Shadows In Ink

[athanasiamark]

Hush, Little Jinx

Summary: Silco puts little Jinx to sleep

Pairing: Silco x Jinx

The night pressed down on Zaun like a heavy blanket, but inside Silco’s small, cluttered room, the fire flickered warmly, painting the walls with golden light. Outside, the city hissed with steam and machinery, but here it was quiet, safe.

Young Jinx sat on a bundle of blankets near the hearth, knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes, wide and fearful, reflected the dancing flames. Sleep had abandoned her again; her thoughts kept returning to the day’s shadows — Vi, the fights, the things she could not fix.

Silco crouched near her, careful not to overwhelm her with his size or presence. He looked at her with the softness he rarely showed anyone. “Can’t sleep tonight, huh?” he murmured.

Jinx only shook her head, hugging herself tighter. Silco gave a small sigh, then did something she had never expected: he began to sing.

“Dear friend across the river,

My hands are cold and bare…

Dear friend across the river,

I’ll take what you can spare…”

His deep, rough voice carried over the crackle of the fire, steady and warm. At first, Jinx’s eyes widened — he was singing to her, a lullaby that had once been hers alone, a tune she remembered from fragments of happier days. Slowly, she began to hum along, the sound trembling and soft.

Silco shifted closer, careful, laying a blanket over her small shoulders. “Shh… that’s it,” he murmured. “It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re with me now.”

Jinx’s small body shivered, the day’s fear and exhaustion catching up with her. Silco gently rested a hand on her arm, steadying her. “No one’s going to hurt you,” he whispered. “Not tonight. Not ever, as long as I’m here.”

Her hum faltered, then resumed, softer now, trusting the warmth of his voice. Silco continued to sing, his words wrapping around her like a shield:

“Take my hand and hold it,

Don’t be afraid tonight…

I’ll be here, always near,

Until the morning light…”

Jinx leaned slightly into him, feeling for the first time in a long while that someone would stay. Silco’s rough hand smoothed her hair back, and he hummed the final notes, softer this time, letting the silence settle.

“You can sleep now,” he whispered, brushing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”

Her eyes slowly closed, breathing evening itself into a steady rhythm, the fear loosening its grip. And for the first time in many nights, she allowed herself to rest, cradled in the presence of someone who had chosen to be her father, protector, and comfort all at once.

Silco remained where he was long after sleep had claimed her, watching the small rise and fall of her chest. The world outside could burn itself to ash for all he cared — here, in this moment, there was only her.

He had once sworn never to be weak again. Never to let anyone close enough to wound him. Yet here she was, small and breakable, curled into his space as if she had always belonged there. And instead of fear, what filled his chest was resolve — cold, ironclad, unyielding.

I will never leave you, he promised silently, the vow settling deep in his bones. Not when you scream. Not when you break. Not when the world tells you you’re wrong.

His fingers hovered just above her hair, careful not to wake her. She had been called many things — a mistake, a curse, a problem — words spoken by people who walked away when it mattered. Silco swallowed hard, jaw tightening.

They were blind, he thought. Every last one of them.

There was nothing broken about her. Not her restless hands, not her shaking breaths, not the way she clung to the night as if it might steal her away. She was not something to be fixed or abandoned. She was exactly what Zaun had made her — sharp, brilliant, surviving.

You’re perfect, he whispered, fiercely. Exactly as you are.

Silco leaned back slightly, finally allowing his eyes to close — not in sleep, but in watchfulness. He would be her constant. Her anchor. The thing that did not disappear.

And for the first time since the river, since the betrayal, since everything he had lost — he stayed.

[athanasiamark]

Bridge of Sparks

Summary: The construction of a bridge in Zaun

Pairing: Silco x Vander (platonic), Zaun citizens/children (background focus)

The bridge arched over the churning canal, its metal bones slick with the mist rising from below. Steam vents hissed rhythmically, echoing in the narrow lanes, and the smell of burning coal mingled with the faint tang of chem-light. Zaunites crossed the bridge cautiously, some carrying small bundles, others leading children by the hand. Sparks from a hidden workbench jumped into the air, reflecting off puddles in miniature fireworks that danced in the night.

Vander moved alongside Silco, boots clanging against the metal. “It’s holding,” he said, voice low but proud, watching the bridge bear the weight of a dozen families at once. “These kids are going to walk on this for years, and they’ll never know how close it came to collapse.”

Silco’s gaze lingered on the young faces peeking over railings, excitement lighting their eyes despite the grimness of the city around them. “It’s barely enough,” he murmured, voice rough. “They deserve more than this… a city that doesn’t feel like it’s going to kill them at every step.”

