OMG YES! HELLO MY SHAYLAS!!!! I am so deeply sorry for how MIA I have been these past months. A lot of stuff went down in my personal life which caused me to not be active AT ALL on here :(
To sum it up, I had to move out of my (at the time) living situation because of some really nasty roommate drama that had started to affect my mental health in a lot of ways. Not to go into any detail, but to give y'all the gist of how bad it got, I got a same day appointment with one of my universities therapists, and when I asked them 'Hey, this has been the situation, how do I move forward with my roommate?" they went "You need to move out. RIGHT NOW".
It's sad and poetic in some way, because I never knew that the last time I would see my roommate, someone who I considered my best friend, would be on a random Tuesday in October as I am packing a duffle bag to leave without a word.
All of that really tore me up inside, because like I said, she was my best friend. We did EVERYTHING together. So I was just incredibly hurt with how everything ended, and I was also really hurt realizing that how she treated me during our friendship was NOT OKAY.
So for a majority of last semester I was just trying to take it day by day and focus on my academics and trying to find a new place to live. I am extremely blessed to go to college in the same town that my parents live, so I briefly moved back in with them. I am now in therapy working through everything (I had an appointment today :) ). I have a new place to live, that is not my parents house LOL, and I've been getting out more and partying and auditioning for a lot of stuff :) Things are on the up and up for Lunar!
Soooo yeahhhh, life got hectic quickly, and I feel so bad and I am so sorry for leaving so many of you hanging with requests and not letting y'all know I was going MIA. I AM SO SORRY POOKIESSSSS!!! But I fr love all y'all so much, and I will hopefully become more active again!
If I could bestow some knowledge onto y'all before I finish this out: Never put yourself down to seek gratification of someone else. If that person doesn't like you for who you are, then they are not your person. And there are so many other amazing people who love you for who you are. <3
SENDING Y"ALL SO MUCH LOVE!!! KISSIES!!!
PS: Y'all can 100% come into my ask box and we can just kiki and chitter chatter <3
Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.
Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader
Word count: 3198
Read on Ao3
Viktor feels uncharacteristically nervous as he crosses the breadth of the academy grounds, following the comfortable path that he takes to her dorm multiple times a week. The sun is barely beginning to rise and the grass still clings with remnants of early winter frost. She tells him that they sometimes get snow in Piltover, unlike the Undercity where the closest they receive is a slushy runoff in the alleyways and dangerous ice slicking up any of the streets too close to the freezing maw of the ocean.
He has a few large glass bottles in a drawstring bag tossed over his shoulder, ready for collecting as much water as he can from different points in the Pilt. He knows that the quality decreases out from the water catchment beneath Piltover up until it connects back to the ocean, where the seawater manages to draw out at least some of the impurities, at least for now. If the Topsiders had noticed a change in the flavour of their seafood he would have heard about it by now, but it's only a matter of time before the tepid runoff starts to affect Piltover as well. He's banking on it, admittedly, knowing that only a threat to their way of life will trick the Pilties into funding anything that benefits Zaun.
Despite having a clear goal and despite the rushing exhilaration he feels knowing that he will be returning home for even just an afternoon, a nervous thrum echos behind the clutch of his ribs. It's the same feeling he recognises from months ago, when his lonely bones would ache for her warmth before he even knew that he wanted it. Now he does want it, he wants it so badly that knowing he wants it somehow makes everything worse. He inhales a quick breath in through his nose, the cold air is sharp on the way down and it helps him re-centre.
His cane clicks on the stone walkway that leads to the line of dorms she resides on, and he resists the urge to smile at seeing the soft yellow light behind her curtains. She had promised to be ready well before he arrived, something about being unable to sleep due to the excitement. He had needed to tuck his hand away in a pocket to prevent himself from doing something inadvisable. Like tucking her hair behind her ear, or running his thumb across her lower lip.
Viktor huffs and takes at final step to her front door, lowering his bag to the ground and knocking with his free hand. He used to waiting around a little before she opens the door, he knows that she gets restless waiting and will likely be in the middle of something to keep herself from overthinking. It takes a few minutes before he hears a rushed series of steps heading towards the door, and when she opens the door he sees what looks like a smear of jam on the apple of her cheek. Baking, then.
"Good morning!" She exclaims, a warm smile tugging her cheeks wide and she steps to the side to allow him in, "I just need to tidy up in the kitchen, sit if you'd like!"
Viktor hoists his bag back over his shoulder and does as she suggests, walking into the dorm and taking a seat on the armchair. He watches as she darts back over to the kitchen and starts carefully wrapping a selection of jam filled biscuits in a clean tea towel and then tucking them into the bottom of a small brown satchel.
"I thought we might get hungry." She says almost sheepishly, as if he would be anything other than enamoured with her after hearing that.
He smiles, "That was quite thoughtful of you."
She laughs a little, grabbing a saucepan from the stove top and dumping it unceremoniously in the sink, "I overdid the jam a little, a lot of it got stuck to the sides of the pan. I might just leave it to soak while we're out."
Viktor leans forward, resting his elbow on his left knee. Her eyebrows jump when the water comes out of the faucet faster than she was expecting, she needs to wipe down the bench space in front of the sink after it gets wet. She isn't wearing her usual skirts or dresses, instead she is dressed in a pair of mossy green trousers and a plain cream shirt. Though at the current angle, he notices that even this unassuming shirt of hers still has some colourful embroidery around the cuffs.
"I like your outfit today, MyÅ”iÄko." He says conversationally, surprisingly no longer unsettled by how easily the compliment leaves him. He hands it to her, gift wrapped, with a bow on top and it's the easiest thing in the world.
She turns a little pink at the attention as she is slinging the satchel over her shoulder. That's always the best part.
"Well, thank you." She says quietly, tucking some of her hair behind an ear, "I figured we would be doing a lot of walking and I wanted to be comfortable." Quickly turning the faucet off, she grabs her satchel and abandons the sink. Her steps seem measured, considered. Viktor's eyes unknowingly dart down to her feet, taking note of her usual lacy socks tucked into a pair of unassuming brown loafers.
"I like your outfit too." She says.
Viktor scoffs, "You only say that because you made half of it."
The shirt and trousers had been a very nervous gift almost a month ago. She practically threw them at him and seemed like she wanted to bolt the moment after. Had anyone else implied that his personal attire seemed ill fitting, or not appropriate for the weather, that familiar biting fury would have risen up from down behind his ribcage. Not with her though, never with her.
"I- yes, well, that's-" She sputters, taking a quick breath in through her nose and shaking her head, "I-I mean that it- or I suppose you look good, in the outfit."
He laughs a little, trying to ignore the elated, fluttery feeling in the base of his stomach. Glad that he, at least, is better at holding his composure than her. Grabbing his cane from where it is rested against the armrest of the chair, he brings himself to his feet, extending a hand that moves far more confidently than he feels, and swipes the curl of jam from her cheek.
She lets out an exhale, quiet enough that he barely hears it, and her hand darts to her cheek after his leaves it.
"Jam." He says, matter of fact, "Though I didn't get all of it. You'd best wash your face."
She blinks at him a few times, and he is startlingly reminded of when they first met and she was barely able to answer any of his questions with more than a panicked blinking.
"That's so embarrassing! I'm so sorry, give me a moment!" She exclaims, darting away and to the bathroom.
When she disappears behind the doorframe, Viktor unconsciously brings his thumb to his lips to clean the jam from it, it's only after he's already done it that a red hot embarrassment burns all the way up to his ears. He is not used to being the one flustered and is glad that it has happened without her in the room. The jam was perfect, if she truly had left it on he stove too long, he couldn't tell at all in the flavour.
"All better?" She asks, exiting the bathroom and leaning her cheek in his direction.
It's a little pink, from vigorously scrubbing, Viktor assumes, "Yes, all better."
She leans back, then, a soft smile gracing her features, "That's good to hear, I would have been so horrified if someone else saw!" then she walks over to the door and grabs her thick woolen coat from it's hook. It was her father's a very long time ago, Viktor remembers her enthusiasm as she pointed out the differences in stitching techniques and fabric usage, how obvious it was that this is a Zaun garment.
While the coat is still largely a faded burgundy, in her usual fashion she has decorated it with a multitude of embroidered decorations and coloured stitching or patches to repair the years of damage. It makes sense that she is desperate to take the coat back to it's birthplace, even just for a day.
"Are you ready to go?" She asks, all bright smiles as she stands by the front door.
Viktor smiles fondly and walks over to her, grabbing his scarf from the hook and wrapping it around his neck, "I am, let's go."
