#it’s not your fault katya

[princess-pathetic-112898]

The one thing that separates Katya from Jessica Rabbit is that Jessica was happily married.

#it’s not your fault katya #who framed roger rabbit #goncharov #unreality

[owedfavors]

the true measure of how doomed I am:

#⤷ file / from the writer’s desk. #katya reads dune // #apparently I need a damn tag #my friends think I have a type and THEY ARE NOT WRONG #goddamn it you two… this is your fault

[carlsdarling]

We need a 3 of no mercy please I beg of you

No Mercy Part III

Many requests for this 😊 The love-hate-story between Carl and Negan's daughter continues... Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, angst, abortion theme, unprotected sex

You had been back in the sanctuary for a few weeks now. After your period failed to start and the nausea continued, you panicked and took a count. Your periods had never been regular, but now you came to the conclusion that you hadn't bled in at least eight or nine weeks. The last time you had bled was before you had slept with Carl for the first time, that time behind the horse stables. Anyone who wasn't completely naive could have figured it out sooner: You were pregnant. You sat in your room and sobbed desperately. Under no circumstances must your father find out about it.

No, you could not have this baby. There was not even a doctor in the sanctuary since your father had burned the last one alive. In your distress, you sought out Amber, who - at least that was your assumption - knew about such things. "Amber, I'm pregnant," you said straightforwardly.

She looked at you with widened eyes. "It's not really true, is it? You're kidding."

"No, it's true." You burst into tears.

Amber quickly locked the door to her room. "Okay, and who's it from?"

"It's Carl's. Carl Grimes," you confessed, embarrassed.

"What!" exclaimed Amber in horror. "Oh my god, Y/N. Negan is going to flay you and Carl alive."

"He mustn't know, Amber, I can't have this baby!" Full of panic, you clutched her thin wrist. "What can I do?"

"How do you feel about Carl?" inquired Amber sympathetically. "Was it just a one-night stand, or...?"

It took you a long time to answer. "No, it was... more. I hated him like hell in the beginning," you said pensively. "We still had sex on and off, and it was great. But then... Carl is... he's so special. I think maybe I've grown to like him. A little bit, at least." Sheepishly, you played with the bed covers. "But it's not mutual, unfortunately," you then added sadly.

"Too bad," was all Amber said, "Carl's got guts, and he's handsome, too. It was very brave of him to break into the Sanctuary back then. He'll make a good leader someday." You had never thought of it that way - to you, Carl's action had just been stupid and careless. Now you realized that Amber was right and how courageous Carl was; even all the other times he had rebelled against Negan, even though Negan was much older and stronger than Carl was. He had never let your father intimidate him. Not even when Negan wanted Rick to cut off his arm. "Didn't you use any protection?"

"Well, sometimes not," you evaded, hiding from her that Carl's breeding kink had been part of your mutual attraction. You yourself had loved the feeling of him lavishly spilling his seed into you, and now you were receiving the reward. Somehow you had assumed that nothing would happen. Which had been stupid, of course.

„How long is it since your last period?“

"More than two months," you mumbled.

Amber took a deep breath. "That's too late for the morning-after pill. Way too late."

Frantically, you considered, "What other options are there?"

"Without a doctor? Hardly any, unless you want to die trying to get an abortion," Amber clarified to you relentlessly.

You cried again. "But there must be something! Herbs, something! Wait." An idea had occurred to you. You walked over to Amber's closet and pulled out a wire coathanger. "I saw this in a movie once. You have to help me."

"No, Y/N. Oh no. Forget it," Amber fought back. "You're going to bleed to death, and it's my fault."

"Like you just said, Amber. My father is going to kill me. Please," you pleaded.

She relented against her knowledge. "All right, same time tomorrow, here. Katya will be back soon. And I can't promise you it'll work, and it'll be painful as fuck." You nodded in embarrassment and fear. The danger of dying during an amateurishly performed abortion was real.

                                                           ***

You went back to your room and wept. You didn't want to abort Carl's baby, that was the truth. You constantly saw Carl's cute face in front of you, heard his mocking remarks, felt his hot breath on your skin. You were dreaming of him. You were longing for him. You might as well admit it to yourself: You loved Carl Grimes, and you missed him sorely. And now you were carrying his child, and that couldn't be. You'd probably never see each other again, and either way Carl wouldn't want a baby with you, let alone a relationship.

But everything turned out differently than planned. When you went to dress yourself the next morning, your father burst into your room without knocking as you stood there in your underwear. Horrified, you stared at him, unable to cover yourself. Negan's gaze immediately captured your swollen breasts and ever so slightly bulging belly. His eyebrows rose, then he averted his eyes in bewilderment. "Come to my office immediately when you are dressed," he ordered expressionlessly.

You were standing in front of him with a palpitating heart. "Whose is it?" he demanded to know harshly. "It can only have happened in Alexandria, you are already starting to show, and you were vomiting on the ride over here." Angrily, he marched back and forth.

"It... it's from Carl," you said in a low voice.

Your father eyed you, stunned. "Please what?" he then shouted. "You were spreading your legs for the future serial killer? Unbelievable," he laughed bitterly.

"No, it wasn't like that, it..."

"What do you mean? Did he rape you?" he asked lurkingly.

"No!" you said firmly. If Negan believed that, he wouldn't rest until he had killed Carl. "No. It was... consensual." Your face reddened.

„Fuck it“, Negan ruffled his hair, perplexed. "Get your bag and come along," he then ordered, grabbing your arm and dragging you outside. There he gestured for you to get in the car.

"But what..." you started.

"We're driving to Alexandria," Negan announced grimly. "Let's see what fucking Carl Grimes has to say about this. And Rick, under whose roof you've been living." The ride passed in silence, except that once again you felt nauseous. You were tense and anxious, unable to gauge what your father was up to and how things would proceed. Finally, the Alexandria gate appeared in front of you; the guards immediately got into position when they recognized Negan. He got out and raised his hands in the air. "I want to talk to Rick," he demanded. "You see, I'm not armed." It wasn't long before Rosita and Daryl escorted you both to Rick's house. You hadn't seen Carl in so long, your heart pounded excitedly and somehow you felt an anxious anticipation mixed with fear.

Rick gazed open-mouthed at you and asked you into the kitchen in a reserved manner. "I thought we had everything settled for now," he said icily to Negan. "So why are you stalking us again?"

"Well, it's not my fault," Negan replied aggressively. At that moment, Carl entered the kitchen, closely followed by Enid. They held hands, and you quickly looked down at the floor. You never thought it would hurt so much, although you should have expected him to find another girl. He probably loved Enid - he had never loved you. Carl looked from one to the other in surprise.

"I don't understand," Rick said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Well, it's about Y/N and Carl," Negan replied with a cutting tone. "I assumed Y/N was safe under your roof! You personally guaranteed her safety!“

Rick began to look more and more confused. To him, you seemed to be in good health; a little pale, perhaps. "Enid, go home. Carl, you stay here," he then ordered in a bossy voice. Enid kissed Carl goodbye and disappeared with her head down. "Now speak up," he then turned to Negan. "Will you stop talking in riddles?" You and Carl exchanged a cautious, uncertain look.

"These two here got it going!" accused Negan at him. "Carl fucked my daughter. In your house, Rick! Don't tell me you didn't notice!"

Rick was scratching his head, perplexed and surprised. "I actually didn't, you'll have to take my word for that, Negan," he then muttered. "I just noticed that they liked each other - even if they denied it. But what the hell, they're teenagers, it's only normal for them to engage in sexual experiences, you can't help it, and..."

"Y/N is pregnant!" yelled Negan. "Your scumbag of a son made her a baby!"

Now Rick was left speechless, and Carl looked completely shocked, while you started crying miserably. No one wanted this baby but you, and everyone saw you and the pregnancy as a problem, an inconvenience. Rick grabbed Carl's wrist. "Carl! Is this true?" he asked sharply.

Carl widened his eye, overwhelmed. "I, uhm, well... it's true, we had sex." His cheeks were bright red with bashfulness.

"And did you use protection, yes or no?" barked Rick angrily, while Negan watched the whole thing with his eyebrows furrowed.

Meanwhile, Michonne entered the kitchen. "What's going on?" she wanted to know in wonder. "What's he doing here?" Accusingly, she pointed at Negan.

Rick paid no attention to her, he focused on Carl. "Yes or no, Carl?" he insisted.

"No," the latter admitted sheepishly, looking down at his shoes.

"You've got to be kidding me," Rick groaned, letting go of Carl and sinking into a chair, cradling his face in his hands. "Carl and Y/N slept with each other without using protection, and now Y/N is pregnant," he informed Michonne. "Carl, are you fucking nuts?" he then hissed in anger. "We did give you the talk on time, didn't we?"

"Now don't all pick on Carl," you timidly spoke up. "It's just as much my fault."

"Yes, indeed, it is!" your father snapped at you. "Are you too dumb to know about condoms?"

"I didn't think you'd be so irresponsible and stupid," Rick stated, shaking his head, looking at you and Carl in disbelief.

"Stop arguing now," Michonne intervened. "That's pointless. What's more important is how to proceed. How far along are you, Y/N?"

"I don't know," you said shyly. "Maybe by the tenth week?"

"We could ask Denise if abortion is still an option," Rick reasoned.

"And take the risk that Y/N won't survive it? Your Denise is not a surgeon," Negan objected. Carl remained silent.

"Y/N, what do you want? And Carl, what do you say?" Michonne looked from one to the other. "You both made this baby, after all."

"I... would it be possible for me to talk to Y/N alone?" asked Carl hesitantly. Your hands grew sweaty with stress.

Rick and Negan looked at each other. "Alright," Negan then conceded suspiciously. "But only where I can keep an eye on you guys."

The two of you went outside and stopped in front of each other not far from the kitchen window. "Ummm... so you're pregnant," Carl noted uneasily, nibbling his fingernails. So now was the time he would tell you that he felt nothing for you - nothing positive, anyway - that his heart belonged to Enid and he wanted nothing to do with the baby.

You tried not to cry as you said, "Yes. And before you start doubting it, yes, it's yours, Carl!" you added, hurt. "I have not been with anybody else but you."

He looked at you in amazement. "I know," he said, touching your cheek lightly. "I... I thought about you a lot when you were gone," he then explained, suddenly looking deep into your eyes. "Y/N, I know you don't feel the same way, but I missed you," he said softly.

"And... and Enid?" you asked in a squeaky voice.

Carl sighed. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he said unhappily. "Enid's awesome, but... I simply can't forget you."

"Carl, I like you," you blurted out, starting to sob after all. "I like you a lot, in fact."

He smiled delightedly. Carefully, he took your hands. "Could you imagine being with me? That we'd have the baby together?" You nodded tearfully. "Then come on, we'll tell them."

"You guys want to do what?" exclaimed Rick.

"We want to be together," Carl confirmed. "In fact, we like each other. I'm going to break up with Enid, and I'm going to take care of my kid."

Michonne, Rick and Negan looked at each other, wordless and baffled. Negan was the first to regain his composure. "All right, you're both coming with me to the Sanctuary then," he decided.

"That's out of the question," Rick immediately objected.

"We don't even have a doctor," you said reproachfully to your father. "And I want to stay here with Carl." Negan shook his head stubbornly. "We're not coming with you," you said petulantly.

"Y/N needs medical attention," Michonne pointed out.

Negan pondered. "All right," he finally relented. "Actually, I don't want the future serial killer in Sanctuary either," he growled with a sideways glance at Carl, who was nervously fiddling with his flannel shirt. "He's just stirring everyone up. But for now, just until Y/N gives birth. Then we'll see." Carl and you fell into each other's arms relieved.

                                                           **

Later in Carl's room, you finally gave in to your desire for each other and embraced. Carl stared raptly at the tiny bulge of your belly. "It's hard to believe you're really pregnant by me," he said astounded, touching your belly.

"Did you fuck Enid?" you wanted to know. The thought of it hurted you.

"Let's not talk about Enid," Carl dodged the question and kissed you again. "I'll talk to her first thing tomorrow. I hope she understands."

And I hope it doesn't turn out that Enid is also expecting now, you thought darkly.

"Carl, if... if we have sex now like we always do, it could harm the baby," you remarked fearfully.

He gave you a naughty grin. "Also, even though we're both into hard sex, we can do it gently for a while," he suggested. You kissed and moved to the bed, where you slowly undressed and caressed each other. Carl looked at you lovingly. "I've missed you so much," he whispered, as he lay carefully on top of you.

You couldn't wait to feel him inside you. "I missed you too," you said, spreading your legs for him. „I want you so badly, Carl.“

"Yeah, I can tell," Carl teased you, "You're soaking my entire bed right now." He propped himself up on his elbows and tenderly penetrated you, looking deep into your eyes while slowly pounding in you.

You arched your back in delight as he eagerly thrusted into you. "Oh, Carl," you breathed into his ear. "It's so good." Carl looked down to see his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, all slick with your moisture and his precum. It was an incredibly arousing sight. He unfolded your labia with his index finger and changed his position slightly, so that his pelvis rubbed against your clit, driving you completely insane. "Carl," you whimpered, kissing his neck and ear. "Faster, please," you gasped, and Carl increased his pace until he was ramming his cock into you fiercely and you cried out as you cum and reared up under him, wrapping your legs around him.

