swept away when the city is punished.”

16 When he hesitated, the [angels] grasped his hand and the hands of his wife and of his two daughters and led them safely out of the city, for the Lord was merciful to them.

17 As soon as they had brought them out, one of them said, “Flee for your lives! Don’t look back, and don’t stop anywhere in the plain! Flee to the mountains or you will be swept away!”

18 But Lot said to them, “No, my lords,[or singular, lord] please! 

19 Your[singular] servant has found favor in your[singular] eyes, and you[singular] have shown great kindness to me in sparing my life. But I can’t flee to the mountains; this disaster will overtake me, and I’ll die. 

20 Look, here is a town near enough to run to, and it is small. Let me flee to it—it is very small, isn’t it? Then my life will be spared.”

21 He said to him, “Very well, I will grant this request too; I will not overthrow the town you speak of. 

22 But flee there quickly, because I cannot do anything until you reach it.” (That is why the town was called Zoar.[“small”])

While yes, this is a fictional interpretation of a biblical scripture, let’s take something from the fact that Lot is supposed to be addressing two angels, but the pronouns he uses to do so are all singular in the original Hebrew: that is to say, it seems like he is only talking to one angel. So in the victor-edited retrospective, the story is written to seem like two angels were rescuing him, but from the faithfully quoted words of his own mouth, it was only one. It seems like Sandolphon tried to write himself in as one of the good guys but couldn't bring himself to actually change the words that were coming from Lot's mouth. (Again, this is unnecessary work to do for the biblical narrative to be molded to a GO narrative, but it is an interesting feature of the original text nonetheless.)

At sunrise, the destruction begins: 

Genesis 19

23 By the time Lot reached Zoar, the sun had risen over the land.

24 Then the Lord rained down burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah—from the Lord out of the heavens.

25 Thus [S]he overthrew those cities and the entire plain, destroying all those living in the cities—and also the vegetation in the land. 

26 But Lot’s wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.

So goes the story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah: The cities are slandered before God, who sends Aziraphale and Sandolphon to investigate; Sandolphon is so incensed by human men flirting with him that he determines that the city shall be destroyed in the morning, and Aziraphale races against the clock to save as many as he can, knowing that he cannot save everyone. He bears witness as the men who resemble himself so much, who committed no greater crime than to seek out a forbidden love, perish in a rain of fire and brimstone. He must feign heavenly delight that a sinful blight was erased from the world, while mourning thousands of lost souls. He wonders if they have been sent to Hell. Even Lot’s wife, whose only crime was to question, to wonder what is behind her and perhaps regret leaving it behind, is turned to salt. He sees the vicious glee of Sandolphon exacting his revenge for the crime of impugning his celestial celibacy. He wonders what Sandolphon would do to him if he ever found out about the stirrings in his heart for a demon who, 500 years prior, had sat beside him on a rock, looking out over sea, comforting him as he nursed his wounded faith. He wonders just how far along with Heaven he can go, and what the consequences will be when he dares to say, “I will go no further.”

~~~

[image source: Wessex Archaeology]

For those who (like me) are interested, the story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah seems to have been merged from two historical events, which was common in a period preserved primarily by oral history. The tale seems to resemble a volcanic event that occurred nearby and around that time, but Sodom and Gomorrah were most likely destroyed by an earthquake and a subsequent flood, since they were located in the Jordan Plain, the lowest dry land in the world, a full quarter of a mile below sea level at its lowest, and very near the Dead Sea. Additionally, the area is rich in bitumen, sulfur-rich near-surface petroleum deposits that, when disturbed by a major earthquake, may have sent hot tar flying into the air, which if it landed on anything flammable would give the impression that fire and brimstone were raining down.

✨ the more you know ✨

~~~

Blending together the biblical canon and archaeological speculation, I'm going to make a wild, unsubstantiated proposal that Crowley turns the people of Sodom into fish so that they survive the flood. Because one biblical flood was enough, and he'd heard around the water cooler that She had promised not to do that again (lying liar). This creates a tentative connection with the raining fish we see in the title credits of both seasons, and I'm also going to reference it in an upcoming meta.

[bunnygirlwhore]

Doing a replay of Deltarune chapters 1 and 2 because I am hyperfixing after watching Device Theory Part 3 (go watch it, its by mollystars on youtube, I dont care that the full series is 10 hours watch it now please its so GOOD) and I have decided to write down random thoughts.

1. Why does Kris specifically plug in the tv?? Like, assuming a pre-meditated making the chapter 3 dark world, the tv is gonna be there no matter what, why does it being plugged in matter?

2. wait beautiful day is mentioned twice so early on, looking out the window in Kris's room and Toriel says it in the car.

3. Why did Toriel say Asriel's name in all caps like that?

4. Still don't know what to make of every clock in this game being broken.

5. I remember hearing Jockington has the same talksprite multiple times in the files, and he has the thing about having one picture of a soccerball over and over. If he has some third thing that repeats like this then there's like, something up with that.

6. The options of "not yet" and "yes. Ask." Still seem odd, IDK what to make of them.

7. Thinking about something one of my partners said and I can't help but wonder if the guitar in Susie's music is the same as the one in the song that plays when you seal the fountains.

8. Now realizing both the scene's with Susie outside the classroom have semi-meta stuff. Chapter 1 has the allusion to Asriel and Chara dying in Undertale, and Chapter 2 has the references to the wait between chapters.

9. I swear if you hit enter fast enough at the how's that sound choicer there's like, a frame of a new textbox.

10. Whatever happened to Kris at the bunker is like, gossip around town. I wonder if that's what Susie is referencing in the "Guess you have experiencing running away" line.

11. I wonder if we'll ever get to hear more of that ocean noise.

12. I wonder it at some point in the game perserving Kris's save will have an effect.

13. There's no way we don't come back to the cliffs at some point.

14. The like, green funky gaster narrated title screen calls copying files a division. That implies something is being spread evenly between the files. What could that be?

15. I wonder if the glowshard will do more than just be an investment.

16. Seriously what the fuck is up with this closet.

17. Could those monoliths in the background be chalk? Erasers? What the hell are those?

18. How did Lancer get up there?

19. The monoliths in the background before the jump down to town seem to have an intentional shape to them.

20. Why does Kris keep looking at the screen after cutscenes.

21. I wonder if Castle Town will get even more buildings later, and what implications an Inn might have. Dark Worlds are compared to dreams so often, what if you sleep in one?

22. Why does Ralsei with hood on have a talksprite? Is that gonna come up again later?

23. Ralsei has fur and two layers on, does he not get warm? Do Darkners not have to deal with temperature based discomfort?

24. I find the distinction between EARTH and WORLD to be interesting. All the weird all caps words in the prophecy really.

25. Why does prophecy drawing Ralsei have the cloak like that? Is that why the talksprite exists? Will Ralsei put the cloak back on to be like "I gotta, its for the prophecy."

26. I wonder, since the soul seems to leave Kris during fights, at some point will they use an enemy attack to go do something? Will they ask like, Ralsei or someone to do a long attack so they can go off to do something?

27. Odd how i-frames carry over between attacks.

28. Why did Kris look at the camera for a single frame.

29. Why does the exit used in castle town in chapter 2 not exist in chapter 1?

30. Still wonder why Ralsei looks at the camera like that before closing the door.

31. I always forget about getting candy from the other trees.

32. Wait in one of the x-flatter things Ralsei mentions EXP, which like, that does not normally come up in this game? Like at all? Now that I think about it, is there even any way to earn EXP?

33. Did Susie crack the door or was it just like that?

34. I know its nothing, but Ralsei using the word proceede feels so fucking ominous

35. You can get close enough to C. Round that it does the "!" but you don't encounter the creachure. It stops dancing and just kinda sits there. Amusing.

[killerandhealerqueen]

Asks time, let's go

Ask game for fic writers- 1, 3, 5, 16, 24, 28, 30, 37, 39, 44, 58, 72

Ask game for fic writers #2- 10, 15, 16, 30, 32, 38, 44

Fun meta asks - 3, 4, 7, 9, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 23, 25

Took, my beloved!! Alright y'all, buckle the fuck up, this shit gone be long

1. do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road?

For some fics, yes, I do know how they're going to end when they start, but most times we're just kinda...figuring it out as we go. And sometimes that's the fun part because when just writing, you can sometimes come up with shit better than when you outlined/planned it

3. on a scale of 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

I enjoy it. So like...an 8-9? Most of my stories are romance anyways so it's not that hard for me

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

Nope. I don't make playlists for my fics

16. where is your favorite place to write?

Well, I write anywhere, but my bed is always a good place. Things just tend to flow there

24. on average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

Depends on the fic. Sometimes I can get pages done, sometimes nothing. But on average, I'd say...1.5-2k? Sometimes more? Like I said, just depends

28. handwritten notes or typed notes?

Typed. My hands cramp after writing for too long. And it's just easier to type if there's a lot of information

30. most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

"You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you know" ~ A.A Milne

My parents say it to me a lot whenever I have imposter syndrome/am doubting myself. It helps a lot

37. when creating characters, what comes first: appearance, backstory, motivation, personality, something else?

Now, I don't create OC's, but personality, I think would come first for me. I always like characters who have personalities that don't match their appearance (and personalities are more interesting to work with anyways because they're shaped by backstory, motivation, etc.)

39. are you an avid reader?

I am! When I'm not reading fanfiction and I want to get away from the computer, I'll pick up a book. Sometimes if I'm really into one, I can crush one in a day/couple of hours. I've always been a voracious reader

44. any writing advice you want to share?

Just write what you enjoy. You're not writing to please anyone else but yourself (and maybe a few loyal readers). So like...don't write what's trendy or popular, write what makes you happy. It makes the fic much more enjoyable for you and for your readers

58. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it?

Hmm...I think for my fic The Tiger is Out, I had to google/duckduckgo the name of the poem the fic was inspired by because I couldn't remember it

72. what do you do if a scene gets too serious?

Oh boy, take a break. There are a lot of scenes in the Killer and Healer rewrite that make me cry/make my heart hurt so I have to take a break from writing it/do something else for a little bit to get a breather. I mean, I can push through (which I've done before) but you feel a little empty afterwards. Or I'll go talk with my discord chat and tell them what just happened to get my mind off the scene

ask game for fanfic writers | send me asks

10. How do you stay motivated to finish what you’ve started?

Ooo, great question. Most times, if a story has gripped me by the throat, I'll keep working on it till it's completed. As for multi-chapters, sometimes I fall outta hyperfixation with them and I don't wanna work on them anymore, but then I also don't wanna leave them unfinished indefinitely (which is fine, of course but not for me) so I finish them (and I tend to feel better after I finish them, sometimes because I'm genuinely happy it's finished or sometimes I've relieved that it's over)

15. OCs or no OCs?

For me, no OCs, just because I don't need them in my stories. But more the merrier for others, y'all have fun creating your little guys

16. Do you use sentence starters, writing prompts and/or fandom headcanons for your fanfics?

Most of my fics started out as writing prompts, tbh. My Killer and Healer fics now are mostly my own ideas/aus...unless i'm feeling really uninspired. But I do still use sentence starters or other ideas to kind of spark something, if again, my brain can't figure out what it wants to write

30. What writing software do you use?

I use Microsoft Word and it's the only writing software I will ever use

32. Past or present tense?

Past, for the most part. Sometimes my headcanons will be in present but my fics are mainly in past

38. Do you partake in any fanfic/writing events? (Big bangs, zines, NaNoWriMo, etc?)

I do not, actually. I did NaNoWriMo in like...8th grade but nothing since

44. Does fanart of your fanfic exist?

It does! For my fic Violence Is Never the Answer...Except When It Is, @a-single-log-bridge drew Chen Yuzhi with a katana! You can see the fanart here! (With this I am giving y'all permission to draw my fics, please god, draw my fics, I beg)

ask game for fanfic writers! ⌨️🖊📓📝 | send me asks

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Honestly, have no idea

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Gonna copy my scene from my other ask that I got about this question, hang on

From my fic My One and Only (Killer and Healer mignon/vampire au)

         “Jiang Yuelou” he breathed before he quickly knelt before him and cupped his face in his hands.          “Jiang Yuelou” he whispered.  Jiang Yuelou, however, didn’t answer, causing Chen Yuzhi to whimper before he reached out and carefully pulled him into his arms, hugging him gently but tightly.          “I’m sorry.  Jiang Yuelou, I’m so sorry.  I lied…everything that I said was a lie.  I’m sorry.  I love you.  I really, really love you.  So please…please don’t leave me” he begged as he clung to him and buried his face in his neck.          “Don’t leave me.  Please don’t leave me” he pleaded.  Jiang Yuelou, however, didn’t answer again, causing Chen Yuzhi to let out another whimper before he hugged him tighter.          “Please” he whispered, just as two strong, but gentle, arms came around him and hugged him back.          “I won’t” a weak voice whispered, causing Chen Yuzhi to gasp and lift his head out of Jiang Yuelou’s neck as he looked at him with wide eyes.          “Jiang Yuelou” he breathed as Jiang Yuelou slowly lifted his head and smiled at him.          “Chen Yuzhi” he replied, causing Chen Yuzhi to let out a sob before he buried his face in his shoulder and hugged him tightly, making him smile weakly as he gave him a tight squeeze in return.          “I’m here.  I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere” he whispered. 

I just really like this scene because while Chen Yuzhi does like Jiang Yuelou throughout the fic, he's never like...expressed/reciprocated his feelings to Jiang Yuelou, who has. And now in this moment, when he's afraid Jiang Yuelou is going to die, he confesses that he loves him. And who doesn't love that trope, huh?

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

Um...someone's always gonna get whumped, I know that much. Also, descriptions/dialogue...I've always been told I'm good at those...as well as staying in character/characters feel like how they do in canon, no matter the au. So I guess that? Idk (I'm never good about answering questions about my personal writing style because I don't pay attention to that sort of thing)

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

Longfic. Always longfic, especially when it comes to Killer and Healer. I mean, look at my fucking word count on ao3. Do I look like a drabble writer to you? (No offense to anyone who does drabbles, just could not be me)

Most times, I am a pantser. I've learned that plotting kind of stifles my creativity. The only time "plotting" has worked for me is figuring out what's going to happen in each chapter of my fic The Demon and the Angel.

And no, I do not. I like writing my long fics and I like figuring stuff out on the go. That's what makes writing fun to me

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

They're each hard in their own way, but I guess personally titles. Summaries for me are easy because I just take like a line/passage out of my fic and use that as the summary. Tags can be tricky too because I wanna make sure I tag everything that I think is in my fic but sometimes I can't tag everything (though I do try)

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

At some point, I'm going to try a sci-fi fic, which I've never done before, so that'll be interesting. It's inspired by the Netflix Movie Rebel Moon and I think it'll be fun once I get around to it...and my brain stops plaguing me with other au ideas

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

My fic Monster Like Me had a completely different version before I decided I liked the current version better....but even getting to that version it took 3 rewrites, one complete deletion of the fic and original outline and a whole new rewrite to get to what it is today. And I have to say I like this version so much better than what it was originally. Did you know this fic took me almost a fucking month to write? That's the longest a oneshot has ever taken me. Ever

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Oh...I don't really have a lot of meta, at least not with the fic I'm currently working on. But with my Rebel Moon au, the idea actually came to me on my 7 hour plane ride home from Hawaii. I couldn't sleep at all nor did I play on my computer nor did I watch any movies...I just listened to music the entire time. And for most of the time, I listened to

on repeat. If you wanna read the rest of the story, I actually answered about the au over here

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Well, I write most of my stories like they're a movie/drama, so movie/drama would work, because I see my writing (or any writing for that matter) like it's a movie playing in my head

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

A Killer and Healer Howl's Moving Castle au. I've always loved Howl's Moving Castle and I think it would work great as a K&H au, but I just don't know a) which couple to use because it could work both ways and b) when I'm ever going to have time to write it (because I am plagued with other au ideas all the damn time)

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh man, talking about fic ideas with your friends. Just gushing about how scenes would work/play out, who characters would be (if I'm inspiring a fic off of a drama/anime/movie/manga), what certain scenes will entail...stuff like that. That shit is fun. I mean, writing is fun too because you're taking what's in your brain and putting it on paper, but like...just brainstorming with your friends is fun

Fun meta asks for writers | send me asks

[skylarmoon71]

Flash - Masterlist

Harry Wells (Pain)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20 - Final

Harry Wells (Love)

Oneshot

Cisco Ramon - (Dreams)

Oneshot

Eobard Thawne - (Traveler)

Oneshot

Extra 

Extra 2

Timeless Harrison Wells 

Oneshot

Extra

Extra 2

Extra 3

Timeless Wells (Speedster)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 

Chapter 9 

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26 - Final

Eobard Thawne (Time Master)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 A

Chapter 10 B

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17- Final

Extra

Harry Wells (Healing)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4- Final

Eobard Thawne - (Cupid)

Oneshot 

Extra 

Extra 2

Extra 3

Harry Wells (Smile)

Oneshot

Flash Imagine 

Oneshot

Extra

Harry Wells (Vampire)

Oneshot

Extra

Harry Wells (Angel)

Oneshot 

Extra

Eobard Thawne (AU) 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17 -Final

Extra

Harry Wells (Witch)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 B- Final

Eobard Thawne (Choices)

Oneshot

Extra

Harry Wells (Boss)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Extra

Timeless Wells (Solider)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28 - Final

E2 Harrison Wells (Metal)

Oneshot

Extra

Reverse Flash- Oneshot (Barrier)

Eobard Thawne- Oneshot (Empath)

Eobard Thwane Oneshot -(Change)

Harrison Wells (College Years) 

Oneshot

Extra 1

Extra 2

E2 Harrison Wells (Meta Reader)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 

chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14- Final

Savitar (Change)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 A

Chapter 4 B

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 

Savitar 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6- Final

Extra

Eobard Thawne (Speedster)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23 - Final

HR Wells

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19- Final

[captastra]

The collection of 19 fics I've written for Writer's Month 2023!

