#sevika: you mean dead inside | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lacroixqueen · 1 year

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made your mark on me, a golden tattoo tattoo artist sevika x reader AU (18+)

Summary: you are getting your very first tattoo and sevika just so happens to be your tattoo artist. flirting and sexual tension ensue.

Pairing: tattoo artist sevika x reader AU

Word Count: 3357 (she's LONG)

Tags: soft sevika, unresolved tension, useless lesbians, gay panic, tattoo artist, tattoos, tattoo parlor

You shifted around the seat in the waiting room of the tattoo parlor for what felt like the hundredth time in the span of a single minute. For some reason you were a lot less nervous on the way here than you were literally waiting for your tattoo artist to set up the room and look over your art samples. You told yourself that this was something you were going to get done if it was the last thing you did.

I mean, for God’s sake, it was a brand new year, and you wanted your first tattoo to be something special, to carry meaning that only you will understand. Kind of like a little inside joke.

Apparently the tattoo artist you selected.. Sevika was it? Was quite well known throughout Zaun for several amazing masterpieces. She was attentive to detail, cared about each and every single one of her customer’s needs, and really wanted to make the best product possible for her clientele.

You crossed one leg over the other, folding your arms across your chest and heaved out a little sigh. She better damn well be. The waiting list for her business was about three months long. You made sure to do plenty of research before committing to something as permanent as a tattoo. I mean, it will stay on your body for the rest of your life. Perhaps even into your death.

You shuddered at the thought. Whatever. No matter what, it was far too late to turn back now. You already submitted your deposit, gave the artist the design you had in mind and for crying out loud, you were already here at the goddamn place. So might as well get this over with and try to have as few regrets as possible.

“Y/N?” a low and raspy voice called out from the back of the tattoo parlor. “I’m ready for you. You can come on back now.”

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. She was ready for you. Okay. What does that even mean? You stood up, dusting off your skirt and took a final big deep breath.

Just stay calm, you reassured yourself. Everything will be alright in the end. And if it isn’t, heck, maybe there is a surgeon in town who can remove it altogether and you can forget this even happened. Maybe that’s a bit of an overexaggeration.

You were greeted by what you could only describe as one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen. Sevika was tall. And just by the looks of her right shoulder and arm muscles bulging from underneath her black tank… you could tell she worked out. Like a lot. She was also smoking a thick cigar between her lips, so her already godlike silhouette was wrapped around in a dreamlike haze.

You muttered a little curse under your breath. As if matters couldn’t get possibly worse, your tattoo artist was hot. As in, very very very hot. This was going to be a long afternoon.

“You can take a seat right here,” she said with confidence, slapping the tattoo bed with a resounding echo.

“Oh, uh, yes okay,” you stammered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before hoisting yourself up in a less than dignified fashion.

“Are you nervous, Y/N?”

Oh no. From the corner of your eye, you could see she was smirking quite noticeably. Her eyes flicked over you just slightly. Shit. Was she checking you out? You didn’t even do your makeup properly today because you had no idea what she even looked like. If you had known earlier that she was this drop dead gorgeous piece perhaps you would have put in a bit more effort. You win some, you lose some, you suppose.

“J-just a little bit!” you squeaked out. “It’s my first tattoo, so I have no idea what to expect.”

“Well, let me just tell you that you have absolutely nothing to be nervous about, Y/N,” Sevika chuckled as she slid closer to you on her artist chair with your designs in either hand. “If I ever hurt you, you can always tell me to stop and I’ll go slower, okay?”

“Thank you!” Oh god. She smelled so good too.

“Of course. Sooo.. I got to take a look at your ideas last night and I honestly think they are great.” You watched as the thumb of her mechanical hand peeled back a page to glance at the alternate design.

“Really? You think so?”

“Absolutely. Although I think for this bottom part right here, we might need to make a small color adjustment since there might be some shading issues. And for the top corner here where it gets a little bit more complicated? I think I might do a little bit more dotwork to really flesh out the details. But uh, other than that, the stencil is essentially done.”

“Wow! Then, yes, perfect, let's just keep going then,” you gulped. Your eyes casually glazed over the extensive tattooing Sevika had all over her arm and neck.

“Excellent. So, I’ll just have you lay back and.. you wanted it on your side, right? Just lift up your top for me so I can have easy access to that part.”

“Oh um, sure!” You did as you were told, carefully unbuttoning your sweater and shrugging it off your shoulders. You then laid back, and lifted up your cami to reveal the right aspect of your body.

“Lovely,” she replied. “And.. may I?” Her mechanical fingertips lightly grazed over the top of your skirt.

You nodded vigorously. “Of course!”

With the most gentle touch you have ever felt, Sevika gingerly tugged your skirt down a little bit more so it rested comfortably on the roundest part of your right hip. She did the same with the pink lacy fabric of the thong you had on underneath. You tried to take a small breath as quietly as possible.

“Cute panties,” she commented almost a bit too nonchalantly before turning her back to you to slip on some latex gloves and ensure her work tray was all in order.

As if you weren’t already flustered beyond belief, now you might as well have been an uncontrollable mess. “Th-thanks! It’s from um, the store.”

She laughed ever so slightly. “Yeah, I figured as much. Sooo.. for the design. Were you thinking of having it more..” She trailed her gloved fingertip from your pantyline to the top of your chest. “Or more like here?” She ran her other hand over the curve of your waist all the way down to your hip.

“Uhm.. maybe kind of like.. both? If that makes sense? Like it can sort of spread from..” You gently took her wrist and guided her finger from your belly button all the way to the divot in your waist. “Like that?”

“Hmm.. yes. That should be perfectly fine.” She smirked a bit when you immediately released her arm from your grasp as if you were overstepping a boundary.

Without another word, she quickly sprayed some isopropyl alcohol into a wipe and proceeded to sanitize the area. “This might be a bit cold, I’m sorry babe.”

Babe? Did she just call you babe? Does she call all her clients babe? Or is it a little pet name that she only has reserved for you?

“I-it’s totally fine!” you yelped. But she was right. It was quite cold. She could tell you were lying through your teeth when your tummy suddenly clenched up.

“You can’t tense up just yet, doll. I haven’t even gotten the needles out,” she chuckled, lightly slapping your hip. “I need you to loosen up a bit, I don’t want you to be too tight.”

“R-right!” you replied. “Definitely don’t want that.” After a brief pause, you struggled to figure out if there was any sort of double meaning in her words. Or maybe you were just overthinking again.

She let out another hearty laugh and proceeded to massage in some warm lotions into the side of your body. “Just try to relax, hun.” You did as you were told, closing your eyes and making a futile attempt to count numbers. But she wasn’t making your life any easier with all these pet names. And why did her fingers have to feel so goddamn good simply by rubbing cream into your skin. It felt like it was working some type of dark magic, undulating in soft, round circles and moving rhythmically over your waist.

You could have melted into her hands right then and there.

“Okay, and now the stencil. This will feel a little bit wet, alright?”

You nodded your head, biting your lip so you wouldn’t accidentally yelp out. For some odd reason, even though you two just met, you felt very safe with Sevika. Like you could entrust your entire body and soul to her and she wouldn’t hurt any of it even if she was fully capable of doing so.

She smoothed out the stencil exactly over the part of your stomach and waist that you pointed to. She gently kneaded it into your skin, taking extra caution not to be too rough with you.

With one smooth motion, she removed the stencil and quickly leaned over you to ensure no detail of her handiwork got disrupted. That no stone was left unturned.

“Looks… just about.. perfect,” she muttered quietly. You could tell her tone has shifted slightly from the flirtatious one she took on earlier. Suddenly she was laser focused, ensuring that nothing, absolutely nothing would disturb the intricacy of her artwork.

“Great!” you chirped awkwardly, craning your neck over to see the stencil art. Good god. It looked absolutely breathtaking. Her line work was truly something out of this world. And she really did pay attention to every single request you made in your design. “Wow.”

She looked up, locking your gaze with the utmost intensity. “Yeah.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She was quite pleased with herself.

She turned around to power on her tattoo machine.

“This part is going to hurt just a little bit, okay?” she spun around in her artist chair to check on you.

You nodded your head and exhaled ever so slightly. “Okay.” A giant lump was starting to form in your throat and you could feel yourself getting a bit worked up.

Sevika immediately held onto your hand and gave it a light squeeze. “If it ever starts hurting, just let me know and I will stop right away.”

“O-okay.”

“We’ll start with the first line. Take a deep breath and count to three for me, alright princess?” Sevika said as she positioned the tattoo gun at an angle to your skin.

Oh my god. Princess?! She definitely does not call all her clients that. Alright. Big deep breath. One.. two.. three-

The searing hot needle pierced into your skin like a knife.

“Ah~!” you let out a small cry and Sevika immediately stopped midline.

“Too fast?”

“A little bit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll go a lot slower this time.”

You nodded and took in another breath. You felt Sevika’s gloved hand slide over the curve of your waist as she positioned herself to gain a little bit more control over her line. By god did her cologne smell amazing. When she leaned over your body, a few short pieces of her bangs would fall out and just barely graze over your exposed tummy. It was definitely getting a bit difficult for you to concentrate on your breathing and counting.

Sevika proceeded to carve out the central line of your tattoo design. She worked slowly and methodically, usually in complete silence. But for some reason when she was around you, she felt the urge to keep pushing the envelope and testing your limits.

“Good girl,” she would coo gently when she noticed your stomach beginning to relax.

“That’s my good girl..” she would say again when she finished a piece of detailing while you stayed quiet and still.

You would moan softly every now and then when you felt the needle dig into your skin and Sevika would respond by going just a touch slower and smirking to herself. Secretly, she loved hearing how adorable and helpless her clients sounded when she sank the tattoo needle deep into their skin. Her sadistic nature was one of the primary reasons she decided to go into tattooing as a prime business.

To have someone completely in her control, at her disposal. To leave a permanent mark on their bodies that would forever remind them of their experience with her. To watch them writhe in pain, or sometimes even pleasure. It was like a drug she simply could not get enough of.

And you. Something about the way you squirmed was extra fucking enticing and she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

In fact, she could feel you wriggling ever so slightly even now. “Stay still for me, angel.”

And you would immediately stop. Her voice was soft, but also definitively commanding. She needed to focus. To have you moaning and writhing was too much even for her. Her mind would begin to wander to dangerous places.