Carl gave you two more orgasms so that you were just a quivering, begging mess, then he moaned loudly. "I'm cumming," he sighed, and his cum filled you warmly, there was so much that it immediately leaked out of you again, staining the already wet and sticky sheets.

You lay together relaxing and stroking each other. Carl's heart was beating a fast rhythm, and you remembered the day when you feared he was dead. "I was really afraid then that you were dead or turned," you said softly. "I couldn't have stand it."

"And I thought you really hated me and didn't reciprocrate my feelings," he admitted. "Yet I was already in love with you. I couldn't admit it, though." He smiled wryly.

"Carl?" you asked after a while, as you lay snuggled together, enjoying your intimacy and being so close to each other.

"Huh?" he replied sleepily.

"May I see your eye?"

He sat up, suddenly appearing to be tense. "Um... why?" he hesitated.

"Well, now that we live together and everything... you don't have to hide it from me anymore," you said softly. „It's certainly not good for the scar if you keep it bandaged at night, just because you're shy in front of me.“

With shaky fingers, Carl fiddled with the bandage, then dropped his hands again. "Y/N? Please, don't say anything spiteful about it," he pleaded. "Whether you really mean it or not, I don't care. Just don't do it." You had never before seen Carl so vulnerable. "I know it looks gross."

You hugged him tightly; you wanted him to feel safe with you. "Carl, it doesn't matter. I don't care what it looks like. It’s ok." He precariously took off the bandage without glancing at you. Well, it wasn't the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen, but it was part of him, and you didn't mind. You would soon get used to the sight, and then it would just be normal. Not beautiful, not hideous, just normal.

"It... it looks nasty, doesn't it?" he asked anxiously.

"It does look bad ass," you said honestly. "But seriously, I don't give a fuck, and I don't think it's ugly. I love you, Carl.“ You pressed your smooth cheek against his right, maimed one.

He hugged you back with relief. "I love you too, Y/N." His lips touched yours.

___

Taglist:

@genshinsbiggestsimp

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes smut #carl fanfiction #carl grimes #carl grimes imagines

[stirringwinds]

regarding the concept of ned/can distancing because of ned/pan rekindling, i really do like the thought that matt wasn’t totally naive about nation monogamy. most of them are poly to some degree (because well, multifaceted international relations no?). he and jan/johan (ned) weren’t and didn’t expect each other to be totally monogamous physically. but the whole situation hurts matt still, because what bothered him is it’d felt like there was a unique romantic and emotional understanding between him and jan, especially in how their relationship began. a feeling that ‘i am first in your heart’, perhaps—and jan did say things to that effect. and now, jan choosing to spend his time more and more with kiku not just because he’s just horny but because ‘i hold affection for you, but he and i were together for 300 years before all that and i really thought it ended—but i’m falling in love again’ hurts. it’s very much also what is this romantic old world bullshit?? they’re capable of this?? it wasn’t just some regular, casual fwb hook-up during isolationism or whatever?? for matt, who’s seen all kinds of dysfunctional drama just from people like arthur and francis.

and that is perhaps where the gulf in age between nations shows up. to matt, maybe the age difference between him and jan didn’t feel like it mattered at first, because they get together in the 1940s. matt’s more than held his own next to all these Old World fucks during WWI and WWII by then. he was coolly and brutally efficient as a paratrooper jumping into normandy on D-day. as first dominion, there was so much political shit he did corralling things, managing the dynamics between alfred and arthur too. but when it comes to love, he is more inexperienced, just by virtue of his youth. he’s also had feelings for katya (ukraine)—but (imo) hadn’t experienced being in a steady, continuous romantic relationship with someone for centuries the way jan has, to the point he’s left all these lasting marks on kiku’s language, culture, landscape, there are whole ass academic fields and the jan’s monarch will be quoting 17th century poems about it. 

for matt, three hundred years is a lot—it’s almost his whole life, and it’s hard for him to not feel like he’s rendered insignificant by comparison (and jan wasn’t totally fault free in their dynamic either). compared to how an older nation might have more calluses and experience dealing with the changing tides of love and desire between nations. it’s an adjustment that many older nations like arthur have made in their long lives, rearranging the constellation of their relationships, but it’s newer and rawer for matt.

#the windmill was not platonic #hetalia #hws canada #hws netherlands #hws japan #nedpan #(rocky) ned/can #hetalia headcanons #matthew williams #he and jan will eventually reconcile but their rship is on different terms i feel #and that isnt a bad thing either #especially since matt also has other rships and unfinished business (like with katya) too

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies (but better written and 5 years late)

chapter 1: surely the macarena has not been playing for the last 2 minutes without me noticing

words cannot even begin to describe how excited about this i am lets GO :D

___

words: 2800

edited: yes !!

ship: well its either going to be sprace or ralbert and you're all along for the ride

warnings: character death but the death is not real, minor injuries, mentions of the famed walgreens au, deep dish pizza slander, emotionally stubborn race

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy @jack-whatsyourangle @getchapapes @sun-kissed-star (let me know if you want on or off the tag list !!!)

again, big thank yous to katya for bullying me into writing this and my sister for beta-ing and providing chapter titles that have nothing to do with the story

read it on ao3!!

___

Even before Albert crashed his own funeral, Race was having a bad day. 

For starters, there had been the paperwork. Always so much paperwork when someone died during a mission. And for what? This was the FBI for fucks sake, there were interns who could be doing this, not him, one of the best field agents in the country.

And there had been the eulogy. What even was a good eulogy these days? A heartfelt poem? A quote from The Fault in Our Stars? A melancholy tiktok dance? Race should have probably known the answer at this point, given that he had written a grand total of seven for Albert, only one and a half of which he had delivered. 

Because that was the thing about Albert. He couldn't quite stay dead. 

It was the one thing that drove Race absolutely crazy about his best friend. Well, maybe not the one thing. He did have a particularly dreadful habit of chewing all of Race’s pens. But anyway. Race felt bad every time he got the dreaded phone call and shrugged Albert’s death off. For all he knew it could be real this time and he was going to go up in front of his best friend’s casket to renegade while telling everyone what an idiot he had been. But then again. This was his eighth eulogy.  

Jack, the newbie field agent that Race and Albert were supposed to be training, did not find Race’s lack of sadness even remotely acceptable. But then again, that was probably Race’s fault for not telling Jack that Albert didn’t like to stay dead. 

“I still can’t fucking believe you,” Jack muttered, taking half a glance in Race’s direction as he merged into the exit lane. “Your best friend is fucking dead, you’re going to his fucking funeral, your eulogy is a fucking tiktok dance, and you're playing a fucking fish game.” 

In the passenger seat, Race shrugged. “What? I have to feed them or they get sad. And I never actually said I was going to do the renegade.”

“I swear to fucking God Race,” Jack groaned, tears brimming in his eyes. The kid had been crying for the last week, Race was thoroughly impressed that he hadn’t run out of tears by now. “He was basically your brother. At least show some respect.”

Race rolled his eyes. “He’s not my fucking brother. Hell knows I have plenty of those.”

“You know, I’m glad he’s not here to see this,” Jack spat. “If he knew this was what his best friend was really like he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Fucking sick of you to do this.”

Race continued feeding his fish. They may be silly, but least they weren’t yelling at him. 

“I’m going to request a placement change after today, I can’t work with someone who doesn’t even give half of a shit about th-”

Thankfully he was cut off by Race’s phone ringing. 

Not so thankfully, it was none other than Race’s arch nemesis on the other end. 

“Racetrack Higgins.” 

“Davey Jacobs.” Head of the NYC Branch of the FBI, resident asshole and general stick in the mud. He had had it out for Race and Albert since they had been in training and accidentally almost blew up his prized weapons lab.

“I need you and Dasilva to get your asses into my office ASAP.” 

“Mmm, see, that might be a bit of a problem.” Race ran his fingers through his hair. “Ain’t nobody tell you that Albert’s dead?” 

“Ain’t nobody tell you that I don't care?” Jacobs said, mimicking Race’s accent. “Just because one of you dies doesn’t mean crime stops.”

Race rolled his eyes as Jack pulled up in front of the church. “Ah Davey, good to know despite all your years of work, you still don’t have an ounce of sympathy.”

“You little-”

“And I assume you want me to drive from Chicago to New York cause your ass is too cheap to purchase a plane ticket?” 

“If you don’t watch your tongue I’ll have you fired in two minutes flat.” 

Race laughed. “My ass will be in your office after my ass goes to my partner's funeral, capishe?” Race threw his phone on the floor and rubbed his temples. He envied Jacobs’s ability to give out headaches like candy. Albert better be fucking alive cause there was no way he was going to New York City by himself. 

Jack pulled the key out of the ignition and crossed his arms, staring straight forward. “What was that about?”

“Someone who wanted to talk to me and Albert.” 

Jack said nothing. 

Race fiddled with the edge of his shirt. Maybe he should say something. But what if Albert was dead? Then he would have gotten Jack’s hopes up too and then Jack would really never forgive him. 

“I…I know you’re upset with me,” Race began lamely. 

Jack snorted. 

“But consider letting me finish your field training?” Race asked. “I know you still got a little ways to go and you got every right to be mad at me but you understand a computer better than I ever will and you’ve been really good backup and-”

“I’ll think about it okay?” Jack interrupted. 

Race nodded, staring at his phone on the floor. Boy he sure hoped that Albert was still alive. He did not want this argument to come back and bite him in the ass later. 

“Here.” Jack threw a crumpled bow tie at Race. “Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because even though you may not be acting like it, we are still going to a funeral and you should at least look presentable.” 

“Yeah,” Race rolled his eyes but still reluctantly tied the bow tie around his neck. It looked ridiculous with his t-shirt but he didn’t feel like upsetting Jack any more. “Cause this is gonna make all the difference.”

“Just shut up and get out of the car,” Jack muttered. “We’re already almost late.”

•••

The funeral itself was pitiful. 

Aside from himself and Jack, the only other people were a handful of elderly women who looked mildly annoyed that their daily rosary praying had been interrupted by the untimely death of a twenty six year old. Race had not held a rosary since he was seventeen, but he was fairly certain one of the ladies was holding it upside down. 

And out of all the seven people in the disproportionately massive church, including the priest, Jack was the only one who seemed like he wanted to be there. 

Though, the lack of government officials and the fact that it was in a hole in the wall church in the middle of Chicago was a good sign. Perhaps Race wouldn’t have to renegade after all. 

Twelve o’clock came and went and no one else entered the church. In fact, a few of the old ladies went as far as to inch further towards the door, hoping that they would be able to sneak out. Race did not blame them. 

Whether the priest was waiting for more people to turn up or for the actual casket to make an appearance was hard to say. 

“Aren’t there supposed to be government officials here because he died in the line of duty?” Jack whispered. Still, it managed to echo around the church. 

Race winced at his lack of discretion. “We forfeited our rights to a fancy funeral when we almost blew up a weapons lab.” It was not the truth, but Jack did not need to know that five years ago Albert had gotten “blown up” and there was a full FBI sponsored funeral done for him, only for him to appear in a tiny hospital in the middle of Arkansas three days later. After that the FBI refused to give Albert a full funeral unless there was a body due to budget cuts. But that was irrelevant. 

Jack’s face fell. “Albert always said that he would tell me that story.” 

“He was never going to tell you that story.” 

“Race,” Jack’s voice was firm. “Would you stop-”

“Thank you for gathering here today in the memory of Albert Dasilva,” the priest began. “Unfortunately the hearse seems to have gotten stuck in traffic and in the interest of making sure our later services start on time, we will just do an abbreviated service with no eulogies when it arrives momentarily. Unless anyone has any objections?” 

Jack tries to raise his hand but Race held his arms down. Hearses didn’t just get stuck in traffic. This had Albert’s handiwork written all over it. The priest gave them a mildly amused look but ultimately said nothing. 

Jack squirmed out of Race’s grip. “Don’t touch me, Race.”

“Jack I-“

“I said don’t fucking touch me, Antonio.” 

Race grit his teeth. He already had to see Jacobs later today and he didn’t want a lecture from him on how you’re not supposed to deck the trainees at fake funeral services. How had Jack even known his name? 

Moments later the door of the church slammed open and a ridiculously shiny gold casket was wheeled in. Race barely glanced at it. Maybe he should have told Jack. He liked the kid. This was the first trainee he and Albert had been given and he wanted to do a good job, be to Jack what Blink and Mush had been to him. 

Albert would know how to fix this. 

Race really hoped that he was outside.

He spent the rest of the hilariously brief service running through every possible outcome of the situation. At worst, Albert was indeed dead and Jack would abandon him. At best, Albert was not dead as Jack would forgive him for the misunderstanding easily. And in between there were seventy three other situations. 

Something pointy jabbed Race in the ribs and he looked up to see Jack standing and glaring down at him. Fuck, the processional had already started. 

Race wandered out of the church behind Jack in a daze. He fought down nausea as he trudged, absently wrapping and unwrapping his fingers in the chain around his neck. 

The sun was blinding. Race squinted through it, trying to scan the parking lot for a familiar blob of red hair, but Jack jumped in front of him. 

“Here “ Jack threw the keys to the truck at Race. “I’m done. I’m not getting back in that car with you after whatever just happened in that church. I can’t work with someone who can’t show an ounce of emotion when their best friend dies. You’re a fucking asshole, Race. An absolute, grade A premium-“

“Whoa there cowboy, I don’t condone arguing at my funeral.” 