~~~
Her hands grip tightly to the rail in the center of the cablecar and she tries very hard not to look out of one of the windows, lest she realise just how high above the ground they are. Viktor has one hand wrapped tight around one of the handles hanging from the roof of the car and his balance seems a great deal better than hers. Aside from the occasional trip on the trolley when forced to visit her grandparents, she is not at all used to keeping upright in a moving vehicle and feels a little embarrassed at how tightly she has to hold on with both hands.
Luckily it's pretty empty in the car at this time of day. Most of the Undercity folks who work up in Piltover will be taking the cars up in the morning instead of down, so apart from Viktor and herself, there is only a single man with a newspaper across his knees sitting up the back of the carriage. After taking one look at her nauseous expression, Viktor quickly assured her that they would be getting off at the first stop and then making their way deeper into Zaun on foot, he was also the one who suggested that she stand up so she can shift her weight with the movement of the carriage. Months ago she might have insisted that he stay seated, but she knows him well enough now to know that he would only find that insulting.
"We should be back well before sundown." Viktor says as the cable car begins to pull into the station at the top end of Zaun, "I have three spots I need to visit in the Pilt and then we can head back."
She nods, "Hopefully my stomach will have settled by then." The car lurches as it comes to a stop at the platform. She almost topples forward, only stopped by her tight grip on the handrail, she groans, "I think I've had enough cable car rides for a lifetime."
Viktor laughs, fondly, she thinks, "I am sorry for subjecting you to such torture." He turns towards the doors as they slide open and hikes his bag back onto his shoulder, "Lets go, hopefully you'll feel better on solid ground."
Releasing the handrail, she follows Viktor through the door and out onto the platform. She immediately notices the difference in the air, it's thicker and burns slightly in the back of her throat. Viktor notices when she instinctively covers her mouth, his expression pinches and uncomfortable. It must be difficult to see her react so negatively to his home, even if it cannot be helped.
So she inhales deeply through her nose and allows the discomfort to settle in her lungs for a now, the feeling reminds of her inhaling the fumes from one of those salons where Topside women get their nails painted. Forcing a smile, she says, "Shall we get moving?"
Victor's smile is not quite as warm as she is used to, "If we are moving too quickly and you struggle to breathe, let me know. We won't be down here long."
It isn't a long walk to the first source of water, the cable car ran down almost parallel to the winding banks of the Pilt. She follows quietly as Viktor leads her down the metal grated stairs of the platform, around behind a series of ramshackle houses and shopfronts, down an alley and then around a corner. Unlike Piltover where all of the buildings have the same aesthetic appeal, she can't help but marvel at the inconsistencies in the structures, how she can so easily tell those that were built in completely different decades, it's nice to see that not everything is endlessly renovated to keep up with modern sensibilities.
She is in the middle of examining a half dilapidated wooden shack listing sideways into the side of a steel wrought shopfront when she notices Viktor ducking under a low overhang and around the corner. Hurrying after him, she hears the sound of water before she sees it and Viktor looks at her from over his shoulder, "this is the cleanest part of the Pilt, the direct runoff from topside."
As they make it out into the open, she sees the expanse of water pooled up against the foundation of Piltover, splitting off into several smaller streams that lead down through Zaun and towards the ocean. Before she has a chance to say anything, she watches Viktor move quickly towards the bank of silt around the edge of the water, filling one of the glass bottles he brought for precisely this purpose. She swallows, stepping up beside him as he raises to his feet, holding her elbow out nonchalantly to help him regain his balance if he needs it.
He accepts the offer and she is glad, because she can tell he is feeling sensitive now and the last thing she wants is for him to think she is babying him. Once he is standing again, she feels his hand linger in the crook of her elbow a moment, before leaving entirely.
Viktor stares out at the water with some sort of melancholia and many months ago she would have been too afraid of prodding or her inserting herself where she needn't be, but now they are friends and even though her old nervous habits die hard, she manages to ask.
"Did you spend time here, when you were younger?"
Viktor startles a little, like he forgot she was there, golden eyes darting in her direction and then back out to the water, "yes. I used to play here during the summer, when I was a boy."
The wind kicks up, the cold air burns her eyes and tangles in her hair. Off in the distances she can see the runoff from topside gushing down into the pool below, kicking up water droplets that catch the bright white light of the winter sun, glinting like diamonds. Viktor is wearing the mittens she made for him and she is wearing a pair of her own, so she isn't able to feel the warmth of his skin when she takes his hand in hers.
He doesn't turn to look at her, but she feels his hand squeezing hers back. She knows him well enough to intuit that this means thank you.
When the next gust of wind hits she instinctively presses herself up against him, being down in this gully is like being stuck in a wind tunnel, the air whooshes past her ears, tugging at her hair and clothes. Viktor chuckles quietly and she feels his head tilt to rest on top of her own, "Too bad I did not think to bring a model boat with me." He releases her hand, pointing out at the water, "Look at those waves.'
He's right, the wind is kicking the water up into surprisingly large waves for a still catchment. Enough that a toy boat would certainly get some good speed down and out along one of the small streams. She smiles, feeling brave enough to say, "Next time?"
She feels him laugh, and is happy when he responds affirmatively, "Yes, absolutely. Next time."
While it is not a short walk to the next body of water, their ongoing conversation makes it feel that way. Viktor leads her through a more central area of Zaun, pointing out various shop fronts or houses, telling her short and often personal stories about each of them that help to keep her engaged. He tells her that much of Zaun is more active after the sun goes down, that the streets fill with food carts and vendors. After he says this, she notices that the sides of buildings are decorated with tangled string lights that must help illuminate everything once the darkness settles in.
Viktor doesn't shy from telling her stories about the rougher side of the Undercity, points out a few spots where he witnessed fights, or beatings, one or two places where he was involved with them personally, "The people in this area, at least, are not so bad though. Keep your nose of out their business and most will leave you alone." He says quickly, as if to prevent her from worrying too much.
When they reach the end of the final street, Viktor takes a sharp turn down an alleyway, grabbing her by the hand as they head towards the next area he needs to take a sample from. The sunlight casts in through the alleyway, leaving Viktor nothing more than a sharp silhouette ahead of her. She allows herself to be complimentary for just a moment, appreciating her own artistry in the way his woollen coat sits perfectly on his broad shoulders. It had been an old thing, something she found in the back of the textiles room, but it fit better than the coat he brought with him from home that was too tight in the chest and too short in the wrists. After some alterations, the garment looks like it belongs on his form, as if it was made for him.
The coat has a pocket on the inside, on the left breast, for money or other such things. She secretly sewed a red heart to the inner lining of the pocket, where it would not be so easily seen, and still feels a rush when she thinks about her own secret heart pressed closely to his whenever he wears it.
Trying to remain only lost in her mind and not in reality, she follows quickly behind Viktor as he ducks under a fallen water pipe and turns a final corner. This time the water is less of a catchment and more of a small, stagnant pool, only a few meters wide. While a small stream does run in and out, the water at the centre seems still enough that she would be hesitant to get too close, let alone drink from it. Viktor releases her hand and steps forward to take a sample.
Seeing her wary look towards the water, his expression turns grim, "Many houses in Zaun do have running water, but not all of them."
She resists the urge to apologise, instead resting a cautious hand on his upper arm, "Your filtration device will help, I know it will."
Viktor smiles at her, it's warm and she feels it down to her toes.
Silco x fem!Reader / Hades x Persephone-ish / enemies to lovers (kinda)Ā / slow-burn/ canon-typical violence / explicit
Masterlist
Is there light in the abyssĀ ?
Down where lost souls wander paths carved long before their time, dreams and nightmares merge as heroes and monsters collide, myth and reality chaotic currents blurring into an endless maelstrom.
It is said the Fates hide there in the shifting shadows, weaving an intricate tapestry of destinies.
Whose thread will you find intertwined with yoursĀ ?
Headstrong and ambitious, you are Piltoverās most promising chemist. Dreaming of independence, your life is turned upside down when you catch the feared Eye of Zaunās interest and he... well, catches you. What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable objectĀ ?
Author's note: guess who's back.... back again. So sorry for the wait, i was on vacation and couldn't write much. That chapter is one of the longest in the series methinks, and i hope you'll enjoy it.
As always, thank you to my love @nephertiri for being there <3
Lovely people who wanted to be tagged: @mystiqueonfleek007, @vanhelsingsbigtoe, @simpingforsharp , @pinklunarprincess
Chapter VIII - Eris
Above the syncopated beats booming from the speakers, you hear a familiar, gruff voice behind you,
"They're waiting for you upstairs, princess."
