cw : MDNI - S2 Arcane Act I & Act II [slight spoilers], events after the last ep in S1 Arcane Act III, chem-baron male reader, crime boss male reader, heavily occurring dark themes, mentions of blood, mentions of self-loathing, mentions of suicidal tendencies and thoughts, cutting, mentions of drugs, mentions of depression, mentions of Vander, mentions of alcohol abuse, smoking, slight one-sided love, obsession, Arcane is allergic to happiness, I'm still coping, if I must suffer, so will all of you, angst. wc : 3.7k
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now playing : Wasteland (from the series Arcane League of Legends) - Royal & the Serpent
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When a tree falls over in the forest and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
You'd call bull.
But when one of the pillars of Undercity topples over...the whole of Zaun goes to shit. And everyone can feel it, see it — hell, hearing it isn't even the half of it.
For the masses, chaos ensured as there was now a massive power vacuum for the spot he once held. Things were going belly up, both under and topside. It seemed almost as if it was the end of the world, just as it felt like a bad dream — no — a damn nightmare. For the Undercity, it was utter madness and a power struggle. For Topside, it was mourning and brewing with panic as well as sadness after an attack on their pinnacle of life — the sudden attack on their councilors.
For you, it was as if the world stopped. As if the oxygen in your lungs was suddenly taken.
For you, the world was truly ending.
With the only person who even cared about your pitiful existence gone, what was left for you now?
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The doors of the Last Drop swung inwards as your shoulder bashed against it, knocking them open with reckless abandon. You knew that set of doors had been through far worse in its days. Still standing the test of time and against every sober man ready to get drunk, business Zaunite, outsider, or enforcer pigs that pushed through them.
Stumbling your way to the bar, you looked worse for wear with every step you took. Blood stained your clothes, some fresh and dripping off your fingers, most sinking into the fabric of your clothes and sticking to your skin. Some of the ruddy fluid even flecked against the side of your face, either from someone you injured — and most likely killed — or from your own injuries that could barely be seen past the layers of dark clothing you wore.
Anyone who'd laid eyes would stand back and away from your battleworn form, as you looked to be in no mood to speak with the likes of anyone that was still there at those ungodly hours.
Whatever hazardous music that blaring from the jukebox sounded like sirens howling in your ears, an irritable grunt leaving your split lips. You had half a mind to stomp over there and kick the damn thing down, but what would be the point?
You barely wanted any more attention drawn to you as it was. It wasn't as if you were going to stay mingle, not with hell practically brewing on the horizon and spilling into the Undercity every minute of the day now.
You could care less for whatever poor sod that was shoved or knocked over while hobbling your way over towards the bar, you weren’t in the mood to deal with any more problems, your plate already overflowing as is. Your body swayed, nearly tipping over as you snagged a bottle from the countertop — whether the bartender left it out or someone who was ransacking just forgot about it — it was now yours for the night.
Making your way past the bar, you stumbled to get up the stairs, shoulder knocking into the wall with every small trip before you finally got to his office door. Slowly lifting your dominant foot up, your grime coated boot made contact with the door, kicking it in, now finding yourself in the somewhat lit room known as Silcos’ office.
A shot of pain seemed to surge through your abdomen — a subtle reminder of your current injuries — as you hobbled over towards the chair in front of the desk, pulling it back before plopping yourself down in it.
You slumped back, one arm lazed over the back of the chair and the other holding the bottle of booze, hanging loosely between your legs. Your bloodshot eyes scanned the desk in front of you, looking at the various tools and objects scattered along it, including a rather colorful ashtray, a mug, the mapping of Zaun and its regions, and a turned shot glass.
You could hear the slightest squeak come from the spinning chair in front of you before a voice came into focus. “You look a mess. I don’t pay you to lead a trail of blood to my door.”
“You don’t pay me shit, don’t fuck with me today. Not in the mood,” you sneered, taking a swig out of the bottle as your eyes gazed over the back of the ruddy colored chair. Leaning back into your own wooden chair, you could feel the freshly stitched skin on your waist start to stretch, a fresh dose of pain making your eyes flutter. “Bozos’ out there are rioting at this point. Can’t even get a handle on my own fucking people now with these petty turf wars.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Yours damn it!” You yelled out, standing up faster than your mind could register. Slamming your hand down against the desk, lightheadedness took over before you stumbled back, catching yourself on the chair as you slumped into it once again.
The world started to spin and a wave of nausea hit you like a train, a familiar buzzing flaring behind your eyes. You clutched against the neck of the bottle you were now nursing, lifting it up to your lips before letting it go down like water. The taste alone was starting to become a numb sensation, the burn you once felt against the back of your throat and the warm that normally swirled and swarmed in your chest faded a long time ago.
