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nyxs2 · 1 day ago

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Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 12/?)

It's almost impossible not to be seduced by Silco's words, especially when they echo the conviction you thought you had overcome. Perhaps the truth is that you never changed; perhaps, deep down, you are just as monstrous as he is.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 9,2K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, fingerfucking, vaginal fingering, public sex, allusions to squirting, exhibitionism, possessive behavior, slight hints of reader's threats, Silco being a manipulator, allusions to kidnapping and torture, Silco being bad with feelings, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 11

Powder.

For a moment, the world stopped.

The unmistakable blue hair was longer now, braided into two plaits that draped over her shoulders. Her face was slightly older, touched by the first signs of adolescence, but it still carried the undeniable traces of the little girl you once swore to protect. The same little girl you had watched from afar countless times, making sure she didn't get herself into trouble.

The past clashed with the present like a punch straight to the gut. You wanted to cry and throw up at the same time.

She looked about twelve, maybe thirteen now. The confident posture, the curious gaze—everything about her hit you like a slap to the face, leaving your defenses in ruins. You tried to swallow down the sudden rush of emotions, but your throat felt locked tight. You stood there, staring at her, lost in your own shock for longer than what could be considered normal.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her voice was clear and firm, but you didn't respond. You couldn't. You were frozen, your eyes locked onto this impossible vision.

Powder.

Every single detail about her yanked you into an avalanche of memories and emotions. The resolve you had rebuilt to start your search for this so-called Jinx, the simmering resentment and complicated feelings toward Silco—all of it suddenly felt insignificant. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Nothing except the fact standing right in front of you: She was alive.

Powder was alive.

And she was here.

"Sorry little one, what?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Powder repeated, tilting her head to the side, her braids swaying with the motion. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to remember something. "I know you. You're my dad's company."

The statement hit you like a punch—more precisely, a punch from Vander's cast-iron gauntlets. Dad. The word echoed in your head, churning something deep inside you.

"Dad?"

Your voice came out a pitch higher, shrill with sheer disbelief. That didn't make any sense. Dad? It couldn't be. The only figure you had ever associated with that title for her was Vander. Until you remembered a small detail, one that the shock had momentarily erased from your mind.

"You're talking about Silco?"

She nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and at that moment, you wanted to slam your head against the nearest wall. Even though you had already considered this possibility from the start, having it confirmed now was still a little unsettling.

That bastard Silco, the one turning your life upside down, messing with your thoughts, and taking up more and more space in your mind, was the guardian—or worse, the adoptive father—of the girl you had been searching for since returning to Zaun. It felt like the universe was conspiring to make your life even more complicated.

"Yeah, I keep him company... hm... we're friends?" The sentence came out awkwardly, your voice sounding much more like a clumsy question than a confident statement. Perfect. Now you looked like an idiot in front of the girl.

"Silco having friends?" She laughed—a loud, genuine sound that echoed through the space, making you even more uncomfortable. "That's a good one! So, you're heading to his office to keep him company again, huh? Is it like... a meeting?"

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head slightly as you finally stopped to analyze the situation as a whole. Was it just your imagination, or was this girl interrogating you?

"You could say that." you replied in a neutral tone, trying to sound casual.

"Hm..." The girl tilted her head, now looking you up and down with undisguised curiosity. "You're the prostitute."

If you weren't already shocked enough by the whole sequence of events, that sentence would have made your jaw hit the floor. However, your body still reacted. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, your cheeks started to burn, and every inch of you desperately longed to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Oh, great. Just great. Now even the kid knew you were sleeping with Silco. Perfect. Zaun might as well organize a whole procession in your honor at this point.

"Wait, do you even know what that word means?"

"Prostitute? Of course, I do! People pay you, and you keep them company. Simple." She shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world while you stood there, even more horrified. "Sevika told me."

"Oh, God..."

"How much do you charge? 'Cause Silco went crazy when you disappeared, so I'm guessing you must be pretty expensive." She took a few small steps toward you. "Come on, spill it. How much?"

Before you could open your mouth to respond—or do anything at all—a deep, unmistakable voice echoed through the room.

"Jinx."

You never, ever thought you'd be grateful for Silco's arrival, but there you were, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of his imposing figure standing in the doorway. He was motionless, his face carrying that same cold, indifferent expression as always, but his eyes were locked onto the two of you.

"What did I say about interrogating my guests?"

"You said I wasn't supposed to do that. But I was curious!" Jinx crossed her arms, pouting defiantly. "I wanted to meet her somehow since you wouldn't even let me get close when she was with you."

"Jinx." His tone was harsher now, enough to make her step back, though she didn't lose that air of petulance. "Go to your lab and do something productive with your time, since you seem to have plenty of it to waste."

The girl huffed, casting one last look in your direction before leaving—almost as if she were engraving your face into her memory—muttering something about adults being "so boring."

When Powder's—no, Jinx's—footsteps finally faded down the corridor, the silence left behind felt heavy, suffocating. It was as if the air in the room had thickened, becoming almost impossible to breathe. You, who had been frozen in place until now, finally allowed yourself to meet his eyes. But Silco was already staring at you, his gaze locked onto yours in that way he always knew how to do.

There were so many things you wanted to say, sharp words ready at the tip of your tongue, and even more things you wanted to do to him. But none of them seemed to make sense anymore. Not after seeing Powder there, calling him father. Not after realizing what he meant to her. How you wished that insane theory had been wrong.

That girl had already lost a father once. And if you tried to take her away from Silco in any way, she would hate you until the end of time. As much as you wanted to protect her—from this place, from that damned manipulator who stirred such conflicting feelings in you—something about the thought of hurting Powder stopped you.

Suddenly, none of the plans you had spent sleepless nights crafting made sense anymore.

You had been so pessimistic about this whole Powder being Jinx thing that you half expected to be terribly wrong. But you were right.

"Come with me." Silco's voice shattered the tense silence lingering between you both. He sounded so casual. "I believe you came for a meeting."

It wasn't an invitation—it was an order. As always, he didn't wait for your response. He was already turning away, walking with slow, deliberate steps toward his office. But there was an insinuation in his words that you picked up on immediately. He had heard the entire conversation. He had been there, watching, as he always did—only stepping in when he deemed it necessary.

With a resigned sigh, you shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts before following him to the office door. The emotional rollercoaster of the day had drained your strength, but giving up wasn't an option. Not now.

Your steps were cautious, almost hesitant. You moved lightly, as if each movement could trigger a hidden trap, despite having entered this room countless times before. Walking into Silco's office always felt like stepping into a predator's den.

Silco said nothing when he entered. He went straight to his desk, rummaging through something without so much as a glance in your direction. Meanwhile, you remained near the door, your mind at war with itself. Part of you wanted to charge at him—accuse him, yell, demand answers. The other part wanted to simply wait, to absorb what was happening and decide the next move carefully.

The problem was, you no longer had a plan. Everything felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, and now, all that was left was to improvise.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice when he got closer. His presence was almost silent, like a whisper in the dark. When his hand lifted toward your face, your reaction was instinctive. You pulled back quickly, like a wild cat sensing a threat, your eyes locked onto him with a mix of distrust and surprise.

"You're bleeding."

It wasn't a question, nor a statement of concern. It was simply an observation, a fact he had noticed and was acknowledging. That's when you saw what he was holding. A white handkerchief, folded with precision, rested in his hand.

Your fingers brushed against your forehead, exactly where the metallic monkey had struck you. You felt the warm, damp surface, and when you pulled your hand back, you saw the red staining your fingertips. Curiously, you hadn't even realized you were bleeding, much less felt the cut open or the blood trickling down. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe the emotional turmoil was dulling the physical pain.

"I didn't know you liked playing nurse." you teased, attempting to ease the discomfort with a touch of sarcasm. Your eyes studied him briefly, trying to decipher the reason behind his gesture. It was unsettling. Silco—the man who never hesitated to get his hands bloody, both literally and metaphorically—was now standing there, offering to clean your wound.

"I don't want more blood staining my carpet." His voice was cold, razor-sharp. "That would be inconvenient."

You rolled your eyes despite the icy tone of his words. You knew it was a lie. If the only issue was blood on the carpet, he would have just tossed the handkerchief at you and been done with it, instead of bothering to clean the wound himself.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, and you felt your shoulders gradually relax. It was strange—unsettling, even—to have Zaun's most notorious crime lord tending to a superficial wound, one that, ironically, had been inflicted by the very child he had chosen to take in.

"That would be inconvenient, but deliberately hiding your daughter isn't." Your voice came out firm but measured, as if testing the limits. You knew Powder wasn't his daughter, but Silco didn't know that you knew. Keeping up the illusion of ignorance seemed like the safest choice for now.

He paused for a split second—almost imperceptibly—before continuing to dab the cloth against your skin.

"I believe I've already told you that there are things that do not concern you."

"Oh, of course." you shot back, a dry chuckle escaping your lips. "Because you're so good at keeping secrets. Nothing you do ever reaches the wrong ears, does it?"

The smile he gave you was barely perceptible but utterly devoid of warmth. More of a silent warning than an act of camaraderie. "Watch your words, dove. Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the implicit threat. "And some questions, when avoided, only make the answers more obvious."

For a moment, silence settled over the room, so thick that you could hear both his breathing and your own. He resumed cleaning the wound with the same deliberate care, but something in the air had shifted. A new tension, heavier now, as if the two of you stood on opposite sides of a chessboard where every move had to be calculated with precision.

"She is none of your concern." Silco finally broke the silence, his voice low, nearly a whisper, yet weighted with finality.

"But I deserve to know." you countered, your voice carrying a boldness that bordered on reckless. "After all, I'm fucking her father."