Like how it would feel to start ramming into your cunt right then and there and watching how your sensitive body would react to her thrusts. How irresistible and beckoning your moans would sound as they ricocheted off the walls, encouraging her to pound into you so rough and so hard you just couldn’t take it anymore. How cute you would look clutching onto your sweater for comfort, or holding onto the sides of the tattoo bed for dear life.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t fantasizing about a million hypothetical scenarios in your head.

Having Sevika press her bicep over the top of your stomach to hold you still just did something to your psyche that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Your eyes danced over the detailing of her own tattoo. It looked to be very intricate and well-thought out… wait a second. Was that supposed to be Zaun?!

“Um, I-I like your tattoo!” you chirped meekly. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Thanks baby,” she smirked to herself. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Do.. you call all your clients that?” you asked out of the curiosity that was beginning to kill you slowly.

Sevika suddenly paused in the middle of her tattooing to glance over at you.

“Only my favorite ones,” she said with a wink before returning to her work.

Oh my god. Why does she keep doing that? It’s starting to become unfair. Like she was getting off the high of torturing you and watching your pathetic reactions. And what did she mean by “favorite ones”? So she flirts with all her clients she finds attractive? What does that even mean?!

Every now and then, Sevika would sneak a glimpse over towards you. She loved the way your chain necklace rested so comfortably over the top of your collarbone. Or how plump and kissable your lips looked in the dim lighting of the parlor. Or how your legs were beginning to spread instinctively the closer her tattoo work moved to the top of your skirt.

Sevika had to fight every last urge in her body to not reach down into your panties and start pleasuring you the way you deserved right then and there on top of that tattoo bed. But she knew she had a job to finish, regardless of how damn adorable you looked and sounded as she drew on the finishing touches of your tattoo.

“Okay.. almost done,” she said. “You are doing so good, sweetheart.”

You winced a little bit when you felt the needle dig just a bit deeper than usual at the last pattern. Was she trying to tease you back there? Or was that absolutely necessary to finish off the line? Whatever. You tried not to overthink it, even though you have been doing so this entire time.

“Alright..” Sevika hummed. “Why don’t you step off the bed and take a look in the mirror over there?”

You did as you were told, hopping off and hobbling over to the full-length mirror across the room. You tilted your head to the side, gently lifting up your cami again to look over the tattoo. Wow. She really did a stunning job. You were a bit surprised, given the fact that she was flirting with you half the time. But holy.. every single piece of line art and dot work flowed so evenly with each other. The design came out exactly the way you had imagined it.

Sevika gave out a low whistle of approval from behind you.

You jumped a little bit out of surprise. Sevika had snuck up on you without you even noticing. And god. Just by looking in the mirror she was already towering over you.

“It’s… beautiful,” you said softly. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

“That’s wonderful,” Sevika replied. “Now, can you take your cami off for me, Y/N?”

“M-my cami?”

Sevika chuckled and raised up the medical grade bandage she had in her hand. “For this.”

“Oh. Right. Yes. Absolutely.”

You gently tugged off your shirt and tossed it onto a nearby countertop to reveal a pink lacy bra. Sevika tried not to comment on it but she did in fact take note of how good you looked in it. And how badly she wanted to take it off you right then and there.

Sevika stepped forward so she placed her thigh between your legs and carefully laid the clear bandage over the top of your tattoo. She gently rubbed it in with her thumb and index finger, making sure to smooth out any uneven edges or creases. She smiled a bit to herself when she felt how hard and fast your heartbeat was pounding against your stomach, or how much warmer your skin felt compared to before.

“Perfect,” she said, quickly removing her gloves and handing you back your shirt. “So, for this bandage, think of it as like a second layer of skin that offers extra protection. Leave it on for the next few days. Then I would rinse it off with some warm water. Oh and, definitely moisturize.” Her tone shifted from flirtatious to professional and matter-of-fact in what felt like a split second. How did she keep doing that?!

“Y-yes ma’am!” you sputtered out, returning to the tattoo bed to shrug on your sweater and gather your belongings.

“And the payment is already taken care of since I saw you submitted your deposit in advance, so I believe you are all set,” Sevika said.

“Great! Um.. thank you Sevika. I was super nervous going into this but you definitely made me feel a whole lot better afterwards.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied, giving you another flirty grin. “Oh, and uh-” The tattoo artist went behind the front counter to dig around a bit until she fished out a slightly bent business card and handed it over to you. “Call me.”

“C-call you?! As in like- Oh my god. I’m.. not sure if I would feel.. I mean, isn’t this kind of fast?”

“I meant to update me on your tattoo healing,” Sevika chuckled. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, princess.”

“Right, right, no yes that makes total and complete sense,” you responded, folding the business card nervously into your palm. “Um.. well I guess I’ll.. call you.”

“Yeah.” She had already followed you to the doorframe and you were standing in the streets of the undercity at this point. “I’ll see you around, alright Y/N?”

“Okay! Yes. Um. Bye! Thank you!” You quickly scurried off into the busy crowds of Zaun, disappearing into the darkness once more.

You were quite certain that if you didn’t act, that you would barely see Sevika again, save an occasional run-in at the liquor store or maybe a random night at The Last Drop. So you didn’t want to take any chances.

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lullabyes22-blog · 4 months

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Sometimes I feel like one of those cats that isn’t yours but, instead of occasionally leaving mice or birds by your door, I drop a wholeass AU at your feet.

I have another one :D it’s kind of a wild ride, I do apologize in advance for the essay XD

I simply call this The Robot AU (It’s a little more complicated from robots, they’re more of a horrific combination of mechanical and flesh all stemming back from the supernova-ed remains of a dead god)

By far the strangest one is Sevika as her origins are complicated leading to a unique upbringing. She is something called a Disasembaler, but more than that she is of a phased out subtype called ‘The Constructed’ people who were built in factories instead of developing on the mycelium-like root system or being born to parents. The Constructed are most commonly made during war time or a time of high economic stress to keep up with a high demand for soldiers or workers if supply is dwindling, a key draw to them is that they are already in adult forms, with developed brains and functioning bodies and pre-existing coding, meaning they don’t have to be trained.

Sevika’s particular branch was made specifically to be killing machines as their name would suggest. They were created by Piltover to quell one of the first uprisings, the squadrons that were made were launched into the city via individual shuttles meant to both carry the person inside to their desired location and to cause as much damage to the infrastructure as possible.

Sevika was an interesting case because her pod didn’t open and instead of self-destructing, due to faulty wiring, she instead went dormant for several melinia until one day it spat her out. Sevika never really had a childhood, she was “born” an adult, while her brain was technically fully developed she understood the world about as well as a newborn. Being seen as a boogie-man and the literal face of death she wasn’t exactly perceived well, leading to feelings of alienation and building resentment, these were later weaponized by Silco to get her on his side.

Though Sevika was given the nickname “the dragon” due to a slight defect in her waste disposal system. Usually the waste produced takes the form of liquid that once it hits the air it turns into a colorless, odorless gas expelled along openings along various parts of the body, most of them are located along the back. However, hers invade into the ventilation chamber and have holes in them, having not not fully been processed the liquid is red. This then spills into her ventilation chamber causing her to constantly express a highly flammable gas.

Silco is something called a “Firstborn” which comes directly from the mycelium-like structures, one of two things happens to them, they are taken to group homes or adopted into families, the former happened to him. (it's nothing really official people can basically go to "the baby spot" and pick out a child the way someone does a pastry) ironically people like this are seen as more pure as they are believed to be more closely connected with their god. After being drowned and exposed to the Pilt’s toxins the metal covering his face began to be eaten away by “red rot” or by its better known name, rust.

He hides this with a porcelain mask, it used to be just white but he allowed Jinx to decorate it and never painted over. If you were to take it off that the rust has eaten away part of his face plate allowing for the intricate metal structures and delicate inner workings (which would usually be protected by said face plate) to be exposed. The rust has also started to spread to the inner workers leading to more and more difficulty with mauvering that side of his face. (think: chewing, smiling, blinking, and even movement of the eye itself)

If you look at his left hand you’ll notice that he’s missing his pinky finger. This is courtesy of Sevika.

Jinx is something called a Derivative. These are people who were born to parents rather than being made in a factory or coming from the “original source”. As she is younger and is the next generation she reflects a newer, sleeker design. Most notably her face is a screen able to project a typical face or can replace her expressions with emoticons. She’s upgraded herself multiple times installing weapon systems, however this altering has become something of an addiction, to the point of being akin to self mutilation.

With the need to constantly change she is almost unrecognizable from the girl she used to be, one might notice that she was trying to mimic Silco in her younger years, but is now starting to try her own aesthetics.

It’s also not recommended for a growing person to undergo so many drastic changes such as weapon installments, leading to her having stunted growth and some internal deformities similar to Sevika’s. However instead of spitting focus fluid into her lungs she simply bleeds into them leading to the formation of crystalline structures which inhibit her breathing.

Vi (as Jinx’s sister) looks very similar to how Jinx used to look before her modifications. However, something that is to be noted is that her gauntlets are not something she can slip on and off, they are now a permanent part of her. She is still trying to figure out how to live with big ass hands.

Mel is by far the one who underwent the most change other than Jinx. She started as a war machine like her mother with heavy armor and internal weapon systems. However when she was banished she rid herself of her heavy armor for something sleeker and removed her weapon systems. This was to her mother’s disapproval but ya know…. It’s kind of the point.

A staple of Piltover is to have over the top modifications. (think outfits from the capitol in hunger games, except permanent) whereas the people who live in Zaun can’t afford these types of changes (except if they do it themselves and if they do they tend to try to bulk-up for greater protection).

I welcome all your AUs they are like delicious treats for my brain to chew on 😭💗💗💗

Oooh this is a fascinating one - especially given all the chem-modifications and body augmentations already present in Zaun, all of which are deeply cyberpunk-dystopia.

I like the idea of Jinx's crystals inhibiting her breathing - a secondhand metaphor for the trauma that inhibits her full growth. Imagine Sevika as exuding fiery spume every moment - she would legit shimmer at a distance like a heat mirage on the highway. Also someone should draw Mel's upgraded armor I am sure it's pure gold - literally 💫

Also imagine Fortiche animating all this in Angel's Egg art style 🥺👀

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane sevika #sevika #arcane mel #mel medarda

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f1shbonez · 1 year

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"You found me." (@vastayan--vigilante )

Everything that followed the mission had been a bore.