Vander glanced at him, reading the weight behind the words. “Then we give them that. One step at a time.”

A small girl darted past them, clutching a scrap of glowing chem-paper like a makeshift torch. Her laughter carried over the bridge, thin but fearless, bouncing off metal and stone. Silco’s lips twitched in an almost-smile, and he bent down, letting her trace her fingers over the edge of the rail.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice gentler than usual. “Bridges can bite.”

The girl giggled and ran back to her family, leaving Silco and Vander alone on the bridge. Vander nudged him lightly with an elbow, smirking. “You’re soft for them, you know that?”

“Not soft,” Silco replied, eyes scanning the crowd below. “Responsible. They shouldn’t be scared of the city they call home.”

Vander exhaled, leaning against the railing and watching the children play in the shadows. “Responsibility looks a lot like love,” he said quietly.

They moved off the bridge toward the canalside, where families were unloading baskets of supplies. A woman struggled to carry a heavy sack of coal, and Silco was at her side instantly. “Here, let me,” he said, lifting it for her.

Vander clapped a hand on her shoulder. “We all help each other. That’s what keeps Zaun alive.”

Children ran between stacks of crates, some chasing stray sparks from a broken welding torch. Silco watched, a rare softness in his gaze. “They’re fearless,” he muttered, “because they have to be.”

Vander leaned close. “No, they’re fearless because we make them feel safe enough to try.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, thinking of the promises he had made: bridges, streets, and corners of Zaun where no child would ever feel abandoned. “Then we keep them safe,” he said, almost to himself.

A boy with soot-streaked cheeks ran toward them, tugging at Silco’s coat. “Mister, can we fix more bridges next?”

Silco glanced down at the eager face. “Yes,” he said, voice soft but certain. “We’ll make sure every crossing is safe. Every step counts.”

[athanasiamark]

Lanterns Over Zaun

Summary:

During a vibrant Zaun festival, young Vander and Silco share dreams, laughter, and hope for their city’s future.

Pairings / Characters:

Vander x Silco (platonic)

The air in the Lanes was thick with smog and magic, and tonight it felt almost celebratory. Lanterns of bronze and glass swung from cables strung across narrow streets, flickering against a backdrop of soot-blackened buildings that still managed to glitter under chem-light reflections. Vendors hawked their wares — glowing Cavernberry juice, kouaxi spirits simmered over open flames, pockets of warm bread and sweet pastries to ward off the chill. Children darted between legs and crates, faces lit in excitement as music and laughter echoed against corroded walls. Zaun felt alive in a way few nights managed.

Vander stood at the edge of the festival square, the world buzzing around him like sparks from a forge. Even here, beneath the industrial glow of chem-lamps and secondhand tech, he could feel the pulse of his home. People who scrounged for scraps and scrubbed coal from their clothes still grinned with pride when the lanterns lit up, when the drums beat, when Zaun danced in the shadows.

Beside him, Silco watched the crowds with that easy stillness he always carried — a quiet presence in the storm of the city. His gaze was calm; his hands rested casually, one looped around the neck of a kouaxi bottle. “They’d call it madness in Piltover,” he remarked, voice low, eyes following a group of young Zaunites twirling lit streamers. “Celebrating like this when there’s nothing to celebrate.”

Vander smiled, though his eyes were warm with hope. “There’s always something worth celebrating,” he said. “We’re still here. We survived another year. That’s worth a night of light.”

Silco’s lips curved, almost reluctant, as he looked over the faces — the market sellers haggling in good humor, the families sharing food, the children with smudged cheeks laughing louder than any brass band. “Maybe,” he murmured. “Zaun hasn’t been defeated yet. That’s something.”

A nearby stall offered steaming pastries, and Vander bought two for them both — sweet, flaky bread with Cavernberry preserves. The smell was strong, a little sour but warm. Vander took a bite and let out a chuckle. “Piltover sticks to perfection. We stick to flavor,” he said, stealing another bite.

Silco watched children dart past, their laughter rising above the hum of chem-lights and engines pumping in the distance. “They deserve more than this…” he said quietly, “Zaun deserves more than this.”

Vander set his pastry down and met Silco’s gaze full on. “Then we build it,” he said, voice steady. “For them. For all of them. Zaun isn’t just survival. It can be something better.”

Silco’s expression softened in the glow. He reached out — a gesture rare, but genuine — and clasped Vander’s shoulder. “You always see the light, even when everything else is smoke,” he said, not mocking, just sincere.

“Someone has to,” Vander replied with a grin. “And someone has to remind you when you forget.”

A small boy, no more than eight, wove his way through the crowd and tugged at Silco’s sleeve. His eyes were wide with curiosity and excitement, cheeks smudged with soot. “Mister… mister, can I see the lights with you?”