The reaction was immediate. Silco's hand, which had been holding the cloth, pressed down harder than before, drawing an involuntary shudder from you. The pain was sharp, radiating through your body, and when you instinctively tried to pull away, his other hand was already in motion. Strong fingers clamped around your jaw, forcing you to stay still despite the throbbing discomfort. His gaze burned like liquid fire—freezing you in place even as a wave of heat crashed over you from the sheer force of his intimidation.

"I warned you to be careful with your words."

You finally fell silent. The pain and the implicit warning in his gestures were enough to shut your sharp tongue—at least for now. You knew you had crossed a line with your words, but something about the way he reacted made part of you want to push even further. Not out of pure provocation, but to understand just how far he was willing to go to protect what he held so dear.

The grip on your face gradually loosened, but not in a comforting way—it was deliberate, almost cruel, reinforcing his dominance over the situation. Even so, you forced yourself to remain quiet, swallowing the bitter taste of wounded pride as he finished tending to you with mechanical efficiency.

Your eyes studied him with curiosity. Silco had that neutral, almost cold expression, his jaw tense, his hands moving as naturally as breathing. It wasn't hard to imagine that he had cleaned blood countless times before—his own or someone else's. This wasn't new to him; it was routine.

When he finally stepped back, dropping the bloodstained cloth onto the worn wooden desk, the tension between you didn't fade. He exuded authority, even in silence. With a quiet grunt, he settled into his chair but didn't bother looking at you right away.

"Stay away from her." His voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade. No raised tone, no dramatics, yet it carried a weight that made it impossible to ignore. "I won't say it again."

"You think I'd be capable of doing anything to her?"

Before you even realized it, your steps had carried you closer. You stopped in front of the desk, leaning slightly over it, using the surface for support as you studied him. Silco lifted his chin to look at you, his heterochromatic eyes locked onto yours. That gaze was a mix of exhaustion and irritation, but above all, he didn't seem the least bit impressed by your boldness. There wasn't even a flicker of discomfort in his expression.

"If I thought you were a real threat, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Before you could respond, he pulled the revolver from his holster with an unsettling calm, as if the motion was as casual as adjusting his tie. The weapon gleamed under the greenish light of the room, heavy and deadly, and he placed it on the desk with a sharp clack. The barrel was pointed directly at you—a tangible reminder of his quiet threat.

"She is off-limits. Understood?" His voice was unwavering. "So don't make me punish you for your insistence on this matter."

An image flooded your mind, vivid as if it were happening at that very moment. Silco in the shadows, watching. His eyes sharp and cold, finger always near the trigger, studying your every move as you interacted with Powder—no, with Jinx, as he preferred to call her now. It was evident that Jinx put him on the defensive. No matter what the two of you had built together—a contract, a twisted relationship, an intimacy that wavered between his absolute control and your calculated provocations. There were limits he would never let you cross.

Perhaps she was his only weakness, the one point where he allowed no concessions. And maybe, just maybe, that was precisely why he was so determined to draw that invisible line between you now.

For now, you decided to comply with the order. There was no need to raise suspicion—not yet, at least. Either way, reaching Powder without Silco knowing seemed more like a matter of opportunity than skill. A new plan was beginning to take shape in your mind: make the girl trust you enough to... well, what came after that was still a mystery. That was a problem for the future. Right now, the focus was on softening Silco's suspicion, regaining the privileges he had stripped away, and paving the way for your next move.

"How was it with Singed?"

Silco's voice cut through the silence as he picked up a document from a neatly stacked pile on his desk. His tone was so casual it almost made it seem like the previous conversation hadn't happened.

"Did he say anything different?"

"No." You replied, stepping away from the desk. With a heavy sigh, you pulled out a chair and sat down, hands resting on the armrests as you observed Silco. "For how much longer will I have to keep seeing him?"

"For as long as necessary."

He didn't even lift his eyes to you, his long, precise fingers flipping through the pages before him with an exaggerated concentration—almost as if he were deliberately ignoring your presence.

He knew exactly how to get under your skin.

"But—"

"No buts."

Silco cut you off before you could finish the sentence, his voice firm yet calm, like the sound of a door closing with a muffled slam.

You felt your teeth clench. His response was sharp and final, and the obvious disinterest as he remained buried in his paperwork was almost a provocation. Frustration mingled with the tension already hanging in the air, and you had to control yourself not to let it show just how much it bothered you.

"This is getting ridiculous." you muttered, more to yourself, but deliberately loud enough for him to hear.

This time, Silco lifted his eyes. For a moment, they gleamed with something between exhaustion and annoyance, and you realized you had managed to get a reaction out of him.

"Ridiculous would be allowing you to continue questioning my decisions." His reply was quiet but carried the weight of a veiled threat. "You're here to serve a purpose, not to negotiate the terms of it."

You opened your mouth to argue, but something in his gaze made you hesitate. It wasn't fear—you weren't foolish enough to fear him in that way—but there was a line that even you knew better than to cross. Besides, the fact that he had used the word "purpose" made you feel strange... though irritated would be the best way to describe your current emotions.

So instead of retorting, you simply leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. "As you wish." you murmured, unwillingly, but making it clear that you weren't satisfied.

It felt like an eternity passed in that uncomfortable silence between you. The only sound was the breathing of both of you, an almost synchronized melody, but heavy with a tension that filled the room like toxic gas. Silco didn't look at you directly, keeping his focus on his work. You had clashed before—many times—and ever since you had woken from the coma your own body had imposed on you, these exchanges had become more frequent. However, something had been different in the past few days. Colder. Distant.

In fact, ever since that morning when the two of you had slept together, he seemed to have closed himself off, and it had remained that way for the past three weeks. It was as if something inside him had cracked—or hardened. He no longer touched you the way he used to, nor were there the sharp, biting remarks that had once been a part of your dynamic. Even when he announced that your privileges had been revoked, he did it as if he were informing just another subordinate.

You didn't fight the decision at the time. There was no point in waging a war with a predetermined ending.

Now, everything was methodically controlled. He summoned you to his office, yes, but the interaction was cold, almost clinical. You spent hours by his side, yet you felt more like a piece of furniture than someone he shared even the slightest warmth with.

Maybe he was still angry. At you, at everything. When Silco was angry, everyone felt it. His rage was a living presence, infecting any space he stepped into. It was impossible not to notice his foul mood, especially because it made him unbearably meticulous and unbearably critical.

Of course, deep down, you knew it was your fault. If you hadn't run away, none of this would've happened. But you didn't regret it. Not one bit. Why should you? There was no room for regret in your mind. Still, something inside you longed for this phase to pass.

You wouldn't admit it, not even under torture, but you missed it. You missed the Silco who responded to your provocations, who played along with that spark of something you couldn't quite name. You missed the Silco who looked at you with those eyes full of intention, leaving the impression that, no matter how cold and unpleasant he was, he wasn't completely impenetrable.

You shook your head slightly, pushing the thought away. No, you didn't miss it. And you would keep denying it until the very idea was suffocated by the same oppressive silence filling the room.

The sound of his sigh cut through the silence, long and heavy, as if carrying the weight of something too burdensome for the world to bear. It was the only sign that he was finally giving in to the tension accumulating in the air. Then, Silco slowly turned his chair, his narrowed eyes fixed on you. That gaze was nearly unreadable, but you could sense an intent behind it—something he had kept buried for weeks.

"I believe you should know who ordered your kidnapping." His voice had lost some of its usual harshness, softening just enough to sound like a command disguised as a request. "I want the names."

Ah, of course, there was also that.

All these weeks since you woke up, he had never brought it up. Never pressed you for information or questioned your involvement. It was unsettling, actually. You had expected a meticulous interrogation, sharp questions about who you were, why this had happened, and who was behind it. But he did none of that.

Silco had treated the kidnapping as an insignificant detail, almost as if... he already knew something about it. About you.

That thought had always lingered in your mind, but you never dared to voice it. Still, the lack of distrust only made the situation more unsettling.

"You won't be able to reach them." Your voice was firm—not just a statement, but a fact. "You have no power in Piltover, Silco."

As expected, he didn't seem remotely irritated by your defiance. On the contrary, there was a predatory calm in his eyes, as if he were already two steps ahead, anticipating your every reaction. He rose from his chair with that calculated elegance only he could manage, the sound of his boots against the floor filling the space as he approached.

When he stopped beside you, Silco leaned in slightly, tilting your chin upward with the touch of two fingers. A light touch, yet one that exuded authority—though, somehow, it still held a trace of gentleness. He tilted his head, his eyes piercing into yours as if he could rip the answers straight from your soul.

"Don't burden that pretty head of yours with such details. Just give me the names."

The tone was undeniably authoritative, but there was something in the way he spoke—that unwavering confidence, as if every word was a promise of an inevitable future—that made you hesitate. You stepped back slightly, not out of fear, but out of instinct, like someone who recognized they were standing before something far greater than they could control.

You knew Silco ruled Zaun with an iron fist. His eyes were everywhere, his spies in every alley, and his orders were rarely disobeyed. But Piltover was a different story. You knew that, you were sure of it... or at least you thought you were.

"There was a secretary, maybe an assistant, I don't know. Cayden. From what I remember, he was sponsored by the Hoskel family."

"Anyone else?"

"He was the only one in a higher position that I knew of."

"Good." Silco nodded, as if he had already calculated everything in his mind, and turned calmly toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. "You're dismissed."

His words set off an alarm inside you, an immediate sense of danger that made you rise from your chair before you even realized it. "You're not planning something, are you?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but he didn't seem to notice—or care enough to respond.

Silence. A crushing silence.

You clenched your fists, abandoning any attempt to keep your composure. "You do know the Hoskel house is on the Piltover Council, don't you? If you try anything, it'll lead to retaliation. Zaun doesn't stand a chance against Piltover, and we both know it!"