There was no adrenaline now. No electricity. People moved like their limbs were attached to anchors, scuffing their feet, as they convened with hollowed eyes. Some of them were still crying. Eugh. Was this what happened whenever somebody didn’t come back from a mission? Jinx doubted the same rituals of grief would be extended if she’d been the one who hadn’t made it back.

Whatever. Whilst everyone wasted time stewing on Scar’s Oh-So-Brave sacrifice, playing it over in their heads, blaming themselves and mentally replaying time, Jinx contemplated her last glimpse of the vastayan. Sevika had got him preeeeetty good. Sure, that usually was a death sentence. But how long did it take to drive a blade through somebody or shoot them in the head? You didn’t waste time binding someone’s wrists if you were gonna kill them good ‘n quick. You didn’t! Sevika didn’t. You tied someone up to play the Long Game. Jinx had seen it done more times than she could count- she’d even partaken in a few of the ventures herself. So that had to mean Scar wasn’t dead, at least not yet…right? If he was dead his body would be left in the street. Sevika and her goons never tidied up their messes.

Jinx wandered idly past the memorial wall’s latest cluster of visitors, lighting candles and painting. Sheesh, were they that used to their friends dying that they’d already given up hope? Had nobody else picked up on the signs out there? Pausing, Jinx scanned the group, noting Ekko near the heart of it. For a moment, she hesitated before turning on her heel and heading towards the tree.

She could dart back out there to check if Scar’s body was left in the gutter. What if his body wasn’t there and her hunch was right? Priggs? There was nowhere else they could take him. Priggs still had its old boltholes. Maybe she could find a clue. Something useful to bring back to Ekko and all the others so they stopped being so…boring. Maybe Scar was going to be kept for some questioning. The Firelights had made more of a name for themselves, so it made sense for Sevika to be closing in. What if I find him? Jinx thought to herself whilst taking pains to fill her pockets with enough fresh supplies to see her through another ugly scuffle. Safety first!

If Scar was in there, it was good news! Jinx to the rescue! It made perfect sense. The idea was exciting. Fun. WAY more fun than blubbering and drawing Scarface next to a sea of dead guys. It wasn’t hard to slip away, not when just about everybody’s mind was a million miles away.

The first part of the plan was easy. The streets were much quieter in the wake of everything. No Scar-shaped bodies were left bleeding out into the cobbled streets. Finding Priggs was easy too. The place was massive, after all, and not entirely unknown territory. Slipping into Priggs and digging around, eavesdropping and keeping an eye open for any familiar faces was also easy. The challenge came once Jinx had prized herself into the air vents. It was harder to listen in from here; harder to get your bearings and moving took more time and effort. The good thing was, the vent system seemed to lead to just about every room. The bad news? Priggs was huge.

It took a long time of crawling and listening at vents to get a real heading. The mention of ‘visitors’ had seemed promising, until Jinx followed it to a Chem Baron meeting. Then she followed the voices out, took some turns in an order that felt right and paused to write her last will and testament on the inside of one of the vent panels before continuing. The whole journey was beginning to feel like a game of hide and seek that she was hours into losing until one very familiar voice sounded near the closest hatch in the vent system. Sevika.

“How’s the guest?”

“Quiet.” Sevika’s oafish voice grunted.

Jinx strained in an effort to prize more words out of the unintelligible muttering. Nothing. But ‘guest’? That felt important. And the guest was going to be in one of the rooms in the opposite direction to where Sevika was going now. Jinx pressed forwards. After what felt like years, one of the dim holding rooms revealed the sight she was looking for. Crumpled and much smaller than Jinx remembered him, there was the unmistakable shape of Scar in a funny position on the floor. Jinx bit back a victorious squeal of excitement.

Gotcha!

For a long moment, Jinx simply watched, fascinated by the poor state of her friend and his confinement. He was definitely alive…which was the most anyone could really ask for right now. Laying on her stomach, Jinx propped her head onto one hand, pursing her lips down to the very miserable lump that she now called a friend.

For a moment, she considered the need to be discreet. Sound carried, after all, and compromising this good of a find wasn’t an option. So, what then? Jinx began trailing a finger absently against the grating at the mouth of the vent into the room. It only made a small noise, but maybe to a person in an empty room it would be enough to steal their attention. Jinx waited. Nope! Nothing. Okay fine. Screw being quiet. She’d tell a joke. Scar looked like he could use a good joke. Before Jinx could settle on one, her nose itched from the disrupted dust and with a half-caught breath, a sneeze sounded from the vent.

Ah well. May as well rip the baid-aid off now. Cat’s outta the bag!

“I knew I’d find you.” Unbridled pride swam in Jinx’s words. As Scar turned, Jinx grimaced at the sight of his face. Wow. Was this the right guy?

“You found me.”

“Uh. Yeah!” Jinx drawled, as though it were an obvious conclusion to the latest events. “Didya miss your old pal Jinx?”

#arcane rp #Firelight AU #Muse: Jinx

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aprillikesthings · 19 days

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LAST EPISODE

s5 ep13 heart pt 2

LET'S GOOOOOOO

it's 1:21pm and I have laundry to do AND Easter Vigil service starts at 8pm, can I get this all watched before 7pm?

Or am I gonna sit there in church vibrating in place for two hours knowing I have three minutes left on the episode or some bullshit lol

(That's longer than usual, yes. Easter Vigil is actually one of my fave services of the year--we start outside lighting candles (the ones inside have been out since Thursday night, even the one we otherwise never put out), then walk into the dark church, then sorta speedrun bits of the old testament (with a hymn after every reading) and then we decide OKAY IT'S EASTER NOW :D and turn on the lights and make a lot of noise and sing a few more hymns--we don't sing or say alleluia during Lent so all the hymns have that in it. There's often MASSIVE amounts of church incense, too. Anyway by the end it's a bit of a party. Apparently some churches have an actual party after the service.)(side note if you're new-ish to these posts that I'm Episcopalian, like, the priests at my church are a gay man and a woman, we're cool people mostly I promise)

See this is why these posts take forever. Why do I keep infodumping shit. This is what it's like to watch things with me in person, though.

If I get through this episode before Easter Vigil my reward is gonna be coming home and taking an edible and rewatching the last two episodes without screenshots so I can just cry over them.

oKAY

eh? that's new. like putting that on screen like that in dead silence. No intro sequence.

oh right Adora is injured. :( And it's some kind of magical monster thing that did it--a security thing put into the Crystal Castle by the First Ones

when she touches her wound the Failsafe glows, and it's making static-y noises and looking glitchy, that can't be good

the nasty tentacle monster thing is still there buT SO IS CATRA YAYYYY she shatters at least one of its eyeballs? I think?

my brain: this is like Caitlyn helping Vi after she got stabbed by Sevika, the wound is even in the same place :D me: wrong person has the red jacket on also Catra isn't going to buy some illegal potion thing to dose Adora with

(you should watch Arcane)

DOES SHE EVER SAY IT LIKE THAT BEFORE THIS?? oh god she sounds so breathless and relieved

Adora: "You can't be here! It's too dangerous"

And she stands up and starts to fall over and fucking Shadow Weaver helps her stand up, uGH

LOOK AT MY BB KICKING ASS

oh god so Shadow Weaver basically drags off Adora, Catra's like "I'll catch up, okay?" and Adora's like "no no Catraaaaa" her voice is cracking and everything, she doesn't want to do this without her and also worries about Catra and that tentacle monster thing

I'm not gonna screenshot it but poor Glimmer is fighting her dad, who is still chipped and Evil.

Bow is fighting Scorpia, also chipped and Evil. Oh hey Melog shows up and makes Bow invisible.

Micah is MEAN when chipped. He calls Glimmer a failure.

Glimmer: "My mother raised me to be brave. My friends taught me to be kind. And I'm stubborn. I get that from you. I will never stop fighting! And I won't lose another parent! I love you, dad."

She blasts him with enough magic that he collapses.

Bow, invisible, types away on Entrapta's computer she set up in the Horde thing, but when he gets it to start to do its thing he gets excited and says "I've got it!!" and Scorpia hears it and blasts him and is standing over him about to get him.

Bow: "Prime may have made you do a lot of things, but he can't turn you into something you're not. So, right now, all I need you to do is trust me."

Her eyes get normal for a second and she yells, and Bow slams a button on Entrapta's computer. There's a bright light.

Where Sea Hawk is holding Mermista, her chip goes dead and falls off. We get a lovely montage of other characters from all over Etheria, like Huntara and the folks at Elberon, who'd been chipped having their eyes go back to normal!

Scorpia: "oh my gosh I am so sorry!!"

yeah she's definitely back to normal lol

up on Horde Prime's ship:

lol

"My device worked! I knew it would!"

Bow: "Hey, everyone. I'm Bow."

(lol there's so much story in just this frame alone)

But yeah they show people from all over Etheria stopping to watch him speak, including his dads.

"Right now, we're the only thing standing in the way of him controlling it forever. You might be feeling hopeless. You might be thinking "We don't stand a chance." And maybe we don't. Prime's too strong. His army is too powerful. But that's not gonna stop us. We need to show Prime we're not afraid of him, because we have each other. And we have love. We can't give up. And if we go down, we go down together. We need you. All of you."

"It's time to fight. For She-Ra, for our homes, for each other!"

Broadcast over, back to Horde Prime. "Put an end to this mockery."

Catra injures the tentacle monster thing, but now that green is spreading into the room, and as Catra runs down the hall towards the Heart, she stops as Horde Prime shows up in hologram form

"I had such high hopes for you." like what, dude. keeping her around and chipped like a fucking puppet as an example? eugh. (something something about how her speeches to Adora while chipped were an obvious reference to people proselytizing high-control faiths)

the moment of distraction is enough for the tentacle monster to grab one of Catra's legs and she screams in pain D:

also there's still a bunch of earthquakes happening as these two limp towards the Heart

Poor Adora is just weakly going "No...no...wait" Shadow Weaver: "Don't lose your focus. We're so close."

What's this WE shit.

But also damn one thing Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime (and Light Hope!) have in common is they both believe love and affection and "attachments" are weaknesses. Shadow Weaver just cannot seem to get it through her head that Adora's love for Catra (and vice versa) is helpful here. Not a detriment. Love isn't a distraction!!! It gives us a stable ground of security and safety from which to do hard things!!

Meanwhile poor Angella told Adora "take care of each other."