Perched upon your stool, its worn leather biting at the exposed skin of your thighs, you slowly set your glass down onto the counter. You watch as the dark brown cherry sinks beneath the melting ice cubes, its acidulous flavour dissolving into the remnants of your drink as you inhale deeply and try to steady your nerves - as well as the slight tremor shaking your fingers.
You turn around and meet Hypnos' gaze, their sharp eyes glinting over the rim of their glass, the soft lemony hue of their cocktail shifting in the pulsating light. One of their pale hands settles on your elbow as you get up and they give a gentle squeeze, their encouraging words drowned by the ambient cacophony.
You simply nod before following Sevika, the crowd parting at once when they spot Silco's second-in-command, her imposing build creating a battering ram behind which you carefully step. You're thankful for her intimidating presence - you don't know how else you could have managed to get anywhere by yourself in such a densely packed area.
The upper floor is almost as crowded as the one below: midnight blacks and navy blues meet ruby reds and jade greens in a chaotic tableau as people mingle from open balconies to remote corners, bare skin clashing against brass mechanical enhancements that shine under the anarchic flickering of stray neon lights.
The further you walk, the wider the array of prosthetics grows, often paired with large muscles covered with grim-looking tattoos. You're busy gawking at a rather gawdy depiction of skeletons engaging in nightly activities when your guide pulls you towards the largest booth of the floor. Its dark curtains are drawn shut, but you spot soft rays of golden light seeping beneath the hem, along with the muffled sound of animated conversations.
Sevika stills, her flesh hand grasping the velvety fabric before her grey eyes fall on you, scanning your face as her scowl deepens. By the way her jaw ticks, you'd think she's about to say something but she shakes her head instead, growling a mere "Good luck," before tugging the curtain and hushering you in.
You step into the cramped space - given the large number of occupants - the clicking of your heels obnoxiously loud to your ears as the thick drapes close behind you, leaving you stranded with the seven Chembarons - and Minthe.
Despite the warm glow of the two gas lamp set on each side of the oblong table, the smoky air you breathe in feels cold, its heaviness a sudden reminder that the liveliness you felt fluttering in the club is merely an illusion.
The heart of the Undercity stands before your eyes: a corrupt and sick organ barely beating.
Conversations dwindle as your presence registers gradually, the thought lingering in your mind.
Your eyes glide over the motley crew in front of you, tattoos and enhancements peeking through intricate and garish garments in a poor attempt at elegance - save for Minthe -, before you finally meet Silco's stare.
Icy waters and molten lava swirl mezmerizingly as he takes a long drag of his cigar, and you feel your skin heat up under the weight of his gaze. He exhales, phantomatic white shrouds wafting around him when he shifts to lean against the wooden panels. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding as he nods - almost - imperceptibly at you.
Your gaze follows the trail of smoke and you notice for the first time the crimson ensemble he is wearing. The vibrant color of his vest contrasts with his jet black shirt, its collar held closed by a peculiar brooch: a golden cornucopia filled with sparkling pomegranates - exact replicas of the jewelry you're wearing. A single gilded chain connects the garnet seed pins ornating the edges, warm metal resting neatly upon dark fabric.
You don't have to try too hard to picture the glee Hypnos must have felt when they designed your coordinating outfits. Was subtlety too much to ask for?
You suppress a scowl, schooling your features into an impassive mask as silence falls upon the room.
All eyes on you.
Putting out his cigar with a deliberate flick of his wrist, Silco introduces you to the assembly, tone cold and expression calculated as he gives a brief overview of your work: the last few months of your life reduced to a sterilized distillate, stripped bare of any feelings, superfluous residues easily discarded.
You know it is foolish to expect anything else from him - especially in front of his rivals - so you don't mind the content of his discourse. No, it is the absolute lack of fervor in his account that stings, your presence shrunk to mere numbers and experiments spoken in jaded tones.
The closeness the two of you shared during the afternoon seems like a strange anomaly compared to the detached demeanor you're currently witnessing, your heart sinking with each word he utters.
A brief silence follows Silco's monologue, broken when, tilting his head to the side - thus causing his sunglasses to slide down his bumpy nose - Chross is the first one to speak.
"So that's the topsider scientist who's been missing for months." His nefarious smile reveals a row of crooked teeth, "Your sudden departure has made quite some noise in Piltoverā¦ Enough for it to reach the ears of my little birdies."
"Topside you say?" Interjects Minthe, her tone acrid, "explains the stench then."
Her remark is met with an icy stare from Silco - so cold it could have frozen a lake even in the middle of summer.
A blond man clad in twilight blue straightens up from his slouched position to tut, "Now now Minthe, be nice to our guest. I'm sure we wouldn't want to leave a negative impression on a friendly neighbour."
He turns his attention to Silco before observing, "Afterall, we must demonstrate our wonderful hospitality if she's to return upstairs - since you assured us her stay with us was to be brief. We wouldn't want the wrong kind of rumours to spread on her way back now, would we?"
His insolent tone is highlighted by the cruel glint in his eyes and you swear you could feel a glacial finger gliding down your spine as he glances at Silco, then at you, the quiet murmur of the Chembarons buzzing in the confined space.
Ever since you made that deal with the crime lord, you'd told yourself you'd be able to persuade him to let you go back to Piltover alive.
However, now that you've seen just how hostile the rest of the council is, the prospect of walking free and unscathed seems a little presumptious. Even to your standards. You suppress a shiver.
"Yeah, I thought she was supposed to cover momentarily for Singed," scoffs a middle-aged woman with green tubes connected to a metallic contraption in lieu of a nose. "Instead she's still here months later while we face growing restrictions from Piltover."
"I'm not sure Silco and his pet scientist have anything to do with the Council and their decision to monitor more closely Topside's imports," the yordle on the opposite side of the table points out, "I'd wager the bad harvest season and the desperate need to fill stocks is more at cause here."
Huh. No one told you that. Now that you think of it, you don't have much information on what goes on behind the Undercity's borders. Better remedy that soon, you tell yourself.
"Though, strangely enough, Silco's merchandise is the only one steadily going through the border control," speculates the blond man, stray strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. "One wonders : could you somehow benefit from herā¦ elevated status?"
Silco snickers, "Well Damian, maybe if your business strategies didn't solely involve senseless killings, you'd achieve something better than utter ruin. Refraining yourself from fucking your way through Margot's district could help you save some of your money too."
Your jaw flexes as you grit your teeth: you'd never heard him talk this crudely before. The quick scan of the room you make tells you it is also a novelty for the astounded audience.
Placid, he pulls out a cigar from his vest, cutting its cap quickly before bringing it to his lips, Sevika presenting him the open flame of a chrome lighter. Silco takes a drag before commenting dryly, "If my sales soar and yours plummet, it only means that one of us is more discerning than the other." Nodding towards you he adds, "And that she's good at the job I hired her for."
In other circumstances the small compliment would have stroked your ego for days. But not now.
No, this time his sour tone makes you feel as insignificant as the pawn you probably are in his game, like a fly caught in a spider's web. You feel the nape of your neck heat up as embarrassment squeezes your chest. Tight.
"No doubt she's obeying every single one of your commands," muses Minthe, her almond-shaped eyes squinting as she turns towards you, "and probably eagerly so."
"I consider myself lucky to be able to practice my craft freely," you reply cooly, chin held high, your fingers flexing behind your back as you fight the urge to acquaint your fist with the elegant lines of her face.
A glimmer of something you can't quite place lights Silco's gaze when his eyes meet yours.
Whatever it is, it doesn't erase from your mind the thought that right now, his annoyingly perfect nose should also meet your knuckles. At full speed.
"Careful Minthe, it isn't wise to bite the hand that feeds you," chimes in a petite woman, the wide array of piercings adorning her pale face glinting despite the dimness of the lamps' glow.
"Speaking of feeding," a muscular man covered with tattoos you identify as Finn intervenes, "those explosions were a set back for everyone: our whole livelihood threatened by the reckless act of an imbecile. Do we have any clue as to who it could be?"
All at once, every chembaron expresses their opinion - more or less coherently. Voices overlap as the debate heats up and you don't lose one bit of it, exchanging knowing glances with Silco every now and then despite the tension brewing between you. He stays silent, undoubtedly commiting every detail to memory.
However, the discussion soon drifts towards different matters: stocks, export conditions and enforcer controls are brought to the council's attention, the atmosphere dangerously veering towards all-out chaos.
Indeed, the sight before you reminds you of a pack of greedy hyenas feasting over a rotting carcass, each kingpin arguing for the best cut.