AO3 Series or full break down under the cut! Biggest shoutouts to @kourumi @poetikat and @kyber-infinitygems for all your support and assistance throughout this whole experience <3!

Day 1; Day 11

Suicide Squad: Recovery and Redemption (The Suicide Squad, Words: 5,492, Chapters: 2/?, Rating: T) (Chapter 2)

Living in a world with meta-humans hasn't stopped Renée Watts from doing what she does best, helping others as a nurse. But when she befriends one particular patient, she finds herself learning what it truly means help others. Rick Flag wasn't meant to live. Peacemaker had made sure of that back in Corto Maltese. But when he wakes up in a hospital months later, he finds himself left wondering: what will he do now? His sense of emptiness gets challenged when he befriends a nurse that shows him that there can still be purpose and recovery for him.

Day 2; Day 9; Day 15

Statesman: Four Roses (The Outer Worlds, Words: 10,214, Chapters: 3/?, Rating: T) (Chapter 2; Chapter 3)

Felix Millstone, aka Agent Whiskey of the Statesman agency, has devoted his life to taking down the underground criminal mastermind, Charles Rockwell. So when he is assigned a simple protection duty of a UDL scientist, Rhea Hawthorne, he feels all his hard work has been for naught. But as he comes to know Rhea, his secret plans to bring down Rockwell may come to harm his new companion.

Day 3; Day 10; Day 12; Day 27

A Beach Vacation (Bullet Train, Words: 3,776, Chapters: 4/4, Rating: T) (Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4)

Lily, Tangerine, and Lemon enjoy a beach vacation together.

Day 4; Day 19

I Don't Need Your Love (The Suicide Squad, Words: 2,707, Chapters 2/2, Rating: G) (Chapter 2)

Renée and Rick are faced with the reality of their world when Rick is called to lead another suicide mission by Amanda Waller.

Day 5

To New Beginnings (Mass Effect: Andromeda, Words: 2,543 Chapters: 1/1; Rating: G)

Kiara Ryder struggles to process what happened at the Eos Vault, despite the restart being a great success. A chance to chat with Kandros helps her realize she doesn't have to face her problems alone.

Day 6; Day 26; Day 29

Along the Right Path (Resident Evil; Words: 6,576; Chapters: 3/3; Rating: G) (Chapter 2; Chapter 3)

A recreational hike through Arklay Mountains takes a turn when Jill and her friends get lost, but a certain handsome park ranger comes to their rescue.

Day 7; Day 21

A Promise for Another Day (Haven; Words: 2,133, Chapters 2/2, Rating: G) (Chapter 2)

Duke attempts to surprise Paige with a promise to get away, but fate has other plans.

Day 8

Watermelon Candy (Z Nation; Words: 753; Chapters: 1/1; Rating: G)

Enjoying a rare moment together, Annie shares a sweet treat with 10k.

Day 13

Fanning Their Feelings (The Outer Worlds, Words: 2,164, Chapters 1/1, Rating G)

Mayor Odie supports Deputy Felix with his crush on the new schoolmarm, Miss Rhea. Only problem is he won't court her, so Odie decides a little meddling in their affairs will help matters along.

Day 14

By the Fireside (Baldur's Gate 3, Words: 716, Chapters 1/1, Rating: G)

Everlith and Gale's friendship starts to blossom on their first night at camp.

Day 16; Day 20

In You I Can Trust (Baldur's Gate 3, Words: 2,600, Chapters 2/2, Rating: G) (Chapter 2)

After revealing the truth of his magic absorption, Gale still worries about whether Everlith truly wants him to stay by her side. But a nighttime conversation shows just how much he is truly wanted.

Day 17

When Dreams Become Nightmares (The Suicide Squad, Words: 1,006, Chapters: 1/1, Rating: T)

What started out as a peaceful getaway for Rick with Renée turns into a nightmare when reality comes crashing down.

Day 18

A Nurturing Hand (Elden Ring, Words: 1,307, Chapters: 1/1, Rating: T)

The animal shelter Aisling works for rescues an extremely angry feral cat. With Malenia's help, and a lot of patience, their family gains a new member.

Day 22

An Enchanting Encounter (The Outer Worlds, Words: 2,008, Chapters: 1/1, Rating: G)

Becoming a wallflower at her own celebration, Rhea's evening takes a turn for the better when she encounters a mysterious winged figure.

Day 23; Day 30

Waiting Out the Storm (The Outer Worlds, Words: 3,352, Chapters 2/2, Rating: G) (Chapter 2)

A surprise thunderstorm offers Rhea and Felix a chance to learn more about each other.

Day 24

Stolen Kiss (Baldur's Gate 3, Words: 1,001, Chapters 1/1, Rating T)

Gale and Everlith steal a moment alone on their journey to Baldur's Gate.

Day 25

Just You and Me, Alone (The Suicide Squad, Words: 536, Chapters 1/1, Rating: T)

Rick and Renée get to go on the vacation they deserve.

Day 28

What Promise Awaits (Baldur's Gate 3, Words: 1,248, Chapters 1/1, Rating: G)

Gale Devrakis had accepted that his life was one of solitude and reflection. Being summoned to Elminister's tower promised a possible solution to his magical condition, and companionship from his new assistant, Everlith S'aer.

Day 31

The Light In The Darkness (Baldur's Gate 3, Words: 1,793, Chapters: 1/1, Rating: G)

Gale and the others attempt to enjoy an evening around the campfire while traversing towards Moonrise Towers. But even as darkness and evil surrounds them, Everlith reveals her feelings to Gale as Wyll supports their budding romance.

Taglist: @olliesaurus-rex @roofgeese @kyber-infinitygems @poetikat @confidentandgood @spaceratprodigy @darkfire1177 @jillvalentinesday @theelderhazelnut @shegetsburned @awhellstothejoe @oh-nostalgiaa @seliviawanders @thisisrigged4 @poisonedtruth @bitchesofostwick @transcaster @incognito-insomniac @kirjanikv6ilill @madparadoxum @gayafsatan @euryalex @mxanigel @eclecticwildflowers

[vivithefolle]

Hey its me who left a comments on your Quora, and bc im a negative hater of Hermione that will make her worshippers cry, i wanna just copy and repeat my unpopular opinions here to yours in order to spread my negativity :p

I think its kinda funny how Rowling self inserted into Hermione but forgot herself is a adult woman, and Hermione is a teenager sometimes, but like only sometimes.

A lot of Hermiones rule bendings and actions just sounds like what an 20s or 30s something would want to do, and would have full conviction as well as planning ability to carry it out. Sorta like the way you cant file a lawsuit and WIN if you are 10 but can if you are 21. Rowling wishes she could do what Hermione can do but forgot she was writing a teenager, then went "oh its ok. She settled it all in the end off pages."

Rowling will be like "Hermione is me and so mature and i wanted to do that to people i hate all my life" when it comes to time traveling - to take more classes than her peers because its fair where? - and "punishing" a bad journalist who spread stupid rumors and "punishing" the students and teachers she hated, or erasing her parents out of her records. Because only adults could break big rules like that and maybe deal with consequences. But then in the same books same chapters she will be like "Hermione is forever 13 year old and hates defying rules" when it come to the characters emotional development. And worse, after that couldnt write all the messy logical backlashes and consequences that this teenagers actions left.

Coupling with Emma Watsons casting and all the Mary Sue script changes influencing later books, the result is the worse, most self entitled, inconsistent, sloppily written female character ever created among all the real, logical teenage characters. Some like Harry is Mary Sue-ish, but hes at least consistent and logical to a teenager. Hermione is a Sue and couldnt even be a decent one that makes a lick of sense.

we like to dunk on Movie Hermione, and her looks and the Ron bashing can make us dislike her because thats not book Hermione, but in terms of being a Mary Sue , movie Hermione is actually a much better written character than book Hermione. One is at least consistent and is a character despite "perfect". Movie Hermiones lines and moments are still things a , very perfect, schoolgirl can know and do. Book Hermione cant decide if shes a teenager character with emotional flaws or a 30 something 4th wall goddess with super meta powers that can solve every characters romance problems. Like you cant choose both of these, Rowling.

its so frustrating bc this is actually why its so hard to convince Hermione lovers and criticizers on points from either side on her personality and her relationships with others. Because a very blazen competent girl that could "punish" teachers and students and new reporters alike on the basis of very adult, very real LAW and ORDER can not act like an jealous, immature 15 year old that also cries all the time with no handle on her emotions, is "book smart" and stick for rules, and vice versa. Which is she?

i now dont really care for Hermione and Ron. She ruined the couple for me. its not that she could be an asshole to him, but because shes not a character. Shes a vessel.

_____

Vivi's commentary: Well darn that is a brutal assessment! I do believe that what the things that make Hermione feel so disconnected is the lack of consequences. I mean, the way she "punishes" Rita and Marietta is totally the way a teenager fantasizes about punishing the people who hurt them, but the fact that Hermione manages to do it without ever having it bite her in the ass is the part that's really making her a Mary Sue for me.

[tartheanmaid]

Can I ask why you ship Jon and Sansa? (I'm assuming that's what the Jonsa means in your bio) Not attacking you or anything just curious. They are half siblings and while Jon was a bit separated due to him being the bastard they still were raised together and he's much older. Ik incest and weird relationships is normal in GOT but still

i’m not much involved in the show fandom anymore, but going by medieval and asoiaf/book lore, jonsa isn’t incest. i can direct you to much more lovely people who could explain this way better if you like, but they aren’t half-siblings. ned is not jon’s father, rhaegar is. jon is lyanna’s son (ned’s sister).

westeros is very culturally against incest in all forms, but their definition of it is quite different from the modern world’s. i’m the kind of person who, when i engage in a piece of media, i try to do it through the lens of someone who would actually live there. that is why i don’t consider jonsa incest, because in westeros cousin marriage is not only accepted but extremely common. lysa, sansa’s aunt, wished to marry sansa to her cousin/lysa’s son sweetrobin. additionally, ned, lyanna, brandon, and benjen’s parents (the starklings paternal grandparents), were first cousins.

the only kinds of incest westeros and essos condemn are sibling/sibling, aunt/nephew, mother/son, and father/daughter.

i believe george intentionally didn’t make them interact at all in the chapters where they’re both in the same location. i also believe it is sansa, not arya or jeyne poole or alys karstark who is the girl in grey.

why do i ship them in a general sense? 1. i believe they are compatible and would work well together as a couple based on their own internal wants and feelings about love and marriage.* 2. if sansa is to hold some sort of northern leadership, she must marry a man who is willing to give up all of his titles + name for her so that they may continue house stark. jon is the perfect fit for that in my opinion ( @istumpysk has a great meta on this titled “find sansa’s husband”).

* “Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.” - JON I, AGOT

as for the age gap, that part does make me sort of uneasy, but i do believe george feels the same way about that. which i think is why he tried so hard to make the 5 year gap work (if you’re not familiar, the 5 year gap was a scrapped time jump that was to happen in between ADWD and TWOW). if the 5 year gap had ended up working out, sansa would be around 17/18, and jon around 20/21. their age gap may seem like a lot because of how young they are, but when you age them up just a bit it starts to make a little more sense.

hope this helps! /gen

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 26

Hello, and we have got to the end of the massive arc that culminated the last four chapters.

I also wrote this part before 24 and 25 because I couldn't figure out how to write Eddie having a hard time on tour, but the aftermath flowed from my fingers.

Also as a reminder this story is finished, I'm just posting on a regular schedule. This story is the longest fanfic I've ever written. Topping out at 58165 it's definitely longer than 50K fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year (Sandman, never finished or published.)

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24 Pt 25

****

“You’ve been sitting on that sofa for an entire week,” Wayne growled. “Steve has called three times, your bandmates at least a dozen times each. Hell, boy Miranda has been calling concerned. So want to tell me what’s fucking got you so twisted?”

“I was given a choice out there on the road,” Eddie said, twisting his rings around his fingers. “Stay in Indy and play small time gigs for the rest of my adult life or go to LA and get an album and the chance at super stardom.”

Wayne sat down next him. “Sounds like a big decision to make.”

Eddie leapt to his feet. “That’s the problem. That’s what makes me so angry how fucking easy the choice is.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate again, boy. Start talking.”

Eddie started pacing back and forth. “As much as I loved playing for so many people, I didn’t like that I could only connect with a handful of them and not even the good kind.” He rubbed his chin angrily. “I didn’t like how tired we all were. It was set up, sound check, play, break down and move on to the next fucking town. And that wasn’t including all the parties, interviews, and all that other shit.”

“That does sound exhausting, Ed.”

“I didn’t like how easy it was for them to tell me to drop Gareth as drummer just because he had trouble adjusting to the increased volume. The price of fame they said. Like it was so simple to throw away almost two decades of friendship for the sake of adoring crowds and hearing our music on the radio.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Wayne said softly. “They didn’t...”

“Oh they absolutely did,” Eddie raged. “I didn’t like how they thought that because me and Steve’s relationship was new that I would be able to find someone better. Someone who liked metal, someone who would be down for the ride.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound like good advice.”

Eddie grabbed his hair pulled at it frustration. “The last straw was when they offered to let their tattooist to finish my back tattoo, because while my artist was good, theirs was better.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face Wayne. “I picked Steve to do my tattoo on my back because he was the only one I trusted to make it meaningful. To understand the symbolism of making something of yourself when everyone is rooting against you. I made the decision before I fell in love with him and now that we’re a couple– and for them to just dismiss him like that? It made me so angry.”

“So what’s the problem? What’s got you so twisted around the bend?”

Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m fucking furious because I always thought that when fame and fortune came knocking I would throw open that door and march right through it. But now? Given the choice? I’m slamming the door in its face and walking away.”

Hot tears ran down his face. “And I don’t know why.”

He dropped to his knees and began to sob.

Wayne stood up and put his arms around his nephew’s shoulders, gently pulling him to his chest.

“Did that band you were traveling with say that?” he whispered into Eddie’s curls. “Because if they did, I swear to god I will burn every record and CD you have of theirs. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll delete them off your phone too.”

Eddie chuckled weakly. “No, no. They were kind. It was everyone else we met. Agents, managers, roadies, groupies, the people around Metallica every day.”

Wayne nodded.

“I was just constantly bombarded with hateful messages and the constant running at one hundred percent...” he whimpered. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Have you told your band that?” Wayne asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t dare to. I was the one that was gung ho about the touring and everything. How do I tell them I don’t want to leave the comfort of Indianapolis and home?”

“Kinda like that,” Jeff said from the doorway. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the frame. Peaking around him was Miranda with a concerned look on her face.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve been a brat.”