Silco glanced down, startled, but softened immediately at the boy’s trust. “Careful where you step,” he said quietly, lowering himself to the child’s level. “The streets are tricky tonight.”

The boy giggled, pointing at a lantern that swung overhead. “It’s so shiny! Like stars!”

Silco allowed a faint smile, guiding him gently by the shoulder. “Not all stars burn so bright without risk,” he murmured. “You’ve got to be brave to shine like that.”

Nearby, families watched with soft smiles, some calling their children closer, offering warm pastries and sweet drinks. One mother nudged her son, whispering, “See? Even the strong watch over the little ones.”

Silco’s gaze drifted back to Vander, who raised an eyebrow and smirked knowingly. “You’ve got a soft spot,” Vander teased, voice low.

“I’ve got responsibilities,” Silco countered, but his lips twitched.

The lantern above them swayed in the chemical breeze, its warm light casting shifting shadows on the faces around them. Children ran with sparklers in their hands, leaving trails of flickering dots in the air. Zaun felt rough and corrosive — the Gray hung heavy, and industry breathed down every alley — but tonight it was twined with laughter and dreams.

A family passed by with plates piled high with food — roasted roots and sweetened sauces — feeding hungry mouths with contented hums. An older woman nodded at Vander, her smile weary but genuine. “Tonight feels like hope,” she said. “That’s rare.”

Vander handed her a pastry and winked. “Hope’s what we’re here for.”

Silco watched the exchange, his chest moving slow and thoughtful. “Hope,” he echoed. “Hope can get you killed.”

Vander chuckled, lighting up more of his face than any lantern. “Or it can get you loved,” he said, and the words carried not just humor but a promise — a reason to keep fighting for the city below the smog.

As Zaunites danced and sang, Vander and Silco walked deeper into the festival — talking not about battle plans or rebellion, but dreams. Little ones at first: clean air vents running through the Lanes; cleaner drinking water for every child; tech shops that thrived without fear of Piltover enforcers. Then bigger ones: a Zaun that stood tall and proud, known for ingenuity and heart rather than grim survival.

Silco’s gaze lingered on a girl weaving lighted flowers into her hair, carefree despite the world around her. “I want them to live without fear,” he said softly, far from jest.

Vander met his eyes with that steady resolve only he could muster. “Then we give them a reason to stop fearing. Together.”

The lanterns above them seemed to glow brighter in that moment — a cascade of warm light in the gray haze of industry, music, and celebration. And as the drums beat on, Zaun danced, not because it had forgotten its shadows, but because it dreamed of something more.

[athanasiamark]

Small Hands- Sharp Blades

Summary: Sevika trains young Jinx to fight

Characters / Pairing:

Jinx x Silco (parent/child dynamic)

Sevika (mentor/trainer, platonic)

Setting: Zaun, The Last Drop, early days after Silco adopts Jinx

The backroom of the Last Drop smelled of oil and smoke and something sharp that made Jinx’s stomach churn.

No dice games tonight. No mobsters lounging in shadows. Only the dim glow of a single lantern, throwing long shapes against the walls.

Sevika circled her like a predator, boots clicking softly against the floorboards.

“Faster,” she barked, voice rough and dry. “If you swing like that, even the rats in Zaun will laugh at you.”

Jinx lunged again — wild, sloppy, uncoordinated.

Sevika caught her wrist and twisted her arm. “Are you fighting, or just flailing because you miss Vi?” Her tone was sharp, sarcastic. “That’s a nice excuse if you want to stay a kid forever.”

Jinx froze, face burning.

“I don’t care if you’re small. I don’t care if your fists feel like wet noodles,” Sevika continued, stepping closer. “You think Vi made it easy for you? You think she held your hand?” She smirked, almost teasing. “Newsflash, she left. She always leaves. So either you learn to hit first or you learn to cry second.”

Jinx gritted her teeth and swung again. This time Sevika barely had to step aside to make her stumble.

“Better. Barely. But we’ll take it,” Sevika muttered. She crouched slightly, voice lower. “You’re scared. Good. Use it. Make them regret ever thinking you’re weak.”

Jinx’s small fists clenched, knuckles white. Sweat streaked her hair to her forehead. Every nerve screamed to give up, but she couldn’t. Not now.

Sevika sighed, almost softly. “Come on. Again. I’m not here to babysit. You want to survive? You fight like you mean it.”

Jinx lunged once more, and this time Sevika didn’t stop her. She let the kid stumble forward, let her take the hit, and whispered, “Feel that? That’s your fear talking. You use it — don’t run from it.”

By the time Silco entered, Jinx was trembling, exhausted, her arms aching.