This time, you fail to keep your disgust to yourself as a soft scoff leaves your mouth, prompting Silco to raise a quizzical brow at you. You meet his otherwise impassive gaze with a dark one of your own and the scarred corner of his lips twitches with a ghost of a smile.
He simply nods towards the curtain then focuses back onto the debate, his dismissal as quiet as it is final. Base-level professionalism it will be tonight then.
You take your leave, the barons barely registering your exit as they continue bickering amongst themselves.
The velvety drapes sway behind you and you feel like you've emerged from stormy waters only to be thrown into equally tumultuous ones: the saturated melody fills the air around you, its bass pulsing its way into your bones as you stagger towards the railing. Lightheaded - and feeling rather humiliated - your fingers brace the cool metal, your knuckles blanching under the pressure you apply.
So much for a formality.
The only things you've found out so far are things you could've pieced together on your own: the Chembarons are a bunch of greedy, manipulative and self-centered individuals that hates and wants you gone.
Judging from his attitude tonight, Silco might just humor them once he deems your work done.
So much for him protecting you.
With a grunt, you hurl yourself towards the first floor, barely noticing the speed with which you glide down the stairs and head towards the bar.
***
Throwing back your third shot of tequila underneath Mainas' bemused stare, you slam your glass onto the counter before elbowing your way towards the center of the dancefloor to join Hypnos and their partners.
Your whole body thrums with pent-up energy, your frustration rolling off of you in wild waves that come crashing down onto the dancers surrounding you.
Losing yourself in the rhythm, you let the dirty riffs seep into your pores, corrupting flesh and muscles down to the marrow of your bones, the sound of your heartbeat subdued by the hypnotic tune pouring from the speakers.
For a moment, you're one with the crowd: an anonymous entity of limbs that breathes and moves with passion its unique purpose. Your world stretches and retracts in cadenced patterns under the bright light of the multicoloured neons.
However, that symbiotic state is broken when you notice some strange movements coming from a few of the dancers to your left.
You're about to leave your newly found companions to investigate but a sudden violent push from the crowd throws you backwards, bumping into something large - and rock solid.
Surprised, you yelp and whirl around, ready to apologize when you recognize the broad chest covered with tattoos you just collided in - and the pair of feline eyes scanning you from underneath thick strands of raven hair. Albeit this time, his green irises are rimmed with a vibrant blue hue that shines bright as Finn checks you out.
You feel one of his calloused hand wrap around your bicep as he presses closer to you, his hot breath laced with the strong stink of alcohol fanning against your cheeks.
"It's clear the old man wants you all to himself," he drawls as he leans in, "how selfish of him."
Scowling, you yank your arm free as he slurs, "Pretty and feisty, just as I like," his body close enough that you feel the heat radiating from his glistening skin.
You hiss, "Keep going and your jaw won't be the only thing you'll need to replace."
He jerks his head back and laughs, the raucous sound ringing in your ears before Finn raises his gaze towards the upper floor. A sudden shadow crosses his face and he purses his lips, stepping back hurriedly.
As he turns around to leave, he hesitates, looking up towards the balcony before his crazed eyes settle once more on you. They glint as he bends and straightens up into a mockery of a bow, before making his way back to the booth his gang occupies.
Fists clenching and unclenching at your sides, you lift your gaze upwards. As expected, a familiar silhouette sticks out, frozen against the lively backdrop of the buzzing club. Silco stands incredibly still, his expression unreadable, his elegant fingers coiled tightly around the railing. Despite the distance, you don't miss the subtle way his hands flex as his eyes lock with yours - nor the tick of his jaw.
Your surroundings blur, the waves of your vexation synchronizing with the red flashes from the stroboscopes as you stand tall amongst the tombstones and swaying dancers. You raise a defiant chin, willing your eyes to convey words you can not say as you search for a clue to explain Silco's strange attitude, his glowing pools of molten lava and swirling seafoam unnervingly fixed on you.
Finally he turns around, the connection severed as he disappears into the sea of moving bodies that liven the upper floor.
Numb, you're still standing in the same spot when Hypnos finds you with their growing cohort of partners. Through gentle words, they coax you back onto the dancefloor, making sure you're always on their radar as you resume moving.
Alas, everything feels heightened to you now, from the way the air comes out of your mouth in ragged breaths that leave your tongue dry, to the way your skin sticks to your neighbours' when your arms brush. Hyper-aware of your movements and of the crowd's, you feel goosebumps raise as the faces surrounding you start to distort into nightmarish visions.
Sensing your chest tighten, you motion for Hypnos to follow you as you make your way towards a nearly deserted booth, its scarce occupants snoring or caught in a haze from which they don't seem able to notice you.
"Are you okay dearie?" Hypnos' voice rebounds in the quiet space.
You want to reassure them but the only sound that escapes your mouth is a weary sigh.
"Actually, I don't think so," you chuckle dryly. "I think I'm done for the night, I'll head upstairs as soon as I'm done catching my breath."
Your friend gives you a small smile before wrapping you into their arms. Dropping their forehead onto yours, their cool skin is a welcome comfort against the furnace you feel trapped in.
They whisper, "You know where to find me shall the need arise, child. Remember that."
Something both warm and ancient lingers in their eyes as they give a gentle squeeze and release you, bidding you goodnight as they retreat into the throng.
Inhaling deeply, you're about to walk towards the bar when you spot something moving in the shadows of a nearby booth.
Holding your breath, you hide behind a pillar as you see a blond muscular man clad in neon green approach a woman cant against a table, her tan fingers drumming against the wood as she nods to the stranger.
He leans towards her, whispering something in her ear and she instantly produces a small vial from her charcoal jacket, its blue content swirling gently inside the glass. However, as the blond reaches for it, the mysterious woman catches his wrist with her free hand and glowers, revealing sharp golden canine teeth that glint in the dim light of this secluded part of the club.
Grunting, the man frees himself from her grip to retrieve a large wad of bills from his coat. The woman presents the bottle to him once more and they complete their transaction. Your eyes follow the blond when he dives into the crowd and by the time you turn your attention back to the booth, the dealer is gone.
Your heart beats loudly in your ears as your mind whirls: what is in that vial? Its blue hue is the exact same one you spotted in Finn's eyes - as well as multiple dancers you've come across tonight. It can't be that obvious, can it ?
Inhaling sharply, you decide to investigate further. You head towards the dancefloor, looking for the buyer. Luckily for you, his impressive built paired with his extravagant outfit make it difficult for him to go unnoticed, even in the packed club.
Finally you spot your target, who is busy emptying half of the vial before pocketing it back. He turns around and your gazes meet briefly - but long enough for you to notice the vibrant blue that now colors his eyes.
You trail him as he struts towards the dancefloor, his movements growing bolder by the minute.
So, a behiavor-altering drug it is then. Could this be recreational only or does it serve another purpose?
You frown.
Could this be an attempt at recreating shimmer?
Deep in thoughts, your thumb comes to stroke your middle finger, but your ring isn't there. You scowl, flexing your hand as you make your decision.
If the content of that vial is indeed a dupe, Silco's whole operation could be compromised. Despite your current resentment towards your boss, you can't let such a threat slide: the people of Zaun deserve their independance - and so do you. As far as you know, only the realization of Silco's plans leads to it.
Exhaling slowly, you step onto the dancefloor once more, circling your target as stealthily as you can. Once you're sure no one's paying you any attention, you dance your way closer to the blond man, your movements following the sensual pace that oozes from the speakers.
Swaying your hips, you accidentally trip over your own feet, landing right into the soft fabric draped over the buyer's chest.
"I'm so sorry," you hiccup through a laugh before gazing up at him through your lashes, a shy smile plastered on your lips.
"It's alright doll," he responds, his deep voice booming in your ears.
You keep yourself from wincing at the name and ask, "Did I hurt you?"
"Hurt me?" his hands cover yours against his chest, his sweaty palms sliding against your skin. "How could an angel like you hurt anyone?"
Despite your skin crawling as if it wants to get the hell out, you smile as sweetly as you can and confess, "I think I might have had a bit too much to drink, I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I feel like I'm going to fall with every step I take."
You punctuate your sentence with a small laugh and see him practically beam, his eyes glinting madly as he pulls you even closer to him.
"You can lean on me all you want doll, I ain't going anywhere."
You bite your bottom lip as your fingers finally reach the bottle in his breast pocket. You swiflty retrieve it as you lean on your toes to whisper into his ear, letting your weight settle onto his chest, "What a gentleman you are. Thank you for everything."
