Xie Lian probably got away with SO much shit over the years as crown prince by pulling the mommy/daddy routine on fxmq. "Yeah Mu Qing said I have a court appearance tomorrow so I'm not supposed to train tonight and potentially injure myself, but he's not the boss of us, is he, Feng Xin," and then Xie Lian shows up to court with a bruise on his jaw like some kinda hooligan
Imagining what Ever and Nathan were up to in the first timeline after Yudrein's execution.
Did they happen to meet each other? Did they bond over the feeling of failing someone they were supposed to support with all their might? Did they both despise the empire they were once proud to serve?
Hello everyone! I wanted to do a bit of a "WIP checkup" in which I share a snippet from all of my wips and update you on how they're going.
This is a queued post. I am currently away on vacation and I will look at all of your posts when I get back!
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Sports Fic
Title: "the memories we leave behind"
“What are they doing?”
Jonah can hardly contain his excitement as he grips the seatback in front of him, giggling as he points down towards the skaters on the ice. They look so small from where they're sitting up in the nosebleeds, but the distance doesn't seem to matter to Jonah, who is seemingly entranced by the game he barely knows anything about. There's a huge smile on his face as he watches every face off, every line change, every shot, clearly trying to decipher everything that's happening.
“They're trying to get the puck in the net,” TK explains, pointing to where the New York Rangers are currently swarming the Dallas Stars like bees, their offense fluid and fast paced – as is the nature of the game. “We're rooting against the green team. Remember?”
This fic is a bit on and off again at the moment, but I'm still enjoying writing it! I have no prediction for when it might be finished as it is not a priority at the moment. This snippet is brought to you by a new scene I added, inspired by this headcanon.
Spicy Fic
"Do you want me to take care of you now, my love?"
Carlos’ voice drips with adoration, smooth as he speaks slowly, carefully, and commandingly. There's a hint of teasing in his tone that he keeps a tight hold on, always waiting for TK to guide him and tell him what he needs.
They don't always do this with the pretense of sex, and tonight certainly wasn't a night where TK was having anything that would even resemble a horny thought, but he feels so light inside of his own body. His blood flows through his veins like honey, desire simmering beneath the surface, but not with purpose. There's no ache. No rush. No need.
But TK thinks about these ropes coming off before he can fully silence the darkness, he hears the way Carlos' voice dips and feels the way his body reacts on instinct, and he decides that it doesn't matter. He doesn't just want to hide away in freefall. He wants to float. He wants to feel everything that is good and right and wonderful, and Carlos is clearly willing to help him do that.
This fic still has an incredibly loose outline, but it is my first venture into writing a D/S dynamic and I'm just kind of going with the flow for this one. I hope to finish this one soon, especially since @heartstringsduet has been my biggest cheerleader for this fic and has been giving me endless motivation!
Detective AU / Murder Mystery Fic
The bullpen is smaller than he's used to. The absence of the New York City chaos cycling in and out of the room is evident. The ever-present, steady stream of chaos keeping the building alive on an unstable fuel is muted and mellow in comparison, reflecting the nature of the state of Texas. Slower, calmer – even in its capital city.
TK thinks he might just like it here after all.
This one is regrettably, extremely slow moving. I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself for this one because it's an idea I've had for years, and I want to take my time with this. It's definitely overwhelming, and there's no chance of me finishing this in any less than a few months, but I think it will all be worth it in the end!
Super Secret Angsty Fic
Title: "sinking in slow motion"
He attempts to look again, and a sharp pain pierces through his skull like a sleek blade, barely noticeable until it hits him all at once and he has to let his head fall back against the concrete again, wincing at the sudden movement.
It’s no use. He isn’t going to be able to treat himself down here. He runs through the checklist in his head, skipping over what he can’t do and focusing on what he can.
Keep pressure on the wound. Check. Slow down your breathing. Check. Check your heart rate. TK lifts two trembling fingers to the pulse point on his neck, undoubtedly smearing some of his own blood against his skin as he presses down.
Fast, but steady. Check.