This is pulsating, and so is the Failsafe on Adora's chest

OH NO oh god Okay being near that much hardcore magic is making Shadow Weaver powerful--her hair does the floaty thing for the first time since, what, s2? And she starts reaching for it, but THEN--

Adora yells Catra's name and starts walking back towards her, and Shadow Weaver's hair falls down again and she says the most weirdly desperate-sounding "Adora, wait!"

Prime's hologram is still torturing Catra along with the actual tentacle monster

(someone has drawn rule 34 of that thing but I'm not looking for it. I am content to know it exists.)

AND THEN THE MONSTER GETS BLASTED BY SHADOW WEAVER AHAHA NICE

about time she was useful amiright

okay so is this Shadow Weaver actually realizing she's been wrong about The Power of Love, or is this just her begrudgingly accepting that these two are Sold as A Set, Do Not Separate, and unless Catra's there Adora won't be able to use the Failsafe because she'll be looking for Catra the whole time???

Like is this an emotional epiphany or just pragmatism?

oh god so she magically shoves Catra away (towards Adora), but Catra runs back to Shadow Weaver

And y'all I know I talked about this a LOT way back in earlier seasons but I cannot tell you how accurate this keeps being in regards to dealing with an abusive parent. Like if you'd asked me, even after I cut off contact, if I wanted my dad to die, I would've said No! Of course not! At that point I didn't know whether the no-contact thing was temporary or not. I just knew I needed time and space to not be constantly stressed and anxious, for a notification on my phone to not immediately fill me with so much adrenaline my hands shook.

Anyway Shadow Weaver puts up a magical shield to keep Catra back

Shadow Weaver's response is amazingly calm and quiet. "Please, Catra. You need to make sure Adora reaches the Heart. The magic must be set free."

Her fight with Tentacle Monster isn't going well.

Catra's voice is heartbreaking here. "Stop it! It's going to kill you!"

"But you, this is only the beginning for you."

;_;

STICK THAT KNIFE IN AND TWIST IT! YEAH!

Catra's crying "no...no..." and a hand reaches out and grabs hers

LOL FINALLY HIT THE IMAGE LIMIT okay going to reblog

what a moment for it pfft

#april rewatches spop #heart pt 2

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bloodiedmedic · 1 year

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“So, Alexis.” Silco paused in the wake of his steps, whilst his hands clasped behind his back. The man's head tilted, oh so slightly, as eyes narrowed. “Since you now have to tell nothing but the truth, I wanted to personally seek you out.”

It was true- Silco wasn't the one to normally inquire prompts with other muses. However, due to the fact he had some ideas in mind for the person before him, he had to show up himself and ask, in case his own mun decided against it to tell him.

A small, ghostly smile curled on hardened features, letting out a small huff before his head straightened again. As his chin tilted, his eyes seemed to flicker with a certain light. “Tell me why you enjoy torturing people.” He raised his hand, in ways to stop the other in case they wanted to speak already. “Most people feel guilt, or 'try' not to be that person. But, why? Why not embrace that part?” He lowered his hand again to his back, taking another step forward.

“So, tell me. Tell me what goes through your mind, and what you feel when you dissect someone.”

((You know what I'm not putting this under a cut, but I will toss content warnings out there. Addiction, blood, mention of gore and violence and murder and dissection of people. A potential serial killer talking about the ecstacy of taking someone apart. There is nothing nice here.))

They had been in a small infirmary cleaning some things up, and sterilizing other things when Silco had shown up. The moment he’d said “the truth” and “personally seek you out” their shoulders had tensed, and their lips tightened. Alexis was under no illusions as to who they worked for, or what he was capable of. There was no chance at all that this would be some casual question to be chuckled at, and they doubted it’d be something merely “mildly” intrusive. Of course they were unfortunately correct.

Staring at him with a gleam of something akin to rage in their eyes Alexis had gone utterly still watching Silco take a step forward. In that moment they wanted to slit his throat. Of course he’d asked the question they least wanted to answer. One brief second had their mind flood with images of Silco laid out on the floor screaming under their tender attentions. Him… him they’d allow a voice. Of course that’d simply end with them dead be it by Sevika, or Jinx, or someone else and so they blinked. “I do try not to be that person.” Voice quiet and dead flat there was no sign at all of what they’d just been imagining, but it’d be easy to tell this was a question that made them distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’ll assume you mean after I’ve been driven to the point I stop fighting my urges, my desire… my addiction, and I simply throw myself into the moment.” Reaching up Alexis took off their glasses folding them before turning them over. “You know I don’t actually need these. My eyesight is perfectly fine. These don’t even have a prescription, but the weight of them on my face helps keep me focused.” Casually they tossed them to one side landing them on a pile of cloth and bandages. “What do I feel?” Stepping in Alexis had no qualms about getting in Silco’s personal space. Not after the question he’d just offered.

“Ecstasy. Power. Revenge. Every time I torture and dissect a living person I teach someone else what it means to be a victim, and a prey thing whimpering and helpless. I take the weakness I have, and the times I was made a victim and all of that pain and I shove it into someone else. I call it an addiction because deep down inside I always have that desire. To slice someone open and for a few glorious moments take myself outside of this bullshit power structure in Zaun, and take my power back. It’s an addiction because I feel so fucking good afterwards, and regardless of what guilt or shame or anything else that follows afterwards I can never forget how. Good. It felt. I’ve used shimmer, and alcohol, and sex, and none of it compares to that ecstasy of having my hands deep in someone's body as they are utterly helpless and can still feel it.” Shaking their head there was a little tremble that went through their body as the thought of it, and the memory made their eyes light up a bit and a particular little smile flicker across their face. The smile of a predator who tried to often to hide what lay beneath the surface, but push come to shove in the moment they struck loved every last second of it.

“Everything is about sex except for sex, and sex is about power. When my hands are squeezing at someone's organs, and coated in blood and their body is twitching and they are helpless and I can do whatever I want to them? That’s the purest kind of sex there is. How could you ever possibly come closer to being intimate with someone than when you are literally reaching into their body to feel those parts of them that no one else will ever get to touch? It’s like being a god.”

Taking a long slow deep breath they finally stepped back turning to pick their glasses back up. “And there’s not a moment I don’t hate myself for that, or fear loosing myself to that… now if you please. I have work to do.”

Softly they murmured trying to keep it unheard but with how badly they suddenly hungered there was no guarantee they’d succeed. “Wolf and Lamb, takers of all, please, grant me a moment of peace and give me the strength to be better than I am.”

#saviourofzaun #medicanswers #murder cw #death cw #torture cw

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sinning-23 · 2 years

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Batshit crazy/yandere-ish SO Headcannon

how they react to seeing that you're actually fucking insane

Silco

-is very worried

-can't handle jinx as it is so to add you on top is...stressful

-catches you saying "I love watching you sleep, you look so vulnerable"

-always checks his drinks when you give them to him

-was unlucky enough to see you shove his used tissue in your pocket

-kinda freezes up when you're around

-makes sure Sevika lies for him and says he's not there sometimes

-you usually find him anyway

Sevika

-is not a very easily scared woman but when it comes to you...she's uneasy

-saw you lick the blood off your hands once

-has heard you say, "I love watching the life drain from their eyes"

-had also heard you ask that she spit in your mouth

-can always see you watching her from the corner of her eye

-your laughter haunts her

-can't shower anymore because she always has a feeling you're on the other side waiting for her to let her guard down

-will check every corner of her room to make sure you're not watching her

Jinx

-she thinks you're great

-the two of you kinda go toe to toe

-there's no doubt that you're more possessive than she is

-will often match your energy

-doesn't like that you sleep under the bed though

-"I wish I could crawl inside your skin so we can be closer"

she did not like the sound of that at all

-will sometimes avoid you for weeks on end

-she's kinda comforted at the fact that you'll never leave her.

-will fight you

-doesn't like how possessive you are of her

-when Caitlyn came into the picture she knew you wouldn't be happy

-will often warn others bout you

-caught you taking the hair from her shower drain and putting it in a bag before taking off

-locks her windows because of you

-checks any food you make

-is scared you'll hurt Caitlyn or Jinx

-made the mistake of not checking once and ended up with a mouth full of nails

-will lose sleep because of how paranoid you've got her

Viktor

-knows you hide in his room sometimes

-tried to ignore you standing over him while he sleeps but he's terrified of what you might do to him.

-tell Jayce but you've fooled everyone so well that he doesn't believe him.

-his biggest fear is you harming Sky

-he's seen you eye her in a way that could only equate to you wanting her dead

-has seen you joke around with knives, looking extremely serious about your threats, only to laugh it off later

-locks his door but you pick it every time

-always freezes up around you

-will ask for enforcers to guard his door so you don't fuck with him in the privacy of his own room.

-found you under his bed with a gun once and will always check from now on.

Caitlyn

-locks everything behind herself

-ever since the incident with jinx she's cautious about a lot of things

-isn't super scared since she knows how to take care of herself pretty well.

-will have a harder time shaking you off if you've been a close friend for years

-is scared you'll harm Vi

-frankly, you've got Vi fooled into thinking you're buddies.

-wrong bitch

-she will threaten you but is disturbed with you get off to it, asking her to kill you because nothing would be better than dying at her hands

Mel

-she is more safe considering she can have people guard the door at all times.

-hates that you manage to frighten her

-you've convinced her mother that you're all for keeping her and Piltover safe, even if it means preparing for war.

-music to her mother's ears

-unfortunately falls victim to you gaslighting her and manipulating her into trusting you or feeling safe when she isn't

-seen you nearly stab Jayce over her.

-tries to avoid you as much as she can

-'im only trying to keep you safe Mel, there are actually crazy people that want to hurt you."

-"I can't keep you safe if I'm locked out and away from you."

Jayce

-is not aware at all that you stalk him.

-enjoys that you're always around and he knows you'll always be willing to help him

-saw you talking to Viktor and he had a look of absolute terror on his face.

you tried telling him it was nothing and kind of laughed it off but when Jayce asked Viktor what was wrong all Viktor could say was

-"be careful around her."

-much like Mel he falls victim fast and hard to your manipulation

-knows that Mel dislikes you begin so close but he will always refer to you as 'just a friend'

-caught you with a knife that night, hiding in his closet with a smile.

-tries to keep his distance but you've fallen too deep and he's too far into you knowing everything about him to shake you off

-tries to lock his doors but will often not just so you won't ask about it later.

-is easy to manipulate and a lot of his decision are no longer based on what Mel wants/suggest (which she fucking hates) but what you want/suggest.