“Enough,” he said quietly. The backroom went still.

Sevika straightened but didn’t argue. She trusted him — and in the private room, she knew her authority was hers to keep.

Silco knelt in front of Jinx, pulling a small knife from his coat — balanced, cold steel, not threatening but deadly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

Jinx’s hands hovered, shaking violently.

“You can trust me,” he said gently. “This is control. Not strength.”

Silco guided her hands around the hilt and then tilted his neck, letting her press the tip lightly against his throat.

Her breath hitched. Cold metal. Warm pulse beneath.

“That’s enough,” he murmured after a moment. “Not faster. Not harder. Just precise. Close. Done.”

Jinx dropped the knife immediately.

And then she crumpled, sobs spilling out — grief, fear, exhaustion, all tangled with the memory of Vi leaving.

Silco wrapped her up instantly, pressing her face to his chest. His voice was soft, steady, low enough only she could hear:

“Shhh… it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re still a kid.”

She clung to him as though letting go would make everything vanish.

Silco held her until she stopped shaking. He carried her to a small cot in the back, tucked her under the blankets, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’ll keep you safe. No one else has that right.”

Sevika, standing just outside the cot, nodded once. A rare sign of approval.

The room fell silent again. Outside, Zaun roared on — fire, grit, and grinding machinery — but inside, a small girl felt safe in the arms of the man who would be her father.

[athanasiamark]

Blisters and Bedrock

Summary: At The Last Drop, Felicia reveals she’s pregnant

Characters / Pairing: Felicia, Vander, Silco (platonic; family/parental dynamics; future reference for Vi & Powder)

The Last Drop was warm with lantern glow and hazy with tobacco smoke — the kind of place where Zaunites came to forget their troubles for at least a little while. The bar smelled of ale and sweat and yesterday’s smoke, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses wrapped around them like a fragile hope. Outside, the Undercity was choking on its own ambition, but inside … here, the world felt lighter, almost bearable.

Felicia laughed as she swirled her drink, eyes glinting. Her hair caught the light with every turn of her head — dark purple, like storm clouds at dusk. She was beautiful, fiery, untamed. Beside her, Vander and Silco were unwinding after another long day in the mines.

Silco had a half-serious, half-playful look — something that used to be more common in those days. Vander’s massive hands were wrapped around his glass, a genuine smile in the creases of his face. The jukebox in the corner crooned an old tune — one that seemed to belong uniquely to this bar and these people.

Felicia set her glass down and looked at both men with a softness that didn’t wash away the fire in her eyes. “So … I’m pregnant,” she said simply, a nervous breath sliding into a brave grin.

For a moment there was silence — not awkward, just significant.

Vander’s eyebrows lifted first. “You’re what?” he asked, his voice low and warm, like a hearth in winter.

Felicia laughed again — half nervous, half delighted. “I’m pregnant. With a girl.”

Silco blinked once before his features settled into a slow grin. He leaned back, eyes fixed on her with a mixture of admiration and guarded warmth. He’d seen too much horror, too much suffering to take joy lightly; yet right now, joy was here. Real and sharp.

“You didn’t tell … Connel yet?” Vander asked, probing gently.

Felicia shook her head. “Not yet. I figured… maybe I should at least tell you two first.”

Silco’s gaze flicked to Vander before returning to her. In those few seconds of silence, he saw not just a friend but a man imagining a life full of change — a life filled with possibilities that didn’t yet exist in Zaun.

“You two are gonna figure this Zaun thing out,” Felicia said, her tone earnest, radiant. “I don’t care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock, covered in blisters. You’re not allowed to fail anymore. For her. For me.”

Vander’s expression softened, and he broke into a grin filled with that soft kind of hope that had always been his greatest strength. “What’s the point of all this if we can’t raise an ankle‑biter or two here in the Undercity?”

Silco smiled then — just a little — slow and careful, like a man who didn’t trust happiness too easily but also wasn’t blind to it. “To Zaun,” he said, lifting his glass, eyes flicking to both of them. “Blisters and bedrock.”

They clinked glasses. The sound was warm and true against the background hum of life in the Last Drop. Vander took a slow sip, then smiled at Felicia with a look full of affection. “I’ve always liked the name Violet,” he admitted, a steady glow in his voice.

Silco didn’t raise an eyebrow, didn’t tease — just looked at Felicia and Vander with something softer than he usually showed. In that moment, in the simple act of toasting to their dream — not just of revolution, but of family and future — his chest felt unexpectedly light.

Felicia leaned back, laughing softly. “I wonder if she’ll have your stubborn streak, Vander… or your cunning, Silco.”