With a wink, you disappear into the crowd, leaving the blond man bewildered for a moment - before forgetting all about you when he finds another companion to dance the night away with.
Shrugging, you hold the vial tightly as you plan your next move. You'll show Silco how you're more than just a mere pawn: you can be a hell of a wildcard too.
You make your way across the crowded space, but you're soon stuck in a labyrinth of bodies. You have no choice but to head closer to the bar in order to reach the staircase. From where you stand, you spot the alluring silhouette of Minthe. The petite woman is leaning against the countertop, whispering conspiratorially withā¦ Dion?
What the hell is going on tonight?
You feel your eyes widen at the sight of the bartender engaging in a deep conversation with Silco's former paramour. Scowling, you decide to postpone the solving of this mystery to a later time, instead navigating the constant swarm of people, hoping to fly under Minthe's radar.
Despite your best efforts, you feel a hand wrap around your bicep as you reach the first of the steps - What is it with these people and your arm ?
You whirl around, meeting Minthe's malicious gaze with a frown - which deepens when you notice the blue hue tinting her irises.
"Enjoying your evening, Topsider?" You feel the threat coiling beneath the smooth surface of her sultry facade.
Your tone is icy when you respond, "I was, yeah." Dislodging her fingers with acute precision.
She laughs - the sound too loud to be honest-, her shiny hair bouncing as she shakes her head, "And here I thought you would stick out like a sore thumb." She muses, "Could you possibly be embracing the zaunite way of life?"
You don't miss the implication behind her words, but you manage to maintain control over your rising anger as you respond, "My stay has indeed proven most enlightening."
Her smile falters for a beat, "Of course, a sharp yet vague answerā¦ you're a perfect pet."
You're about to retort but she keeps going, "I never stood a chance, did I?"
It's your turn to go blank as the words spill from her mouth in an unstoppable flow, "I thought maybe, you know, I could rekindle things with him, make things go back to the way they were at the beginning. But then you showed up. And I knew it was over. Can you believe he hasn't touched me since he first saw you, his precious little scientist?"
You're pretty sure your face is achieving the remarkable feat of simultaneously blanching and blushing.
"I can still hear him raving about that blasted conference on volatile stuff or whatever it is you talked about."
Oh? Oh! Oh.
You gave that conference a year ago. For how long did Silco actually plan your abduction?
Minthe's crisp voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
"Warmed his sheets yet?"
You blink, at a loss for words.
"I guess not." The corners of her ruby mouth lift as she gestures with her hand, "Even though he covets you, it seems like he doesn't trust you. How interesting."
You're positively fuming as she adds, "Maybe not everything's lost for me then?" She steps aside to let you go, her smile stretching as she lands her final blow, "Enjoy your evening, you've certainly improved mine."
***
Minthe's words resonate in your ears, as loud as the booming noise echoeing from the speakers that surround you. Your temples ache as the shadow of a migraine starts to coil in your skull, its dull pulse mirroring the throbbing lights that color the club in reddish hues.
Still, you make your way up the stairs, slaloming through the horde of people that litter every step, in more or less advanced states of debauchery.
When you reach the upper floor, your body pressed against sweaty skin and glistening prosthetics, muffled sounds seep through the closed curtains - the shadows of the booths providing their occupants a relative anonymity where their fantasies can run free.
Your grip tightens around the glass vial as you continue down the hallway, the presence of some of Silco's men in the restricted area the quiet confirmation that the crime lord is indeed back in his office.
Absentmindedly chewing on your bottom lip, suddenly unsure if your idea is a wise one, your fist hovers above the massive door. Much to your surprise - and before you can second-guess yourself any further, the panel suddenly revolves and a tall figure almost topples over you.
Two grey eyes fix you blandly as you struggle to keep your balance, the pungent smoke of a cigarillo billowing from the corner of Sevika's mouth where it dangles dangerously.
"Why are you still here?"
The words - both dry and dragged out like chalk on a board - convey Silco's irritation all too well and Sevika's scowl grows larger. Giving no answer, she shoves you inside the office before stepping out and slamming the door behind her, the hard clanking of her boots still audible as she strides down the hallway.
Somehow still facing the intricate details of the door, you hear the distinct crinkle of leather above the familiar rustle of papers, before Silco's voice rings, harsh and clipped, "What a surprise."
You turn around to face your boss, the dim light of his desk lamp casting shadows across his features. The downward curl of his mouth paired with the deep furrow of his brows is eloquent enough - frustration and weariness exuding from his usual stern demeanor.
"A good one no doubt," you manage a crooked smile despite your own conflicted feelings.
"Mmh, we'll see about that." Heterochromatic eyes glide over you before they drop back onto the hefty stack of papers that sits upon the cluttered surface of the desk. One hand supporting his forehead, he lifts the other, crooking his fingers in a 'come-hither' motion as he beckons, "Don't just stand there, come closer. Be quick about it, I haven't got all night."
You refrain yourself from commenting something derogatory, instead leisurely crossing the space, the plush carpet muffling the clicking of your heels as you step closer to the greenish halo that leaks from the oval window.
Hostility seems imbued in everything you see: from Silco's cold posture to the knife protruding from the desk, its blade shining menacingly.
You feel as small as an ant when you sit down on the rickety chair facing the crime lord. Of course the room is designed and furnished to make you feel that way, to deter anyone from thinking they can rise above the underworld's master.
Silco slowly rises from his chair, his fingers wrapping around the bronze edges of the glass precariously perched atop a tower of books and files. Making his way towards his cellarette - which he opens with a flick of his fingers, he pulls out a large bottle of liquor, its dark content swirling in the amber light of the coffee table lamp. Your gaze is fixed on his every movement, the elegance of the fine lines of his hands an hypnotic sight you can't pull away from. His dark shirt clings to his back as he hovers above the credenza, the taunt muscles flexing gently.
Ice cubes tinkle as he pours the rich liquid into the intricate tumbler, and you divert your attention just as he turns around, your heart suddenly pounding.
Brushing past you, he comes to a halt as he reaches his desk.
"What is it you wanted to see me for?" He asks as he leans against the messy surface, his mismatched eyes scanning your face as he takes a small sip.
"An apology. From you." The jewels in your hair jingle as you tilt your head to the side.
He nearly chokes. Despite his coughing, his hand is steady, the alcohol barely sloshing inside the glass.
Anger follows surprise, the creases settling deeper as his lips curl into a sneer.
"And what for exactly?"
"Presenting my work, me, as you d-"
"I believe I was doing you a favour." He takes a second sip, taking his time to savour the smokey taste.
"Do not interrupt me." Something flashes in his aquamarine eye at your authoritative tone.
You press on, "You made me look like I was nothing more than your lapdog."
He comments, "Well you do work for me, don't you?"
"And we agreed on work, not slavery." You counter, eyes narrowing as he simply huffs, a smirk slowly splaying across his features.
Exasperation threatening to get the better of you, you pretend to get up and you spit, "You're exactly like all those piltovian assholes, you know that?"
Silco scoffs, extanding his hand and motioning for you to sit back down as he responds, "What do you want?"
You cross your arms in front of your chest and simply state, "Respect."
The silence that falls between you buzzes with tension, only broken by the distant roar of the club. Hawk eyes fixed on you, seconds stretch into minutes and you can't help the urge to fidget in your seat, the leather scratching the exposed skin below the hem of your dress. Finally, the harsh lines of his scowl soften as Silco exhales a long, deep, sigh.
His voice is quiet, stripped bare of his venom when he murmurs, "You already have it."
Lips pursed, you try to weigh the sincerity in his words. Standing eerily still, his gaze never leaves yours, and for a brief moment you spot the turmoil agitating the cool waters of his good eye.
"I swear."
His earnest tone is enough to crack your walls open and - perhaps against your better judgement-, you decide to trust him.
You huff, the weight of your anger and insecurities slowly evaporating. You relax against the backrest - which you immediately regret as the wood bites into the tender flesh of your back. Holding out your hand, your fingers spread to reveal the glass vial. Its blue content shimmers as you twirl it delicately.
"I thought you'd be interested to know somebody's feeling lucky, selling their stuff on your territory."
Silco hums, his acute stare darting onto the bottle: the creases around his right eye deepens as the left twiches slightly. You don't need to peek inside his mind to know it whirls with calculations.
Suddenly, he straightens up and goes back to the cellarette. Picking up the expensive whiskey decanter, he pours himself a second drink before standing in front of you.
Lifting your head towards him, you catch his eyes darting from the vial to his glass. Carefully, he lowers his hand, the fresh ice soflty clinking against the edges in the process.
You click your tongue.