Your eyes felt heavy, as if you were going to pass out at any moment. The pain that not only surged through your stitched abdomen, but tore through your shoulder seemed to keep you grounded. Your free hand came up to touch against your left shoulder, finger dipping into what felt like a hole just below your collar and near your armpit. You taken plenty of bullets in your day, though the one currently in you was causing you more misery.
But in a sick way, you wanted it to stay. The pain nothing but a reminder.
The suit on your body looked tattered and torn, noticeable even with the dark colors you happened to adorn. The tie around your neck was undone and the fabric torn, your collar messily put together, just like the rest of you. Your vest was singed as well as part of your dark dress shirt, the straps against your chest and over your shoulders with your gun holsters tucked under your arms, were dirtied and worn. Your face was just as badly roughed up as your clothes, maybe worse.
“You’ve let yourself go.” There was a sigh at the end of his voice, sounding with disappointment. “You let a matter so feeble practically turn you into a stray mutt begging for scraps, yet biting any hand that offers.”
“You didn’t complain when this mutt was fighting for you.” The tension that seemed to settle in the front of your head was making it much harder to concentrate, a groan leaving your lips.
“And yet you ate out of my palm like a domesticated beast. I am not complaining, I’m stating a fact.”
You rolled your bloodshot eyes as you looked down at the bottle in hand, the neon lights refracting into the bottle, giving it a mirror like glare that shone back at you. In the garbled reflection in the bottle, you could see your completely disheveled hair, out of place, stray strands falling in front of your face — some your natural hair color — some with streaks of gray from either your continued age or stress. For all you knew, it was the combination of both. There were dark lines under your eyes, eyes that seemed to no longer hold any light like they used to.
Your tongue ran over your split lip, tasting the once dried blood as you grinned at your reflection, giving off a half hearted chuckle before gripping the neck of the bottle even tighter, the veins in your arm bulging and your knuckles growing pale from the stress of skin being stretched.
The chair gave off a small squeak again, the flick of a light barely getting your attention. “Seems you have found comfort in a bottle. For a while now, I assume? You say, ‘just one drink to get me up’ then it’s, ‘just one drink to get me through the day’, which turns into…”
Suddenly the sound of glass shattering filled the room, your chest rising and falling with extremes as you glared up towards the chair. “You don’t get to judge me! No, no — you, you don’t get that right! Not any more!” You once again stumbled to your feet, practically leaning over the desk, one hand holding the edge while the other reached into your locking before pulling out a switchblade.
He let out a scoff of a laugh as he heard the blade flick open. “Your temper will get you nowhere. You bare your teeth, but you wouldn’t dare bite me.”
“My fucking temp— as if you ever cared about that before!” You slammed the blade into the desk, embedding it within the wood before practically snaring. “This is all your damn fault! I’ve…I have done so, damn, much to keep everything from falling apart! Yet here I am back here asking for your help!” You couldn't help but to let out a harsh laugh, your words slurring. “Damn it, even Sevika is out here charging into the front line to defend you a…and your damned beliefs!”
“I never told you to carry this burden.”
“I know!” You cried out, slamming your hand into the desk yet again, the throbbing now surging through your palm nothing in comparison to the pain that seemed to ache in your chest. “I never asked for this! This…This responsibility! This was your shtick! This was your idea, of…of Zaun, to finally be this independent city of fuck all! And yet you up and…and just leave us when shit hits the fan! Why!” Your voice slowly started to shake, breaking away from it's normal stern, bold state. “Why did you suddenly up and leave when you know I need you!”
Silence came in response.
You looked down and balled your hand up, trembling as it pressed into the desk. “Why,” you croaked out quietly, the power that once filled your voice disappeared as the polluted feeling that fogged your heart started to seep into your lungs yet again, taking your breath away, as if you were being deprived of oxygen.
“I don't...I don't understand.” Your head low, staring at no spot in particular as you drawlled on. “You were…always, always careful. Maybe a little in over your head, but who isn't down here. Everyone knew the price to go against you, so why? What…What happened?” Your question seemed to fill the room with a stale silence that was there from the beginning, desperately waiting for his voice to come, for that chair to spin and for him to reply with some strong winded monologue.
But there was nothing.
Your heart took another blow, aching in a way that made you want to carve it out of your chest with the very blade you wedged into the wood. To crush it with your own hands. At least then you wouldn't have to worry about the feelings that were overwhelming your drunken form. “Why…” You echoed. Your voice seemed to go dry as you questioned again, your vision blurring for a moment before a stinging warmth dripped down your cheek, splashing down into the map below.