Jack jumped three feet in the air at the sound of Albert’s voice. A weight that Race hadn’t felt before lifted off of his chest at the sight of his best friend. 

“Al,” he breathed a sigh of relief and opened his arms to hug Albert. 

“Oi! Careful!” Albert warned. “I’m only mostly in one piece.”

“You can never come back to me in perfect working condition can you?” Race felt his stress evaporating as he gently hugged Albert to his chest. He looked like shit and smelled worse “What happened this time?” 

“I don't know, I woke up in some fucking Canadian National Park to a moose trying to eat my socks and my shoulder was dislocated. I scared the park ranger shitless then had to hitch hike to the border and almost got stuck there cause they thought my FBI card was fake.”

“...Did the moose dislocate your shoulder?” Race stepped back to examine Albert. Sure enough, he had sloppily tied a shirt around his left shoulder to immobilize it. It didn't look completely correct but Race supposed he should be happy that Albert wasn’t in a hospital. Or even worse, moose food. 

Albert half shrugged. “Hell if I know Racer.”

Race tilted his head. “Well then how-”

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with Jack?” 

Race turned to see Jack opening and closing his mouth like a fish, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly touching his cornrows. 

“Um-”

Albert crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell him, did you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

Race glued his lips together. He’d known Albert for long enough to know that it was better to just say nothing. 

“Fucking christ, Antonio.” Albert half kicked him and walked over towards Jack, shooting Race a We’ll Be Talking About This Later Look. 

“Hey Jackie-boy, good to see you buddy,” Albert said in the same voice that people use to talk to small children or scared animals. 

“Everyone said you were dead,” Jack muttered, eyes wide. 

“Who is everyone?”

“Race,” Jack lifted his eyes from Albert momentarily to glare at Race, “The priest, the guy who called Race, I don’t know.”

“Alright buddy,” Albert said. “Lesson one-” “Lesson one is never leave the house without a weapon,” Jack interrupted.

Albert sighed. “Fine then, lesson two-”

“Is always scan your surroundings.” Jack nearly cracked a smile at Albert’s annoyed facial expression. “You’re up to lesson fifty three.” 

“Fine. Lesson fifty three. Never believe anyone is dead until you see a body.” 

Jack nodded. “I think that’ll be an easy one to remember.”

“Good.” Albert opened his arm. “Now bring it in buddy.”

Jack flew into Albert’s embrace. A distinct sinking feeling started in Race’s stomach when he saw Jack’s shoulders shaking. 

“Everyone always leaves.” Jack’s words were muffled but Race could still hear them. “I’m so glad that you didn’t.” 

Albert laughed but Race could see the strain in his eyes. “This is like the fourth-”

“Eighth,” Race whispered.

“Eighth time this has happened. I don’t think that I am going anywhere anytime soon.”

Jack nodded into Albert’s shirt and gave him one more light squeeze, which Albert tried and failed not to wince at before pulling away. 

“Now that we got that settled,” Albert said, turning to Race. “I would love nothing more than to go to Walgreens and get some advil, the good cold medicine because Canada’s fucking freezing and I think it’s going to catch up to me soon and a real sling, some mediocre deep dish pizza and to go back to the safe house and sleep for three days.”

“Yes to the first two but you’re going to have to sleep in the car,” Race said.

Albert dropped his head back and groaned. “Don’t tell me they reassigned us already, I only just came back to life.”

“Mmmm no its far worse.” Race placed his hand on Albert’s good shoulder. “Jacobs wants us in his office.” Albert blinked once, twice, three times before giving in. “FUCK.”

“Yeah,” Race said. There was nothing else to say about that.

“Don’t tell me he wants us there tomorrow.” 

“He wanted us there today. “Who the hell is Jacobs?”

“Not now Jack,” Race and Albert said at the same time. 

“And we have to drive?” Albert asked. “And we have to drive.” Race confirmed. 

“Well fuck me sideways with a fucking spork.” Albert groaned again for good measure. “Doesn’t he think I’m dead?” 

“This is Davey Jacobs,” Race said. “Death means nothing to him.” 

“Is no one going to tell me who this guy is?” Jack asked again, louder this time. 

“Jackie,” Albert said, “When we’re on hour thirteen of this drive you’re going to be regretting asking that question.” 

“He can’t be that bad.” “He is,” Race said. 

“You owe me at least a whole pizza for this,” Albert said, jabbing Race in the chest with his finger. “With extra meat.”

“I didn’t expect anything less,” Race smiled. Sure he was not happy they had to go deal with whatever crap Jacobs was going to throw at him, but at least he had his best friend back.

“And another one when we get to the city!” He yelled over his shoulder as he followed Jack to the car. “I’ve missed my 99 cent pizza.” Race rolled his eyes. “You can literally get it for free cause Vinny loves you.”

“Wait, we’re going to New York City?” Jack asked

“I thought you wanted a placement change?” Race said, crossing his arms. 

“I- Well- I guess I-“

“Look buddy,” Albert said. “Race is shit at communicating. He will never admit it, but he is. But you can’t blame him for not wanting to get your hopes up. This is a hard field to be in, nothing is guaranteed and nothing is ever as it seems. That being said, we would love to have you on whatever Jacobs has planned for us cause I can guarantee you it is going to be one absolute hell of a ride. And even though Race won’t admit it, he likes having you around.” 

“I never said I didn’t,” Race muttered. 

Jack considered. “I’ll come, but only mostly because my best friend is training in New York. I’m still kinda pissed at Race.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy,” Albert laughed, giving Jack a fist bump. 

Race just rolled his eyes. It was pointless to argue at this point. 

“This better be a relaxing ride, Race,” Albert said, ignoring Jack. “I want no shenanigans.”

“I make no promises.”

___

AHHH WE ARE SO BACK BABY !!!

stay tuned to see the boys entering the city :O

#saphie scribbles #spies 2.0 #newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #sprace #ralbert

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

Katya: A Poem

"Goncharov" is a 1973 Martin Scorsese film that Tumblr collectively invented in 2022. I'd heard of it, but didn't take too much interest in it. It was only recently that I found out that "Goncharov" had a sapphic ship, between Katya and Sofia. That was what piqued my interest.

In a flurry of activity, I wrote a poem.

I am indebted to all the Tumblr bloggers who came before me, whose creations were captured in this "Goncharov" master doc and this collection of quotes. I hope you enjoy the poem I strung together from your posts!

If you reblog this, make sure to add the tags #unreality and #unrealism so people who would find it triggering don't see it. Remember to Gonch responsibly!

Yekaterina Mikhailova. 

That was my name. 

It was a name that meant nothing,

because I was nothing. 

My father’s daughter,

my brother’s sister. 

For a time, we were rich. 

Then our father received a visit from his co-workers

in the mafia. 

He came between them

and his daughter. 

He died with a smile on his face. 

For the next three years, we were poor. 

My brother and I,

living – no, merely surviving –

together on the streets,

made a resolution:

never again would we fall so low. 

Never again would we be so weak. 

So penniless. 

So worthless. 

We tracked down our uncle. 

Thanks to him, we joined the mafia ourselves –

me first,

my brother later, more reluctantly. 

He learnt not to question what I did,

no matter how much of a father

he wanted to be to me. 

I only have one mother, one father, one brother, one uncle,

but I could trace a path

from Naples to my childhood home in Moscow

with the blood of all the men

who told me they loved me. 

…

Later, I trained as a spy. 

It was in that line of work that I found Lo Straniero. 

The stranger. 

He told me his real name was Leonid Goncharov. 

I chose to believe him. 

What is marriage,

but a way to escape the names of our fathers? 

When I walked towards Goncharov

at the altar,

I thought that would be the moment

I would finally become someone

real enough

to have flesh and blood

to call mine. 

Perhaps the name Yekaterina

wouldn’t sound so empty on my lips. 

And with those same lips

I called his name,

and smiled at him in front of God,

and kissed him in the dark of our room. 

And all I became was his wife. 

A wedding is no different to a funeral,

is it not? 

The old Yekaterina died to Goncharov that day;

he took my name from me,

my very history,

and I allowed him that. 

My husband is a man who collects things he can use. 

A pistol,

a pocket watch,

a woman’s love,

a wife. 

My father would have needed me to marry,

so I did. 

Goncharov would have needed me to love him,

so I did. 

I truly did. 

Oh, I was a good woman, wasn’t I?  

A wife when he needed someone to bed,

a sister when he needed someone to argue with,

a mother when he needed to cry... 

Is that all women were in his eyes?  

Actors? 

Pretty dolls to dress up and spin around

according to his needs? 

No, I shouldn’t be so harsh. 

It wasn’t his fault

he could only ever fall in love with men. 

But the way he treated me? 

That was his fault. 

I needed a new place to exist. 

I found you in the fruit stand. 

…

Sofia Ambrosini. 

That was your name. 

With your serpent bracelet twinkling,

you stooped to pick up the fallen apple

that had escaped my basket

and rolled towards your leg –

the right one,

the one made of wood. 

I recognised from your false leg

and your false snake

that you were in the same world as me –

the same world of murder

whose space we shared precariously. 

But in that moment

we could be two women in a market

shopping for two men,

me my husband,

you your brother. 

Because it’s so hard to make friends in a world of murder. 

But here we were in public,

under the Sun,

and just for a while,

we could pretend we were women

who knew each other from …

somewhere. 

Just making friends. 

Just leading each other into temptation. 

It was the apple’s fault. 

It was the apple that made me bring up Adam and Eve. 

There we so many strange apples at that market. 

I imagined the wild way they looked

was how they looked in the Garden of Eden. 

But then you said,

“I never understood why it had to be an apple. 

Why an apple?” 

I answered, “I don’t know.

Because it’s always been an apple, I suppose.

It’s easier to recreate in art.  

All the painters and sculptors

and everyone else who makes those choices,

they all came together and decided

that an apple looks pretty simple –

nice, smooth, round,

easy enough to draw in a tree –

and now everyone sees nothing but apples

in the Tree of Knowledge

ever after.  

So it’s always apples.” 

I will never forget your response. 

“The dullest possible produce.  

The Forbidden Fruit is supposed to be

something unusual,

something special.  

All the knowledge of the world

and of each other

and of the realisation

that these two fools are

running around the Garden

with their bottoms bare

in front of the Almighty.  

An apple doesn’t seem right for that.  

It’s dull.  

It’s a thing for pastry and postcards.”  

“What would you pick instead?” I asked. 

“Pomegranates,” you said immediately.  “No question.  

It’s the fruit that the God of the Dead used

to trick the Goddess of Spring

into staying with him in the Underworld.  

She tasted the seeds

and she was forced to stay down there

for half a year, every year,

forever. 

A fruit so powerful

it can trap a goddess

seems like the kind of fruit

that can banish humanity from Paradise.” 

We paused. 

We made eye contact. 

“Tastes better than apples, too,” you added. 

And it looks like a jewel

when you split it open.” 

I ate a pomegranate panna cotta

in the bistro later that day. 

And when I licked my lips,

I immediately understood you. 

I did like apples,

but pomegranates? 

They were amazing. 

I’d go to Hell for them. 

I’d go to Hell for you. 

…

“Oh, it’s six already?”

Goncharov said to me when I returned home. 

“The clock’s broken,” I replied. 

“It’s been six for hours.” 

If only time would stop for us. 

…

I was raised Orthodox,

but Goncharov and I had been attending a Catholic Mass

to better fit in with the locals. 

I was unsettled by the topic of Father Gianni’s sermon:

the sins of the flesh,

the importance of resisting Earthly temptations,

and the necessity of self-control in this life,

thereby preparing for glories to come. 

Were there any glories to come? 

You, Sofia, got up to leave in the middle of the sermon,

heading for the stained-glass Virgin Mary,

and you whispered as you passed,

“Take your glories where you may.” 

And like the fishermen who left their nets

to follow Jesus

and become fishers of men,

I got up

and followed you. 

I did not know how my husband felt about me doing that. 

I did not care. 

I started partaking of apples and pomegranates

in equal measure. 

…

Sofia, you told me you had never even touched a gun before. 

But you were clearly too skilled

when those men cornered you

and you took them all down. 

Admit it. 

You just lied because

you wanted me to give you that “hands-on” shooting lesson,

didn’t you? 

“Are we not all murderers in some way, Katya?”

you said to me when I challenged you. 

“After all, a human being is a heart. 

Break that, and how can it go on living?” 

I had to ask,

“Don’t you have a broken heart, Sofia?” 

“It still beats, Katya,” you said, quietly. 

“It still beats.” 

…

For me, it’s always been the darkness I liked;

the way the lights roll off the water between the alleyways

reminds me of the past. 

…

You were adamant in your belief

that all memory is treachery. 

But one of my favourite memories

was us together in my husband’s house,

after dinner at the casino,

me in my evening gown,

you dressed as a waiter. 

You’d asked, “What’s your poison?” 

I’d answered, “Whatever you’re having, darling.” 

For the first time since moving to Naples,

I shook off the white furs

and showed you my dress –

the woman

under the animal. 

“You look good in red,” you said to me. 

Then you called me lisichka. 

Little fox. 

Which should have sounded wrong,

a Russian pet name in an Italian accent,

but that night it sounded right. 

I returned the compliments. 

“And you look good in green,

kukolka.” 

Little doll. 

I gave you one of my pearl necklaces. 

“Every woman should be allowed

to feel like she is looked at

beautifully.” 