He greets you with a roll of his eyes, "What now?"
"Do not mistake me for one of your little pawns. Ever again." You don't know where that confidence comes from, but you don't mind it.
Silco doesn't seem to mind as well, seeing as he nods.
It's your turn to extend your hand; your fingers brush as you exchange the crystalline bottle, a burst of sparks trailing your skin at the contact.
The tumbler is cool to the touch, a nice but short reprieve from the heat that spreads within you as Silco pockets the vial, his ardent gaze never leaving yours.
Feeling emboldened, you bring the glass to your mouth, searching for the exact spot he sipped from. You're playing a dangerous game, teetering on the edge of a cliff. However as you proved time and time again, you're not afraid of the fall. So you dive in.
Your lips part, the crimson pulp slightly dragging across the intricate edge that still carries the ghost of his warmth. Your pulse quickens as the smooth liquid coats your tongue under the scrutiny of Silco's stare. You let out an appreciative hum, letting the strong taste settle, your eyelids fluttering as the alcohol burns your throat when you swallow.
When you open your eyes, you notice the discreet way his breathing grows heavier as his adam's apple bob lightly.
You suppress a smirk of your own as you shift to cross one leg over the other, gently swirling the tumbler.
"Sinful," you comment, the flicker of mischief in your eyes matching his before it disappears behind his emotionless facade.
You motion to his pocket with a tilt of your chin, "From what I observed, I'd say someone is trying to sell a dupe of your shimmer."
"My shimmer? I believe you meant it to be ours." He notes, with a hint of teasing.
You playfully nudge his shin with the sole of your shoe before explaining, "Well, I believe finding whoever is pumping this onto the streets will lead us right to the mines' explosion culprit."
"Operating right in the open, selling their wares as everyone is searching for them? If the short-term profits might be interesting, the repercussions will be deadly. All in all, that would be a stupid move."
"So is running one's cargo right onto the Eye of Zaun's turf."
"So you think our culprit is an idiot?"
"Your council isn't short on that."
Silco snorts. A short and loud noise, startling the both of you and bringing a soft smile to your lips.
Regaining his composure, he ponders, "I trust you'll need to run a few tests on thisā¦dupe?"
"Indeed. Analyzing its components might give me a few clues to pinpoint from which plant it comes from. Maybe even the warehouse from where it was shipped."
Humming his approval, he reaches into his pocket. The glass edges glint as he settles the vial onto his desk, deep blue clashing against warm mahogany.
His fingers drums a mindless rhythm onto the brass details as he asks, "How did you come into possession of such a find?"
Your smile falters briefly and you cough, "I uh, witnessed an exchange and followed the buyer."
When you don't elaborate, he prodes, a frown distorting the right side of his face, "I suppose you asked nicely and they gave you the vial?"
His gaze burns with the same intensity as it did when Finn left.
"Something along those lines, yeah."
His fingers still, silence weighing down around you.
"'Tis the night of giving, and that vial qualifies as my gift to you." Even if you're not that deserving of it, adds the voice in your head.
He stares at you, his face impassive.
"Seeing as we're matchingā¦ You wearing crimson, me wearing black? Please don't tell me this isn't really a thing and Hypnos and Mainas made it all up?"
This brings out a small smile, "It is a real custom." He deftly picks the bottle up, twirling it between his fingers. "Although our dear tailor went a bit heavy on the coordinating."
Your eyebrows must be stuck to your hairline because he adds, "I thought I asked for something less obvious."
"Why would you do that?"
"The meeting." He explains, "To discreetly show the other chembarons you're off-limits. Although I might have to spell that one out to our young friend Finn."
You suck in a breath, chest tightening and mind whirling as he adds, "You're one of mine."
Standing up, he questions, "Speaking of, what did you think of the council - other than the fact that you deem them stupid, that I gathered."
"I'd wager that half of them think I'll betray you or that I'm here to somehow sabotage their own chemical production. The other half probably think that I'm here to warm your bed."
Brow quirked, he tuts,"I don't think Minthe qualifies as 'half'."
You swallow a hiss to respond, "Did she have to be there?"
Your tone sounds awfully sour - even to your ears - and you wince.
"Well she couldn't miss such an event now, could she?" The shadow of his teasing lilts his words and you just know he is toying with you, like a cat with a mouse.
"You know what I'm talking about." Your back grazes the wooden backrest and you bite your lips.
"Is it jealousy I sense my dear?" The bastard's enjoying it.
You scoff, "I'm not jealous, I'm simply wondering about the mythical clarity you have when it comes to conducting your affairs."
"Careful now."
"You're preping her for a seat on the council aren't you?" You assert, the cold reality sinking in.
He doesn't respond, his right pupil a glinting amber amongst a bed of smoldering coal.
Ignoring the silent threat looming over you, you press on, "You think she'll bring you her support, don't you? Not only is that obvious to everybody, but it also gives her the upper hand on every difficult decision you'd want to implement."
"You think I haven't considered this?" His words are clipped, his scowl deepening as he warns, "You may be a brilliant scientist but you've still got much to learn about power, little dove."
He steps closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate, his gold-tipped boots gliding silently upon the carpet as you unconsciously try to recoil further back into your seat - to no avail.
"See, I only make sound investments. And she's one of them."
"Just like I am?" Your eyes could burn holes into his skull.
"No, not like you." His leg brushes your knee as he circles you, his scent clinging to your skin as soon as it wafts over you.
A shiver runs down your spine as one of his hands settles on your shoulder, short trimmed nails grazing the delicate lines of your tattoo. "You're special."
You feel the slight tremor in his voice mixing with something deeper, darker.
He whispers, "I do appreciate your fervour in helping me build Zaun."
His index and middlefinger toy with the pomegranate pendant adorning your neck, pressing the cool metal against your burning skin as he adds, "Which is fitting since I see a future for you here."
The uncertainties that ate at your heart all night long melt away as his fingers trail higher, following the column of your throat until he hooks them beneath your chin and tilts your head back.
Your eyes meet his and you stare at his blown out pupils that seem to drink you in.
"And what a bright future indeed."
You feel your whole body tingling at the intimacy you share, the anticipation chasing the oxygen out of your lungs as he bends further down towards you. Something burried deep within you stirs, threatening to boil over under his touch.
A sharp knock shatters the moment.
Silco retreats instantly, leaving you breathless. The ghost of his warmth lingers behind as he hurries towards the door, his lean frame bathed in the ever-present greenish glow that seem to rebound against the shadows.
FRIENDS! I AM SO SORRY THAT I HAVE BEEN M.I.A!! I double pinky promise that I am getting that Skips tying you up with a studded belt story completed, it is turning out to be quiet larger than I imagined. In the mean time, I will be answering some asks that have been marinating in my ask box. Again, I really apologize to y'all for being so quiet...I just started my Junior year of college, I moved into a new apartment, and I'm still in recovery for my ankle. I love you all so much, and it means so much that y'all have delivered such yummy asks into my ask box, thank you so much for legit EVERYTHING!!
The first time Skips sees you, you're arguing with a customer service representative about dragon anatomy.
"No, listen," you're saying into your phone, gesturing wildly at the fantasy novel display in the bookstore. "If you're going to market this as 'accurate dragon lore,' you can't put a wyvern on the cover and call it a dragon. They're completely different species!"
From his place in the shadow cast by the towering fantasy section, Skips finds himself... fascinated. Most humans barely glance at the darkness where he dwells, but youāyou're so animated, so genuinely passionate about something as wonderfully nerdy as mythological creature classification.
He shouldn't linger. Shadow demons aren't supposed to get attached to mortals, aren't supposed to find their quirks endearing. But something about your unashamed enthusiasm makes him want to stay just a little longer.
Just to observe. Nothing more.
---
Three weeks later, he's definitely doing more than just observing.
He knows your schedule nowāknows you always stop at the coffee shop on Tuesday mornings, that you spend Saturday afternoons in the art supply store, that you have a habit of talking to yourself while you work on your latest craft project. He tells himself it's just coincidence that shadows seem to follow you wherever you go.
"Okay, little dragon," you murmur to the polymer clay figure you're sculpting, completely unaware of the way the shadow behind your desk chair seems to shift and lean closer. "What color should your scales be?"
Skips wishes he could answer. He wishes he could tell you that the dark purple clay would look stunning, that it would complement your workspace perfectly. Instead, he can only watch as you debate with yourself, holding up different colors to the light.
"Purple it is," you decide, and he feels an ridiculous surge of satisfaction.
You pause suddenly, glancing over your shoulder with a slight frown. "Weird. I could have sworn..."