Still, Silco didn't turn around. He remained by the window, staring down at the streets below as if his vision alone could shape the future. But you saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly at your words. He wasn't the type to tolerate doubt about his authority or power. No. He truly believed that Zaun not only could stand against Piltover but that it would one day surpass it.

Great. Not only was he egotistical, but he was delusional too.

"I said: you're dismissed."

You glared at him, hesitating for a moment. Every fiber of your being told you to push further, to insist—but deep down, you knew he wouldn't change his mind. Not now. So, against your will, you turned and walked toward the door, trying to contain the anger burning inside you. But just before leaving, you stopped, your hand hovering over the doorknob.

"This isn't your fight, so think carefully about what you're willing to risk for it." You paused, letting the weight of your words linger in the air. "You've already done enough damage to Zaun."

Silco's Pov━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silent treatments, in general, were a foolish strategy with Silco.

First, because ignoring someone like him was practically suicidal. Second, because for a silent treatment to be even remotely effective, Silco would have to actually want to interact, to feel the urge to speak, or at the very least, to sense a need to break the silence. And that was nearly impossible. Silco wasn't known for being friendly, much less for enjoying idle conversation. He simply didn't have the time or the patience for it.

In the life he had chosen, friendships were dangerous luxuries—sharp knives that could pierce his back at the first opportunity. He knew this better than anyone. Trust was not something Silco handed out carelessly. Not anymore.

But with her, the rules seemed different.

It had been three days since their last encounter in his office, when the atmosphere had taken a tense turn. She had chosen a childish, prideful approach—complete denial of any words or gestures directed at him. And strangely enough, it worked. Silco, who would normally ignore such behavior without a second thought, found himself stewing over her silence as if it were a new kind of torture.

Not that he intended to do anything to fix the situation.

Both of them were far too stubborn to be the first to give in, each waiting for the other to break. Silco knew she was expecting something more—perhaps an apology, or at the very least, a kinder gesture than the way he had been treating her for the past few days. And maybe... maybe he should offer her that.

But how could he possibly mask his discontent?

He was already grappling with his damn confusing feelings ever since that morning in his bed, the unease of his men regarding her presence, and now this unexpected meeting. Everything he had meticulously planned had been derailed by an encounter he had worked so hard to avoid—her and Jinx, face to face.

The interaction had been brief, almost insignificant, yet it left an undeniable mark.

What truly caught his attention wasn't her behavior itself, but the way her shock seemed to overflow—something disproportionate to the situation. It was natural for her to be surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but there was something in that look.

It wasn't just curiosity or apprehension. It was as if she were standing before someone she knew—someone from her past. Her expression was heavy with recognition. A recognition that made no sense.

Silco had done his homework, as he always did. He knew every detail of her past that could be known. She had no connection to anyone in Jinx's circle—not now, not before. Their worlds had never crossed, at least not in any way he had access to. And yet, there was something in the way she had reacted that shattered all of that.

As if she were staring at a ghost.

Silco didn't like gaps. He didn't like unanswered questions. He knew that information was the most powerful weapon, and in Zaun, where alliances were fragile and betrayals abundant, knowing more than others was the only way to stay alive. But for now, he set the questions aside. There was still time to investigate and uncover whatever the hell that woman was hiding—because, clearly, she was hiding something.

For now, however, he had other priorities. Like, for example, planning a kidnapping.

Marcus, as always, had hesitated. It was almost pathetic how much that man needed to be reminded of his place—and, more importantly, of the place he could lose. Silco knew exactly which buttons to press. He made sure to refresh the anxious Enforcer's memory about his imminent promotion to Sheriff, a position Marcus desired almost as much as he feared losing it.

Marcus's rise had been carefully orchestrated by Silco, and the thread holding him up was thin. Just as Silco had lifted him, he could just as easily let him fall.

The veiled—yet undeniably clear—threat was enough. Marcus accepted the orders reluctantly, but Silco knew the man would comply. He always did. He was the kind of man whose ambition was matched only by his fear, and Silco knew how to exploit both with precision. Now, it was just a matter of waiting. In a few days, Marcus would have information about this Cayden, and then the next move could be made.

The second priority stood before him, leaning against the railing of his room's balcony. She seemed oblivious to his presence, her gaze fixed on the frantic movement of The Last Drop below. The pulsing lights and muffled voices filled the space, but she remained detached, lost in her own thoughts. She didn't even turn to acknowledge him when he entered.

She was doing it on purpose, of course.

Silco slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the piece he had brought with him. It was a fine, delicate chain, made of pure gold, its links so small and flawless they almost seemed unreal under the light. The pendant, a small drop with a translucent lilac stone, caught the light in soft shades of purple and pink. Under the neon glow of the bar, the stone's shimmer seemed to pulse, almost resembling the hue of Shimmer itself.

Silco moved closer, his steps silent. When he stopped behind her, his chest nearly brushed against her back, and he could feel the slight tremor in her breathing. She didn't turn, but he noticed the subtle way her shoulders tensed.

With a careful movement, Silco lifted the chain, his fingers working with precision as he draped it around her neck.

He fastened the clasp with ease, but he didn't pull his hands away immediately. His fingers lingered near her skin, the warmth of it radiating toward him as the soft brush of his knuckles grazed her nape. There was something about that closeness—something intimate, something electric. He felt her body tense, as if she were fighting against the urge to yield to his touch. And he knew he could break that resistance.

But for now, he held back.

"Buying me with jewelry won't work, Silco."

"I know that." he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips—one that carried more intent than words. "But I made you break your silence, didn't I?"

When she didn't retort, Silco slowly moved to stand beside her on the balcony. He leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, his gaze drifting over the view below. Like her, he observed the club beneath them. It was a busy night.

Drink orders were being served at an impressive speed; groups formed and dissolved as people drank, smoked, or indulged in Shimmer. Some danced in the midst of the crowd, while others leaned against the walls, conversing in hushed tones that couldn't rise above the pounding music and flashing neon lights.

To most, it was the image of unrestrained chaos. To Silco, it was organized—and profitable.

"You know, a long time ago, this place was just a bar." he said, his voice low, tinged with a nostalgia so faint it was almost imperceptible. "Nothing special. Just a place for people to drink and forget their troubles for a while."

Silco leaned against the railing, his elbows resting on the polished metal, his gaze fixed on the restless crowd below. The music filled every corner, pulsing, reverberating—like a second heartbeat.

"It was a different time, a different world." he murmured, his voice low, weighted with something that almost sounded like longing. "But it had that—"

"Familiar feeling?" her voice cut in, finishing the thought, and Silco turned to her, slightly surprised.

He nodded slowly, acknowledging her insight.

"Vander had that feeling."

For a moment, something shifted in her posture. Her eyes seemed to lose focus, as if her mind had been pulled into a distant memory.

"You knew Vander?" Silco asked, his voice curious but laced with caution.

She gave a humorless, almost bitter smile. "Who didn't? He was the Protector of Zaun."

"I'll admit, Vander protected Zaun in his own way." Silco spoke like someone who had already chewed and digested every word before letting it out. "But he let our city stagnate, dove. He kept us trapped in a place where we could never evolve, never rise above the filth and misery we were forced to live in. He allowed Zaun to remain in Piltover's shadow, clinging to an empty promise of peace, one that could be broken in an instant if those above decided it."

Silco didn't look at her immediately, but he noticed the exact moment she turned her head, finally facing him for real. He could feel her gaze—a mixture of irritation and something else, perhaps a sliver of understanding. It wasn't the kind of attention he sought, but it would do.

"Vander did what he thought was right." she said, firm but lacking the vehemence that might have made the defense stronger. "He kept the Enforcers away."

"A temporary solution to a long-term problem."

He countered with cutting precision, leaning against the railing. His fingers drummed against the metal surface for a brief moment before stopping abruptly. He looked down at the sea of people in his club, moving as one pulsing, living organism.

"Humans have this instinctive fear of what they can't fully control." Silco continued, his voice taking on a near-philosophical tone. "Zaun isn't a city that bends to standards. It shapes itself according to necessity. It evolves, adapts. And that is exactly what makes it so unique... and so untamable."

Silco let a smile slip. Subtle, almost imperceptible—but he knew she would notice. She always noticed. Ever observant, she picked up the smallest details, even when she pretended not to care. He had meant every word he spoke. This wasn't a rehearsed speech or some manipulation; it was conviction. It was that certainty that kept him standing, even in a world that seemed determined to crush him. He believed in it the way a dreamer believes in an impossible dream.

"That's why those above treat us as unworthy of their attention. It's not just arrogance. It's strategy. It's their way of cementing their own fear. Because the moment they acknowledge us as a threat, something shifts. That idea spreads, grows, seeps into the fabric of society. They know it. They know that all it takes is a single spark to turn dust into flame."

It might have been just an impression, but there was something in her eyes that Silco noticed immediately. Beneath the mask of indifference she insisted on wearing, there was a glimmer—subtle, yet unmistakable. A flicker of something he recognized as interest.

"So, they ignore us. Treat us as irrelevant, invisible." he continued, advancing carefully, like someone who had just discovered fertile ground. "And little by little, that idea takes root inside us. We start to believe it. Believe that we are small, insignificant. That we are incapable of changing the world. And so, we accept the role they assign us."

Maybe he had touched something within her. Not much—just a spark, tiny, almost insignificant. But sparks, in the right hands, could turn into devastating wildfires. And Silco had always known how to wield the right words at the right moment.

He moved again. Silco positioned himself behind her, claiming the space with the ease of someone who already knew it was his by right. His hand slid to her waist—firm, but unhurried. The other reached for her chin, gently forcing her to look down at the club below once more.