My husband’s voice resounded in my head:

“Time isn’t like your pearls, Yekaterina. 

You can’t buy more. 

You think you can own time by wearing it,

but it just beats itself into your bones instead.” 

Well, no-one can tell me what I can and can’t buy. 

…

“If I were cursed, Sofia,

then I would never have found you.” 

“You could still lose me.” 

“Never.” 

…

I started being Katya,

being myself,

not because I fell into my role as Goncharov’s wife,

but because I discovered my inability. 

My unwillingness. 

I knew he cared for me,

but not beyond the presentation we put on for his peers. 

The peers who could end his life at any moment. 

And it wouldn’t be so unbearable

if we were at least still friends,

but all of that went to Andrey –

the friendship, the love, the care –

at least as much as Goncharov was capable of

beyond his own inadequacies. 

Andrey could not live loyally,

so let’s see how he does in death. 

…

I didn’t want Goncharov’s name in your mouth. 

I should have taken his money and left. 

It’s not obvious why I didn’t. 

All this time wandering the wreckage of his house –

I’m sorry, Sofia, it must have killed you. 

“Unlike you,” you said to me,

“I do not lure to cannibalise. 

I watch, and I starve.” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“Well, stop it! 

What do you take me for? 

Stop watching and devour me in full already,

won’t you?” 

So you did. 

I must have looked like a jewel

when you split me open. 

…

“I’ll stay with you tonight, if you’ll have me.” 

“I wouldn’t have anyone else.” 

I lay in bed with you. 

We wanted to do so much,

but ended up doing so little. 

I ran my foot up and down your leg –

the right one,

the one made of wood. 

I thought of what I knew

(what little I knew)

about your past –

how your Jewish family came to Naples,

how you lost them somewhere,

how the Poor Clares took you in and cared for you,

how you searched for your family amidst the Nazis,

how you lost that leg in the riots. 

“The world wants you dead,” I said,

more to myself than you. 

You turned to me. 

“Do you want me dead?” 

I forced myself to meet your eyes. 

“No.” 

You shrugged. 

“Then the world doesn’t want me dead.” 

We stayed in bed together for a while after that. 

…

We were always wasting time we never had. 

How could I love something which was never there? 

Oh, darling, that’s just grief. 

Time is like blood,

and I have wasted both. 

We could not go on forever,

could not fight the story,

could not step outside the marriage

or the mafia

or else. 

We were animals,

and animals, whether wild or tamed,

cannot fight the inevitable. 

“Time stops for no-one, Katya. 

Not even us.” 

…

“What’s on your mind?” 

“Wishful thinking.” 

“Sofia, I’m not cut out for the life you’re offering me. 

That different life. 

I am chained to my history –

a short chain. 

That’s why I cannot leave with you.” 

That’s why you and I

and my husband

and his lover

and your brother

and our enemies

are all in this boathouse. 

November’s the cruellest month of the year,

and Naples is full of fools. 

…

“Of course we’re in love!” I scream at Goncharov. 

“That’s why I tried to shoot you!” 

He laughs and cries at the same time. 

“If we really were in love,

you wouldn’t have missed.” 

He’s right. 

Our love was a grenade,

and now all that remains is shrapnel. 

He loved me, but only for a minute. 

I don’t know if he could handle any more. 

Love cannot be bought;

otherwise, we would have had a happy marriage. 

When we got married, I drew this line

between us and the world. 

He’s crossed that line,

and I can’t go with him. 

He and I are,

I think,

finally out of time. 

He has destroyed and betrayed himself

for nothing. 

That is his worst sin. 

My inability to be loyal to my husband

is what saved me. 

And what now kills him. 

What could now kill you, if you let it. 

…

You are pleading with me. 

“We can have the Forbidden Fruit

and it can be whatever we want!  

Let it be a pomegranate!  

Let us glut ourselves on it!  

And why do we have to follow everyone else’s rules

about what is and isn’t forbidden, anyway?  

None of us in this boathouse

are living within the law in the first place.  

There is blood on everyone’s hands.  

Can’t you and I sin a little sweeter?  

Can’t you admit that the sin you want most

isn’t a sin at all? 

Can’t you spit out the lies you’ve swallowed

in the Hell you found yourself in? 

We could grow our own garden somewhere!”

No, Sofia. 

This is my garden,

my Tree of Knowledge,

better the Devil I know,

and you wish you were my Serpent,

but this is my Underworld to rule

as much as any queen can rule there,

unhappy

but resigned. 

Go, Eve. 

Grow your garden alone. 

The Forbidden Fruit is there to be eaten,

to force us to go,

to let us step outside the walls meant to keep us in. 

But you just can’t make everyone eat. 

The pomegranate is within my reach,

but I have lost my appetite for seeds. 

…

I do what Goncharov would do,

and you know what that means. 

Death. 

Goncharov has never meant anything else. 

I will die like my father,

with a smile on my face. 

I will die for you. 

You were once a little girl, alone and scared,

but that girl is long dead. 

The Sofia that lives now? 

The world should fear her. 

Damn them as they would damn us. 

But don’t you ever raise a hand to me. 

…

Sofia, don’t cry. 

There’s no use trying to rewrite the story now. 

Sofia, get out of this boathouse. 

Take my boat. 

It’s fine. 

I won’t need it anymore. 

Go, zolotse. 

Leave Naples. 

Leave Italy. 

Leave the mafia behind. 

But take your two candlesticks with you. 

Light them on a Friday evening,

and watch the red of the sunset

wash over the white of the candles. 

Sofia, take your day of rest. 

No, a year of rest. 

Make every day a Shabbat. 

Remember to bless yourself. 

Sofia, choose wisely what you do now,

because it might be the last time you get to choose. 

“All memory is treachery.” 

I wonder how you will remember me. 

#chrysalis poetry #poetry #poem #writing #goncharov #goncharov 1973 #katya goncharova #sofia ambrosini #sofia modigliani #katya x sofia #lo straniero #andrey daddano #andrey goncharov #mario ambrosini #gonchposting #unreality #unrealism #tw unreality #tw unrealism #cw unreality #cw unrealism

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

The more I think about Grushenka the more feral I am about her. I have read much more 19th century Brit Lit than the average person, and TBK is my first Russian Lit, so I only have the British tropes to compare her to but she seems to inhabit the role of victim, coquette, and good woman (mostly coquette and good woman) all together in a way I've literally never seen in classic lit before. Plenty of classical coquettes are fully developed characters who have nuance. In fact, all the ones I can think of (Becky Sharp, Rosamond Vincy, Mary Crawford) get to have relatively happy endings. They don't get what the wanted but their spirit remains unbroken and unrepentant, they live to scheme another day. But there is always a total lack of ability to access deep emotion and deep understanding and you're supposed to sort of chuckle and shake your head knowing that whatever happiness this woman finds she will never feel anything as pure and good as what our leads can access. The book ends and she'll never get it. But that's not Grushenka, and her behavior is much worse than a lot of the aforementioned classical coquettes. She is allowed to act out of a sincere meanness and selfishness of spirit. She is allowed to have reasons for her behavior that humanize her without absolving her of guilt. She is allowed to look inwardly at herself and own what she did wrong. She is allowed to change her behavior and be forgiven for it. She is allowed to be good without being a saint. She's so real.

Also, this is something a little different but I really love how equally Dostoevsky treats Grushenka and Mitya. No one of note in this novel seems to think Grushenka is more at fault for the affair than Mitya is. At no point was he haplessly seduced away from his good fiance, he made the decision to cheat all by himself, bc his relationship with Katya already was never going to work, with or without Grushenka. She ought not to have gone after him when she knew he was engaged, and she ought not to have toyed with him, but he is always portrayed as a grown ass man with free will who didn't make the right choice.

#the brothers karamazov #grushenka

[awbarnes-no]

WHAT HORROR TROPE ARE YOU? - ( THE MONSTER )

it was not your fault– at first, at least. you can not help being the way you are. and even if you could, would you choose to change? they met you with torches raised and screaming mouths, the only choice you had was to flee. but you will not stay away forever. they whisper your name in fear, and you will make sure you hurt them just as much as they hurt you.

TAGGED BY: reposted from when i took it before. TAGGING: @marvelmyriad ( jamie , aaron ) , @the-innumerable-heroes ( niko ) , @redstarsandnightmares , @penniesxdimes , @birdswings ( katya ) , @thehubb ( both muses ) , @wormholxtreme ( kaylee , v ) , @dr-foster ( and all your other blogs :P ) , @hcxcd , @trckshct , @sarcasticsnackpack

#-ˋˏ games . « — ★ — » 𝑾𝑯𝑶'𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝒀 𝑻'𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀. #-ˋˏ anya . « — ★ — » 𝑰𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰 𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑾.

[knowlesian]

it’s so weird to me how nobody has mentioned goncharov is just an adaptation of shakespeare’s play the muscovite of naples.

it’s pretty 1:1, i mean:

Friends, Neapolitans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I have come to bury Goncharov, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd with their bones. So let it be with Goncharov. The noble Mario Has told you Goncharov was born Muscovite. If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Goncharov answered it.

sure, they changed the plot around and katya doesn’t deliver the big vaguely nationalist funeral speech to the townspeople (and they left out the scene with all the donkey puns which i still feel was a mistake, they could have at least referenced it) but it’s not like they tried to hide the inspiration.

#now i'm lying about shakespeare too WHY NOT #getting loose with it now #goncharov is everything and everything is goncharov

[alinalioness]

Alina and Singing Monsters 19 Chapter:The Colossingum

Meanwhile, with heroes.

It was night and the heroes are flying in a bubble with chagrin, despite the fact that they did not plan to.

Seeder:How is that? We thought we could do it, and here we are.

Lan:We just didn't know about it, and neither did Alina. So it's not anyone's fault.

Christina:Speaking of Alina, where is she?

Everyone immediately noticed that Alina was not there.

Emma:I don't think Alina was caught like with Kayna.

Barrb:To be honest, I want to save my sister. Otherwise, we will all be caught.

Flowah:True, but we need a new plan.

Skye:(Displeased) If I met these robots again, I would let them into the factory.

Haoyu:Calm down, especially since your wings are broken.

Blabbit:Guys!

The heroes noticed him in a bubble flying up to them.

Autumn:Blabbit, have you seen Alina?

Blabbit:Yes, she was just sailing towards Colossingum.

Chica:So she's fine.

Carlin:What are we standing for? Let's fly.

Everyone immediately flies to Colossingum for Alina.

Meanwhile, with Alina.

Alina swam with difficulty and patience, not knowing that she was heading for Colossingum. She immediately noticed him and swam over. The island was made of concrete and instead of eyes there were steps that she climbed. She sat down on the ground and began to think.

Alina:What should I do? Friends are nowhere to be found, Kayna is in danger. (The phone rings and I picked up the phone) Hello?

Natalya:Alina, where are you and your friends now? They are not responding.

Alina:(Sad) Don't be scared... But it's true... We are in a world of monsters.

Alina's parents:World of monsters?

Alina:Yes... *Sigh * hunters attacked the theater and Kayna's friends saved us. I wanted us to come together and win. But John turned out to be more cunning than we thought. I'm very sorry for you, but I like adventures, but I'm still worried about you and my friends.

Natalya:Alina, don't get me wrong, but you have friends who we trust. Although maybe that's why you wanted to ask about the concert. We've known them for a long time.

Sergey:Mom is right, they are a new family for us. So don't worry and there's a chance to save Kayna.

Alina:Thank you. I love you.

Alina's parents:So are we.

While she was answering the phone, the others flew over the island.

Julia:Here she is.

Seeder:She looks sad.

Ella:Because she tried for everyone's sake, but... It's all in vain.

Jasper:But we have to act.

When he burst the bubble, everyone accidentally burst too.

Grumpy:(Unhappy) Fine (Everyone is falling).

Alina:Something has to be done. (Kristina fell to the ground) Chris?

Christina:Of course, but who else(Julia fell)?

Alina:Julia. (Katya fell) Katya. (The pets fell down and she hugged them) Pets.

Entbrat:(Fell) In a word, together again. (Caught Carlin and Barry) Caught.

All except Flora, Skye, Pearl, the Kikoriki children, SpongeBob, Patrick and the explorers fell to the ground without crashing.

Alina:Guys, I'm so glad to see you all. (I noticed that there are no others) Where are the others?

Later, the rest of the Wubboxes landed on the land of the powers of the other heroes.

Skye:I barely tried to fly with one wing, although it's unlikely (With Flora and Pearl, they let the heroes go).

Autam:It remains for us to think how we should act.

Alina:(She noticed the tents) I've already thought of it. Since we're at Colossingum, how about...

Monsters:A musical battle.

Alina:Here's what. Carlin and the BWW characters will be rehearsing.

Carlin:It will be done.

Alina:Because robots don't break, but they can be hacked. Bokko will take over when they make a computer. Maybe someone will help him.

Bokko:I agree.

Alina:And to free Kain, Fire and Furnoss will free her and burn the airship.

Fire:You can rely on us.

Alina:Well, let's get to work.

Everyone started the plan. Vublins and Wubbox made a computer for Bokko to hack robots. Carlin rehearsed the monsters while BWW prepared the numbers and songs.

Dynamic Dolphin:That's what our idea is. The number with the song "Together" will be with umbrellas as Alina performed. This can also be done in "Hurray".

Balan:That's a great idea.

Meanwhile, with Kayna.