-at this point, if you say jump he says 'how high' and vise versa.

-the council is terrified of your capabilities and knows of your very long record of murder. The only reason why they don't mention it is because they know you have Jayce wrapped around your finger. They know you can convince him to have them executed, exiled, fired, anything

-what you say, often with a little persuasion, goes

#mel medarda #viktor #sevika #league of legends #silco #jinx #yandere #batshit crazy #vi #caitlyn #arcane #arcane netflix

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just-doing-lesbian-things · 2 years

Text

Arcane Characters Drunk

Silco

Either (a) rousing revolutionary drunk, he will stand on the couch so he’s eye level with his opponent in a heated debate over philosophical solutions to Zaun’s problems and obscure written works from dead conquerors; or (b) a sad drunk who ends up with his head in your lap as he cries about how everyone betrays him (but only seems to have stories about this one guy named “Vander.”)

Sevika

The kind of drunk where you can’t tell she’s drunk. She’ll get louder and genuinely belly-laugh (it’s cute), but no one else will notice a difference ‘cause they’ll be more plastered than she is. The night will usually end at the brothel but if you went there with her you’ll lose her before you step foot inside. The day after when everyone’s walking around lightly embarrassed about the stuff they said/did while they were drunk, she pretends nothing happened. But Sevika remembers.

Jinx

Hates the taste of alcohol so you’ve maybe seen her drunk once when The Last Drop had a case of that alcoholic-fruit juice the bartender gave her by mistake. Half a glass in and she was crying and shooting at shadows in the corner. She ruined the pool game when she tried prying up the floorboards but when someone tried to get her to calm down she knocked them out and fled. Three different explosions went off that night across the undercity. She woke up in a crow’s nest on the bridge wearing a stolen hat with someone’s ringed-finger in her pocket. She spent the next 24 hours nursing a hangover--which she assumed was her last day alive. Hangovers can kill us, right?

Shared a beer with Claggor and Mylo once that they stole from under Vander’s nose (y’know, before they died and she went to prison). She didn’t really like it but she really didn’t like how it made her feel. Growing up as she did, she was not game for “losing control.” Maybe she’d of enjoyed the feeling in prison when her only distraction from her grief and guilt was getting the shit kicked out of her, but prisoners don’t get libations, and you don’t get to have a cup of Suey’s Toilet Wine if you’ve beaten up Suey--which she has.

Would definitely be a “you mean so much to me”/ “i loveyousomuch” kind of drunk. Cause her heart isn’t already on her sleeve when she’s sober. /s Would try to be feisty and flirty, but really would not be able to maintain the composure to keep it up and would just end up professing her feelings and giving hugs to everyone. Would drunkenly adopt a stray animal as you walk her home. And would be pissy the next day during her hangover-- don’t even think of making plans for the day after unless you can show up with coffee and Jericho’s.

Caitlyn

Knows her limits. But on the rare occasion that she’s uncomfortable and the only way to not feel that way is to drink more, she’s a childish drunk. Will slur her words, giggle, and boop you on the nose for making sure she gets home safe but only after bemoaning that it’s not fair, she doesn’t “need a babysitter.” Will always ask that you let her know you got home alright, even if you’re just staying down the hall. Consistently has to pee and will make friends in the bathroom--who she also tries to make sure gets home safe (if she isn’t trying to take them home, that is). Will offer anyone a ride home even if they live in the complete opposite direction.

Jayce

Three words: drunk genius baby. Will write out calculations on napkins with glee and try to explain them to anyone who will listen, but also needs you to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep under the booth. Will usually have a “great idea” that is actually a terrible idea (”let’s make a glass pistol right now”), but is very easily distracted so redirecting him is easy. You can get him to end the night by getting him to a 24/hour food stand where his full tummy will make him sleepy, and then you have to walk him home to make sure he makes it there without losing his keys or something. Half the time you end up tucking him in and he apologizes profusely for “how drunk” he is. It would be annoying but he’s also a downright hilarious person to drink with and you enjoy his company.

Viktor

Should not be drinking with all of his medications, but the few times he has he does something outrageous like breaks into the academy and solves some unsolvable math problem or wakes up in clothes you all stole from a costume shop--both were his idea by the way. Inbetween the highlights of the drunken adventures he’s a sad drunk. Someone is keeping a running list of all of the profound things he says when he drinks, and you’re always blown away by his depth, but if you ever read them sober you’d be showing up to his house with an entourage of people, each with speeches prepared to tell him how much they love him. After every night of drinking he disappears for at least a week so he misses out on a lot of the reminiscing.

Mel

Much like Sevika, you can’t really tell when she’s drunk because you’ll always be more drunk than she is. Is more likely to get drunk alone and rage-fit in her study over some failed plan that happened years ago. Alora will put her to bed and clean the high-end wine off of her maps and work papers. She will ask someone to send for Jayce and Alora may or may not let the message go through depending on how she reads Mel’s level of inebriation. She also has the ability to ‘creative-genius paint’ when she’s drunk, although the canvas is more likely to end up broken in two when she gets frustrated that her hands aren’t as steady as she needs them to be.

Heimerdinger

A lot like Jayce only emphasis on the “drunk” and emphasis on the “genius” and emphasis on the “baby.” Will write your entire academic thesis for you if you pose the question to him in the right way, but the footnotes will contain things you don’t understand the relevance of (like referencing “Leda and the Swan” in your thesis on black holes). Will take every book off his bookshelf, genuinely meaning to share each book’s contents with you, and then leave the mess on the floor for the morning clean up crew. This actually happens a lot because everyone gives him human-sized drinks and his tolerance has never caught up.

Ekko

Not exactly a “life of the party” drunk, but more “brings the party” kind of drunk. When he shows up, the fun comes with him. When he leaves (and he’s always the first to “head out”) suddenly everyone else has gotta go, too. Gives the best drunken talks and it’s totally normal for you two to share catharsis on deep traumas from your pasts while you work on, like, designs for a speed booster for the Firelight’s hoverboards. He can do the deep talks without falling apart, and he can do the genius thing without needing tunnel-vision. He will dare someone to do something stupid though. Like moon an enforcer while riding by on said speed-boosted hoverboard. For a test-run, of course.

#arcane #silco #sevika #ekko #mel medarda #jayce talis #vi #caitlyn kiramman #jinx #arcane hc

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

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Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 2 - A Disloyal MotherF*cker

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48

CH 2: Silco calls for an assembly with the chem-barons. A troublemaker is put in his place. Sevika moves up.

Tw: Depictions of violence and strong language

I broke so many bones But none of them were ever my own

~ "Bad" – Royal Deluxe

The gloom of Zaun's history is brightened by colorful aphorisms.

Each one is a testament to the city's spirit, one of dysfunctional pride and dogged defiance. There are sayings common to the fishermen—a mummeling mudskipper—to refer to a man who talks a big game, but never hauls in a big catch. The miners have their own versions—cracking a vein into a vug—to describe a braggart who overstates his talents and gets buried alive for his troubles.

The Sumps are privy to the wickedest witticisms. A dribble short of a stained sheet—meaning an alleyside knee-trembler when you can't afford lodgings with a whore. Cunted up like a cuttlefish—meaning someone drugged and mugged in broad daylight. From the chumbox to the cumbox—meaning a petty con who is framed for murder.

Silco's favorite is the most straightforward. It has spawned from the Undercity's depths: smoke and salt and shadow. It is hissed in the bars between empty shot-glasses and satchels clinking with coin. It is hollered in the clubs, blood-red spotlights striking off fists roped in muscles or pocked with needle tracks. It is spoken tenderly, as during late-morning lovemaking; it is whistled sharply, as one bids a dog to heel.

A disloyal motherfucker is born dead every minute.

Zaunites have a talent for poetry.

His motorcar swoops up the Lanes—a monstrous blur of shellacked metal. Inside, Silco sits in darkness and silence. The passenger room is emptied save for himself. Sevika rides in front with the chauffeur. She knows better than to engage him in small-talk.

Outside, it is almost completely dark. The bomb-shattered streets hold an eerie emptiness. The curfew is still in effect. The shelling has collapsed entire city blocks; poor workmanship has taken care of the rest. It is too dangerous to be outdoors. Plenty of things goin' bump in the night, as Jinx sometimes says.

Strangely, nobody has left town. Oh, there was the odd cold-footer here and there, sneaking past the city limits and into Piltover. Silco had ordered them shot on sight. Their bodies still dangle from Zaun's subterranean battlements, pecked clean by the crows.

But the locals have all stayed. Zooming down the streets, Silco spots faces hovering behind the windows, ghostly and candle-lit. Haunted, like huge portions of the Undercity. The rest of the streets are patrolled by his chem-suited blackguards. Those who can knock on any door, flout any law, break any neck, to keep the peace.

Idly, Silco traces the folding knife tucked into his boot.

Better blackguards than corpses.

Distantly, gunfire echoes through the desolation. Old scores are being settled. All else is black.

Silco sinks against the leather seat. The space beside him burns emptily. He wants Jinx here. He wants to show her the coal-heaps of devastation, then pour them into the furnace of their shared ingenuity. Plans to overhaul the infrastructure; plans to purify the air; plans to commercialize and privatize.

He remembers all those heady late-evening chats with his girl, sitting together in this motorcar. Once a month, they'd go on long neon-lit drives through the Undercity. Just the two of them, the chauffeur shut off behind the privacy screen. Moments that seemed to Silco like carnival-colored bliss—the half-open opera window a film-reel of breweries, shipyards, emporiums and casinos, the air scented with smoke and coffee and gunpowder and booze.

And Jinx.

Silco's mind drifts in itself. Six years, and she was always by his side: the shot in his eye and the song in his heart. Six years, and she'd helped him transform the Undercity from a black-and-white snapshot of dead-ends into a portrait in dazzling Technicolor, aglow with potential.

Just like her.

(We had good innings, didn't we, child?)

Six years, and Silco had risen as the Fissures' most prominent industrialist, a fixture even in Piltover's society magazines. Their acceptance was begrudging, the path riven with crimps and clogs. Undercity businesses were levied with taxes; its entrepreneurs were spurned. Silco's own steel mills made a fraction of the profits his Topside counterparts raked in. Fortunately, shortcuts belowground supplemented his income. Like any Zaunite worth his salt, he'd had brushes with Piltover's courts. Thrice, he was indicted for tax evasion; each trial resulted in a hung jury, and insufficient evidence. Nothing could scratch his reputation.