Vander chuckled, ruffling his own hair. “If she gets both, Zaun won’t know what hit it.”

Silco tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Good. Let them try. Let them all try.”

Felicia reached out and touched Silco’s arm. “You’ll be a good uncle, you know.”

He looked down at her hand, then back to Vander, and his voice dropped lower, almost reverent: “We’ll raise her better than they ever raised us. Strong. Smart. Unafraid.”

Vander’s jaw softened. “And we’ll protect her. No matter what it takes. That’s the promise, Silco.”

Silco let the words hang, letting the warmth settle in him like a shadow he didn’t mind carrying. For once, the weight wasn’t just duty or ambition — it was hope.

Felicia grinned, nudging Vander lightly. “Well, then, what are we waiting for? Let’s carve out a little future, boys. For Violet.”

Silco’s smirk widened into something fiercer, sharper — determination and fire wrapped together. “For Violet,” he echoed, raising his glass one last time.

Outside, the chimneys of Zaun smoldered like distant stars in the foggy night, but inside the Last Drop, for one fleeting moment, there was light, warmth, and the unshakable bond of those who would fight, together, to protect what they loved most.

Blisters and bedrock.

[athanasiamark]

Beneath the Iron Veins

Summary: Silco and Vander in the mines

Pairing: Silco x Vander

The tunnels were narrow, damp, and heavy with the metallic tang of Zaun. Water dripped from rusted beams, echoing in the dark like distant, hollow drums. Coal dust hung in the air, coating every surface and sticking to the sweat of the men working tirelessly, day after day. The faint glow of lanterns — swinging and sputtering — cast long, jittering shadows along the walls, turning every crevice into a shadowed threat.

Vander wiped his brow, the salt-and-grime streaks running into his beard, and let out a long breath. “Another shift, another ton of rock,” he muttered.

Silco chuckled, a dry, bitter sound that bounced against the walls. “And yet we keep moving, don’t we? Because someone has to.”

Vander grinned faintly, despite the fatigue. “Because someone refuses to stop.”

For a moment, neither spoke, listening to the hiss of machinery, the clatter of pickaxes, the distant cries of workers. In the shadows, the faces of children blinking against the furnace glow caught Silco’s eye — too young to carry these burdens, too innocent to be forced into the gears of Piltover’s progress. His chest tightened.

They’re nothing but cogs in a machine they’ll never control, he thought. And someday, I’ll make sure it burns.

Vander nudged him lightly with an elbow. “You thinking again?”

Silco let out a short laugh. “Always. But some thoughts… they don’t stop just because it’s dark, or because we’re scraping our fingers raw.”

Vander leaned back against the wall, muscles aching, and looked at him. “You ever wonder… what all this is for? All the sweat, the stone, the suffering?”

Silco’s gaze swept the tunnel, lingering on the tiny, soot-streaked faces of children hauling carts of ore. “I do. And I see what it’s really for. To build a city that’ll never care for them.”

Vander nodded solemnly. “Then we keep each other going, yeah? We’re still standing, even when the world is trying to crush us.”

Silco’s lips curved in a ghost of a smile. “You always know how to make the darkness seem lighter, brother.”

They continued their work in near silence, sharing small smiles, half-jokes, and the occasional word of encouragement. Every swing of the pickaxe, every shift of stone, was a testament to survival, resilience, and — for them — brotherhood. Even here, in the grime and sweat, they found fleeting moments of warmth in each other’s company.

As they paused for a moment, leaning against the walls, Vander sighed. “Zaun… maybe one day it can be different. Maybe we can give them something better. A place where kids don’t have to crawl through tunnels like rats.”

Silco’s eyes narrowed, a fire flickering behind the weariness. “They’ll pay for every child made to bend, every life crushed for Piltover’s golden towers. I swear it. One day… the city will burn for them. And we’ll be there to rise from the ashes.”

Vander’s hand rested briefly on Silco’s shoulder, a small, unspoken pact between them. They shared a dream of Zaun that was innocent, free, unbroken — a hope to carry them through the endless days in the mines.

For all the dust, sweat, and exhaustion, there was something unshakable in that tunnel: the bond between them, a brotherhood forged in hardship, tempered by shared visions, and strengthened by the fires of injustice.

And Silco, watching the children’s tiny figures bent under the weight of Piltover’s progress, clenched his fists. The revolution would come. He would see it through. For Zaun, for the innocent, for every soul made to suffer while others thrived.

Vander, catching the gleam in his eyes, smiled faintly. “We’ll get there, Silco. One day.”

Silco nodded, letting the shadows and dust settle around them, but inside, a storm of resolve was already brewing. “We will,” he said. “And when we do… we’ll show them all.”