Kayna wakes up and finds that she is in a cage.

Kayna:Where am I?

John:You're in a cage. (Kayna noticed him) Yes, and your friends will be there too.

Kayna:You can't get them, you're a monster yourself.

John:I'm sorry, but do you know why I decided to hunt you? For the sake of money.

Kayna:What? No, you're really a monster.

John:Okay, I have to go find your friends. (He leaves) Of course, I can leave the lioness, but with erased memory.

When he entered the office, Andrey saw a poster that was flying and took it.

Andrey:John, a poster based on musical battles with monsters flew up to us.

John took the poster and saw an image of monsters and their robots in Colossingum.

John:We decided to arrange a musical battle. Ha, well, you give it. You will see our modified robots for yourself.

To the Colossingum.

Pummel on the observation tower noticed an approaching airship.

Pummel:They're flying!

Alina:It's time.

The airship landed and hunters with dogs and some converted robots came out of there. Alina was watching them from the observation tower.

John:Listen carefully, you have to keep an eye on the monster. If you miss it, I'll kill you.

Ho:Ok.

John:And let me remind you, if everything does not go according to plan, then we will call the robots. Let's go.

When they came, there were monsters and heroes in me, tah for the painkillers. They immediately took their seats, and the robots went to the arena. Boss monsters are coming out of the balcony.

Entbrat:We're starting! (Everyone is happy) Our battle will be competing monsters against robots!

Deedge:Fire monsters and kikoriki will be the first to perform!

While the fire monsters and kikoriki took the stage, Fire and Furnoss headed for the airship. But suddenly Bob saw the bug and ran after her, and his brothers followed. Meanwhile, Bokko started looking for a website for hacking robots.

Bokko:Great, let's get started now.

The robots played robotic music and finished.

Krash:Well, we'll show you right now.

The fire monsters began to play the melody of the amber island, and the Kikoriki sang along with the singing monsters. When the melody ended, the robots broke down, forcing the hunters to retreat.

John:(Unhappy) How?

Entbrat:We have the winners, kikoriki and fire monsters (Everyone applauds)!

John:Well, I'll show them.

(Explanation:Hunters changed robots for musical battles to check reviews)

Alina:(Happily) I knew they would win!

Lan notices that Bokko is in trouble and decided to help.

Lan:Do you need help?

Bokko:Absolutely right. Do you know?

Lan:Yes, because, like you, I am very smart and work on a laptop to fix problems in websites.

Bokko:Ok.

SpongeBob:Our finest hour. Oh, I'm so worried (Go on stage with friends and monsters)

Entbrat:Next up, SpongeBob squarepants!

Monsters with instruments started playing, and SpongeBob and Patrick are singing.

Song "SpongeBob square pants"

[SpongeBob]

Who lives in pineapple under the sea.

[SpongeBob's friends]

SpongeBob SquarePants.

[SpongeBob]

Absorbant and yellow porous is he.

[SpongeBob's friends]

SpongeBob SquarePants.

[SpongeBob]

If nautical nonsense be something you wish.

[SpongeBob's friends]

SpongeBob SquarePants

[SpongeBob]

Then drop on the deck and flop like a fish.

[SpongeBob's friends]

SpongeBob SquarePants

John:(Scoffs) A song for kids, funny.

Or it seems to be in the rock version...

[SpongeBob]

I'm Goofy Gooper, yeah!

And you're Goofy Gooper, yeah!

We are all Goofy Gooper!

John:What!?

Alina:That's what I understand... ROCK AND ROLL!

Meanwhile, with Fire and Furnoss.

The two men approached the airship ready to rescue Kayna.

Fire:So, let's repeat our plan. We'll sneak up, rescue Kaine, and burn the airship.

Furnoss:Good.

But when they got to the window, they noticed Ho.

Fire:Clearly, we need to sneak in unnoticed.

Meanwhile, with others.

Bokko and Lan were still looking for the right site.

Lan:That's right, it's necessary to turn down.

Bokko:Ok.

Entbrat:And now... It's Disney's turn!

Katya:A great name.

Monsters and Disney took the stage.

Kuzko:You'll see our fun right now.

While the heroes and robots were competing, John began to think about what to do.

John:We have to do something before they win. (He looked at Alina) Listen up... while they are singing, you will take the lioness unnoticed.

Andrey:It will be done.

Hunters with dogs headed towards Alina while John watched what was happening. At this point, the robots lost again.

Entbrat:Disney has won!

All:Hurray!

Balan:Now it's the turn of our songs with Werdos.

Alina:(Happily) 2 apesni and my most favorite.

Meanwhile, with Fire and Furnos.

Dale still managed to sneak into the airship unnoticed. They decided to hide behind the boxes. Later, they noticed Kaine in the cage and Ho guarding her.

Fire:So, I'll go to Kaina, and you distract him.

Furnos:Good (Fire was gone, he saw the minions). Minions, what are you doing here?

From this, Ho heard and followed them. At this time, the fire quietly approached the cage.

Fire:Kayna.

Kayna:Fire.

Fire:Do you know how to open this cage?

Kayna:Unfortunately, no, I was asleep all the time because of the dart.

Fire noticed a lock with buttons and decided to tell Furnos via the radio.

Fire:Furnos, there's a lock with buttons in the cage. You need a password here.

Furnos:And what if you break it?

Fire:Hmm, you can try it.

The fire saw a heavy enough house and with its help she broke the cage, and Kayna left there.

Ho:Ah, have you decided to run away?

The two girls were scared by this, and the minions panicked, making Ho hear them.

Furnos:Oh no.

Ho:Oh, well, you're all scre-

Fortunately, the Fire hit him and the hunter fell unconscious.

Fire:Great, there's only one thing left for us to do.

Meanwhile, with others.

The robots broke down again after the Disney and Monsters song.

Entbrat:And once again, ours are winning!

John:Yes, yes, of course.

Monsters and Werdos with umbrellas came on stage. Parslona had a pink umbrella with cat paws, Tawkerr had blue with snowflakes, Maggpi had purple with butterflies, and Stoowarb had red with fire.

Alina:I've seen this room with umbrellas somewhere. (The monsters started singing and the Werdos started dancing) It's just like mine.

Emma:She liked her room very much, as did us.

Cass:Look at the hunters there!

The characters from BWW were shocked to see the hunters, who were still not far from the hunters.

Air Cat:They're going to do something about Alina.

Haoyu:We have to detain them.

Aero Acrobat:Yes.

Fiona:No guys, we can't just delay.

Dynamic Dolphin:I agree with that.

Dusk Butterfly:And what are we going to do?

Bruce:Leave it to me with Invisible Man and Hooverton.

The three became invisible and headed towards the hunters.

Andrey:Okay, guys, we're sneaking up and grabbing her. Do you understand everything?

Hunters:Yes.

Andrey:Then... (The dog's sadness was heard) what a... (Hunters noticed that there were no dogs) Where could they have gone? (One of the hunters fell from a blow with a cane) How?

Later, all the hunters were beaten with a fist. Andrey did not understand this until he saw the shadow of Hooverton and turned to him.

Hooverton:Goodbye (He hit Andrey).

*The screen went dark*

Meanwhile, with others.

John stared at Alina in disbelief until the robots broke down again.

John:Where have they gone?

The Dipsters approached the monster bosses with happy news and a cunning idea.

Do:There are no hunters, and the airship burned down.

Entbrat:Great. (To everyone) The battle is over!

John:Already? Okay, you'll see right now.

Everyone stood in the center of the Colossingum.

Entbrat:We announce our friends... winners!

All:Hurray!

John:That's not all! (Everyone looked at him) You don't even know what awaits.

Bokko:Ah! There's not a minute to lose!

Right in front of two smart animals, the right hacking site opened.

Lan:It's him, hurry up.

Alina:Know that we are not afraid of you.

John:You want to say it, but I'm going to press it now.

Bokko:A-a!

Lan:Here in the hack button.

Bokko:Already.

When he pressed John's button, the robots didn't work.

John:What? (Presses several times) How?

Bokko:It worked.

Alina:Oh, I think the robots are broken.

John:(Unhappy) How could they break if you don't break them?

Bokko:The whole thing is in our hands.

John was shocked to see Bokko and Len with a computer showing that it was hacked.

John:How?

Lan:The power of knowledge is this.

John:But you will regret it. I'll be back with the hunters.

Bruce:I'm afraid you don't have any hunters.

John was shocked to see the hunters on Hooverton's hands in their original form.

John:How could they, together with the old man, overcome?

Alina:You shouldn't be talking like that. You didn't know about us, just as we didn't know about your plan.

Bruce:We confirm it.

John was walking away from the heroes with a scared look. That in response, combat costumes, Nega bosses, wubboxes, t-rockes, soxes including Lula and strong monsters were ready to attack.

John:You'll regret it... i have-

When he turned around, he saw Kayna, Fire, Furnos, and minions.

Kayna:Not anymore. Even the airship (Bob stuck out his tongue at John).

John:What (He ran to the airship)?

Alina:Follow him.

The heroes chased John until he saw the burning airship and Ho unconscious.

John:(Angry) Didn't you look at it?

Ho:I don't know you...

John:(I looked at the heroes) You... you...

Alina:Late. The celestials!

Attmoz:Always ready.

Attmose started blowing on John with an invisible guitar. John held on to the pillar while Furnos called for fire. He let go of his hand while Glaishur made an icy death loop into the sky, which John took off.

All:Hooray!

Alina:(Happy) We have won!

Krash:And the celestials are super!

Cybop:There's this John!

Julia:By the way, I called the police to pick him up.

Entbrat:I suggest we celebrate on the gold island.

Alina:Which means...

All:Together, stronger, hurray!

Meanwhile, with John.

John landed on the coast of the USA. The police are just meeting him.

John:Oh, you're here, thank God.

Police №1:It's him.

Police №2:So to jail him.

John:What? You don't understand anything.

The police put him in a car and they drove away.

#фанфик #смешарики #spongebon squarepants #disney #pokemon #balan wonderworld #fnaf #tom and jerry #oggy and the cockroaches #my singing monsters #slime rancher #castle cats #dungeon dogs #cat jump #wildcraft #super mario #hunting season #ocs

[another-heroine]

Last night, while I was coming back home after visiting some friends, I started to imagine how it would be the moment when Lann finds out the real reason why Ekaterina left Irrisen.

It probably gonna happen right after they met Karenina, Katya's biological mother, and back to Drezen the KC is clearly unhinged, yet she tries to conceal it before all advisors. Except for the mongrel that knows her too well.

In some moment when they are alone, Ekaterina gives in. After all, once she asked Lann to tell about his past. Now it's time to her be honest. But not without some hurt.

"Alright, you wanna know what happened? I will tell you."

Though there were none open windows around, Lann could swear that he felt a cool breeze touching his nape.

The druid sat before him, with her hair down and tired eyes. Her hands clasped tightly over her lap, and she stared at the floor like the words were scattered at their feet.

"There was a gang back in Irrisen called Crimson Militia. They were some of the many groups who stand against the witches and Yaga. And so did I."

Lann stared at her with surprise. He wanted to crack a joke as the usual, but held on.

"I was tired of hiding underground, and thought it would be a good thing joining them and help people personally. I mean, the druids were helping too, but... it didn’t seem enough for me."

The woman glanced at him under the lashes, catching her breath to go on.

"One night, we were in our hideout, taking care of our business. I've tucked the last rescued children to sleep, the same ones who were doomed to be turn into dolls, and in the next time..."

She waved in thin air. "Fire."

Ekaterina leaned on one of her hands and took a deep sigh. Lann nodded in silence, asking for her to keep going.

After a few minutes, she said, "I can’t recall exactly what happened right after the fire, but I woke up just when all was turned into ashes. House and my friend alike. Even the children..."

Her eyes started to water, and she shutted them abruptly, gripping her clothes while the memories struck again. "Good gods, there was a lot of blood and ashes on me. And none of them were mine. I thought that... somehow I... I've killed them. I was the only one alive."

"I carried a guilty that never was mine. My grief and anger and sadness... for nothing."

Lann frowned, connecting her story with Karenina's words early. "Someone started a fire, and then they twisted your mind."

Ekaterina laughed drily. "And all this time, all this long time, I thought it was my fault, but it was not! It was the darn witches!"

"But now, I want to scorch each one of them, slowly, and I'm afraid of this thought. Would I be capable of such a thing?"

"Those are some of the reasons why I always asked for not turning me into a saint. Because I'm not. I can be as dirt and evil as any of them. And right now I'm tired and angry."

[mashmaiden]

About Last Week...

So I debated for a while whether or not I was going to actually make this post, but I feel like my disappointment and annoyance needed to be a little explained.

Yes, I realize it was supposed to be a Callen-heavy episode, and knowing that the topic needed to be resolved I was not against that.

The thing that upset me more about the episode is the way it was executed, mostly writing-wise. And to be honest, I don't even know anymore how much that is the fault of our writers, and how much their hands are actually tied with scheduling and the episode appearance limitations.