Jeff took three giant steps forward and hugged him fiercely. “You’re not being a brat. You’re scared and trying to figure it all out on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? We’ve all been worried sick about you. But Steve especially. I’ll call all the boys down for a chat and you call Steve, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

He dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Baby?” he asked, unsure of the reaction he was going to get. He deserved to be yelled at. Cursed at. Broken up with. He’d hurt Steve the most with this little temper tantrum he’d been having.

“Eds?” Steve breathed. “Sunshine, are you okay? Wayne said you hadn’t been eating well or sleeping much. Say the word and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

Eddie’s lip began to quiver and tears spilled out of his eyes. “I need you. More than anything.”

“I’m on my way,” Steve said fiercely.

Eddie looked over at Jeff.

“Tell Steve Brian will swing by and pick him up.”

Eddie nodded and relayed the message back to Steve.

“I’ll be at my apartment,” Steve said. “I’ll have Robin arrange my schedule, don’t you worry about thing, baby.”

“Mm’k.”

“I love you, Eds.”

Eddie closed his eyes and breathed in the warmth of that simple phrase. “Love you, too, pretty boy. Come quick.”

“I promise.”

*

Steve piled into Brian’s car. It was the newest, having bought it right before they got picked up by Metallica. He had finally saved up enough money to replace his beater.

Gareth and Gethin in the backseat. Gethin had come up to Indy to watch his twin’s apartment while he was gone and just ended up staying. He was currently looking for a job so that he could move in with Gareth full time.

At least that what they said on the trip down. The twins and Brian were intent on filling the air with talk and Steve let them. He let them fill him in on the tour and everything that had been going on since they’d left.

Steve couldn’t be for certain, but it sounded like that touring hadn’t been fun for anyone. Even after a week of rest, he could still make out the circles under their eyes and how hunched over they were with just sheer exhaustion.

A feeling Steve felt all too well.

Gethin was pressed against his twin’s side and was rubbing his neck soothingly.

Steve looked at Brian.

His face was set, hard and unflinching. He was going to make the drive to Hawkins as fast as he could and still avoid the cops.

Steve was grateful Brian was driving because he didn’t think he would have made the distinction to avoid breaking the law. He would have gunned it and flipped off any cop that tried to catch him.

After awhile, Steve was getting the oddest feeling that Brian was used to speeding down this stretch of highway because there were points where he would slow down for a few miles and then speed right back up.

Soon enough they were pulling up to Wayne’s trailer and piling out the car.

*

Eddie sat on the sofa with Jeff and Miranda on either side of him, just hugging him.

Wayne was busying himself in the kitchen, getting ready to feed the hoard that was about to descend on his home.

The door opened up and Brian, Gareth, and Gethin all stumbled through the entryway. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, Jeff and Miranda not far behind.

And then the trio at the door parted and there stood Steve. Looking just as tired and worn as Eddie felt.

“Stevie?” Eddie asked, taking a step toward him uncertainly.

Steve threw open his arms and Eddie ran straight into them. They wrapped their arms around each other and just sobbed.

“I’m here, Eds,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck. “I’m here. I love you so much.”

Eddie lifted his head and kissed him hard. “I love you, too. I regret leaving you behind, sweetheart. It nearly killed me. Every song I wrote was about you. About missing you. I don’t even want to leave you ever again, I can’t.”

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

Steve led Eddie back over to couch and sat them both down. “Tell us everything, babe.”

And so Eddie did. He told them everything. Everything he had told Wayne, everything that had been weighing on his mind since they started touring. It all just came out in a flood.

They all listened patiently.

“Why didn’t you tell us you felt like that while we were on the road?” Gareth asked. “I knew what they were saying about me, but I also knew you guys wouldn’t drop me. If you had me about that I would have been able to reassure you that I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Eddie flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, it was so vile, man.”

Jeff gave his hand a squeeze. “Well, I think that you did a bang up job telling us now and that’s what really matters.”

“Someone offered to ship me out to LA and record an album,” Eddie finally admitted. “Not the band, just me. I told him that I wouldn’t go without you guys and he laughed in my face. Told me to cut the dead weight and be a star.” He dragged his hands over his face.

“But there were other offers. Good ones. Ones that included the band, well most of it, anyway. Always under the proviso that Gareth be replaced either on tour or all together. They didn’t want to make any accommodations for him even though there is a drummer with one god damn arm!”

“So the options are,” Brian said, “stay in Indy doing what we’ve been doing, only better because of the money we got for doing this tour. Go to LA without Gareth. Go to LA with Gareth but only as a studio musician and take some person we don’t know on tour with us. Does that sound about right?”

Just then Gareth’s phone went off. He looked at it with a frown. It wasn’t a number recognized so he let it go to voicemail. He pulled it up after the notification popped up.

He listened to message with wide eyes. “Hey guys, I think we have another option.” And he played the message so everyone could hear.

“Hey, Mr Hughes,” the tinny voice said through the speaker. “This is Murray Bauman, I’m music producer, we spoke in Las Vegas. I think I have the perfect deal for you boys. You were telling me that touring was really hard on you and that if there was an option you wouldn’t do that. I know you weren’t speaking for all your band, but I could tell that they would do anything for you, all four of you being such good friends.

“So the reason for this call is that I own a small music company in Bloomington and boy do I have a deal for you all. You would make a record through us, we would sell and distribute the record, keeping a portion of the sales, of course. But you wouldn’t have to tour. You have a steady gig as I understand it. If your fans want to see you play, they’ll know where to find you.

“But give me a call, we’ll hash out the details. My phone number is 555-555-2080...” and then message beeped, signaling the end of the voicemail.

Eddie looked down at the phone and then back up at Gareth. “Oh.”

Gareth grinned. “We don’t even have to take his offer, but I vote we listen to it. Brian can bring Cecil.”

Brian nodded. “He’s only got a semester left of law school, but I’ll have him brush up on his contract law to be on the safe side.”

Jeff raised his hand. “All in favor of hearing Mr Bauman out raise your hand?”

Eddie, Brian, and Gareth’s hands shot up.

“Sounds good,” Jeff said. “You call him back and set it up and if it doesn’t work out we can vote again.”

Brian shook his head. “Nah. I think if it doesn’t work, we stick to Nightmare Holes. We took a swing at it and if it’s a miss then we tried. I thought I wanted the touring and everything that came with stardom, but like Eddie I learned I wanted the romanticized version of it. I’ll be happy playing in front of our friends for the rest of our lives.”

The rest of the band nodded.

Soon everyone getting up to go back to Indy, but Steve stayed behind, he would go back up with Eddie in the morning. They had things to discuss that went deeper then the band.

****

Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

I told you I would fix it.

Also a little BTS, the reason in my head for why things went wrong on tour but immediately righted itself when Eddie and Steve met up again? Steve still has Eddie's lucky pick. ;)

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

[thestarlightforge]

Fiona’s Art Journal:

Table of Contents

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my blog!

As outlined here, my New Year’s Resolution for 2024 was to do something for my art every day. Whether writing, drawing, watching/studying, exploring or reading—I’d do something to sharpen my artistic focus daily.

As the year has gone by, I’ve documented some of the process on Tumblr. The tag “#Fiona’s Art Journal” has both reflections and artistic works, and “#Poetry” has an index of poems. This post is an index, and I’ll update it with hyperlinks to journals, art posts, and other favs.

Journals — 2024

PETITION and Info to shut down the Pinyon Plain Uranium Mine and protect the people and lands of the Navajo Nation, Havasupai, Hopi, and Ute Mountain Ute — 8/28/24

DC Metro Accessibility Petition

“Squishy But Firm: Sexcapades of a Crip Girl” at the Kennedy Center Local Theatre Festival 🏳️‍🌈♿️🏳️‍⚧️ — 8/24/24

2024 🏳️‍🌈 Media Retrospective ❤️ — 9/20/24

National Be Nice To Bugs Day! We love a native species! 🥰 — 7/14/24

Setting Intentions: “Through the Sunken Lands” — 1/31/24

Introduction — 12/31/23

Go Listen to Sandra Yellowhorse — 11/20/22

AO3 Entries

A Rhaenicent & Rhaesaria entry written shortly after HOTD 2x07

An early chapter of my ongoing Snowbaird fic with @imjustmarcy

Artistic Works — 2024

“Clerics Have Necromancy” — 8/28/24

“Winter Blooms” — 8/18/24

“For Gus and Claudia” — 6/22/24

“QUEERING NEVERLAND IS LIVE—MY PAPER MADE THE COVER!” — 6/6/24

“Gentle Animals” Short Story — 5/1/24

“From Your Internet Big Brother” Essay — 4/8/24

Isolation/Recovery Discussion — 4/4/24

“Playing Fetch” Short Story — 3/31/24

“Building Momentum” Prose Poetry — 3/24/24

“Following the River” Short Story — 3/22/24

“Is There A World” Poem — 3/15/24

“A Practical Career” Short Story — 3/10/24

“The arospecs are onto something” Prose Poetry — 3/9/24

“Through the Sunken Lands” Pins Setup Addition — 3/9/24

“I wrote you a play” Prose Poetry — 3/9/24

On the Models of Disability Discussion — 3/5/24

“Threads” Prose Poetry — 3/3/24

“Interdependence is a love poem” Prose Poetry — 2/24/24

“A Shift” Short Story — 2/20/24

“To Falling in Love” Prose Poetry — 2/6/24

“Push-up Contest” Short Story — 2/6/24

“Autistic Katniss saves the world” THG Meta/Discussion — 2/2/24

“Purpose” Essay — 2/1/24

“Oracle Forever” Short Story — 1/29/24

“Stardust” Poem — 1/23/24

“Point of View” Short Story — 1/21/24

Patriarchy Hurts Everyone Discussion (edit: erroneously flagged/removed by Tumblr staff, appeal not allowed) — 1/21/24

“A Winter Morning” Short Story — 1/16/24

“Ymir with the Freckles” Short Story — 1/11/24

On Propaganda & the Cancellation of Queer Media (OFMD) Discussion — 1/10/24

“Glimmer” Short Story — 1/5/24

“What the Antihero, Your Villain, Has Left” Essay — 12/31/23

Some Favorite Art, Analyses/Metas & Journals (2023 + Previous)

“Lost Girl” at the National Theatre in Higher Ed Conference Journal — Aug. 6, 2023

First Day of “Through the Sunken Lands” at the Kennedy Center Journal — Dec. 11, 2023

Intimacy Choreography in “Hacks” Analysis — Jul. 15, 2023

“Swallowtail” Poem — Sept. 18, 2023

“Hope is the only thing stronger than fear” TBOSAS Meta — Nov. 19, 2023

“Wake Up” Gay Poem — Aug. 23, 2023

“Myths” Poem— Nov. 12, 2023

“Thanks, Tennessee” Gay Poem — Nov. 23, 2022

On Strength: Katniss and Lucy Gray TBOSAS Meta/Journal — Dec. 10, 2023

“Trust is more important even than love” TBOSAS Meta — Nov. 24, 2023

“The Valley Song” THG Meta — Nov. 18, 2023

Their first meeting in Twelve TBOSAS Meta — Dec. 24, 2023

Hurt/Comfort Thoughts TBOSAS Meta/Journal — Dec. 17, 2023

Do Better with Queer Rep — Aug. 19, 2023

“Ellee” Short Story — Aug. 15, 2023

I crack myself up

“Oh, ableism. Great. THAT’S not gonna go over well with the woke mob.” — Aug. 19, 2024

rhaenicent nation how we feelin 😌 — July 21, 2024

it gets better, apparently :)) — July 2-, 2024

representation matters (GoT/HotD) — July 21, 2024

rhaenyra my love, never ever change 😂 — July 21, 2024

SO MADGE X KATNISS LOL — June 9, 2024

Writing while queer — Jan. 2, 2024

Snowbaird “Aca-scuse me?” — Nov. 20, 2023

It’s almost like Suzanne meant to do that — Nov. 7, 2023

Not Coryo being more normal than Gale or Peeta — Dec. 13, 2023

Peeta “my beautiful princess with a disorder” 😆 — Dec. 7, 2023

SnowJanusBaird ≠ Everlark/Everthorne, lmao — Dec. 31, 2023

ValCarol giggles — Nov. 11, 2023

[sleepyfan-blog]

Memory of lucius, blade of perfection reactions

Chapter 19: lucius: you betrayed me you asshole

Bile: yep

Diadem, being over run by deldar: let loose the deamons of Slaaneshi

Afilai: >:( you killed them all! I want murder!!

Chapter 20: Luminous arrives and is yote off the ship. The Composer and Afilai are badass and I am really curious as wtf is up with Clarion +Lucius. And poor Direnc

Chapter 21: the hanging garden of Emperor's Children + evil allies is inspired... and I see that Bile decided to keep Cesare.... and Thyndrak us evil n fun. I like her in a villain way.

Chapter 22: lucius and a new Brother are in a gladiator pit in Commoragh. Cesare may or may not have willingly rejoined Bile. Considering his "options" are Bile or being decoration/a toy for deldar... yeah I see why he picked what he did.

Chapter 23: we are introduced to a thousand son who is gonna very likely die soon. Direnc continues to suffer and the Composer is determined to get his warband back. Nicely paced chapter. A little heavy on the backstory of a character who is very probably gonna die soon. But like. Direnc has survived this long so maybe the thousand son will too

Chapter 24: one complaint I have is that the mid chapter scene changes have no warning other than a single paragraph break. It's mildly confusing to go from Lucius with Bile and Cesare, then bam! Back to Composer. Is it the app I am using?

Is it a stylistic technique used by the other to blur the narratives and perspectives together in a meta-sense to blur who is who doing what to hit home on the Chaoticness of Evil Chaos People doing Evil Chaos Things ft: one sad sack serf who Had No Real Choices?

Oooh, Halith being a....Clone? Of The Composer's is neat

Chapter 25: hi again Lucius. I... oh. Oh Cesare. Who wants to preserve his legion. Who is disgusted and unhappy bc of the twisting of the warp upon his brothers.

Who created the Ambrosia, to soothe and focus them, if only for a time in battle. His staunch refusal to kneel to Slaanesh. To give into hedonistic sensation and debauchery.

You hope Bile will save them, don't you? From Slaanesh. From oblivion. From extinction.

Oh Cesare...

And Hakith isn't a clone. Someone he did manipulate tho.

Also the fact that the Composer and Clarion barely tolerate each other is fascinating. These evil shitheads really are barely capable of clenched teeth cooperation.

It explains why Abbadon's crusades never end well. The in-fighting alone must cripple his war efforts from within. Such is the self-defeating nature of Chaos.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 14 - Primal Scene

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Fanart, Meta, Snippets

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |8 | 9 | 10 |11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54

CH 14: Vi makes plans. So does Silco.

Cw: for rough sex with multiple partners in Silco's PoV. There are also brief mentions of underage sex in Vi's PoV. Nothing is graphic, and the activity takes place with a peer, but if such content offends you, please be warned!

Separate tw: for bloodplay, dubious consent, biting, mistreatment of sex workers, and violence/bloodshed. On top of that, another tw: for mentions of mental illness, panic attacks, PTSD and abandonment issues.

Step inside my heart, broken up Show you what it's like, only for the night

~ "Empty Love" – Tech Thieves

"It adds up," Vi says.

The drumroll of rain is swallowed up by her flat's old architecture. It is a two-story townhouse at Sapphilite Row: all folio-colored stucco walls and faded blue windows, calligraphed with marks of age. The place is simply furnished: a tiny livingroom, and an equally tiny bedroom. A colonial-style doorway leads to a balcony, its eaves dripping rain down into the cozy bakery below, where bready scents waft deliciously.

There is an earthiness to the neighborhood that appeals to Vi. Downtown is the curated surface of Piltover: glitzy and modern. But these districts hold a gritty pulsebeat similar to the Undercity. Generations of families living in the same block since the mercantile era.

Inside, the lights are off. A luminous streak glows through the bathroom's half-open door. In the clawfoot tub, Vi lays in the steaming water. Her hair clings wetly to her scalp. Her body, all taut muscle and whorling gearwork tattoos, feels pummeled from top to toe. 

Thank Janna for Piltover’s water.

Clean, hot, unspoiled water.

In the past, baths were never Vi’s thing. Give her a hot blast under a shower any day. At the Drop, they'd had no bathtub. Just a rusty spray-hose with no pressure, and yet she and Powder had to jockey with Mylo and Claggor for its use anyway.