Your eyes pass right through the space where he's hovering, incorporeal and invisible. After a moment, you shrug and turn back to your work.
This happens more and more often lately. You'll stop mid-sentence, look around with that puzzled expression, sometimes even say things like "anyone there?" to your empty house. Part of him wants to find a way to respond, to let you know that yes, someone is there, someone who finds your random dragon facts delightful and your off-key humming adorable.
But shadow demons don't interact with humans. They observe from the darkness, feed on fear and negative emotions, remain separate and unknown.
Skips is starting to think he might be a very bad shadow demon.
---
The first time you actually acknowledge himāsort ofāyou're having a particularly bad day.
You're slumped on your couch, surrounded by failed craft attempts and rejection letters from art schools. The shadows in your living room seem deeper today, more present, and you keep getting that feeling of being watched.
"You know what?" you say suddenly, addressing the empty room. "If there's some kind of ghost or whatever hanging around here, you're being really rude just lurking and not introducing yourself."
Skips goes very still. Can you sense him somehow?
"I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm just talking to myself because I'm stressed and tired, but..." You pause, seeming to consider something. "If you are real, you should know that I don't scare easy. I went through a whole goth phase in high school. I had friends who practiced witchcraft and dated guys who thought they were vampires."
Despite everything, Skips finds himself almost smiling. Of course you had a goth phase. Of course you're the type of person who would casually address potential supernatural entities like you're making small talk.
"Plus," you continue, warming to your theme, "if you were actually malevolent, you probably would have done something by now instead of just... whatever this," you gesture vaguely around the area, "is. Seriously, are you just here for the craft tutorials? Because I've got to tell you, my technique is pretty amateur."
You're quiet for a moment, then laugh at yourself. "And now I'm having a full conversation with my own imagination. Great. Really hitting those adult milestones."
But you don't sound scared. You sound... almost fond? Like the idea of having some kind of supernatural roommate is more amusing than terrifying.
Skips has never encountered a human quite like you.
---
It becomes a routine after that. You'll talk to your empty house, sometimes directly addressing whatever presence you think might be there, sometimes just narrating your day in a way that feels like you're including him in it.
"So I'm thinking of trying to make a shadow dragon next," you say one evening, sketching in your notebook while curled up on the couch. "You know, something really dark and mysterious. Very dramatic."
The shadow near your bookshelf seems to ripple with interest.
"I've been researching different techniques for making things look like they absorb light instead of reflecting it. It's harder than you'd think." You pause, tapping your pencil against your lips. "I bet you'd appreciate the aesthetic, wouldn't you, mysterious maybe-ghost?"
If only you knew how right you were.
"I mean, if you exist," you add quickly, then laugh. "God, I really need to get out more. I'm starting to feel like I have an actual relationship with my own shadow."
The irony is not lost on him.
---
The night everything changes, you're working late on a particularly intricate dragon sculpture. Your desk lamp flickers occasionally, casting dancing shadows across your workspace, and you keep getting that familiar feeling of being observed.
"You know," you say softly, not looking up from your work, "I used to think I was just paranoid. But I've been thinking about it, and I don't feel unsafe when I get that watched feeling. I feel... I don't know. Accompanied?"
Skips moves closer without meaning to, drawn by the gentle honesty in your voice.
"It's like having someone who's genuinely interested in what I'm doing, even if they can't participate. Does that make sense?" You glance up briefly, eyes scanning the shadows. "I know I'm probably just projecting onto nothing, but..."
But you're not projecting onto nothing, and Skips finds himself desperately wishing he could tell you that. Wishing he could step out of the shadows and say yes, he's interested. Yes, he finds your passion for fantasy creatures endearing. Yes, he looks forward to your daily craft sessions and random mythology lectures.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is," you continue, turning back to your sculpture, "if you are real, thank you for being... gentle, I guess? For just watching instead of trying to scare me or whatever ghosts or demons are supposed to do."
Demons. You said demons.
Something cold settles in Skips' chest. You might not be afraid now, but you would be if you knew what he really was. Shadow demons aren't gentle observersāthey're creatures of fear and darkness, feeding on negative emotions and mortal terror.
Except... he doesn't want your fear. He doesn't want your terror or your negative emotions. He wants to hear more of your random dragon facts and watch you get excited about new art supplies. He wants to somehow tell you that your craft projects are incredible and your enthusiasm is infectious. He wants to tell you about the darkness and all it's incredible power in the same way. To show you what he can do with out scaring you. To have you know him to the degree he knows you now...
He wants impossible things.
"Anyway," you say, holding up your finished sculptureāa beautiful shadow dragon with wings that seem to contain tiny galaxies, "what do you think?"
It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect, and it makes something in his chest ache with longing.
Before he can think better of it, before he can remember all the reasons why shadow demons don't interact with mortals, Skips reaches out from his place in the darkness and gently moves one of your pencils.
You freeze.
The pencil rolls across your desk and comes to rest against your notebook, and for a long moment, neither of you moves.
"Holy shit," you whisper, and then, incredibly, you start to smile. "You're actually real."
Skips retreats deeper into the shadows, suddenly terrified. What has he done?
But you don't look scared. You look... delighted?
"This is so cool," you breathe, eyes bright with excitement instead of fear. "I was right! I knew someone was there!" You pause, then add more softly, "Are you okay? You felt... sad, just now."
How can you possibly sense his emotions?
"It's alright," you continue gently. "I'm not going anywhere. I mean, we've been roommates for months now, right? What's a little pencil-moving between friends?"
Friends. You called him a friend. When was the last time he had one of those?
From his place in the darkness, Skips allows himself to hope that maybe, somehow, he might be more than just a shadow after all.
---
That night, you fall asleep at your desk, and Skips does something he's never done beforeāhe manifests just enough to gently drape a blanket over your shoulders. The soft black one you always end up under after everything else falls off the bed.
You don't wake up, just snuggle deeper into the plush fabric with a contented sigh.
For the first time in his existence, Skips thinks he understands what humans mean when they talk about warmth.
Skips standing at the foot of the bed, puffed up into his shadowlord form, eager to be intimate with you
You lay on the bed wearing very little and sigh
"I want you inside of meā”"
Like a punch to the gut, the monstrous form deflates and standing before you is that cute scrawny emo nerd you so deeply love, his cheeks glowing yellow, his pants visibly tented
Okay, first of all, I'm so sorry to everyone who has submitted an ask about Skips!!!!! I legit just moved into a new apartment and it's a little hectic and i've been putting my energy towards that.
On the other hand... I SAW GHOST TONIGHT AND HOLY SHITTTTTTTT!!!! They were so good AHDHFSDIHFIGUHEFDKJFSIUHFEIDUSGH
Papa rolled a joint and threw it into the crowd
Papa asked someone in the front why they are still awake cause it was a school night
During 'Monsterace Clock' Papa went "THIS IS A SONG ABOUT FUCKING"
Dewdrop has a broken foot and is in a walking boot (Highkey didn't even notice he was in a boot) and Papa shouted him out and called his boot his "Kick ass boot" and he broke his foot by 'Kicking too much ass'
Near the start of the show, Papa was talking about how it was a Thursday night, and someone in the pit yelled "it's friday!" and then proceeded to have beef with that person. It was so fucking funny.
My friend that I went with, who isn't that big of a Ghost fan but came with me as moral support, called Papa "Papa Poutine" cause she wasn't sure how to pronounce his name (I like Papa Poutine better ngl)
That's all I can remember right now! I'll update this if I recall any other moments!
To my anon who requested me to elaborate on Skips tying us up with one of his studded belts..... I'm working on it.... it's currently at 1.5k words and no clothes have come off anyones body soooooo LMAOOO I did not mean to make it as long as I have š BUT TRUST! I'm cooking up something REALLL GOOOODDD
(Mentions of Volt x Eddie and Volt x Reader also :D)
PART 1 HERE!
Summary: You havenāt been able to stop thinking about your encounter with a very handsome bartender the other day, so you go back for more. And heās only got one cigarette left.
CW: Smoking, swears & suggestive moments :)
WC: 1,822
A/N: originally i was going to keep this fic as a mysterious little one shot but i saw the tag below on a reblog (hi neon!!) and i simply couldnāt help myself. there was no one to hold me back, so here we are. volt is mentioned here !!! i hope you enjoy :D
You could not. stop. thinking about it. An impromptu solo trip to a bar was a brave enough (and slightly embarrassing) move for you, but surprisingly that wasnāt what was occupying your mind for the next few days. It was the bartender, with that unruly mop of dark hair and voice like honey. Whose breath smelled like whiskey and tobacco, a scent so downright beautiful and musky that it made your head spin even now. Whose cigarette you decided to light with your own, a blissful few moments which had been clouding your thoughts ever since.