This fic is brought to you by The Angst Train, aka the collaboration I'm doing with @certifiedflower and @neversleepuntilfive 👀 who I have immensely enjoyed working with. I'm so excited to finish this and share it with you all for @911lonestarangstweek at the end of the month!
Therapy Fic
“Hey, babe,” TK greets him, his voice faltering when he catches a glimpse of the laptop Carlos so ungraciously tossed to the side when he walked through the door. “What are you reading?”
“Nothing,” Carlos says, immediately realizing how unconvincing he sounds.
He avoids TK's knowing gaze as he stares towards the ground. TK slowly comes towards him and sits next to him on the couch, close enough to be there, but putting enough distance between them so that Carlos can decide whether or not he wants to have TK in his space right now.
“Well that wasn't suspicious at all.”
I admittedly have not worked on this one in a while. I can't even remember if I've shared this snippet before. I don't think I have, but if I did I apologize. I'll get back to this one once I get some of these other wips finished.
S1 Carlos Fic
Images of the man who laid in his bed for the first time, his silver medallion stark against his heaving chest – a symbol of his family from before, begin circling Carlos’ mind as he slowly digests the gravity of such a revelation. He isn't as close with his own father as TK is with Owen, but he couldn't even imagine the pit in his stomach that would open up if he were to learn that his dad had cancer.
“I'm sorry, TK,” is all he can think to say. He knows it can't help much, but he hopes it's enough.
He hopes he can offer some sense of peace for someone who's gaze he can't seem to escape, his eyes brimming with tears that threaten to fall, Carlos’ dim porch light reflecting off of shimmering green oceans. TK looks about as lost as Carlos feels, his weary figure standing against the backdrop of the night sky and empty streets.
His vulnerability is vast, and Carlos aches to protect it.
This fic is also low priority, and since it is essentially a collection of moments throughout season 1, this one is probably going to take me a while to write.
A/N: Thank you to all the love that I've received over the prologue! I did change the name from Beastly to Animals for all those who may be confused. It just felt better. This will be updated every Saturday unless otherwise stated. As always, thank you so much to @blitzs-largest-horsiest-dildo for proof reading this for me <3
Pairing: Silco x Reader (eventual/slow burn), Viktor x reader (past/ex's)
Summary: Heartbroken and disgraced from your lifelong dream coming to a halt and the only person you've ever loved abandoning your scientific pursuit. You decide to turn towards a newfound Kingpin in the city you once called your home in hopes of making your dreams come true.
Warnings: Classism, arguing, theft, lack of self care, mentions of prostitution, mentions of nausea, mentions of teenagers operating bars, poverty
WC: 4.7
Before // After // AO3
So maybe in your haste to pack you might have stolen your shared savings that you had both stored away in a floorboard under your mattress. Maybe you were using said savings to get a cheap apartment in the Undercity and maybe you spent the first four days wallowing in bed while combating a nasty cold.
You were never the one to get sick, always tried to keep yourself healthy so you could watch over Viktor. Never stayed in the cold for long, always kept yourself warm, tried to eat regularly. You wonder how he is, if he's figured out it's over. If he's missing your fingers in his hair like you're missing his. Is he peering out at the nasty weather in your old apartment, wallowing as you are?
You'd shared goals with Viktor, or so you thought. You whispered them while you were meant to be sleeping as teenagers, after you moved in with him and his ailing mother. She worked doubles despite her horrid cough just so he wouldn't have to work and to thank her for letting you share a bed with him, you ended up working at some dodgy bar near the pier. Should a fifteen year old be pouring beer? Probably not in Piltover, but in the Undercity a job was a job, and if you were old enough to wipe your own ass then chances were you were old enough to do whatever brought in cash.
But those nights, the ones where your legs would tangle under the threadbare blanket on his bed due to the lack of room and his arm would wrap around you, that was when you'd whisper about your dreams. All you wanted was to make the Undercity a better place, and more specifically wished to clean out the water that the city got it's main food source from. The fish were as questionable as the air in the mines or the quality of light and so no one batted an eye if one of those bad boys had three extra fins or if the insides held a concerning green hue. If it didn't immediately kill you then it would only make you stronger. A motto used in many establishments.