But in winters, Vander let the girls haul down the giant metal tub into the basement. They'd boil water and carry it downstairs in big pots. Then she and Powder would lock the door, strip right there on the cold tiles, and slither inside with happy shrieks. Vi still remembers Powder's blue hair plastered to her skull and crowned with bubbles. Her sister loved the sounds they'd make, tiny planets popping in her ears.

Buoyed by the water, her small body would float into Vi's lap. She'd let Vi check her hair for lice, then wash it and wring it out until it squeaked. Sometimes, Vi would sing to her—old ballads half-remembered from childhood. Powder was especially fond of The Wave-Soaked Maiden. Her eyes would go round and shiny, and she’d barely breathe for fear of missing her favorite lyric:

Behind her lips, her teeth were sharp/Much sharper than his knives/She said to him, "Come closer, sir/And I'll eat you alive.”

Each time Vi hit that part, her sister would kick her feet through the suds, squealing.

Powder was happiest in water.

Vi's eyes burn.

Caitlyn sits at the tub's lip. She is in a linen robe of the palest blue, the fabric sticking heavily to her skin in the bathroom's swelter. Her hair is twisted up off her neck; wisps float around her face. Earlier, she'd helped Vi to disinfect and re-bandage the cut on her cheekbone. It is minor, only three stitches necessary. Vi was told the scars will fade in time.

Caitlyn's fingertips trace the bandage on Vi's cheek. Her eyes are troubled. More than that—sorrowful. And that sorrow is hard for Vi to bear.

Six months without bloodshed. What a sweet six months they were.

"The whole thing felt preplanned," Vi says. "The Council greenlighting my visit to the Lanes. Silco agreeing to let me see Powder. I figured it was a trap to draw me out and start trouble. Then Silco sent his blackguards after me, and I lured myself out. I gave him the trouble he wanted." She scrubs the back of her head. "Silco knew I'd take the bait, too. He was ready. The blackguards, the rotties, the spiel. Everything."

Caitlyn's bitten lip telegraphs concern. "Now he's using your sister as leverage?"

"Leverage for something bigger."

"Three jobs, he said?"

Vi grimaces. "Vander always said bad things come in threes."

No way to determine what the jobs are. Vi doubts they consist of anything pleasant. She wishes she'd pressed for details. But getting brained with a tray did a number on a girl's conversational skills. No concussion. But the throb is her skull is like the mother of all hangovers.

She feels drunk. Worse than drunk. Stoned. Too full of thoughts she cannot digest.

Not all of them are hers.

After Vi was transferred from Silco's chopper to Piltover's yacht, she'd had a short exchange with the Councilor on board. Medarda. Even growing up in the cesspit of poverty, Vi knows that family name. The woman herself was polished in every sense: skin, hair, accent. Not beautiful like Caitlyn; she had the fascination of a piece of art. Stylized—that was the word.

Like all Piltovans, she'd made Vi feel like an unwashed monster.

You're safe now, she'd said, in affectedly soothing tones. In a spot of trouble—but safe.

My sister isn't safe! Vi snapped. I need help her!

You feel she is in danger?

I know so!

Without quite meaning to, Vi ended up giving the older woman the low-down on everything she'd seen. She'd told her about Powder. How her sister was stolen and warped by Silco. How the warping went beyond war or weapons.

Medarda's expression stayed inscrutable as a Sphynx.

I will see what can be done, she'd said.

That was the last Vi saw of her.

They'd remained docked at Zaun for an hour. Vi wonders what negotiations took place abovedeck. She imagines Silco and Medarda in a dialogue like a dance, each one jockeying for the upper-hand. Vi doesn't trust Silco. But she has no reason to trust the Councilors either. They are birds of a feather: all glittering masks to conceal their sharp-edged manipulations, and unless you learn to master their doublespeak, they'll slice you to ribbons.

The Pilties are just like Silco. Under their suave veneers, there is nothing but selfish spite.

Except Caitlyn.

Sweet Caitlyn. Straight-shooting as a rifle.

Since Stillwater, Vi thought of herself, in a ferociously single-minded way, as never needing anybody. She'd never, in her twenty-three years, had much trouble getting out of whatever trouble she'd gotten into. But with Caitlyn, there is no trouble.

Only a profound sense of sanctuary.

When the yacht docked back in Piltover, Caitlyn was waiting at the gangplank. She'd looked as ragged as Vi felt. They hadn't touched. But Vi felt something light her up softly from inside. The late hours of stress dropped away, the muscles locked into tightness loosened, and she felt himself melding back into the living world.

When they were alone, Caitlyn snatched her up in a hug that just about crushed the life out of Vi.

Or shocked it back into her.

Later in bed, they’d made love: slow, syrupy, breathless. But it was a struggle for Vi to stay present. Her pleasure was a clammy shiver, skimming her surface so she barely felt it, so intent was she on not thinking of everything else. Caitlyn held her close and smoothed her hair, whispering comfort. But Vi couldn't hear anything except the nauseous beating of her own heart.

That's when the shakes began. Her palms sweating. Her heart thumping in her chest. Figments of the past tapped Vi on the shoulder, clouding her mind with memories of Stillwater. Not even seventeen years old, chains clanking on her wrists, her feet marching in single file, disembodied voices dictating when to sleep, when to shit, when to shower. And the screams, too many to count. Screams from the midnight assaults, when inmates cornered each other in the shadows to settle a score or satisfy an itch. Screams from before that. The cannery doused in flames. Vander a slab of motionless meat on the pavement. Blood on Powder's elbows and knees. Powder's blood on Vi's knuckles, and the distress in her sister's cries—please Vi please don't go I need you!

She'd started hyperventilating in Caitlyn's arms. Had to wrench herself away and slam into the bathroom. She'd not realized she was going to be sick until the puke boiled out to splatter the toilet. Shivering, she'd knelt there, and begun to cry, one palm pressed to her mouth.

She didn't want Caitlyn to hear her. She didn't want Powder to think she wasn't strong enough. She didn't want Silco to know how thoroughly he'd rattled her.

Ironic.

Powder and Silco weren't there. She was all alone.

In the morning, headsore and heartsick, she couldn't meet Caitlyn's eyes. Instead, she'd asked about the Council. Were they angry? Was Vi going to lose her job as Peacekeeper? Or get tossed out of Piltover altogether?

Caitlyn informed Vi that they'd both been placed on formal three-month suspension. There would be an inquest into the blackguard’s death. Charges could follow if the investigation proved Vi had acted with malice aforethought. If found guilty, she faced termination from her position. If innocent, she'd return to work.

All told, Vi had expected worse. A boot to the rear rather than a slap on the wrist.

Yet beneath her relief sat an unease.

The Council should've been angrier with her for jeopardizing the Peace Treaty. Unless they'd anticipated this outcome. Planned for it.

Just like Silco.

At the Kiramman estate, Caitlyn's mother was furious. She'd called Vi a ruinous influence. She tried to talk Caitlyn into breaking it off with Vi.

It hadn't gone down well. Bypassing a number of smaller spats between the mother and daughter, it had escalated into a championship match, plenty of ammo on both sides. The mansion's elegant halls echoed with screeching female voices. Some of the words would've made a Demacian dowager drop dead in a swoon.

Vi stood frozen halfway up the stairs, with Mister Kiramman paralyzed at the bottom. Their glances narrowly swerved off each other like a car crash.

In the end, Caitlyn had left the estate hand-in-hand with Vi, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was heavier than her typical overnighter. An unquestionable symbol of moving out of one home and into another. Just her and Vi—a fact that had sent Councilor Kiramman into a secondary meltdown. It was disgraceful—Caitlyn was aristocracy—they weren't married—she should be focusing on her career and not playing around with a Fissure-bred girl.

Yet the more they had argued about it, the more Violet realized that Caitlyn had been building up to this move for weeks. The fight was just the well-timed shove out the door. And Mister Kiramman was surprisingly supportive; between the two of them, the Councilor had to pipe down.

Vi should've felt guilty. She'd never meant to wedge herself between Caitlyn and her family. But she was mostly grateful.

She'd wanted to ask Caitlyn to move in for a while. She'd just never plucked up the courage.

She could face down opponents twice her size. But how did you ask the sweetest girl in Topside to abandon her deluxe digs and cohabit with you in a one-bedroom flat? She could only interiorize it with a soapy, tongue-in-cheek narration. Share my creaky mattress and my messed-up life, Cupcake. Forget the riches. I'll take care of you.

Each time, she'd snorted it off as insanity.

Now, Vi glances at Caitlyn. Beautiful, kind Caitlyn. What if her mother is right? What if Vi is a ruinous influence? What if she's dragged her into something shady—again? What if she's safer far away from Vi, back in the comfort of her mother's home, and her lifestyle of immaculately tidy order?

Questions with no answer. Plenty of guilt, though. The familiar stew that nourishes Vi's deepest insecurities.

Her worst self.

"What are we going to do?" Caitlyn whispers.

Vi's guilt curdles into shame.

We.

Already, Caitlyn is making Vi's problem hers.

She whispers back, "If I do the jobs, I see Powder. That's the short and long of it."

"It's a lot of short, and not enough long, Vi. Silco is probably—"

"Lying?" Vi exhales. "I know. It's what he's good at."

"It's not just that." Her fingertips retrace Vi's bandaged cheekbone. "He might have worse plans than blackmail."

Vi’s jaw hardens. "I know. But I need to know if the Council is in on it too."

Caitlyn's fingertips go still. "You think they'd go that far?"

"They had no issues using me as bait." A rottweiler set loose, as Silco described her. "They've got their own agenda. Same as Silco."

Caitlyn doesn't argue. But her voice is halting. "I don't think Jayce would condone it. Not to the point of Silco harming you as part of a larger bargain."

"It might not be Pretty Boy pulling the strings."

"The others, then?"

"The fancy one. The Noxian princess."

"Councilor Medarda?" A gentle smile tugs at Caitlyn's mouth. "She's not a princess, silly. Her family are warrior class. Nobility."

"Whichever."

Vi lolls back against the curved tub. Beads of moisture roll down her jaw.

"My point is," she says, "I don't buy her story about collecting me for cross-border security. Her yacht was anchored in Zaun for a full hour. I saw Silco's chopper through the porthole. Before Medarda saw Silco off, they shook hands. I'm positive they've made some sort of deal."

"You think you're a pawn in it?"

"Or Powder is."

Caitlyn falls silent. Her soft hands curve over Vi’s shoulders, fingers kneading, heels strong. There are knots the size of marbles buried there. The rest of Vi feels the same: a giant knot of tension.

In her mind's eye, dream-shocked, she can still see Powder's curled-up shape in the burning alleyway. Silco's silhouette looming over her with a knife. Then the scene recoalesces, not fire and filth, but liquid luxury. The skyscraper suite. The blue pool. Powder perched on the diving board, swinging a pair of doll-legs. Then diving into the water and climbing out, artfully gleaming, right into Silco's arms.

Her smile for Silco's safekeeping. Her needlework on Silco's handkerchief. Her art decorating his butterfly knife.

All wrong.

In Silco's tent, Vi was ready to kill him. For touching Powder. For taking her away. Taking Vi away from her, and locking her up in Stillwater. Her rage had filled the air. A haze that was nearly alcoholic—or its opposite. Alcoholics needed treatment for their binges. Vi needed to put a monster like Silco behind bars.

Or—if worst came to worst—put him in the ground.

She tries to dispel the thought. She isn't ready to go there.

Not yet.

Deliberately, she puts out her hand and squeezes Caitlyn's kneecap. The furor in her mind softens, a cleansing sort of calm. She relaxes beneath the waterline and Caitlyn's kneading hands. Her eyelids droop, growing heavier as the seconds tick by…

Caitlyn says, "Would it be better if—?"

"Huh?"

"Wouldn't it be better if you refused Silco?"

"It would."

"But you're not going to?"

"I'm not abandoning Powder again," Vi says sharply. "That's why I need to gather my own information. Find out if I can get close to Powder. Get her away from Silco. There's no other way she's coming out of this with her mind intact."

Caitlyn's mouth compresses. "You saw her at his headquarters?"

"In a pool."

"How did she look?"

Vi's gut aches in remembrance. "Like the usual."

"The usual? Violent? Manic?"

Vi shakes her head. "No, she—" She catches herself with a frown. "She looked more like Powder than Jinx. Older, but somehow... younger too."

"You're convinced Silco is hurting her."

For a shuddery second, Vi shuts her eyes.

"He has to be," she says. "He hurts everyone around him."

"He's kept your sister since she was a child." Caitlyn's voice is perturbed. "If that was... the nature of their relationship... surely our investigations would have turned up evidence of abuse?"

Vi opens her burning eyes.

"Same way the investigations turned up evidence he was a Shimmer-baron?" she retorts. "Silco has sneaky down to a science."

Caitlyn considers this. Then—"Have you considered a different possibility?"

"What?"

"That she and Silco see each other as family?"

A chill runs down Vi's spine.

Family.

Like Vander. Like Mylo and Claggor.

"He's going to great lengths to keep her close. It might be an ego thing. A way to assert control. Or it could be—in his own mind—justified. Jayce told me, during the parley, Silco seemed ready to yield to Piltover's demands. Then Jayce asked for Jinx, and he refused point-black. A week later, the Fissures declared war." A beat. "Maybe Silco believes she belongs with him."

Repulsed, Vi shudders. "A matched pair, huh?"

Caitlyn shakes her head. "Just... complicated. This whole mess started when you were children, didn't it? When she set off a bomb to save you all?"

Vi nods.

The memory of that night slices through her chest. Its mere mention is a minefield. She's shielded Caitlyn from all but the barest shrapnel of details. Caitlyn, in turn, has kept a strategic distance: part-concern, part-consideration.

Now she says something unexpected: "Maybe Silco sees himself as her rescuer?"

Vi recoils. "You mean kidnapper!"

"What matters is what he thinks," Caitlyn says, "not what you or I believe." Her palms curve over Vi's shoulders. "You know, when I was a girl, my family would go up to our summer home in the countryside. For me, it was bliss. I'd spend hours outdoors with my rifle, practicing on the posts around the grounds. By evening, I'd stumble back indoors, happy and absolutely filthy. My mother would lock me in the bath, and warn I'd not be allowed downstairs until I'd washed off every speck of dirt."

"A hard-knock life," Vi says, having a halfhearted go.

"One afternoon," Caitlyn goes on, undeterred, "I stumbled on the groundskeeper in the forest. I'd known him for years. We were like family." Her tone tempers. "He was... rogering one of the maids. They'd slipped out by the hothouses for more privacy. A countryside pastime, or so I gathered when older. Back then, I'd no idea what I was seeing. I was absolutely horrified." She sighs. "The Psychickers call it The Primal Scene."

Vi wavers a short laugh. "That's a Friday night in the Lanes."

"What?"

"Privacy's not a thing belowground. We grow up watching plenty of um. Primal Scenes."

Caitlyn is taken aback. It happens sometimes. She'll share an anecdote from her gilded girlhood, with the shyness of a child offering a glimpse into a box of trinkets. In return, Vi will offer anecdotes of her own: heavy as a block of lead clapped in her palm.

But not in retrospect.

Miserable as life in the Undercity was, Vi's times with her family still hold a rosy hue. Maybe because the way things ended was so much worse?

She still remembers being thirteen and vaulting rooftops back to the Drop with Mylo and Claggor and Powder, carried on a flying carpet of adrenaline. She remembers the first time she'd spotted two silhouettes in the ginnel near their home—Vander with one of the barflies. She remembers staring, bewildered, before her mind connected their shadowy movements to the act of sex.

She remembers recoiling, not in shock, but because Powder might glimpse something she shouldn't see.

Casually, she'd chivvied her sister and the boys away from the spot. They'd gotten cherry sodas and gone to the arcade. Later that evening, she'd been unable to look Vander in the eye, nearly to the point where he began to suspect she'd done something awful, and was terrified of spilling the beans. Of course, Vander being Vander, it wasn't long before he'd cornered her and forced out a confession.

They'd had The Talk soon after.

Not that Vi needed it. Most sumpsnipes picked up the facts of life early in the streets. By age eleven, Vi already knew all about fucking. All the ways to do it. How to make it good, how to fake it if you couldn't pull it off.  But Vander's advice, imparted with a matter-of-fact intimacy, was different. He'd educated her, not about sex, but its consequence.