"If a simple bar can change this much..." Silco's voice was low, almost a whisper, right at her ear. "Imagine what a city could become. Our people deserve more than just scraping by on the margins of what they could be, don't you think?"

He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a devil whispering temptations.

"We are a threat, dove."

She took a moment before responding.

"Peace imposed by force crumbles within days, Silco."

"Ah, but that's where Piltover, and you, are mistaken." Silco's voice dripped like smooth poison. "Peace is not the end. It's a convenient illusion they peddle to maintain control. What builds a lasting future isn't forced peace, it's well-cultivated fear. Piltover only respects what it cannot crush. They only yield to what makes them tremble."

Silco leaned in even closer, his lips brushing lightly against the curve of her ear. He noticed immediately how her skin reacted, the way it prickled under his proximity. It made him smile. Not an ordinary smile, but that slight curve of his lips—pure triumph.

"When they look at Zaun and see not a shadow, but something that threatens everything they have, that's when they'll recognize our true strength. We are not a dream of equality. We are the nightmare that will drag them from their throne."

The silence between them was filled with the music of the club. She was thinking, perhaps analyzing the logic in his words.

"Piltover is a fortress. A direct fight would be suicide."

Ah, she still resisted—at least in words. But her body, well, that was a different story. He felt it when she leaned in, the movement almost imperceptible, as if unconscious. The warmth radiating from her was tangible, a sharp contrast to the cold tone of her words.

Silco knew how to read the signs; her internal conflict was obvious. He could see how her morality wavered on a tightrope, caught between what she believed was right and the irresistible pull of his vision—of him.

Silco let his lips glide along her neck, tracing a slow, deliberate path. He placed light kisses and left marks where his teeth grazed the soft skin.

"And what's your suggestion, dove?"

She swallowed hard, the sound almost inaudible, but Silco felt the tension in her body when he pressed his lips against a strategic spot—right where her heartbeat pulsed the strongest. The way it quickened made him smirk against her skin. With one hand, he pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them.

"There's something both cities have in common." she finally said, her voice slightly unsteady but firm enough to catch his attention. "Their system of government. Piltover's councilors are the counterparts of Zaun's chem-barons. Both maintain their power through greed, through control. If you want to take Piltover, the only way is to destroy them. From the inside out."

Silco's eyes gleamed with interest. He pulled his lips away from her skin, but not before leaving a very visible mark there. His hand, however, remained firm on her waist, anchoring her in place.

"Elaborate."

"If you were to die, Zaun would fall into chaos. The barons would devour each other in an endless war for the position you left behind. People would be lost in that frenzy of violence, some driven by fear of dying, others by the thirst to kill. All of them desperately searching for something, a symbol, an idea that could give them hope."

The hand that had once held her chin now trailed down slowly, exploring the contours of her body, fingers tracing along her figure with a calmness that felt out of place for the feverish moment they were in. Silco felt it when she tilted her head back, granting him access as she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

"And?"

"And then, someone would become that symbol. It wouldn't matter whether it was through peace or through fear. They would become something for people to believe in, an icon, an idea. And ideas..." she paused, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips parting just enough for a quiet sigh to escape. "Ideas are stronger than any power you could ever hold in your hands."

He moved closer, pressing her body against the railing of the balcony. The tension between them was palpable—every movement, every ragged breath filling the space like a silent duel. Her head tilted back even further as his lips found her neck once more. She let out a deep sigh, her fingers tightening around the cold metal railing as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored.

"Control the masses." she whispered, as if handing him a truth she knew he couldn't ignore. "Only then will you have your throne."

Silco's hand paused, his fingers hovering just a hairsbreadth away from the hem of her skirt, the anticipation of his touch a palpable, throbbing ache in the air between them. His other hand slid up her side, his palm cupping the soft swell of her breast, his thumb brushing teasingly over the hardened peak of her nipple through the fabric of her top. Silco could feel the way her heart raced beneath his touch, could hear the way her breathing grew more and more ragged with each passing second.

He nipped at her earlobe, his teeth tugging on the delicate flesh, his tongue soothing the sting with a slow lick.

"How sure are you of this, dove?"

At the same time, Silco's hand slid a fraction of an inch lower, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her skirt, the tips brushing against the bare, vulnerable skin of her thigh. He could feel the heat of her flesh, the soft, silken texture that made him crave more.

"More than you think."

Silco felt a surge of triumph as he noticed her legs shifting, her thighs parting slightly to grant him access. It was a small concession, a subtle invitation. He didn't hesitate, his fingers sliding further beneath her skirt, his fingers trailing over the smooth, supple flesh until they reached the apex of her legs. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, could sense the way her body trembled and ached for his touch. And as he slipped his fingers beneath the lace of her panties, Silco groaned at the feel of her, hot and slick and ready for him.

"Where did you learn such...things?" Slowly, almost teasingly, he traced the outline of her slit through the fabric. "Such dangerous, subversive ideas about power and control? Tell me, who put these notions in that clever, wicked head of yours?"

"At the Institute."

Her voice came out slurred, as if plucked from some distant corner of her already foggy mind. He didn't interrupt, nor did he rush her. He knew the value of well-placed silence.

"Piltover..."

She finished, her voice almost trailing off at the end. The answer hung in the air like an involuntary confession, and Silco felt the impact of it like an electric current running down his spine. Silco made a low, approving sound in the back of his throat as she blurted out her response, her guard clearly lowered by the haze of lust that clouded her mind. He filed away the information for later use.

He pushed the scrap of lace aside, slowly, almost reverently, Silco slid his fingers through her clit. He could feel the way her body clenched and fluttered around the sudden intrusion, could sense the way she struggled not to grind herself down against his palm, to ride his hand like a wanton creature in heat.

But even as he pleasured her, even as he felt her body start to tense and coil around him, Silco couldn't shake the dark curiosity that gnawed at him. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

"And what other things did you learn at that... Institute, dove?" he breathed, punctuating his question with a particularly hard, deep thrust of his fingers.

"I... I don't remember..." Her voice came out broken, a barely audible whisper, as her hips began to move against Silco, as if seeking an instinctive rhythm, something she couldn't control. "Everything was confusing..."

Then she turned her face toward him, her eyes red and bright, as if holding back tears she wasn't sure she wanted to let fall. The pleasure evident on her face seemed intertwined with something else—something deeper, darker. It was regret, he realized. Not the kind of regret that came from conscious choices, but the kind that grew from wounds that never quite healed.

"Please." she begged, her voice shaking. "I don't want to remember this."

For a moment, Silco didn't answer. He just watched her, his eyes roaming over her face, and he recognized that look, that mixture of pleasure and pain. It was all too familiar—he'd carried it so many times himself over the years. "You don't want to remember." he murmured, his voice low, like a secret shared only between the two of them. "But running away from it won't erase what happened." His tone wasn't consoling. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel either. It was... direct. Ruthlessly honest. "However I can help you forget, at least for now."

He brought his fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean, of savoring the taste of her arousal on his tongue, a heady, intoxicating blend of sweet and salt and something uniquely, devastatingly her. Silco groaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the taste, committing it to memory.

Then, he plunged his fingers back inside her, driving them deep and hard, the way he knew she needed, the way that made her cry out, a raw, primal sound that echoed through the night air. The balcony seemed to spin around them, the world fading away until there was nothing but the slick, obscene sound of Silco's fingers plunging into her dripping core, nothing but the way her body jerked and shuddered, nothing but the way her breath came in short, sharp gasps and ragged, broken cries.

"Remember, dove..." he breathed, punctuating his words with a particularly hard, deep thrust. "We're still in public, still out here where anyone could see..." He punctuated his warning with a slow, deliberate circle of his thumb against her aching, swollen clit. "All it would take is for someone to glance this way, to catch a glimpse of what I'm doing to you, and they'd know..."

The idea of being caught, of putting on a public spectacle with his dove seemed torturously delicious. But even as he reveled in the forbidden thrill, Silco knew he had to be cautious, this sight of her was for his eyes only. So with a herculean effort, he forced himself to slow down, to temper the wild, reckless pace of his fingers with a more measured, deliberate rhythm.

"Shh... We don't want to give the crowd a show, now do we? No, this..." he breathed, his words a dark, sinful purr. "This is just for you and me. Our little secret." He nipped at her neck, his teeth tugging on the flesh gently, his tongue soothing the sting with a slow lick. "Now be a good girl, and keep quiet for me, hmm?"

Silco let out a low, dark chuckle as he watched she bring her hand to her mouth, her fingers pressing against her lips in a desperate bid to muffle the wanton moans and whimpers that threatened to spill out. Even if the music was loud, and the people below them were completely oblivious, there was no guarantee that the noises wouldn't attract the attention of other people.

But Silco was not a man to rest on his laurels, to simply revel in the fruits of his labor without pushing further, without demanding more. No, he wanted to see just how far he could go, how close he could take her to the limit. With that in mind, Silco began to move his fingers with a newfound intensity, his hand pumping and thrusting and curling inside her with a fierce, relentless rhythm. He could feel her walls clenching and fluttering around him, could sense the way her body tensed and coiled.

And then, just as her eyes began to roll back in her head, just as her breath started to come in short, desperate gasps, Silco found it. That specific spongy, ridged spot. Silco angled his fingers just so, curling and stroking and rubbing against that spot. At the same time, the palm of his hand rubbed against her clit, always keeping up the rhythm.

He could feel her body tensing, her muscles locking, her legs in a failed attempt to close—pinning his wrist to her thighs, and her trying to pull her body away from his touch. Silco felt her flying over the edge into a mind-shattering, body-wracking climax.