The water was highly toxic, toxic enough that it made being a fisherman one of the most dangerous careers in the Undercity. Spending all day out in those oil slicked waters, fingers getting nicked from fish hooks and then soaked in the salty, polluted amalgamation Piltover tried to pass off as 'safe'. The life expectancy of a fisherman was short and children were told to be grateful your pops lasted as long as he did.
You were meant to clean the waters, and then use the money made from your purifier to fund the medical research needed to keep Viktor and so many other street rats alive. To clear their lungs of the pollution constantly swirling inside, embedding itself into the very lining of such a vital organ. But it's gone, all of it.
On the fifth day you finally get up and shower, you've been surviving off of stale crackers and slop from a food stall right outside your building. The lack of proper nutrition left you a bit nauseous and swaying lightly as you take the stairs down to the busy streets two at a time. From your brief time apartment hunting (if you can call taking the first place you found apartment hunting) you learned there had been a shift in power recently. While the infamous Vander hadn't necessarily in charge of the Undercity, he had helped keep it afloat.
Back when you had spoken to the landlord of this mold infested joint, he had offered you one of his cheap cigarette's. After quickly declining he had waddled over to the counter of your new kitchen and blown a puff of smoke into your face. His voice was raspy as he muttered to you about the recent happenings in the Lanes. "Now that new big shot's got some drug gettin' sold in the clubs and a' bars. Don't get hung up on that shit, I don't need any a' my tenants usin' rent money on some glowin' purple liquid."
"Big shot?" It had been years since you lived in the Undercity and they didn't exactly have a newspaper to help keep their citizens up to date on recent happenings. Word of mouth was the best you'd get, so you pried some more but all he had to offer was how a bunch of important people wound up dead a couple weeks ago. Roughly around the same time that big explosion happened at Jayce's apartment. Stupid fucking Hextech.
Now the Last Drop is under construction. You needed more information, and there were certain places in this city that got information faster and more accurately than anywhere else. One place in particular was so popular and high in demand that just about any half decent girl born in these slums had debated trying out for a spot on the staff just to get them off the streets. Babette's.
The Brothel had been around since before you were born and potentially before your own mother was born too. She had briefly worked there before meeting your dad and some of the older staff members had always been kind to you in passing. They made sure to treat the girls like family, so if you were related to one? Well then it was your lucky day.
It's early enough that the place is practically desolate, the front rooms near the entrance are empty, being cleaned by the back of house staff, and the sounds coming from nearby bedrooms are few and far between. You pass them all, heading straight for the office you had last gone into in order to say goodbye to the woman in charge. Now you're rapping your knuckles against the worn wood, nose scrunching as the intense fragrances of a nearby incense wafts over to you. The citrus scented smoke only serves to remind you of your lack of breakfast as your stomach almost turns.
A muffled, "come in," comes from a worn voice you'd recognize anywhere. You venture inside the office where an elderly Yordle sits behind a wooden desk that looks nicer than most pieces found in this city. A cigarillo is held between two of her fingers and the usually jovial expression seems replaced by something mournful. She's somehow aged ten years and somehow you know it must be because of the rumored deaths at the warehouse.
Her expression only softens upon spotting you, eyes saddening even further. The cigarillo gets dropped into a metal ash tray and suddenly she's up and walking towards you. "I thought you escaped."
So did you. All you can offer is a shrug and a watery smile that doesn't reach your eyes. Soon the yordle is beckoning you and you're bending over to hug her so tightly she might just pop like a balloon. But she doesn't, she only hugs you back.
"Oh honey, what happened? Did something happen to Viktor?"
His name only furthers your tears, causing cracks along the mental dam you've been building over the past few days. You grip at her lascivious robe, breaths coming out a little choked for a minute or two. Only a minute or two. You can't keep losing it, you won't let yourself. You got out of bed determined to fix this shit. Crying won't do anyone any good.