In Piltovan society, he'd established himself as a figure of humble beginnings. A self-made man who'd succeeded on the straight-and-narrow. He was never admitted to their more genteel sanctums, but he never aspired to them, either.

In a world of old money, he'd made his own.

Belowground, he and Jinx had relished the good life. Nothing flashy :a low-key pragmatism served the long-game. But he'd indulged Jinx after the privations of their past. Noxian cigars and single-malt whiskeys for him; imported glowpaints and handcrafted toolkits for her. They'd kept the Drop as their headquarters. But he'd bought properties at all three Undercity levels. Some were fronts. Others were legitimate.

Naturally, Jinx had her favorites. An augmentation parlor at Bridgewaltz called Inqued (She'd gotten her trademark tattoos there, a sixteenth-birthday gift he'd permitted despite his private distaste for body-art as the self-aggrandizement of poseurs and peons, unable to refuse her anything.) A boxing gym at Factorywood called The Grindstone (She'd gone there for nightly combat lessons, a grueling rigor designed to fine-tune her mind and muscles until she'd snapped blows at targets so fast you couldn't hit her with a puff of smoke). A Jazz club at the Skylight Commercia called Blue Note (She'd loved dragging him to the dancefloor to foxtrot, playfully lip-synching lyrics that are now branded into his memory along with the yearly ascent of Jinx's head to elevated portions of his three-piece suit: her forehead resting on the spot under his ribs, then between them, then right against his black heart as she'd croon, The stars get red and oh! The night's so bluuuuuuue.)

Afterward, she and Silco would tour the streets in his gleaming motorcar. And talk of Zaun.

(This 'thing of ours'—isn't that what you called it?)

Silco rubs his left temple with two fingertips.

Gods, all the years they'd spent, spinning webs and sowing chaos—what triumph it would be to share it now. To have Jinx tucked against his side as always, his arm around her, her blue head nestled under his chin. Hearing her mad little laugh and her peppy prattle. Seeing the glow in her eyes as he heaped those coal-lumps of hard labor into diamonds at her feet.

Instead, they are both robbed: Silco of the joy of Jinx's presence, and Jinx of the closure that she'd always coveted—proof that her bombs and brains and bloodthirst were the perfect chemical ingredients to catalyze Zaun's freedom.

She has freed Zaun. A fair one-to-one transaction; blood for blood.

Yet the cost is too high for one girl to shoulder.

(Let me share it, Jinx.)

(As we shared everything else.)

The motorcar rolls up to the fantastical façade of a six-story cathedral. It once served as a congregation for the Veiled Lady—a burnished honeycomb with hundreds of purple-stained windows. Once, amid the extravaganza of neighboring architecture—turrets, steeples, obelisks—it was obsequious. Now the nearby buildings have been razed by bombs. In the brutalized emptiness, the cathedral is all that remains.

To superstitious Zaunites, it is a miracle. To Silco, it is a passing convenience. The territory is a neutral zone for the Undercity's core crime families. The Big Five. When Silco first rose to prominence in the Lane's shadowy backwaters, they vied for control over much of its territories, with borders drawn in blood.

The list was a Who's Who of chem-royalty: swaggering bigwigs, criminal masterminds and bloodthirsty dons. Chross, a Piltovan-bred information broker and the leader of The Hush Company—an umbrous plugboard for illicit backstreet dealings. Margot, a former parole official from Stillwater prison, who had expanded her talents into literal human bondage, and now presides as the luminary procuress of the Vyx, her finger in every pie from flesh-peddling to fashion. Petrock, a veteran from the tail-end of the Noxus-Ionia wars, who rose in the ranks thanks to a bluntly ruthless streak and a propensity to shoot from the hip—literally. Crimson, one of the flashiest entrepreneurs in the Undercity, with a venerable Oshra Va'Zaun bloodline and a fortune invested in real estate and stock trading. Volkage, a third-generation steel mogul whose family had built their dynastic fortune in the ore mines, where his grandfather and Silco once drudged shoulder-to-shoulder.

Silco had ascended to the zenith by merging the Big Five into a core nucleus—a juggernaut that crushed any hint of rebellion. He'd structured them into a commission, like a board of directors. Each member was a head from the Big Five's families; they would periodically assemble to make decisions on the Undercity's goings-on. Territories were divided among each representative gang, cutting the turf out so there was no overlap—or potential for conflict.

All told? A workable arrangement.

The Big Five were ubiquitous in Zaun's public life: social butterflies at decadent soirees, their insignias as well-known as their faces, whether splattered in graffiti across the alleyside billboard of a moldering tenement at Sump-level, or staring from a gilded portrait frame at an air-conditioned saloon at the Promenade. Meanwhile Silco—the man who controlled the Undercity—remained a shadowy myth. Few knew him by sight. Rather, he was an object of feverish speculation. The all-seeing Eye. To some, he was a sinister string-puller and a mystical sorcerer rolled into one. To others, he embodied the Undercity's zeitgeist at its most corrupt and infernal: the Devil in a three-piece suit.

Yet it was on the streets that Silco's grip was most evident. At a moment's notice, he could call an assembly of chem-barons, and bring the Undercity to a grinding halt. Factories would shudder to stillness; shopkeepers would whip down their shutters; clerks would scurry out from their offices like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

Tonight is no different.

In the cathedral's courtyard, five luxury motorcars are arrayed like gleaming cockroaches. Giant diesel-powered generators rumble in the shadows to combat the power shortage. Armed blackguards stand at the stained-glass gates. As one, they snap to attention when Silco ascends the stairs, Sevika on his heels. Two men open the doors with smart salutes.

Sevika winks at the bigger one, and follows Silco into the cathedral.

The interior exudes a musty stillness. The rose-windows at the top floor are soot-speckled. Moonlight slants inside to pick up a violet patina of dust. The chem-barons sit at an oak conference table. In the unearthly radiance, they resemble a motley of waxwork figures. Their faces and finery are reflected in the mirrored alcoves lining the walls. Stylized poses of self-satisfaction replaced by dour moues of displeasure.

For three months, they've coasted on revelries a mile high. Now Silco has dragged them down to earth.

His footsteps barely echo through the darkened corridors. Yet the first glimpse of him sends a muted ripple through the room. Sevika pulls out a chair; Silco sits at the table's head with the slinky, unnerving grace that characterizes all his movements. For a moment, silence. The softer sounds of the cathedral envelop them. The chem-barons seem to be holding their breath.

Without preamble, Silco says, "You failed to convene at headquarters."

The chem-barons exchange low-key looks.

The dapper yet dithering Crimson says, "We were getting nervous."

"'We' who?"

"All of us. The atmosphere's too volatile. Better to meet on neutral territory."

"Wish granted." Silco gestures with a pale splay of fingers. "Provided you had the sense not to descend en masse."

A scattering of nods.

"Good."

Too many shockwaves passing through the Undercity. Too much paranoia. For security, Silco had ordered the five chem-barons—the core coterie of Zaun's wealth—to arrive one by one at each rendezvous spot, with intervals in between, and to always be accompanied by his blackguards.

History is crowded with coups. Especially belowground. The hierarchy here is one of viper against viper. A whiff of blood, and they all come slithering out. Silco has commanded them for years, and understands their natures. For three months, he's turned a would-be blind eye. He's watched them glut themselves on the spoils of war. Grow surfeited rather than sharp.

Easiest to catch off-guard.

"Well," he says, legs crossing as he leans back in slow appraisal, "Why the long faces?"

More glances, synced less by conspiracy than cowardice.

Margot, in a sleek black leather ensemble that lacks only a bullwhip, says, "We saw your latest decree to the Cabinet."

"Which one?"

"The taxes." She bites her lip. "Are you truly passing a tariff on imports?"

"Zaun must raise revenue."

Petrock scrubs mechanized fingers through his ashy beard, a series of matchstick rasps. "What about the duties on foreign vessels? That's fuckin' crazy. You expect my trading partners to honor it?"

"Make them honor it. Zaun's shipments must take precedence."

"What about—" Volkage, black hair curling down his cheekbone like a stylized oil-slick, scoffs, "—this Charter of Zaunite Rights. You jerking us around? Equal opportunity for education and ownership. Right to trade. You expect us to rub shoulders with the coal-heavers, now?"

Volkage's grandfather was a coal-heaver. A tough old bastard; he'd fought alongside Silco to unionize the mines.

Evidently, memory is not his grandson's métier.

"We must strengthen loyalty for the fledgling government," Silco says. "Zaunites have lent tremendous support to our cause. Right now, they are hungry and hurting. They need something to rally behind. A Charter of Rights is a good focal point. A new faith to follow. It's equivocal enough to make everyone feel included. But it also gives them a part to play. In bettering Zaun, they better themselves."

Chross peers owlishly at Silco over his miniature eyeglasses. "That's all capitally done, Silco. But our biggest concern is this, urm. Overseership of War and Treasury."

"What of it?"

"Is it legitimate? Full authority over us and all that?"

"Absolutely."

Chross' gray-mottled complexion turns inside-out. "That, urm. Complicates matters."

"Throws a wrench in our fuckin' spokes more like!" Petrock explodes. "Silco—why?"

"As a safeguard."

"Ours, or yours?" Margot says delicately. "As the Eye of Zaun, you've always turned a blind eye to our dealings. A sweet arrangement. For us, and for you. Overseership would sour it. You understand?"

"Of course."

Silco understands. The air was already pungent with their self-interest. Now it stinks with a fresh layer of fear. They entered the revolution on the same page as him. Now they are discerning brand-new paragraphs of fine print.

There is a lot about Zaun's long-term goals that Silco hadn't disclosed yet. They haven't questioned his reticence. Why would they? To them, Silco's needs are tantamount to theirs: pillage and plunder. They style themselves as predators. But at their core, they are parasites. They view the world in binaries of cash and carnage—a balance sheet with no human element. In doing so, they alienate the common people as potential pawns. They antagonize allies. Worse, they leave themselves exposed to the lures of bigger predators; ones who exploit their greed—hook, line and sinker—before devouring them.

Predators like Silco.

In a tone of soft insinuation, he says, "Are you concerned I'll seize your holdings?"

Their hasty glances are eloquent.

"Tell me candidly. Have I given you reason, thus far, to distrust my decisions?"

More looks are swapped. Chross, the most ancient and artful of the lot, takes the stand. "You're a visionary, Silco. You've always thrived in risk. The rest of us? We're cut from the same mold as any Undercity entrepreneur. We like smoothness. We love money. We hate unpredictability."