[athanasiamark]

Silent Flames

Summary: After the explosion leaves Powder alone and broken, Silco finds her amid the ruins, and together they silently swear vengeance on a world that betrayed them.

Characters / Pairing: Powder x Silco

The smell of smoke and hot metal burned in Powder’s nostrils as she staggered through the wreckage, boots crunching over shattered stone and splintered wood. The heat still radiated from the twisted wreck of the warehouse — shards of crystal glittered like cursed stars in the rubble, and distant fires spat sparks into the choking Zaun sky. Everything felt too bright, too loud, too unreal.

Powder hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. She just wanted to help. But she had done the opposite. Vander, Mylo, and Claggor — all gone. And Vi… she had looked at her with fury and fear, slapped her, and screamed a word Powder couldn’t stop hearing: jinx.

Her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees among the ruins, shaking, covered in soot, and unable to stop the sobs that wracked her small body.

Then she heard footsteps. Heavy. Smooth. Deliberate.

Powder didn’t look up at first — she couldn’t. Her head throbbed, her heart felt like it was trying to escape her ribs. But the steps came closer, until a voice — low, weathered, and oddly calm — spoke above her:

“Hey.”

Powder blinked through tears. Someone was there. Someone alive.

She let out another sob, shoulders shaking. The voice didn’t vanish. Didn’t order her away. Didn’t scold her. It simply stayed.

“Hey,” the voice said again, gentler this time. “What’s your name?”

Powder didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Her whole world had collapsed.

The man knelt beside her slowly — careful, like he wasn’t sure what he was approaching. His coat was dark and worn, his face marked by years of hardship and decisions that weighed on him like rust. His eyes — one sharp, the other pale — studied her quietly as the flames behind him cast trembling light across his expression.

He noted the way her small body shook, how the soot and blood streaked across her face, the way her hands clutched some invisible anchor to the past. He remembered nights like this — the fires on the bridge, the screams in Zaun, the betrayals that had come like knives from people he once trusted. Vander, with his heavy moral code, his loyalty twisted into judgement. The explosions he had caused — his own hands tainted, leaving ruin in the streets. He understood the weight of chaos, the suffocating knowledge that nothing could ever be undone.

And now, here was a child, abandoned, terrified, and yet still breathing. Another life left shattered by the city’s cruelty, by mistakes she could not begin to comprehend. The ruins reflected more than loss; they reflected the cost of survival, the price of ambition and failure, the harsh lessons Zaun had carved into his own life. He could see it all in the curve of her shoulders, the tremble of her hands, the raw, unshielded grief that radiated from her small form.

Then she jumped.

Into his arms, a tiny, desperate weight clinging to him. Her tears soaked his coat; her breath rattled against him like a storm. He felt the impact and stiffened for a heartbeat — and then he held her tighter, not in comfort, not in patience, but in rage.

He did not ask her to speak. She didn’t. She clung. And he understood. He understood everything without a single word.

The world had failed her. Vander had failed her. Everyone had failed her. And the fire reflected the truth of it all: betrayal, loss, ruin. He could feel the threads of destruction in her hands, in her grief, in the trembling weight she laid upon him. He could feel her fury — not yet spoken, not yet shaped into words — but already blazing. And it mirrored his own.

He ground his jaw, eyes narrowed, teeth clenching. The anger that had been smoldering since Vander’s betrayal surged. The explosions he had started — the lives lost, the city scarred — all pointed to this moment, this child in his arms. She would survive. She would endure. And together, they would make those who abandoned them pay in full.

He tightened his hold. She did not flinch. She did not speak. And in that silent agreement, he felt a vow settle between them — unspoken, raw, unbreakable.

No one would leave them powerless again.

“We’ll show them all,” he muttered, voice low and fierce. Not a comfort. Not a promise to soothe. A warning. A decree. A shared oath — and Powder, in her small form, clung silently, already part of it.

Flames danced around them, smoke curling in jagged columns into the night sky. And in the middle of the ruin, in the echo of explosions and betrayal, the two of them — broken, furious, determined — swore it together.

[athanasiamark]

Embers in the Undercity

Summary: Blinded by grief and fury after Vander’s betrayal and Felicia’s death, Silco teeters on the edge of rage — and only you can hold him back before he destroys himself.

Pairing: Silco x Reader (Reader as Zaun-raised confidant/guardian figure)

Warning Labels / Content Notes:

Emotional distress / grief / anger

Trauma / flashbacks

Strong emotional/physical comfort

Mentions of violence / near-attack scenario

The night air was thick with dust and the metallic scent of blood. Zaun’s twisted iron skeletons of factories stood like silent sentinels against the dark sky, exhausted machines long since cooled. You had expected the streets to be chaotic — screams, shouts, fury — but instead there was a quiet that felt unnatural, like the city itself was holding its breath.