"He abandoned our research, found someone new with a shinier idea." Before you can stop yourself, you're confessing everything to her, sparing no details. You watch as her eyes begin to blaze when you mention getting tossed out like some kind of vermin. At this point she's managed to coax you into one of her arm chairs that reek of smoke and cheap perfume. She rings a bell for tea and some porridge, something hearty to help fill your empty stomach. Your exhaustion and poor self care must be obvious because she stirs in some honey to your porridge before handing it to you. Part of you wishes she had taken you in as a teenager instead of Milena and Viktor, maybe then your heart wouldn't feel like it's been split in two.
But Babette had known a brothel was no place for a teenager, despite the dubious ages of most of the working class in this city. Even if you'd just lived with her, you still would've been connected to this place, and she always said it'd drag you down if you stayed. Everyone thought you were too brilliant to be tied to this city, but now your here and he's up there.
"I heard," you say after swallowing a mouthful of hot porridge. Your tongue burns from it, but you find yourself barely caring. "That Vander died?"
There was a time when you were far younger, before the attempted revolution on the bridge, where it seemed most of the Undercity was finally a united front. There was still crime, still backstabbing, but it had become scarce among fellow street rats. Instead foreigners were targeted for pick pocketing and scams. Your dad had spoken a few times about secret meetings over oily boxes of Jericho's only for your mom to flick a clump of rice at his face in return. 'I won't become a widow just because you let some smooth talker convince you to become one of their soldiers.'
He'd grunt and pout the rest of the meal, pushing around his fried tentacles before little eleven year old you would dart for one of them. The mood would lift and all would be forgotten.
"Yeah, him and three of his kids. Rumor has it he's got the living one locked up somewhere. No one's seen her."
That's darker than you expected. Messed up shit happens all the time in the Fissures but it's still a shock, especially when there's kids involved. There was a time when there was so few that made it past the first couple months, before the filtration system had been put in place. Children were a rarity and teenagers were shocking. You were told stories of that dark time seeing as you were one of the few born right before the air ducts were built.
While you remained fine with lungs relatively untouched, the kids in your age group were sparse. Viktor wasn't as fortunate as you were, but you both had a theory that genetics also played a part in his misfortune. With his mother passing away from a common and supposedly incurable illness. Right now it was mainly just his leg and an occasional cough during winter, but that same cough is how it started for her.
"Listen, kid. . ." She relights her long forgotten cigarillo, smoke swirling through the room as the elderly mistress inhales deeply. Her fingers rub against the worn paper, lips pressing into a thin line. "If you can get back into Piltover, do it. Shit's changin' and I can't promise it's for the best."
She means well, she's only saying this because she cares. You try to remind yourself of this but you find yourself setting the half empty bowl down with a roll of your eyes. There's nothing left up there, nothing to go back to. You both destroyed your chances; him with you and you with… Well everything. You stole from him, destroyed academy equipment, and called those enforcers variety of colorful names. They probably laughed about you to their coworkers over drinks that night. Probably didn't care if you wound up dead after tossing you out like trash. You go up there and you lose your pride. Which is just about all you have left. You'd rather scrape your way through the underbelly of this city than lose that.
"Who's the big bad that's got everyone all scared?" With a lofted brow you pick up your chipped cup of tea that is mostly lukewarm. It has copious amounts of honey in it, just the way you like it. "I was born and raised here, I've dealt with Undercity assholes and Piltover assholes. You know how many guys I've fucked up from my days bar tending."
She stares into your eyes and you simply stare back as you sip your tea. Your stubbornness is something many hate, it's a trait you've been told to work on all your life. But your mom was stubborn just like you, and Babette always found it endearing. Until now, it seems, at least you think so. You aren't one of her girls, she can't frighten you with stern motherly love. So after a few beats, once your tea is almost gone, she finally speaks.