And it was safe to say that he had been thinking about it as well. As much as heād try to deny it when Volt caught him spaced out and gave him that damn knowing look, and the fact that he had in fact bought his own pack of cigarettes and a lighter, which he kept behind the bar, just in case. He gave Volt full permission to steal them as long as he promised to leave at least one. Just in case.
āJust one?ā Volt had mused, leaning against the bar and cocking his head with an amused pout. āAre you planning on sharing it with them?ā Eddie had rolled his eyes and snatched the box back from his companion, dryly snapping his response. āHa, ha. Itās almost time for the next act, smart ass.ā Volt had purred a quick ācanāt wait to meet themā into his ear before planting a chaste kiss on his neck and slinking back to the stage. Eddie pressed the box into his pocket where he kept it for the next few days - when Volt wasnāt charming him into giving him one.
You let out a quiet huff as you lay in bed, attempting to get an early night, but the only thing on your mind was him. You didnāt have anything to do tomorrow anyway, and this was your last free night until at least next weekā¦ would you really be able to wait that long? But then again, youād seen how he was with the host of the bar. Would you be overstepping? Intruding? Would it even be classed as intruding when the way they had both looked at you that night made your stomach tie in knots? And why would you get an early night now when you could just do it tomorrowā¦
Curiosity and impulsivity got the better of you as you flung yourself out of bed, uttering a soft āsorry Betty!ā before diving into your wardrobe to look for something vaguely nice to wear. Amidst your outfit search you pulled out your phone, opened Thiscord and sent a singular message to Sam, groaning out loud as you saw the new nickname she had set for you in the chat only minutes earlier.
FurnitureFucker: Sam, I am SO FUCKED.
Fumbling over your shoelaces due to the rush you were in, you managed to get them tied before slowly closing the bedroom door behind you. Your mouth was dry as you approached your electrical cupboard, taking a deep breath and damn near closing your eyes as you walked up to the door of the Breaker Box. In a short surge of confidence, you walked in and immediately spotted the man you were looking for.
Eddie was in his usual spot behind the bar, drying some glasses with a rag. His eyes met yours almost instantly, and a small smile threatened the corners of his lips. He cocked his head to beckon you over and you made your way, heartbeat in your ears as you hopped up onto a bar stool. āHi again, strangerā was all you could manage as he slid the now clean glasses to the side, resting his arms opposite you on the bar and staying there. āHey. Couldnāt sleep?ā
āSomething like that,ā you replied, taking all of your courage to meet his gaze, which was - as usual - completely unreadable. Cool, calm and surprisingly lacking the mischievous glint he had sported only a few nights ago. For now, at least.
āDrink? On the house,ā he offered, not moving as he scanned your face for an answer. You raised your eyebrows at this in genuine surprise. āI - I have money, if thatās what youāre worried about.ā
He scoffed at this, rolling his eyes and smirking, making your breath catch in your chest. āNo, not that. You gave me a cigarette.ā
You knew that this man was not naive enough to believe a singular cigarette and an alcoholic drink held the same monetary value, but you didnāt press him on it regardless. āOkay, yeah. Whiskey and cola, please. Double.ā
He raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle at this, turning and beginning to prep your drink. A comfortable silence settled between you as you watched him making it - he really was a skilled bartender. You could tell he enjoyed it, despite the snarky attitude and dark circles under his eyes. Besides, they just added to his charm.
He placed the drink down in front of you and you nodded your thanks. Although it was quite simple, he somehow managed to make it look ten times more impressive than any other that youād had.
āSit with me?ā you mused without thinking, watching his face as he calculated how to respond. After a moment he shrugged and pulled a stool to his side of the bar, sitting opposite you. āOnly because itās quiet tonight. Count yourself lucky.ā
The two of you were once again enveloped in comfortable silence - a completely alien concept considering this was only your second time meeting. How was it only your second time meeting? You both turned your attention to Volt up on stage, introducing acts and being his usual radiant self. And every so often he would look over at the two of you, the most mischievous and excitable look on his face, like a kid in a damn candy store.
Soon enough you were swept into bashful yet intimate conversation - your job, your passions, and you couldnāt help but notice the way he smiled as you spoke about your area of expertise. As you took the last swig of your drink, he let himself gaze at you for a moment before pulling a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, holding it up to you and tapping it twice - a proposition.
And then you were outside, in the exact same spot you had been only a few days prior, as he opened the pack and let out a strangled laugh. āYouāre not going to believe this.ā
You peered into the box, tipsy curiosity getting the better of you, and you couldnāt stifle the giggle as you noticed there was only one cigarette left.
āFuckinā Volt,ā Eddie breathed, closing his eyes and ducking his head for a minute as if contemplating what to do in this situation. āTold him he could have a few and heās smoked the whole damn box.ā
āHe seems like a lot of fun,ā you said, the whiskey giving you that little bit of extra confidence you needed to seek the answers you were looking for without prying.
Your suspicions (and hopes) were confirmed as the man met your gaze with a sweet smile at the mention of his companion. āHe is.ā He pulled the lone cigarette from its box and used it to gesture to you. āDo you want toā¦ share?ā
You scoffed a little, shaking your head slightly. āWhy the hell not.ā
He lit the cigarette (he had bought a lighter, you noticed) and the two of you passed it between you, taking it in turns to take drags. The situation you found yourself in was weirdly nostalgic - the type of thing you and your friends would do in your local park when you were teenagers, sharing stolen cigarettes, terrified of being caught. This was really nice.
While you were caught up in your thoughts, images of last time flashed through your mind and you thought that this impromptu smoke break was a little too tame for your liking. Deciding to test the waters, the cigarette still between your fingers, you extended your arm to hold it up to the bartenderās - your bartenderās - lips. He furrowed his brows at you but the smug smirk that accompanied the gesture gave him away immediately. He made no smug protestation this time, no āwhat the fuck are you doing?ā Tentatively, curiously, he pressed his lips up against the end of the cigarette and a little further, his lips brushing the skin of your fingers. And he held your eye contact the whole damn time.
That bitch.
You kept your eyes on his as he took a drag, hand lingering in its place for probably a little too long. Just as you went to return the cigarette to your own lips, he took it from your fingers and did it himself.
Good fucking Lord.
There wasnāt much left now, and you had no choice but to press your lips to his fingers as you took your drag - an extra long one, willing this to be over as soon as possible in anticipation of whatever the hell would come next. Before today, if you so much as thought that sharing a cigarette with a near-stranger could be downright erotic, you most likely would have placed yourself on a complete social media ban. Turns out itās not the damn phone after all.
His eyes were slightly hooded now and that sparkle of mischief had indeed returned, along with something else - want? Contentment? He drew his hand back, cigarette still between his fingers, to stroke a gentle line down your cheek with his thumb. Your eyes widened. You still couldnāt read his face, but the way you looked at him in return gave him all the confirmation he needed. He took one final drag, stumped the cigarette out under his boot, and his hands were on your waist.
As soon as his skin touched yours, without so much as a second thought, your lips crashed together. It seemed heād had the same idea as you collided a lot sooner than you expected, his hands gently pulling you closer as yours found their way to his hair.
The way in which he kissed you was unexpected, to say the least - slow and passionate, yet tentative and above all, curious, as if he was trying to read your mind. A soft hum of contentment found its way out of your mouth which only spurred him on more, pulling you even closer before he broke away for air.
āMy nameās Eddie,ā he breathed against your lips, hands still fixed on the small of your back, āEddie - Eddison - Watts.ā You hummed in response, unable to keep yourself from grinning, resting your forehead against his.
Skips watching you eat your comfort food in your bed after a hard day.
He watches as your beautiful beautiful face is lit up by your computer as you indulge in one of your favorite movies
He sees you lift the food to your mouth and ohā¦ OHā¦.
Your eyes roll back in your head as a sinful moan comes from your throat as you eat your comfort food. You lean your head back to really savor the flavorā¦.
Skips is tortured by the sight.
He wanted to be on the bed with you
To trail his lips up and down your perfect neck
He wanted to be the reason you made those beautiful noises
But there he was, peeping in the corner, in the shadows of your room
Wishing to any god (if there even was one) that one dayā¦one day you could curl up next to him after a rough day and let him kiss it all better
But for now, he just watched. A yellow blush dusting over his cheeks and ears.
āOne dayā Skips promises himself, āone day she will be mine..ā
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