"Revolution is unpredictable," Silco says with deceptive gentleness. "For you, I've also made it profitable."

"Oh, indeed." Chross lets off a tiny cough. "You've been mighty generous. We trust your future kindness will extend to our assets, not—"

"Not an Overseership halfway up our arses," Volkage cuts in, lip curling in a sneer. "Zaun's not Piltover. It doesn't need interference. It sure as hell doesn't need delusions of democracy."

Silco nods, as if considering. "Piltover was all about checks and balances. But we've seen what a first-rate job they did in checking and balancing us. That's why the Undercity is based on workarounds. Why Zaun exists at all."

"So you agree?"

"With what?"

"That Zaun should stay an oligarchy."

"Were we ever anything else?"

The We is a seductive lure. The chem-barons snap it up. A few of them crack smiles—Ah, Silco, such a joker. Then their smiles fade. Silco's expression is reminiscent of something that has crawled out of the abyss: his good eye gone as inky as the bad one, the edges of his lips curled to show teeth like a row of jagged tombstones.

"Piltover loves to sell the illusion of equality," Silco says. "Except we've already encountered its limitations. Those born Topside are more equal than those belowground. Worse, in treating everyone 'equally,' they elevate the incompetent and bury the accomplished. Oligarchies are spared that conundrum. Their aim is to empower those capable of making the best decisions—without delay. There is no efficiency in a structure where every ruffian has a say in rulership."

"Then why the edicts?" Crimson stomps his boot like a belligerent child. "A handful would be fine. But why bell by bell?"

"Because things are broken," Silco says. "They were broken under Piltover. The Council never lifted a finger in times of crisis. Under Zaun, there will be a system—at bare minimum—to respond to the crisis."

"What crisis are you talking about?"

Silco nearly pinches the bridge of his nose. Must he putrefy the room with Fissure gas again?

"The crisis," he says, in a voice unexpectedly honed to slit jugulars, "of cowardice."

Silence descends with sharpness. The chem-barons sense the mood shift; they sink uncomfortably in their seats.

Good.

Uncomfortable targets are untalkative targets.

"You want an oligarchy?" Silco says. "Then remember what oligarchies are for. Enforcing lifelong power. You cannot do that unless you rule through a semblance of foresight."

His eyes rake inexorably across the room.

"You've had three months," he says, "to do the bare minimum. Restore power to the blackout zones. Rebuild the shelled streets. Get rid of the rotten corpses. That was the bargain, wasn't it? Post-separation, your forces would plunder Piltover's leftovers to their heart's content. But afterward, you'd show incentive. Clean up the mess Piltover created."

The chem-barons say nothing. They resemble chastised schoolchildren. Except their silence isn't shame. It's self-preservation. Silco knows them too well for their own damned good.

"There are already riots in the Sumps," he says. "Unless the embers are stamped out, revolt will run rampant. The Zaunites feel abandoned in their hour of pain. People in pain seek refuge in nostalgia. In the past—Piltover. Edicts alone won't erase their memory. They need gas and electricity. Food. You were ordered to ration surplus for a reason. Not to line your pockets, or lavish on your parties."

"Why's it even matter?" Volkage glowers. "If those rats get feisty, smack 'em down."

"Smack 'em down, hmm?"

"Down and hard." Volkage slams his knuckles on the table in emphasis. Needless emphasis; a flourish of cheap demagoguery. "Sic the blackguards on them. That's what I'd do."

"How many blackguards?" The mockery in Silco's tone verges on mildness. "Fifty? A hundred? Five hundred?"

"I—"

"And do you know how many will be in the mobs? Or what they'll use for weapons? Half the able-bodied in Zaun served as our militia. The other half are raving mad with hunger. Tell us how to best them, so we can plan ahead. Oh, and the Firelights. We'll need to nip their antics in the bud, too. Can you arrange for that? That's assuming you aren't the first to die, at the hands of your own houseboy. But maybe you can avoid it. Same way you could probably whip your prick out and win blindfolded in a knife fight, right?"

Silco seldom descends to profanity. When it happens, it's a sign that the other side of him—the side nobody dares to reckon with—is stirring to life.

Volkage's face curdles into whiteness. But he is too proud or too stupid to back down.

"The riots aren't our doing," he says. "You're the First Chancellor. You deal with it. Better yet—make Jinx do it! Not like she's been good for much else lately!"

The room shrinks and the shadows lengthen.

The chem-barons begin perspiring. Silco tastes their buried fear. At his left shoulder, Sevika swallows minimally. Her fear is tangible too, but different from the others.

They know Jinx as she was before the bloodbath at Bridgeside: buoyantly bratty. Quick to flash a smile or fling an incendiary. They don't know Jinx as she's been the past three months: wreathed in an inertia that verges on bottomless. A girl who barely eats, who perpetually sleeps, and who spends bells staring trancelike at empty walls, her blue hair unbound and spilling like riverwater across the bed, her eyes wet as a drowner's.

Absently, Silco slips a hand into his waistcoat. He withdraws—not a weapon—but a sterling silver cigar case. Its engraved surface holds a mirrorlike gleam. It reflects the hundreds of stained-glass windows in the interior, their multitudes like an insect's compound eyes. Snapping open the case, he lights up a cigarette. Fragrant brightleaf fills the air; twin red pinpricks glow in his bad eye and the cherry's tip. Taking a drag, he says nothing for a moment. The chem-barons say nothing too, for different reasons.

After a handful of heartbeats, Silco murmurs, "A child to do a man's job."

The chem-barons brace themselves with a palpable tension.

"Pardon?" Chross says.

"A child to do a man's job.” His fingertips caress the cigarette. “Apt summation of your incompetence. A child won the war for you. Thanks to her bombs, Zaun broke free. Thanks to her knowledge of Hextech, we vaporized Piltover's forces. Thanks to her bravery, you sit here, in this room, wasting my time with your whingeing."

The chem-barons are silent. Margot opens her plush pink mouth, then closes it with a little pop. Chross rubs his creased forehead with a withered fingertip. Crimson pretends to be absorbed by his varnished fingernails. Petrock shoves his mechanical arms into his greatcoat. Only Volkage makes himself stay still, although he eyes Silco from a few yards of safe distance.

"If you don't like our whingeing," he says, "you sure as hell won't like what comes next."

It's a threat, and not a subtle one. Cute. Threats are a tool of the streets—effective in the short-term. But behind closed doors, they are sparingly used. Silco deploys them as a rare shock tactic to whip slackers into shape. But on the whole, he prefers finessed fins to flashing fangs.

Finesse clearly isn't Volkage's métier either.

"Zaun's free from Uppside's grip," he says to Silco. "It's ours now. We'll drag it from the muck on our time, at our speed."

"So far, I've seen only the muck."

"I'll happily show you worse, you one-eyed sack of shit."

From the chem-barons: a collective wince. Silco makes a sound of morbid curiosity in his throat.

"Will you?"

Volkage, trapped in the live target of himself, struggles to match Silco's stare. "You've gone too far. First the trade edicts. Then the taxes. Then the bloody Overseership. None of this is why we hitched our star to your wagon."

"Indeed not."

"We expected more influence, once Zaun was ours. Not less! You're trying to reduce our holdings. Trying, with double-edged tactics, to take what's ours. And what for? To share with the commoners? What right do they have to our riches? Hell, what right do you?"

"Think carefully. You'll remember."

"You remember! Your past and your place! You won the war with our backing as much as Jinx's bombs. You'd be nothing without us. You are nothing, once the Undercity's in our hands." His eyes beseech the other barons, a desperate pitch to turn the tables. "Why spread ourselves thin? Better to spread our wings. Leave him in the dirt—and fly to greater heights!"

"Show me," Silco says.

Volkage stares.

"Go on." Silco smiles, a tepid reflex turned terrifying. "Fly."

"What—?"

Volkage is not allowed to finish.

From her spot behind Silco's seat, Sevika charges across the room, a purple-hazed blur wielding a steel-tipped blade. It whistles as it slices the air—right through Volkage's left arm. Sinew separates like butter under a hot knife. Blood splatters. Shrieking, Volkage staggers backward. His bicep dangles from his shoulder by the barest twist of tendons. The right arm lifts to ward off the blade. Sevika grabs his wrist with her human hand, snapping it sideways. Bones crunch. Volkage lashes back and forth in her grip like a skewered eel.

"No!" he howls. "No!"

Sevika drags him toward the largest window. Diffuse moonlight strikes off its purple-stained scrollwork. Volkage howls again—an ear-splitting pitch—before she tosses him out with tremendous force.

Glass explodes into a hundred blazing pinwheels. Voklage swandives through empty air. Splinters glint madly in his wake. He crashes into the wilderness of barbwire encircling the cathedral's gate. His body dangles spreadeagled in the thorny bier. Tiny trickles of blood run down his skin. His eyes hang lifelessly open.

Death by a cracked neck, or a million papercuts.

Dustmotes swirl in the silence. Humid wind pours through the shattered window. In the fogged sky, crows circle.

"Huh," Sevika muses. "Couldn't fly after all."

Silco's lips twitch at the corners. The remaining chem-barons stay welded to their seats. Their mouths are soldered shut; their eyes are glued to Volkage's far-flung corpse.

There is a scrape of chair legs across tiles. Silco rises, half-languid, half-looming. The cigarette drops; he grinds the butt under his boot heel.

"Run the mouth," he says, "ruin the mood."

There is an excruciating silence, in which the chem-barons appear to quantify their own lives with internal clock ticks. Then Chross—bless his survivalist's soul—offers a tight-lipped smile.

"Chem-whelps do get fresh, don't they?"

"Insufferably so."

Crimson fiddles with his cufflinks, "I'm glad that's done. Been wanting to shut him up myself."

"Is that right?"

Margot hastens to nod. "We'd never tolerate such disrespect."

"A third-rate pillock." Petrock tugs the bristly scrim of his beard. "Shoulda taken him out sooner."

"Or later," says Silco neutrally, "I'd rather not make a habit of this."

The chem-barons sneak glances at him. There is no humor in Silco's expression. But his body-language is easygoing. No explicit threat necessary; the subtext is enough.

Don't try this again.

Chross pastes on a big smile, and Crimson manages a nod. Margot titters and Petrock grunts under his breath. Somewhere in purgatory, Volkage's spirit takes posthumous notes.