The new big shot (as your landlord dubbed him) is named Silco. An ex revolutionist who ran 'The Children of Zaun'. He helped organize the big bridge riot all those years ago and for some time he went quiet, licked his wounds, or well, according to Babette, his wound. "It's frightening, unnatural. Nothing is normal in this city but that reeks of the kind of shady dealings that'll get you in Stillwater."
He's responsible for all their deaths. Apparently some big fight happened at his old hideout, some abandoned factory. But that was blown to smithereens so he's taken his seat at his new throne. The Last Drop.
Most of the coziness has apparently already been torn away. Neon lights and some big addition to the back are being constructed. And the purple liquid Mr. Landlord mentioned? Babette calls it shimmer, well first she calls it bad news and then she specifies that it's actually called shimmer. Some new drug that tops all the others, that's dangerous beyond dangerous and yet-
"So he's a chemist?"
"I didn't say that, he's just the one distributing it. I don't think Silco could make shimmer himself. That wasn't his specialty."
You frown, calloused hands gripping your empty tea cup. "But he has to know who made it if he's distributing it. Which means he knows an extremely skilled chemist. At least if this stuff is as bad as you're saying."
She scoffs and slides off her chair. Her cigarillo has since burnt out and despite the fact that it's barely midday, she heads straight for her bar cart. She uncorks some bottle with a worn label on it, pouring herself a glass with her hunched back facing you. "It is bad, kid. The worst. I know you wanna make everything better but a guy like Silco will just destroy whatever it is. He's not a good guy anymore, not since the bridge."
"I'm not saying he's a good guy, Babette. I bet the chemist is an ass too. But my idea, it could make them millions and if you're telling me he once wanted to make this city a better place then-"
"Shimmer won't make this city better," she interjects. Her glass is already empty, so she fills it again. "He just wants power. Please , for once, listen to me."
The stroll you take around the docks does little to quell your thoughts. You have two options and both aren't looking so great. Option one, you listen to Babette and maybe get a job bar tending again to make ends meet. You try to scrape together the materials you need for your purifier and hopefully stumble across a biochemist worthy of helping with your project. If you don't manage either of those then you drink every bar in the Undercity into closure.
Option two, while far riskier, holds a much higher reward. You break your promise to Babette and find a way to talk to this Silco man. You manage to work alongside his biochemist and make your childhood home the thriving community you always envisioned. Whilst potentially only drinking one bar into closure.
If for some reason you can't convince the big bad one eyed monster, then either he kills you or you go back to option one. Which, in some ways, will most likely be worse than death. Giving up on your dream, scraping to get by, letting go of the last speck of joy in your life.
As you reach the end of a pier, the oil slick water comes into view. Swirls of pinks, greens, and yellows all float along the surface, looking like some kind of gorgeous painting that would be held in a pretentious gallery in Piltover. But it's not art, it's how your people live. It's what killed your father and continues to slowly kill so many others. A school of four eyed fish swim by, bodies swaying through the thickened waters.Hope flickers in your chest, a familiar flame that's felt doused in this tumultuous time. You can still make a difference.
Maybe by the time Babette finds out you broke your promise, your purifier could be done and she'd see that what you did was worth it. If not then, well, the Undercity is used to losing people. At this point the only person left who would even notice is the old Yordle herself. Your parents are dead and you sort of isolated yourself growing up. You'd clung to Viktor and stuck your nose up at others. Occasionally you'd let Skye come around but it always made your stomach twist with how she gazed at him. You know it's the same way you look looked at him. Like he hung the moon and painted the stars. Like you'd die if you didn't feel the brush of his lips against your own.
The taste of salt jars you and your shaking fingers brush against wet droplets gliding down your cheeks. Perhaps coming to the docks wasn't the best idea, it always made you feel sad, as reminders of your dad often did. Your heart is already so fragile right now. With a slight scrunch of your nose you aggressively wipe at your eyes and take a deep breath. The salty ocean air offers a slight change of pace from the Undercity's smokey streets and the stifling halls of the academy. You welcome it, even as the slight burn from the pollution clings to your throat.