To this day, his words linger:

Never touch someone unless they've given permission. Otherwise, you're stealing their dignity. Never string someone along or play 'em for a fool. Always tell 'em straight. And most important: if you're going at it with a lad, always pay the Protection Racket. If he's not keen on paying, then he's not worth messing around with.  You don't owe anyone your body. About the only thing you owe is the truth.

His parting shot was ambiguous: Be smarter than I was, yeah?

Vi had barely, at that stage, traded more than a few gropes with the girls in the neighborhood. But Vander's advice proved sound. She'd put it to use, two years later, when sneaking out of the Drop in the heat-shimmer of summertime, to meet Nao, an older cat-eyed girl with a lithe stride and a slow smile. She was a dancer at Babette’s. Spoke barely any Standard, but her coy aloofness made her wildly popular with the clientele.

To Vi, though, she was just plain sweet. In the evenings, she'd take up to her attic by the Old Hungry: a workshop full of sawdust and the slanting red rays from a neon signboard. She'd taught Vi all about kissing; how to coax the lips apart, how to tease with tongues. They’d practice and practice until the very air between them turned electric with sighs.

Two months in, they’d traded a whole lot more than kisses.

Vi remembers how she’d lost her virginity in that attic. Only it hadn't felt like losing anything. It had tasted sweet as candy and shocky as a thousand volts, but afterward somehow lonely too, like the world had gotten bigger and Vi's own place in it full of riskier twists.

Consequences.

Afterward, though she'd stayed sweet, Nao made it plain she wasn't looking for anything serious. She had plans to move to Bilgewater. Sooner rather than later. The Undercity's brothels were a dying breed. The tarts, even the most talented, had a short shelf life. Stop tricking and they'd be swallowed by the grime. But dare to dream big, and the gangs would come knocking. 

Nao had ambitions, and a survivor's streak. As far as she was concerned, Vi was only a fun fling. Love was never even a question.

Keeping Vander’s advice in mind, Vi had played their parting cool. But her heart had felt like a bruised slab in her chest. She'd wept afterwards, alone in bed, having learned since childhood to do so in silence. Then she'd felt Powder's small body burrowing under the sheets, her big blue eyes seeing Vi's distress and understanding none of it—though now Vi thinks Powder might've understood more than she realized.

"Did you go someplace scary?" she'd whispered.

"No, Pow. Not scary."

"So why're you crying?"

"Just... missing mom and dad."

It wasn't remotely true. But it wasn't a lie, either.

Powder went quiet. Her small arms passed around Vi's ribcage, squeezing.  "I'll always love you, Vi. Even if stuff gets scary."

Another wave of tears surfaced. Vi swallowed them. "Me too, Pow."

"To the moon and back."

Vi gathered Powder closer.  "'Cause you're my little star."

Powder nestled her cheek on Vi's shoulder. "And this is our safe spot."

They fell asleep cozied together. And the world still felt too big, full of the twists and tumbles. Full of consequence.

But Vi had Powder.

Someone she could always hide under the blankets with. Someone whose love never had to leave town. Someone who she'd protect at all costs.

Her Safe Spot.

Caitlyn's fingers skim along Vi's jaw. "Perhaps you'll tell me sometime?"

The reminiscing must've shown on her face. Vi blinks. “About what?”

“Growing up in the Lanes.”

"You mean with the drunks rutting in the alleys?" Vi rears away in mock-alarm. "Dirty cupcake! No wonder you got locked up in the bath!"

"Ha ha."

She tickles Vi’s doubled-up right knee—a secret weak-spot. Vi ripples and torques away. Caitlyn’s impish fingers become a caress. Her thumb traces the birthmark there; a red splotch that Powder used to call a Bunny Mark, because it resembled the rabbit on the moon.

"Back to what I was saying..." Caitlyn says.

"Your sex-fiend groundskeeper."

"I certainly thought so. I ran to my father's study. I usually went to him first with trouble. My mother was always busy with social engagements. And she could be rather... reactive… if she felt I was in danger."

Vi tactfully says nothing.

"I'm not sure what I told my father. But he got the gist. He questioned the maid on whether foul play had occurred. She swore it was purely consensual. Afterward, my father requested she and the groundskeeper confine their extracurriculars to the staff quarters. I couldn't understand why he hadn't dismissed the man. I thought—he'd been attacking the maid. Hurting her. Afterward, I saw them laughing together. Like they'd been playing a game."

Vi makes a thoughtful noise.

"'Don't judge, Cait,' my father said. 'Grown-ups are complicated.' True enough, though it wasn't much comfort to me. Anyway, the groundskeeper retired soon after. My modesty was spared further outrage."

There is a beat.

Vi asks, "How's this relate to Silco?"

Caitlyn hesitates. "What I'm trying to say is... I grew up in a bubble of ignorance. You grew up surrounded by adults doing grown-up things. It's natural for both of us to fall back on what we know. To assume we understand who people are. Or why they do what they do."

Vi grunts.

"I'm not denying Silco is a terrible influence on your sister." Caitlyn takes a breath. "But if he does have genuine affection for her... you're in twice the danger."

"He'll do everything possible to keep her," Vi says. "And get rid of me."

"But you're still going after him?"

"Yes."

Silence drips between them.

Caitlyn swallows. "I don't want to see you hurt, Vi."

Vi scrubs a hand across her cheeks. They are tearless, but she feels the burn of chagrin.

"Look," she whispers, "I know it's a risky deal. Even if I get to see Powder, she might not want to see me. Or she might attack me. Janna knows, she's killed plenty of people. I know that. But I can't leave her, Caitlyn. She's—"

Caitlyn squeezes Vi's shoulder. "She's your sister."

Vi cranes her neck to stare. There is a gravity in Caitlyn's voice that matches the twist of her brows. Like she is acknowledging something she'd not fully come to grips with before, a deeper truth emerging out of the cracked shell of the old. Something beyond Piltover's and Zaun's binaries of good and bad, but belonging to a gray-zone of hellish difficulty.

Vi whispers, "My sister."

Caitlyn rubs her fingers together. They are already tired from massaging Vi's tension-packed muscles. She looks tired too. But her downturned eyes suggest more than the stress of last night's hide-and-seek, or the dressing-down from the Council, or the blow-up with her mother. The sight makes something tighten in Vi's chest.

Gently, she gathers Caitlyn's hands in hers.

"I'm sorry," she says. "This wasn't in the cards."

"'This'?"

"You moving in with me." Vi inhales in the clouded air. "I wanted to celebrate if it ever happened. Go someplace nice. Us together."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "I'm here because I'm glad to be, Vi. No celebrations needed."

Vi forces down a reflexive lump of stubbornness. "You deserve them."

"So do you."

She is still holding Caitlyn's hands. Now the delicate bones twist out of her grip, so Caitlyn is clasping Vi's. Her eyes are lit with a fevery glow.

"You deserve to have your family," she says. "Same way you deserved safety, and shelter, and a childhood."

Her voice seems to come from far-off, waterlogged and wavery. It echoes the sensation sluicing in Vi's chest.

"I'm so sorry," Caitlyn says. "I'm sorry for everything you went through. I'm sorry for everything you're going through now. It just… scares me when you keep it all bottled up. I understand there are parts of your life that you don't want to talk about. Parts of you that you're reticent about sharing. But I do feel they're the most important parts." She squeezes Vi's hands. "Your sister is tied up in all that. Or better put? She's the most important tie of all."

Vi's eyes sting. Twisting around, droplets skittering down her spine, she meets Caitlyn face-to-face. Precludes her own messy outpouring, or more of Caitlyn's gentle words, by pulling her close. The familiar smell of jasmine clings to Caitlyn's skin. Vi breathes it in, her heart throbbing in its cage.

Caitlyn's fingers brush the soft hairs at the base of Vi's neck. "I meant to ask you..."

Vi shivers. "Yeah?"

"The blackguard." Caitlyn falters. "You don't honestly believe—?"

"I killed him."

"You're not a killer, Vi."

Now the tears spill. Vi squeezes her eyes shut, cheek resting on Caitlyn's shoulder.

"I don't know what to think," she rasps. "I don't know who to believe. I know there's always accidents in a brawl. Hell, no one knows that better than me. But I also know Silco is a liar. He always has a line of shit." Her throat is a knot. "If he's lying about the—the blackguard—then it's just to knock me off-balance. And if he's telling the truth—" A gust of emotion shakes through her. "I need to take him down, Caitlyn. For everyone he's hurt with his games. Me. Vander. Benzo. Ekko. Especially Powder. I need to get her away from him."

Caitlyn startles her by slipping off her robe and into the tub. Water sloshes the tiles. Her bare arms enfold Vi, and their foreheads touch. Every time she does this, with that look of pure love on her face, Vi's doubts fade into the background.

"We'll find a way," Caitlyn says.

Vi nods, their heads together.

"Whatever Silco is planning against you…"

"I won't let it get that far." Resolve makes a bludgeon of Vi's voice. "I'm going to get Powder first."

"I'll help you."

"Help…?"

"I'll talk to Jayce. See if he can learn more about the blackguard's death. See if Silco is hiding anything."

"You don't need to—"

"Yes, I do," Caitlyn cuts in. "You don't deserve this on your conscience. Not after everything else. Let me help, Vi. However I can."

"You always do, Cupcake. I'm thankful—and so fucking sorry."

"Sssh."

Caitlyn tips her head down and kisses Vi. Her lips are pure warmth and her breath envelops Vi with a sigh that makes her dizzy with the sweetness of it, her whole body attuned to Caitlyn and nothing else.

Twilight glows through the rain-speckled window. Dust motes float around their twined bodies.

All those years Vi had never dwelt on comfort for herself. She was better at giving it to others. Reassuring Powder. Reaming Mylo and Claggor's asses. Rallying behind Vander. She never considered asking for the same, not from her family, not from any of her girlfriends. Not since she'd been a little girl, encircled by her mother's arms.

Home.

Shivering, Vi holds on to Caitlyn as long as she can.

It's where she's happiest, in the end.

***

Of all the nooks in his headquarters, Silco has taken a fancy to the Laguna Lounge.

It is on the twelfth floor: a cantilevered section that angles out from the skyscraper, all chrome and double-glazed glass. It is fitted with aluminum oxynitride. Sleeker and less heavyweight than traditional bulletproof glass, but twice as effective at preventing explosives.

The rest of the rooms on the floor are too barren. Too different from the neon-lit secrecy of the Last Drop. Only this chamber, with its glazed twilit eeriness, feels tolerable.

It is spacious: a lounge, a bar, a bedroom. The interior is an Art Noveau wonderland—ribbons of wallpaper in faded gold-on-blue damask, wooden floors glowing beneath a crystalline chandelier, and intricately carved furniture of black-and-gilt. Like most architecture in the Undercity, it's antique: installed around the turn of the century, and never upgraded since. But it's a good place to hold a private meeting, to fix a solitary drink, or to catch a cat-nap.

He's especially partial to the bath: a vast chamber that holds a seashell's inner-echo, all pearlescent green ceramic and bronze fittings. There is a glassed-in rainfall shower at one end, and a huge sunken-in tub at the other.

And, of course, water.

Clean, hot, unspoiled water.

After a long week, it's Silco's habit to decompress here. He's from a time when running water was a luxury. Now he indulges as he pleases. The steam makes a satisfied haze of his thoughts. The hot soak loosens his muscles. Under his breath, he hums The Wave-Soaked Maiden, his voice a languid glide:

Behind her lips, her teeth were sharp/Much sharper than his knives/She said to him, "Come closer, sir/And I'll eat you alive."

Silco is happiest in water.

In boyhood, he and Vander sometimes slipped off to the oxbow near the mines. Together, they'd climb the creaky train-ties of the broken trestle, and plunge in feet-first. They'd dunk each other with hooting glee, racing from one end of the shore to the other. Afterward, Vander would drift along the shallows, with broad strokes of his arms and legs. Silco would arrow gracefully to the deep end, transfixed by the psychedelic shapes at the bottom.

Take care, Blut, Vander would tease. Mermaids might snatch ya!

Silco nearly smiles.

Memory tightens like a chokehold around his neck. Vi's fist explodes across his retinas before it distorts into Vander's, the scarred ridge of knuckles wrapping around Silco's neck.

Except Vander is dead.

Vi will follow—once she's served her use.

Idly, Silco traces the mottling of bruises on his chest. His expression doesn't change as he contemplates his plans—or Medarda's attempt to blockade them. She's proven quite the chess-queen. In her natural milieu, she’s doubtless a social mastermind; plucking other’s desires like harpstrings.

Doubtless, too, she imagines their blood bargain the same. She’ll play Silco, not as a partner, but a proxy from the shadows. A cipher to keep her family matter from catalyzing a war. If there’s a screw-up, Silco will take a fall; if it goes smoothly, she’ll terminate their arrangement. In the first instance, she keeps her impunity; in the second, she severs the connection.

Silco is ready to play. Not play ball—play along. Her means will serve his ends. For Zaun, and its coffers.

But the real jackpot is Medarda.

On the yacht, he'd seen past her armature of glossy poise into a nucleus of raw neuroses.  All the world's wealth at her fingertips, and yet her conflict is base. Mother versus motherland.  Silco has known his share of outcasts. One of their most enduring pathologies is the breakage of identity, as war breaks a map.

At Piltover's zenith politically, Medarda is still, at her core, the daughter discarded. So much of her choices stem from proving her mother wrong.  On being everything her mother is, and is not.  That's why she backed Talis' Hex-tech; that's why she took the boy as a protégé. The Hex-Gates have transcended barriers. They have reshaped history. They have lent Piltover a touch of immortality.

Power in the guise of progress.

But power, on its own, is an incomplete identity. Negation of the inner-wound fills the true void. 

Silco’s good eye narrows. He’s glimpsed the wound. He’ll trace it painstakingly to its root. Then all he needs is an opening. Something to slice through decades of emotional callus, so he can access the human beneath. And all humans are fallible.

Unlike monsters.

Shaking out a cigarette from the silver cigar case at the tub's edge, Silco lights up. His body in the fogged-up mirror is utilitarian. Taut and tapered, sinews visible under scarred flesh. A pared-down body, he thinks of it—everything superfluous sliced away. From time to time, he misses the spryness of his youth. But this is the cost of survival, and Silco wears it like a badge of honor.

Like the shrapnel wounds from the Day of Ash. Like the razor cuts from a Stillwater ambush. Like the chemical splatters from the mines.

Like the black-pitted ruin of his left eye.

From behind the half-open bedroom door, low sobbing ebbs. Silco's vantagepoint offers him a narrow vignette of crisp white sheets. Two bodies occupy his bed. One half is dark skin and sultry curves. A young woman; fast asleep. The other half is sun-freckled muscle and red curlicues of hair. A young man; weeping facedown in the pillows.

Both are Silco's regulars.

Not from the brothels, but his own network.

The Undercity is a hotbed of prostitution. In the mercantile era, the illicit trade thrived on the backs of boys and girls trafficked into slavery. Then came the Void Wars, and a never-ending crawl of bodies seeking sanctuary from the horrors of sorcery. Piltover became a magnet for well-to-do emigres. Their social shadows, the refugees, circled down the drain into the Fissures. In time, they became their own social strata: perpetual outsiders caught in a continuum of servitude.

Most fell back on the oldest profession of all.

By Vander's heyday, most Trenchers were hardened to the sight of naked bodies on display in the neon glare of brothel lanterns. For some, it was an attractive career choice—an alternative to the drudgery of factorywork or menial labor. For others, it was an escape hatch from the misery of living hand-to-mouth. They dressed the service up with pretty euphemisms: pleasure parlors, love menageries, botanical gardens.

The bottom line was human bondage.

By the time the Hex-Gates opened, the Undercity's sex industry had begun cooking itself down under the pressures of breakneck progress. Bodies were pushed beyond any semblance of desirability into the walking equivalent of meat-suits. In the clubs, girls ejected pingpong balls from their cunts, and boys shot high-velocity jism down their throats. In the street-corners, they descended on lone strollers like mosquitoes, a desensualized horde of high-heeled boots and leather-studded jackets whipped open to flaunt wares decked in piercings, needle marks and scars.

There was commerce but no carnal desire. Only the perversity of market forces; the insatiable appetite of capital. Nobody was getting off, but everyone was hustling to get ahead, get paid, get out.