Her scream of ecstasy was muffled by her own hand, her eyes squeezing shut as a gush of her hot, fragrant arousal flooded out around Silco's plunging fingers, soaking his hand, dripping down to splatter on the balcony floor below. Her body convulsed and shuddered, her hips bucking and grinding against Silco's palm as wave after wave.

But even as Silco revealed in his victory, he was not so cruel as to let her collapse in a heap on the cold, hard balcony floor. No, he gathered her limp, satiated body into his arms, cradling her against his chest, almost like a bride and taking her into the room to lay her on his bed. He would deal with the mess on his balcony later.

"Rest now." Silco murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble as he brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from his forehead. "You've had a long day, and an even longer... night."

[...]

She had been growing more compliant with each passing week. Not in an obvious way, of course, but Silco recognized patterns better than anyone. It was subtle—the way her tone had lost some of its bite, how she no longer recoiled immediately at his orders, even the way her gaze held less defiance. He knew it was all part of a strategy. She was cunning, deceptive when she needed to be, and she knew how to play the game just as well as he did.

And yet, he had loosened her leash again.

There was a cruel logic to his decision—it was easier to keep the prey off guard when it believed itself free. If she truly wanted to escape, Silco knew there wasn't much he could do. Escorts, guards, traps—none of it would hold her. He had witnessed her skill before. So rather than force the situation, he simply returned the freedom they had initially agreed upon.

A month later, he knew he had made the right choice.

Of course, he never stopped watching. Carelessness wasn't in his nature, even when he made it seem otherwise. The guards' reports came in frequently, detailing her movements. Always out of her room, always walking around, observing her surroundings with an unusual attentiveness. Sometimes, she sat at the bar for long stretches, as if waiting for someone—or something. It was understandable, he admitted to himself. She had been kidnapped. Someone in her position would naturally carry a heightened sense of paranoia. Maybe that was what fed her restless energy.

But Silco knew it wouldn't last.

Not with Cayden in his hands.

Tracking him down had been a tedious task, but Marcus, as always, proved his usefulness. Memorizing his routine had been easy—he was predictable, a creature of habit. When the right opportunity presented itself, Silco hadn't hesitated to send a few of his men after him. The timing was chosen with precision—a moment of vulnerability, where any resistance would be futile.

But there was no resistance. He didn't fight, didn't beg, didn't even try to run. He simply surrendered.

That gave Silco pause. Either the man had seen this coming and accepted his fate, or—more likely—he had been instructed to let it happen. A sacrificial pawn on the board.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Silco had a narrow window of time to deal with the situation. And, as always, he already had a plan. The incident would be framed as a botched kidnapping—an unavoidable clash with the enforcers, where both the victim and the kidnappers would perish. A tragic but clean ending.

It was then, in the midst of these thoughts, that Silco noticed Sevika's presence beside him.

Silco stood at the top of the staircase, leaning casually against the railing, but his gaze was fixed on a particular point. She had been sitting at one of the tables for about half an hour, a glass resting beside her, untouched since it had been set down. She was talking to the bartender, who was busy cleaning the floor nearby. She seemed at ease, almost relaxed.

And there was one detail Silco did not overlook—she was still wearing the necklace he had given her.

"He's not going to talk." Sevika stated, extinguishing the tip of her cigarette against the sole of her boot. The action was casual, almost indifferent, as if this were just another day in her life—and, in a way, it was. "That guy's too resilient to break. But he confirmed he was the middleman."

This only reinforced what Silco had already suspected: the boy had been discarded, nothing more than a pawn sacrificed by the true mastermind. A scapegoat loyal to a master who didn't even care about him.

"It's impressive how loyal he is." Silco mused. "Even knowing that keeping quiet means his death. Blind loyalty or stupidity? Hard to say." He paused, taking another drag from his cigar and exhaling a lazy coil of smoke that drifted up to the ceiling. "Either way, he's of no use to us if he stays silent."

"You want me to get rid of him, or do you want to handle it yourself?"

"Neither you nor I. This death is not ours to claim."

"Then who will?"

Instead of answering with words, Silco raised his cigar and used it to discreetly gesture in the direction he wanted Sevika to look. She frowned, clearly confused, before turning toward where he indicated, her gaze slowly traveling until it landed on the figure still seated at the table.

His dove didn't seem to realize she was the subject of the conversation, but her head tilted slightly in Silco's direction, as if sensing the weight of his stare. And when their eyes met, she raised an eyebrow. The gesture was subtle, a silent question—what do you want? Why are you looking at me like that?

So dangerously unaware of what he was planning.

"She will."

Part 13

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would be easily manipulated by him… By the way, did you know that the color purple has many meanings, including royalty, luxury, creativity, and mystery. It can also symbolize power, ambition, and independence. Just an addendum, Reader is not a completely good person, but I think you already knew that. So wait for the next chapters, there will be changes in our sweet dove... My classes are back, so let's hope I can keep up with the chapter frequency.

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wosospacegirl · 5 hours ago

Text

I don’t even like boys - Arsenal teen! r

Summary: Reader has sex with a boy because she is confused about her sexuality but ends up having a pregnancy scare. Leah and Katie comfort her through it.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Talks of teenage pregnancy (but she’s not pregnant!!) a little bit of good luck, baby vibes?

Masterlist here

This was based on a request! Hope you guys enjoy it.

The Health check day at Arsenal was awkward. The team was split into groups of three, each assigned to a general practitioner, a physiotherapist, and a gynaecologist. All the girls had to be examined by all three before returning to training, as per house rules, Y/n guessed.

Y/n, Leah, Katie, and Kyra, sat bored in the gynaecologist’s waiting room. Leah tapped her foot in frustration. “This is ridiculous. We could be training at the gym instead of waiting here,” the blonde muttered.

“You say that every season,” Katie said, rolling her eyes. The Irish woman had a small rubber ball, which she kept bouncing back and forth against the wall.

“Yeah, because every season we lose at least two hours here just so we can go inside and answer the same questions Dr. Smith always asks,” Leah grumbled. “I know she is old and all that, but she always asks me if there is a chance I could be pregnant!” The captain continued, looking at the door as if making sure Dr. Smith wouldn’t hear her.

“I’ve told her I’m just into women like twelve times already,” Leah complained.

Leah wasn’t the chattiest person around, but mate —she could talk when she was annoyed at something.

“Don’t give the woman a hard time,” Kyra said, smiling at Leah. “It’s bureaucracy, they must keep records and stuff like that. Plus, you can’t just expect Dr. Smith to remember everybody’s sexuality. Not everyone in the team is gay.”

“The kid’s right for once,” Katie agreed.

“For once?” Kyra asked, noticing the teasing. “Shut up, McCabe.”

“You might have a point, Kyra,” Leah said, turning slightly to Y/n, who hadn’t said a word since the groups arrived at the waiting room. “Why are you so quiet, Y/n?”

“Maybe because I have nothing to say?” Y/n answered sharply, rolling her eyes.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Katie said.

“Shut up,” Y/n mumbled.

“Ouch!” The young girl exclaimed as she felt Leah pinching her arm. “Why would you do that?” Y/n snapped, looking at the captain and then at the sore skin on her arm.

“Don’t be rude,” Leah warned firmly using her captain's voice.

“I’m not being rude; you guys are just annoying to be around!”

“You guys? I haven’t done anything to you?” Kyra defended herself, a pout on her face.

Y/n hadn’t been in a mood when she woke up, but her day took a turn for worse when she received a notification on her phone from her period-tracking app.

Your period is a week late

She hadn’t realized it, being too caught up with training and school to notice how her menstrual cycle was irregular. Y/n wouldn’t have to worry about it if she had stuck to her rule —not having sex with boys — but it just happened.

Y/n wasn’t sure about her sexuality yet, but she knew she liked girls more than boys. Until last month, she had never kept any type of physical intimacy with a boy before, but it all changed when she met this nice boy from her school. He was a year old and just very kind to her.

The girl wouldn’t say she was attractive to him or anything, she actually didn’t want to have sex because she was horny, or any other reason teenagers normally have sex.

She just wanted to see if she would enjoy herself or not. If she was able to like boys or just girls.

Y/n was curious.

One thing led to another and when Y/n realized she and Chris had sex with the during a very cold Saturday afternoon. After they finished, well, he finished, Y/n put on her shirt and underwear, staring at the boy sleeping in her bed.

It felt wrong.

Not because he was rude to her or bad at sex, but because he just… wasn’t a girl.

“Hey, Chris,” Y/n poked the sleeping boy. “Mate, wake up.”

“Hm?” the boy mumbled, slightly opening her eyes. “What? Is it morning already?”

“What? No, of course not, it’s been just15 minutes since we—”

“Had sex?” The boy finished her sentence, a smirk displayed on his face.

“Well—Yeah! That’s why I need you to leave,” Y/n could see the smirk disappearing from the boy’s face, disappointment settling in.

“Leave? Like… back to my house?”

“Exactly.” Y/n left the bed, looking for her pants on the floor. Where were they? She could swear she had put it on her desk chair.

As Y/n looked around, she felt Chris’s eyes on her body. She didn’t like it.

“Did I do something wrong?” Chris finally asked, sitting straight on the bed, back against the headboard. “It was my first time too, but I hope I didn’t hurt you or anything.”

Y/n’s face soften. Maybe she was being a bit rude.

“No, Chris, it was alright, I just—I don’t think I really like…boys.” Y/n confessed, finally finding her pants under her bed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah mate, I’m sorry.”

Chris left the bed and began looking for his clothes, while Y/n stood there awkwardly. She shouldn’t feel awkward in her own house. When Chris was dressed and ready to go, Y/n led him to the front door.