You can't let others hold you back anymore, not Viktor or Babette. You know she means well but you need this like you need air. This idea is all you have and you cling to it like some fiend desperate for their next fix. It's not worth living if you can't have this, perhaps you could have been placated with a simple life in the shadows, if you had him with you.
But you don't.
Your feet carry you back to your shoddy fourth floor walk up apartment as you think of how you need to make this work. The idea of turning the Undercity into a better place with your invention and ideas not only thrills you because of the positive change that would come of it but because it would feel like the perfect revenge. A middle finger to your ex, a way to shove in his face everything he gave up.
Moving quickly, you shove everything you need back into your bag before rushing off once more with a slam of your door. You almost forget to lock it in your haste for your destination. Just like you almost miss the last step of the stairs or how you continuously bump into others as you race through the streets. This is the most invigorated you've felt in weeks, even before the breakup. Viktor had been coming home later and spending less time in the lab, and it had made you feel invisible, like your work meant nothing. But right now as your boots smack against uneven cobblestone your heart races with that same feeling you get right before you solve an equation. Like that last puzzle piece has finally been found.
So Babette will never know of you standing in front of the Last Drop as construction workers wrap rope around a metal beam and use a pulley system to lift it up into the air. She'll never know of you gripping your bag that's full of paper and journals and your metal model. Babette will think you're at home, wallowing as you told her you would be. Crying over a broken heart instead of marching past two frightening looking men that stand on either side of the double doors. Shoving Jericho's into your mouth instead of side stepping piles of building materials and loose nails.
Maybe she thinks you'll go looking for a cat to suffocate with all your sadness, not sliding up to the bar where some lanky kid is pouring over blueprints. "Hi," you say as you totally don't break your promise to Babette.
The guy, who couldn't be older than maybe seventeen, jerks his head full of greasy hair up to you. His eyes shoot up to his brows, lips smacking before stuttering out "oh we aren't open yet! Uh, if you're here for the lunch delivery you just leave the food at that booth over there." He shoves his pencil in the direction of the booth, waggling it for emphasis.
You just shake your head, fingers tapping against the sawdust covered bar. "I'm here to see Silco."
His face reminds you of a fish fresh from being caught. Right after your dad would pull the hook from their mouth, they'd just sort of gape at you. This must be his first job, you can't recall being this nervous at the bar but then again, that felt like eons ago. The sounds of construction from outside fill the awkward silence that follows, sawmills, hammering, curse words and shouts. The usual.
"Is he here?…"
"No one is allowed to go see him. He's busy."
"I get that, but I've got something he might wanna see."
For all his awkwardness he finally regains some semblance of normalcy, at least the kind of normalcy you'd see on any other kid. He drops the pencil onto the counter that is littered in papers and blue prints and shakes his head, letting out a deep huff.
"He'll be mad if I interrupt him. I'm sorry. Maybe uh, mention it to the guys by the door and they can tell him you came by. They actually talk to him . . . Sometimes. I've never talked to him. Or seen him, I just bring the contractors whatever they ask fo- Oh shit they asked me for these blueprints!" He scrambles to grab fistfuls of the paper, pencil clattering to the floor and suddenly he's off.
Leaving you alone. In the building that Silco is supposedly in. Hmm, your feet drag you towards a cramped looking staircase to the left of the bar. The mezzanine above is small, just shoddy wooden railing, maybe five steps and then a door. To the left you can hear construction just past the wall, this must be where they plan to expand. You wonder what's included in this grand idea of his, maybe a special murder room? The way Babette spoke of him he sounds like he'd want a place to beat up innocent people.
Only one more obstacle. There's another beefy guy in front of this door. He's not all nervous and unsure like the kid below, instead he's standing with his chest puffed out and his hands clasped in front of him. He's got a gun strapped to his waist and arms the size of your head. You aren't a fighter, you're a scientist, an engineer to be specific. You can throw a decent punch when it comes to handsy drunkards but a professional? Yeah, that's not happening.