There was no way out.

As the Hex-Gates yawned wide, the Undercity's future shrank, choking on Topside's hubris. By the time Silco took control of the Lanes, the sex trade had reached saturation point. If not for his commandeering of the criminal underbelly, the brothels would've gone belly up. Instead, through foreign business-deals and local back-alley bargains, Silco leveraged his influence to transform them into exclusive enterprises.

Today, every tart—whether lounging in the high-end saloons at the Promenade or plying trade in the slush-filled alleyways of Factorywood—belongs to a particular house. They are of varying quality, but each one has been remodeled from a den of insalubrious sleaze into a boutique establishment catering to a different niche.

From ale-house beer to vintage wine, as the Undercity saying goes.

There is Babette's, the oldest brothel in town, whose madam maintains cordial ties with every crime syndicate. There is The Vyx, the luxurious pleasure-house run by Margot, where local chem-royalty rub shoulders with foreign potentates. There is The Cream, which caters to tastes on the farthest edge of forbidden, its workers as talented as they are transgressive.

Each house has a unique flavor—like a slice of pie. Some offer only the tenderest morsels. Others serve a variety of platters. The dishes go by names that tie them to each establishment. Babette's workers have monikers like Sweetmeat or Angel Puff. The Vyx prefers tongue-in-cheek designations like Chastity and Prudence. The Cream has no names, only numbers—Six, Ten, Twenty.

There are many flavors of tart—but few who are truly exceptional. Those rarities are from Silco's own ranks.

The Eye of Zaun owns a share in every brothel, and a piece of every vice imaginable. And yet, he solicits no services from the establishments themselves. No pets or playmates. Not even rumors of a mistress.

Predictability leads to patterns. Men with patterns are targets.

Rather, Silco prefers a totem pole of trophies. None are locals. His talent is imported from Ionia or the allied continents. At the bottom are his Tarts on a Tea Tray. Floozies, flunkies and flings. Higher up, his Fleeting Fancies. Boys and girls game for a dirty weekend or two. Directly above are his Assets. Promising individuals groomed to serve his needs—businesswise and in the bedroom.

He runs them like his factory foremen. Staying apprised on their performances, paying their expenses, cultivating their skills—then dispatching them for special jobs. Some employ their talents in blackmail. Others infiltrate rival gangs. The cleverest spy on foreign powers. They pry political tidbits from Piltovan lips, glean shipping intel from Ionian diplomats, finesse battle strategies from Noxian warmasons.

For their loyalty, Silco grants protection.

And, for the right cost? 

Freedom.

His latest Asset goes by The Maven. A former tart from Babette's, she'd left for Bilgewater’s brighter shores. There, she'd been a pirate lord's paramour for seven years, until he'd jettisoned her. She'd ended up back in Zaun: plying her trade as a lowly barmaid under the Vyx’s indenture.

Sevika had pointed her out to Silco at one of Margot's bashes. She had a good eye for pretty girls. She knew what Silco liked. She also knew how he operated.  In the guise of kindness, Sevika offered to pay off the girl's debt.  She'd been too ecstatic to question whose pockets were deep enough to cover the cost. 

Until Sevika introduced her to Silco. 

The girl had been petrified. But Silco was faultlessly polite—unlike most chem-barons who were content to win favors by force. The first week, he took her out to the Blue Note for drinks. She'd been braced for sexual demands, but he treated her as any woman whose company he was enjoying. The following week, he invited her to an exhibition of deadly orchids at Chross' hothouse. By the third date, she'd met half the Undercity's chem-royalty. By the fourth, she'd been gifted jewelry: an old-fashioned clasp necklace that stored vials of poison. By the fifth, she'd discreetly dispatched a shipping tycoon who was holding up Silco's Shimmer-cargo.

By the month's end, she'd moved into a penthouse suite near the Skylight Commercia.

On Silco's payroll full-time.

Tonight, she lolls splendidly nude in his bed. A siren's body: breasts to kill for, legs to die for. Long black hair and smooth skin have always done a number on Silco. No piercings: his distaste for body-art is well known. No tattoos, either; he reserves those for his war-dogs in the trenches.

The only marks on her skin are red crescents from Silco’s teeth.

Next to her, the boy sports the same marks. A brazen thing. He'd been a farmhand from the azure fields of Navori. After crossing a feudal lord in a rigged game of cards, he’d fled to Zaun. Silco had taken a shine to him right off. Big strapping hulks are always worth the taming.

He’d put the lad in charge of running errands for favored clientele. Before long, he was working security at the Vyx, and reporting directly to Silco on its goings-on.  But a year of the good life spoiled him. He'd developed a habit of dipping into Silco’s coffers for petty cash. Silco had hoped he might be smarter. He keeps hoping one of them will possess a modicum of loyalty.

But no. He’s like the rest—and must pay the cost.

Now the boy sprawls facedown in bed. Sweat glistens down the undulant gradation of his spine and gleams off the curve of his reddened buttocks. His thighs and biceps are stamped with oozing red half-moons. Wounded pride is writ large across his features. He'd fought Silco every inch of the way, defiant and smart-mouthed—right until his mouth was too full of anything but cries and cock.

A tall silhouette appears in the bathroom door.

"In a mood, sir?"

Silco takes a drag from the cigarette, smoke pouring insinuatingly from his lips. "Past tense."

"Never past tense with you."

Sevika leans against the doorjamb. The carpet behind her is a war-path of debauchery: curls of used condoms, the butt of a half-smoked cigarillo, the gleaming curvature of a strap-on. Folded into a white robe, she resembles nothing so much as a goddess in a hellscape.

There is nothing holy about Sevika’s eyes. Only a gleam of half-lidded menace.

She dons the same look during the games with his whores. She goes at them without mercy—a dragon on a leash. That is part of the game too. Once Silco is done playing master-of-ceremonies, she retreats to the background, watching him savage his prey. Sharper teeth than hers; a more slowly savored cruelty. Yet all throughout, she keeps her distance, and her silence.

Only in the aftermath does she transition from one absolute to the other.

Sevika's eyes trace the bruises on his chest. Her expression shades a degree. "Hurts?"

Silco shrugs.

"I know goading Vi into an attack was the plan. But did you need to play it that close?"

"Best way to determine if she's worth the investment."

"Ever heard of keeping a mad dog on a short leash?"

Silco's smile is a flash of jagged bone. "What good's a dog that can't bite?"

A private joke; no joke at all.

Sevika smiles back, but her shadows don't dispel.  Last night with Vi, he'd cut it close. Now, with Medarda, he's skating dangerously thin. Sevika is no stranger to his schemes.  She also knows that in the act of laying each piece on the gameboard, he can veer from ruthless pragmatism to reckless ambition, so focused on success that he can overlook anything extraneous to the long-term goal.

Part of Sevika's duty as XO is to keep him grounded.  Physical stimuli worked best once: a fight, a suckjob, a fuck. It did the trick years ago, when he was just Sil from the Lanes. Sensation had kept him steady; no time to think. Afterwards, played out, he'd actually sleep through the night.

But Sil is long dead, and with him the stupid simplicity of the mind-body dichotomy. Silco has resurfaced with different appetites entirely. Sensation lends no sense of splitting. More a depthless hollow space, that can never be filled. That space being his mind.

It's taken Sevika time to understand what’s returned wearing half Sil's face—and to suit his desires accordingly.

Flesh isn't enough. He needs to taste blood.

"If it were me in that tent—" she warns.

"You'd have tried killing me straight off," Silco finishes. "Fortunately, we've passed that stage."

"And Vi?"

"She's passed too." A shadow-smile. "With flying colors."

One-handed, he beckons. An old shorthand: Time for business. 

Cued, Sevika perches on the tub's edge. Her robe is half-open. He can see the curve of one breast, the groove of muscle down her stomach. Unlike the whores, her skin is unmarked by bites. But he knows exactly where the scars sit on smooth bronze skin.

Ownership has different modes. So do secrets.

He and Sevika don't speak. They sign. In mixed company, the Eye of Zaun prefers his language clean. Not in the sense of no profanity, but in the sense of direct orders. Everything is subtext; everything is between the lines.

All the better to strangle loose ends with.

Sevika warns, You're taking a lot of risks.

Playing nursemaid again?

Just reminding you of limits.

Silco draws on his cigarette. The ember flares in the steam like his bad eye.

Limits are a byword for denial, he signs back. Zaun's had its fill of that.

Zaun's had its fill of corpses too.

He nixes this with a jet of smoke. The blackguard’s death was unfortunate. But consider the payout. His family will receive lifelong compensation from Topside. Meanwhile, we now have the Council's ear—and our demands squarely addressed. The next step is securing the means to make them stick.

Through this bargain with Medarda.

And Vi. Silco lolls back in the tub, watching her through the glitter of mismatched eyes. She will remain in Piltover for three months. The administrative suspension will keep her out of Zaun's borders.

What if she stirs up trouble off-duty?

The Council will hold an inquest into the blackguard's death. The runaround will keep her busy.

And the Noxian warmason?

Three months will give our Maven enough time to learn his patterns. She'll pass his progress on to Lock. But I need you to keep her focused. This man and his cadre are a brutal bunch. If she falters, they will kill her without hesitation.

Sevika's jaw grits.

Silco knows she would prefer a simpler problem set. Something more straightforward than a tangled network of intrigue. There are too many variables when spinning a circle dance.

But that's the price with a nation stake.

Sevika signs, You think Vi will be useful?

She's the right resource. Unattached. Neither ours, nor truly the Council's. Swain is clever. If we use our own men to pick his agents off, he will notice a pattern. A wild card like Vi will keep him guessing. We want him focused on what's happening on their side—while we work to obscure what's happening on ours.

Lots of costs to consider.

If we play this right, so are the rewards.

He proffers his cigarette. Sevika accepts a drag. She smells of him, in his robe, and underneath she smells of sex. But her stare is devoid of the usual post-fuck glow. Only wariness inhabits the darkness. His XO can go months on an even keel. But all the while that streak of stubborn good sense simmers away.

No choleric displays, but if she's got a point to make, then she'll be hell-bent on making it.

She's dangerous, she signs, You realize that, right?

She's reckless. She has so much rage, she can't control it. Even if it's in her best interests.

I mean Medarda.

Silco crooks one eyebrow.

That's twice she's trapped you into doing what she wants. Now she's even drawn you into this business with Swain.

Their business benefits Zaun.

But do you need her alliance more, or does she need yours?

The cigarette dangles from Silco's fingers, smoke spindling in the steam. What are you implying?

Sevika is quiet for a moment. They’ve shared all the flavors of hell together. But their roles remain ironclad. Her territory is the brass tacks, and he seldom encroaches it. Likewise the big picture remains shadowy, even to her.

That is Silco's sole domain.

Sevika's eyes consult his face; she takes the gamble. You've made a killing out of getting people to work for you. But the Medardas are in a league of their own. They've finessed deals between nations while we were struggling with gang warfare. They don't kill for real things like territory or survival, either. They kill for status. I'm not saying you can't handle her. But it's worth considering whether you should.

You think I'll lose my grip?

Try your head.

Silco takes a lungful of smoke, and with the same hand reaches over Sevika's left shoulder—the cigarette’s ember sings perilously close to her temple—and balances it on the ashtray by the sink. Their eyes meet. Sevika's body-language speaks sparingly. But her frown is always frank. She's frowned a lot these last six months.

Gratitude is not in Silco's vocabulary. Everything comes down to cost and reward. But Sevika deserves a modicum all the same.

His palm aligns with her jaw. She meets his stare steadily. But he feels the kick of her pulse.  It's a soft touch; an IOU for acts and words not soft at all.

"The day I give them a chance to take my head," he says, "is the day you make Zaun's bed in the next fresh grave."

"I hope that's not the end-game, sir."

"It's a starting point."

"Meaning?"

"Means what it means."

His thumb strokes her mouth, copping a feel. Sevika's sigh becomes a hum. Her own shorthand: Yes.

They don't kiss. Still balanced on the tub, Sevika leans in. Her black locks disentwine from her top-knot. Damp tangles unravel around Silco's face, doused with the aroma of smoke and sweat and brightleaf. She presents her breasts. Her nipples are tight rosettes. The left shows a faint calligraphy of Shimmer-veins, luminous in the half-light.

Silco cups the breast in his hand, feeling its soft heat. Takes the nipple between his teeth. She shudders as his tongue whorls along its pebbled surface.  She likes it rough, but only if he lets her choose how hard.  In that, she has nothing in common with his whores. Her body doesn't cater to his tastes. Her desires aren't tailored to his.

Right now, that's what Silco needs.

With the other wet spidering hand, he traces the inside of her thigh. His palm grasps her cunt—a tender pooch hidden in dark fleece. She is burning-hot and sopping-wet. The sensation startles him every time.  She is everywhere scarred and solid. But between her thighs is a dirtysweet secret of purest silk.

Sevika's lips part; she expels a low hoarse moan. Her breath comes with small catches, like beads through a string.  Watching her come is always intriguing. It starts with the same brute intensity as when she is slamming down foes. It ends with the softest rippling tremors, like when she is falling asleep. The sharp topography of her face melts. Her eyes go half-lidded: from ready to fight to dreaming of sunlight.

And when she turns her head six degrees to the right, she becomes almost beautiful. Full of tiny tells of truth in a business of its opposite.

Right now, Silco needs that, too.

Sevika gives a sharp cry as she convulses, thighs clamping around his rigid hand; her second cry is softer, her body unraveling into relaxation.

Silco withdraws his fingers. They are dripping wet.

"Better?"

Snorting, she shakes her head.

"Still?"

"Gets this way before the curse hits," she says. "Every nut makes it worse."

“Poor you.”

"Or them."

In the bedroom, the boy and girl lay curled together. The disturbed silence in the bathroom has roused them.

Sevika signs, Time to send 'em off?

A not-quite-smile twists Silco's lips.

He nods.

Sevika cracks a sharp whistle. The whores jerk. The Maven sits up, pushing the dark hair out of her face. Her drowsy demeanor morphs into an enchanting smile.

In Va-Nox, she calls out, "War das genug oder willst du mehr?"

Lazily, Silco crooks a finger.

She obeys. Her long legs sashay-stagger toward the bath. She kneels by the tub, hands in her lap, demure as a pussycat. Between her breasts, a pendant gleams. Silco’s gift; bearing the Eye’s insignia. She is seldom without it except when undercover. In the lamplight, it becomes a sly erotic adornment.

"Du hast mir so gut getan," she purrs, "dass ich Monatelang krumm herumlaufen wird."

Whore-bluff, but she says it with such sincerity. Silco’s lessons have worked wonders.

Playing along, he tips his chin toward Sevika. "Wer ist besser," he asks, "sie oder ich?"

"Wenn ich mich für einen entscheide," Maven rejoins smoothly, "verliere ich den anderen."

Silco's notched lip curls. A good answer.

That's why he keeps her around.

Gracefully, Maven joins Sevika on the tub's edge. Her hands span the breadth of Silco’s shoulders, expertly kneading. She knows well enough to avoid his neck. In a wrong mood, he can invert from stillness to savagery. But not here. Here, no inch of Silco's skin counts as a vulnerable spot.

These nights are about a different need entirely.

In Standard, Maven asks: "Shall you have my report?"

Silco nods.

She is a polyglot both off and on her feet. Fluent in the arts of Demacian, Shuriman and Piltovan—i.e. in the cunt, up the arse, down the throat. The latter two are Silco's favorites of long-standing: less mess, and more peace of mind. But Maven speaks real languages too. Her Va-Nox is impeccable. So is her Efric.

It's a convenience for Silco: pleasure and practice in one place. It also makes her a useful scenery prop during meetings with foreign envoys. Her pretty ears stay pricked for exchanges in the background.

"Our Noxian warmason," Silco says. "Is he enjoying the scenery?"

She nods. "He visit the Vyx. I service him with another girl."

"Serviced. Anything of interest to share?"

"He write a letter."

"To?"

"His wife. To tell her he will be… be away."

"Why to his wife of all people?"

"She is... she is... Wie sagt man schwanger?"

"Pregnant."

"She is pregnant. He will be a father. Five years."

"Months."

"Month bedeutet Monat?"

"Hm."