“This could stay between us, right?” Y/n asked softly as she opened the door to the boy, the cold winter breeze meeting her face. She was just now realizing that Chris could very much tell anyone what they did.

Even the Media.

“I—I can’t have people knowing about this… the team and the contract—” Y/n continued.

Chris gave her a sad smile. “Don’t worry, Y/n. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

After a clumsy goodbye, Chris left, and Y/n was finally alone again. She desperately needed a shower.

And that’s how Y/n realized she was going through a pregnancy scare.

Y/n didn’t feel different, she hadn’t had any weird cravings. She hasn’t gained or lost any weight. Surely, she wasn’t pregnant. She wasn’t on any birth control, but she had made sure Chris was wearing a condom.

They were both a bit clumsy, but they had remembered to check if the condom had a hole or not before Chris threw it away. At least they’d done one thing right.

So yeah, Y/n didn’t know why she was so nervous. She didn’t have any reason to be. She followed the Sex Education’s rules to the letter… but, what if something had gone wrong? Was she even ovulating that day? She couldn’t be sure.

Y/n began biting her nails. Her teammates could sense Y/n’s tension, but they didn’t want to make the younger girl angrier than she already was — although they were all very curious about the reason for her foul mood.

After what felt like centuries, Alessia appeared in the waiting room, having just left the gynaecologist’s office. The blonde exchanged a few words with the other girls before leaving. Now Y/n just had to wait — Dr. Smith would call one of them soon.

Within minutes, the girls heard Dr. Smith’s voice through the door. “Next!” The old lady called.

Y/n probably got up too quickly from her chair, because Leah, Katie and Kyra looked at her like she was crazy. “I’ve never seen you so excited to go see Dr. Smith before,” Kyra said.

“You almost took the chair with you,” Katie added suspiciously.

“I—I just want to be one of the firsts! The last time we had check-up day, I was the last one to go,” Y/n said defensively, taking small steps towards the office.

“You were the last one because you were terrified of going to the gynaecologist,” Leah said, raising an eyebrow. “I literally had to go in with you. “

Did the older girls really need to remember everything all the time?

“I’m just a changed woman now,” Y/n sighed. “You all might see me as some kid, but I’m almost 18 —things change.” The defensiveness in Y/n voice was unmatched, so Leah just let her go without pressing any further

“Something happened to her.”

That was the last thing Y/n could hear before entering Dr. Smith’s office.

After completing the physical part of the exam, Dr. Smith sat across from Y/n at her desk, her notebook open on Y/n’s medical files. Y/n couldn’t pay attention to what the old woman was typing —she was too distracted by the sight in front of her: a replica of a uterus with a baby inside.

“Darling, I’m just going to go through the same questions as always, okay,” Dr. Smith said with a smile.

Y/n answered all the questions honestly. Yes, she had bad period cramps. No, she didn’t have migraines. Yes, it bothered her to play during her period. No, the training didn’t make the cramps go worse.

Everything was fine until Dr. Smith asked:

“During your last check, up you said you weren’t sexually active, right? How about now?”

Y/n blushed, staring at the doctor in front of her. Did she really have to go through this just to play professional football?

“Hm—So about that—yes,” Y/n fumbled over her words. She scratched the back of her head nervously.

Dr. Smith remained silent, waiting for Y/n to continue, but the young girl clamped her mouth shut, looking at the walls instead.

“Yes what, darling?” asked Dr. Smith. “This is a private space; you don’t need to be embarrassed.”

Private space? As if! Y/n thought, Dr. Smith had her whole hormonal history — and now sex life — written up in her file.

“I’ve had had sex since the last time we talked.” Y/n explained, no emotions on her face. She just needed to be direct.

“Would you be okay telling me if it was with a boy or a girl?” The poor woman was really trying to get Y/n to open up— Y/n had to give her that.

“Hm—” Y/n bit her nails. “Two months ago, I was with this girl. She was my first. And then last month, I had sex with this guy, but it was only once,” Y/n explained.

“So, you’ve had two sexual partners, correct?”

“Yes, but the girl was the only one who I slept with more than once.” Y/n was going to die of embarrassment, — she was sure of it.

“Alright darling, had you had any STI test after then?”

“Yes, everything’s fine.”

“Great! That’s great. What about your period? Have you noticed any changes in your cycle after having intercourse?” Dr. Smith questioned.

Y/n stared at the women. She had to tell her.

“Well, about that,” Y/n laughed nervously. “My period is kind of late, but it’s probably nothing, right? We used condoms, and not throwing up or anything, I just have to wait, don’t I?”

For a moment, all they could hear in the office were Y/n trainers tapping the floor.

“How late are you, Y/n?” Dr. Smith asked, a frown on her face.

“A week.”

“Hm,” Dr. Smith mumbled before getting up from her chair and opening a white cabinet. The older woman held a box with a baby printed on it and handed it to Y/n

Y/n started at the pregnancy test, not wanting to take it.

“We’ll have you doing this test, okay? Just go to the bathroom and pee on it. It will take 3 to 5 minutes to get the results.”

Y/n said nothing.

“You need to do it, Y/n, I know you are scared, but we can’t be sure why your period is late if you don’t take.”

Y/n took the pregnancy test, tears in her eyes.

Before Dr. Smith could say anything, Y/n was already bolting through the office door, straight to the bathroom. She heard Leah and Katie behind her. The older women were calling for her, asking what had happened, but Y/n didn’t look back.

When she got to the bathroom, she locked herself in one of the stalls, it wasn’t long before she heard the door open. Before Leah or Katie could say anything, Y/n was already crying.

Leah and Katie looked at each other, both very worried. They didn’t know what could have possibly happened back at the gynaecologist’s office, but they were sure it was bad by the way the young girl reacted.

“Hey babe, what’s wrong?” Leah asked softly. “Did something, why are you crying?”

“I’m an idiot,” Y/n answered, her hands shaking. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Katie and Leah shared an apprehensive look.

“And why do you say that kid? Leah questioned, trying to get the stall to open. “Come talk to us.”

Y/n was so distressed, she just wanted to get this test done over with.

“I—I had sex with this boy from my school,” Y/n confessed, tears running down her face. “I’m not even sure why, I know I don’t like boys, but I just wanted to be sure.”

“Okay, that okay, that’s completely normal,” Katie said. “It’s that why you are crying?”

Half the Arsenal team were lesbians. They’d been Y/n’s age once and knew how confusing it is to understand one’s sexuality.

“Did the boy do something to you, Y/n?” Leah asked, her voice angry. “If he did, we can find him and go to the police—”

“It’s not that,” Y/n said through tears. “My period is late, and Dr. Smith gave me a pregnancy test, but I’m just scared to take it.”

The bathroom was silent again.

“Did you use protection?” Leah asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Y/n answered through the door.

“Okay, so the odds are in your favor, yeah, kid? Go take the test, and when you’re done, we’ll be right here with you.” Leah said.

“I’m sure it’s going to be negative, babe, don’t worry, take the test, and then we’ll figure stuff out.” The Irish women added.

That’s what Y/n did. She followed the instructions written on the box and just waited. She could see Katie’s and Leah’s shadows through the door opening. Who would have thought that shadows could be comforting?

A minute passed. Then two. And then five.

Just one bright pink line.

Not pregnant.

Y/n yanked the stall door open and threw her arms around Leah and Katie, who weren’t expecting the sudden embrace. The girl felt like she could finally breathe again, her heart slowing doing as her chest relaxed against Leah and Katie’s embrace.

“I’m not fucking pregnant,” Y/n said, hugging the women tight. “I might start crying again.”

“See, we were right, nothing to worry about,” Leah patted Y/n’s back

“I told you, no drama.” Katie said playfully. “Pregnancy tests are overrated anyway.”

After Y/n calmed down, the three women went back to the waiting room. Y/n had to go back inside the gynaecologist office to tell Dr. Smith she wasn’t pregnant after all. After a few minutes, Dr. Smith let Y/n go and told advised her to use birth control or IUD is she wanted to feel more protected against any potential pregnancy.

“Oh Dr. Smith, don’t worry, now I know I don’t even like boys,” Y/n said before leaving the room.

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #arsenal fanfic #arsenal women #woso appreciation #women soccer #women's football #woso community #woso

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mrs-stans · 2 days ago

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INTERVIEW: Sebastian Stan on Curiosity, Confrontation, and His Oscar Contenders

Sebastian Stan has had a wild twelve months that I strangely found myself a small part of.

Stan received critical acclaim and awards attention for two films: A Different Man, where he played an actor with a facial disfigurement, and The Apprentice, where he played a young Donald Trump. Both performances are intricately detailed and precise, evading stereotypes and caricatures amidst shifting themes and tones. They also encapsulate a common theme in his work that I first noticed in Fresh: exploring characters’ darker impulses that others either miss or deliberately ignore. Despite their acclaim, both films struggled with distribution and promotion, with The Apprentice facing lawsuit threats and industry hesitance to engage with the film. He went viral after revealing that he couldn’t participate in Variety’s Actors on Actors series because other actors’ publicists didn’t want them discussing the newly-elected president. (My tweet describing the situation as reprehensible went viral, too.) Despite the blowback, Stan remained upfront and outspoken, fashioning himself as a fearless, principled artist during a fraught political and cultural moment.

Stan’s unique position and detailed approach to his work were reinforced in my interview with him for AwardsWatch, conducted days after he won the Golden Globe for A Different Man and before his Oscar nomination for The Apprentice. It was a full circle moment of sorts for me, after advocating for A Different Man since seeing it in April, interviewing Matia Bakalova for The Apprentice, and meeting director Aaron Schimberg following a screening in New York. During our conversation, I sensed that he wanted to meet his moment in time responsibly, emphasizing how important curiosity and empathy were to the human condition. Given his challenges in releasing and promoting his films, I also sensed, through our few interactions, how genuinely moved he was by the support and recognition he’s received. (Case in point: he was incredibly generous with his time when he didn’t have to be.) It’s near-impossible not to be thrilled for him and the acknowledgment of his talent and thoughtfulness.