A lot of my thoughts are similar to the ones I had post-Down the Rabbit Hole. The first thing I learned in my TV writing class, is your main cast should always be at the forefront, don't use guest stars to do the job of your mains. (I am STILL angry at DTRH for how anti-climactic that entire multi-season arc ended cuz Joelle just shot Katya with zero tension when no one was around)

It feels like it was written a bit generically like they weren't sure which actors would be there for the episode. Like, change the sniping analysis to the aftermath of a bomb, and most all of Kensi's role in the ep could have been Sam. When they have done this, I feel we lose the voice that has made each character special to us over the years. (Granted, this has been an issue all season, not just this last episode)

Back to The Reckoning. I loved the scenes in the mission with Fatima and Kilbride and our awesome office team (I loved them, but why are our main peeps not saving the day?!), but even when our baddie was holding guns on them, there was a lack of tension in the situation. Too much talking/explaining versus actually making me worry something might go awry! I guess I just miss the higher-stakes episodes of seasons past?! 🤷‍♀️

And on the topic of too-much-explaining, which again, has been a bit of an issue all season, onto the last scene. I was not a fan of Pembrook explaining Hetty's actions as he's just this third party who we really have no reason to trust. Obviously, a better way to end this plotline would have been an actual conversation with Hetty, so since Linda has not been able/available, I understand they had to figure out another way to do it. But I feel like in this case, even a letter from Hetty would have been a better choice for explaining her own reasonings. Or, they could have had Callen open that "only open when I'm dead" packet from Season 3... I'm sure there's plenty of newer stuff added to it by now.

Basically, I'm just frustrated at the effect the reduced episode counts for actors has had on the show as a whole. I think I'd have rather had only 18 episodes with everyone vs what we've got. It also worries me GREATLY for network television going forward, because it seems like at least CBS seems to be pushing this model on a lot of other shows as well. And that's after we hopefully push through this writer's strike (and whatever happens with the next two negotiation sessions too (actors/directors also have contracts up this summer).

Sorry this got long, feel free to ignore it.

#episode thoughts #anti something probably #I'm going to go with corporate tv studio bullshit #because while I really used to get mad at the writing #I'm really feeling like they're trying their best with what little they're given #I don't know anymore

[lesbiandeancas]

I could never be against you

a mix for Katya and Sofia from Scorsese's classic 1973 film Goncharov

listen here

1 // tainted love - soft cell :: don't touch me please, I cannot stand the way you tease 2 // primadonna - marina and the diamonds :: you say that I'm kind of difficult but it's always someone else's fault 3 // poker face - lady gaga :: russian roulette is not the same without a gun 4 // jolene - dolly parton :: your beauty is beyond compare with flaming locks of auburn hair 5 // doin' time - lana del rey :: evil, ornery, scandalous and evil, most definitely 6 // die young (deconstructed mix) - kesha :: oh what a shame that you came here with someone 7 // dance in the dark - lady gaga :: she looks good but her boyfriend says she's a tramp, she's a vamp 8 // run away with me - carly rae jepsen :: over the weekend we could turn the world to gold 9 // life could be sweet - ayla d'lyla & miss madeline :: there's magic in your eyes, tequila sunrise 10 // bad romance - lady gaga :: I want your love, I don't wanna be friends 11 // careless whisper - nataly dawn :: should have known better than to cheat a friend 12 // maroon - taylor swift :: the lips I used to call home, so scarlet it was maroon 13 // somebody that I used to know - gotye :: you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness 14 // bulletproof - la roux :: burning bridges shore to shore 15 // time after time - cyndi lauper feat sarah mclachlan :: you say go slow, i fall behind, the second hand unwinds 16 // clocks - coldplay :: lights go out and i can't be saved

#katfia #katya goncharova #katya x sofia #goncharov #goncharov 1973 #my fanmix #sorry for all the lady gaga but its possible she just wrote all these songs about katfia bc ummmmm #unreality cw /

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 9

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: Grayson enters the scene, Enyd tries to visit Benzo, Viktor goes swimming, and Katya does her dang best.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 6.8K

Captain Grayson arrived at Piltover’s Southside docks shortly before daybreak. As much as she loved her job, and as aimable as she was to the needs of her city and its citizens, she couldn’t help but groan into the dark of her flat when the order arrived. The newest batch of Enforcer recruits had tried her patience all week and she was looking forward to an undisturbed weekend.

However, when Sheriff LeDaird called, she was duty-bound to answer.

Grayson stepped out of the carriage and gently tugged the hem of her stiff jacket down, righting the bunching at her belted waist. A cool, salty breeze breathed by and untucked a strand of hair from the bun at the base of her skull. Deftly, she brushed her hair back and slid the Captain’s hat over her head.

“This way, Captain,” her officer escort beckoned, voice echoing behind their mask.

Grayson turned on her bootheel and heeded the direction. Together, they strode down to the docks. The last pier to the south was washed in the bright lights of spots. Enforcers milled about, naturally parting away as she drew near. The wood under her thick-soled boots creaked and the water beneath the planks gently sloshed and lapped against the piers’ posts. As she walked, Grayson’s eyes were pulled across the River Pilt. The edges and points of the Undercity’s Promenade level were softly glowing in the predawn light. She wondered where the culprits had scurried off to.

“Captain Grayson.”

The sound of Sheriff LeDaird’s deep bell of a voice cut through the haze of morning and the ambient murmur of Enforcers like a gong. Grayson’s gaze snapped to attention, taking her commanding officer in. Built like a barrel and tall as a tree, Piltover’s sheriff stood at the top of the gangway that led to the crime scene. His deep skin disappeared into the dark of the morning, but his green eyes glimmered underneath his prominent brow bone.

“Sir,” Grayson greeted as she strode up the path towards him. She nodded respectfully.

“Did you review the initial report?”

“Yes. On my way over.”

LeDaird smirked. “Sorry to interrupt your weekend off.”

Grayson weakly grinned and shrugged. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the one who attempted to raid a freight vessel full of munitions.”

LeDaird nodded loosely before boarding the small barge. Grayson followed, her eyes flitting about, taking in the scene. Lower ranking Enforcers were questioning weary and ragged looking crew members; the cargo boxes that had been belted to the flat of the barge were scattered about; some of them riddled with bullet holes, others upturned, some dented and partially opened.

“Near as we can tell,” LeDaird began, “all the inventory is accounted for.”

“I’ll have it checked again before we close the scene,” Grayson said. “Is anything salvageable? I know headquarters was counting on this shipment for training the new recruits.”

“Most of it seems intact,” the Sheriff answered. “But it will be under lock and key as evidence until this case is wrapped.”

Grayson grimaced and sighed. She turned her attention towards the crew and jut her chin out.

“Did they see anything? Get a look at anyone?”

LeDaird furrowed his brow and sighed. “No concrete numbers, but they said there were definitely some kids. Approximately twelve-years-old or so. There was also a group of older ones – early twenties, maybe. They think maybe four or five of them. All from the Undercity by the looks of them.”

Grayson shook her head. “Kids? What are children doing getting involved with a job like this? Shop lifting, petty theft, and vandalism I can understand. But, trying to steal from a supply ship full of munitions?” she paused. “Do we think they knew what was on board?”

“That is unclear at this point. Officer Borobourgh is questioning the harbormaster right now. Seeing if there has been any unusual activity recently.”

Grayson frowned and her eyes swept over the shipment boxes again, then the crew, then across the river at the Undercity’s matching series of piers and docks.

“Is there anything else?”

“An on-duty Enforcer managed to shoot one of the older ones. In the leg he thinks, but he was assaulted before he could go after him.”

Grayson’s eyes widened and her head snapped back to the Sheriff.

“The officer will be fine,” LeDaird promised. “He was clocked in the head by a pipe, but word from the hospital is that he’s only been concussed. No internal bleeding or acute brain damage.”

“So,” Grayson huffed. “We have attempted felony robbery, intimidation, trespassing, and assaulting an officer.”

Her eyes once again landed on the shores and docks of the Undercity.

“It’s one thing to have something like this happen in the Lanes,” she mused. “It’s another to have it brought over here. How did they get here?”

LeDaird sighed through his nose and fixed his gaze onto the river’s dark water. “The crew,” his eyes looked back over to the small group of men huddled together, “said they heard small motors as the perpetrators escaped. Probably a small skipper or two. They did not get a good look,” he added as Grayson went to open her mouth.

It made sense. It would be easier to cross the river than the bridge.

An unnamed, amorphous hunch crept under Grayson’s skin. What happened was being pieced together; why was unknown. Grayson got to her station by not assuming the simple. It would’ve been easy to just say that it was a gaggle of disgruntled Trenchers and leave it at that.

But this . . . felt different. And she couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“I’ll prepare a detail to go across the river. We’ll search the Shores and docks, and question the harbormaster there. And any other fishermen that might be around.”

LeDaird nodded in agreement.

Enyd was woken up by the familiar tickle in the back of her throat. She caught the first cough behind her teeth and rolled over, pawing at her bedside table until her fingers reached the tattered handkerchief there. She sat herself up and pressed the cloth firmly to her face. Her shoulders trembled and hunched, lungs heaved, and throat pulsed as she retched as quietly as she could.

When it passed, she sat catching her breath, handkerchief still pressed to her mouth. Her body trembled and she felt the cool, dampness of sweat underneath her nightclothes. A gentle, phlegmy rumble shook the base of her throat. She grimaced and pushed a wad of mucus into the handkerchief. Her hand fumbled for the chem-light at her side, fingers shakily pinching around the knob, turning it. The filaments within hummed and glowed to life. Heart pattering unevenly against her breastbone, Enyd slowly drew the cloth away and peeked down at what she had bore.

A slimy glob of brownish-red.

A sigh blew through her nose. Usually, a wispy breath like that would set off an additional fit. But since starting the medicine regimen earlier in the week, Enyd had noticed a difference in her symptoms. The coughs were looser, retches not as deep and throat peeling, fits less frequent.

Enyd swung her feet to the floor and gingerly rose from her bed. Keeping the hand holding her handkerchief carefully cupped, she stuck her head out of her bedroom door and glanced down the hall. The door to Silco’s bedroom was closed; it had been open when she went to bed.

Enyd shuffled on the balls of her feet to the bathroom. She rinsed the cloth in the sink, ushering the bloody ball of mucus down the drain. She used the cold water, a small bar of lye and the pads of her thumbs to press out the stain from the fabric before wringing it out, and laying it over the sink’s edge to dry.

The vial of medicine sat proudly between the damp rag and the sink’s rinse cup. Her fingers only hesitated a moment before taking her morning dose.

She quietly left the bathroom, noting the faint light that was beginning to drift down the hallway from the apartment’s windows. Before returning to her room to dress for the day, she slipped down the hall to Silco’s door and quietly cracked it open. He had told her the day before that he would be out late at The Last Drop, and he had not yet returned home by the time she lay herself down for sleep.

A warm smile pulled the edges of her mouth as Enyd’s eyes fell upon her son, sprawled across the top of his bed, still fully dressed, shoes on. Silco lay on his stomach, arms bunched up under the pillow his head rested on. Enyd watched the lazy rise and fall of his back and listened to the weak, uneven snores pushed out through his sleep slack mouth. Sweet warmth bloomed in her chest, like a late spring breeze. With great care, she shut the door and returned to her bedroom.

Once dressed, Enyd readied the kettle and gnawed on a crust of bread with marmalade. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen window, watching the many facets of glass shimmer and gleam in the wavering sunlight that had managed to push through the Grey. Today, she would bake. But first she needed to run an errand. The kettle’s breath warbled and the tin jostled against the stove grates as the water inside bubbled and roiled. Enyd turned off the flame, poured the hot water into her teacup, and bounced the bag in its bath.

One of her Promenade clients had given her a small bag of metal and glass trinkets as a means to round out their payment. She had never had a use for such things, and she wasn’t going to find one now. Unwilling to haggle about it, she had taken the few coins and the jumble of knick-knacks without any fuss. She would take the useless things to Benzo’s shop and pawn them for however much he would offer.

Enyd took the teacup up, pressing its warm rim to her lips, before taking a small sip. Since starting the medicine, she had returned to her old morning blend, shoving the medicinal tea way back into the shadows of a cupboard.

She could remember how it smelled, as tendrils of steam curled under her nose. Deep, heady notes of earth, slices of bright grass, and quick floral hints that appeared and left so quickly that she was never sure if she had actually smelled it. She was pretty sure she had.

Now, the smell was little more than a memory. There were faint whiffs of it on the blurry edges of the steam, but mostly the drink under her nose smelled hot. She took a sip, and let the nothing-tasting liquid flow down her throat.

Once wrapped in the long sweater that nipped at her ankles and the bundle of trinkets stowed in her bag, Enyd traveled out into the Lanes. She left a note for Silco, but was certain he would still be asleep by the time she got back.

It was still early enough that only a few stall workers had unfurled their awnings. Shopkeepers flit around their storefronts, opening shutters and wiping down grime-streaked windows. Enyd slid through and past other Trenchers, catching snippets of arguments, transactions, and gossip.

More than once she heard someone mutter about the docks and Enforcers.

She kept her head down and wound her way to the street that Benzo’s shop was tucked into. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she neared, seeing that the windows were still dark. Slipping beneath the iron and glass portico, she stepped closer and peered into the storefront’s large, circular window. Enyd cupped a hand next to her temple as her eyes scoured the dim interior.

Benzo usually had his shop open by this time. He was many things: young, brazen, sometimes immature, but he was a punctual and responsible business owner. Enyd knew that Benzo and his father (the elder Benzo) had a very rocky relationship, but both men loved the family business. The pawn and scrap shop had been in their family for generations; had sat squeezed and buckled between two buildings whose occupants and businesses changed like the seasons, but Benzo’s treasure trove stayed. As much a fixture in the Lanes as Vander’s bar was.