Moonlight winks off the dead man's chair. Silco runs a spindly, sharp-tipped finger along the arm.

"I'm reminded," he says, "of an old phrase."

"Don't skeet where you eat?" Margot suggests.

"The other one."

"Even trigger fingers get the hiccups?" Petrock says.

"Older than that."

At the window, Sevika's lighter sparks. She's withdrawn one of Silco's brightleaf tobacco rolls from her inside pocket. The cherry reflects two orange dots in her dark eyes.

Exhaling smoke, she says, "A disloyal motherfucker is born dead every minute."

Silco crooks a finger. "That one."

The chem-barons sit in burgeoning silence. Their eyes follow Silco as he cuts a lazy circuit around Volkage's empty chair.

"Zaun," he says, "cannot abide by disloyalty. Not from Volkage—or anyone else. You've enjoyed three months of debauchery, while the city burned. You'll get three months more, to douse the fires of your own laziness. Rebuild the ruins. Rehabilitate the people. No more, no less. Petrock—" he turns to the weapons dealer, his features hardening to brimstone, "Gather new recruits. I want them cracking down on the weak-spots in our territory. Find any compromised perimeters where the Firelights are hiding. Smoke them out, and kill them."

Petrock gives him a clipped soldier's nod. His orders have been issued; he's pleased to rejoin the fray.

"Margot—" Silco's good eyelid shades as if they are alone with the door dead-bolted behind them. "Start opening the gates of your establishments. Convert them into shelters and women's clinics. The sufferers will need them in the coming months. If a girl's belly is big with an Enforcer's baby, get rid of it. If it's too late, drown the brat in the Pilt. We'll take neither their leavings nor raise their bastards."

Margot lowers her eyelashes obligingly.

"Chross—" Silco turns with a flicker of bitter amusement, "You've been busy gathering intel. On myself, and everyone in our orbit. Don't deny it. Do me a favor instead. Summon your experts in politics, film, and espionage. The ones with bright minds and brighter ideas. I want a directorate sent to my office next week. Thereafter, every week. We'll go over current affairs and plan statewide coverage. A nation is as great as its media machine, and those who run it must be loyal."

Chross thumbs his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and cheerfully smacks his lips.

"Crimson—" Silco wields his steel-tipped glower like a headmaster's cane. "Get your damned cronies in line. Send me every entrepreneur with deep pockets and a head for real estate development. I want them to rip apart the system Piltover's left behind. Redistribute the resources. We've succeeded thus far in privatizing much of our enterprise. Now I want the biggest privatized companies tricked out and made competitive."

Crimson fiddles with his waistcoat before mumbling assent.

"Volkage—oh." Silco pulls a face of farcical regret. "Already flew the coop." He traces the empty chair again. "I meant to discuss our brand-new bank with him. I had good news. The Bank of Zaun will lend any and all new businesses loans, so they can finance themselves on competitive terms. We'll even throw in a modest liquidity injection here and there."

They chem-barons exchange looks. Silco marvels at how brightly greed makes their eyes shine.

"That is capital news," Chross says.

"Hear, hear!" Crimson cheers.

Silco smiles thinly.

There is no sweeter siren's call than the melody of money. He's never forgotten it as a sumpsnipe; he's never forgotten it as a kingpin. Just as he's never forgotten what a persistent thorn the chem-barons have been in his side, throughout his struggle to drag Zaun from Piltover's stranglehold. Now they expect tribute. Give them too little; they'll seethe and scheme. Give them too much; they'll suck the treasury dry. Better to trap them in a limbo of their own languishing. Grant them high-flying lifestyles on enormous credit. Then, bit by bit, impoverish them in their efforts to maintain it.

Once dependent on Zaun's largesse, they will be locked inside his jaws.

"Pity," Margot says. "If you'd opened with this juicy tidbit, Volkage might've lived."

Silco cants his head. "We shall overcome."

"Fuckin' right!" Petrock claps Silco on the back. "For Zaun!"

"For Zaun."

Sevika has found a handful of golden chalices in storage. She sets them on the table and drains her flask into their cups. Silco lifts his own in a toast to the chem-barons. The other arm folds behind his back, easier to conceal the pale-fingered flash of deuces. An old hand-signal used among the deaf—and recognizable only to Sevika. She smiles, unseen.

Silco's own lip twists sideways. "I've a final bit of good news."

"By all means," Chross says. "Share."

"It concerns the Overseership of War and Treasury."

"Oh?"

"Specifically the newcomer at its helm."

This catches the chem-barons off-guard. Still, they endeavor to seem relaxed.

"Anyone we know?" Margot asks.

Translation: Anyone we can threaten or bribe?

"Somewhat."

"Ooh. A dark horse?"

"Hardly." Silco smiles, and aims his smile beyond their shoulders. "One of our own."

Volkage's empty chair is scraped back. There is the sound of someone sitting heavily down, and laying their boots across the table.

As one, the chem-barons turn.

Sevika sits in Volkage's spot, a half-full cup laid across her outstretched knees. She scratches her cheekbone with the other hand, plucks the rolled cigarillo from her mouth, and exhales smoke through a white arc of teeth. Beneath her casualness, there is a disciplined stolidity to her body that signals that she is ready to sit there a long, long time.

"Loyal Zaunites," Silco says, "meet our official second-in-command."

The chem-barons stare speechlessly. Sevika tips them a wink.

"Sevika has served our cause since the beginning," Silco says. "She has shown diligence and daring. Above all—loyalty. I can think of no one better suited to serve you in turn. She will bring a steady head and a strong arm to her role. From here on in, you will answer to her as to me. Is that understood?"

Four heads nod as one, struck to silence. They eye Sevika like a dragon circling over their castles.

An apt comparison. Silco cannot completely curb the chem-barons' influence. Doing so curbs his own. Better to give them liberty within limits. It affords him the opportunity to study them, gathering dirt and gauging deceptions. Sevika is best suited for the task. She speaks the language of the Lanes; compromise without corruption. She will grant them leeway in their short-term goals. Meanwhile, Silco will lock them down in the long game. Her aerie of control, versus his perpetuity of power.

Power.

He need no longer wrest it from Piltover. He will solidify it right here.

Sevika's dark eyes meet his. Whatever passes between them is devoid of the sedative of sentimentality. Theirs is a transaction of blood debt squaring blood debt, the signatures set in stone. A tombstone, inked with old names. The coldest, hardest print of them all.

Sevika lifts her cup, and says, "To Zaun."

The chem-barons follow her lead. They toast each other and drink. Inevitably, adrenalized alcohol has its way with reticence. One by one they approach Sevika. Taking her measure, as she takes theirs. In five minutes, they are lapping at the shores of conversation. Five minutes more, and they are submerged in waves of shared laughter.

Bargains will be struck tonight. The status quo, precariously balanced, will teeter into a new state of equilibrium.

(So will you, Jinx.)

(In time.)

Silco tips his own cup back, swallowing. He stares out the broken window, wet with blood, to a darkly glowing Zaun.

***

The motorcar drives back through slickly humid streets.

The curfew is still in effect. But the power grid has been restored. A ramshackle row of neon signs reflect off tainted puddles; the road is mottled with pools of green, pink, purple.

Their fitful radiance shows up the shelling damage in detail.

Silco stares out through the milky glaze of his opera window. His reflection in the glow of passing gas-lamps is halved by scar and shadow: the sharp-cut smoothness hidden away, the cicatrices on morbid display. His bad eye, ringed in red, resembles impure blood.

Unblinking, it takes in the burnt-out exoskeletons of buildings. Here and there, entire chunks of concrete have been blasted away. The iron piping shines like bare bones, poulticed in spots, in others dripping into the streets like pus. Silco fixates on the black divots across the roads and the tangled electrical wires on the walls: burst blisters and collapsed arteries.

The Undercity is like a plague victim. Yet he senses its breathing. The surface is disfigured, yet beneath that, life thrums hot and implacable. Fresh green saplings spring from scorched-over soil, don't they? Zaun is no different. Eventually, it will disgorge a new version of itself into existence.

(Soon, my lovely.)

Up front, Sevika says, "Sir."

"Hm?"

"We've got company."

Silco elbows forward to stare between hers and the chauffeur's heads. Sure enough—a commotion at Bridgeside. High-intensity spotlights blaze down the river's harbor, making the dirty water iridescent with chemical rainbows. A troop of blackguards on armored hoverboards float above the basin, the blades of their rotors whirring in double-time. The spotlights break into spears off a ship docked at the port, glinting off its polished hull and spotless gangplank.

A ship with Piltover's crest at the masthead.

"…the fuck," Sevika mutters. "Why's Uppside here?"

"It's their envoy."

"What?"

"I told you. There were negotiations in the works."

"They came to us? Used to be the opposite."

"Used to be."

But no longer.

Once the ceasefire commenced, Piltover and Zaun had locked diplomatic horns. A fruitless state of affairs for both parties; they found themselves mired in arguments for weeks. Zaun was smaller, more vulnerable; the delay would weaken its resolve and drain its reserves, before wearing Silco down into making concessions. Had he sent emissaries to Piltover, it would've been worse. Zaun would be trapped by the Council's favorite tactic: delay. They would make promises, waste time, and enervate his emissaries into getting their own way.

Silco has no patience for that.

He'd moved against Piltover with the riskiest ace up the sleeve. Silence. Ignored their decrees, sent back their missives. In doing so, he dealt a blow to their pride. No response meant no access. No access meant no information. Topside was already paranoid. They suspected that Zaun would renew its attacks. His silence left them frustrated—the frustration a fine veneer over fear.

Played sparingly, the move had benefits. But Silco couldn't let the Topsiders flounder in the grey-zone forever. Sooner or later, their trigger finger—to quote Petrock—would get the hiccups. Zaun is still wounded. So are its people. They can't afford a reprise of the war. The odds may be less kind this time.

So, at the eleventh hour, Silco answered Piltover's missive. He'd determined the conditions of the negotiations. On his terms. On his turf.

The new order of things.

His mood, at a mordant baseline, soars a degree higher. The sight of Piltover's ship in Zaun. Their immaculate metal in his blackened waters. It is bloody spectacular. It is the stuff of Topside's nightmares. A promise of more nightmares to come.

Softly, he says, "Ready the entourage."

"Casuals, or formals?" Sevika asks.

She means—Armed to kill, or armed to guard?

"Mix it up."

"You expecting trouble?"

Silco unleashes a slow smile.

"We'll see."

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