You had heard the rumors — whispers of Silco’s fury after Felicia died, after everything had fallen apart. And you knew that chaos like this didn’t fade quietly. It burned.

The Last Drop’s doors were ajar when you arrived, voices still echoing inside — low conversations, clinking mugs, the creak of oiled hinges. But something deeper thrummed underneath it all — tension, like a wire pulled tight.

You found him first, pacing the alley beside the bar. Silco, coat torn, boots muddied, eyes blazing with fury, hands twitching as if ready to strike. Every step he took toward the bar felt dangerous — reckless. He wasn’t thinking; he was blinded by grief and rage.

“Stop,” you called, your voice firm but steady.

He froze, jaw tight, eyes glinting. “I have to,” he hissed. “I can’t let him—”

“No,” you said sharply, stepping in front of him. “You won’t. Not like this.”

His gaze locked on the bar’s doors, on Vander inside. “He betrayed everything! Felicia—everything we—”

“I know,” you said, voice gentle but insistent. “I know you’re angry. I know it hurts. But if you go in like that, you’ll lose yourself too. You can’t do this alone.”

He surged forward anyway, muscle and grief propelling him toward the bar. You planted your feet firmly, grabbing his arms, holding him back with all your strength. “I won’t let you!” you said, voice rising over the hum of Zaun’s night.

He resisted, pulling against you. “Let me!” he spat. “He doesn’t deserve mercy! Felicia—”

“Shhh!” you interrupted, gripping his shoulders tighter. “Listen to me. Look at me!”

---

Silco didn’t stop. His muscles tensed, his body coiled with fury, shaking against your grip. You stumbled backward slightly as he tried to break free. “I’m not— I can’t—” he hissed, teeth gritted, voice raw, “I have to!”

You knew he was too strong for simple words. You had to hold him. You moved with him, guided his momentum, and finally, with all your strength, you pinned him to the ground — your knees pressing lightly against his shoulders, your arms wrapped around his chest. He thrashed at first, spitting curses and snapping at your hands, but you held on, refusing to let him go.

The fury in him surged like molten iron. He screamed, hands clenching at your wrists and shoulders, body shaking violently. And then it cracked — memories flooding in all at once.

The mine. The echoing screams. The shafts where he and Vander had once dreamed of building a better life for Zaun, the way the air had smelled of dust and sweat and fear.

Felicia. Her laughter. Her warmth. The mother of Vi and Powder. The one who had grounded him, who had always understood the delicate balance between ambition and care.

Connor. Small, bright-eyed, innocent — a life unprotected, now just another ghost in the ruins.

Vander. Once a brother, a partner, a comrade. Now a betrayer.

Each memory collided with another, the rage twisting into grief, grief twisting into heartbreak. He sobbed, deep and ragged, body wracking under the weight of everything he’d lost and everything he thought he’d failed.

You stayed pinned over him, hands steady on his chest and arms, murmuring gently, “It’s okay. You can let it out. You don’t have to carry it all. Not tonight. Not by yourself.”

The tears flowed unchecked now, hot and unrelenting. His body shuddered, voice breaking into helpless sobs. You held him tightly, letting him release the storm inside, letting him finally feel the grief, rage, and betrayal that had been buried too long.

“You… you don’t have to be alone,” you whispered again, your forehead resting near his. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. None of this is yours to bear alone.”

Silco’s sobs echoed into the empty alley, the distant hum of Zaun’s machinery and muted city lights surrounding you both. The night was heavy, dark, and quiet — but you were here. Anchoring him. Keeping him tethered to the world, to himself, to a chance at breathing again.

And slowly, through the shuddering and trembling, the anger began to soften. Through the sobs and the weight of memory, Silco allowed himself to be held.

To grieve.

To be human.

[athanasiamark]

Zaun’s Quiet Shelter

Summary:

In an alternate Zaun universe, you’ve been raised by Vander and Silco, both acting as unwavering parental figures. One evening at the Last Drop, you can’t hold back anymore. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and raw, you finally let yourself be seen — and both Vander and Silco are there to comfort you, with gentle words, nicknames, and loyalty that feels like home.

Warning Labels / Content Notes:

Emotional distress / depression

Anxiety

Crying / emotional breakdown

Parental comfort / AU parenting dynamics

Mentions of alcohol (bar setting)

The Last Drop was humming, as it always did — voices threading through one another, mugs sloshing on well‑worn wood, laughter rising and falling like tides against the Undercity’s grey edges. The bar wasn’t just a place to drink. It was a refuge — for folks who wore soot like skin, who’d walked the twisting lanes of Zaun, who knew that above all else this place was home.