Stepping away from the window, Enyd went to the door. She tried the handle, and it refused to give under the bolt. Fingers squeezed the strap of her satchel worriedly, and she chewed her bottom lip. She lifted herself up onto the toes of her shoes and peeked through the window at the top of the door. Dropping back on her heels, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

“Benzo?”

Silence from inside the shop; warm morning bustling from behind her. She knocked and called again. Still nothing.

While it would be unlike him, Enyd supposed he might be sleeping off a late night at The Drop like Silco was doing. Possible, yes, but a cool, intuitive tickle ghosted under her skin.

Sighing in resignation, Enyd traveled back home.

Katya tiredly watched her brother splash and float in the small grotto. It had been a long morning – too long – but Viktor seemed happy at the moment. And Katya tried to let her peace rest in the glow of his delight. She sighed, head resting heavy in her hands and looked down at the dusty tips of her boots.

She hadn’t slept well. Or at all, really. Her slumber had teetered on the cusp of consciousness so that she would be sure to wake before Viktor. Katya did not want him traipsing into the living room. She didn’t want him to get any closer to the Children of Zaun. He needn’t know.

The moment Katya’s tuned-in ears heard the faintest rustle outside Viktor’s bedroom door, she bolted upright. The darkness outside the bedroom window was shifting from something inky and deep to indigo and soft. Dawn had started to usher night out of the Sump, and Katya needed to do the same to her impromptu guests.

Quick and quiet as an actual Sump Rat, she slipped from her brother’s bed, gathered her bloodied nightshift, and went to her bedroom. She stuffed the soiled garment under her bed and pulled on a pair of trousers. Now that the eminent danger had passed, and the spike of adrenaline along with it, rosy and hot embarrassment about her bareness flooded her mind and creamy skin. She did her best to shake it off as she tip-toed past Viktor’s room and into the living space.

Her ears and vigilance had not deceived her: Benzo had been sat upright; his broad back heaved against the front of the couch. Sevika held the same lamp in her hand as she inspected his bandages. Vander came in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. Noticing her, he nodded. Katya noted that the grey under his eyes matched their irises. He had also not slept well.

He knelt beside Benzo and helped him lift the cup to his lips and drink.

“We’ll be outta your hair soon,” he whispered. “Sil went out t’fetch a cart from ‘Zo’s shop. It’ll be easier than tryin’ to drag ‘em to The Drop.”

Katya nodded as she, too, knelt at Benzo’s side. His skin was ashen and clammy. His eyes were fogged and his jaw was slack. She brought the back of her hand to his forehead. As she expected, a fever was beginning to catch. Benzo mumbled something through dry and lazy lips as she took her hand away.

“You’re not going to die,” she finally promised. Katya’s eyes flicked to Sevika. “How’s the wound?”

“It’s fine. Red. Swollen. But fine.”

Katya nodded. “He’ll need redressing once you get him situated at The Drop. There are a couple bottles of painkillers in the stash I gave to you. Give him two every six hours with food, as needed. Make sure he drinks a lot of water and keep him fed. No ale or liquor, it will thin his blood and he’ll bleed more. He’ll need to be still for a few days to allow the stitches and skin to knit. Wash and redress the wound once a day – “

Vander nodded along to Katya’s instructions, his jaw set and brow determined.

“He’ll hate the no drinking thing,” Sevika japed, setting the lamp back on its table.

Katya rolled her eyes. “I have no doubt.”

The apartment door opened and Silco swept inside. “Alright, I got the blasted cart. Let’s load him up and get to The Drop before anymore of the Lanes wake up.”

Quietly as they could, Sevika and Vander hauled Benzo up, guided him out of the apartment, and into the waiting scrap-cart outside.

“Do you know how to drive that thing?” Sevika asked as she and Vander lifted their wounded Brother into the back of the cart.

“I drove it here, didn’t I?” Silco spat.

“Enough,” came Vander’s gruff voice. “We need’ta get goin’. Thank you fer your help, Katya.”

The large barman took up the cart’s passenger seat and Sevika settled in the back to help keep Benzo steady. Silco closed the cart’s rear door with a hefty thunk, securing the two in. He turned back, his eyes landing on Katya.

“That,” he began before immediately snapping his mouth shut. His eyes hardened and instead he whispered, “Thank you.”

With that he whisked into the cart and it clunkily drove away. Katya shut the apartment door, and heavy weariness cloaked her as she gathered the bloodied blanket off of the living room floor and stuffed it under her bed, too.

“Katya! Katya! Kat!” Viktor’s voice cut through the murk of her memories, and she lifted her head from her hands. He was standing in the middle of the pool, the warm water up to his chest. A huge smile was plastered across his face and his gangly arms were waving in the air, vying for her attention.

“Watch this!” he called excitedly.

“I’m watching.”

Viktor spun and flopped back into the water, splashing noisily. His upper body dove under the surface and his scrawny legs stuck up in the air like a pair of twisted, leafless saplings. His legs traveled a few inches through the water as, Katya could only assume, he walked on his hands. His pale legs traveled a few more inches when they curled over, tumbling back into the water with the rest of him.

Viktor exploded through the surface, his chestnut hair plastered to his head and a wide smile covering his face. He looked to his sister expectantly.

“Very good,” Katya weakly applauded.

She wished she could sound more excited for him. He was so happy to swim. But she was so tired. Aside from the stressful night’s events and early morning, once Viktor rolled out of bed, he had insisted on needling her with questions about ‘those people’ and ‘what happened to that man’. She had hoped promising him a trip to the Springs would encourage him to drop the subject. Katya had tried to give the same non-answer she had the night before. That he was just a hurt person who needed help.

Alas . . . Viktor was eleven. And insatiably curious.

“But do you know him? Why did he come here? Who were the other people? Was that Sevika? Why did they know your name? What happened? How did he get hurt? Is he going to be okay? Where did you get that shirt?”

Katya’s fuse was long, especially for her brother, but she had reached the end of it. She yelled at him to stop pestering her with questions and told him to never bring it up again, that it wasn’t his concern.

Viktor’s gold eyes went wide and watery before they shamefully dropped down to his breakfast. His spoon made idle, distracted circles in his porridge. The apartment was dreadfully quiet in the wake of Katya’s outburst. She left her brother at the kitchen table, instructing him to finish his breakfast, and went to take a shower.

When she peeled off her shirt, a fresh burst of Silco’s scent wafted around her. Something akin to gratitude and relief washed over her feelings of shame and anger. She shook it off and flung the garment to the ground.

Once she was washed and dressed, the roiling anger and anxiety tempered into an exhausted sludge of regret. Katya found Viktor in his bedroom dressing for the day. She apologized for yelling and held him close. She did not, however, answer any of his questions.

She was grateful that as they wandered out for their day Viktor’s mood seemed to improve. Like flipping a switch, his sheepish demeanor gave way to buzzing excitement as the pair journeyed to the Shores and the Undercity’s docks. He had packed his notebook and a few pencils in his bag, along with the change of clothes Katya insisted upon, and chattered away about the kinds of boats he hoped to see once they got to the piers.

Anxiety bubbled back up and Katya’s stomach twisted as the docks came into sight.

Enforcers. Everywhere.

Her hand scrabbled for Viktor’s upper arm and drew him close to her side. He went expectedly docile and pliable, his excited prattle dying down in the midst of Piltover’s finest. His eyes fell to his feet and Katya guided him down the rickety steps and planks. Her eyes skirted up and down the several piers, hoping there would be one under less scrutiny. As her eyes traveled, she spied a wick of flame orange hair. Stomach tumbling to her feet, Katya’s fingers gripped Viktor’s sleeve like a vice. Beckett and an older gentleman were in an intense discussion with an Enforcer. Her throat went dry and she steered her brother in the opposite direction.

“Ma’am,” a hollow, tinny voice called out.

Katya wrestled down the cry that wanted to burst through her mouth, and her hand wrung Viktor’s arm hard enough to pull a squeak out of him. The pair stumbled back as a tall Enforcer stepped forward. The mask flashed in the sunlight, causing both siblings to wince.

“No civilians on the docks at this time,” the Enforcer said. “There’s an ongoing investigation.”

Katya felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She drew Viktor into her chest and blinked furiously, nodding. She tugged her brother back the way they came. She felt him tense under her grip, and she knew he wanted to protest. Fortunately, he was not as insistent as he had been earlier in the morning. Together they made their way back into the Undercity.

“We will go to look at the boats another time,” promised Katya, lessening her grip on Viktor’s arm. “I am sorry.”

Viktor’s head nodded in heavy, disappointed understanding.

“It will just give us more time at the Springs,” his sister offered, trying to infuse her tone with excitement. “More time for swimming.”

She was thankful to see a small smile pull at the corners of her brother’s mouth.

They had made their way through the outskirts of the Underground, where the earth had a little more say over the iron buildings. Large sandy colored rocks cut a harsh line between the Undercity and the Pilt. Jagged rocks gave way to tumbled dunes as the Oases came into view, the high walls of Piltover gleaming in the late morning sun. Waterfalls from the drainage pipes glistened, flowed, and fed the small lagoons nestled in the fissure. The harsh echoes and screeches of children clamored off of the rocks and cement as they urged one another to jump from higher and higher ledges.

Katya shook her head and steered Viktor on the path towards the Springs. At the bottom of the chasm, they followed a thin but fierce trickle of a stream away from the Oases. Eventually it forked and their trail followed the right tine. The flow of water lessened as they carefully clambered under a large jut of stone into a wide littoral cave. The opening was large enough to allow daylight to shine and glint against the surfaces of the several turquoise pools that covered the cave floor. Warm, earthy gurgles emanated from beneath the rocks and steam danced on the pools’ glassy surfaces. The air was warm, damp, and smelled of iron and minerals.

“Are you going to swim, too?” Viktor asked, as he began to undress down to his smallclothes.

“No, not today,” came Katya’s answer as she sat heavily on a rock. “Please stay in the shallower pools.”

Thankfully, Viktor heeded her and kept to splashing happily in the pools where his toes reached the bottom.

In the afterglow of his handstand trick, Viktor whooped and flopped onto his back, letting the water thick with salt carry him. Katya watched her brother float, her fingertips absently circling around her temples. She peeked over her shoulder at the cave’s mouth, on guard for any sign of an Enforcer, carefully watching the arc of the sun.

They had been at the Springs for a couple hours at least, and despite not being spied on or interrupted, her mind and body sat upon a needle point – sharp and precarious. Her tired brain flitted between last night’s events, wondering how Benzo was doing, yelling at Viktor, the Enforcers at the docks, seeing Beckett being questioned . . .

“Kat!”

Katya jumped and her eyes automatically locked onto Viktor’s small face peeking at her from behind the edge of the pool. He smiled up at her.

“Do you know why the pools are warm?”

A soft smile bloomed across Katya’s face. She did know. Their father had explained it to her when he brought her to the Springs when she was young.

“No. Do you know?”

Viktor nodded and pushed off the edge of the pool, cutting back through the water in a great wake. He fanned his arms out and laid back once more.

“There is this stuff called magma under Runeterra’s surface,” Viktor explained, his voice bouncing off the wet stones, “magma is molten rock and metal. And in some areas the distance between the magma and the surface is thin enough to heat water. Sometimes, there are even underground pools that get heated and they boil and bubble up through cracks and fissures in the surface, feeding into existing pools up here.”

Katya nodded her head along with Viktor’s explanation and made appropriate ‘oo-ing’ and ‘ah-ing’ sounds.

“Did you learn that in school?”

Viktor somersaulted in the water and swam with small kicks back to the edge. “Yes. Last semester in geography.”

Humming in understanding, Katya’s eyes took her brother in warmly. His pale skin was turning bright pink from the heat of the pool and the tips of his fingers were well-pruned. She looked back up over her shoulder at the light in the sky.

“We should get going soon, Viktor,” she said, turning back to him.

As she anticipated, her brother groaned and his face slipped from view as he slunked under the water. She chuckled at the stream of bubbles that erupted and foamed on the surface above his head. She pulled out her pocket watch and eyed the time.

“You have thirty more minutes!” she called, hoping her words were clear.

After a moment, Viktor’s head breached the surface, a fierce stream of water leading the way through his puckered lips. Katya shrieked and hunched over her lap as her brother’s attack arced over her head. Viktor laughed, a bright and throaty sound that bounced around the cavern. He squealed in delight and flailed away as his sister lurched forward to splash water back at him.

Katya allowed Viktor forty minutes more – though she did not tell him about the extra time – to swim and float in the warm pool. When she called him back, the only resistance to her beckoning was found on his face. He dutifully swam back to the edge and allowed her to help him out of the water. She dried him off with a scratchy, old towel and helped him back into his brace, and change of clothes.

The Oases were still full of Undercity and Piltovian children when Katya and Viktor made their way back around. She gently coaxed her brother along, a reassuring hand wound round his arm. She did her best to ignore the wanting and envious way his eyes widened as the other children splashed, yelped, and climbed.

The hobble home was long. And stressful. Katya really couldn’t tell if Enforcers were more present in the dingy streets of the Sump or if it was her anxiety-riddled imagination. Several times, she skirted her and Viktor’s path down a narrow side street, through an alley, or up a rusty gangway to avoid crossing paths with law enforcement. Katya’s heart knocked insistently at her sternum and she murmured nothing answers to Viktor’s questions about their strange route home.