My goal in publishing this interview in full is for others to sense what I have about Sebastian Stan over these past twelve months by giving him the space to share his journey, in this awards season and in the larger context of his complex career.

[NOTE: This interview has been slightly edited for clarity.]

It’s an embarrassment of riches to say you are in two awards-contending films, The Apprentice and A Different Man. What has the experience been like for you this season?

It’s been very surreal. You never really know the outcomes of any film when you go and make them. You’re always just hoping they turn out well, especially if they’re shot under crazy circumstances, which both of these films were. A Different Man was 24 days, still in COVID, in New York, and it was just running and gunning to try and make the day, every day. And [Aaron] was trying to shoot it on film, and he had these beautiful one-take shots, which required everybody in the crew to be on the same page. And then The Apprentice, I’ve been trying to get going since 2019, and every time we got close, it fell apart. [So] you hope people will watch it. And when you get into this wild time that is the fall, where you’ve got so many films coming out and major studios contending like Netflix, Amazon, and Apple, and everyone’s got their horses in the race, so to speak, you don’t know if your movie will cut through.

A Different Man had an interesting journey. It’s amazing because Aaron and I kept saying, “Look, somehow we’re at the Gothams, and then the Gotham thing happened.” Or, “Wow, we’re at the Globes,” or, “Wow, we got to Berlin.” There were all these signs that this film was connecting with people, but it felt like we always had to be the cheerleaders to A24 about it [and say], “Let’s keep going.”

With The Apprentice, it had no marketing. When we finally got the movie from, basically, not being almost censored, we had two and a half months of trying to get the film out with any marketing, like billboards on Sunset Boulevard or anything like that. So when you get to the Globes, and I’m sitting there, and I’m going, “Wow, this actually happened with both of these films,” you can’t help but feel grateful because this is the win. This is probably as good as it’s going to get. And then, obviously, anything that happens after that is an amazing moment, but in terms of getting both films seen, it helps to have those moments.

How do you feel after winning the Globe? I’m sure there’s probably some vindication or celebration of the fact that this film you championed was recognized in the first major event of the season.

It was incredibly gratifying for many reasons. One, for the film and getting more attention to it. Two, for the film’s subject matter. It’s not an easy, simple film. It’s beautiful, complex, funny, and tragic and speaks to such big questions and themes. When you look at films like that, there aren’t a lot out there. You want to encourage people like Aaron Schimberg to keep working and making them, for people to keep looking at Adam Pearson as an actor first and not as somebody with a disfigurement, and to envision him in [other] ways. I think that’s what this movie does so brilliantly; for that purpose, it’s amazing.

For me, at 42 years old, having been around and doing this for 20-somewhat years, you’re always hoping that you’re going to be up there someday and thank some of these people. I could’ve been up there for an hour, you know? So many people have contributed to my life, and you just want to highlight everybody. But it was a nice moment for my mom and the close people in my life.

But then it was scary because…we woke up the next day, and 24 hours later, these fires were happening, and suddenly, we were in a different world, and we’ve been in a different world since. It’s been hard to look back at that because it’s been crazy watching so many people lose their homes, people that I know.

Hopefully, everything’s been okay for you.

Yeah, everything’s okay. Fortunately, everyone’s okay, but there are friends and people we know who have lost their homes and everything…or just the entire neighborhood, especially in the Palisades area. It’s really difficult to wrap your mind around it. Mother Nature…I don’t know if there’s anything more humbling than that, right? We all end up being put in the backseat, and none of it really matters at that point. We’re all in the same boat, you know? But hopefully, we’ll get a little bit better today.

I really hope so. Now, getting into your career and these films, do you see any similarities between the two roles of Edward/Guy and Donald Trump?

I do because, to me, I feel like they are two different forms of narcissism, two different forms of extreme narcissism. When I think of narcissism, I think of denying and suppressing who we really are and inventing another person. If you want to look at psychological terms, you call it the super-ego. When the distance between your true self and this other invented version you’re putting forward continues to grow because you’re constantly suppressing and lying about yourself, you have to create a bigger and bigger lie. It starts to have consequences that affect you and the people around you.

Edward is a singular person in his own world, [while Trump] happens to be a political figure who is meant to be a leader and an authoritative figure, meant to be an example to other people. His reach and how he inspires certain people goes much, much further. I’ve always seen both films as a denial of reality and a loss of humanity. That’s what the Trump story is to me. It’s what happens when you completely abandon empathy and morals and are only trying to fuel and feed this one particular need, and you have no regard for consequences that affect other people. Everything’s transactional as long as he can keep his lie alive.

What I see in Trump is a very broken, pained, paranoid, insecure little boy. I don’t say that to simply go, “Yes, he’s human, and you should feel bad for him.” I also say that to highlight the flaws that might get in the way of this person having power, moral authority, and so on. I don’t know if that’s the person I would necessarily trust, you know? Even in these horrific fires, instead of offering solutions, he’s sitting there and using what’s happening in California to serve his story and narrative, point fingers, and assign blame. It’s horrific to me.

With Edward, he feels that he’s made a mistake denying or suppressing himself, but he’s not connecting with that, and, as a result, he ends up becoming kind of a monster himself. Everything revolves around what has been taken from him, but he never assumes responsibility for the fact that he surrendered rather than someone having taken it from him. There are these complex themes that I think are relatable and interesting, and I don’t know if people connect that with those two movies, but I was able to speak about them for the last few months.

What I find fascinating about your career, and correct me if I’m wrong, is that I think you’ve selected characters who have some form of inner darkness beneath the “Sebastian Stan of it all.” I think you’ve done a great job communicating that darkness and how it manifests and festers in different ways. Sometimes it’s loud and funny and exciting, like in Pam and Tommy, and sometimes it can be dark and insidious, like in The Apprentice, Sharper and Destroyer. Is that something you’ve been actively seeking?

I think I have been curious about gravitating towards things that feel complex or I don’t quite understand right away because I find that’s how people are. I think sometimes, when we have discomfort with certain films, the pity of that discomfort can translate into ignoring something altogether because “I don’t want to go there.” Sometimes, it’s something we haven’t confronted yet or don’t want to confront. To me, one of those is that we are not perfect people. People are flawed and are all susceptible to going in very different ways.

I think we all walk around with some version of an angel and a devil on each shoulder. Every day is a decision we make to go out in the world and either hurt or try to help somebody, even in a small way. Like, you go and get a cup of coffee, and maybe you smile at the person, or you don’t even look at them. We’re conscious of things; we’re not conscious of things.

I’m always trying to learn more about myself. I don’t think of any roles as particularly reflective of me, necessarily, but I like surprising myself. I think that’s what I’m supposed to do as an actor: keep exploring humanity and its diversity. I love when there are these roles that feel closer to the truth, that it’s not always black and white, that it’s not always just a good guy and a bad guy. It’s complex. Unfortunately, there are very good people in the world who don’t have the tools and sometimes end up hurting others. There are also sometimes psychopaths that can reflect one good quality, and you wonder if somebody in their life had supported that quality more, would it have been different? I think that’s what’s interesting to me: just how big the scope is in terms of being a human.

Digging into the films themselves, we can start with The Apprentice; I spoke with Maria Bakalova last month, and she told me — and I was blown away by this — that the scene where Donald breaks down after Fred Junior’s death was largely improvised. I’d love to know how you conceived that moment.

I think that was an experience that’s so reflective of my process and how I approach this work. You can go home at night and do all this preparation. You prepare for months before and hope you get there, and you surrender to the director, the other actors, the moment, the scene. You envision things sometimes going a certain way, but almost nine out of 10 times, they don’t go that way. There’s something else happening, and it’s always about staying open to that.

In the script, there was always this moment with Donald being alone in the bathroom and breaking down, and then Ivana walks in and finds him and he quickly cleans himself up and says, “Nothing happened.” We shot it a couple of times, and there were takes where that happened. Then there was another take where, in the moment, I froze, and that was the truth of the scene. Maria walked in, and I knew we weren’t shooting the scene we were supposed to. But we still stayed in it and explored what happened. Fortunately, as was the process with the whole movie, Ali kept rolling, and thankfully, it carried us into the bedroom. We got into bed, and she put her hand on my hand. And then suddenly, all that [emotion] started to happen in that moment. Then I jumped and punched the wall, which didn’t make it into the film, but you had this moment before, which did.

That’s the beauty of this work, what I love about it. If you stay open, there’s a way it can go where you didn’t see it going that ends up being closer to the truth. And you want it always to be as close to the truth as possible.

What aspect of Donald Trump were you most excited and scared to explore?

It’s a really great question; thank you for asking that. I feel actors have to stay curious. I think the creative language is more powerful than any language we have on this earth. No matter where we come from, what we believe, how we were raised, or what language we speak, it’s the one thing that I feel, human to human, we can get to if we can allow ourselves to stay curious.

For me, I thought, “I really want to let me try and find out who this person is.” Going back in time and looking at some of the early footage [of him], I saw a vulnerability and insecurity there that I didn’t know existed, that seemed to be buried down deep underneath this pile of bravado, this carefully curated, Clint Eastwood-like, Zoolander stare down that we’re getting. There was a real person there at one point. I wanted to know more about that and how he became what he became.