"Oh, das ist leicht zu merken." She smiles a little. "He will be a father. Five months. So he write a letter in Efric. He write second letter in Va-Nox, with address to Piltover."

"Where in Piltover?"

"Bluewind Court."

"Their diplomatic quarters?" Silco muses. "Interesting."

"I made copy of both letters. I already gave to Lock."

Satisfied, Silco nods. The plan is in motion. The variables are volatile, but their motivations are predictable. In that predictability, Silco can employ safeguards.

And for the rest?

Wildcards.

Coyly, Maven whispers, "Soll ich den Jungen wecken?"

Silco glances back at the doorway. The boy lays still, framed by the oblong glow from the bedroom lanterns.

Silco's smile shows the barest bite.

"Noch lebt?" he calls out.

The boy shudders. His eye, red-rimmed, peeps out from a disorder of curls. Silco brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, but never removes his own his eye off the boy's. Watches the flush creep up his face, a rising tide of adrenaline.

He's always relished the effect his mismatched stare has. How it can turn a burly swain into a jellified mannequin.

Hoarsely, the boy says, "What—what d'you want?"

"You. At my own time."

The boy is too petrified to move. None of the Eye of Zaun's playthings are under illusions of his compassionate nature. But they are paid to take him as he is—a monster with a penchant for pain.

Silco snaps his fingers. Reflexively, the boy jerks to his feet.

He crosses over, with an inebriated side-to side that echoes the Maven's stagger. Silco smiles grimly. He's had them both every way to Sunday, but his body's no musket. He's got a spare round left. Blame a three-week deficit paired with the side-effects of the new Shimmer-strain.

He'll reload, discharge, and get back to work.

That's another reason the Laguna Lounge is convenient. His toys are delivered ribbon-wrapped to his doorstep. His crew stand guard outside. They escort the guests in and out at a moment's notice.

No imposters stealing in. No assassins sneaking out.

His office at the Last Drop was less ideal for assignations. Especially with Jinx skulking in the rafters. Or hiding under his desk. Or stealing into his closet.

His child was naturally gifted at spy games. Silco's lessons had perfected the rest. The problem was that once Jinx became adept at spying, she weaponized it for her own ends. During wharfside negotiations with rival gangs, she'd creep along the rooftops to eavesdrop. During his meetings with Marcus, she'd hang from the rafters. During her Night Stalker phases, she'd even pounce on unsuspecting guests in the VIP lounges.

It could be quite inconvenient, as when someone would lean in to speak with Silco—only to leap away in a shrieking apoplexy when sludge dripped from the vents to splatter their heads, while a disembodied voice boomed—"Keep your cooties to yourself!"

Sevika branded Jinx a possessive freak. Silco begs to differ.

Deep down, his child is a sensitive little body. Vi's abandonment left her fearful of a reprise. In the early days, Silco had to finesse his way around Jinx's moods before even contemplating a block of uninterrupted adult-time. He still remembers the first—and only—time she'd caught him in bed with one of his whores. Eleven years old and honing her skills at sneaking about (the girl crept like a phantom!) to pop up at his door with a cry of "Boo!"

When she realized what she'd stumbled upon, her face cycled through a dozen shades of scarlet.

The Psychickers call it The Primal Scene.

Silco calls it a bloody nuisance.

Girding his hips with a sheet, he'd primly escorted Jinx to her own room. In the morning, he'd found her cross-legged with a pile of trinkets. She'd X'd out all of their eyes with tape, and refused to meet Silco's own. It was mystifying. She wasn't an ignoramus—by eleven most sumpsnipes knew all about the bats and bees.

So why was she so silent?

Later, Silco heard that someone had dumped a bucket of corrosive chemicals on the whore. The boy leapt out of the way—barely. His hair was badly scalded. On the rooftop, the perpetrator had left a calling card. A monkey-face spray-painted in neon green.

Jinx never hid her handiwork.

Sevika told Silco to punish the brat by lopping her hair off. She needed to be taught that actions had consequences. Except there seemed no bigger consequence than Jinx herself. Later that day, Silco found her in their quarters, gripped by a fit.  That was the only way to describe it—a fit. Mother had them from time to time. Her eyes would darken into black-noise. She'd start throwing books and glasses and candles.  She wouldn't speak except in garbled shrieks.

In those moments, she was a stranger. Nobody Silco knew at all.

Jinx's fit was different. A dirge of despair so pure it couldn't survive except as rage. A rage so familiar it was like a cracked mirror. A reflection of all Silco’s old cuts. She didn't respond when he called her name.  She threw toys and trinkets helter-skelter. She thrashed and snarled when he grabbed her. Her sharp little teeth sank into his wrist.

Flesh wasn't enough. She'd needed to taste blood.

It took hours to calm her down. She'd wept and babbled and wept, before subsiding into exhaustion. In the morning, Silco opted to stay at their quarters. He'd made Jinx's favorite confetti-sprinkled waffles. Handled her gently, using soothing tones. At last, between cheerless bites of breakfast, Jinx had at first evaded, then equivocated, then yielded the truth.

Was she frightened by what she'd walked in on last night? Nope. Upset? Ummm... maybe. Why? 'Cause Vander never had anyone over. Correction, child. Vander had plenty of boys and girls over. They just handled their business in the ginnel. Well—why do you have boys over? Grown-ups have needs. I'll be grown up soon. So you will. So you won't need more friends, right? My lovely, you misunderstand... Will you leave me? Why would I do that? 'Cause he slept there. Slept where? My Safe Spot.

Jinx's Safe Spot.

The three-quarters of mattress Silco had allotted for her nightmares.

Oh, Silco realized.

She'd had a bad dream, and he wasn't there. She'd wanted comfort, and he'd shut her out. An unfamiliar emotion—remorse?—curdled his gut.

Under a gentle palm, Silco smoothed her hair.

That spot is yours, he said. For as long as you want it.

And you—?

Me? A bittersweet smile touched his lips. Always.

Jinx pounced tearfully into his arms. But he still remembers the look on her face. The dread that he'd turn her away. Abandon her altogether. To Silco it verged on unthinkable. Yet it was also a reminder of Jinx's fragility. Like all fragilities, it must be handled with care.

Afterward, he'd never allowed a stranger into his and Jinx's quarters again.

So: yes.

The Laguna Lounge is convenient.

Nearly as convenient as the tub, large enough for four heat-slicked bodies. Nearly as convenient as the buoyancy of mass in water; effortlessly malleable. Nearly as convenient as the soundproofed tiles, absorbing the reverberations of the boy's and girl's cries.

Water sloshes everywhere. Their shapes are joined in a twisting chimera. The boy is trapped between Silco and Sevika. Two dark bookends with his body like a pale parenthesis in between. Silco grips him back-to-front, shoving slowly up the boy's ass. It's a doddle: a lubricated sheath, and he is already nicely loosened up.

Silco isn't particularly gentle about it. Just steady. The boy begs and bleats through every inch of it. His spasming shoulderblades cut into Silco's chest. Hips jerking forward, grinding back, again and again. Meanwhile, the Maven guides the boy's pretty wrapped prick between Sevika's splayed thighs. It's only sporting. All evening Silco left it untouched, even as it stood stiffly upright against its owner's belly. Twice, it had splattered the sheets with spunk from everything Silco was subjecting him to—ever the bridesmaid; never the bride.

Now its patience has paid off.

Silco feels the moment Sevika takes the boy in—a subvocal tremor through his chest and out of her mouth. Bracing her strong elbows against his shoulders, she rolls her hips, a hypnotic sway. She knows exactly how to move, how to match the changing rhythm. A born fighter; just one syllable short of a natural dancer. Meanwhile the Maven displays her specialty, slithering frictionlessly in between bodies, soft fingers here, softer tongue there. Everything she does is slow, deliberate, exquisite. Eager to earn her tip.

That's another reason Silco keeps her around.

Lazily, he withdraws, all that hot flesh slipsliding, only the flared head clutched by the taut ring of muscle. The boy makes a begging sound, swaying backwards instead of forwards—and Silco knows he has him. He slams back in, a snapping swivel that makes the poor bastard shudder all over, mouth loosing delirious croons.

The rhythm is all Silco's now. He rides into the boy from behind with rapid, brutal, merciless thrusts—every upstroke shoving the boy's cock deeper into Sevika, knocking sharp cries from both their throats, a jittery tenor to a jarred contralto. They are each in a zone of single-minded greed now. The boy scrabbles frantically at the tub's surface, bracing himself. Sevika grinds back against him without mercy, taking what she needs. She is rigid from top to toe, a dark flush blotching her skin, hands clutching at the boy's shoulders, before reaching across to reflexively pluck at Silco's.

Silco shoves in deeper—the boy howls—and reels Sevika in by a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck. Again, they don’t kiss. He bites her throat, gnaws the humid crook where her pulse throbs. Between them, the boy is already starting to spend, with breathy helpless sounds like a virgin overcome.

Not that Silco gives a toss either way. He redoubles his thrusts. Slick skin on skin, the boy's crucified body just a proxy now. A meat puppet dragged along for the ride. Grunting with frustration, Sevika rocks against the softening heft of the boy’s cock. He’s finished, Silco is nearly there, but her own body is lagging behind. On a rare impulse of generosity, Silco reaches around the boy's torso and wedges a hand between her thighs. Her clit pulses between his pinching fingers. Her thighs spasm; she comes with a sharp oversensitized snarl.

A moment later Silco yanks the Maven in, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She shrieks, the boy sobs—and Silco seizes up and spills.

Afterward, the whores lay sprawled like corpses in the tub. Their pretty faces are glassy-eyed; pretty bodies splay-limbed. The bite-marks turn the bathwater a delicate pink. Neither one is good as dead. But they are no longer good for much.

Idly, Silco gestures for a towel. Sevika obeys. Climbing out, he dries off, the water streaming off him. His movements are insouciant despite his nudity. Snipers in the shadows; assassins in the corners—these are seldom his preoccupations.

The deadliest killers lurk in plain sight.

Humming, Sevika comes out behind him. Devil’s Got the Blues. She still has license to touch him—but she won't. Once the games are done, they both expect permission for such things, unspoken but stark.

Instead, she relights his half-smoked cigarette, passing it over. Taking a lungful, Silco exhales a satisfied stream.

"Well done."

It's shorthand for: Get them out.

Fully-dressed, Sevika oversees the whores' departure. She rarely considers these tasks any different from patrolling the streets. Something done for the maintenance of order. Part of her role as XO. If she harbors any further complexity of judgement, Silco has never witnessed it.

And Silco, who has entirely too much complexity in his life, approves.

The Maven is seen off with an affectionate pat to the arse. Giggling, she kisses Sevika's cheek, then imparts a more respectful nod to Silco. His crew will keep him apprised on her progress with the warmasons.

Before the boy can follow her out, Sevika stops him.

"What now?" he asks, almost a whine.

Sevika replies, "The Boss wanted to tip you extra."

A glint of greed enters the boy's stare. Even without past misadventure to disqualify him, this barefaced show of self-interest is enough to pass the sentence.

In the corner, Silco snaps his fingers.

On Pavlovian reflex, the boy turns. The moment he does, Sevika seizes his arm, yanks it taut, and snaps. Howling, the boy drops to his knees.

Silco, calmly dressing, and preoccupied with locating a missing cufflink, spares the barest glance.

"Remind me," he says to Sevika, "what spoils a good fuck?"

"Dying," Sevika replies.

"And what's the reward for disloyalty."

"Dying," Sevika repeats, and gives the boy's arm a vicious twist.

He screams, a high keening wail.

Silco crooks a finger. Sevika desists.

Half-dressed—red shirt, black trousers—Silco threads gold cufflinks through the buttonholes. There is no anger in his movements, but that means nothing.  The monster has stirred awake. It inhabits every lineament of Silco’s frame. It is in his body-language; slow, measured, precise. In his voice; the smoothness abraded down to a slither. In his eyes; with their dark gleam of ruminant bloodlust.

As he said—flesh isn't enough. He needs to taste blood.

"You," Silco says, "were skulking at the outpost near my suite yesterday."

"I-I was just—"

"Spying for someone. Your camera obscura is in our custody."

The boy's breath hitches. The exact sound he makes whenever Silco grips him by the bollocks.

"Can you say it?" Silco’s voice holds the softness of bloodstained velvet. "Can you give the name of the one who bribed you?"

“I—”

“Because I think you should say her name first. It makes matters simpler. Don’t you agree?"

Defeated, the boy says, "M-Margot."

“Dear Margot. What’s got her so curious about my private affairs?"

The boy swallows. His eyes pass over Silco's face, like fingertips tracing for seams in an impenetrable mask. There are none.

He dares, "Jinx."

The silence stretches tight as a noose.

Hastily, the boy says, "Margot and the—the chem-barons want to know her whereabouts. So do folks on the streets. They say—"

"Hm?"

A tiny vein beats at the side of the boy's neck. "They say she's dead. You hid her bones."

"To pick my teeth with?"

"In exchange for—for the Hex-gem."

Silco trades a glance with Sevika. Her expression shows disgust but no shock. Caught up in these infernal games with Piltover, Silco’s attention toward his inner-circle has been remiss. Now they're creeping in from the corners, eager for gaps in his armor. That's the trouble with politics. Every moment one faces a forked road; a choice between two theoretical extremes of risk.

Meanwhile, the real nuisances are closest to home.

In the mirror, Silco arranges his hair, slicking it back with pomade before shaping it with a comb. The routine task is a backdrop for black plans. When he's done, he resembles any well-heeled Topsider ready for a night out in town. Not that a Topsider could so much as knot his own cravat, let alone dress in a half-minute without a manservant's assistance.

Silco is no Topsider. Not even a pale imitation.

Zaun plays by different rules.

One-handed, Silco gestures. Sevika's blade juts out from her prosthetic arm, a glowing-hot flash. Before the boy can react, it cuts a lightning arc across his throat. There is a sound not unlike butter on a hot skillet. A gaping slash appears across the boy's throat. The torn edges sizzle.

His eyes widen in shock. Then they glaze over, and he slumps. Blood oozes from the gash. Not much. Sevika's blade was so superheated it cauterized the wound. She knows Silco's distaste for messes.

Pity the chem-barons missed the memo.

Sevika grabs a handful of tissues from a box on the sink. Kneeling, she wads them into the boy's seeping throat. Then she seizes him under the armpits and drags him away. Outside, Lock is waiting with a body-bag. The corpse will be delivered back to the Vyx—and straight to Margot's doorstep.

No shorthand necessary. The chem-barons will get the message.

Stay away from Jinx.

Jinx—who is asleep in Silco’s suite.

Nestled under the blanket, she is radiant in repose, girlish and soft-looking. In the old days, lamplit, she used to put Silco in mind of the Celestials from old myth. Real flesh; warm and living. And yet somehow otherworldly too.

Without sound, Silco glides past the bed and lays his silver smoking case on the dresser. He snaps it open, clicks the hidden compartment, and stares spellbound. Blue fractals of light suffuse the ambient dark. The Hex-gem glows like a stolen comet.

Glows like Jinx.

She's won him a nation—and this gem was merely a means to that end. The prism to channel the mad colors of Jinx's pure rage, and set Piltover ablaze. As if Jinx herself is the spark of magic; the gem only amplifies her power.

Power.

The word is Zaun's lifeblood, and Silco possesses it. Destruction incarnate. Beauty inviolate.

He holds it in his palms. And it thrills him.

Terrifies him.

Because when absolute power manifests, there are no ifs or Buts. It is all or nothing. That's why Piltover is eyeing up his affairs, while the chem-barons sniff after his secrets. That's why Noxus is angling for alliances in the guise of conquest. Same as Bilgewater. Same as Ionia. Same as every other bastard vying for a piece of the pie. 

With two fingers, Silco rubs the skin at his left temple. His bad eye burns like fire.

Like rage.

A kingpin's throne isn't won with mercy. It is seized with savagery—in deed and reputation. For years, Silco has fed both with fresh blood. He is adept at playing his enemies, and preying on what they hold dear. In the Promenade, jukebox musicals play Mack the Knife to allude to his ruthless rise to the top. In the Sumps, they don't sing at all; they whisper from firsthand accounts.

He's never concerned himself with going too far. The essence of power is going further than anyone else dares.

Politics is different. One's sway must be more diffuse. For that, it's critical to keep a finger on the delicate pulse of his city. Silco's cadre of spies—tarts, pickpockets, hustlers—play a vital role.