You stood there, frozen, hunched over the desk while slowly moving a hand up to your face before gliding your fingers across your skin, feeling the wetness yet again.
Were you crying?
It started as a small laugh, a hiccup, growing into a small wheeze and snicker, all before your laugh escalated drastically. Your voice rang through the room as you belted out an almost hysterical fit of laughter, blinded by my tears in your eyes as your laugh turned into broken sobs. “The first time in years! I cry…over you!”
You laughed again, pushing yourself off the desk before falling back into the chair you were once in, nearly tipping back completely as your legs kicked and sprawled out before you.
You felt as if you were drowning, unable to surface no matter how hard you tried. The water around you suffocating you, choking you till you were completely deprived of air, constricting your lungs and flooding it with poison, toxins that flowed in the waters within the Lanes. The filth you were born in, the fire you'd die in.
Your hands went up to your face, the heels of your palm pressing against your sunken eyes to stop the sudden flow of tears, like acid against your skin.
Your arms then fell limply to your sides, as if you'd gone boneless. Your eyes drifted towards the ceiling, childish laughter echoing in the back of your mind as soft blue streaks blink in and out of existence.
“We…We are so fucked.” You'd closed your eyes, wishing that darkness could consume you whole in that very moment, that the pain would suddenly come to an end. It was as if the whole world was against you, all at once. Only he knew how to handle situations like this, always there to see over the Undercity, always keeping things in line.
He kept you from falling apart.
And yet here you were.
In a hole that you were unable to climb out of, fragmented and shattered.
“Sevika is doin’ her best. You know that, she's one of your best after all. My own people are going off and indulging in these dumb turf wars with the other barons while I'm trying to pick up the pieces that you left.” Your hand brushed against a broken shard of the bottle you'd destroyed, the liquid still sticking to its surface.
“Smeech, that dirty, ugly looking weasel. Trying to act like a big shot now. They know not to mess with me but…I don't know. The fight you saw in me, it's just…just gone.” You then cursed out, a sudden reminder that flashed in the forefront of your mind.
“And Jinx, god—” Your heart ached even more for the poor girl. You knew the relationship those two had, and as much as you tried to keep yourself from forming a bond, you were practically there from the beginning.
When she was born, when she lost her mother on that bridge, when she lost her entire family, when she gained a new one.
It was a shame that you knew she'd seen you as father figure as much as Silco was, maybe even more. Growing up, she'd gotten the normal lectures from Silco but you inspired her, helped her with her gadgetry. But when she was older, bolder, you knew she wasn't that little girl anymore. The nights she cried and screamed in her sleep, nightmares about that dreaded day, etched into your mind. Crying out for her sister, of all people.
“She's your…She's your daughter! How could you damn it!” The heat in your eyes seemed to get worse as more tears wanted to rise and fall down your face, but you refused to shed more tears. “I can't take care of her! I mean — I know, she's grown up! She can take care of herself, but you know she can't do this without you! You were her everything!” You could feel the anger rising in your chest yet again, making your vision turn red.
Was this your punishment? For sitting back and watching as her world was destroyed? For not stepping in when you knew Silco had taken it too far. Him and Vander, they were practically brothers, the same ideals, fighting for the same cause just as you did. Wanting freedom from the trenches, from being treated like scum compared to Topside.
And yet everything went to hell after she died. After Powder's mother was killed. Her kids…those kids...they deserved better. Vander deserved better.
Silco deserved better.
If this was your punishment for turning a blind eye, for ignoring the blood that had been on your hands for too long — this was too much for you to bear alone. Too ruthless of a punishment to last.
“She's a mess without you…you know that. I don't know what to do, I'm not…I'm not like you. I'm not a good role model, hell you turned out to be a really great father. How could I top that? I…I don't know what to do, what to say to her—”
You bit against your lips harshly, tasting your own blood against your tongue yet again. “You were always the better one of us when it came to speaking. Hell, even holding a conversation. At least you normally had the last words.” The silence was deafening.
You knew you were using her name as nothing but a scapegoat towards your actual feelings, not ashamed, but feeling unworthy of claiming them. Just as you felt unworthy of him.
Gripping onto the shard in your hand, you brought it to your face, looking at the sharpened point before looking down at your arm. At first, it was a simple line, feeling like nothing more than a paper cut, but you'd started to put more pressure on the shard. The slow drags raised your skin, splitting it and blood bubbling up to the surface.
You didn't stop, ignoring the stinging bite that came with it as the piesce of glass twisted and turned. Once you were done, you watched the blood tilt in the direction your arm did, looking at the bloodied word now etched into your skin.