"Get out," his voice is gruff, very stereotypical of a big scary guard. Maybe you'll get to keep your promise to Babette after all. I mean you can't break it if you never even managed to see him. But still, you step forward and let out a deep, shaky sigh.
You take another hesitant step forward. "Look I'm not a threat, you can literally stand directly behind me the whole time if you'd like. I just really need to see this guy."
"No."
Your shoulders slump, eyes beginning to burn. You just need a win. If you don't get a win soon then surely you'll combust into a million tiny shard of despair. Maybe that's what causes you to blurt out your words, voice a little louder than intended as you swing your arms about for emphasis.
"I don't know who you are, I barely know who this guy is but I do know that people say he used to want to change this place for the better and I-" you swing your bag around, hastily opening the flap and rip out a handful of crumpled notes. In your haste to grab the papers you hadn't noticed the guard withdraw his gun but you see it once you look up. Your hands shake, voice wavering. "I have this brilliant idea, something that can help. So if you just let me in."
He doesn't move, gun still pointed at you. He cocks a bow, so you wave your hands. Gods if you could see yourself a week ago you would have laughed. You're about to cry in front of this stranger while brandishing your research papers and blueprints at him. You probably look insane. Maybe those blue bellies were right.
"Just let me in! This is revolutionary, it's something he'll want to back if all the rumors are true!"
The guard shoves his gun back into his holster, but your excitement is short lived as he walks over to you. Rough hands grab your waist and you begin to wiggle in his grasp. Strange men need to stop manhandling you and you need to invest in some knives so this doesn't happen again.
Your hands smack against his back as he tosses you over his shoulder, papers clutched tightly in your fist. "Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" You bark at him, "How fucking dare you, How fucking dare all you fucking me-"
"Egor, set the loud woman down." From the way you're being held you can't see who said that, but their voice is smooth and masculine. It runs down your spine like honey slowly running down the handle of a teaspoon. The brute of a man slowly sets you down, his emotionless eyes staring down at you before he steps aside to let you through. "Thank you."
As you finally lay eyes on the talk of the city, you get what Babette meant earlier when she'd referred to Silco's wound. Before you is a tall, lithe man who holds himself with a certain confident air. His sharp face has two very different and very striking eyes; one sea green, kind of the like the foam that bubbles over the water sometimes, and the other bright orange, like a flame.
The orange one is surrounded in inky blackness and you find yourself wishing to ask how he managed that. It's got to be something with medicine or drugs or a procedure because well, people don't just develop literal black eyes. But even then his impressive eyes aren't the only striking feature. High cheekbones, a strong nose and sharp jaw- he looks almost aristocratic. Like he's to good for street rats like you.
"I'm not usually loud," you utter after a few beats of silence. Silence spent with him looking you over as you gawked at this strange and yet powerful man. You wouldn't have needed to hear all the gossip to know it either, not with how he holds himself. Power and control rolls off him in waves and sort of sucks you in. "I'm just desperate."
"Desperation tends to lead towards mistakes."
His eyes rake over you once more before lingering on your hands which are still white knuckling disorganized research papers and notes. You slightly loosen your hold and in the overwhelming silence you can hear the slight crinkle from them.
"Can't make mistakes if you've got nothing to lose."
His lips, narrow with a defined cupids bow, slightly quirk to the right at your words. "Even more dangerous if you have nothing left."
Despite his words Silco steps to the side, uttering "come in." You find yourself quickly obeying and your heart begins to race once more. As you step over the threshold something feels final, your boots press against the floorboards and some kind of line has been crossed. You don't know what or how but something drastic is about to happen.
And then the door clicks shut.
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opening requests ONLY for batman… i rlly want to write some x reader but the juices are not flowing so im taking requests :) no promises ill write yours though lol…
im good with writing fluff or angst, actually pretty much anything but smut (i can but its not what im feeling rn lol)(also not really a genre but im down for some yandere lol) and ill write for bruce wayne, jason todd, dick grayson, tim drake, harvey dent, andddd clark kent :3
if in doubt with your request, here’s my before you request info