You perched on a stool near the corner, your elbows resting on the scarred countertop, one hand wrapped around your drink. The air smelled of strong ale and metal and old wood. The ceiling overhead bore the weight of countless hours of laughter, debate, and the kind of silence that only settles when someone’s heart carries a storm.

You weren’t sad because of Zaun. Not really. There were no simple reasons — only feelings too heavy to name. But your face was drawn, and your eyes flickered with exhaustion that didn’t belong to any ordinary tiredness.

The bar door opened, and in stepped Vander — broad‑shouldered, steady, something of a living legend down here. They called him the Hound of the Underground, a man whose arms once bore the weight of a city’s rebellion, whose voice could talk a thug down off a ledge as easily as he could pour a drink. He moved through the murmur of the bar with calm assurance, his eyes instantly finding you.

Behind him came Silco, stride measured, presence sharp but warmer than most gave him credit for in this world. In this universe, the two men had made peace long ago, chosen unity over bitterness, and co‑kept the Last Drop as a place for everyone — especially you. There was a quiet softness to him now when he looked at you, a look that said: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

“Hey there,” Vander greeted, sliding onto the stool next to you with that easy, grounding kind of warmth that always felt like a safe place to land. “You’ve been quieter than usual.” He didn’t press — just observed, like a parent does when they know someone’s worn thin.

Silco leaned on the counter across from you, eyes gentle beneath the bruised shadows of his past, the one that once turned him into a hardened figure but now held room for softness no one else saw. “Quiet wears on you,” he said simply. “But you don’t have to carry it alone in here. Not under this roof.”

You offered a faint smile — too small, too tired — and sipped at your drink, hoping it would do more than taste like bitter barley. “Just tired,” you said. It felt like the right defense. A simple, safe phrase.

Vander chuckled quietly and offered you a nicknames-only‑he’d-call‑you grin — the kind he used when you were worn down but still trying to steady yourself. “Sweet Pea,” he said, gentle as warm flourishes around a bruise, “you’ve been saying that a lot.”

Silco’s lips curved in something softer than his usual half‑smirk. “Yeah, Tiny Storm,” he added — a name only he used when he was being teasing and tender at the same time — “that ‘just tired’ line’s losing credibility.”

You blinked. Too much familiarity, too much kindness — and suddenly something inside that had been pressed down for weeks leapt up, shuddering into tears. They didn’t come slow or quiet. They came like a rupture of every night you’d spent pretending you were okay, trying to write “I’m fine” in your expression until it became true.

You hid your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. You tried to hold it in. You really did.

Then Vander’s voice — soft but sure —

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

Not it’s fine. Not you’re overreacting. Just plain and clear: It’s okay to not be okay.

Silco slid his stool closer, his hand warm and steady on your back. “You can put the mask down here,” he said gently, his tone the kind people use when they know exactly how much someone else has been shouldering. “We’re right here.”

You didn’t respond at first. You just cried — raw and unfiltered — and both of them stayed. Not one step back. Not a second of hesitation. They stayed right beside you, close enough that their warmth seeped into you, like gravity doing its job after too long spent floating in pain.

Finally, you whispered, voice thick with emotion: “I don’t even know why it’s like this… I’m just — I’m tired. All the time.”

Vander set his drink down and put an arm around you, careful and unhurried — like you were a trembling flame and not a burden. “Sweet Pea,” he said gently, “feeling tired doesn’t make you weak. It means you’ve lived. You’ve given your heart to this life, and it’s okay if your heart needs rest.”

Silco’s hand didn’t leave your back. His voice was soft, unguarded, like a half‑smile in the dark. “You don’t need a reason for how you feel. Emotions don’t need justification. They just are. And I promise you — your feelings matter. More than you think.”

You sniffed, still trembling a little, letting the words wash over you. Vander pulled you close; Silco stayed at your side — warm, loyal, steady. And for the first time in a long while, your tears weren’t chased by isolation. They were met with care.

You looked up, eyes glistening, and Vander offered you a small, reassuring grin.

“You know,” he said, “even this old bar’s seen rough nights. And yet it still stands. That’s definitely your kind of place.”

Silco chuckled low, nodding. “Yeah, it gets worn — just like you. But we show up again. Together.”

And as the voices of Zaun buzzed around the Last Drop — the laughter, the chatter, the murmur of countless lives moving forward — you realized that maybe you didn’t have to fix everything tonight. You just had to let this moment be real.

Vander squeezed your shoulder, and Silco’s supportive presence stayed, unwavering.

“We’re here,” Vander said softly.

“Right here,” Silco echoed.

And you finally let yourself breathe.