“If only it was this easy, y’know? To numb the feelings you left me with. The pain…you left me with. This fucking burden — of emotions I never, never asked for.” You were tempted to make another line, to cross out the — his name — entirely, but the strength in you was completely gone.
What was the point of continuing?
Everything around you was already burning?
Why not sit and burn with it?
You could feel yourself blurring in and out of consciousness as you once again called out for him.
“Please…say something, Silco. I don't…I don't know what to do! Everyone is talking, whispering, saying shit that doesn't make any sense! But, to hear that you're gone? That…that you might be somewhere dead?” You scoffed. “Call me crazy, but I'd rather hear about you running away like a coward than dead. But that isn't you, is it?”
You laughed an almost sickening laugh before muttering to yourself. “Just like…Just like Vander. Vander went on a long trip, away from here, with his kids, never to be seen again…”
Sitting up, you couldn't help but to stare at the unoccupied desk in front of you, your eyes drifting up to the empty chair once again. You stared, blinked and stared at that fucking chair, all before letting out the most gutteral, painful, ear piercing scream you could let out. Your lungs burned as you let out every bit of rage and pain and suffering you could, your mind flashing with images of him.
By the time your scream died down, your own ears were ringing as before slumped over once more, your vision starting to dot with black spots from how hard you'd pushed yourself in those few moments.
You sniffled lazily wiping against your nose as your eyes fell shut, too heavy to lift as you desperately clawed towards unconsciousness, for darkness to take all what light remained, leaving you with nothing.
Just as it currently was, just as it'll always be.
You could still smell him now, the scent alone making a small smile appear on your face. The cologne he wore in mix with the cigars he smoked, clinging onto his clothes and practically staining the room in his scent.
“You know better than to take such a pathetic way out. You've got too much fight. I should know…” His voice settled in the back of your mind as you felt his arms slip over your shoulders, tilting your head over as his hands gently framed against your jaw. “You are not a helpless mutt, you got around just fine without me before. What difference is there now.” The ghosting feeling of his touch made you shudder, breath hitching and your heart racing.
“You've become my weakness…” You muttered, eyes still closed as your head gently bobbed up and down, trying to keep balance so as to not tip or lean out of the chair. Your eyes only cracked some, the world coming in twos.
His voice curled around your ear, speaking to you in the only way you knew how. “You've truly convinced yourself so far, when really, we both know you feel nothing.”
“You feel nothing.” You echoed.
“You feel nothing.” He repeated.
“You feel nothing.”
Your eyes peeled open to an empty room yet again, the phantom scent still burnt into your nose and the voice echoing in the back of your mind. Your eyes were dull and liifeless as you stared at the chair once again. “I swear Silco…I swear, I'll find whoever did this to you. To us. I'll make them pay for the suffering they've caused all of us...” The aching in your chest seemed to fade, though the physical pain still lingered.
You took a cigar out of your breast pocket, one that he'd given you the last time you'd shared words together, a drink together, before seeing his — your daughter, half dead on the bridge you'd all once fought on together. Seeing her in such a state, it felt like the cycle of hurt was never ending. That the suffering seemed to continue.
You'd never seen Silco so distraught, panicked, desperate. And once again, you turned a blind eye to others pain. You knew that he'd went to the doctor, and you knew Singe would do more damage than good — from the man who made Shimmer, such a drug that even you fell victim to just to forget. To forget the pain, to forget the struggles, to forget him.
You'd then taken out the lighter, a familiar click ringing in the air. It was a trophy, something you'd borrowed from Sevika from time to time, Finns lighter being one of the few things you liked about him before his timely death. A deserved death. A vulture trying to pull a lioness like Sevika to betray Silco. It was truly his loss, blindsided and put down like the damned dog he was..
The flame lit up the end of the cigar, the embers burning with a mix of a purple and pinkish hue as you took a long drag. You could feel the a wave of power course through you, burning in your lungs but dulling the pain in your body. The high you got from shimmer from even the smallest amount was enough to sustain you, sobering you up enough to think. Your eyes seemed to glow just the dimmest of violet hues before returning to their normal state. Letting out a huff of smoke from your mouth, you spoke aloud once again.
“For her…for fucking Zaun.”
You then stumbled your way out of the room that you'd wreaked havoc in, closing the door gently behind you. You knew you'd barely make it out the front door, better to pass out downstairs than out in the streets. Not like anyone would be looking for you in the basement.
But what you were acutely unaware of was the person sitting with her back against the beam in the rafters, a hand over her mouth as her violet eyes watched your form finally leave the room.
I’m not posting, just venting, because I’m honestly tired of pretending that drawings and fanfictions aren’t created by people but are somehow generated by God.