Enyd was pulling the fourth loaf of bread from the small oven when she heard Silco’s bedroom door open. She placed the pan on the counter and gave it a firm tap as he staggered into the kitchen.

“Good afternoon.”

A sleep-addled grunt huffed through his lips as he fumbled through the cupboard, looking for a glass. Exhaustedly, he leaned against the sink as he filled the cup. Enyd eyed the haze in his eyes and shadows across his face as she guided the bread from its pan.

Setting the newest loaf next to the others, she said, “Did you have fun last night?”

Silco gulped the water down and went to refill his cup. He made a noncommittal grunt at the back of his throat before downing the second glass.

“What time did you get home?”

Silco set the glass in the sink as his eyes traveled over the plump, brown loaves, lined up like fat soldiers on the wire rack.

“Not until early this morning,” he yawned.

Enyd couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled past her lips. Even when she was his age, she never stayed out so late.

“Why didn’t you just stay at The Drop? You know how dangerous it is walking through the Lanes at such an hour,” she reminded, drawing a mixing bowl close and punching down the cushion of dough within. With her eyes on her task, she missed the flicker of hesitance that flashed across his face.

“It was a busy night at The Drop,” Silco said. “Vander couldn’t close until much later than usual, so I stayed to help. He was in a real foul mood by the time we finished. I didn’t want to wake up and have to deal with it again. I was careful getting home,” he promised. “I didn’t even see any Enforcers,” he lied.

While he spoke, he eyed a smaller loaf that had been set to the side. It was less uniform than the ones on the cooling rack, and had one corner that was a crusty dome which promised a big, hollow bubble within. The perfect compartment for marmalade, butter, clotted cream, or a soft cheese. He stretched his long fingers toward the outcast, only to have his mother swat his hand away with a tea towel.

“There’s still some in the breadbox,” Enyd admonished. “That one is for Vander.”

Silco grumbled and retrieved the heel of bread from the box and an apple from the bag of produce his mother had received as payment from one of her tailoring clients. As he prepared a small plate, Enyd covered the punched dough with the towel and began scooping flour into a new, empty bowl.

“Was Benzo there last night?” she asked, leveling a cup.

Silco bit into an apple slice before answering. “He was.”

“Did he end up staying?”

His brows quirked, taking a bite of bread. He was unprepared for this line of questioning.

“I’m not sure. I’m not in the habit of keeping track of that oaf.”

“Silco,” Enyd chastised, scooping and leveling another cup of flour.

“Why do you ask?” he cut in before she could lecture him about kindness.

“I tried to go by his shop this morning to trade some brick-a-brac, and it wasn’t open. It was . . . unusual.”

Silco placed an apple slice on a hunk of bread, thinking. “He must’ve stayed then. Or he staggered home and passed out. You know how he likes to get overserved.”

Enyd nodded absent-mindedly as she poured the bloomed yeast into the mixing bowl, and stirred the mixture into a ball of dough with an old but sturdy wood spoon.

“Once I’m done with this, I would like to take that bread to Vander,” she nodded over to the small loaf her son had tried to covet. “Fancy joining me?”

Silco chewed the last bit of his snack, and nodded. “Yes. Let me wash up first.”

Katya walloped the pan against the radiator a second time, the broad bottom of the cooking implement clanging noisily against the iron, as if it were a temperamental xylophone. Her forearm quaked and her temper flared.

Upon returning home, she had directed Viktor to the shower. To wash off the silt and salt, but also to warm him back up. The air chilled considerably as they wove their way back home, and their journey was made longer by all the detours Katya guided him through. His teeth chattered and his body bent despite his brace. Katya had had half a mind to gather him up and carry him the rest of the way home. He would’ve hated that, though, so she allowed her instincts and self-loathing to war quietly within her.

With one more hearty CLANG! the radiator drunkenly gurgled and weakly hissed, as if a sick cat had taken up residence in the bent pipes. A remorseful sigh pushed through her lips and she lowered her culinary weapon. It would do. She trudged back to the kitchenette, placed the dented pan on the stovetop, and set about preparing supper.

As she prepared the slop of beans and dense oat cakes, her mind once again wandered. What had Beckett told the Enforcers? Had Enforcers swept deep enough into the Lanes to scour The Last Drop? How was Benzo fairing? Sevika? Vander? Silco?

Viktor limped into the kitchenette, one of his school books tucked under his free arm. He was dressed in his thermals and wool socks, his cheeks rosy from the shower and his eyes tired from the day’s events.  He sat himself at the table and cracked the textbook open, carefully peeling out the notes he had slid between the glossy pages.

He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Without a word, Katya swept out of the kitchen and returned with the blanket that usually lay rumpled on his bed. She tucked it around his shoulders and ran her fingers through his damp hair, willing it to dry faster.

“What are you reading?” she asked, returning to the pot of beans and giving it a stir.

“Chemistry,” Viktor chirped.

Katya nodded and flipped the oat cakes in the warped pan. They were only a little burned. She switched the burners off and set two plates. Viktor carefully scooted his papers aside and made space for his supper. She sat across from him, and watched her brother push his beans around while his eyes soaked up the pages in front of him, as if his nourishment was to be found within the pages of the text and not on his plate.

“Eat, Viktor,” she said, taking a spoonful of dinner to her mouth. It tasted like nothing, so he couldn’t claim he didn’t like it.

His eyes flicked to hers, and her spoon gestured to his plate. A small mound of beans and starchy broth piled onto his spoon and he brought it to his lips. He tentatively gnawed at the slop as his eyes went back to scanning the book.

Katya was fine with silence. She enjoyed watching her brother study, enjoyed how rapt his attention became in the presence of learning. She dug the edge of her spoon into the oatcake and pried it apart, mixing the crumbly hunk with the liquid dribbling off the beans.

“What are you learning in chemistry?” she asked, taking a small bite of the softened cake.

A small hum vibrated in the back of Viktor’s throat as he worked to focus on reading, eating, and answering his sister’s question.

“Chemical compositions.”

Katya smiled fondly. “I remember Papa teaching us basic compounds. Do you remember that hangman-style game he would play with us so we could memorize them?”

Viktor slurped a few beans from his spoon. He did remember. They would sit at this very table, Papa with sheets of scrap paper, a broken pencil under his rough hands, and one of his science books balanced on his knee. On the papers he would dash a series of lines that were meant to indicate bonds between the atoms. The siblings would take turns guessing the elements that stitched the compound together, making increasingly educated guesses as information was laid out, until one of them cried out the name of the chemical in victory.

Viktor nodded, smiling ruefully.

Katya’s brow creased with regret.

“What’s this one?” she asked, finger pointing to a combination of letters, numbers and lines at the top of the right page.

Viktor’s eyes traveled from his bite of oat cake to where her finger was pressed.

“Isop – Isopropyl alcohol,” he answered, his youth and accent unsure around the syllables.

Katya gave an interested murmur, but her stomach flipped. Her thoughts returned to the Children of Zaun and the injured Benzo. She fidgeted the food on her plate as she wondered how he was doing, how the rest of them were doing. She and her brother finished their dinner in silence, his focus on his reading, her’s on a gnawing need to check in on Benzo and get information on what Piltover may know.

“Just studying tonight, then?” Katya asked as she gathered the plates and spoons.

Viktor nodded and stifled a yawn as he scribbled a note on his parchment. “Where is Papa’s book about boats? I want to look through it and take some notes.”

“I think,” Katya said, her voice trailing off in thought, “it’s in the stack under the table by the couch.” She placed the dishes in the sink and turned to face her brother, “Viktor.” His eyes lifted from his note taking. Before continuing, she stepped back over to the table and knelt at his side. “There’s something I need to go do tonight. I won’t be long, but you may be in bed before I get back.”

His eyebrows knit together and fought the knee-jerk fear that wanted to flash in his eyes. He had stayed home alone before. Before the Academy, he would stay home while Papa and Katya worked. But after their father died, he couldn’t remember a time his sister had left him alone at home. Fear of her not returning, like how Papa never picked him up from the Academy again, dared to claw at his throat and squeezed his muscles. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and Katya sweetly wrapped her hands around his cheeks.

“I won’t be long. And I’ll be back. I won’t leave you alone. What I have to go do . . . is for us.”

Your brother should’ve always had the opportunity to go to the Academy, if that’s what he wanted. Not only to be allowed in under the slimmest of circumstances. . . Reaching for and securing Zaun’s – our – independence would mean securing the respect and opportunity that is our birthright. To have the means to feed and clothe our children. . .

Viktor’s face pinched in confusion before compliantly nodding. Katya leaned forward and kissed his brow before standing. She finished washing and drying the dishes in the sink before fetching the book Viktor had wanted from under the end table in the living room. She placed it on the table and ran her hand through his hair as he continued to work through his chemistry assignment.

Katya slipped her boots back on and spun her coat around her back, shaking her arms into its sleeves. As she unlocked the door, she said, “Remember, Viktor, bedtime is nine o’clock. Do not – “

“Open the door for anyone,” he finished.

Katya smiled at him, “Good luck with your homework. I will wake you up when I get home, so you know, okay? I love you, Viktor.”

“I love you, too, Kat.”

With that, Katya slipped out into the Sump and locked the door behind her. She felt the duplicitous pull in her heart between Viktor and Zaun as she traveled towards The Last Drop.

Notes: Will Katya run into Silco and Enyd at The Last Drop?? Will Silco be able to keep his cool? (Probably . . . . Maybe. . . . We’ll see.). How’s Benzo? How’s Vander’s ego? Will he like the bread? So many questions to be answered in the next chapter!

Thank you for reading. Please comment/reblog to let me know your thoughts. If you’re American, have a good Thanksgiving! If you’re not, have a good ol’ plain regular Thursday!

Coming Up Next: Katya goes to The Last Drop. Silco and Enyd go to The Last Drop. A whole bunch of Enforcers go to The Last Drop.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill

#silco #silco fanfic #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco x oc #silco x katya #silkat #viktor #viktor fanfic #young viktor #grayson #children of zaun #coz #my writing

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Did you watch Goncharov (1973)? I think the Naples setting was so beautiful. The clock symbolism was amazing too. Who was your favorite character? I really liked Goncharov, Andrey, and Katya.

I did! My favorite part is the way it's structured, where you never see the protagonist and antagonist get into a fight until the last two or three scenes, and then suddenly it's over in just a few frames. I love that kind of storytelling.

I remember finding the beginning a bit slow, but once I got used to it that went away. The clock thing is stunning. It's an extremely well-done touch.

As for who my favorite character was … hmmm. In the end I guess I just came down on the side of "Andrey" – he seems like the kind of person who would do everything right on the rare occasions when he does something.

It's interesting that I'm now remembering him as the character I liked most, because for all of his strengths he has a few things I disliked, in large part because of his flaws. ("He was self-absorbed because he had a hard time focusing" is an over-simplification of "he was self-absorbed because he was trying to deal with a lot of problems that were very much his own fault.")

Of course now I've run into the usual thing where I read a lot of things by the same author, who may well be great, but who in some respects I find annoying and in others grating. (See also: Homestuck, and also pretty much all of Scott Alexander's Radicalization series.) I guess now I know why people tell me I'll really enjoy these books if I just stick with the authors whose other stuff I like more.

(I've also read a few of Nabokov's books. I liked The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, but it left me with a sense of "whoa, what just happened?" that I've rarely had with his other work. It felt like something was going on, but there wasn't a way to put it into words. Pale Fire worked much better, IMO, but I think that's because it starts out as a funny surrealist comedy, and then gets more serious/tragic. For some reason I'm just not comfortable with books that start out as funny and then get more and more somber/tragic, I guess?)

#mascot3001

[necrotic-scum]

🦋If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog🦋

i see you trying to make me post smth, babby cak 🫵😐 but fine

i guess i’ll just give a silly little intro

my name is Mylo, but you can call me Pup or Knight and i live in the UK. i’m trying to get back into drawing but art block is kicking my ass, and i wanna get into writing fanfiction (look what you’ve done to me, Steph. i know you’re reading this 👁️👁️it’s your fault). feel free to comment on any of my future posts, just keep it respectful.

fandoms

* Sonic the Hedgehog

* Pokémon

* Project Sekai

* Marvel (especially Bucky and Moonknight)

* Witcher

* Fnaf

* Yu-gi-oh (i’m new to this so be nice to me)

* Yuurivoice

* Marauders

* Voltron (i will never forgive what they did to Klance)

* Ninjago

* Trixie and Katya

* Musicals

* Princess Tutu

* Tokyo Mew Mew

* What We Do In The Shadows

* Star Wars

music

* ABBA (bc everyone likes ABBA)

* My Chemical Romance

* Nine Inch Nails

* System of a Down

* Slipknot

* Korn

* Twin Temple

* Cradle of Filth

* Pierce the Veil

* The Killers

older men i wanna put in a jar

* Sebastian Stan

* Chris Evans

* Henry Cavill

* Oscar Isaac

* Charlie Cox

* Gerard Way

* Joey Batey

* Daniel Brühl

* Neil Newbon

* Josh Hutcherson

* HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN

#intro #welcome everyone #autism #gay #queer #project sekai #sonic the hedgehog #princess tutu #fnaf #wwdits #mcr #nine inch nails #cradle of filth #twin temple #yuurivoice #Pokémon #star wars