I think what scared me the most was, knowing that he’s so well-known and in our faces everywhere, that I felt it was almost near-impossible to get anyone even to spend two hours trying to figure out who this guy was. He’s been done so many times. There are so many caricatures and impressions of him, and these mannerisms that he has now, the way he speaks, the lips, everything… I had to pick and choose how to filter that out through two hours so that people could connect with and believe in the reality and not be disconnected because of what they know.

What helped was that, when he was younger, he was less. There was a lot less of what you see now, those things that have built over time. His voice didn’t sound like he does now; his mannerisms weren’t as specific. That was the challenge and fear, just knowing that if I do a little too much too soon, I’m going to lose everybody. I’m just going to be thrown in there as just another kind of impression.

You’ve spoken about growing up in Romania during the collapse of the Soviet Union, experiencing political unrest and dissent. Did any of those personal experiences shape your performance of Trump or how you approached the film overall?

Yeah, totally. I think this idea about the American Dream that I, my parents, and everybody else in Romania at the time were dreaming and talking about was what I was trying to explore with [the film]. It’s about Trump and Roy Cohn, but it’s also about this ideology. What does it really do to a person? I think we see this over time. There are plenty of examples… if you look at Elon Musk… he keeps growing stronger and bigger, and there’s this idea of power corrupting absolutely. You can make your own thoughts about what he’s become, but there’s something about this American Dream.

When I came to America, my mom said, “We’re here now, and I’ve sacrificed my life, and you have to make something of yourself because you’re going to have this opportunity that so many kids are not going to have. You’re lucky that we got this far.” This is something that 100% helped me, but it’s complicated. I hear that; it drives me, but I also feel this burden of responsibility and this pressure of, “What if I fail? What if it doesn’t happen? How do I deal with this?”

I find that many people in this business, and Silicon Valley and Wall Street, you see people getting more money, accumulating more things or more awards, or they get there, and it’s never enough. There’s always something else, so they have to get another thing. If you’re nominated once for one Oscar and don’t get nominated for another 10 years, then you’re in the “one-time-only club.”

This is, to me, part of the story of The Apprentice. When is it enough, and what does it do to a person? So I think my journey through Vienna and coming here and trying to understand what it means to be an American, growing up in America, 100% influenced me with that part, and probably also drove me to do it.

Moving to A Different Man, the first thing that struck me was how you retain Edward’s physicality while playing Guy while also performing what Guy imagines being a person who never had a physical disability or disfigurement is like. Could you walk me through that process?

On a technical, scientific level, our muscles hold memory. It’s why, sometimes, people talk about improving posture and how standing up straight and walking into a room can influence mood, and there’s a lot of research into that. So, even though you’re dying your hair, losing weight, going to the gym, or [doing] whatever else to feel like you belong more, it doesn’t necessarily change the muscle memory that you carry. There are certain things and traumas over time that will always be there. You may still react to something the same way years later, depending on how much work you’ve done.

For me, [there was] trauma that came from the prosthetics and walking around the city. When I was walking around, I was so self-conscious. I felt people walk by me. Some would look, some would ignore me, but everything in my body was telling me to go in. All I wanted to do was go into myself, get through that street, and get to my destination as quickly as possible. So, as a result, I was walking a certain way, and I felt powerlessness, and I realized that was not going away for Edward.

Edward changes his physical appearance, but he’s never confronted any of the things he feels most in pain about on an internal level, so those things will continue. He might get better and go, “Oh, wait, people don’t look at me that way anymore, so I can actually be this guy.” But when he’s not conscious of it, he’s just falling right into who he was because there was no growth there for him.

It was also important for me to keep certain things about him that were recognizable from an audience standpoint that they’ll see later. I love what you said because I don’t think many people have picked up on Edward as Guy is Edward’s idea of what he should be like as an “able-bodied person.”

The other piece that helped me was speaking with this amazing woman, Elna Baker, who wrote a book about losing nearly 100 pounds. She lost all this weight, and suddenly, she was walking down the street and noticing men and women looking at her. She was finally the person she envisioned herself to be or felt she was. Over time, she started to miss her old self, to the point where she was missing people gawking at her and how heavy she used to be. I thought it was so interesting that this transformation for her didn’t ultimately pay off as she had hoped, that the inner peace, calm, and self-acceptance were not there. She talked about how there were things that she could do that she had never done before, but they weren’t fulfilling her in any way.

In a similar way, I think Guy ends up going down this path that he thinks will supply him with all these things that he’s watched other people have for years, but it’s actually made his life quite boring.

For me, one of the year’s best scenes is when Guy watches Oswald do karaoke and then watches the audience react to Oswald in a way that Guy doesn’t expect. I’d love to know what you were thinking at that moment because it was gorgeously acted, and you were communicating rank devastation through your eyes.

I appreciate that. I never really thought at that moment about how much that scene would ultimately mean. But I think it’s the first time Edward is confronted with this reality and denial of self in a very real way. A lot is happening there. I think he’s fascinated and curious. I think he’s looking for validation. I think he’s hoping that other people will judge Oswald the way he’s judging Oswald in that moment because judging Oswald helps keep his own lie alive.

At one point, he sees these two girls laughing and feels, “Oh, they’re laughing. Okay, good. I made the right choice. They’re laughing as they should because they would laugh at me.” But actually, you don’t even know if they’re laughing at Oswald. So I think it’s a lot of fear and fascination, and he can no longer run from what he’s been denying, which is, “Oh, this could’ve been me. I could’ve owned myself, and perhaps I would’ve been fine.” I think he’s dealing with that, and from that point on, it starts to grow until the end of the movie, when he murders the physical therapist. It keeps growing because of the desperation of trying to maintain the lie of, “No, no, no, I did the right thing,” and it continues to spiral out of control.

That scene is about somebody who’s in total ownership of themselves, which, by the way, I feel Adam is like in life, which is incredible. And then you have somebody who unfortunately realizes they’ve made the biggest mistake of their life.

I’m glad you brought up Adam because his performance is extraordinary, and I wish it were being recognized more this season. But you did thank Adam in your Golden Globe speech for “his trust.” How do you two work together to establish that trust, and how did it manifest on screen?

I think with anybody you’re about to go into the trenches with, we met before, and kind of sussed each other out a little bit, and I just felt, “This is going to be great. This is going to work out.” We were both on the same page about what we wanted here. With Adam and A Different Man, I really felt that he was going to be this lighthouse for me, in terms of trying to understand how to approach this and how I should, in a way, best represent him. I was really in service to him and Aaron.

There was a lot of conversation around how he grew up, his childhood, and his experiences, what he encounters daily online. When we go back again to what we said at the beginning about the loss of humanity, sensitivity, and empathy that’s transpiring online between people, how we attack other people anonymously. It’s like, where do we get that from? Maybe people in power are giving permission to do that, you know? So, the fact that Adam can go out there every day and outwit any of these people and that he’s had to do that for so much of his life is very inspiring and shows how brave he is.

I wanted to understand how one gets to that point. I knew that [Adam] was very different from Edward, but it was also about creating Edward’s past and background. Unlike Adam, who fortunately had a really strong support system with his mother and his family, all we know is that Edward’s mom had passed, and we don’t really know what else transpired. There are many cases that I found researching online of people with disfigurement or different kinds of disabilities who had been abandoned, orphaned, or never had that support system from their families. So, it was interesting, but I felt that whatever I was going to do would always have to be in step with Adam and, of course, Aaron.

One last question to wrap up: what do you want people to take away from these two films?

I still feel, and I was saying this on Sunday night, that there is discomfort around these subject matters that confront us on a level we’re afraid to go to. I think both films do that, and I hope people don’t turn the other way. I don’t believe it’s always ill-intentioned towards disability and disfigurement. I think sometimes people are curious, but they’re afraid of being curious, and they’d rather just look the other way and not confront anything. I’m saying this as someone who’s learned that from Adam. Curiosity is okay. It’s okay to be interested. That’s why I had a little kid come up to me when I was in the prosthetics and was very okay and engaging because that was pure curiosity. There was no judgment yet.

At the same time…there were times when Adam and I were trying to do press together, and we couldn’t… they’d rather only have me. There were things like that that are still not ill-intentioned, but they didn’t want to go there because they didn’t quite know how to deal with [the situation]. As a result, nothing happens.

With The Apprentice, obviously, there’s fatigue and a lot of emotions, and none of that is wrong, but we have to be conscious of that part that leads to fear and indifference. I’ll hear people go, “I’ll watch this after the election.” Well, the world might be very different by that point. It feels a little bit like kicking the can down the road and not confronting reality.

I think this is a unique situation because… we’re confronting something as it’s happening. We’re not waiting 5-10 years after we’ve digested everything. We can look back at the mistakes we made and [whether] that was the right call, and I think that’s what put people in the hot seat. But as I referred to the creative language, it’s about staying curious and open to keep us informed, human to human.

There’s a lot that both of these films are talking about: narcissism, empathy, the loss of self, and acceptance. You’re not necessarily going to get these things from Wikipedia, your email, a news channel, or somebody else telling you on TikTok. You’re going to get that from experiences with other people. When you’re having kids growing up, especially now, with phones and laptops that they’re basically chaining us to, human-to-human connection and empathy are something we have to keep protecting and nourishing. We can do that through movies, books, and art. Not AI algorithms that feed a certain kind of “selective free speech,” but things that reflect how complex [life] is so that we can have an experience. That’s valuable.

I was lucky enough to be in two complicated films that I think were confronting people in certain ways. We’ve been seeing that some people got it, and others aren’t ready for that yet, but I’d rather be on that side than the safe side.

#Sebastian Stan #A Different Man #The Apprentice #Awards Season #Interview #mrs-stans #StansClan #SStan #SebStan #sebastianstansource #sebastian stan source #sebastiansource #sebastianstannews #sebastianstanedit #sebstanedit #sebastianstan

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