Every single time, in every fandom, I come across the same complaints for at least three male characters: “There’s too much content with girls, where’s the content with men??” Go make it yourself.
No, seriously, I’m done staying silent and ignoring you. Just make it yourselves.
I’m a hyper-feminine lesbian, and I write everything neutral because I’m happy when as many people as possible can relate. This means that every morning, I wake up, turn on my damn computer, and spend at least four hours hunched over writing, and another four hunched over drawing. If you want more content with fewer female readers, self-inserts, or OCs, then instead of whining and bothering us, make it yourself.
I learned to draw because the content I wanted didn’t exist, and I learned to write—in a language that isn’t even my own—so I could create content that satisfied me.
“But I don’t know how to do it.” Then learn. I didn’t know how either.
Every time I see “There’s too much content with girls” about fan-made, free content, I get this insane urge to say, “You know what? Fine. From now on, I’ll write everything for hyper-fem AFAB girlypop readers, since instead of having a constructive hobby, your hobby is shitting on people who make content for themselves and, out of divine charity, decide to share it with the world.”
You want me to write Silco x male reader stuff (not you, sweetheart, who asked nicely—I love you, I swear I’m not talking about you)? Then pay me. You want me to draw Silco with a man? Starting price: €90, payment via PayPal.
If you want to make demands about what artists should create, you’d better have your wallet ready and commission them instead of breaking our backs because apparently, women care more than you do about creating content.
Either commission or spend less time writing borderline misogynistic rants on social media and start producing content yourselves.
Love,
-A "girl" who makes free content for herself and writes and draws more than everyone who’s complaining.
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- I remember last post I mention how I would like to see the difference in world reality and personalities between y/n and the world of arcane and I’ve been trying to figure how that go as idk how to dive deeper into more of that idea
- like I know I would like the our y/n to be different from what you typically see in other x reader fics (I love them tho) like as in more personally but not too out of touch where you cannot even relate or make a sort of connection between the reader and y/n, however I do not have the skill for it
- I just like the idea of the reader our y/n struggle to understand the era and setting arcane themes of from, especially from growing up in a modern society where magic doesn’t exist, and some of technological advances our world has done over the years. I want their differences of opinion and social norms actually affect the characters of arcane, cause the y/n being an out of place player someone who doesn’t follow the rules of piltover nor zaun, who doesn’t let their background effect the y/n treating those around them as equal or normal since they live in a society where rich, middle, and poor can unite together without such grudge like you see in arcane social classes.
- I like how y/n personality is shown through their dialogue and the way the speak, how they dress, how they are as a living person who is still trying to understand and call out the outlandish stereotypes arcane has grown up to, and how that compares to the cast who did grow up in arcane, who had to believe that zaun and piltover could never find similarities and unite together as one, but one soul who chose to be different and themselves even when thrown into a new reality with new rules, cause they didn’t find that living.
- I know I haven’t mention a single arcane character yet(aside from sky) but just think of the idea of those from zaun such as Vi , Jinx ,Ekko or even the whole crew meeting this y/n who first believe was from piltover from maybe having freshly clothes or how they are kind and polite( like you probably see in modern times) but then see more of y/n who really isn’t that at all cause they are just responding how they would to a living being, like the idea of a person who still gives respect to a person without a catch, without a thought cause you simply saw someone who needs help, or maybe how you have a colorful personality and looks how you want regardless it consider “appropriate” in piltover or not but doesn’t care. Like I would think Vi would be on guard at first or at least put off guard by it but once understanding more of y/n perhaps becomes a protector towards them cause y/n would be one of the few who isn’t effected by social classification nor easily persuaded by influence people, and is genuinely a good thing to genuinely exist, maybe for jinx and ekko it’s y/n gen z like personality and the way how they respond to things, like someone who will not be contain, for jinx it’s like saying how it’s okay to mess up and make mistake from time to time the importance of what you do from it, or maybe how ekko deserves to live because of how much he gave up to save his own. just having someone who treat them alive and such comfort for simply existing could really effect them, idk i just want y/n gen z to let them experience living and not surviving.
- and if we go to piltover, maybe we have someone who accepting of Caitlyn and doesn’t care about her status, and see hers as person, or maybe with viktor who tells him stop trying to get validation from those who don’t value him as a person that he’s already perfect by being different and himself, maybe tell Jayce it’s okay to be selfish because he doesn’t need to please everybody in order to be love, or perhaps showing Mel that emotions were never an enemy and not everything needs to be political in order to be respected, show heimerdinger that time is important and how you spend what possible life you have left is value show much more to those who never had enough time.
- I honestly don’t know if i explained this well enough but I hope you get the gist.