 But they aren't the crux of his success.

That is Jinx.

To Piltover, she is the catalyst of carnage. To Silco's network, a tool for chaos. But for Silco, she's been a prophetmaker. The girl who broke his empire, then resurrected it. Whose genius cracked the code of magic; whose artistry unlocked the secret of warfare.

She'd made the Eye of Zaun as much as he'd made her.

Same way she'd remade Zaun—from a slag-heap into a metropolis.  Once, the Undercity’s social psyche was one of self-defeatist apathy. Chem-barons ruled the roost while Enforcers wielded the bullet, leaving the ordinary Fissurefolk in the cold. Their homes were cramped, their lives short. They scraped together enough coin to buy themselves a bell or two of relief each night. Some sold tools and trinkets. Others sold themselves. But each one coveted the rarest commodity of all: change.

Jinx is change.

For the commoners, she embodies decades of pent-up emotion run rampant. With every bomb, she knocked Piltover's pride down a peg. She unleashed hell above, and they cheered her to high heaven below. In the taverns, chem-punks even composed Get Jinxed with all the pathos of an anthem. 

Jinx wasn't a hero so much as a daredevil. And they adored her for it.

Now Zaun is free.

And Jinx has vanished.

Silco has no right to mourn with the masses. And yet he does. Because Jinx isn't gone—and yet she remains so altered in herself, so discombobulated by everything she's endured. Almost six months, and Silco still isn't certain whether she is floating towards recovery, or going deeper around the bend.

Since Zaun's birth, she's gone from loose cannon to loose end in a single agonizing blast.

He stares at himself in the dresser mirror. His good eye is a black hole, the bad one a red pit glowing balefully.  She's won him a nation—and broken herself in the bargain. Now Silco must keep his own end. Keep her safe. Safe from Vi, from Piltover, from the threats looming and the nuisances swarming.

Safe from herself?

"Silco?"

When he turns, Jinx has shifted up on one elbow. Neon beams slant from the blinds. Her heavy-lidded eyes hold a feline gloss. A pang goes through Silco. A night spent scheming, and yet the moment he enters the suite, his senses are so full of Jinx that he filters out almost everything else. As if the world, inside and outside, goes mute.

Sanctuary in the eye of chaos.

"Sssh," he soothes. "Go back to sleep."

Her gaze flickers from the smoking case to him. "Where’ve ya been?"

It is as if she knows.

(The Bilgewater dogfight to threaten Vi.)

(The Piltover yacht to bargain with Medarda.)

(The Laguna Lounge to sodomize a pair of whores.)

"Nowhere in particular."

"You smell like a cathouse."

As if she truly knows.

Except—no. It's just Jinx being Jinx. Irreverent, brash, bratty: a collection of volatile impulses distilled down into a fierce purity of heart. She's never, Silco thinks, known a moment's vice in her entire life. Even with blood on her hands. Her every desire is hers, and burns purer than any magic.

Whereas Silco is all vice. All secrets, shadows, scars.

All for her.

He smiles, barely. "How, child, are you so familiar with Eau de Cathouse?"

"Pffft. Like I've never been hit over the head with a fancy cologne bottle." She stares for another second, scrubbing the hair back from her slit-eyed face. Then as if she's flipped a switch, suddenly she is leaning forward, holding her arms out, hands starfished.

"Stay?" she whispers.

Silco hesitates. He is too wired to lay down. Dawn is creeping against a skyline whose contours shimmer. Zaun beckons. So much business left undone. Scores in need of settling and ledgers in need of balancing.

But Jinx...

She needs only him.

Without quite meaning to, Silco removes his coat and stretches out slowly on the bed next to her. Sighing, Jinx nestles closer. Foreheads together; fingers entwined. Her warmth spills like water into the parched dryness of his body. In the mattress's declivity, their shapes meld together.

"Stay," Jinx whispers.

"Always," he whispers back.

By degrees, Jinx drowses off. Her arm holds him in place; her breath makes a moist hot patch across the curve of his throat. On his feet, a touch that triggers nothing but a violent reflex. Here, it’s the most soothing sensation he's yet known. The only one he needs.

His and Jinx's Safe Spot.

Home.

It’s where he’s happiest in the end.

[misericordel]

the "other lady veyle" meta

— aka veyle’s relationship with her fell dragon blood and what the hell even IS this “other lady veyle” shit

from the beginning of veyle’s introduction and reveal i’ve always wondered why the other lady veyle acts that way. why does she love to see people suffer? well i think it’s actually more than just zephia’s magic or the “inherent nature” of a fell dragon at work. i do believe that zephia's magic drew out the negative emotions and feelings in veyle’s mind, with a bit of fell influence.

bear with me here as this is going to get pretty long, since i intend you use multiple quotes from the script in order to back up my thoughts.

 at first, i just put it off as zephia’s magic influence making her evil and that’s that— it’s a convenient setup for her character, but i think there’s more to it than just ~* oooo evil magic ooooo *~.

i believe that the personality of the other lady veyle is a derivative of her desire for family and to have a parent who loves her again. first, i’m going to talk about her mother for a bit.

from what we know of her mother, veyle’s mom was incredibly kind and sweet to her and a powerful mage dragon.

chapter 25 — veyle speaking about her mother

“She was kind. And affectionate. And there was so much love within her. But she died before I could truly appreciate what I had. She always did the best she could to keep me safe. And she told me that if Papa ever broke free… If he did, and if he started doing terrible things ─ as his family─ I had to find a way to stop him.”

clearly veyle had a loving parental figure in her life for a long time, but she was eventually persecuted for being a mage dragon and mating with sombron.

hortensia’s support — veyle speaking about her mother

She was also the Fell Dragon's mate. Humans hated her for it and persecuted her. She died.

after her mother died, she was completely alone. all she had left from her mother was her own dragonstone and her mission to stop sombron if he ever broke free and did horrible shit. veyle notably buried her dragonstone, which i headcanon to be after she transformed out of an explosion of (negative) emotions and injured a good amount of people after they killed her mother and persecuted veyle too for being a fell dragon.  i personally believe that veyle buried her dragonstone with her mother after everything was over. (see this drabble here)

hortensia's support — veyle 

When I didn't age, the humans knew what I was, and they persecuted me too. It was...terrible.

now, with that in mind, by all means veyle should have ended up incredibly depressed and lonely. wishing vengeance on humans, etc. etc. there is one shining moment in her life that kept her the way she is now, and that’s her meeting with her sibling (alear).

chapter 16 — speaking to zephia about her sibling’s dragonstone

“A thousand years ago, I was crying and one of my siblings gave it to me. I remember it well. "Even though I can't stay with you, I'll always be your friend. If you're sad or lonely, remember...if this stone is intact, that means I'm still alive.”

chapter 20 — mauvier speaking about veyle to alear

“All this time, Lady Veyle has been sustained by a desire to meet her sibling.”

this is something that kept her going for a long fucking time. her sibling promised to always be her friend even if they were separated. as long as the stone was still intact, it would mean they were still alive. this meant everything to veyle after losing her mother, her only friend in her life. she could look at the dragonstone and know that she still had someone in this world that cared for her no matter what.

but, that doesn’t completely eliminate her loneliness or her desire for family again, unfortunately. it’s a long while after she meets her sibling that she meets the fell dragon worshipers. 

chapter 21 — mauvier talking about veyle’s past

Mauvier

“Then Sombron was imprisoned and Lady Veyle's mother died, leaving her alone. She could find no friends in an age when it was rumored a last Fell Dragon child had survived. Lady Veyle lived in hiding, knowing that─were she discovered─she would be killed.”

Alear 

“A thousand years, living like that... All alone that whole time?”

Mauvier

“Not exactly. A few centuries ago, she came into contact with worshippers of the Fell Dragon... In their care, she slept in a hidden temple─until Lord Sombron's release. She had been, long ago, close with those in that temple. But when she recently awoke…”

Alear

“They were all dead, weren't they…”

Mauvier

“So, Lady Veyle was relieved, even overjoyed, to find herself reunited with Lord Sombron. He detested her and proclaimed her a defect lacking a Fell Dragon's abilities and character. Sombron required her obedience, however, so he ordered Zephia to tamper with her nature. [...]”

so my version, including my interpretation and headcanons, of what went down is that veyle transformed into a dragon and went on a rampage. after realizing she had killed a few of the humans, she went into hiding and was both afraid to kill anyone and get killed herself. thankfully, she was able to find fell dragon worshippers who liked her — if only because she was a fell dragon (and boy did that fuck up her self esteem). unfortunately that didn’t last long, as she was back to being alone again when she woke up centuries later.

mauvier goes onto mention that she was incredibly happy to be reunited with sombron again. that was her family! even though her mother had warned her about her papa, she was so devastated by the repeated loss of people close to her that she was desperate for any sort of familial affection. she wanted her papa to like her and love her. she just wanted that figure in her life. 

chapter 25 — speaking about facing sombron

I am. I'm not afraid to stand up to him. I was so lonely, I couldn't admit it, but... he stopped being my father long ago. There's no bond left to break.

veyle speaks up directly about how lonely she was pretty often. to the point that she just wanted sombron to acknowledge her as her, not as a defect. she literally just wanted a loving parent like her mother again.

chapter 22 — in the afterlife with alear

I tried so hard. I wanted Papa to look at me and not see a defect. I wanted him to forget about the other worlds and just be with me. I'd always think, "If only I tried harder..." But it never mattered! I kept getting crushed over and over…

we know too that sombron isn’t really a caring father like. at all. it’s pretty easy to tell from just face value, but veyle also remarks about how they never spent time together here.

chapter 26 — veyle facing sombron

[... ] We never spent time together as father and daughter, like I wanted.

it’s mentioned that zephia uses her magic on veyle in order to tamper with her kind and innocent nature (and directly seen in the game lol). now this is where the other lady veyle comes into play. if veyle wasn’t so lonely and hadn’t suffered repeatedly from the loss of people she cared about, i actually don’t think zephia’s magic would not have worked on her. or at least had very little effect.

zephia merely manipulated the feelings of loneliness and desire to prove herself that were already there.

so, with all that in mind, why does the other lady veyle act so cruelly and delight in the pain of the others? well, part of it is clearly zephia’s magic at play. the other part is that she wanted her father to actually look at her and spend time with her. she was also incredibly lonely as mentioned, and so the other lady veyle is more actively bitter in her place in life. the other lady veyle has remarked about how lonely she is to alear as well. the other lady veyle is also  actively insecure about her place next to her father, seen here.

chapter 21 — the other lady veyle talking about emblem marth to alear

His fellow Emblems, stolen away. You turned your back on him. Oh, lonely thing. Just like me. But I'm here for you, little Emblem. I'm all you need. Now, had I known I had a sibling who survived the years...I would have killed you. I'd like to make sure I'm my Father's one and only child.”

“you turned your back on him. oh lonely thing. just like me” is most definitely a reference to the humans turning their backs on her when they persecuted her mother (and perhaps to all the fell dragon worshippers dying while she was asleep). her insecurity about her place next to her father is also seen here, with the way she threatens that she would have killed her sibling if she knew they survived. part of this is a cruelty thing, but the other part is the fact that she’s a defect. the other lady veyle definitely understands this. if she was his only child left, then she didn’t have to worry about being cast aside again. 

problem = fell dragon sibling still alive and they can summon emblems

solution = kill them and then i can have papa all to myself and he won’t cast me aside :D yayy

i’m not sure where else to put this, but i do also think that veyle being so cruel and inflicting so much pain on others (mostly humans) is because of what she experienced after her mother died. they reacted to her and treated her cruelly, so why shouldn’t the humans get the same treatment? type thing. it would make sense that the divine dragon is included in this treatment then, since they are an obstacle to her being loved by her father.

now. here is the most damning evidence i actually have, in regards to the other lady veyle just being a negative extension of veyle’s already existing feelings. these lines right here.

chapter 22 —the other lady veyle fighting against the real veyle

Shut your mouth! You are nothing but a defect! Mark my words, you quivering little baby! [... ] I don't want to go! Help me, Father! I beg of you!”

first, you can see proof that the other lady veyle genuinely believes she is a defect. however, the more important part here is the plead for sombron to help her. this isn’t evil magic dragon speaking. this is a little girl who has lost so many people she cared about. this is a little girl who is scared to die, and in her last moments looks to sombron— her dad.  — to help her. to actually be a father to her and keep her safe and loved.

the other lady veyle reacts and acts cruelly in so many ways, but in her last moment, she just wanted her father. which is kind of really sad, if you think about it.

the whole time all she wanted was to be loved and respected. but sombron casts her away just like that.

and then after that we have veyle returning from the Death Void with renewed vigor and ambition. it would make sense that veyle is able to break the helmet at exactly this point. she was able to talk with alear about how lonely she was and how much despair she faced, and that she could finally die in peace and happiness now that she was reunited with her sibling.

chapter 22 — veyle speaking to alear in the afterlife(?)

Hey. Why don't we fall asleep...together? The world will end with or without us. And...I feel happy because I finally found you.

then alear tells veyle to revive him as a corrupted, and we get this 

chapter 22 — same thing

Alear

My friends told me it doesn't matter where you're from. What's important is how you live. How you live and what you do shapes your future. So...who do you want to become?

Veyle

I've never thought about that. But if it were possible for me to change now, I suppose… I'd want to be like you. I'd want to become a dragon who saves the world.

THIS. this is is so important. alear, her sibling, is the first person(dragon?) in centuries to see her for who she is, not  for a fell dragon. (mauvier is a derivative of the fell dragon worshippers and one of the four hounds so he doesn't really count here) the last time anyone made her feel like this was when her mother was alive.  alear literally gives her active motivation to live again.

her motivation this whole time was the dragonstone and her sibling being alive. she found her sibling again, so naturally that was the end of her motivation to live right? she didn’t need anything else, in her mind. but alear gives her more than that this second time alive. alear gives her the chance to be herself, not a fell dragon.

so it makes incredible sense for me that veyle is able to come back and destroy the helmet here.

and that’s the end of the other lady veyle. however, i also wanted to touch on the lack of memories that veyle has when it comes to her actions as the other lady veyle.

chapter 17 — the other lady veyle speaking to alear

“You know, seeing as how I don't share memories with that pathetic little girl…”

WARNING below for discussions of some heavy stuff regarding childhood PTSD and DID. please caution when reading if this can affect you negatively.

to me, veyle’s other self was born out of childhood PTSD and, with a help of a little dark magic in the fire emblem universe, dissociative identity disorder. veyle watching her mother die and then being persecuted herself, as while as losing so many people in her life and being treated so cruelly attributes to the development of her childhood PTSD.

veyle mentions more than once the loss of memories. the other lady veyle doesn’t have memories of the “regular” veyle, and the “regular” veyle doesn’t have memories of the other lady veyle. loss of memory is a very common issue when it comes to alters, and alters commonly do not have access to the host’s memories when they aren’t in control.

it would make sense then, that veyle’s loss of memories is a result of her “other self”. i did some research on the type of alters that DID systems can have and it's of my firm belief that the other self is veyle’s persecutor alter, born from the harsh treatment and persecution she faced from both humans and her own family. persecutor alters often start out as protector alters then turn into persecutor alters, which aligns with veyle here. they're also violent against the host and often physically and mentally abusive towards the host and towards those around them. basically everything from the page i linked points to her alter being a persecutor alter.

in the game, the persecutor alter (other lady veyle) supposedly dies after she breaks the helmet. i don’t actually think she dies, but rather goes dormant. of course, there aren’t really words to explain the DID system in the fire emblem universe, so veyle is most definitely completely unaware of all of this. as far as she’s aware, the “other lady veyle” was just zephia’s dark magic and that’s it.

with the realization that the other lady veyle is actually her persecutor alter, i do also believe that the “other lady veyle” is not completely gone, or dead as the game likes to have you believe. if she was in enough peril similar to what was inflicted on her by sombron and humans, and with a little bit of dark magic most likely, then her persecutor alter could most certainly come back.

important note — though i have experience with mental health disorders myself, i do not have DID and anything presented here is just as result of extensive research of both the engage script as well as how systems and alters work and form. please please please dm me if any of my portrayal is either wrong, offensive, or insensitive to DID systems in any way and i will rework the theory according to your advice. thank you!

you've reached the end of this meta! thanks for reading!